Onderon

Exodus · August 2, 2017

The drastic shudder of warp speed hummed throughout his core, calming his mind, quieting the venom in his veins. He closed his eyes, to blot out the scour of subspace, and slowly he slipped into the soft cradle of a fever dream. When he opened his eyes in what seemed like a mere second after, he found himself entirely blind. He searched high and searched lower, but black surrounded him on all fronts. His heartbeat remained poised with untroubled pace, a discipline fit for only the sharpest of assassins, yet it pounded loud inside of his eardrums and inside of his chest. The Dark Lord could finally feel his hands, as if he had just now realized that he had them. The air was an unforgiving chill that bit at his skin. Straining his eyes with his passive mastery of the Force was unfruitful, the low-light vision that would naturally braid his eyesight was far from his reach.

“What trickery is this?” The cold-blooded bark of the Dark King fell on deaf ears.

Far in the distance, he could see it. The darkness parted slowly, and he felt irresistibly drawn to a fire-red outline that illustrated this. Could this be a door? The cover of darkness made it impossible to tell, but the red line sluggishly widened and a raucous sound poured out from the cracks. The loudness was the raw hammering of drums, severely amplified by the emptiness of where Exodus stood, wherever this was. There was no helping it, his heart beat faster and faster, to the tune of the warmongering symphonies. The Force neglected him, an impossible treachery especially when he could still feel the power of it swell inside of his cold skin. The colossal door pushed opened a little more now, still blurry in the distance, and with fire literally erupting from the spaces in dry heaves. Exodus looked down and his hardened leather boots felt heavy, heavier when he remembered his feet. Then, he forgot everything altogether, when he looked up to lay his eyes on what was now eerily peaking from the door.

--

The HUD of the Lightbreaker enkindled with a myriad of instantaneous communications between vessels. A slither of discomfort gnawed into his head, quickly breaking the clutch of the feverish visions, and then dissipating altogether. He rested a hand on the phantom pain, and shook his focus back into pocket. The ship transponder would intuitively align with the AI that commanded his fleet, the one who had designed the Lightbreaker, and he would know that the Dark Lord had arrived. The starfighter held a body that was superbly vested in advanced stealth technologies which concealed the vessel both visually and from the haunting gaze of sensors. Alternatively, Exodus studied the readouts that cascaded from the heads-up display, as well as the efficient and condensed synopsis streamlined by Kain himself. He had to displace those visions and focus on what now laid before him, but what were they? It appeared as if the Jedi were here after all. Unsurprisingly they were quick to abandon their post, waiving their duty in the face of danger, and slowly receding into the hole they crawled from. Lord Exodus quickly identified the thickening of the Dark Side, smelling the banquet of the battlemind that his armies feasted on, while easing his own consciousness into the fray.

"Unidentified vessels, this is Onderon Space Command. Identify yourselves and state your purpose immediately." The comm rang through broad channels.

The enmeshment of the Dark Lord and the Sith Battlemind spread out a yawning power across the armies that was so oppressive, that the connected hive-mind threatened to break loudly against torrential winds. A flush of unbridled adrenaline overflowed the chalice that they all drank from, empowering them through one sheer focus, with a response that would disturb the Onderon Communications Center. They all spoke as one, many voices, from various locations on the black expanse before the planet. Hard voices, voices seethed in murderous passion, voices dipped in black.

"...We Have Come For Faust."

The ricochet of unidentified voices did not intend to clarify their position, and Exodus chose to instead access personalized and secure lines of communication with the Wolves that stood at bay. “Lords of Battle, hold positions. The Jedi are an expected element to this, but we will not give chase." The sound of the name that their brothers of light held, rolled off of his tongue in smug detest, their cowardice so appalling in every nature. There could be much more to their actions nonetheless, nothing was ever as it appeared. "Prepare for engagement with the Onderonian Forces. The choice is theirs whether they wish to live to see another day, or not." The cards would lay themselves, and the game would be played. The deep-tone of the Dark Lord carried with it a sharpened focus, knowing that this was much more than a ridiculous rescue mission, it would be here and now that the powerful collective of the Sith would make harvest on the real truths that were left unsaid. "..Kain, find me eyes on our target."

