Star Wars New Sith Trials I Voted Best RPG Summer 2016

Mikaboshi · Dec 22, 2016

Darth Cruor
Mortis

Life.

Darth Cruor felt it. Around him. Within him. His senses extended outward searching to confirm his suspicions, it was true, he was no longer trapped in the hell of Typhojem. The others were here as well, all of them. How? Had the Left-Handed Lord been defeated? Unlikely.......then he saw it, Typhojem, or rather what remained of him. His master, he could feel him in there still.

Though diminished greatly he was not dead, no, not so easily. What they had been given was time, time they needed to flee.

Was that wise however? This was the best opportunity they had to possibly kill a god, how could then not try? How could he, a being tortured and molded by Typhojem himself for more than a century, how could he not seek retribution? Even now he yearned to strike out, to release the memory of his apprenticeship upon the form of the dying god and extinguish him for once and all.

He stood silently only feet from the ramp of the shuttle as others ran by quickly to board, all the while he stared at the lingering remnants of the god. A dark vortex of conflict swirled about him, but he did not act upon it. Now was not the time, he had to trust the new Empress....he had to trust the Empire. He had not turned his back on chaos only to refuse order. The Empire gave him purpose, it was all he had left.

Turning his back to his master, for the first time ever, he walked up the boarding ramp.

Tag: Lady Belligerent Sinrebirth Darth_wanderguard greyjedi125 .....well, and everyone else fleeing Mortis. We are a big group!

greyjedi125 · Dec 22, 2016

IC: Manticore
That which remains; Mortis

Silence.

The former Night Herald did not answer the zabrak, but kept his own counsel. So be it.

Manticore mentally began to frantically grasp at possible options, when a familiar voice caught his attention.

“You will see a great many injustices in the Sith Empire. It is the way of the Sith. If you want justice, you must be strong enough to deliver it yourself. That is also the way of the Sith.”

Manticore turned his head in time to see the Lorekeeper offering sage advise to another young sith. The former Battlelord nodded approvingly towards the Lorekeeper and understood the old sith’s wisdom as it pertained to his person.

He was not personally strong enough to visit justice upon Typhojem. Despite being laid low, no one present had sufficient power to finish the greatly weakened Left Handed Lord. It would then stand to reason that this inherent lack defined their relative position. They could no more kill Typhojem anymore than a womprat could kill a Sith Lord. It was simply a preposterous consideration.

Manticore didn’t like the analogy, but sometimes the truth was a sobering and bitter draught. There was nothing he could presently do to The Left Handed Lord, and so, he had no recourse but to accept facts.

One glance at Lord Cruor was all he needed to confirm his suspicions. The great Gen’Dai simply turned his back and boarded the ship.

Manticore growled in displeasure, not liking the idea of retreating- but there was nothing else that could be done. Was there?

“Invidius.” The zabrak called out to his former apprentice.

“Let’s leave this place.”

And so, against his better judgement, Manticore also turned away from the remains of the Left Handed Lord, pulsing darkly upon the ruined tower, and boarded the ship carrying Empress Bellorum and the remaining survivors of the once great Sith Order.

Tag: @Sinrebirth, @Darth_Elu, @Mikaboshi, @Darth_wanderguard, @Lady Belligerent, All surviving sith.

QueenSabe7 · Dec 23, 2016

Combo with Mr. Wanderguard

IC: Darth Haretisch & Darth Syren
Hell, In Death

Syren stood trembling with her back still to Typhojem. Her eyes closed as she heard a few other Sith let their defiance be known, the others remaining silent yet speaking volumes. What would happen now? She tensed… but one last voice spoke out, one she had thought to never hear again.

"Defy you for eternity, we will. If we must."

Her head turned sharply to see none other than Darth Kralkus. Last she had laid eyes on the small Lord, he had been dead at the feet of her and her Master, a smoking hole in his chest. Syren did not question his appearance, instead she knew it would make sense that he would be here now; standing with his fellow Sith against a God.

Suddenly, her thoughts were swept away by the torrent of unending white hot rage, agony and death that rushed into her mind. Syren’s hands flew up to clutch her head as she was forced to her knees by the deluge, mouth open to cry out but no sound came forth. Time stretched out before her mind’s eye an unfathomable distance and it was made of horrors and struggle. Of Him. As it kept expanding, she in turn felt like she was shrinking away, growing smaller and smaller until she would surely become nothing. Like a black hole within her own mental landscape, it was drawing her in, threatening to swallow her whole.

Syren fought to hold on to herself and both surprisingly and predictably her Master, Lady Arach, instantly came to the forefront of her overwhelmed mind. She reached for the young High Lord, dangling from a thread of a thought as if it was a lifeline. She was fading fast.

Then, she sensed someone.

Haretisch.

Resisting the immediate urge to recoil from his pull, in this moment she simply had no other choice but to let him take her. And he did, her mind melding with his and she felt a jolt of each of the others follow. They were all linked together as one now, the Night Herald’s strength and will to live briefly holding off the Left-Handed Lord’s assault.

The traitor’s resolve shocked her. Then pushed her.

Without hesitation Syren returned the feeling with her own determination to survive, whatever surviving would mean. This could not be all there was left of her. Typhojem could not be all that was left for her. So she pressed forward and offered what she could to all those who shared in the meld.

Everything around them began to quake, a very tear in the fabric of Chaos ripping open before her. Syren stared in wonder as it grew and writhed, as if the gaping wound itself was alive. Angered, Typhojem lashed out again. Their mental connection was struck repeatedly by his Godly force, blow after blow, and she felt each staggering attack shake her to the core. Grasping onto each of her fellow Sith with all the strength she could muster, she held fast until…

In a sudden explosion, the hole erupted and all she saw was a blinding white light.

---

Mortis, In Life

Syren’s eyes shot open and darted about as she flew up to a sitting position. Cool, fresh air rushed to her lungs then; a sensation she was suddenly aware had been lacking before. Pausing, face slack with shock, she felt different; she felt alive.

The apprentice rose to her feet and gazed numbly at the new surroundings. Obviously back on Mortis, they were up someplace high and from this vantage point she could see the Son’s Tower in the midst of destruction. It felt too real, too much, as if returning from death had intensified life. Life… Syren placed a hand over her heart and felt it beat with purpose. Overcome, she laughed once in relief. Looking to the other Sith that had been cast from Hell alongside her, she watched to see if anyone else was reacting similarly. "Bellorum lives," she heard his voice say and her focus found Haretisch.

Not realizing she had moved until she was nearly there, Syren strode right up to the Dark Lord to place herself before him, commanding his attention. She knew better, but all bets seemed to be off at this point and she was so far beyond a state of exhaustion it had turned a corner into hysterical.

“What the KRIFF was that?” she shouted. “All of a sudden, after you killed Lorekeeper, after you killed Lord Manticore, after you killed me you have a change of heart and save us all? And what… we are supposed to trust you now?!” Clamping her mouth shut for a moment, Syren forced her temper down a notch. She stepped back a few paces and raised a finger to point at his chest. “I don’t trust you,” she snarled.

For a moment, he bristled. Scionica had died for less - and she wasn't the only one. Under any other circumstances, he might have crushed Syren for the mere thought of what she had done, and said.

Instead he stepped forward and reached for the lightsaber hanging at his belt, careful to pull his cloak back visibly as he did. He approached with no intention of attack, guileless and benign as he had ever been. When he stood within arm's reach, he placed the weapon in her outstretched hand, emitter side pointing toward himself, and met her gaze as he pulled his hand away to leave it in her grasp alone.

"Then allow me to trust you."

Syren simply stared at the weapon Haretisch had placed in her hand. Truthfully, the gesture caught her off guard. She would have expected a more... violent reaction to her insolence from one as powerful as he. But this...

Her grey eyes moved back to his face and narrowed. Leaning in, she left the ignition end of the lightsaber angled towards his chest and paused, her mind working fast to consider things for a quick moment. Right now the world was crumbling around them. Just as she had known he had been her only chance at survival in Hell, following him now was her only option in order to keep living the life he had given back to her. She was angry, not stupid and this was still the Night Herald of the Sith. Her personal feelings on the matter were inconsequential.

With a grimace her hand turned palm-up and open, plainly expecting him to take his weapon back.

"You have no need to doubt my loyalty," she began. There was still an overlay of displeasure to her voice but her outburst of rage had subsided, for now. "I would never betray the very thing I have spent far too long searching for."

Raising her outstretched arm a fraction higher, she gave the slightest bow of her head. "My Lord," she managed to say through clenched teeth.

He offered only a nod in response as he took it. Trust was not built, let alone rebuilt, in a day.

From beside them, Manticore spoke. "If you know how to kill this thing, or seal it away again, I urge you to speak the words, Haretisch. I care not to indulge Typhojem’s hospitality…and neither should you."

Haretisch shook his head. "He cannot be killed, nor sealed away. We must run if we are to have any chance of survival. Live to fight another day, High Lord," he replied, placing a hand firmly on the Zabrak's shoulder. He was not one to flee, nor to give up. That much was evident. "The shuttle is waiting, go," he gestured them both ahead of himself. He would follow.

Syren moved at his command and ran for the shuttle. Atop the ramp she saw a familiar face, albeit one that had changed since she last saw it. “Come on aboard. There’s no time to waste,” called the voice of Lady Hesper. With a small nod in passing, she hurried inside and took a seat among the surviving Sith who were gathering. She found herself relieved to see quite a few faces she knew, even relieved at the ones she didn't. Quickly scanning the ship for one person in particular, that was when she sensed her..

Master…

Not knowing where she was in the small tangle of beings, Syren reached out through the Force to Lady Arach. Just knowing the High Lord was here and alive was plenty enough for now. And now, she must prepare for their imminent escape.

Would it be so easy to run?

TAGS: Darth_wanderguard greyjedi125 corinthia Moonspun Dragon, Everyone Else!

HanSolo29 · Dec 23, 2016

Combo with A Blind Prophet

IC: Aryan Graul and Teafa Phadreg
Shuttle, Mortis

Insipid is God.

The words were jumbled as they escaped from Teafa's lips, but the message was clear enough. Something must have happened beyond his corporeal understanding of the galaxy itself to allow such a seemingly impossible event to occur. All Aryan could do was stare in mild disbelief as he tried to process the implications of Insipid's ascension. It was almost as if he was losing touch with himself and everything around him; a feeling of helplessness that was pushing him to the brink. It took quite some time before he was able to form his thoughts into words, and when he finally did speak, they came out in a choked whisper that could barely be recognizable as his own voice. "H-how...? I-I don't understand..."

Without waiting for a proper answer, he staggered away from Teafa's bunk almost in a panic, his mind no longer focusing on controlling his wayward arms so that they now upset the remainder of the items on the counter as he moved. He didn't seem to notice. At the moment, he was too preoccupied with trying to see this God for himself, even if it meant attempting the impossible by looking completely through the hull of the shuttle in order to do so.
Desperation was a funny thing sometimes. Maybe He could help, maybe He could cure him, maybe...

And then he screamed as he was assaulted by a wave of unrelenting agony. He felt his knees buckle, but that was his last cognizant thought before it felt as if he was being ripped from this very existence, towards him, towards...

"T--Typho...jem..."

There was a white flash, and he knew this surely had to be the end. And yet, in those final seconds, he thought he saw a second figure pass through his mind's eye, a very familiar figure. Was that...Insipid?

And then, just as quickly as the assault began, he was released. Relief flooded him as he gasped and fell forward against the deckplates in a heap. He allowed himself to simply lie there for a long moment, breathing heavily as he contemplated what had just happened and why he had ultimately been spared. It...didn't make any sense. Insipid...

He blinked as he opened his eyes, his gaze instantly seeking out Teafa. Did she know? Had she felt it too? He chuckled a bit in response, the sound bordering on delirious.

It was like a train wreck. Utterly horrible on every level, and yet she found she couldn't tear her mental focus away from what was happening outside. Too... Too big. Can't. Can't. CAN'T! The sheer power that was being wielded by the two of them beggared understanding, as reality seemed to be torn asunder at their very whim. She could see, truly see, the bonds of what was left of a planet in orbit being ripped to shreds with a simple thought. What made it worse was that she couldn't tell which of them it was any more, as all that her mind could comprehend was that two behemoth's strode the ground outside. She knew one was their salvation, and the other the utter doom of the galaxy but after a certain point the essence of darkness is the same and they had both passed it at the speed of light and kept on going.

As she watched she began to see a certain beauty in the destruction inherent in the darkness, and she understood how impossible it was for one such as her to make any difference. She was nothing, and would always be so. And then they began to fight and the full beauty of the Force was on display, the very concept of the lightside being utterly obliterated from her understanding. Burnt form her mind. What else could there even be but this pervasive blackness? Beautiful. Whether she whispered it or not was beside the point, as she could feel Aryan become the focus of one of the titans battling outside. Her body could hear the panic and clattering of things falling to the floor but her mind remained focused outside.

