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Hyperion

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Hyperion last won the day on July 12 2020

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  1. Hyperion

    Korriban

    Their wounds recovered safely over the stretch of days that passed. They did their part to keep their bodies fed and their minds fresh with conversations, building on familiarity. In doses, the two would touch on the event of their introduction, and the disaster that followed thereafter, but laughter and words of revenge were always quick to bury the details of murder and loss that sat unwell with them. Hyperion would teach Aziza certain exercises to open up the mind and body to the call of the force, and pour into her with the philosophy he adhered to as well as the ancient teachings that somehow showed itself cryptically across the third floor. "The Sith philosophy is centered around the idea that following your passions and constantly getting stronger allows you to unlock your full potential. The reason that the Sith appear obsessed with power and violence is because throughout their entire existence they have been hunted by Jedi, forcing them into an twisted extremist warrior-culture that evolved to produce sociopaths in abundance. In order to fully understand our philosophy, you have to understand their roots. Thousands of years before the Battle of Yavin, before even lightsabers existed, the Jedi Order found itself facing an issue. Members of the Jedi Order were leaving to study other Force philosophies because they found the Jedi to be too narrow minded, too dogmatic in their views. These rogue Jedi became known as The Legions of Lettow, for the planet they left to study on. Unfortunately for the Legions, the Jedi did not want to leave them in peace. The Jedi attacked them, forcing the fight into Republic space. When the Legions warned the Republic that the Jedi were forcing them into their territory, the Republic ignored them and slandered the Legion. Alone and overpowered, the Legion fell, and the ideological survivors would later be known as Dark Jedi. These Dark Jedi took increasingly desperate and dark measures to try to ensure victory over the Jedi. However, they too were defeated and eventually banished from Republic space. Such events almost undoubtedly contributed to the Sith's hatred of the Jedi and distaste for the Republic as a whole. They found themselves on Korriban, homeworld of the Sith Species, and it is here they took their contemporary title. The Sith philosophy started as an attempt to approach new ideas that the Jedi would not allow, and ended as a warrior-code created in the fires of combat and religious warfare. The Sith were forced to be militaristic and strong in order to survive, and those are the traits they value in themselves, and in others, so their ideology reflects both an opposition to the Jedi and valuing only strength and survivability. The first two lines of their code shows how their philosophy challenges the Jedi way, and the rest shows how much they relied on the value of strength: Peace is a lie, there is only passion. Through passion, I gain strength. Through strength, I gain power. Through power, I gain victory. Through victory, my chains are broken. Where it is said "peace is a lie" shows how the Sith feel about the Jedi notion of peace: that a lack of conflict stagnates a persons abilities and offers no real growth. With conflict comes progress, and accepting that passion gives a person drive and strength to achieve is not a bad thing in the eyes of our people; it's simply acknowledging their own inherent nature. This feeds into the second line, "through passion I gain strength". By being passionate about their goals, the Sith can harness the power of their desire to accomplish them, fueling them beyond mental limitations. The rest of the Sith code, in my opinion, is a direct result from being hounded by the Jedi and banished to Korriban. Their need for strong warriors produces a warrior philosophy, where only the most capable and independent were seen as valuable. In order to survive they needed to be powerful, and the ending lines of the code shows this desire for power and strength. In the end, the Sith philosophy isn't just hoarding power. There was a paranoia bred from the threat of extinction, a realization and need to survive against all odds. Over the centuries that code became the twisted philosophy that they are now generalized with, used for personal gain and power grabbing. Originally, the precursors to the Sith were more interested in ideas outside the realm of those of the Jedi, but contemporary Sith have a new ideology in which gaining personal strength is the goal. "Modern" Sith believe that their quest for personal power will bring them the freedom to unlock their full potential, and that Jedi who restrict themselves are putting artificial limits on their abilities. The extremist part of this philosophy that came about after the Sith became Sith is that they now believe not only that those that are strong are valuable, but that those that aren't strong are inherently without value (worthless). At its core, the Sith philosophy centers around becoming as strong as possible to realize your full potential, and using others you see as weak (killing, enslaving, etc) to obtain that goal certainly isn't out of the question. Where you come in, is in your hands Aziza. These principles will undoubtedly tempt and test you on your journey. What kind of Sith will you become? … Something to think of." --- And think about it she did. Over the next day, she pondered all the words he had spoken, turning them over in her mind as one turned compost to expose it to sunlight and fresh bacteria. The history was of great worth, for Aziza knew that to know one’s past was to understand one’s present and illuminate one’s future. She found herself often on the roof of the outpost. Three walls extended up, blocking the worst of the ravaging winds, but the fourth was open, leading to a small balcony with a railing. She stood there now, a cup of tea in her hands, the howl of the omnipresent winds providing