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Nok Morliss

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Nok Morliss last won the day on February 28

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  1. Nok planned as he wove his way through the halls towards the back of the clinic. First, he’d have to disable one of the droids. Once he’d done that, it shouldn’t be too hard to- His train of thought derailed as a surge of emotion cascaded past him and submerged his mind in the torrent. Panic? No, despair! He gritted his teeth against the unexpected shock to his senses, his mind blind to anything but the tide of anguish. The intensity was overwhelming, magnified... The Force. This is the Force! Then it was over. Nok gasped in a breath, and braced his hands against the cold floor. He was on the floor? When had that happened? His robes were bunched up, and his embroidered blindfold sat askew on his head, the disinfected air brushing against his eye sockets. Getting to his feet, Nok’s mind raced. What had that been? And how had it ended so quickly? No, that wasn’t right, it hadn’t quite ended. The air still pulsed with emotion, but not the overwhelming misery of a few seconds ago. This was more chaotic, more disjointed, like the crazy ripples in a puddle after an earthquake. And whatever or whoever the source was, they were in the direction Nok was going. Not my monster to kill or maiden to save, Nok thought as he turned around. Except...the offering. Could this be it? It would add up. A Force-sensitive with depths of power and pain like that would be valuable enough to any Sith. That idea seemed off somehow, but Nok couldn’t pin down why. Still, it was his most solid lead, and the sooner he was off this disease riddled planet the better. Nok tugged his silken red blindfold back into place shuffled forward down the hall, head down, playing the part of the blind neimoidian. If this person was at all trained in the Force, his ruse wouldn’t work, but it cost him nothing to try. If this person was the type to be offended by an act like this, they probably wouldn't respond any better to a Sith apprentice. As he rounded the corner he got a good “look” at the carnage. Unconscious bodies littered the floor, and the sickly sweet stench of burnt skin wafted through the charred air. In the middle of it all stood the source of the shifting spectrum of emotion, a humanoid woman of some kind. The Force around her rippled and twitched as it settled, still twisting in the aftermath of power. Could be a human, but without actual eyes it was impossible to tell. “Is someone there? I heard a noise. Is everyone all right?” Nok stopped a foot away from walking into an orderly’s body, aiming his sightless gaze into empty space, a good foot away from the woman.
  2. Not kriffing likely, Nok thought as the Mon Cal walked away into the sick room, the dry rasping of the infected accompanying her. Nok let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when the door slid shut behind her. Maybe she’d expected him to follow, but Nok had no intention of getting anywhere near the mucus spewing, slimy, sweaty, feverish bodies of these sick fish. Still, she was odd, and not just in her saccharine, upbeat personality. There had been a moment there, an instant of negative emotion breaking through her calm positivity. Had it been fear? Anger? It had been too quick for him to catch, a bare blip to his senses. That in and of itself was odd. Everyone else was panicked and worried, but she remained calm and somehow managed to not make it an act. An instant of something throwing her off balance, and she shook it off in the time it took Nok to blink. Well...used to take him anyway. Come to think of it, why did she assume I could help? She must have seen that I’m blind. He didn’t like this, and he didn’t like the peculiar feeling coming from the room she’d entered, like a cold, damp rag to his fear and irritation, paradoxically making him feel better as it made him more nervous. There’s something more to her. Was she the offering? That’d be convenient, which meant she likely wasn’t. Still, it would be good to keep tabs on her. She’d said her name was Leena. He filed it away. __________________________________________________________________ Rather than follow her, Nok quickly made his way through the clinic. Wherever his droid had gone, that Cal woman had distracted him long enough to lose track of it. Not worth the effort I suppose. It’s not like they’re going to run out of plague before I leave. Speaking of which… A few quick questions and a hurried walk around the clinic told him he wasn’t getting out anytime soon. The city security was on high alert, and they’d never let anyone out of this place. He could try a bribe, but as afraid as everyone was it was a die toss how that might turn out. A doctor’s note then. An authorization off the datapad of some medical officer to show he was clean and the promise he was going to get more medical supplies might be enough to get him out of here. Then an idea occurred to him. Perhaps a bad idea, but some of Nok’s happiest days had stemmed from bad ideas. He was already bleeding money on this trip. Ventures, deals, and schemes months in the making that needed his personal attention were stalling while he took this little scavenger hunt. Why not make a little profit to take the edge off his losses? He hadn’t personally done something like this in a while, and it’d be just the thing to keep him sharp. The plan itself was obvious once all the pieces were examined. A clinic like this was likely a non-profit venture. That meant charitable donations, and some of those likely from drug companies looking to polish their image. This kind of place wouldn’t see much actual currency, not without it being spent immediately anyway, but Nok was willing to bet at least a few of those drug manufacturers were sending supplies to this clinic and others like it to boost their stocks. Compassion in a tragedy like a pandemic was worth big publicity. If nothing else, some of them had to be giving the clinic a discount. All Nok had to do was get the head of the clinic’s datapad, slice his way in, and put in a couple dozen small but extremely expensive orders for rare and valuable medication and equipment. That might normally be suspicious, but in the middle of a pandemic with an unknown disease it would be understandable, and no company wanted to be seen as denying medical aid in a crisis. Discount or not the profit from selling that kind of stuff in the right Outer Rim markets would be huge, even if Nok had to foot the bill himself. The shipping would be handled by Meer Medical under Nok’s directive, graciously offering to ship the supplies for free to try and stop their falling fortunes. The supplies would never arrive and Meer Medical would disintegrate under a storm of accusations, especially when their noble founder was discovered missing. The clinic would then likely suffer the brunt of the public’s anger when it was discovered the order itself had been fraudulent, and when they learned that Korell Meer’s “cousin” had been in the clinic right before the order had taken place...well, the public liked to make its own stories. Of course they’d suspect the neimoidian, just the wrong one. Nok would be a bit richer, he’d have finally wrung some real value out of Meer Medical, and both “Jin” and Korell Meer would disappear. Nok had never liked the sniveling, self-righteous grease stain to begin with, and his studies had uncovered some old Sith rituals he’d been anxious to try. Even if the rituals were worthless or the barely trained Nok was incapable of performing them properly, it’d be interesting to see how long Korell’s sanctimonious attitude lasted. Nok doubted it would be long. He was a neimoidian after all. Feeling much better with a plan and a direction in mind, he pushed away thoughts of the peculiar Leena and began looking for someone in charge.