Death continued to poor into her being, as countless more beings throughout the galaxy died at the merest whim of the gods, and she saw the beauty in ceasing. In nothingness. The appeal of aiding existence along it's inevitable path, of the ceasing of striving and the pain that so many had dealt with. They were at peace now, and wasn't that what she had wanted to bring to the galaxy? That peace? That lack of pain? Help... Can help...

Laughter pulled a shard of her attention to where her physical shell lay. She could feel his gaze on her, though what he was wondering was beyond her. "Run... No poi..nt. Can't. Stay. Point..less." She said, though it came out jumbled and backwards from what she was actually thinking. As far as she was concerned ceasing to exist in the midst of this beauty, this pouring out of the essence of the Force, this enlightenment, would be a true fulfillment to her life. She would never know a moment so perfect again, no matter how long she existed. And so she gave herself over to it fully, as the shards of her mind were ground to dust by the sheer impossibility of what she was witnessing.

Run. Can't stay. Pointless.

Run...

There was a moment of clarity, however brief, as Teafa's delicate voice reached Aryan's ears through the endless cacophony that was threatening to deprive him of his sanity. Somewhere in the muddled mess that was his mind, her words rang true, triggering a spark of inspiration. In a sense, she was the last remaining tether holding him to this existence, the only thing that seemed real in this fairytale world; she was his lifeline. That realization was reflected in his expression as it abruptly shifted with understanding. The manic look in his eye waned as he regained some semblance of control.

"You're...right," he intoned quietly, his voice still somewhat shaky as he diverted his gaze to a point on the far side of the cabin. "I-I'm sorry, I just..."

He cut himself off as his breath caught in his throat in a small whimper. As he started to rise back to his feet, he had become acutely aware of the tangle of limbs that followed him, endlessly taunting him as they sought purchase. In that single moment of self-awareness, any forward progress he had made in recomposing himself had been instantly shattered. As his pulse began to beat relentlessly within his ears, he realized that he was repulsed with himself and the thing he had become. Even before he had been maligned by this physical deformity, he had been drifting for quite some time, losing his way...

Was his current predicament simply an outer reflection of that? If that were true, then it didn't matter how far he ran; he would forever be viewed as a monster.

Clenching his teeth, he wavered a bit where he stood before crumbling unto himself and collapsing into a nearby bulkhead. He would never allow himself to openly sob, and yet, his chest heaved all the same.

In fact, he hardly noticed when the comm crackled to life with the voice of Lady Bellorum – now Empress Bellorum – and offered them their salvation. But really, what kind of salvation could she possibly offer him? He would only be stepping back into a nightmare.

For Teafa... a voice whispered at the back of his mind. Do it for Teafa.

Aryan exhaled heavily and canted his head to the side as if listening, his eyes marred by unshed tears. "Teafa," he repeated softly.

Hearing but not really being cognizant of what was said, Teafa merely watched as a lull came in the midst of the displays of power. It felt like the calm in the eye of a hurricane, and it seemed like the two were talking. Her battered mind couldn't even begin to guess what the two might have to converse about, what secrets pathetic mortals weren't meant to know. Even if it was just that the gods were petty, and had surprisingly mortal concerns. Oddly enough, it felt like she was allowed to breath again. Obviously she had been able to do so, given that her bodily functions hadn't ceased and she wasn't dead. But there was a breathless quality about her, like she had been running, and running, and running.

And then insipid disappeared.

In that brief moment she heard Aryan say her name, though what he wanted from her she couldn't begin to guess. Instead of responding she rode the dual highs of the pain killers and pure power that had been thrown about as Insipid reappeared and actually drew on the Force, focusing even more of it into himself. It was enough to make her gasp in awe.

Aryan stirred again as Teafa responded with a gasp, his expression sullen as he studied her prostrate form lying upon the cot. He needed to believe that she had heard him, that perhaps she had afforded him that gasp as a subtle acknowledgement of his presence. At this point, any little piece he could latch onto helped. But if he had been in his right mind, he might have recognized the fact that Teafa was suffering in her own right; she was currently too engrossed with her own nightmares to cater to his every whim. In that sense, had she ever truly heard him at all?

]A frown crossed his features and he closed his eyes. Once again, he started to withdraw, his jaw working wordlessly as he defaulted to feeling sorry for himself. He might have even been content to curl up and resign himself to his fate, but the voice that had mysteriously materialized in his mind moments before was persistent. It would not allow him to rest.

Once a coward, always a coward, hmm? There was a hint of malice to it this time, prompting Aryan to sit up with a jolt. He could have sworn it sounded like his father, always taunting him, even in death. Why am I not surprised?

Aryan heard himself grumble a curse, but before he could act further, the voice shifted. This time, it adopted a more calming disposition as it spoke to him again. Remember Teafa. Help her...escape.

His mouth parted as he drew in a steadying breath. What was...that? What was happening? His hands were shaking as he brought them up to run wearily over his face. But as he did so, one of his extraneous arms brushed against something that had been attached to his belt, and it tumbled to the deckplates with a metallic clang. His eyes were instantly drawn to the sound and they soon settled on the small device that now rested near his feet. His comlink.

Escape. Teafa. Escape for Teafa.

A faint scoff issued from his lips as the dots finally connected. Without thinking, he was reaching for the device, his fingers gripping the cool metal as he brought it up to his lips. It took only a moment for him to thumb in the proper frequency Bellorum had previously used to send her transmission.

Clearing his throat, he began to speak. "T-this is..." He trailed off unexpectedly as he seemingly forgot his name. While it could have been viewed as a moment of weakness, he liked to think that he was only stalling for time as he tried to determine how to address himself in light of his new circumstances. "A-Aryan," he finally stated with a long-winded breath. "This is Aryan.

"I--uh, we...we have our own r-ride...the shuttle. I-I have Teafa here w-with me..." He cast a sideways glance in Teafa's direction, silently appraising the young woman's condition before pressing on. "S-She's injured...I-I did what I could, but..." He shook his head with a grimace, not being able to bring himself to say what he was thinking. "A-anyway, I d-don't think I should move her. I--we'll m-meet you in orbit."

A release happened as one of the behemoth's shot pure Force energy at the other, and created a... a hole? Teafa found herself extremely unsure of what she was seeing, as the hole wasn't showing what was behind what she thought was Typhojem as it seemed improbable that Insipid would have what seemed to be another dimension on his insides. It was like looking into three different realities at once, the mundane one that she was used to, trees and rocks and so forth, though it all felt bland and muddled at the moment. Then there was the pure essence of the Force that had been split into two black holes of moving, living energy. Last was... something that essentially felt dead. Lifeless. Contrived. She wasn't entirely sure what it was, or where, but it fed into the essence of death that had so inundated her since Typhojem had freed himself.

Specks of life appeared that had been gone, From... other? Where place? She recognized those who had been killed at Typhojem's whim, returned to the mortal plane some how. Under more normal circumstances it was something she would strive to understand, the questions it would have raised. But that was who she had been... not who she had become.

And then Insipid was gone again, and Typhojem had fallen into a puddle, losing coherence in itself.

For the first time in many minutes Teafa wasn't bombarded with the impossible and her mind began to repair itself during the reprieve. Little bits of coherence began to form from the dust, and she heard Aryan talking. Talking about leaving, about running. The perfect moment was gone, and she was still here. What difference did it make where she went? What she did?

Trying to sit up, she found herself strapped down, and even the simple motion was enough to send her head spinning into dizziness. Not do. Badness. That was something that could be applied to the whole situation, as they had not only failed... but it sounded like they were leaving Typhojem to recover. But what could they do to a god?

By the time the comm fell silent, Aryan's confidence was waning. Had he ever received a reply? He simply couldn't remember. And really, he wasn't sure if it even mattered. His body was moving entirely of its own accord, as if he was on automatic. In fact, he found that he could barely recall the details of the shuttle as he moved zombie-like towards the cockpit. It was as if he had been anesthetized to everything around him. Well, everything except for maybe Teafa.

As he passed her cot, a hand brushed across her shoulder, a gentle gesture to reassure her that they were indeed going home...wherever home was. Did it even still exist?

He dismissed that thought before it could materialize into something much bigger and settled himself awkwardly behind the controls. There was a slight moment of hesitation as he tried to coordinate himself with his new arms, but in the end, his frustration won out and he angrily slapped them out of the way. He would manage this the old-fashioned way.

They were in the air soon enough, the shuttle leaving behind a roiling dust cloud on the surface as they lifted into the atmosphere. Once again, Aryan began to lose himself in the space around him, his eyes becoming unfocused as the clouds and debris blurred together outside the viewport. They must have reached orbit at some point, but even then, all he could see was that kaleidoscopic effect dancing in front of his vision as the universe passed him by. It was so calming, so...

Wait, what as that?

His brow furrowed as something glinted in the distance, rousing him from his reverie. One would think it would be the sight of two titans duking it out above the planet that would ultimately stir someone into action, but that wasn't the case for Aryan. In truth, he hardly noticed. No, it was actually the distinct shape of a Corellian vessel approaching their general vicinity that began to restore some of his previous fervor. Could it really be possible?

Well, well, looks like Insipid kept up his half of the bargain after all...

Something resembling a smile crossed his features as he altered course for the vessel, eventually setting down in one of her interior hangar bays. Mortis might have taken everything else away from him – his dignity, his career, his sanity? – but he wasn't going to allow it to take the Stardust as well.

As they began to move away from Typhojem and Mortis, Teafa felt herself relax, her mind able to simply shut down to some degree. The drugs were beginning to overwhelm her, and she found herself captive to the whims of Aryan, such as they might be. She could sense him. Could feel how utterly off he felt. The distress and madness as it clawed at his mind and soul. Not that the information actually meant anything to her at the moment, but should she remember surely some part of her would want to talk to Aryan in the future about his saving her. Surely she would care... right?

Drifting, riding whatever thought or emotion happened to surface from the morass of her consciousness, Teafa found some semblance of stillness in her being as even that began to settle as the drugs took an even stronger hold of her and there simply was nothing that truly demanded her attention. Even Typhojem seemed like nothing but some bump over the smoothness of space around her, and the emptiness therein. Given that he barely registered, she found herself almost completely unaware of the other sith. Of the ship that they were docking with. Oh her body certainly heard the noises, but they had no meaning to her. They were just the backdrop of nothingness that she found herself floating on. And so she began to drift off into the blackness of sleep, the place that the mind and body truly begin to heal. Whether something would happen to change that, well, that was anyone's guess.

TAG: A Blind Prophet; Sinrebirth; Darth_wanderguard; Lady Belligerent; others escaping

Darth_wanderguard · Dec 23, 2016

OOC: Combo post with Lady Belligerent and corinthia.

GM UPDATE 1 OF 3

IC: Darth Haretisch, Darth Bellorum, Darth Hesper -- Mortis

One by one the crowd on the hill would file in with haste, and as the ramp drew up and the shuttle launched, the scant remains of a once mighty empire were contained entirely by two mere shuttles.

For his part, the Night Herald had watched the remains of Blade Squadron trudging up the hill, and noted that Hel was not among them. He allowed himself to hope, and straightened his robes before venturing beyond the cargo hold to find her. Surely she was somewhere onboard.

Instead, he met Bellorum in a short hallway.

"Well, this is going to be a bit awkward I believe," she asked with a smirk. "Do you want to explain your actions to me first, or everyone at once?" Her tone was not unfriendly, but it wasn't exactly warm. He would have to answer for releasing Typhojem, and he would be answering to her.

He was taken aback. Not by her expectation that he explain himself - only an idiot would have expected anything different. Indeed he owed far more than even that, and not just to Bellorum. No, what stopped him was her calm superiority.

As much an adjustment as it had been to Bellorum being his equal, she was now speaking to him like a subordinate. Then again with Insipid apparently gone and Haretisch himself a traitor... of course she had wasted no time declaring herself Empress, he realized.

Still, he had more immediate concerns than righting all of his wrongs. "Where is Hel?" he asked.

"Excuse me?" She looked at the Night Herald as she would upon a naughty child, "I await an answer to my question. Are you intentionally stalling?"

She turned her back to him and stalked back down the short hallway towards the entrance to her private chambers, where she'd placed Ike's lifeless body a short time ago. 'Kriff! He knows,' she thought as she pressed a code to open the cabin.

It was a relief that Ike's body was no longer laying on the bed. She'd felt his presence in the Force, but this reinforced the fact that he was indeed back among the living. She had also wanted a moment to stifle any reaction to Haretisch mentioning Hel. 'Who else knew the truth and could have told him?'

Haretisch followed. The door slammed shut a moment later, bid by the man's telekinesis. And now he stood behind her, seething. His left hand moved toward his lightsaber. "How long have you known?" he asked, his voice measured, but boiling with rage just beneath the surface.

Bellorum turned and faced him with her eyes blazing, "you dare to touch your weapon as a threat to me," she spat. "You best learn your place, Night Herald, because you are currently standing on unstable ground." She paused, waiting to see if he relaxed his threatening stance before continuing.