a symphonic counterpoint to the thoughts flowing through her mind. Drawing her attention back a little, she attempted one of the practical lessons Amadeus had taught her. Taking a deep breath, she sought the Force in her mind. The first time she had successfully made contact, it had been akin to feeling a wild nexu reach out and nuzzle her hand with its nose. A rush of confidence and strength had washed over her, accompanied by a moment of certainty. The sensation was ethereal and instantaneous, vanishing as quickly as it had appeared, but ever since that moment, she had longed to discover more and increase her connection to it. Now she could feel it, lingering below the surface of her skin, flowing in eddies on the breeze, skittering deep in the heart of the outpost, erupting as a fountain from her approaching teacher. “I can feel it,” she said, not turning from her outlook over the valley, “but it won’t yet obey me.” Her tone was calm; she knew that with patience and practice, much would be achieved. These were merely her first steps. She took a sip of the tea as he moved to join her at the railing. “I have three questions, Teacher. I implore your graciousness to respond.” When he didn’t immediately turn her away, she continued. “I understand that the Sith of the past relied on their strength; it was the logical rationale when fighting a more numerous force. Indeed, it’s a testament to their fortitude that they survived and ended up thriving in time. However, that is no longer the case in the galaxy. There are more Sith now than in generations, whereas the Jedi’s fire has largely gone out of the universe as they have become fractured and insular. “My first question, then, is this: if power is no longer required as a necessity, why do the Sith still hold it to be the ideal value? Is it simply habit? Are there none who wish to challenge potentially outdated philosophies? Or have they discovered power is it’s own reward?” She paused. “My second question follows that. If, as you say, that each Sith cares mostly about his or her own personal strength and power, how then do the Sith exist as a unified whole? How do they not shatter under infighting and power struggles, where one Sith attempts to seize the assets of others that they consider weaker than they? “Finally, my third question: you speak of the Sith as if you were not one of them. Do you see yourself as different from the order as a whole? And if so, how and why?” She knew the question might come across as impertinent, but she tried to ask it in a way that clearly showed her understanding that he had every right to refuse to answer should he desire. -- Arms folded behind his back, he stared out in the bleak distance, mind searching out a thing he had never spoken of, looking beyond the skies to find something he knew would never come. He could feel his apprentice now, she was a quick learner, an obsession of how and why began to exude from her tone whenever words left her. Power trickled inside her veins. "If the slave-challengers of the Bjarkesh Arena trained their entire lives to conquer the black sands and become first-champion, do you think that the champion would then cease to train altogether, to ignore what it was that brought them the success?" Hyperion chuckled. "..Foolishness. The creature would become the standard to beat, a target for many to kill, and the process would repeat itself. If the champion deviated from what had brought it to the pinnacle, they would be no more. Strength is what it took to achieve their place in the galaxy, and strength is what it would take to maintain it all the same. However that strength turned to philosophy, would be in the hands of the victor, and only they would dictate the golden standard." Hyperion paused. "To address your second question. Many have ambitions far loftier than what they are ever able to manifest. For this reason, the leader of the Sith can be nothing less than a revered entity, one that exudes ultimate power, and commands the will of his or her lessers through fear or through duty. It is a humbling experience, but there are those that understand that their own power can only mature under such guidance and weight of one greater than they. For this, the King has been lifted to a unique pedestal, one where the monsters that serve, can see themselves become more under his leadership. Lord Exodus for example, encourages autonomy within his hierarchy when his lessers have reached a certain height, facilitating a continued growth in them as he does not fear the increase in their influence of power. He has found a way to exist within, in order to build on the sum of power that the Sith Empire represents. There may come a time that he falls, as all do, and we creatures that serve, will explore what we have learned and test just how much we can take for ourselves. And then, perhaps the curse of infighting will return in such chaos. There is an innate fear of stepping from the structure and hierarchy, for the many that have been empowered by the way of the King, will come down hard against those that threaten the prosperity of the whole. Unification bred from power, respect, and discipline. There is enough soil in the galaxy, for us all to grow. I hope this sheds an understanding to what we've built." "As for your third question, I--." Hyperion sighed as if it were no simple thing to explain. The evening drew cold and his senses played on his mind. "The Sith are many, and few can be trusted. You will see some that claim that their loyalty is undying, but no sooner will you see these same creatures evaporate from the universe whenever there is need for them. There are mongrels that have succumbed to a selfishness that sees no end, to a madness that has no reason. These fools are a living depiction of their ignorance and vanity, serving as nothing more than a grunt for the Jedi to try and monopolize into reasons to continue their crusade. I am an inquisitor of the Sith Empire, and I have slain as many unfaithful Sith as I have treasonous Jedi. I am mindful to keep the differences between myself and the wide spectrum of Sith separate. You will soon see."
  2. Hyperion