  3. “And your reason for visiting...Jin Meer?” Nok smiled. “Humanitarian. I’m here with aid supplies.” “...I see.” The spaceport security officer gave Nok a suspicious glance she likely thought he couldn’t see. With his silken red blindfold covering the scarred ruin where his eyes should be, it was an assumption Nok encouraged. In truth, he couldn’t ‘see’, but he could sense the quarren woman, the low fear emanating from the people walking past acting like the soft glow of a candle to his Force senses. Since slavery was illegal on Mon Calamari, he couldn’t bring his usual source of negative emotions to see by, but apparently there was nothing like a pandemic to spread quiet panic and unease. “You’re thinking I’m lying because I’m a neimoidian,” Nok said, keeping his happy, innocent smile even. “No Mister...Master...Lord…” she stammered. “Just Jin, please.” “...Jin, I hope I didn’t offend you. I did not-” “It’s fine,” Nok waved dismissively. “It’s understandable. Most of my kind would rather sell these masks for 1000 credits a breath. But for me…” Nok paused, then pointed at his blindfold, “a handicap has a way of giving you a new perspective.” “Of course...Jin,” she said, clearly not convinced, but flustered enough to want the conversation to end. Must be someone brand new. Things are worse than I thought down here. “Anyway, I believe my arrival was cleared with the portmaster.” “I’m sorry sir, but I don’t recall seeing you on...oh, there you are.” As difficult as it was to tell under all those tentacles, Nok thought she was frowning as she tapped at her datapad. ‘Jin’ and his ship hadn't been on the registry an hour ago. Thanks to a hefty bribe to the portmaster, Nok had gotten around that problem. And to top it off, I can blackmail the man with evidence of the bribe next time I come to Mon Cal. Assuming this disease doesn't kill him. “Will that be everything officer?” he asked, smile still pasted to his face. “Yes...I think that will be everything.” Nok’s smile turned genuine for an instant as he watched her rack her brain, no doubt trying to figure out if she’d missed anything or if she was supposed to do something. “Follow me X3, and bring the supplies.” The GH-7 medical droid hovered behind the controls of the repulsor sled, and at Nok’s command he piloted the overloaded sled forward. “Master,” the droid said, tone mild and respectful the way Nok preferred it, “may I suggest putting on your mask now?” “Right, right.” Nok slipped his mask on, a better quality one than the cheap ones in the crates behind him. Those masks would work fine, but they’d smell awful after a few hours of hot, wet breath. Well, they were just handouts, and it’s not as if charity was why Nok was here. ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Nok saw the clinic without seeing, the discomfort and pain of the patients mild next to their fear. It flowed through the halls like an undercurrent, washing past Nok and illuminating every room to his senses. It had taken Nok explaining his cover story to one of the doctors to get inside, that he was “Jin Meer”, a representative of Meer Medical, a tiny medical supply company run by his “cousin”. In truth, it had been a legitimate company until Nok drove them into bankruptcy and took over, turning it into a front for selling pharmaceuticals to the Outer Rim at a disgusting markup . It was failing to turn a profit now, and Nok would likely liquidate the whole thing soon, along with its founder Korell Meer, a rare neimoidian with a conscience. Even with his story, the doctor had been hesitant to let him in until Nok offered to lend his medical droid to help for as long as he was on the planet. The GH-7 had a solid reputation as a diagnostician, and the doctor changed his tune immediately. Now he’d likely do everything in his power to keep Nok on planet. This is all a distraction. I need to get down there. The shade’s message had been cryptic, but something waited for Nok here, in the 'waters of Mon Calamari." An...offering? He wondered if it was the disease itself, but that didn’t sit right. Not as the disease was right now in any case. Still, he’d have to tell GH-7-X3 to smuggle a few viral samples out. No telling when that might be useful. “Now where did they put him to work?” Nok picked a hallway and started down it.
  4. SENSARA IDENTITY: Real Name: Nuruodo’rela’inrokini AKA Orelai A.K.A: Darth Sensara Homeworld: Csilla Species: Chiss PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: Age: 33 Height: 6’2” Weight: 124 lbs. Hair: Black Eyes: Dark Red Sex: Female EQUIPMENT: Clothing/Armor: Black leathers, boots, gloves and robe. Face always painted, hiding the signs of Force corruption underneath Weapons: The Wicked Tongues. Two identical red lightsabers. FACTION INFORMATION: Force User, Force Sensitive or Non-Force User: Force User Alignment: Lawful Evil Faction Affiliation: Empire of The Sith Rank: NPC Sith Lord of the Pyramid of Production and Logistics HISTORY: Force Side: Dark Trained By: Darth Vaephus Trained Who: N/A Has never taken an apprentice Known Skills: Lightsaber combat – Form VI (Expert) Political Science (Expert) Military Strategy (Expert) Economics (Master) Force Powers: Force Persuasion (Master) Speed (Expert) Force Concealment (Expert) Telepathy (Master) Force Empathy (Master) Mind Control (Skilled) Lie Detection (Skilled) ____________________________________ Background: Orelai began with nothing. Born on Csilla, Orelai grew up in a family bordering on the edge of poverty, her parents unskilled workers living from job to job. Long hours and little supervision left Orelai neglected and free to roam. Her intellect outpacing her education, Orelai spent most of her childhood with older, more privileged students at the local university. She held no illusions that they considered her a friend. Instead, she endeared herself as a partner. Orelai smuggled in contraband the university declared off limits, and the students let her hang around. She soaked up their assignments, borrowed their books, and learned everything she could from what they let her see. In this way, she managed to put together a piecemeal higher education her family could never have afforded, but unfortunately without the official degree to go with it. Not eager to remain where her birth had dumped her, Orelai took the best option for a young Chiss to improve their life: the military. Her fractured education and relentless work ethic got her a position as a low staff officer, and her eyes only looked up. She shot up the ladder, far faster than she should, even given her drive and edification. When she was promoted to captain of her own frigate, she finally puzzled out her powers. Orelai discovered that she had the ability to “push” people. Not outright control, but when she wanted to she could open someone up to her point of view, break down their prejudices and defenses, and make them see things her way. It