Exodus · August 9, 2017

A curious silence steepened inside of the Lightbreaker cockpit, betraying the intensity of the events that now carved themselves out below. The Dark Lord remained withdrawn to his mind as he delicately metabolised the information that poured in, thread by thread. The compound hivemind persisted with instruction and intentions that were executed with supernatural precision, but more than that, Exodus could feed on it. The collective of voices and emotions sang an arcane euphony of power, one that was wholly harvestable by only the most powerful of creatures. The Spider was the deadliest of them all, and the nefarious expression he held on his face was a telltale testament.

The powerful Sith host that now plagued the planet of Onderon, had assumed intricate formations to both defend and acclimatize to the predictable nature of their oppositions. It was particularly unnecessary for Exodus to even so much as bat an eye to the open-ended state of affairs; the Sith now flourished with masterful individuals that would act out his absolute decree without hesitation, but could also intelligently operate towards his agenda in their own design. The Era of Exodus would reign across the galaxy, as this unity began to bear fruit that could never taste as sweet in their outdated timeline of infighting. His enemies would envy his unique ability to harmonize the gathering of these powerful monstrosities, and realign them to true purpose. Shoulder to shoulder, and with one stern voice, they would adamantly remove all infectious parasites still entangled in their selfish ways. The phenomena of the Sith Code and the Sith as a whole, had to become the wellspring to nourish all minds, and there would be none to stand in the way of that.

The unusual F8 Lightning model powered forward and trailed the Honor Guard, as well as a medley of other vessels. Exodus spared a glance towards the familiarity that was Dxun, and suppressed a flash of savage imagery in his life that no other was privy too. A dark and challenging time for the young Malacoda Syn, but his home nonetheless. “Phase one is complete,” the fiendish voice rumbled inside the minds of his armies alone, absent to the actual comm-waves. “.. Phase two begins now." As he mentally drove the words, the hivemind would now unravel with a fresh mandate, and previously unheralded directives to be executed. The Dark Lord kept a few paces to the fore as he watched the events unfold with poise, and would realign his people accordingly, but never give too much too soon. This was essential when dealing with the encumbrance of many given elements at one time.

The walled capital of Iziz was now drenched with Sith forces to keep the peaceful conduct and enforce order in the event of unrest. The commissioners’ request of structural repair would be honored, and the forces would draw closer in that request. Lord Kain, Hunter Delta, and Master Sheog would respectively have their instructions before them, and by extension, the people and units that followed them closely. Simultaneously, the feet of the Lightbreaker would soon rest upon the Square, and Exodus would draw himself from the stifling cockpit at last to come to terms with this devilish extraction. A hand played against the mask across his face, a conceal that hid an unsettling smile..

Exodus · August 18, 2017

Exodus found the choice of words that Faust spoke with to be rather, revealing.

“You presume to understand why I am here, Luciferian. I do not deal in excessives, yet your questionable lack of vision believes this to be true. You are smarter than this. Your fear, as you say, for the mobilization of our enemies also concerns me. These enemies you speak of have mobilized to the drum of their fears long before I returned. They sought to eradicate my people and hunt us like simple vermin. Long before Onderon, our enemies made their intentions perfectly clear, and this should not be news to the likes of you. I do not see the Cult of Morthos, I do not see a captured Jedi and the release of an incompetent hostage, and I can not feel the powerful effects you say you have come to grant me. Your report is wanting, Lord Faust. You will meet me at the Square, and debrief me on this.. project. The people yearn to see your face, and dissect you with their sterile line of questionings. We will give them their show.”

The talons of his dark starcraft clawed the surface of the square and hummed to a halt, not resting on ground level but suspended just above it. The frontal husk of the Lightbreaker hoisted backwards and revealed an individual mantled in absolute black. The Dark Lord himself had arrived. He furrowed mostly with frustrations on his face, a line of emotion that did not falter his sharpened abilities, but empowered them. The lower half of his face however, was veiled with a steely cover, a combination of automaton and runic design. He pushed from the cabin of his vessel and landed tastefully on his feet. His blackened tapestry of robes sunk slow in monarchical form, and like wings to a raven, fell to join at his side once more. King of the Sith, standing before simple creatures that played at the game of fear. The length of his hood slumped low and buried the majestic nature of his wild eyes, but he was watching everything in an interesting vista privy to him alone. The nearness of his home, the coloring of the skies, and the vicious beasts that soared high above what any normal being could see.