    Korriban

    A crackling sizzle uprooted from where Hyperion stood. The natural element rose from nowhere and wreathed itself around the man, fervently electrifying the alchemical metal that sheathed his powerful forearms. Lightning danced off of his body in whiplashes of electric white as the Sith Lord centered his weight and launched himself towards the fallen Arkanian mercenary. There was a breach in their hold. The abominations spoke no clear dialect, but their nasty growling between their slobbering on flesh came off as loud and famished. Blood crept into the air as an iron stench. Their approach was starved, and ravenous. The brutish creatures were sinewy and red, strapping to the tooth and fearsome in presence alone. This team would perish quickly, and the killing was a clear sign of this. The Arkanian fell and found a mighty laceration across his chest, tearing him into shreds, and opening his chest cavity without effort. Geldalem Zer was no more. The shock alone was stifling, but the darkness made the room drunken with fear. He did not scream, and the muscles in his hand worked the pistol once more, managing to fire at nothing. Hyperion intercepted the beast as a harpoon would strike, nailing the Massassi Sithspawn high into the wall with a pointed fist. Lightning carried forward and ate into the skin of the red beast, slashing it’’s hardened flesh from bone, and burning the life from it’s core. The beast roared against the backdrop of battle within the ship confines, droning out the clashings of blaster fire and wrestling on metal. Aziza had opened fire, and to their fortune, managed to sharpen a shot to the head of another, falling the creature immediately in it’s tracks. Fhysar Wax slung his hammer loosely, fending the opposition of three, butchering the adrenaline-filled monsters with smiteful heaves of his weapon. Izi did not make it, and perhaps, that is why Mr. Wax fought with such reckless abandon. The two had only just met for this job alone, but he had summoned a likeness for the woman and her toothy smile. That smile had faded into terror as she lay there lifeless, unable to survive the 300-lb weight of a crushing boot against her windpipe. Hyperion was there now, he moved in quaint flashes that seemed to ignite the darkness. The abominations were falling too, but they had more to fight with, and less to lose. A beast fell upon the Sith Lord from above, Hyperion was unsure of how it had held itself there for so long, but caught the creature before it could split him in two. Amadeus au Raa had barely reached for his whip and used the handle to deflect the descending blade of an ax. Reflexively, the length of the beast-whip uncoiled and whisked into the fiendish face of the Massassi horror, dividing the soft tissue from it’s powerful bone structure. With another bullwhip, he latched the lengthy cord around the neck of the now reeling beast, and yank him forward. As the two converged, Hyperion buried a smooth blade into the scalp of the beast, leveraging his skull and tearing until he felt the slack of death consume the abomination.
  3. Hyperion