"I have willingly died once today. With what do you think you threaten me?" he asked darkly, and took a step forward to tower over her. Then his lightsaber clattered to the ground as he allowed it to fall from his grip. A minor show of compromise - but he gave not an inch otherwise. "Where is my child?"

Her eyebrow raised as she looked from the hilt on the floor to his charcoal eyes, "I've no idea where she is. I'm sure you're aware she was in Insipid's squadron, which unfortunately suffered several casualties." Softening her voice, she added, "Hel might be one of those casualties."

For a moment, he looked like a child who had been struck. A smile of resignation followed, and he met her gaze as he spoke. "You have no heart," he said, and turned to leave. "Accept my congratulations, Empress."

"Wait!" She sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. He stopped.

"As far as I know, she lives," Bellorum admitted, "Insipid sent her to pick up Draconis." She paused and pulled her comlink from her pocket, "here, take my com and see if you can contact her. While you do that, I'll ask Hesper if she has a location for them."

His hand touched hers as he took the unit from her, and she opened herself to him. "I'm sorry, I feel as if she's okay," briefly her eyes glazed, and she was elsewhere, soaring over the unforgiving terrain of Mortis. In her mind's eye she saw the young girl, and though she was dust covered and exhausted, she was alive. "Yes," Bellorum whispered and returned to herself, "she is okay and we will retrieve her. But, we need to hurry before Typhojem is able to regenerate his strength."

He nodded once, silently, and felt the need to offer an apology of his own for loosing a reality-destroying deity. Somehow though, he thought 'sorry' might not suffice. Bellorum left the room to make for the cockpit, and he looked down at the device in his hands with hesitation. Gingerly he set it on a corner table, opting to wait. A comm channel wouldn't have been the most appropriate medium.

Bellorum went directly to the cockpit and sent Kwea and Zalen to check that everyone that had boarded and any injuries were getting aid. Hesper was sitting in the pilot's couch with Arach as copilot. "We need to pick up Hel and Draconis," Bellorum said as she punched up a map on the screen between the women. "They should be right about here," she continued, and indicated an area nearby. "I cannot stress enough that we have to hurry, I can feel Typhojem reawakening."

“Yes, Milady,” Hesper responded to Bellorum’s commands in a tense, low voice. She looked at the map to her right, taking in the terrain the map presented. There would be nowhere to land, but that was no matter. Hesper immediately brought the shuttle in close to the location Bellorum indicated, and as Hesper peered out of the cockpit, she could see two beings standing upon a precarious outcropping.

Hesper’s hands were light on the controls as she came to hover close to the duo, and with every inch she came closer, she could feel Empress Bellorum’s emotions rise. They had been high when she had entered the cockpit, but Hesper made it a point to mention nothing. Hesper had not foreseen any of the events that had unfolded on Mortis, and she was getting the distinct feeling that the other squadrons had suffered damages far deeper and more emotional than Hesper could even begin to imagine, and Bellorum must have spoken with… Haretisch, she could sense. But as Bellorum’s Hand, her job would be to keep her lips sealed and follow orders like a hound. So she said nothing, as she always did. Hesper could manage that much. "Lowering the emergency escape ladder now,” Hesper muttered. Then she said over her shoulder: “Someone will need to make sure they get on board. Perhaps Zalen or Kwea could receive them.” Hesper turned back to the yoke and the piloting console, maneuvering even closer.

TAG: No one[/u][/u]

Lady_Belligerent · Dec 23, 2016

GM UPDATE 2 OF 3

IC: Hel & Draconis -- Mortis, Crumbling Cliffs

Combo post with dragonsith13.

Hel was fumbling with her comlink when Draconis took off climbing again, "go ahead and poke fun at me, but I'd much rather have a beast to do the-" She was interrupted as the ledge they'd been sitting on gave way, but she pushed upward and grasped another shelf that jutted out and used it to move higher.

As soon as she moved away from the edge once again, she called out to Draconis, "look, over there!" Hel pointed to the shuttle coming in their direction.

The billowing smoke rising high above was swallowed by the already dark skies, offering no distinction as the whole area burned and crumbled. The raging lava flow expanded all around and poured out from cracks in the plateau. The heat was grim and evident on both Draconis and Hel’s faces as they continued to climb, avoiding falling rocks and tumbling debris over and over.

Draconis reached up grasping a ledge, his hand trembling slightly before it grasped firmly on a hand hold, solidifying his grasp to the cliff face. Hel was right beside him, as Draconis raised his chest onto the ledge. Pausing only briefly after confirming he was stable, he pulled himself fully up onto the ledge. Draconis quickly spun around leaning down to grasp Hel’s forearm, clasping her nearly at the elbow as her hand instinctively clasped on as well. Draconis leaned back pulling up as Hel’s legs rose onto the ledge, her boots brushing the edge before firmly finding footing as they both leaned back further onto the safety of the small ledge.

Both of them were taking in deep labored breaths. The whole of everything having been trying indeed, already weary from the battle of Mortis, the environment was an added burden. Sheer will pushed and spurred them on. Hel was right next to him, fatigued beyond compare but still breathing, still pressing on, as there was no alternative save for death.

Draconis’ eyes traced the massive cliff in front of them as he stared up… following the line of the cliff edge until he saw the top. Up above in the distance a massive flaming ball of lava pushed out into the sky. The flaming smoking trail was evident as it passed overhead and trailed away. Draconis’ gaze stared at the edge of where they needed to be, within reach. Nearly a force leap away and they could reach the shuttle.

Suddenly, Draconis felt a sharp surge in the force. A dark presence and deep connection, felt and known. His head twitching slightly as the flash of visions of someone raced through his mind. "For once in your miserable life…” Wincing his eyes closed tightly, Draconis’ fists clenched and in an instant, he sprung around. Spinning on his heels.

Draconis’ hand sprung out grasping a still recovering Hel on the cliff edge beside him, seizing her by the neck. Draconis stepped forward as his grip tightened raising her up and off of the ledge, as he stepped further still… The sudden alarm in Hel’s eyes replaced with all manner of questions and panic as to why.

"Have you lost your mind," Hel gasped as she swung her body forward to try and kick him in the gut. She was trying to keep her cool because if she attacked he could drop her, and she could feel the heat from the lava below and knew she'd be hard pressed to survive contact with it.

Draconis was entranced. Cruor was alive! No? Present? Preserved? Regardless he was here! It was the Valley of the Kings reborn. Mindless. Unwavering and beyond himself – yet anchored somewhere deep and dormant. Overridden by the present surge of connection and power.

Draconis’ grip tightened, there was no force involved, just sheer malice and will as Draconis reached the cliff edge of the small ledge that Hel and him had sought refuge on.

Hel’s legs dangled in the air as both her arms and hands clawed at her own neck seeking to break the grip of Draconis around it. Draconis eyes burned with searing fire as his fingertips dug into Hel’s neck. Hundreds upon hundreds of feet below the raging lava fields offering no return for anyone thrust out into the air above them.

Draconis could feel a pull to a darker being, Typhojem. The connection between Draconis and Cruor was too strong not to have him drawn into the affair. The shard in his robes radiated with energy as well the link between the two ancient Sith strained his consciousness. Seeking to draw him into a further darkness. He could see it. The Left Handed God - Cruor – Haretisch – Syren – the Librarian – Manticore. Others known but unknown to him… As if he was there, beyond the veil.
Draconis head slowly cocked to the side as he stared blankly into Hel’s eyes.

This was not the being she had fought with so recently and bled with. Not the one who had saved her and spurred both them on. He was something darker, uncontrolled and full of malice and death. Void of emotion. Void of anything. A thunderous crash and shift followed by the feeling of imbalance and eventual loss of ones footing… Draconis felt himself slipping, his grip on Hel’s neck only slightly giving way. But possibly enough…

Hel made her decision, she had to act before he snapped and either closed off her airway all together, or dropped her. She gathered a vicious wave of telekinetic energy and threw it at Draconis, smashing him into the jagged rock. "If you ever grab my neck again, I swear I'll kill you," she choked out as she rubbed her throat. Red marks were already turning to shadows of bruising on her pale skin.

The shadowy silhouette of Bellorum's shuttle loomed over them. Hel looked up and saw the cable ladder being lowered, she cast a dark glance at Draconis, "I don't know what the kriff just occurred in your head, but you better shake it off and get on the damned ship."

Hel turned and pushed off the last section of rock as it was crumbling and leapt midway up the ladder, and shimmied up without looking back. She allowed outstretched arms to grasp hers and pull her exhausted body into the shuttle.

Draconis had felt himself slam back against the ledge wall, and could hear the warnings spoken to him, but it did not register. He simply watched the woman leap up onto a lowered gang ladder and scurry up it, as he felt the shifting cliff underneath him. Draconis rose back up to his full height and vaulted with a single bound following the woman clasping near the very top of the ladder. Slowly one hand over the next as he emerged over the top and climbed into a shuttle, crawling like a vile creature stalking its prey. Draconis began to rise in the open shuttle doorway. He took a step forward, many eyes upon him, and then collapsed. Blacking out.

It was done. There was no one left on the surface, and no time was wasted as the ship ascended quickly through the atmosphere.

TAG: No One

Sinrebirth · Dec 23, 2016

GM update 3 of 3 - GM Tri-Combo

IC: Darth Insipid

Typhojem was still floundering as the Allotrope climbed into orbit carrying all that remained of the Sith, save for two.

Not two. Three.

It began with a glimmer, and by the time the Dawn Herald's armored shuttle met and docked with its counterpart, Darth Insipid's force essence shone like a beacon. Haretisch felt it. Bellorum felt it. Ike certainly felt it.

A door burst open on the Stardust, Night Herald and Empress come to divvy up the Empire between the two remaining ships in its fleet. To give marching orders. To form some kind of plan to stay alive even as Typhojem recovered, and inevitably began to pull reality apart at the seams. Now with Insipid apparently alive, there was immeasurably more hope than there might have been otherwise. But as the pair stepped through the doorway, all they saw was Aryan Graul.

But it was not he. It was a Phantom.

Darth Insipid took a shuddering breath. He was so wounded. So damaged, that he could not bring his shade out of Aryan. He had an anchor here, but he was so weak he could not do it. At the same time; the weakness was in the fabric of his soul.

He still had his God-like power.

He had held onto it.

The ritual between Persevus, Titus and another had succeeded, but it was incorrectly intentioned. Insipid thought. Admittedly this part of the plan was Dreadwar's.

Insipid had clawed his way free of the crushed form body of the Son, and struggled to find Aryan; his body had been modified, sprouted arms. The Emperor had been required to exert precious strength on Aryan reconfiguring his base body, causing the four extra appendages to drop off, before being able to reconstitute the anchor in full.

But his soul was leaking through the cracks. He would not be able to leap a form for some time. He would need to settle this Phantom in a clone, but equally he only had one aboard. The cylinders themselves were gone; destroyed in Typhojem's rampage.

Aryan-Insipid took a deep breath, and the Phantom was the Emperor again; with the skin and form and eyes of the Son. The echoes of the ritual were apparent to them three, probably to [b[Manticore, Persevus[/b], the Lorekeeper and Arach and Hesper, but to nobody else.

"You're unwell," Haretisch commented, breaking the silence. He didn't address the elephant in the room - that there was now an Empress and an Emperor.

'I'm fine. I'm a God,' Insipid said, through gritted teeth. 'Less so that every time I risked my life to stop Typhojem a coup kicked off.

"Don't be spikey, no one staged a coup," Bellorum stated cooly. "I felt both Haretisch and you expire, so I merely took charge." She left out that she had been anxiously awaiting such a moment since the day she had pieced together just how wrong things were likely to go on Mortis. "I restore your title, dear Emperor, and pray that you do not charge me with disobedience." The edge in her voice was palpable, and the statement came off as a dare more than anything else.

"I'm still Night Herald," Haretisch added flatly. He had no interest in diffusing the tensions flaring between his two counterparts - the less attention on him now the better.

That comment, however, drew the Emperor's attention. 'But you are no longer my successor. Bellorum is. And Manticore is going to want to overthrow me for not taking your hide right now.' Insipid's voice grew shrill, before he coughed. 'We all lied to each other. It's fine. Whether it's fine for the others is another thing entirely.' Manticore, Titus, Anark, and Teafa would side with him, perhaps. Persevus would likely also, as long as Insipid still dropped off secrets.

"I suppose that's fair," Haretisch sighed, sounding conciliatory. In truth he'd never aspired to be Emperor - but if Insipid and Bellorum thought it suitable penance he wouldn't advertise that fact. "But we've got bigger problems than internal politics. what exactly are we going to do?" he asked. Specifics were not needed, as Typhojem began to regain power.

"We had a plan for if things when wrong, and from where I'm standing it looks like we are there," Bellorum looked from the Emperor to Haretisch. "Are we sure there's not another option?"