The cool temperature condoned his reverie, but the lick of the soft wind was disturbed by the scent of nervous emotion, they all reeked of it. There was a tension that swelled all over Iziz, and the men and women here were responsible for the thick of it all. Exodus advanced forward with measured pace, entering the company of Ambassador Cook, while the hoarded militia kept tail. Catching the second half of what the Echani had to say, and then watching the ordinary man run awkwardly in the opposite direction did little to ease the embryonic tethers of anger that weighed down on him. Did these people truly understand the fire that they played with, or were they so blinded by ignorance that they believed they could strike a deal and then double back whenever they saw fit. "Hunter Delta. Can you see what I see?" The voice of his mind struck a cold timbre that would echo into the powerful hive-mind, showing the illustrious Bounty Hunter specifically the acquisition of new targets. "They are in my way. Could you move them for me?" The Force beckoned another with the same crawling vocals that seeped into the mind. "Lord Sheog, I would like to meet a particular family. Convince them of our vision, would you?" Exodus stared deep into the eyes of the Echani, with the sickening nature of the Dark Side spilling in heaps all over the Square, not a word being passed as he watched him close. "Bridge Officer Rhuun. Let your Admiral know that I'd like some peace and quiet. A storm is coming." Exodus was dangerously still, analyzing the speed of the wind and feeling the heat of the Lightbreaker adjust in the distance as it alternated into a warded position above. He took one last step forward, and the mechanical cover on his jawline loosened a bit.

"..No great love for the Sith? You wound me, Commissioner."

Exodus · August 20, 2017

As the words Dark Lord was slipped from tongue, the center of wherever Exodus laid his attention became the most uncomfortable place to be in. The manner in which he stood unparalleled to any other before him, dauntingly regal and unyielding against the cool winds, harmonized with the deceptive piece that Vladimir Faust caroled. Exodus inclined his neck and looked up towards the skies, as his hand, overlaid in exquisite metal, rose slowly and drew the black hood from his head. The Sovereign of the Sith appeared as any other ordinary human, more magnanimous than most by far, but more importantly unscathed by the horrors of the Dark Side. There were no telling scars of war poorly drawn across his face, absent were the craters and blotches of eaten skin that manifested when one drew from the well of the Darkness beyond their means. Exodus was truly one-of-one, and as the luster of the skies bathed him entirely, everyone that watched could feel the sickening danger that shed from him like snakeskin.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,”

His natural voice brokered with the half-mask that was structured from his jawline to his nose, and produced a low and bottomless voice that was heavily fermented in the allure of the Dark Side. The sound was both sinister and smooth, simultaneously. “..Lord Luciferian.” He addressed all parties in reception, but the last name separate, for he was no lady and he was no gentle man. Faust was outwardly in the vein of what Exodus was inwardly; both more than several tiers above the commonplace when it came to the power of the mind and the savagery it took to maintain it. Astonishingly, there was one who dared to alter the perception Exodus originally had of her, but the Sith Troopers that flanked him in defensive formation immediately readied their aim to prevent this. That same metal hand leveled out casually and warned them all to hold their fire, which they did in regards to both Faust and the lady of question.

Exodus took a neutral step to the left, and towards Lux as she stretched out her hand. His right-hand metal clamped onto the top of her shoulder, while his left hand swept under her right hand in cavalier fashion. With his right, he could grind her very bones to powder and with his left hand he could lift her right to his covered mouth and place a kiss. This was the nature of the Spider; they never knew which side they would experience, an icon of mercy or a merciless butcher. His body was a vessel of terminal power, and through this welcoming touch, she would feel a rapture of her senses heavier than she could ever imagine. The impalpable sensation was harmless, because he deemed it so, but he would lean in closer now. His face nearly brushed hers as he carefully reeled her in, many strands of his wolfish mane sweeping against her dark skin. “The pleasure is mine, Thrysian.” The words carried loud across the wind for all to hear, but as her frame was pinned between himself and the others, he whispered more. “..I can set you free. You know nothing of the danger you are in.” The words would become parasitic, their meaning and their depth revealed nothing to her at present moment, but it would eat at her soul every moment that she questioned herself and her destiny.

Exodus released his hold and straightened himself as his gaze lazily fell over the Square once more, his flesh and bones preemptively searching for a stance in which to set himself in the course that any immediate danger presented itself. Shien was determined, and his posture mimicked that in transition. In his mind, every single person he had ever come across was an enemy, and he would exist in a state of subtle paranoia because of it.