    Korriban

    Abominations trampled into the fractured transport, their footfalls loud and heavy-set, banging against the metals as if hands pounded against war drums. The nest of Sithspawn exceeded seven feet apiece, with a carrying weight that would hit harder than hover-trains. Red was not just their blood, but their skin and presence exuded the color in a rich abundance. These creatures were hulking monstrosities that breathed as harshly as the ravaging winds of Korriban, moved as if colossal stone itself ran frantically, and searched with a hunger for destruction. Fhysar Wax from the northern barricade and Shi Bere from the southern barricade, fired their RSKF-44 heavy blasters, blindly into the dark and the dark howled back. Each of them were loosely equipped with their own measures to defend themselves in the heat of a confrontational encounter, but these creatures were of might and magic. What seemed like three furious Massassi Abominations, rushed into the Nikto and Arkanian as if they were ten. Mr. Wax held back the brunt of the forward rush, shoving his own weight against the force and cracking his knuckles fiercely into the rib-cage of the cruel-spawn. Shots rang out everywhere at once now, whether by desperation and panic, or efficiency and skill. When the pandemonium hit a climax, it was impossible to discern the truth of it. A marked abomination barrelled through Shi Bere and one of the pilots from the South, hounding towards Aziza with full force.
  4. Hyperion

    Korriban

    "It's important for us to be prepared for when your enemies arrive," "What type of forces are arrayed against us? What would give us the tactical advantage?" She was correct, preparation was tantamount to whatever insecurities laid at the feet of the freelancers, and the crew huffed at the realization. Hyperion ignored their irrationality, barely catching the end of the question that Aziza had silenced the others with. His attention was primal now, extrapolating what kind of vermin his rivals would approach with now. "This ship is a bedrock against the disastrous climate, for now. Positioning mostly," With the systems overheated and burnt into submission, an ugly wave of warmth began to creep through the malfunctioning vessel. The skin-tearing sandstorm waged war just outside of their metal cage, and the wolves of past adversaries skulked between the shadows. "At best, they're freelancers hired by Ektei, one of those Massassi shams that cropped up with Darth Akheron awhile back. Worse case, they are the abominations of those Massassi; the hungriest and most fearsome of hunters sent to sweep us from the face of Korriban." The primary lighting system within their perishing means of transport suddenly drew completely dark, now only highlighting small traces of light by way of a small generator. Visibility dampened significantly, casting them as mere shadows against the dark metal around them. The hostile winds outside ate at the hard alloy, rocking the ship back and forth and battering the permanence that held it together in one piece. Abruptly, a knocking sound echoed from the rear of the ship, almost like a hammering as it did not stop. Drilling? The sound of metal punching into metal hummed through the corridors as well, but it felt as if the sound came from elsewhere now, perhaps it was nearest to the cockpit. Hyperion could barely see her features now with an unaided eye, but he withdrew a short blade from a scabbard aligned with his spine, and placed the smaller Sith steel into her hand. "Ten sentient creatures, Aziza. And they are here for blood. Close your eyes, allow your instincts to become feral. Can you see them?"
  5. Hyperion

    Korriban

    (Encounter arrives in two posts) Hyperion pulled the woman to her feet, recognizing the wounds that riddled her frame. He ignored her first question, knowing that there was barely time to prepare. Instead, the steel of his hands clutched at the ends of his torn cloak, tearing more of the strange material apart to supply the second of her needs. "Here, use this. Hurry." An impatience waned on the strength of his voice now, seemingly more concerned of what wandered just outside of this vessel, almost as if he could see them through the wreckage. Then, his eyes darted away from whatever it was he could see, and looked desperately over the bodies that lay mutilated by his feet. Lifelessness and a loosening of blood that curdled between the dentured metal floorboards was just a touch of the madness that surrounded the pair. He lowered himself to reach over the deceased; not for honoring the members of his crew, but for a tampering of energy that he could vigorously siphon from, sucking the remaining force from whatever still breathed inside those dying cells. "Boss. You decide to kill her or what?" From a break in the collapsed entrance, the cold and starched voice of a Selonian sneered into play. Other shapes and sounds materialized slowly behind the creature. Nikto, M, 35 Kajain'sa'Nikto Fhysar Wax Muscle Selonian, F, 28 Shi Bere Scout Arkanian, M, 42 Geldalem Zer Pilot Arkanian, F, 21 Izi Zoln Pilot Butler, N Jeeves (Each of these will be made to form a controlled unit for Aziza. She will be made to command them in an increasing capacity. If comfortable in doing so, flesh out a brief personality for each and also a brief description of appearance if it helps. As much detail as you want to add, is to your discretion. I'll roll with how you want them to be as we move forward)
  6. Hyperion