grew stronger when she was irritated, and soldiers had more than once turned away from her room when she was furious. When she covertly interviewed them, they claimed they couldn’t explain it, except that they had felt like she wouldn’t want to be bothered. Eager to exploit her new ability, Orelai actively pushed people she disagreed with. Blue blood officers, stubborn codgers, and ignorant politicians all began to see things differently after spending some time with Orelai, transforming from detractors into supporters. When her term of service was done, Orelai took her ability to the next level. Politics. She soon positioned herself as an influential member of the Inrokini house, and had her eyes on the title of Aristocra. Unfortunately, power has consequences. The veins in her face and arms turned black as the dark side she’d grown so dependent on corrupted her body. She hid her affliction with make-up and concealing clothes, but rumors began to fly, and were soon confirmed. The discovery of the “shameful impurity” of being a Force sensitive combined with an investigation into her suspicious rise to power convinced her that her time in the Ascendancy was done. Sacrificing her most loyal pawns in a distraction, she fled Chiss space and made her way to the Sith Empire. It was here that she met Darth Vaephus, an elderly Chadra-Fan who prided himself on his ability to manipulate his rivals from the shadows. In Orelai he saw a tool, and he taught her all he knew. In Sith fashion, she betrayed him upon achieving her lordship, and continued to rise in power. Her enemies squabbled and killed under her gentle touch and silken whispers, while the painted lady climbed higher and higher, eventually catching the attention of the Dark King himself. Now she sits as a member of the Dark Council, surrounding herself with intelligent, competent non-Force users cultivated to be susceptible to her influence. She maintains her “push” constantly, the weak and suggestible finding her more and more agreeable by the second while she calmly and logically presents her point of view. An academic through and through, in her mind she is achieving a dream the chiss were too short sighted to see. The universe would be a simpler place if the simple-minded simply listened to their betters...
  5. Maliba Kyro I N F I D U S IDENTITY: Real Name: Maliba Kyro A.K.A: Darth Infidus Homeworld: Arkania Species: Arkanian Offshoot PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: Age: 33 Height: 6’4” Weight: 163 lbs. Hair: Blonde Eyes: Blue Sex: Female EQUIPMENT: Clothing/Armor: Black uniform Weapons: Profane Edict. Adjustable-length red lightsaber built into phrik gauntlet. Standard length of 1.5 feet. FACTION INFORMATION: Force User, Force Sensitive or Non-Force User: Force User Alignment: Chaotic Evil Faction Affiliation: Empire of The Sith Rank: NPC Sith Lord of the Pyramid of Military Offense HISTORY: Force Side: Dark Trained By: Darth Gor Trained Who: Garik Doma (Current Apprentice) Known Skills: Lightsaber combat – Form I (Expert) Echani Martial Art (Expert) Stava (Expert) Teras Kasi (Master) Military Strategy (Expert) Military Tactics (Master) Force Powers: Force Telekinesis (Expert) Tactile Telekinesis (Master) Speed (Expert) Detoxify Poison (Master) Force Body (Master) Force Heal (Master) Shatterpoint (Skilled) Force Jump (Expert) ____________________________________ Background: Maliba was born imperfect. One of countless Arkanian genetically modified children, Maliba numbered among the few complete failures. A quirk of her altered DNA left her without an immune system, and she was raised in a clinical environment as a result, segregated from the outside world in a sterilized hospital suite where her condition could be studied. Looked down on and disregarded by the “perfect”, pure arkanians, her only interactions were with her doctors. This, unfortunately, pushed her into an obsession regarding her physical flaws and achieving the perfection held sacred by her people. She physically trained and studied constantly, but nothing softened the looks of pity or contempt she glimpsed out of the corner of her eye. By the time she reached adulthood, she had honed herself into a physically perfect specimen apart from her genetic defects, and her mind was razor sharp. She proved her superior intelligence over and over through Holonet strategy games, and she regularly outperformed professional athletes in the hospital exercise center, though she never had the opportunity to best them in person. Yet nothing she did made people look past her flaws. The anger and desire to belong that had driven her through childhood turned to hate and bile. It finally struck Maliba that no achievement or dedication would get her out of this bleached box of a home, or make her own species see her as anything but an imperfect curiosity. She cursed in silence, despising them. It was around this time that Darth Gor found her. Sensing her from across space, the gamorrean Sith felt Maliba's hatred and power in the Force, and saw in her a potential apprentice, a connection between them willed by the Force itself. Calling in a favor from another Sith lord, Gor retrieved Maliba under the pretense of having her partake in a medical study. Once she'd been brought to the empire, he met with her personally. At first wary of the old gamorrean, the ideals and promises of the Sith Code soon hooked Maliba, and only a week later she formally became Darth Gor's apprentice. The first thing he taught her was how to use the Force to purify and heal her body, wielding it to fend off the infections her genetics left her defenseless against. The technique was painful, requiring her to regularly use the Force to scour every vein in her body clean, but suddenly after decades in isolation Maliba could walk outside. Just as the Code of the Sith promised, the Force had freed her, and she'd only begun to touch the potential Darth Gor hinted at. Maliba grew in strength, taking a cue from her master and focusing on martial arts and traditional fighting styles while only mastering the basics of lightsaber combat. She learned how to let the Force push her body beyond its normal limits and keep her fighting at peak capacity long after she should have dropped unconscious. Reveling in the power and control she felt in combat, she amplified it by learning an esoteric form of Force telekinesis: tactile telekinesis, using the Force to supplement the motions and strikes of her own body. Finding she had a natural talent for the art, it gave the illusion of incredible strength. A single blow might cave in a wookiee’s chest, or snap a droid’s arm in two, or shatter a blaster rifle. As the Force made her stronger, more durable, and fiercer, she strove to test herself against anyone who would accept her challenge. She earned a reputation for playing with her foes, avoiding finishing the fight as long as possible