"Your skepticism does not concern me, Commissioner. Your inability to suppress the threat, has become a danger to the people of this planet. It is the Sith that you fear, that staves off the destruction of this planet." Exodus kept an eye towards the Puppeteer, as he referenced him. Exodus knew they would fail in his capture, and his people would be proven right in that regard. "I have brought him before you as a final show of grace, succeeding where you have failed, but my patience wears extremely thin. If you and your people continue to try my calm, the blood will be on your hands alone." Exodus paused, brushing his hair from his face before his hands fell free. "..As for this justice you speak of," Exodus turned with knowing measure towards his kinfolk, Darth Luciferian. Staring, he searched beyond the here-and-now, through the strings of the invincible Force, simply staring.

His words were low this time, with Faust and him alone in earshot of what he spoke, leaving the others to guess. "Have you wasted my time, brother?"

Exodus · August 23, 2017

The underbelly of the Dark Side was very present among the people of this Square, fattening as an infestation of emotion and fear became ripe for the feasting. These men and women tasted fear throughout their body, imagining the dressings of battle and death in the face of imminent danger, lathering in the terror of standing before Sith. There was no escape from how present the face of the Darkness was; The mad hunger of Lord Sheog trickled through the skies like heavy rainfall, eating away at the ignorances of hope. There were few powerful enough to withstand the oppression, and whether they came to the realization or not, their fate would be sealed sooner than later.

As Darth Luciferian allowed his speech to unsheathe a deeper purpose, each word meant more to Exodus than what met the ears, each more telling than the last. The eyes of the Spider burned with such emotion, with such fervent colour, one would be drawn completely from their consciousness if they made the mistake of staring. It was no illusion. It was unsustainable power. A sickening dance of burning orange and an embellished emerald green. The transformation was wild and without hesitation, seemingly triggered by the tone in which Faust spoke.

The powerful frame of the Dark Lord uncoiled into the mimicry of Form Shien, albeit with no weapon in hand. He could feel time itself slow to a heartbeat, and found himself as an audience to the slow movement of both meddling women. Charming. In his second breath, he launched himself forward as the rucksack broke free towards his direction. Faust dropped to his knee, but the divide was now filled with CoreSec and Jedi alike. The Assassin was more swift-footed than any they had ever laid eyes on, and both women combined if truth were to be told. At first hand, the particular Iron leashed around his hand and forearm would’ve embraced the power of the compressed energy that rang out for him. He would flourish the discipline of Form V and retaliate the attack, with one more pressing than Faust could anticipate.

However, with meat-shields tangling with Luciferian, the Hunter easily became the Prey. The Sith Troopers leveled their firearms, preparing for a window to shoot. Exodus disregarded the relics and in his superior acceleration, he masterfully propelled himself over the threesome. His premeditated trajectory would land him mere feet behind Vladimir Faust, within yielding reach of his unprotected rear torso. If this Thyrsian warrior was not a disgrace to the company she kept, then her hold would be sufficient. He landed with positioning and striking distance now in favor. The spider lowered his center of gravity and reeled backwards, pushing a good portion of his weight onto his left leg and feeling forward with his right leg. It was as if he had notched an arrow into a longbow and dipped low in order to find a particular arch in his range. Suddenly, Transcendence ripped from inside his robes and clasped tightly into his left hand while his right hand outstretched and invoked a summoning of the Force so magnetic that it threatened to peel the very stone from the public square. If he had to cut through all three of them, he would.

<< Counter Kill Shot Requested >>

Exodus · August 25, 2017

Whether or not the blast had burnt a deep hole into the breast of the Jedi was neither here nor there, Exodus pushed forward with animalistic speed and efficiency, equalizing the amount of time he had since Faust dropped down to his knees. Mere seconds. The performance that the traitor put on was reasonable, but the Hunter left too much room for interpretation as he spoke, and so the intention was laid bare. Exodus commanded the atmospheric pressures around them and yanked Faust from where he knelt with a powerful measure of telekinetic energy, uprooting him from his entanglement with the others and hurling him back into a beautifully orchestrated web.