    Korriban

    A loud patter of metal woke him from his sleep. How long had it been since he allowed himself the luxury? Many moons had passed, and his body took advantage of the short reprieve. A tingling sensation dribbled through his arms, stirring awake separately from where they hung loose in suspension. "Jeeves?" His voice managed to call out curiously. Searching, his hand felt slowly across the fabric of the seat, attempting to release himself from confinement. Guided by memory, he clutched the release and pulled, dropping his mass from the upended control seat. His equilibrium was off, and the fall was heavier than anticipated. Over two-hundreds pounds of flesh and metal buckled into the durasteel plating below, sucking the wind from him. The blood that drained from his nose splattered where he lay, and the sound of small laughter crawled from his throat. "Aziza! You better still draw breath.. The breaking is upon us. You will never be more ready than you are in this moment. You must survive." Hyperion is a name connected to a man who enacted a savagery that would never be forgiven. His mentors were ecstatic with his extraordinary performances and his swift knack for strategy in the battlefield, while his peers inherited a sheer hatred for him in the same vein. There were many that wished for his head on a plate, and his arrogant eyes served to the black crows of Pelko. He had matured much since his youthful dominance, but his rivals had remained within the red planet, scheming with long-lasting grudges to fuel them. They would see the Archer butchered before he could return to rank within the Sith Empire, or they would die at his feet trying. Amadeus stood from his fall, unsteadiness wearing on him alongside the fatigue. There were aches and pains that riddled his body from the impact, but nothing immediately impairing. Many others were dead, and he didn't need to see them to know this, for his senses immersed itself in the emotion of death. There were few who yet lived, and those were the few that they would make their stand with, soon they would come. Au Raa staggered towards Aziza, now watching her move slightly with exhaustion on her features. He had missed her feat of the force, but he watched her inquisitively, trying to see traces of how she survived without his hold. Time would draw more from her, if she was worth enough to endure further. "Sith live by the inclination of natural selection. To us, strength is not only the ability to weaponize the force, but also the capacity to tailor ourselves to unfavorable conditions." Hyperion wiped the blood from his nose, smearing the bright metal that sheathed his mighty arms. "In the mind, those most fit to conquer, must endure by all means. For this reason, affliction and misery is a natural state to the Sith, and those that are hamstrung by such difficulties, are inadequate." He lectured as he drew closer, stepping over corpses mutilated by the impact, paying careful attention to the roaring sound of the winds just outside of their crash site. "Miles apart from assistance, and those that will come, are no more than hostiles. We were shot down with intention. What supplies remained intact, are most likely limited. What bodies remain, will be stricken with fear and injury. The power has been punched, and the storm outside has just begun." "Rise apprentice, and lead us from dissolution." As he reached a hand out to help her up, slight footsteps and clamors from the rest of the ship could be heard
  7. Hyperion

    Korriban

    Just then, the ship upended. The vicious force of an untimely impact broke the powerful frame of the Beaumaris. Soft bones, and softer tissues split apart in a number of passengers, while the skeleton of their transport cracked open. The craft heaved with momentum over the rolling hills of sand, ricocheting harshly with terrifying speed. The heated metal of the vessel ruptured, windowpanes exploded, and any possible light source had become resoundingly black in an instant. There was a monstrous roaring of winds and storms as the interceptor skidded to a scratching halt, the savage sucking of turbulence and chaos tunneled through the broken ship, echoing loud enough to try to wake the unconscious. The concussive crash did more than a number on the passengers; outright killing many with a blunt enough impact that crippled men and women into a maimed death. Those that survived would wake soon to lick their wounds, and count their blessings. Outside of the wreck the hour was on eventide, with the shine of the stars eclipsed by a thundering sandstorm. For all anyone knew, the dark expanse crawled on for miles and miles with nothing but the cool chill of deep sand beneath their feet, churning and spitting in typhoons without end. There was no peace. They had fell apart into the remoteness of an unforgiving Korriban, an enraged and resentful planet of red hate. Hyperion hung unresponsively from where he was strapped in, blood dripping thickly from his nostrils while his white hair sagged inches from his face. His heart beat strong, but could the same be said for the rest of those within the Beaumaris? Which of them endured?
  8. Hyperion