'The ritual had three components...' Insipid gasped. 'To transplant a soul to a planet, to unearth the Key...' He paused. 'But Ku'ar Danar also followed a group of Rebels four millennia through history. We can do that. The ritual is complete, it has the blood, but not the power... But I sense it will not work...'

Insipid took a deep breath, and had to steady a Phantom hand on the bulkhead. 'We're all traitors to each other... But... We can't win here. I know some of it. You two must know the rest. I know my efforts to find it were blocked. I know Esmerelda did research into this angle. I know Arach was taken away from us for a reason.'

Sure enough, on the sensors, on long range telescopes, galaxies were winking out. Typhojem could smite them any time He wanted. But He could not help himself; He wanted them to panic. He would draw the universe to death back towards this point.

In a moment, He would start causing all the stars to wink out in this galaxy.

Power. Insipid lamented the lack of it for having foiled the ritual. Haretisch turned the word over in his mind as he contemplated. A hand gravitated to his robes, and like a godsend it found a familiar triangular artifact. The source of his power - the means by which he had grown from the forgettable apprentice of a forgettable Dark Lord into a power on par with Sith far wiser and more longlived than himself. The holocron of Typhojem. He wondered quietly. If it were destroyed, what would become of him? Would his prowess die with it?

He would risk it.

He pulled the holocron from his pocket.

"This may work," he said softly.

Insipid goggled as he sat down. The stink to it was unmistakable. The protection spell on it must have been incredible, or it had simply stopped hiding itself now its owner was free.

'You must have been insane to listen to it at all, once you knew who it belonged to. Categorically insane, Haretisch.' With a twist, the modifications to the ship bore fruit; a cloning cylinder appeared from the bulkhead. Fully clothed, this time, and in stasis, not fluid. No time. Another body lost.

Insipid merged himself and the clone's eyes fluttered open, while he ruminated. He would need a moment to acclimatise himself before he spoke. Insipid silently lamented that his soul literally screamed out for death. It was shredded, and with the merger he was confined to this body and even his anchor to Aryan snapped. He would need years to recover before he could attempt essence transfer again, save for consuming a small planet of people.

Haretisch stirred at the accusation, if it could be called that. Maybe a plain statement of fact. He liked to think himself sane and simply beset by struggle and hidden behind the facade of a madman. The course of his life had sought to break his sanity, he reasoned, and so he would act the part if only as a sardonic joke with himself. But a lie lived long enough will invariably become the truth. He was probably insane.

"I was desperate," he said, as much to himself as to Insipid and Bellorum. "And I'm desperate now," he admitted. He wanted to *live*. More than he had ever wanted to die. He looked at the holocron for a moment longer, and then up to meet Bellorum's gaze as he held it out to her in two hands. "If we're going to attempt this, we need to do it now."

Bellorum accepted the holocron, and held it as if she expected it to explode any moment. She looked to Haretisch, "I confess that I was full aware of what this was when I retrieved it for you during the invasion." She offered a small smile to soften her confession, "did you really think I wouldn't be tempted?"

"I hoped you would be," he replied, relinquishing his treasure. "I wanted you to stop me."

Her head jerked up and she scowled at Haretisch, "oh, no. You'll not blame your folly on me." There wasn't time for game or sparring with the bloody stubborn man, instead she turned to Insipid and thrust the holocron out, "we're wasting time. What now?"

Insipid handled it gingerly. 'I can't believe you hid a Holocron like this from me, let alone the Lorekeeper. Maybe I'll keep it secret.'

Insipid grimaced. With a gesture, he opened the Holocron, revealing a surge of black; a static cloud of energy that malevolently cackled.

For the others, the Stardust would darken, just as Esmerelda locked eyes with Kronos, their contact cut. This essence of the Left Handed God reached for Manticore, incensed by him leading the charge in Hell, and sought to strangle him dead. A cackle would echo across the ship.

Darth Insipid snarled, unleashing a cage of lightning upon the essence, trying to hold it. 'Help. We need to drag it to the altar, in the hold.'

That would be through the ship. But being as Insipid was making this up as he was along, they would have to handle it. Invidius would suffer the illusion of his skin crawling... Teafa of her eyes recovering... And then cutting again. Aryan would undergo the belief that not only had his arms re-grown, but he had acquired six more eyes, his transformation continuing... This time in front of the Darth Arach.

The holocron lurched against the grasp of the Emperor. Night and Dawn Heralds alike reached out to seize and stabilize it, and the mental defenses of each were slammed into by a wall of psychic energy.

In the same moment, Syren would perceive her skin to be turning to a blanket of writhing insects. Hesper would feel a child kicking painfully within her belly. Every bit of the corded muscle which made up Cruor's massive body would clench, and he would become naught but an amorphous cramp. Ravenous' stomach would be emptied violently via his throat, and in the mess he would see the blinking eyes and grimacing faces of all those he had consumed. Hades would, for a moment, feel the embrace of death again and think he was blinking out of existence for good, and in that moment he would be both alive and dead. Kwea would be wrenched violently and find herself crushed against the ceiling. Anark would be compelled irresistibly to cup a hand beneath his own mouth, and if he did so, as he pulled back would see the illusion of his teeth falling into it with nerves still attached. Soliloquy would be drawn into a mindscape of hellfire, and find himself with a body once more, staring into the very eyes of Typhojem himself.

At last the holocron came to rest on the altar, and a shearing gust would kick through the shuttle's cabin and corridors, from nowhere and to nowhere, deafening in its intensity.

"Finish it!" Haretisch yelled to Insipid, his cloak whipping wildly.

Insipid uttered with determination his unyielding refusal to surrender. He reached out for the others, reassuring them with one final lie - that everything was going as the Third Sith Triumvirate had planned. Every betrayal, every twist, every turn, every deception. and every truth.

He reached for his Sith. For Ike, who was strangely reluctant to give anymore. For Zalen and whatever wiles she had left. For Invidius, for whatever reserved the saurian had. For Cocytus and his alien strength. For Jwob one more time. The non-humans would feel Insipid's disdain for their existence, for them simply not being human, channelled back at them by Typhojem with malice; a dollop of truth one last time.

Darth Insipid, with his fellow triumvirs, wrestled the slither of a mote of a tear of Typhojem's soul. It drew out from Arach what little of the Key she still possessed, reinforcing itself. Even this tiny fragment of the Left Handed Lord surpassed Malkuth and his Essence Heart; made a foolery of Mnngal-Mnngal; made light of Abeloth, Goddess of Chaos.

The rest of Typhojem paid them no heed.

He had no need for worshippers, or reality itself.

He echoed with complete lack of interest.

Darth Insipid dislocated his mind, peered into the depths of this little child of Typhojem, and shared with the others the truth.

'You're a liar.'

In the struggle, they would all hear the truth; Insipid would will his Order to hear it.

'You give us the face that you care not for us. You give us the mask that time is unimportant. You give us the mask that you are supreme.'

'The way of the Sith would always come back to Typhojem. You knew it. But you crafted a ritual which would bring us back to you. A Key; a central part of your essence which could be merged with other souls touched by you. Yet you also left part of you in a Holocron. And you left influences across history.'

'You even made it so that the first Sith who successfully enacted the ritual of world's - to press ones soul to a planet and make it move - moved forward four thousand years in time.'

Insipid spoke of their late Emperor, not with awe at the feat - Ku'ar Danar had required two others to assist him, which Insipid now understood.

'You did all of this not because you were a divine being beyond us all, no.'

Darth Insipid snarled as he pushed the essence of the Holocron over the ritual remnants; over the blood of Aryan's last three Hapan bodyguards.

'You moved everything along to the right point because you could not wait. Because for all your power you were a thread away from complete insanity. Because you knew the Sith were about to undergo four millennia of struggles, and defeat, and you were afraid we would break. Because you need us, Left Handed God.'

'You're not God.'

'You're just the God of the Sith.

Darth Insipid, Emperor of the Seventh Empire, grinned.

'And all you need to do to kill a God...' He shouted the last, over the black maelstrom which was attempting now to unpick the ship, to undo the atoms of the Triumvirate, to unpin the minds of the Sith one and all -

'Is for us to stop believing in you.'

It was a lie. Typhojem was more powerful than anything before and after. But He had mastery of the Force... And it's flow. With that power, with it under their control, as the very Sith that Typjojem needed to justify his existence, they could simply use it.

To leave.

The pair of ships lurched through time, all at once the winds abated. The psychic attacks were gone. A shroud of darkness which had belabored them all unknowingly since the moment of birth, and indeed all of existence since the moment of creation, was suddenly lifted. Typhojem was gone.

They had done it. They had escaped the left-handed lord. But where were they now?

When were they now?

TAG: Everyone

Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

Moonspun Dragon · Dec 23, 2016

IC- Darth Arach
Mortis

As soon as the ship was in the air, Arach focused all of her attention on her flying, only sparing a brief glance and slight smile of acknowledgment at Bellorum when she named herself Empress in Insipid's place.

Not too much longer after that, she felt a surge of power in the Force. Typhojem. Then she felt two surges. At the second one, she couldn't help the small gasp of shock when she recognized it. Inspid?! How...?

And they were fighting.

Arach gritted her teeth as the shuttle was used as a club, then thrown from the flight and straightened. She put everything she could into the thrusters.

When the broken Tower came into sight, she felt flares of light in the force and knew that those who had been presumed dead were once again alive. She couldn't hold back a grin as she recognized some of the beings waiting for them on the landing pad.

However, it faded when there was someone whose presence was decidedly lacking in appearance. Darth Insipid. She didn't sense Typhojem, either. Did..?

She snapped back to the present as Bellorum ordered the women to hurry and set the shuttle down in the only clear spot.

As the engines shut down, she felt a brush of a familiar presence that erased the sudden sadness. Her apprentice was alive! She opened herself up at the contact, not bothering to hide her emotions.

She made her way to the ramp when she felt another presence and her anger grew white- hot. Haretisch was alive, as well. Her fists clenched and sparks of electricity danced up and down her arms. She clenched her teeth and looked through the crowd.

Catching sight of him, she started to make her way to him, but stopped upon seeing the new Empress speaking with him. Now is not the time, she thought. Later. She settled for a glare at his back, then turned away to find her apprentice.

Tags; Everyone.

OOC: Sorry, I'm not quite caught up. DRL is kicking my butt right now. I'll try to answer the new update later.

E. L.Knight · Dec 23, 2016

Darth Hades
Leaving Mortis

Hades, though in a renewed body, felt the crash coming on that signaled the end of tired and the beginning of exhaustion. It was odd, that he felt exhausted after having felt little to nothing for so long, and then, darkness.

The power he felt was immeasurable, and he knew, things were about to get worse.

He then felt his soul separate, again, from his body. He fell to his knees, head thrown back and mouth opened in a silent scream of immense pain. To have your soul ripped away in such a manner, then to feel your spirit peel away and witness ones self from outside your body was painful, and jarring.

Hades did not understand what was happening, but all at once, images of the past, of possible futures, of the deaths of quadrillions all at once was beyond registering.

It felt as if an eternity passed by with Hades trapped between life, death and immortality. He did not know what would happen now, but he knew that his power was not enough to fight back.

And then he felt Insipid, alive once more, reach out, but he passed by any who was not a human. Hades felt the Emperors disdain for anything not human.

And then, he was back in his body, and he felt stronger than before.

His eyes narrowed as he remembered the hatred the Emperor harbored for nonhumans, and Hades resolved himself to what he would need to do. He had been hunted for years in the Jungles of Haruun Kal because he wasn't human. Never again.

Insipid had to be stopped.

TAG: Everyone.

A Blind Prophet · Dec 23, 2016

IC: Teafa Phadraig/ Bacta Tank/ Medbay/ Stardust

Zzzzzzzzz

Twitches in pain, followed by a whimper swallowed up by the bacta before drifting back off into the land of drugs and sedatives.

Zzzzzzzzzzz...

TAG: NO ONE

greyjedi125 · Dec 23, 2016

IC: Manticore
Peace is a Lie : between Allotrope and Stardust

Darkly, he mused on events that lead the sith to consecutive engagements and culminated on their resounding defeat on Mortis

So much had occurred in such a short space of time. There’d been many critical moments - and more. Some clues he could see clearly now, had seen in part then, but others were simply outside of his perception. It was beyond infuriating. Typhojem was not just the sovereign piece on the board. He was the board itself- and he would still destroy everything, no matter where they went.

How could this have been part of any plan whatsoever!? Such madness was simply beyond all reason.

Was this fate?

Manticore growled audibly as he bristled in frustration. It was a sound which warned anyone near him to stay clear away from the zabrak.

This so called tactical retreat still left a bitter taste in his palate.

He could do naught else but to ponder somberly as he re-examined what was missed, or what could he have done differently. Could he have killed Haretisch sooner?

As such thought ruminated though his mind, the zabrak squinted, sensing something in the fringes of his awareness. For a brief second, Manticore’s fiery eyes widened in surprise as a presence shone like shafts of daylight piercing the fog of evanescing night.