while giving them plenty of chances to come at her, only for her to bring them down again. It wasn’t enough to beat them, she had to steal their pride in their strength away. Eventually, she had had enough of warm up fights, and challenged her master. The duel between Gor and Maliba lasted for six hours, the Force allowing both to strain their bodies to the breaking point. Gor’s natural strength was nothing to Maliba’s Force enhanced blows, but the wily elder Sith kept up with his apprentice through cunning and skill. However, Gor’s age had robbed him of much of his endurance, and soon even the Force couldn’t keep his body going. As Maliba stood over him, and he saw the joy in her eyes at taking away his victory, he named her Darth Infidus, for she would be a Sith who savored destroying what others held sacred. Darth Infidus rose through the ranks, her keen mind, hungry drive, and perfectionist standards keeping her a level above her fellow Sith in the battlelines. Shortly after achieving the rank of master, she caught the attention of the Dark King and was appointed as the Lord of the Pyramid of Military Offense. She still finds her greatest joy in desecrating what others worship, and her quarters are filled with the pilfered artifacts and artwork of the conquered, strewn about and vandalized. What use are values and beliefs without strength to back them? For a Sith, strength is their belief…
  6. DEVILFISH (MADE BY NOK MORLISS) IDENTITY: Real Name: Garik Doma A.K.A: “The Devilfish” Homeworld: Naboo Species: Gungan PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: Age: 23 Height: 6’0” Weight: 161 lbs. Hair: N/A Eyes: Yellow Sex: Male EQUIPMENT: Clothing/Armor: Black uniform Weapons: Force pike, Red lightsaber FACTION INFORMATION: Force User, Force Sensitive or Non-Force User: Force User Alignment: Chaotic Evil Faction Affiliation: Empire of The Sith Rank: NPC Sith Apprentice to Darth Infidus HISTORY: Force Side: Dark Trained By: Darth Infidus Trained Who: N/A Known Skills: Lightsaber combat – Form I (Skilled) Mechanic (Skilled) Scavenging/Salvage (Expert) Force Powers: Force Telekinesis (Novice) Speed (Novice) Force Body (Novice) Shatterpoint (Skilled) Force Jump (Skilled) ____________________________________ Background: Garik Doma grew up in a small village under the waters of Naboo. His village, Otoh Bomonga, sat nestled in a crevice deep beneath the surface, deeper than most other gungan communities dared to build. The village prided itself on its expert hunters who dared the depths in teams to bring down the most elusive game. Situated near one of the entrances to the planet core, the gungan hunters set trap after trap for beasts of all kinds, dragging their carcasses back up to the village amongst a cacophony of cheers. Like many, Garik Doma admired and envied the hunters. His childhood daydreams saw him as one of them, bringing down great leviathans through wit, weapon, and war cries. However, the reality didn't match up with his fantasy. Garik Doma never got a chance to be a hunter, his scrawny body making the hunters quick to dismiss him as a potential protege. Instead, Garik ended up relegated to foraging the submerged canyons and tunnels near the village, spending his days searching for algae clusters and fat, lazy eels. As days passed, with Garik gazing down into the abyss even as he scraped up green and yellow slime, something began to change. Something pulled Garik towards the darkness, something beyond a desire for adventure and glory. Garik ignored it, likening the desire to the insane urge to jump a person feels looking over a cliff. But it persisted, plaguing his dreams with visions of crushing darkness, eyes in the depths, and whispers in the water. One morning, Garik didn't go foraging. Instead, the village hunters raised the alarm as they discovered one of their bongos missing, and Garik nowhere to be found. The hunters descended after him and searched, but found no trace of the skinny gungan. Believing that he'd gone deeper than even they were willing to go, they wrote Garik off as some monster's meal. Four days later, a crippled bongo limped out of the deep, power flickering as the submersible listed and spun. Garik sat at the controls, hands clenched on the helm, one eye blind and the other staring blankly ahead at nothing. When the villagers pulled him out of the bongo, he came without a word, listless and limp. When they imprisoned him, he didn't protest. He barely drank, only ate when prompted, and slept only when his body collapsed from exhaustion. "Deep Mad Doma", as he came to be called, did nothing, and soon he was written off by the village as a cautionary tale and a tragedy. Months went by, and Garik's caretakers noticed some oddities. Things outside of Garik's cell had a habit of moving, if only a few inches. Sometimes they found things in his cell he couldn't possibly have gotten. One night, they found his cell inexplicably unlocked, yet as far as they could tell Garik hadn't moved. Suspecting the mad gungan had a covert visitor, they stepped up their guard, yet they never caught anyone coming near the cell. Then one morning the village raised the alarms again. The guard sent at the changing of the shift found Garik's cell open, and the night's guard strangled. One of the hunters' bongos was once again missing, and Garik was nowhere to be found. Even Garik has no clear memory of what exactly happened, but he found himself near Theed days later after going through the core. A ship in the spaceport drew his attention and he wandered up to it in a daze, so oblivious he never saw the hulking human behind him stun baton him into unconsciousness. Waking up hours later, Garik found himself in the custody of pirates, looking to make a quick profit selling an "exotic" gungan slave. On the bidding stage of the slave markets of Onderon, Garik laid eye on his future master. Darth Infidus, at the market brokering a deal for slave "recruits", sensed the dark side in Garik just as he sensed the power in her. She confiscated him on the spot. As they looked at each other, Garik spoke. "...Meesa gonna kill you..." She smiled back. "Maybe, but not today." Since then, Infidus' pet "devilfish" has been a fixture of her organization. Found wandering the halls, single eye stalk fixed in a glassy, thousand yard stare, no one knows how much the gungan sees or hears, but since taking him as her ward and apprentice Darth Infidus has developed an uncanny knack for ferreting out dissenters in the ranks. Often, Garik can be found in a dreamy, half-conscious state. Yet now and then he snaps into an insane rage for no reason, screaming wordlessly as he beats or butchers whatever poor sot happens to be nearby. To hurt him is to incur Infidus' wrath, and so most do their best to avoid the Sith master's pet gungan. Yet, those who venture close enough sometimes hear him whisper to empty air... "...Meesa knows..."