    Korriban

    The moment seized. The way the last of her words commanded the imagination to work, to assume what it was that could have drawn her powers to the fore. The possibilities were endless, unkind, and surreal. Hyperion chose the silence, allowing her sentiments to breathe through the conference room uninterrupted. Reflection was a powerful tool, one that could uproot and summon the very raw emotions that had erupted once before. There were those that could temper such emotion, invoking the pain of the past, to empower themselves in the heat of any moment. Such crudeness was fuel for the embattled warriors of the Sith, but even the assassins understood the measure that these passions could inflict. Hyperion considered the strange metal alloy that covered the lengths of his arms, piercing the metal compound with his wintry eyes, knowing the deep scars that marked his struggles. "Aziza," Hyperion called to her lightly. The fury-class drilled into the atmosphere hard, trembling under the mounting weight of thermal fever and gravity. Unease heaved through the belly of the interceptor, some creatures inside more accustomed to the transformation than others. Something was different though. Hyperion whispered several words, all of which went unseen unless one paid careful attention to how his mouth moved, and even then his words remained unclear. Emergency foghorns clamored nearly loud enough to harm the soft tissue of the eardrums, red lights searched and searched in warning, both washing the conference room in a panic. Several of the crew-members looked impossibly confused, looking back and forth to one another in their strange masks, then looking to the calmness of Hyperion as if there lie the answers they sought. "Sir, the—" "I will show you the ways of the Sith." AN EXPLOSION JARRED THE VESSEL, AND THEN ANOTHER, LURCHING ALL PASSENGERS DANGEROUSLY IN THEIR SEATS. SENSE OF DIRECTION BECAME UNTHINKABLE, AND THE SOUND OF SHOCK AND DISTRESS CONSUMED THE INTERCEPTOR. Anxiety conquered the moment, while crew-members jerked so violently that their bones began to displace inside their limbs. Vomit covered the man closest to the entryway as a maintenance droid launched across the room and mushroomed into the holo-table, distorting the imagery. Hyperion just watched, somehow less movable than the others, while a hand out-stretched towards Aziza, seemingly keeping her in place. The craft was descending at a rapid pace, and the whining of the wind against the infrastructure grew nosier by the breath. They were falling from the skies, and would no doubt find themselves as a stain against the desert wasteland. Hyperion smiled.
  9. Hyperion

    Korriban

    Hyperion sat securely for atmospheric re-entry, analyzing three-dimensional spreads of information that sprouted from a rather extensive holo-table. The disclosure was Korriban itself, relaying important satellite transmissions and sub-structures prioritized for the Sith Legions. There was a swathe of moving intelligence, and coded dispatches that were steadily being deciphered by the others in the room. The personnel here wore pure white masks, concealing the dogged expressions of tireless concentration that was expected of them. They were eerily quiet, only whispering into their comm-units to trade guidance. Amadeus reached out to the holographic construction of the red planet, and twisted his fingers as if untwisting a bottle-cap. Korriban spun on an axis, turning from a range of infrastructures and edifices commonly traveled, to the bare blanket of desolate sand-seas. "Aziza," He spoke as if untangling the unfamiliarity of the name. "Did you know that the origins of the Sith derives from a substantial discrepancy in belief, over how the Force should be used? Those that march under the branch of the light, use their power in an attempt to nurture a peaceful end. They tie their hands when it comes to rule, and offer passive guidance and protection, or so they say. Creatures of the dark however, believe that their power is to be employed more directly. Those with power should rule, and instead enforce peace on their terms." Lord Hyperion paused, completely aware of how common this knowledge was for many abroad. "..I wonder. How did you stumble across your natural gift, Princess. Did your Father rule with the creatures of the dark, or with the olive branch of the meek?" Preparing the Beaumaris for atmospheric entry, standby--
  10. Hyperion