“Insipid….?”

Manticore stood up and looked in the direction of the presence he’d felt.

For certain, the Sith Emperor was alive once again.

But if that was the case, what did that mean for the newly risen Sith Empress?

Manticore could feel them. Insipid. Haretisch. Bellorum. The deity. The Traitor and the Queen. They were together, and the ship had not exploded. Did that mean they were still a Triumvirate? Clearly, matters were no longer that simple. Not to mention, there was still the matter of the Left Handed Lord.

At that very moment, the entire ship seemed to darken as a palpable and malevolent presence enshrouded them. This darkness had become disturbingly familiar now….

A cackled echoed through the ship, and without any warning, Manticore felt a great crushing pressure enclose around his entire respiratory system. Reflexively, he countered with Force Repulse, but his dislodging effort was effectively and summarily negated. Still, he held himself together and did not panic. His dead and former Master had attempted to drown him more times that he could count, but this was much different than that.

Dark ectoplasmic force, not unlike smoke and ash seemed to envelop his upper torso. He could not affect it physically, and somehow, it cancelled out his attempts at force shielding himself. Undoubtedly, he could subsist without oxygen much longer than normal, but that did not account for the agonizing crushing effects.

Anger flared within the zabrak, like a super nova. His Force Rage would sustain him, prolonging the moments before his eventual death, but perhaps this would buy him enough time to find a solution.

Manticore choked out blood as his eyes bulged, but he would not ever give up. There was simply to much fight in him, even to his very last breath. In his mind, he cursed the Left Handed Lord for his exceeding pettiness. He mentally spat at him, even as he felt his ribs begin to collapse and puncture his lungs.

Was the grand design to usher in the extinction of all things? How could they have been so foolish to follow in the footsteps of the treacherous for so very long? How could they be so blind? Now, they would all pay the ultimate price.

In his throes, Manticore felt a great wave of disdain- one that was not his own. It was Darth Insipid’s. Even though the Sith Emperor had chosen a nagai for his Night Herald, a chiss for his Dawn Herald- and a zabrak as his Battlelord, the de facto Emperor felt disdain and contempt towards all non-human species.

Was it truth or just another lie? What did it matter now? How was that of any relevance or consequence in these last moments? A psychological weapon- against the uncertain. More seeds of dissension being sown. More tricks and treachery!

The unimpeded crushing force to Manticore's inner organs continued, as it compounded the damage done by the lack of flow of oxygen, blood and internal energy. Reaching critical conditions, he began to suffer irreversible damage. If he was to die once again, Manticore vowed to become an even greater thorn in the Left Handed Lord’s side!

And so, as he began to fade, imagening he could hear Insipid speaking.

The incessant booming inside his ears slowed its pace, coming in widening intervals. Insipid once again spoke of invoked rituals and keys. He’d even mentioned the late Emperor.

But what was he getting at? Would it make any difference from the last outcome?

Then, like a room being suddenly lit, it became clear. Typhojem’s critical weakness was revealed- that is, if Insipid was indeed correct and not merely supposing upon esoteric mythos and ceremony.

But the answer was not for him to know.

Darkness crept at the edges of Manticore's vision as the last beats of the great drum sounded. He could no longer feel his body- his eyes perceived nothing….

And with the last resounding mark, darkness fell.

It was finished.

Formed from the void which spawned thee, wilt thou in time return.

..............

A Blind Prophet · Dec 24, 2016

OOC: Real post is now.

IC: Teafa Phadraig/ Medbay/ Stardust

Leaving Left-hand.

Left.

Bye.

Mortis bye. Mortal bye?

Should... leaving be?

Left-handed Typholord there.

Destroyer of...
of...
all.

All. Allness...

Allness be chaos?

No.

No.

Chaos nothingness.

Nothingness.

Typh..olord want...
want...
wanting.

Always wanting. Always binding.
Always...
always.

Always blinding.
Me.
Blinded me.

Bli..n..ded for nothing...ness.

Blackness blind..ed..ed nothing.

Nothingness...ness.

Noth..ing...ness should be.
Should be me.

End.
End.
Should end.
Be ending.

Should be me?

Me.
Be me..
be...
being?

Should... being ending be?

Ending me be?

Ending me.

Should help...ing end.

Helping me.
No pain.
Pain be no.

Pain for all...
no be.
Be no.
Hur..ting be no.

No mo..re face.
No face me.
No face be.

Insi...pid be?
No more no?

How no more no?
No mo..re... black... holeness.
Blinding no.

Blinding bla..ckness no?

No.
More no.
Bli..nding no.

Blinding leaving.
Left.
Lefting... leave.
Leaving.

All leaving.

No more leaving.
Ending me.

Ending. Ending?

Ending Typholord?

Typholord... left being... here?

How here?

There. Mortis there.

Being.
Being...
Being was?
There was being?
How no leaving...
but lefting?

Leaving was? But not.

Should be not.
Not... not here be.

Bright?

Bright why?

Bright...

No. NO! NO!

SIGHT NO! NO! Sight go!

GO!

No colors, Bad.

All bad.

All bad.

BAD!

Hurt no colors! Hurt no!

HURT! HURT! HUUUUUURRRRRTTTTT!

Please no! No hurt no! STOP.

Sight no! Sight GO. HURT BUT! BUt huRT!

HElp! No HurrrRRRRRRrrT HElP!

HELPING! HEeEeeeeEELP!

TyPHOlORd HeLP!

No HElp Him?

HELP END!
ENDING WANT!
WAAAAaaAAaANT!
PLEASE ENDING!
PLlllllLLLEEEEEEEAAAAAAAASE!

hElPING END... TYPHOLORD?
iNSIPiD ENDING!

iNSIPID END HURT!
HELP HURRRRRRRRT!
NOoooooooOOOO HURT!
NO PAIN!

DIS...DAIN?
DIS... DIS PAIN!

No help.
No help.
Help. Help.

HELP!

Tal... war helped.

TALWAR HELP!

HELP END! PLEASE!

HELP BE END!

END HURRRRRRRRRT!
ENNNNND!
END!
END!

COol..?

Cool? HUrt.

What cool?

Cool be no hurt?

HURT! HURT

Cool be black... black...

...

black going...

hurt... go..ing...

cool...

...

hu..r..t no..ing
...

.....

........

c..o..ooo..l....

TAG: ANYONE (That wants to feel her mental anguish/confusion and reference it in their post), Sinrebirth, Darth_wanderguard, Lady Belligerent

Darth Cocytus · Dec 26, 2016

Darth Cocytus

Darth Cocytus sat in meditation aboard the shuttle leaving Mortis, legs crossed, hands folded and eyes closed. He reflected on the recent events on the world below him and focused on his icy and venomous hatred, anger and desire for improvement. The Sith Apprentice focused on the pains and sufferings of the agonizing deaths throughout the galaxy, his hatred for Typhojem and his followers and jedi, Radian and Cade Skywalker. Most importantly, Cocytus focused on his hatred for himself and how he almost made a mistake that would have costed him his life with nothing to blame but his own impatience. The young sith kaminoan stoked and nurtured this hatred as he always had even before becoming a Sith. No more, Cocytus vowed, will he act in impatience, counterdicting everything he stood for. Instead he shall focus entirely on patience, just like how he designed all his tatics against in foes and his self-improvement. Then the time will come, after Typhojem is destroyed of course, when Cocytus will find Radian again, and when that time comes nothing shall stand in the way of victory and freedom from his chains.

Cocytus's meditations were then disturbed by new curious emotions: pain, agony, suffering, confusion. These emotions were similar to the ones from the countless agonizing deaths caused by Typhojem. However, instead they came from not from death but from madness and not from many, but from one single fellow sith. Gorging on the tormentful emotions in intoxication, fuelling his own anger and hatred for nearly all things and power in the dark side, Cocytus's lips curled up into a cruel smile that was colder and far less welcoming than a smeer. How utterly delicious. thought the Kaminoan in sadistic amusement, How joyful will I feel when inflict this suffering upon that cursed jedi knight who I very much hope have gotten off this forsaken world.

Sinrebirth · Dec 27, 2016

Post Mortem

Darth Insipid sat vigil over his Sith apprentice in the hours to come. It seemed like the only responsible thing to do, now his artifice was lain bare.

He had a mind to reassemble here, a power base to renew.

A former apprentice to rebuild.

The Chancellor of nothing would hardly prove loyal, but also might, what with Insipid having restored his ship and arms to him. The others he could not speak for.

Ike had left him; or so he'd heard.

There was not much else to add.

His mind was ablaze with wonder. With fear. With doubt. With rumination.

It had not taken much to dictate that he be left alone, that he would simply affirm in the days to come the new rules of his Order as the new God-Emperor of the Sith, and seal off one of the med bays.

Anark would recognise more of this realm than he would not, would feel a certain degree of confusion. He would not be able to sense what it was that gave him more affinity to the simple background hum of the universe.

The Lorekeeper, or Cruor, or whoever, would face the very real reality of having to reassemble his Holocron Library, which was now held by Bellorum - the Soa Holocron - and Manticore - the Tulak Hord Holocron. Everything else was gone. That might be a hook he could draw around the aged mans nose.

Hesper and Arach had fallen under the Dawn Herald'a sway. The woman need only tilt the scales in her favour with the control of one more High Lord. And so a fifth would need to be chosen... Or elected... Or perhaps the title could be thrown down as a gauntlet? An internal struggle would displace the potential of a coup...

But that was not what made Darth Insipid wonder.

It was what the third, secret Holocron they held had said. The hundred thousand year old golden Mortis-shaped one which Bellorum had recovered from the Daughters sarcophagus in the fighting. The former Empress had kept it, as well as hid the Dagger of Mortis, but the word it had spoken, in that short and wondrous moment after the Triumvirate could sense Typhojem no longer, had tantalised and terrified and traumatised.

Something which held no meaning from the time they had came from.

That belied something that they had yet to face.

That the Jedi and Sith had never recorded an encounter with in their hundred millennia timeline.

It was but one word.

'Snoke.'

TAG: No-one

Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

HanSolo29 · Dec 27, 2016

IC: Aryan Graul
TheStardust,leaving Mortis

By the time the shuttle docked with the Stardust, Aryan found that he was existing purely in a state of his own delirium. He was simply drifting, never truly perceiving the events unfolding around him. Had he really landed the shuttle? Had he retrieved Teafa from her bunk and carried her safely to the hangar floor? It was all a bit unnerving, almost as if he had been observing someone other than himself performing those acts from a distance. He shook his head and inhaled deeply as he tried to understand what was happening, but the jumbled mess of images continued to pass by his mind's eye as the nightmare persisted.

At some point, the haze that clouded his perception lifted just enough to allow him to become aware of someone wanting to take Teafa away – judging by their dress, he could only guess that it was a medic. Aryan had been willing to cooperate, but when the man denied him the right to accompany her to the med bay, he had reacted poorly. His concern for her safety soon drove him to violence, and before he could comprehend what he was doing, his arms were moving of their own accord so that six hands were reaching for the hapless medic…but then he was being restrained as others quickly gathered to assist, the fear and disgust clearly evident in their expressions as they gazed upon what he had become…

But they did not gaze on him for long. Darth Insipid, Emperor of the Sith Empire…He had arrived.

Aryan fell to his knees and gawked with wide-eyed wonder as the Sith Emperor came forth and two became one. Once again, Aryan Graul found himself playing host to Darth Insipid's battered soul. But this time, he dare not resist. His mind was tired, and his energy spent; he needed a reprieve, and in this, he found one. And so, he resigned himself to be a mere spectator as Insipid took control.

What he did not account for was the rejuvenation and the clarity that followed as a result of their bond. In every sense of the word, Insipid was still a god, and he proved it by curing him of his ailment and making him whole once more. The extraneous appendages that had been causing him much grief dropped away as if they were dead weight, and he was restored to his former self. Insipid had quite literally given him a new lease on life. How could he repay him for such a feat?

You have my unwavering support and trust. He imprinted the words upon his mind, hoping that Insipid would be able to pick up on his thoughts. Thank you.

It was hard to determine exactly how long the two remained together in this state, but eventually, the link was severed and Aryan was released. Drawing in a cleansing breath, he staggered a moment as he took stock of both himself and his surroundings. He was now dressed in a plain shirt and matching pants, a clear indicator as to the passage of time, but hardly a cause for concern. Next, he ran his hands – two hands – vigorously over his torso as if to confirm that his monster appendages were indeed gone. When he was reassured of that fact, his thoughts turned elsewhere…to Teafa.

Despite everything that had happened, he needed to know if she would be alright. He figured he owed her that much – perhaps even more. Her unfortunate situation had allowed him to see things in a new light…to actually want to live when everything had collapsed around him and his future had been looking rather bleak. In that sense, they had helped each other.