  7. Nok whirled. The voice, where was it coming from?! His fear ratcheted up, but he couldn’t see it, couldn’t sense it. Where...what was it? There. Something. A distortion, a warping, a fracture, a thread, a tangle. Something. The list. Telekinesis. Extrasensory perception. Healing. Energy projection. Suggestion. Consciousness manipulation. In his research of the Jedi and Sith, Nok had found the reports of several scientists who looked to categorize all that a Force sensitive could do. They’d analyzed reported feats, verified and checked against footage and data from the Clone Wars, and compiled a list. Nok had read each of them, and had been confident he’d understood all the Force was capable of, all it could offer him. But this… Sorcery. There had been mention of Sith sorcerers. Millennia old legends, fanciful tales of dark figures wielding unholy power. It had all been so clearly propaganda and hyperbole. Now Nok wasn’t so sure of himself. This is real. Not illusion, not a trick. Something more. Nok listened to the creature, the words carrying a weight beyond crude sound. Mon Calamari? Then it was gone. It hadn’t left, it was just not there anymore. Nok’s brisk pace as he walked out of the tower was one part fear and one part excitement. Moving objects with his mind and swinging a sword around. Controlling the weak minded and electrocuting the strong. The goals he’d planned now seemed so...small. Pathetic. Like a child given a planet-sized supercomputer and using it to play Dejarik. There was so much more. If anything of what he’d read regarding the ancient Sith sorcerers was true, then the limits of what he could accomplish through the Force were vaster than he had ever imagined. There might not even be limits. As he boarded The Bleeding Edge, he felt as if he stood on the edge of a bridge, a bridge thousands of Jedi and Sith had crossed to reach power. Below, the dark void rushed past, and it promised to swallow any and all alike who swam its depths. Nok would jump. And he would make it his.
  8. "Wait outside." Nok stood before the entrance of a tower, imposing and shaped to menace the land rather than blend with it. His battle droid bodyguards halted at his command, oblivious to what Nok could sense. This place was newly built, but it radiated with the Dark Side. As he stared blindly into the structure, the uneasy feeling that he was trespassing crept over him. I don't belong here. He grimaced and squashed the thought. He'd been in the presence of true Sith before, and while this feeling was subtler and more insidious than the ferocity of his previous master, Nok knew better than to trust his instincts in a place like this. To back down, to show weakness, to give up, that would be the end of him as a Sith student...and possibly as a living being. Still, better to leave the droids outside. They were his weapons, but here was a place Nok would need no weapons, at least none so obvious as the droids, and the clanking bots could be irritating at the best of times. No sense antagonizing a Sith. He strode into the tower with a confidence he convinced himself was real. He allowed his fear to blossom inside him, and given where he was it didn't take any encouragement. He was afraid, but his intellect saw past the base emotion, letting it become the tool that allowed him to see. The Force echoed with the surging and waning of his dread, and as it did his attuned mind "saw" the tower interior around him. He barely noticed the details, watching for the Sith he knew was here. Nok had reached the end of what he could accomplish on his own, without a master. He had spent years and a small fortune collecting Jedi and Sith trinkets with a new perspective, studying old texts and uncovering the philosophizing of ancient masters. He trained himself as best he could to master his new sight, to control the fear that was the birthright of his species and his greatest source of power. But now he'd stagnated, blindly groping for secrets and abilities he knew rightfully belonged to him but maddeningly eluded him. And so, he'd returned to Onderon, and found himself here, in the lair of a Sith known to be looking for an apprentice. "I'm here," he called out into the empty space of the large tower chamber he found himself in. He held his arms out and turned slowly, posture straddling confidence and arrogance. "Do I meet your expectations?"
  9. As the pain blossomed from the Jedi’s leg, Nok couldn’t fight the grin that spread across his face. Not invincible are you? Now I’ll just keep you on the defensive, wear you down. She swung her lightsaber, not to block his shots, but at the empty air. His confidence turned into triumph as he saw her misstep, his endless, grueling practice adjusting his aim before he could think. He’d end her right now. The Jedi’s lightsaber left her hand. Oh kriff Black, roaring pain erupted from his right shoulder in a wave that swallowed him. As he fought to keep conscious, to turn the pain into power, some part of him sorted out what had been done to his body. The lightsaber had passed through his shoulder as he’d stepped back out of reflex, his own movement effortlessly slicing his shoulder bone clean across the impaling energy blade before it came out the other side. As if from a distance, he heard his gun clatter to the floor from his useless hand. His vision swam. His blood roared. His heart thudded like artillery fire in his ears. He desperately grappled with the pain even as the entire medbay jumped out at him in stark detail, illuminated by his agony. He saw the Jedi again, saw her eyes… ...her pity. Nok reaction to that look was pure instinct. It wasn’t a Sith technique, or a combat maneuver, or even some brilliant tactic. It was a reflex ingrained into every neimoidian from when they were grubs, the response of a greedy child sensing compassion in a caretaker. Nok weaseled. He stopped channeling his pain and fear into the Force and let them run through him without direction or focus, tearing at his mind like glass shards. He barely kept consciousness as he keened and babbled incoherently, the sound of an animal being slaughtered, a 100% honest reaction to pain and impending death. He stumbled, stepping on the hem of his own robe as he backed away and crashed to the floor. His incoherent screaming resolved into choked words. “Please! Please wait! I’m...I’m not a real Sith! I’m not supposed to be here! Please I don’t want to die! Mercy! Please have mercy!” The mewling and begging came automatically to him, without thought, the easy performance of a master liar. In the tiny corner of his mind not writhing in pain and fear, the dark side waited, a temptation. It could use this pain, this fear, channel it into something useful, not this base agony of the weak. All he had to do was reach out… No. If he did, she’d sense it, and the game would be up. Tears streamed from his sightless eye sockets, but he could still see the Jedi, his pain and fear wrinkling and rippling the Force, framing her in exact detail. Even as he let go of the Dark Side completely, his Force-attuned mind wasn't blind. His back hit the wall as he slid away, and he implored her with every ounce of withering misery he had. “Please...please don’t kill me. They made me this way. They’ve hurt me.” He curled up against the wall, as if preparing to recoil from a blow, and as he did one of his vibroblades slipped out of his sleeve and into his good left hand. “Can you...help me?” As the last word left his lips, his arm snapped out. Countless hours of training kept his aim true through the pain. He hadn’t even activated the blade, afraid she’d hear it a split second before the throw. It wouldn’t matter. Nok’s knives were the best money could buy, and razor sharp. The knife sailed through the air, tip towards the Jedi’s throat.