    Korriban

    The metal door decompressed with a short hiss, and retreated within the wall to reveal Hyperion quietly rasping his knuckles against the inlet. He stood magnificently poised, as if to say that his alluring Arkanian stature was less peasantry, and more of a distinct nobility. The cardinal-red wash of color in the clothes he wore was made rich, while his carnal pearlescent features exuded indisputable rarity. There were no two creatures like him in these parts, and so he harbored pride in how he manifested. A leather-skinned belt wrapped his waist twice, fastened with a polished house emblem buckle. Such a thing looked as if it were a coiling Najarkan Wilderbeast. The carving was so elaborate, that it was hard to discern the nature of it on first-glance. Amadeus au Raa shimmered with refinement, staring into the accommodation with a peculiar look of satisfaction on his face. Whether she knew it or not, her words did not fail to reach him. "I hope you are prepared to empty the cup, Princess Aziza." Hyperion smiled devilishly, ceding into an honest bow. Jeeves chimed a few acute beeps before welcoming his Master, gathering the dishware, then strolling dutifully out the door. "My honored guest. When you are ready, meet me in the conference room. We make for the Red Sands." Amadeus turned on a heel and left Aziza to prepare herself for the descent, and more importantly, for her new life. Perhaps the individuals that passed by her quarters, understood what this meant. And perhaps, each of them were wholly unprepared for what came next. Officers of familiar uniform were lost in idle chatter, while creatures of varying race rambled to one another about the passings of the mundane. And then all at once, the vessel burst alive as the engines roared and all operational systems flared, warning of immediate departure.
  11. Hyperion

    Korriban

    "Oh! You are far too kind, my lady." The installed voice modulator hiked up a few notches with excitement as the woman shared her compliments. The tall butler droid nearly blushed before submitting to it's passive decorum software. In an attempt for authenticity, the machine coughed to imply a clearing of the throat, before patting itself down to recollect it's composure. The question about her host struck a sort of seriousness with Jeeves, even though it was an expected response from the sentient creature. "Master Hyperion can only be described as an enthusiast of affluence and wealth. He is a collector of culture and coin, but a creature with an immeasurable penance for surprise. It would be particularly unwise to take his demure temperament as one without fury, for he is one with the storms themselves. My counsel; be as you are, less than that, and he will know. We, of the Beaumaris, are his crew. We have been part and parcel to his mercurial adventures, and those have been many over the stretch of the past three years. He is a fair, just in his actions and reasons. Even the mongrels of this world know this, and yet fear his resolve. What he plans with you however, my lady, I do not know." Jeeves inched closer to the woman, noticing that she took the napkin with the blade cipher draw across it. ".. What does it mean to be Aziza?" Quizzically, the butler model leaned forward, scratching at it's metal skin, feigning an empathetic understanding that would escape most artificial intelligences.
  12. Hyperion

    Korriban

    The crewmen of the Beaumaris carried on naturally, undisturbed by the arrival of their guest. No more than a nod, or a simple curtsy to welcome her as she explored the infrastructure of the quaint interceptor. The ambiance was warmed with an unusual hospitality, but the unfamiliarity of this place remained real. Humanoids of many common species operated here, from the helmsmen to the kitchen and then of course those of bonded labor. More Arkanians were present, but Humans and Delphidians shared their ranks as well as several others. None of the humanoids chanced a personal encounter with the new boarder, for she was as unknown to them, as they were to her. Instead, a well-prepared meal was sent by service of a modish butler droid. The droid would knock once, then twice, before the door flushed heedlessly open. "Greetings, dear Aziza. The kitchen has prepared a quor'sav-fried steak for you, compliments of the house." The automaton servant spoke with an enriched basic, mechanical in tone, but polished with crisp articulation. The dish consisted of a large nerf steak coated in seasoned pom seed flour and then pan-grilled to perfection. The forenoon meal was served with creamy white dwarf gravy, a side dish of octavian fruit-pudding, and two gartro eggs. A tall glass of sour sarlacc trickled with cold sweat on the brass tray, epitomizing a real thirst-quench. The butler set the tray down, nearly duck-walking to where she sat, and then retraced it's steps towards the corridor. "I am Jeeves of the Beaumaris, my kind lady. Is there anything more I can do for you?" The coeval unit attempted to exercise it's best jovial pitch, while extending three different napkins for the guest to choose from. The three of them were all white with a red-trim around the neck of the napkin. The only differences between them, was the small stamped crests on each; one was small blade, the other was a decorous hammer, and the last one looked as if it was an old wooden staff. Simple handkerchiefs for sanitation purposes, but there was a layered prudence to which one the lady would choose, and what questions she would ask.
  13. Hyperion