As he started down the main corridor on his way to seek out the med bay, a sort of hush fell upon the ship, almost like a cold chill that permeated every fiber of his being. Aryan immediately halted his forward motion and turned in a vain attempt to identify the source. Eventually, his gaze was drawn above his head as the lights seemingly dimmed. An overwhelming sense of foreboding followed...

And then…

He heard himself scream as the arms returned, breaking through his flesh with a renewed fury.

No…NO! He had been healed…Insipid. Insipid had healed him!

Panic gripped him as he doubled over and collapsed, his hands scraping against the deckplates in obvious misery. Why was this happening? What had he done to bring about such a reversal?

He blinked, and suddenly, he was assaulted with sensory overload.

Wait…what was that?

His breath caught in his throat, and he blinked once more. But again, he was met with the same result. He was now practically hyperventilating as he discovered that his transformation was evolving. His eyes…six? Eight!?

"Help," he whimpered pitifully as he lurched forward, a pair of hands reaching up to rub furiously at his face and eyes. "H-Help…me."

But just as quickly as the assault had come about, he was alleviated by a sense of calm, and then…a release as the dark shroud lifted. Aryan gasped and fell forward on hands and knees so that his face was level with the decking. He remained in this position for a long moment, simply breathing, before he gathered the nerve to appraise himself for injury.

Two hands.

Two legs.

Two eyes.

He was…normal again.

A short laugh escaped from his lips as he rose shakily to his feet. He felt refreshed as he began to pat down his chest, his face…simply relishing in the fact that he was whole again. As he did so, he took note that his shirt had not been reduced to tatters like last time, bringing him a moment of pause. Had it all been a dream?

Pursing his lips, he glanced around for answers, but was only met with a steady rumble beneath his feet as the ship launched into hyperspace.

A new journey had begun.

TAG: Anyone, Sinrebirth; Lady Belligerent; Darth_wanderguard

Darth Kronos · Dec 27, 2016

IC: Darth Kronos and Esmerelda
Combo with Sinre, but you probably knew that.

The shuttle he was on finally took off, as the sudden jolt of his body made clear. It was the only clue he could use. Mentally, he had secluded himself off from everyone else, and had not payed attention to his peers. But, even he knew that they were not out of the woods yet. Typhojem was still on the loose, that much was clear. And it was extremely obvious that he did not even come close to the needed amount of power to defeat Him. It all seemed hopeless. A group of Sith against a God?

What chance did they have?

That was the moment when he glanced upward, taking in what they had. What he saw surprised him. The shuttle was packed, with people he both knew, and did not know. Mainly the latter.

And amidst it all, Kronos' eyes would lock with someone he thought dead, for what felt like the hundredth time.

Esmerelda.

There would be an obvious look of both shock and terror on his face, shock because his one and only was still alive, and terror because there would be a nagging thought in the back of his mind that this was another trick by Typhojem, or some other God-like thing.

Before he could see Esme's reaction to any of it, or even reach out through the Force and truly find out if she was real or not, their shuttle darkened, and their contact was cut.

And a sinister cackle erupted from the ship, from an unknown source.

Esme tripped in the dark, falling forward. In a moment she slammed into Kronos, just as a burst of energy left a nice patch of burn on the bulkhead. 'Kronos!'

Esme had turned her trip into a push to move Kronos away. Another crackle of electricity arched, illuminating the area. and Esme clenched her eyes shut as she pressed herself to Kronos.

Even if the ship was darkened to the point one could not see with their eyes, Kronos was still able to reach out within the Force and catch Esmerelda as she fell.

But something she did next seemed conflicting. As she tripped and fell into him, she tried to push him away - which could give the impression she didn't like him - but in another moment, she had pressed herself up against him just as soon as more electricity cackled from the ship, and burned it.

Kronos would lightly hold her and look at her with hidden confusion.

Esmerelda pushed off as the static in the air suddenly passed. Everyone else in the ship was facing their own trials and private hells. Typhojem seemed to have moved on from them.

Probably because He knew what Esme was going to say.

A murmur against her mind gave her the sense that He did; and if she did not speak, He would kill her.

'Look, Kronos. There isn't much time, and I want to be honest with you here and now.'

Esme felt her tongue move of its own accord. The next sentence was not her own. 'Do you still love me? Even after everything that has happened?'

She clamped her hands on her mouth, but in the dim light her expression would not convey across. The surprise. The horror.

Kronos looked at her, more like squinted, making a worried face as he did so. The tone of her voice was not a good sign, and it was obvious he was not going to like what she wanted to tell him. But he could not properly see her expressions. Was it of sorrow? Was it of fear? Worry?

A question was asked. But he was more puzzled to why it was. The answer should have been obvious, after all he had done to keep her safe - and had failed on so many occasions. Which seemed to eventually right itself, in some way or another. It was deeply frustrating, in that she dies and comes back many times over, only serving to mentally screw with him - something, he expected, Typhojem planned on.

He replied back to the question in a matter-of-fact tone, unaware that it was not Esmerelda who had spoken then. "Of course I do."

'Would you die for me, or, even, live for me?' Esmerelda continued, her mouth moving of its own accord, tears streaming down her face as her hands move like a marionette to reach for Kronos.

Esmerelda could do nothing.

Typhojem would not let her.

She stepped closer. 'I know I said that I am not the person you fell in love with. But I need to tell you the truth.'

She blinked, speaking on. 'I do not know if these feelings are mine or belong to the me that was not, the one puppeted by Typhojem.'

Internally, Esmerelda screamed. She was nothing. Had achieved nothing. And now, in their final moments, Typhojem would make her die lying.

The ship buckled, as if everything was rippling, as if reality itself made no sense. Esmerelda consigned herself to spend her last moments with Kronos believing a lie.

It was the ultimate and monstrously complete revenge that Typhojem could have on them both.

Kronos had silently reached out through the Force, in some paranoid reaction to see if it really was her, or if it was just another puppet created by Typhojem in some twisted way to screw with him even more, as if he hadn't already done a bang up job. And, thankfully, this was Esmerelda. Within the Force, that would be apparent. He silently sighed with relief.

Kronos would spend the next few moments in silence, listening to Esmerelda, or who he thought was her, trying to think of what to say - something he was growing more and more self aware of doing, in front of her, anyway. And that was mainly because she was the only person he actually enjoyed talking to.

"Living for you would be much tougher than dying for you," he replied back, to her original question.

Kronos sat there, silently, and wait for her to finish her train of thought, but he was suddenly distracted by a ripple, of what seemed to be in reality itself. He had no idea where he even was.

Her voice continued. 'Dying... Dying put how I feel into perspective, Kronos.'

'But I'm afraid.'

It was understandable to him why she would be afraid, hell, why anyone would be afraid. And so he told her. "Well, I think any sane person wouldbe afraid in this situation."

It was too dark for Kronos to see Esmerelda's face in any of it.

'I love you, Kronos.'

Typhojem continued to puppet her, and then -

And then -

Typhojem was gone and Esmerelda collapsed and she fell forward towards him.

He had caught her, and held her, not really caring who saw him doing so.

He could have said something back to her, in some form of "I love you to," but he felt that wouldn't be needed. He felt that she would have a pretty good grasp to how he felt.

Esmerelda came too suddenly, in his arms. She panicked. Typhojem was gone, but it was too late. While Esmerelda would not know that they had just jumped in time, she would know it was too late.

But she had to do this.

To lie for another second would kill him.

But at the same time; he might kill her. And so she lied, and threw herself into the hug.

She would need to speak to Ike the first chance she had. To convince him to keep quiet until we was safe.

But for now; she allowed herself to love Darth Kronos.

It was easy.

Her mind, her body, her soul, it remembered how to fake it.

And so she did.
With not an ounce of detectable fakery. Not a speck. Not a micron.

Love had its way.

She did, however, cry.

As she cried, he would return the hug and rest his chin on the top of her head. He wouldn't need to ask her what was wrong.

To him it was obvious.

He would instead try to silently console her.

Esme felt his unconditional embrace. She felt on some level as if he understood. But also, she could not possibly know.

It was mortifying.

It was beautiful.

It was awful.

It was impossible.

It was fragile and brutally strong all at the same time.

Confused, exhausted, and plain lost, Esmerelda cried herself to sleep.

The ripple had unfortunately distracted Kronos for a bit, as something became more and more known. Through the Force, he was able to feel what had happened. Where they were was not the main question.

It was when.

He made a glance to the still sobbing Esmerelda, and it was clear to him she did not know. And he might have tried to tell her - but her own despair and suffering seemed to tell him not to.

He would have tried to verbally console her, maybe tell her that everything was going to be alright, which was admittedly clichéd. But before he could think of the right way to say it, Esmerelda had already cried herself to sleep.

He hadn't done anything about it.

Within him, a new emotion blossomed, something he hadn't felt for what felt like years.

Guilt.

TAG: Everyone and no one, but Sinrebirth specifically

DarthIshyZ · Dec 27, 2016

IC: Jwob Sebb
In Space over Mortis

Jwob was a foot soldier. The first to die usually. Jwob had died. Painfully. It was fully in his memory. He had been beaten, broken, chewed up and spat back out. Now, he was whole. But he was still a foot soldier.

He'd examined himself and found he was fully healed, even had his teeth.

He wondered about Darth Deathy. She had been dead, too. She wasn't here, though. Was she still dead? Was she back on Mortis? Maybe she's alive and wandering around the surface, destroying things with that deadly finger.

Deathy.

Haretisch.

His apprentice was dead because of his actions. Didn't help his anger. It shouldn't. It made Jwob feel better.

The Ithorian had wandered the ship for a while, seeing others and yet not seeing them.

He was exhausted, but couldn't imagine sleeping. He'd been dead, after all. That's the permanent sleep, so he had had enough sleep for a while.

'And all you need to do to kill a God is for us to stop believing in you.'

The call came from the Emperor. The now, again, living Emperor. The multiple lives of his Emperor simply showed him how powerful the Dark Side was. That, too, helped him.

Don't believe in Typhojem. What did that mean. Of course he believed in Typhojem. He existed. Jwob had "met" him. Heard his words. Was he a god? He was powerful, certainly. He could destroy worlds, Mother Jungle, Jwob, his family and friends with a thought.

Jwob, himself, had powers that lesser beings could see as "god-like." But, that didn't make Jwob a god, either.

Typhojem was still trying to prove himself.

This just made so much sense.

Typhojem was just posing as a god.

And just like when Jwob and his fellow Sith supplied power to the Emperor to send Abeloth into the Moraband star, the group was still providing power to Typhojem for his skills. But we could stop.

"I refuse."

Jwob once again concentrated on pouring his energy to the Emperor. This time alone. But together with his fellow Sith.

Typhojem, the non-god. Typhojem the powerful, but accessible. Typhojem left.

Jwob felt the ship move. It must have been going into hyperspace. But he heard a grinding whooshing sound. Where were we travelling?

His ship. He was on the Brehe. Perhaps? He saw his manifest pad. He picked it up. It couldn't be.

Tag: No one.

corinthia · Dec 28, 2016

IC: Darth Hesper
Allotrope, leaving Mortis

Everyone was aboard—suddenly exhausted, Hesper stared blankly out the cockpit’s viewport as she tiredly piloted everyone away from Mortis and towards the Stardust. Hesper brought the shuttle around to the Stardust and eased in to dock, the gentle lurch that signaled that they were locked on a comforting and welcome sensation.

Hesper leaned back in the pilot’s seat and stared at the ceiling of the cockpit after the docking procedure was finished. She was more than just wiped out. She closed her eyes and the stinging pain in her left one reminded her of what her face had suffered. Hesper put a hand to her left cheek and came away with sticky blood on her fingers—she looked at her hand with a frown, her mind still swimming with nothingness, before putting her fingers to her face again and tracing the scabbing line from her forehead to her jaw. Her fingers lingered over her eyelid, feeling where the cut broke and just barely missed flaying her eyelid. It was strange, Hesper thought, the way she had received this scar. And to be blind in one eye, now… she sighed, and folded her hands in her lap.

And as she did, she felt the distinct, pressing presence of Insipid. A strangely god-like presence in the Force.

Haretisch and Bellorum were near to Insipid, Hesper could tell, and she quietly listened in on how their signatures in the Force behaved. And she noticed, as she sat silently in the cockpit with her eyes closed, that her perception of the Force had changed. Before Mortis, when she plunged herself fully into the Force, she sensed mainly physical things. Like buildings, walls, objects and their locations in space-time. But now when she thrust her senses outward, she sensed less of what was around her and more of a strange moving undercurrent in which people’s Force signatures moved and impressions and rough images that pressed themselves into the backs of Hesper’s eyelids. A space wherein another dimension stretched out before and behind her, and she could see... she could see… time...? Is that what am I seeing? Hesper wondered. She didn’t quite understand, and she was too tired to exert any more energy on ruminating on it.