  10. The Jedi’s flash of anger illuminated her perfectly, allowing Nok to see her every detail, as if he somehow watched her from all sides at once with a dozen eyes. Got you. Unfortunately, Nok was used to egotistical businessmen and outraged activists, not true Jedi. He should have guessed a Jedi wouldn’t be so easy to bait, as even as he watched, her anger faded to something duller and controlled. Still, the flash, combined with his combat training, was enough for him to see her attack coming. He dodged back, but underestimated the speed of a lightsaber wielded by someone competent in its use. The weightless blade scored twin burns on his wrists as layers of skin were disintegrated, the sizzling pain shooting through his body and becoming tiny lights of their own to his Dark Side depended vision. Remember your training. Use the pain! Even as he fought his way past the pain, his fear grew. If he’d been a hair slower, she’d have sheared his hands off. He could die here. His breathing became faster, his lung pods convulsing under the stress in a way that hadn’t happened since he’d been a child. Moving on instinct, his hand dove into his robes and drew out his blaster. Screaming, he pumped off shot after shot at the Jedi as he backpedaled away from her.
  11. Nok ducked as his bodyguards were flung and smashed into the wall, their surprised cries turning to fading whines as they crumpled to the floor. His skin prickled as the familiar sound of a lightsaber igniting cut through the air. I’m betting she knows how to use that, and I’m here with knives and a blaster. I’ll need to throw her off balance. So give her what she expects... He stood up straight, holding his hands out, a rehearsed sneer on his face. “Jedi,” he drawled like a half-price holovid villain, “you cannot hope to match the power of the Dark Side. Let me show you!” He clenched his fists, and thought a familiar phrase. Dead in the cold and dark. The fear was instant. It disgorged from the black pit at the base of his skull and cascaded through his body. He was chilled and excited at once. Focus and terror merged, and the universe shrunk down to a moment. The Force roiled around him, and he saw the medbay clearly, saw the mon calamari standing in a defensive position, saw the last of the wounded limping towards escape, their pain a light all its own. He gathered the Force, focusing for a single, powerful push, and thrust his hands out towards the Jedi. The churning power was the limit of Nok’s ability, only enough to violently move a few hundred pounds. But that would be enough for his purposes. It found its target, but it wasn’t the Jedi. The wounded, limping soldier behind the Jedi was struck with the blast, Nok homing in on his pain. The power of the Force energized by Nok’s fear and will shoved the soldier forward at the wall, with the force to crack a skull open.
  12. A tall neimoidian robed all in red stood in the doorway, flanked by a battle droid on each side. A silky, crimson blindfold embroidered with gold patterning glittered on his head, but it could not cover up the scarred, puckered flesh that spread from the ruin of his eyes. The elegant black cloth headdress might have completed the opulent display, had half of it not been sheared off. Scorched threads stuck out in an unraveling tangle where the blaster bolt must have passed through. The brown and black stains at the hem of his robe looked and smelled of blood, feces, and the other fluids of the dead and dying. Disheveled as he was, the neimoidian carried himself gracefully, arrogantly surveying the med bay with sightless eyes. Nok grimaced as he took in the medbay. It appeared as a dim collection of shadows, outlined by the fading light of the retreating wounded soldiers, their pain and fear rippling outward and washing over the room. Of course the medbay was nearly empty. This day had been one wrong thing after another. Nok wasn’t even supposed to be on the battlefield, and yet here he was, the victim of a Sith Lord’s twisted joke. Send the neimoidian in, it’ll be fun to watch him dance before he dies. Nok had survived, thankful for the thousandth time for his training, but his slaves had all been cut down in the crossfire. Without their constant source of fear and shock-collar induced pain, Nok was nearly blind. The tumult of dark emotions washing over the battlefield provided some illumination, but the sources were too far away to provide the clear vision Nok needed if he was going to survive. To top it off, most of his droid bodyguards had been destroyed, leaving him with only two. And so he’d come here, following the suffering soldiers like a carrion scavenger, hoping for replacements to his slaves in the form of the wounded or terrified medical staff. Instead, the last of the wounded were leaving, and as for the doctors… No, not a doctor. She stood before him, but from her he felt...nothing. Peace. She held something in her hand. A hilt. A Jedi He pointed at her with a finger adorned with a nova crystal ring. “Go, I won’t stop you.” I’ll wait for the next one.
  13. The planet of Balmorra was like a family attic. Dusty, infested with vermin, and full of junk. Miles of industrial wasteland sprawled lifeless under a smog choked sky, abandoned factory complexes creaked and threatened to topple after generations of Balmorran metal parasites had honeycombed their struts and walls. The planet known for its weapon manufacturers had seen hard times after the end of the clone wars, and the battle droid builders had all but vanished when the CIS collapsed, leaving their thundering assembly lines silent. Now scavengers scurried in the shadows looking for scrap the parasites had missed. Workers clamored for jobs in the remaining factories. And, like maggots in a corpse, the scum of the galaxy lurked in the abandoned districts. One factory stood out from the rest. An old Balmorran Arms complex, the eight story block of durasteel and cement looked like a fortress, with hundreds of feet of open space between it and its neighboring, smaller factories. That open space was littered with charred corpses, the ground scored with blaster fire. Patrolling around the factory, searching for any that might ignore the warning the corpses served to an onlooker, marched four SD-6 "Hulk" infantry droids, with their shoulder cannons swinging back and forth in emotionless repetition. The Bleeding Edge descended through the greasy black clouds before landing in the no-man's-land surrounding the factory. The droids paused, their guns locking on the ship, before an all-clear signal compelled them to resume their patrol. Nok's ship was known here. As the space yacht's ramp descended, a wrinkled devaronian riding an old hover chair zoomed out of the factory towards the ship, six scratched and scarred super battle droids jogging beside him. Nok walked sedately off the ship, his arm on one of his battle droids as his ruined eyes left him with little option. His newly discovered Dark Sight, as he'd dubbed it, was useless without negative emotion like anger, fear, or pain to send out ripples for him to see by. He heard the familiar sound of the old hover chair coast to a stop, and he smiled. "Malabo Kell I presume?" "Omni!" The devaronian's gravelly voice betrayed genuine shock. "What the kriff happened to you!?" Malabo only knew Nok by the pseudonym Omni. No sense letting someone like Malabo Kell know his real identity. The old pirate turned black market dealer was a man cut from the same cloth as Nok, so of course he didn't trust him in the slightest. Nok shrugged. "Snake bite. Open for business?" "Your credits are always welcome in my pocket. What can I do for you?" "I've got two orders actually. First, I need some new droids." "What's wrong with the last ones I sold you?" "Nothing, exactly. They