    Korriban

    Amadeus drew a questioning look, brushing the metal that covered his upper half while he listened, almost as if her very words itched against his skin. He knew what she spoke of, of her desire and how her fear was measured in those same wants. This was how they all began, and most of whom fell when their appetite became too much to bear. There was a strangeness in her gaze and it told of a mystery that she would not soon part with, the Arkanian understood that those kinds of secrecies would trickle from her mouth with time. She would trade them for this power she truly knew nothing of, or so he thought. "...Honesty? That is a little different." He nodded her way, and walked passed with a convinced stride towards his interceptor. The crimson high-mantled cloak that was shelved upon his heavy shoulders heaved with his first step, and then ricocheted under it's majestic length. On his fourth pace he halted and turned to look over Aziza once more. "This transport is mine. You're welcome aboard, Aziza. There are a few vacant cabins, gather whatever else you need, and make yourself at home. The aides will treat you as their guest, but will monitor any movement outside of your quarters. There are a few.. dossiers that I must archive with the staff on this station, I will be brief. If I return, and you are not here. That will be your answer." Dressed in an informal marine uniform, personnel from the Fury-Class Imperial Interceptor exited from the launch tunnel almost as the words left the mouth of Amadeus, the gingerly human passed off a sealed folder with the insignia of the spider inked onto the flat of it. Amadeus gathered the parcel, and pivoted down the halls, unconcerned with the choice the woman had to make. He knew the answer deep down, and he knew just what she was thinking, "I'll see you shortly, Aziza." And with a charming laugh, he was gone.
  14. Hyperion

    Korriban

    The station was nearly derelict at this point. All across the feverish planet, sandstorms continued to ravish the unstable terrains. Many believed that the previous establishment was to blame, creating an infrastructure to invite tourists from abroad, regardless of who they were. Such direction did not sit well with the spirit of the sands common folk say, priests of the code were the loudest of those that warned against such an open border legislation. They were right, and the planet itself was now consuming itself from within, with a sinister force none could tangle with. To walk below, was to introduce suffering. "Aziza?" He rehashed the name quietly, as if weighing how it felt against his tongue. "My name is Amadeus," he brushed the snow-white locks from his face, and straightened himself into a chivalrous but slight bow. His bleached ivory eyes never left the strange woman, rigidly aware that she could have been sent here to execute the contract against him. Unlikely, but possible. "Last I heard, there is an academy that still stands near the old valley. The shuttles have been down for maintenance, storms down there are worse than they've ever been.." His noble tone became noticeably measured, trailing at a particular thought that stuck behind his unblemished features. "I may be able to get you there, but entertain me for a moment.. What you seek with the Sith you speak of, the pursuit alone may very well cost you your life. ..Why does that not put fear into your bones?"
  15. H Y P E R I O N Personal Aliases: Amadeus au Raa, Lord Hyperion, Archer, Darth Hyperion Homeworld: Species: Anzat (Father) Arkanian (Mother) Alignment: TBD Physical Description Age: 20 Height: 6'4" Weight: 195 Hair: White Eyes: White Sex: Male Faction Information House: Current Faction Affiliation: Sith Empire Current Faction Rank: Sith Lord History Trained by: Emperor-King Exodus Trained who: None What We Know Amadeus is described as tall and imperious, with rough hands and bony fingers. He carries an extremely faint scar that runs along his right cheekbone. Like all Arkanians, he has white hair and transparent eyes. He has a straight nose, deep cheeks, tough skin, and contemptuous eyes made from the flashes of a raging storm. His face is more mature than his age, severe, and pure with power. His hair shines, combed back against his head. Neither a smile nor a frown mark his thin lips, but his laughter has sewn magic into the hearts of all while his temper has burned at the roots of entire ancestral trees. Amadeus au Raa, has returned from wild spaces with a story to unfold. Equipment Clothing or Armor: Weapon: Common Inventory:
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