A long quiet time passed and Hesper may have even drifted off into a light sleep for a few moments before something powerful yanked on her through the Force. Gasping, Hesper lurched forward, pressing her body against the still buckled safety belts. She sensed a holocron near to Haretisch, Bellorum and Insipid, and she felt them collectively reach for it. Hesper wheezed as the cockpit darkened inexplicably, and she looked around in a panic as the Force became oppressive. And then—Hesper choked on a pained noise and looked down in a panic to see—her stomach, distended and round, with the unmistakable outline of a tiny elbow or foot causing a bulge under her black tunic. A child, back from the dead.

“No,” Hesper rasped as she dropped a hand to her stomach. The child kicked painfully, and Hesper swore she could feel tiny fingers grasping at the inside of her body in anger. But none of it seemed real, despite the very real pain. “Stop this,” she begged as the infant within her pushed and kicked and punched within her womb. “STOP!” she screamed, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks. “This is over with, I’ve let this part of my life go,” Hesper whimpered, “Please leave me be!” The child’s assault of Hesper’s insides increased, along with the psychic pressure that accompanied the presences of the Triumvirs, and Hesper unwittingly released a shrill, pained scream, covering her face with her hands as it felt as though the fetus would tear through her flesh. “NOOO!” she shrieked, and then—

A violent jolt, and the pain was gone. Hesper lowered her hands from her face, and looked down to find that her stomach was flat and her womb empty. She breathed a sigh of relief, and then looked around the cockpit in bewilderment.

Something was different. Something in the Force.

Typhojem was gone.

But it wasn’t just that—Hesper felt around in the Force, sticking her psychic fingers outward to get a feel for what had happened. She felt the same temporal motion she felt before the mind attack, but it was… different. How to describe the change escaped Hesper, but it was unmistakable nonetheless. The ships had moved, but Hesper wasn’t sure they had moved simply through space. It felt as though… they had moved through time.

“Oh, no,” Hesper whispered.

TAG: Lady Belligerent, Sinrebirth, Darth_wanderguard, not sure who else?

ConservativeJedi321 · Dec 28, 2016

IC: Radian T'lenity
Leaving Mortis

The first thing Radian did as he entered the escape shuttle was take a seat, and enter a deep meditation. A contemplative state, he shut out his surroundings, not even bothering to think of the presence of the Sith near by.

This was something risky he knew it, something he wouldn't have even considered doing mere hours ago.

But now he had no fear.

He had nothing to loose.

As his consciousness slipped down beneath the surface his physical body was left exposed. He reached deep into the force, trying to get an understanding, a plan to his purpose thenceforth. If the Sith so wanted they might take advantage of this state, they could kill him without him even knowing. Not that they wouldn't do so anyways. But here he would have no chance to react.

But he didn't care.

As he fell into the force, images came to mind. Worlds, times, people.

Something was off, this was the force as he knew it, yet its flow felt different somehow.
The Jedi did not flinch as he dived deeper into the abyss.
He saw ages past, and meanings present. He recognized worlds, Coruscant, Naboo, Morraband.

They were the same, but different.

There was a darkness that weighed in the force. That much he had expected, the recent Sith triumphs had undoubtedly left their scars. Yet this was not what he would have thought it to be like. This was not the Sith brand of darkness, near as he could tell.

Of course his immediate surroundings bled the Sith presence for they stood around him even now.
But beyond that, beyond that... he knew not.

Radians eyes flickered open as his meditation came to an end. He stood up stretching his legs for moment as he made his way to the front of the craft. He didn't have a plan, but he couldn't very well just sit down and ignore the feeling. "Something is wrong..." he muttered hesitantly. "Something is very very wrong."

Tags: Sinrebirth, Lady Belligerent, Darth_wanderguard, Anyone present

greyjedi125 · Dec 28, 2016

IC: Manticore
Regenesis

There was nothing.

And nothing was everything. Limitless. Eternal. Timeless.

....and that was all and everything that he knew.

With unexpected suddenness, he gasped for air, sucking in life in a single breath.

His fiery eyes opened, and for a mere moment, he did not recognize where he was or those around him.

The zabrak sat up and rubbed his chest. He didn’t quite remember why he thought he imagined it should be aching, but was mildly surprised that there was no pain, despite being uncertain why he thought there would be. Furtively he gazed all about, and thus, forms begat names, which begat memories- and as he did this, everything started to come back to his remembrance.

Mortis. Typhojem. Haretisch. Bellorum. Insipid….

So many images came now, like a mighty flood. The Sith. The Jedi. Coruscant. Invidius.The Ritual. Syren. Hesper. Lorekeeper. Cruor. Draconis…..and many more.

And even as his mind ordered events, his force senses also made their own report.

Something was….missing.

Try as he might, he could not quite give this feeling a proper definition. Darkness was still all around, clearly, as was light, but a sublimation had been somehow extricated from his perception. Most curious. Manticore would have devoted time to meditate on the matter, were it not for another, far more palpable presence which he now felt.

Emperor Insipid.

Well, he felt far mightier than any emperor he ever encountered or imagined. The sensation was literally stunning.

So much had occurred in such a short space of time. However, after some consideration and some scanning with his force senses, it would seem that there was absolutely no trace of the Left Handed Lord. He could not dispute what he felt in the Force, or rather, did not feel. Typhojem had weaved himself into the very fabric of reality. He was…well, inescapable.

Apparently, they were all wrong. Somehow.

The implications were clear for those who had the acumen to perceive it and the valor to believe it. This could very well be the chance for a new beginning…just…maybe.

A torrent of past considerations cascaded through the zabrak’s mind. Old plans and even older aspirations, new possibilities, theories, causalities…ramifications. There were just too many questions, but he was determined to hunt down the necessary answers.

He had failed to stop the ritual on Mortis. His failure resulted in his own death and that of so many others, even that of entire worlds. But….this? here and now…..he lived.

What did it all mean?

Not only that. But, how was the Emperor now a deific being?

Manticore uttered not a word and fell into his thoughts. He did not even wonder where it was that they were going. All uncertainties were left behind. For the very first time, he felt free to choose his own path, to lay claim to his own destiny. To actually finish what he’d started so very long ago…and just maybe, keep a promise.

Wonoksh Qyâsik nun

The Force shall free me…

Darth_wanderguard · Dec 29, 2016

OOC: Combo post with Lady Belligerent.

IC: Hel, Darth Haretisch & Darth Bellorum -- The Allotrope, Somewhere in Time

"She might already know. He made sure everyone heard," the Night Herald surmised with a tense mouth, "and people talk."

Pursing his lips, he set the comlink he was holding onto the table. "I'm sure they've filled her head with all kinds of ideas," he continued, ignoring the irony that whatever she thought of him could not be as bad as the truth.

Bellorum looked up from her datapad, this was a conversation that she wasn't entirely comfortable with, but Haretisch being distracted by a child wasn't necessarily a bad thing. "The people who did hear wouldn't carry tales," she assured him.

She set the device on her desk and poured tea for them both, and sitting in silence a moment. "Are you positive this wasn't all a lie," she asked Haretisch, "if it were me, I'd have some testing done before I accepted it as truth."

"It is truth," he replied without hesitation. "I feel it. I didn't before, because I wasn't listening. But I feel it now."

Bellorum wasn't in the mood for soft and fuzzy moments. The last several hours had been both physically and mentally exhausting, and now he had come into her private quarters acting like even more of an indecisive teenager than his kid. The Dawn Herald put down the datapad that she'd been studying maps on, and rubbed her forehead. "Then why aren't you talking to her instead of me," she continued before he could answer, "because I really don't think you expect me to pat your hand and say how it's all going to be sunshine and rainbows."

"No," he said, "of all things that's not what I expect. But you're right," fiddling with a wrist strap, he gestured to the comlink he had laid on the table. "Call her in?"

Bellorum chuckled then looked at him before realizing he was serious, "me? You want me to summon her for you?" She sighed and snatched up the com, "I guess you want to use my chambers to talk to her?"

"No, I'll use mine," he deadpanned.

Bellorum rolled her eyes, "I'm so happy that your sense of humor didn't die with you on Mortis."

~

"Lady Hel, this is Bellorum. Report to my quarters."

The transmission snapped Hel out of a restless sleep. She had been dozing propped against a corner in the cargo hold, still too sore and tired to realize the wide berth she was being given, nor to hear the accompanying whispers.

She had been trained to act without thought, to give no consideration to vanity, but knew that it wouldn't do to be seen by the Dawn Herald with sleep in her eyes. Hastily, she ducked into the refresher, splashing water on her face. The cold liquid had washed away a modicum of the weariness she felt, but she still felt a measurable degree past exhausted as she stood before the Dawn Herald's quarters a moment later, poised to knock.

The door slid open, seemingly of its own accord.

"Step inside," a man spoke. The source of the voice, a cloaked form at the far end of the room, faced away from her. But his face was visible, reflected in the viewport.

There was no mistaking the countenance of Darth Haretisch. Hel took a hesitant step over the threshold. This was all so confusing. Of course she wasn't ignorant to the events which took place on Mortis. She had overheard much in the cargo hold - that he was a traitor, had been a servant of Typhojem, and yet now his betrayal seemed all but forgiven by his fellow Dark Lords. His very presence was causing unrest. Now she felt uneasy, though somehow not threatened.

"I was summoned by the dark lady, milord," she said carefully.

"She called for you as a favor to me," he replied. His voice was odd. "I hope you're well. That you weren't badly injured on Mortis." He regarded her reflection in the viewport. She was dirty. Exhausted. Beaten. But she was undeniably and inescapably a child. Beneath the leavings of battle, her eyes were bright and naive.

The same as Theona's had been, he thought with an ache.

Hel was taken back. Dark lords didn't speak this way. And no one had ever spoken this way to her. "They say I'm...disposable and it doesn't matter if I am injured," her words a soft diminuendo. "I was taught that I fight until my death."

Haretisch furrowed his brow, but his expression softened as he turned. "So they taught you to fight. Did they teach you nothing else? Did you learn of family? Of your family?"

Hel shifted her weight and looked at the floor. "I don't have a family," she answered. "They used to call me 'the pawn' when they thought I wasn't listening, that's really all I know." She'd spoken to the rug since she didn't trust herself to look up. Was he asking her these things out of cruelty? To remind her of what she lacked?

The next works struck her like a hammer. "You have a family, you..." he paused. "You have me. You are my daughter, Hel. And I didn't know it until today."

Hel slowly shook her head, "why - why are you saying this?" Her thoughts were racing. "I'm alone. Don't you realize that? I was created and my growth accelerated in a lab," she spoke slowly and in almost a monotone.

"Not alone anymore," he said. "You were created from me. By someone who wanted to use you against me."

None of this made sense. This wasn't real.

Wait. She'd heard he died on Mortis, but then he was alive after all... "Were you injured in the battle? If you took a blow to the head then we should have you checked out," she was starting to be seriously concerned over his well being.

"I have been injured and more. I have died today. I have been to hell and back. It is the truth," he insisted. "You are not alone. Your grandfather was a Jedi. As was your mother. She..." he hesitated, only somewhat because he was clearly overwhelming her.

Hel's head was swirling. "I need to sit. Please I need to sit," she stumbled towards a chair and fell into it before he could answer. "I have a mother, too?" she asked after she had caught her breath, her face resting in her hands to hide her eyes.

Haretisch choked. Should he lie? If Hel were able to forgive a traitor, could she also forgive a murderer? Would it be too much? Perhaps, but he would have no secrets with her, come what may.

Silently, he stepped closer and took a seat. He had never spoken of it out loud - had never truly confessed. "I... killed her. A long time ago," he answered, and his shoulders sagged as though the air had gone out of him. "I was a pawn to a Dark Lord who sought to break me. He wanted to take everything from me. And he did. I have never escaped it, and it has turned me into something ugly. It drove me to serve the Left-Handed Lord - to lie and scheme and betray my allies on the promise that I be allowed to forget the wrongs I've done. And I almost did," he paused again. "Until I learned of you."

Hel raised her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. His words were becoming a jumble, and the midst of the confusion she could only think of one thing. "They're going to kill me. He said that-"

"He's dead," he interrupted her. "And so are all of his friends. They're gone."

Finally she began to breathe more normally, her sobs abating as she pulled herself together. "I need to go," she said, and stood to her feet.

"But there's so much I need to tell you. That I want you to tell me," he reached an arm out to stop her.

"I just need to go," she replied, and shrugged out of his grip. Tears were flowing again as the door shut behind her.

TAG: No one

Lady_Belligerent · Dec 29, 2016

Combos with Sinre and Corinthia:

IC: Zalen
we just don't know

Zalen moved quietly through the dimly lit cabin, carrying a small tray holding a plate of sandwiches and two steaming mugs. Bellorum's shuttle held several of the surviving Sith and they were keeping mostly to themselves.

She slid into the seat beside Ike and set the tray on a small table that she summoned closer to them.

Smiling gently she brushed aside a lock of his hair as a mother would a child, "the Dawn Herald asked me to check on you, she was concerned but she's still doing a bit of housekeeping since the - uh, events of the last few hours."