work as advertised. They can point a gun and pull a trigger. But with my business getting more...diverse, I think it's time to upgrade." "You do realize that anything more advanced than those OOM models aren't going to be near as legal on most planets?" "Coruscant is looking worse than this place, and the Galactic Alliance is done. Legality is a lot easier to buy now. Besides," Nok shrugged, "I'm going to be working in Sith space a bit more from now on." The flash of unease from Malabo illuminated him to Nok, and he saw his shoulders tighten as his hands twitched. One hand signal from the old scoundrel and the Hulk droids would turn Nok and his ship into ash stains and slag. Nok couldn't blame him. In criminal circles, Sith could develop a reputation for violence, entitlement, and a tendency to refuse to “play nice”. The reputation wasn’t entirely warranted, but it wasn’t without a solid foundation either. When a man thought he was the Force’s gift to the universe, it didn’t make much convincing for him to start getting Forceful when things didn’t go his way. Still, Malabo knew Nok, and Nok had never cheated or threatened the old pirate before, and Nok hadn’t actually said he himself was a Sith. Greed must have beat wariness, because Malabo relaxed. “Alright, what are you looking for?” “A couple of those super battle droids would be a good start, and do you remember that one droid you tried to pawn off on me last time?” “The BX commando?” Malabo grinned. “Changed your mind huh?” “It’s come to my attention my ship needs better security, so yes, I’ve changed my mind. And throw in a few remote probes. I can’t spend all my time with a battle droid leading me by the hand.” “Alright, nothing too complicated there. But for that you could have ordered ahead. You said you had two orders. What’s the other one?” Nok’s face hardened. “I want a Leash.” Malabo was perfectly silent for a long moment. “You serious?” “Very.” “And...you understand…” “Yes. I know how illegal it is. I don’t care.” “...Alright, then when do you-” “Now,” Nok cut him off. “I brought the subject with me. He’s injured, but he should survive the surgery. A givin, if that helps.” “Now? I don’t know Omni…” “I’ll pay your expeditation fee. I don’t care what it takes. I want this givin on a Leash today.” “...Well okay then. Bring him inside.”
  14. IDENTITY: Real Name: Garik Doma A.K.A: “The Devilfish” Homeworld: Naboo Species: Gungan PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: Age: 23 Height: 6’0” Weight: 161 lbs. Hair: N/A Eyes: Yellow Sex: Male EQUIPMENT: Clothing/Armor: Black uniform Weapons: Force pike, Red lightsaber FACTION INFORMATION: Force User, Force Sensitive or Non-Force User: Force User Alignment: Chaotic Evil Faction Affiliation: Empire of The Sith Rank: NPC Sith Apprentice to Darth Infidus HISTORY: Force Side: Dark Trained By: Darth Infidus Trained Who: N/A Known Skills: Lightsaber combat – Form I (Skilled) Mechanic (Skilled) Scavenging/Salvage (Expert) Force Powers: Force Telekinesis (Novice) Speed (Novice) Force Body (Novice) Shatterpoint (Skilled) Force Jump (Skilled) ____________________________________ Background: Garik Doma grew up in a small village under the waters of Naboo. His village, Otoh Bomonga, sat nestled in a crevice deep beneath the surface, deeper than most other gungan communities dared to build. The village prided itself on its expert hunters who dared the depths in teams to bring down the most elusive game. Situated near one of the entrances to the planet core, the gungan hunters set trap after trap for beasts of all kinds, dragging their carcasses back up to the village amongst a cacophony of cheers. Like many, Garik Doma admired and envied the hunters. His childhood daydreams saw him as one of them, bringing down great leviathans through wit, weapon, and war cries. However, the reality didn't match up with his fantasy. Garik Doma never got a chance to be a hunter, his scrawny body making the hunters quick to dismiss him as a potential protege. Instead, Garik ended up relegated to foraging the submerged canyons and tunnels near the village, spending his days searching for algae clusters and fat, lazy eels. As days passed, with Garik gazing down into the abyss even as he scraped up green and yellow slime, something began to change. Something pulled Garik towards the darkness, something beyond a desire for adventure and glory. Garik ignored it, likening the desire to the insane urge to jump a person feels looking over a cliff. But it persisted, plaguing his dreams with visions of crushing darkness, eyes in the depths, and whispers in the water. One morning, Garik didn't go foraging. Instead, the village hunters raised the alarm as they discovered one of their bongos missing, and Garik nowhere to be found. The hunters descended after him and searched, but found no trace of the skinny gungan. Believing that he'd gone deeper than even they were willing to go, they wrote Garik off as some monster's meal. Four days later, a crippled bongo limped out of the deep, power flickering as the submersible listed and spun. Garik sat at the controls, hands clenched on the helm, one eye blind and the other staring blankly ahead at nothing. When the villagers pulled him out of the bongo, he came without a word, listless and limp. When they imprisoned him, he didn't protest. He barely drank, only ate when prompted, and slept only when his body collapsed from exhaustion. "Deep Mad Doma", as he came to be called, did nothing, and soon he was written off by the village as a cautionary tale and a tragedy. Months went by, and Garik's caretakers noticed some oddities. Things outside of Garik's cell had a habit of moving, if only a few inches. Sometimes they found things in his cell he couldn't possibly have gotten. One night, they found his cell inexplicably unlocked, yet as far as they could tell Garik hadn't moved. Suspecting the mad gungan had a covert visitor, they stepped up their guard, yet they never caught anyone coming near the cell. Then one morning the village raised the alarms again. The guard sent at the changing of the shift found Garik's cell open, and the night's guard strangled. One of the hunters' bongos was once again missing, and Garik was nowhere to be found. Even Garik has no clear memory of what exactly happened, but he found himself near Theed days later after going through the core. A ship in the spaceport drew his attention and he wandered up to it in a daze, so oblivious he never saw the hulking human behind him stun baton him into unconsciousness. Waking up hours later, Garik found himself in the custody of pirates, looking to make a quick profit selling an "exotic" gungan slave. On the bidding stage of the slave markets of Onderon, Garik laid eye on his future master. Darth Infidus, at the market brokering a deal for slave "recruits", sensed the dark side in Garik just as he sensed the power in her. She confiscated him on the spot. As they looked at each other, Garik spoke. "...Meesa gonna kill you..." She smiled back. "Maybe, but not today." Since then, Infidus' pet "devilfish" has been a fixture of her organization. Found wandering the halls, single eye stalk fixed in a glassy, thousand yard stare, no one knows how much the gungan sees or hears, but since taking him as her ward and apprentice Darth Infidus has developed an uncanny knack for ferreting out dissenters in the ranks. Often, Garik can be found in a dreamy, half-conscious state. Yet now and then he snaps into an insane rage for no reason, screaming wordlessly as he beats or butchers whatever poor sot happens to be nearby. To hurt him is to incur Infidus' wrath, and so most do their best to avoid the Sith master's pet gungan. Yet, those who venture close enough sometimes hear him whisper to empty air... "...Meesa knows..."