The Dark Lord set fire to his lightsaber and thrusted forward to connect, coldly watching the dark red current of power erupt and punch through the exposed thoracic spinal column of his enemy. The technique was swift and uncomplicated, but the artistry of movement was impeccable. The blade cut entirely through the body, while the brace of impact was only felt when his frame connected with the hilt. The blade carved through him like butter, while the alchemical handle of Transcendance carried the brunt of the collision. In the same breath, Exodus deactivated his blade and violently snatched at the back of Luciferians’ head with his off-hand, digging his crushgaunt into his skull, and ripping it clean off of his neck.

“... Is this what you were asking for?”

The words left his mouth indifferently, staring towards the Commissioner, tossing the strange head carelessly to the side. The formation of the Troopers split up; one to collect the scattered relics, two to recover both pieces of the corpse, and the other ten trained on the rest of the opposition. The scene carried no blood, and the remains of the corpse were covered in the seraphic cloth that Faust chose to wear. It was not flesh that tore when he had ripped the head from the build of the traitor, it was not bone that shattered as his fingertips punctured skull, but the answer to all of this was one he had already discovered.

“You and the Jedi have proven to be, inexcusably unfit to hold wardship over the Capitol.
The control you think you have here is not real.
I will do you one final courtesy Commissioner, take your people and leave now. ”

Impassively, the level of extreme adrenaline in his body was unmistakable just by looking into his eyes. His hand tightened around his weapon, waiting until his patience broke.

A dare is a dare.

Had to do it --RM

Exodus · August 30, 2017

Onderon was free.

The resistance had all but crumbled, and the ridiculous bravado on the faces of their opposition surrendered to the supremacy of the Sith. Two birds with one stone, and the weapon itself noticeably fetched no trace of blood on either kill. The execution was above reproach. The assumption that the Sith armies had overdrawn their hand for one man, was the underestimation that would drive the rats from this planet in short order. Onderon now belonged to them and would thrive beneath the dominion of the Sith, not wither into oblivion as the Galactic Alliance would have it. The Dark Lord cared not for the squabbling of lesser governing bodies, for the true Sith Empire had come at last. The culture and the people would confront a process of metamorphosis that would bring their civilization to a golden pinnacle, and would further ripen the rise of the Sith.

Once the Jedi and CoreSec had turned tail, the communication scramble would lift with but a thought, and the world of Onderon would sigh with a heavy rebirth. Provisional ships under the mandate of Kain had arrived at last, and made preparations to not only restore the impairment caused throughout the city, but to overhaul particular constructs that were dated and ineffective to the evolution of Iziz. The agreement still held, and the face of the rebuild was attributed to the Sith Empire, however, the amount owed was settled by way of the lump sum that was previously transferred by Faust. The residuals would be spilled into other projects and Exodus would command his advisors to see it spent well.

The patrolling Sith Troopers managed the pieces of Faust securely into the holding cage of the personal chariot of the Dark Lord, as well as the gathered relics, and then continued their rounds around the public square. Inside the Lightbreaker, the weighted voice of Raynuk Montar channeled through the encrypted system, ensuring the message of the strange droids, the multi-layered tribute, and his personal ambitions were acknowledged. Kain was impeccable with his timing and efficiency, and his deliverance of the small bit of intelligence would not go unnoticed. Exodus sat restfully inside the cabin, and found it also satisfying that the weathered Warrior was now communicating his occurrences. The gathering of the Sith had been a success, and it truly showed as an example for things to come throughout this takeover. Exodus was not entirely convinced of those around him still, he dragged his hand over the console in slight frustration, knowing there was far more ahead that the Force would only show him in pieces.

--

"Lord Kain. Your next move is to integrate with the remnants of the Onderonian Forces. Absorb what we can use, erase what we cannot."

"Lord Sheog. Your apprentice has made her way to the Palace. Coordinate and ensure she does not fail. The Monarchy must step into the Dark, once again."

"Lord Delta. Conclude your business up there. They are not so foolish to tempt us further, they will scurry back to whatever hole they came from soon enough. You will hit the ground, and scout an appropriate outpost for your men here. That is where we will move forward swiftly,

.. And conceive the fall of the Galactic Alliance.

Exodus · September 8, 2017

There were eyes everywhere.

Outside of the walls of Iziz, and inside the primeval forests that surrounded them, Exodus could feel them come alive. Their watch was cold and primitive, creatures of the wild that stalked with unquestionable curiosity. Lord Exodus allowed his presence to fill the lands, indulging the dangerous territory with a gushing outflow of his Dark Power. Barbarous Rupings pounded their wings and squaked to the skies, free-spirited Dalgos trampled ahead with hooves that echoed throughout the forestry, while packs of Pikobi gabbled to one another from behind the shelter of mountainous trees.