Ike snorted softly. 'I bet she is.'

He didn't know Zalen very well. He had fought beside her twice now, both times against Abeloth, but he didn't know her. Could she be trusted?

Briefly, he didn't care. He shrugged and, like a child - a petulant one - he grabbed a mug. Hot chocolate. Nice.

'I'm going to leave Aden.'

"I'm sorry to hear that," she replied and took a sip or the soothing liquid. "Her concern was sincere when she sent me, in fact she seemed to be carrying a large burden herself," Zalen added sadly.

"Can I help? I'm a good listener and I've certainly been around the relationship galaxy a few times in my life."

Ike looked up from his drink. He really looked at the Nightsister. Perhaps he only saw her properly for the first time. 'He doesn't love me the way I love him. He definitely loves me, but not in the way that I need to be loved to be happy. Our relationship is more important than me. The appearance. The lie. The truth.'

He did not care to acknowledge anyone else in the cockpit. It was a conversation best left alone.

He did however lament the hot chocolate now. He should be getting blind drunk for wherever they arrived.

Or was it whenever?

Zalen sighed softly and reached into her pocket and slid out a silver flask. She winked and poured a clear liquid into the dregs of his chocolate, "drink up and have a good cry if you want. There's plenty of time for breaking up, dear."

Ike clinked his mug on hers.

'Now there is, definitely.'

It was strong, whatever it was he had downed, returning it out to her to refill, sans the chocolate.

'All the time in the world.'

=========

IC: Bellorum
lost in time, lost in space

Bellorum entered the cockpit and took the empty co-pilot seat next to Hesper. "Have you been able to figure out where, or when we are?" she asked as she glanced over the navigational information on the display.

Hesper was still shaken as Lady Bellorum took up the co-pilot’s seat and spoke to her. She had spent the last few minutes attempting to locate just where, and hopefully when, they had wound up. But location escaped her, and the nav just showed nothingness, beeping an error message at her. And of course, the landscape of the stars was as unreadable as ever. But in the Force, the swirling temporal zone she had sensed while they were still over Mortis had completely changed, giving her the impression that they had landed in a completely different age. Hesper pressed her lips together before replying to Bellorum. “No, Milady, I’ve gotten nothing but an error message since we ended up here. It’s as if the entire database is no longer recognized,” she trailed off. A forced silence passed between the two women.

"While we're alone, I'd like to discuss the obvious with you." Bellorum leaned back, propped her boots up on the console and looked out the large viewport. "It would have been unwise to fight over leadership with Insipid, so I played my part and graciously allowed him to be Emperor again." An easy smile spread across her face. "You know, I spent a long time stacking the deck. Years playing the long game. And in any other time and place it all would have worked."

She looked over at Hesper and continued, "But on Mortis nothing can be taken at face value." Declaring herself Empress had not been an instant of madness. Bellorum had counted on both men's foolish actions resulting in failure.

"We're going to be rebuilding in possibly a very hostile environment and I know Insipid and Haretisch both have allies," she laughed softly as she said it. "Yes, even Haretisch somehow still has supporters."

Hesper cast Bellorum a glance out of the corner of her right eye at this, astonished that someone so traitorous could still have allies.

The Dawn Herald slowly placed her boots back on the floor and turned her seat to face Hesper, "This is a nasty, cutthroat game we're playing, and I need someone I can trust implicitly. We haven't a history before Mortis, but I've followed your progress from the beginning, and I know that I need someone with your skill and nerve at my side." Ike was a powerful ally, but he alone wasn't enough, and his ultimate loyalties were a question anyway. Bellorum would put her life and her work in this woman's hands. It was a gamble, but one with odds she could handle.

"I need allies, Lady Hesper, and so do you. And I can think of none better than yourself to become the Blade of the Dawn Herald."

Hesper considered it silently, folding her arms across her chest. Bellorum was right. She needed allies. She absently tapped the nails of her left hand on the armor on her right arm, choosing her next words carefully. “I accept your offer, Lady Bellorum,” she said in a low voice. “I will be your Blade.” Hesper paused to allow for her words to sink in, both for Bellorum and for herself. “But Mortis has changed me—changed my abilities. I have new questions I need answers to, and I will need to conduct some research… I sense time now, Milady, and I’m not sure how to harness it yet.” Hesper lifted her left hand to her mouth, and pressed her fingers to her lips in thought. She looked directly into Bellorum’s blue-skinned face, both eyes open. But her left eye, as milky and blinded as it now looked, also appeared to be seeing into a different dimension. Hesper inclined her head. “Perhaps this new skill could be of use to you, Bellorum.”

Bellorum beamed at Hesper as she slowly stood, "I'm counting on it, my friend."

She decided that it was time to reclaim her chambers and let Haretisch go play elsewhere. Before leaving the cockpit she gazed out at the stars again for a moment before she spoke, "keep searching, surely we can find a clue as to where we are. I'm going to my chambers, but I'll send Kwea in to help you."

Out in the main cabin of the shuttle, Kwea Acantha had been tirelessly aiding the surviving Sith. She'd tended wounds and retrieved nourishment to those too exhausted get it themselves. Bellorum approached her at the pantry, "you've earned a rest as much as anyone, Kwea. Take some food for yourself and Hesper to the cockpit."

She smiled softly, "your actions on Mortis were truly heroic, and won't go unrewarded."

Someone had dimmed the main lights, but the passage to her chambers was outlined with recessed floor lights. Haretisch and the girl were still inside, so she leaned against the wall facing the doorway and crossed her arms. Bellorum felt the maelstrom of emotions from the participants and had no interest in getting involved. She sighed and was inspecting her nails when the door suddenly opened, and a sobbing Hel ran by looking disheveled and on the edge of hysteria.

She looked from the passing girl to Haretisch and shrugged, "I assume that didn't go well?"

Tag: no one

WookieeRage · Dec 29, 2016

IC: Darth Ravenous
Eternal Damnation, Time Warp...

His body became cold as he regurgitated the Crimson Ichor, Untold was the pain from that which looked back at him... Judging, forever. A conglomeration of all his sins rolled into one singular entity along with most of his stomach. He saw the faces of countless, unimportant characters staring silently; a look of disdain on their faces. At the forefront of that resided his Jedi-Master, Nubia with a look most... Disappointing. This would not be a healing moment or an event of self-pity however. Rather, the Wookiee extended his retracting claws and began to slash the Ichor that lay before his crumpled frame also disconnecting the remaining stomach that hung from his gullet. The blood he had been leaking mixed well with the already crimson that already burned its' stain into his very spirit. Ravenous then collapsed upon the Ichor and consumed it once more and he grew warm with Passion once more.

The Plane that he resided on was nothing like he felt before. No, no visions or Force tricks; This was of some other creation. Ravenous was stuck here.. Whatever this was, he had to live through thousands of cycles regurgitating his sins and consuming them again, he would remain immortal in such a useless Plane as he now resided in. His body was stuck in this infinite loop for a 1,000 years. Eventually he became desensitized to the looks upon the victims faces as they were consumed again and again... He was left only with the sins. This was the time that the Sith Wookiee turned into something else. Not in the physical sense, but his spirit. Having to live through a Millennia of casting out your internal organs and consuming them again would do that to anyone, but he had to... To survive. He turned even more delusional and paranoid... Hardened, tougher than Mandalorian Iron. Eventually after the thousand year agony Ravenous endured, the time fold collapsed on itself. He was in a familiar place, yet something was off. As he opened his eyes there was a familiar voice...

Tags: No-One...

Snokers · Dec 29, 2016

IC: Darth Anark
Somewhere else...

His whole body still ached. But the ache had dulled.

He lay on a bed that felt like a slab under his fractured spine. There was something very strange going on, the way the ship was moving through space wasn’t…. normal. When he’d felt the vessel make the jump to what he thought would be hyperspace, though, he felt calm, almost euphoric, and smiled from ear to ear, forming deep creases at the edge of each eye as he clenched them shut.

His mind had wandered out of thought, no awareness of time, of worry, of reason, of Mortis.

When the Sith opened his eyes again he was met with a bazaar sight but one that his brain fully accepted. It was himself – minus the raw, fleshy face and with longer hair than his own, shoulder length, as well as clothing far sharper and less disheveled than his own. The other Anark cocked his head as his face drooped into a look of pity.

“Look at you, a wilting flower. How do you still live, Kade?”

Anark chuckled as his eyes rolled, scanning the featureless ceiling from one end to the other.

“I don’t die.” His words were distorted through mad sniggering. “You do though. You die. And you will.”

The doppelgängers face twisted into a frown and then relaxed. “It’s broken, the Empire, its Triumvirate, split into three separate shards. You’ll all eat each other.”

Anark turned his head to see the glowing eyes of a medic droid peering at him having stopped busying itself attending to the wound in his hand, then he snapped his gaze back at the thing.

“Insipid is more powerful than ever now. The Triumvirate will survive and I have no doubt my former master will rid me of you once and for all”

Anark watched the doppelgänger laugh, mocking him as It absently wandered over to a sink across the room and continued to make eye contact with him through the mirror, hands clasped behind it’s back as if standing to attention.

“This is where you fail. Even if the union pulls through its Night Heralds treachery and the females-“

“Lady Bellorum!” Anark corrected with irritation naked in his words.

“Lady Bellorum’s insidious ladder climbing.” It continued, “Insipid has a new apprentice, one who has already faced off the Queen of the Stars. He has Ike.” Anark gritted his teeth at the mention of Lord Insipid’s paramour’s name. “He has his High Lords, an order to head. You, my friend come after all that. The bottom of the pile.”

Anark could feel his rage spill into the tendrils of the Force as the medic droids entire form began to tremble.

“Yes. Get angry. Let it all out! This is what keeps us alive.”

It pivoted on It’s feet to face him. “We survived this long because you used to be willing to do whatever it took to ensure we went on.”

Anark retorted with passionate haste, still laying flat and attempting to calm himself within the Force, “The Western Reaches were lonely, that’s the only reason I tolerated you. I have responsibilities now, meaning in my life, I am valued and respected. I don’t need you anymore.”

Alter-Anark shook It’s head and looked at the floor before leveling a dark glare at the bed-ridden Sith.

“You’ll always need me.” It glided over to the side of the bed and leaned down towards Anark, stopping at kissing distance, no, throttling distance. “You spineless wretch.”

With that, he somehow found the energy to raise himself up onto his elbows and with a howl of rage and pain he moved at lightning speed towards his tormentor intending to smash his forehead into that of the parasite. He looked into those piercing yellow eyes as he made his move, but before he could reach it, It vanished.

Darth Anark was alone in the med bay once more.

The droid went back to its nursing, spouting off medical jargon aloud as it went in an electronic, monotone voice – [‘lacerations’], [‘deep hemorrhage’] with various figures and observations in between spoken in binary a language the Sith didn’t know.

He allowed himself to fall backward and sink back into the bed, bearing and gritting his teeth. He could sense they were still in this strange state of transition through space? time? reality? He could also sense the Emperor near by. Some of the things the creature had said to him he couldn’t help but mull over in his head – a shiny new apprentice, his own near-surrender to the cultists on the surface of Mortis, Haretisch’s betrayal to them all, he even pondered once again on the revelation of how slippery Arach had been, a seemingly loyal agent of Dreadwar.

He stopped. Feeling his eyes suddenly become tired and roll to the back of his skull.

One thought flashed in front of him as he drifted away…

Where are we going?

TAG: Nobody

Darth Cocytus · Dec 29, 2016

Darth Cocytus

Darth Cocytus's eyes opened as his meditation broke with the feeling of a great disturbance in the force. It was a disturbance unlike any he has felt in his life. The kaninoan's eyes widened as the frabric of reality tore with all of time and space, a thousand of thousands of worlds and a thousand of thousands of years, flashing before his very eyes. His very heart thumping loudly with fear and excitement and sadistic pleasure as he also felt the all intoxicating feeling of the suffering of trillions of trillions all throughout the history of creation. What was this? A work of the force? A trick of Typhojem who's presence Cocytus could no longer feel? No. It didn't take long for the young sith sorcerer-in-training to figure out that this was nothing but a saving grace giving by the now god-like Emperor Insipid, the now true God of the Sith, who altered the farbic of reality so what remained of the Sith Order to escape in continued existence away from the not-god Typhojem.

Cocytus scoffed in hatefilled contempt at the idea of worshiping anyone and anything but his own desires and the dark side itself. After all the kaminoan was indeed a Sith. God or no God, Cocytus refuses to bow to anyone in worship. Nonetheless, when truly everything, all of reality, stopped flickering before his eyes, Darth Cocytus blinked and looked around. He was back in his cabin, not sure exactly where the shuttle is. Or for better question, when the shuttle is. the young Kaminoan thought to himself before smirking, No matter what, I think that what's ever else to come will be quite deliciously fascinating!

Tag:This post, no one, but my last post, which I forgot to tag, could be somewhat directed at A Blind Prophet at least in reference.

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