  15. IDENTITY: Real Name: Maliba Kyro A.K.A: Darth Infidus Homeworld: Arkania Species: Arkanian Offshoot PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: Age: 33 Height: 6’4” Weight: 163 lbs. Hair: Blonde Eyes: Blue Sex: Female EQUIPMENT: Clothing/Armor: Black uniform Weapons: Profane Edict. Adjustable-length red lightsaber built into phrik gauntlet. Standard length of 1.5 feet. FACTION INFORMATION: Force User, Force Sensitive or Non-Force User: Force User Alignment: Chaotic Evil Faction Affiliation: Empire of The Sith Rank: NPC Sith Lord of the Pyramid of Military Offense HISTORY: Force Side: Dark Trained By: Darth Gor Trained Who: Garik Doma (Current Apprentice) Known Skills: Lightsaber combat – Form I (Expert) Echani Martial Art (Expert) Stava (Expert) Teras Kasi (Master) Military Strategy (Expert) Military Tactics (Master) Force Powers: Force Telekinesis (Expert) Tactile Telekinesis (Master) Speed (Expert) Detoxify Poison (Master) Force Body (Master) Force Heal (Master) Shatterpoint (Skilled) Force Jump (Expert) ____________________________________ Background: Maliba was born imperfect. One of countless Arkanian genetically modified children, Maliba numbered among the few complete failures. A quirk of her altered DNA left her without an immune system, and she was raised in a clinical environment as a result, segregated from the outside world in a sterilized hospital suite where her condition could be studied. Looked down on and disregarded by the “perfect”, pure arkanians, her only interactions were with her doctors. This, unfortunately, pushed her into an obsession regarding her physical flaws and achieving the perfection held sacred by her people. She physically trained and studied constantly, but nothing softened the looks of pity or contempt she glimpsed out of the corner of her eye. By the time she reached adulthood, she had honed herself into a physically perfect specimen apart from her genetic defects, and her mind was razor sharp. She proved her superior intelligence over and over through Holonet strategy games, and she regularly outperformed professional athletes in the hospital exercise center, though she never had the opportunity to best them in person. Yet nothing she did made people look past her flaws. The anger and desire to belong that had driven her through childhood turned to hate and bile. It finally struck Maliba that no achievement or dedication would get her out of this bleached box of a home, or make her own species see her as anything but an imperfect curiosity. She cursed in silence, despising them. It was around this time that Darth Gor found her. Sensing her from across space, the gamorrean Sith felt Maliba's hatred and power in the Force, and saw in her a potential apprentice, a connection between them willed by the Force itself. Calling in a favor from another Sith lord, Gor retrieved Maliba under the pretense of having her partake in a medical study. Once she'd been brought to the empire, he met with her personally. At first wary of the old gamorrean, the ideals and promises of the Sith Code soon hooked Maliba, and only a week later she formally became Darth Gor's apprentice. The first thing he taught her was how to use the Force to purify and heal her body, wielding it to fend off the infections her genetics left her defenseless against. The technique was painful, requiring her to regularly use the Force to scour every vein in her body clean, but suddenly after decades in isolation Maliba could walk outside. Just as the Code of the Sith promised, the Force had freed her, and she'd only begun to touch the potential Darth Gor hinted at. Maliba grew in strength, taking a cue from her master and focusing on martial arts and traditional fighting styles while only mastering the basics of lightsaber combat. She learned how to let the Force push her body beyond its normal limits and keep her fighting at peak capacity long after she should have dropped unconscious. Reveling in the power and control she felt in combat, she amplified it by learning an esoteric form of Force telekinesis: tactile telekinesis, using the Force to supplement the motions and strikes of her own body. Finding she had a natural talent for the art, it gave the illusion of incredible strength. A single blow might cave in a wookiee’s chest, or snap a droid’s arm in two, or shatter a blaster rifle. As the Force made her stronger, more durable, and fiercer, she strove to test herself against anyone who would accept her challenge. She earned a reputation for playing with her foes, avoiding finishing the fight as long as possible while giving them plenty of chances to come at her, only for her to bring them down again. It wasn’t enough to beat them, she had to steal their pride in their strength away. Eventually, she had had enough of warm up fights, and challenged her master. The duel between Gor and Maliba lasted for six hours, the Force allowing both to strain their bodies to the breaking point. Gor’s natural strength was nothing to Maliba’s Force enhanced blows, but the wily elder Sith kept up with his apprentice through cunning and skill. However, Gor’s age had robbed him of much of his endurance, and soon even the Force couldn’t keep his body going. As Maliba stood over him, and he saw the joy in her eyes at taking away his victory, he named her Darth Infidus, for she would be a Sith who savored destroying what others held sacred. Darth Infidus rose through the ranks, her keen mind, hungry drive, and perfectionist standards keeping her a level above her fellow Sith in the battlelines. Shortly after achieving the rank of master, she caught the attention of the Dark King and was appointed as the Lord of the Pyramid of Military Offense. She still finds her greatest joy in desecrating what others worship, and her quarters are filled with the pilfered artifacts and artwork of the conquered, strewn about and vandalized. What use are values and beliefs without strength to back them? For a Sith, strength is their belief…
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