“You machines can detect them, but your reach is disappointingly detached. I can feel them, I am inside of their minds, their carnivorous thoughts scream for them to kill and to feast.” Exodus spoke outwardly, and to no one in particular, with an air of immunity fastened to his deep voice. He marched leisurely through the forest in powerful company, following a pathway that had already fashioned itself by way of time and nature. Six tremendous droids encircled his slow reconnaissance, each of them substantially equipped in heavy black armor, etched with the most remarkable alchemical carvings. Their trudge through the soil was a lot heavier, a menacing crush that was so synonymous between the six of them, that Exodus began to wonder if they’d soon turn on him in short order. The thought did not breed fear, it conceived excitement. The six of them remained quiet and steadfast in their patrol, ignorant to what their master meant.

"..You know, the runes that you all are dressed in, reek of the Dark Side, your creators will have some explaining to do." Exodus smiled deceptively to himself, pushing forward..

Exodus · September 23, 2017

Keeper of the Dark Side

The adamant burnish of the Deimos X-20s mirrored the thick wilderness all around them, sickly splinters of trees and sheets of leaves washed over their mineral skin, painting them in perverse colors of dark verdure. Their stillness was horrifying; each of their gargantuan bodies were narrowly camouflaged beneath the underbrush, defending the perimeter with empty eyes that somehow hungered for purpose. Not far off into the distance, a small carrier had landed ahead of time and unpacked a sentient shipload. Six children of the Sith, each of whom now sat in the presence of the Dark Lord, fenced in by what Lord Exodus had now ordained, 'The Iron Demons'.

“Master, they say they want peace, then why do they keep killing?” All of the small faces in the circle turned to the red-headed human boy who cautiously spoke up. They were so youthful and awfully far from adulthood, yet the taste of war had long since swelled their bellies, and their hardened faces surrendered the luxury of innocence. “Hypocrisy.” The Dark Lord hissed with venom in his voice, a loathing solely meant for the brothers of Light alone. He bowed his head and weighed the depth of thought that came with the question. The layers of Jedi treachery dredged deeper than what these little warriors could yet grasp, but here and now, they would have their feast of knowledge. “Look no further than the Code that those vermin abide by. They say that there is no emotion, there is peace. They say that there is no passion, that there is serenity. And they would assure you that there is no chaos, that there is harmo—”

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

All of them thundered beautifully, protesting the Jedi with such militant diligence . The Code, and their echoing voices, roared emphatically throughout the jungles of Onderon. Chaos was their freedom, their choice, and within their hands laid the power to reach out and take what it was that they desired. Exodus wore no smile upon his face this time, but his black soul tickled with certain rapture. “The Jedi and their code are filled with redundancy, frantically clutching onto beliefs that confine their humanities,” Exodus paused, slowly searching the six of them out with a knowing glare. “...We, are free to explore our humanity. Whether we become seekers of salvation or manifestations of sin, the force is at our mercy, and our chains will forever be broken!” Exodus spoke with fire, setting the hearts of the younglings ablaze. None of them could sit still at this point. A tiny projector fell from the embroidered vestments that kept the Dark Lord in regal acumen. The small piece of technology hit the dirt, clicked awkwardly and immediately reproduced the bigotry of Carida, highlighting both the treason of the Empire and the wanton slaughter of Sith by the Jedi. The video feed was sharp, and sped to address what it was that Exodus meant of hypocrisy. A pair of Jedi, and a bevy of clone-troopers raiding an already besieged temple, bombarded to Hell without yield for the innocents that were present. There were those that simply wished to learn, as these younglings chose, and now their light was lost forever. Exodus rained revenge upon them all, and this too, the younglings understood. "You all must exist in a state of constant evolution, or risk the deterioration of everything that you are." His dark voice weaved an appetite beneath their skins, a fuel that exhilarated the children who had come to witness the Jungles of Onderon first-hand. The video simply added to their hate of the pompous Jedi. Droids ID-I through VI reset their defensive stances, and stood at ease as Exodus lifted his hand sheepishly overhead.

"Now leave, search these forests for the beasts that crowd them and do not return to encampment until you've carved the heart out of tonight's supper. Earn your keep, warriors."

The younglings rolled onto their sides and planted their feet into the bed of Onderon, pushing off and sprinting towards separate directions. Exodus was a God to them, and their etiquette did not show this, but they were the future of a powerful Sith and the Dark Lord worried more about their hunger than the decorum of children. It was now time to break contact nonetheless. The Sith that had accompanied him, as well as the future of Black Sun now rested in a fruitful land. The Dark Lord knew that these men were more than capable of pushing the agenda forward without having to hold their hands, and this allowed him to execute behind the scenes. "ID-III. Relay a message to your makers,"

"...Tell them I am on my way."

Exodus · September 26, 2017

The Chaining of Onderon

“Your mind and body cannot host what it does not have the power to wield. You must understand this, or fall to a hunger that neither can quite fathom.” - The Spider

Mobile excavation drills from the walled city made their way to a small encampment. Machines that were taxed with the reconstruction of Iziz were now repurposed under the command of Exodus and had traveled mysteriously out into the Jungles of Onderon. The wild pastures of Onderon could feel the iron wake of an unsparing envoy, tearing through the forestry and toppling a number of trees that blocked the path. Armored tanks with powerful tread and drills that could punch a hole through the core of the world, trampled through the homes of vicious beasts and schools of life. In comparison, the small path of destruction from the excavation team cut a thin line through a very small piece of the massive jungle, but what followed behind the machines, what they dragged through the mud would be enough to destroy Onderon in one breath.

It was an unbelievably massive metal sphere, born of tempered Sith steel and drowned in a runic language far beyond the comprehension of creatures that exist in this time. A large ring settled around the belly of the strange sphere. Somehow, the ring was not attached physically, it instead hovered there as if by the strength of a magnetic pull. The spherical artifact was a mystery to all who had never step foot on the worldcraft Arachnakorr, which meant none here but Exodus himself. There were links of metal chain connected to the artifact that helped to heave it throughout the jungle, seemingly thousands of them clicking and singing a metallic tune as they clattered together. The wild beasts of Onderon knew better than to strike here and now, for the Dark Lord was lingered nearby and his presence was a sickening and fearful poison that stunted their primal instincts. The noise of the machines, the clatter of chains, and the ease of destruction was another warning to keep at bay. They would surrender, for now, but by then it would be too late.

Scores of men and women, armed to the teeth, traveled on feet alongside the envoy. Their appearances were rough and extremely varied in terms of race. They were mercenaries. Each of them followed the line with their weapons in tow, loudly chattering among themselves, sharing campfire stories both rich and unheard of. Mixed in with the bevy of mercenaries however, was certain individuals heavily draped in black robes. There was one of them for every ten hired guns, and their robes carried an elegant mapping of thin gold from head to toe, impossible to tell that the illustration represented a spider and all it’s weavings.

“Well the fellas' say they've never seen no damn Ambassador Cook before, I bet he's one of them demons that the Sith keep around. You know? The type that eats faces and steals your identity?” A sheepish Human with dull features, high off of something spoke above the noise of the envoy. “Now where would you get an idea like that? Fool! I told you to lay off of the spice, those type of things do not exist. The Mad Hutt is what you need to be worried about. He is of no sound mind, he will eat you whole on a moment’s whim. He would skin you alive and is crazy enough to think you’d actually enjoy the feeling. That right there, gives me the creeps!” The female Onderonian shuddered when she spoke, her Bothan whiskers always twitching as she did. “Psssssshh. My boy Delta is in town, soon as we’re done messing about in the mud, I’m fixing to meet up with Black Sun anyhow. That Vigo sure knows how to handle a pistol proper and we ain’t afraid of no stinkin' Hutt.” The Human was proud, foolish, but proud of his mercenary homage. What they both did not understand, as well as all the others that listened as they came to a full stop was, who that man was.

Exodus stood there, staring them all down, mercenaries and machines alike. His robes were similar to the strange people that lined their envoy, but his was a rich winter white with touches of gold and blood red. The symbol of the arachnid was more than obvious on his. “Colin… Hush down now..” She froze, her words came out chopped and hesitant. The Human felt anxiety crawl up his skin and could not recognize what it was from. He looked up and did not realize at first, but then his eyes widened in shock. The other thirty-four mercenaries halted and stared forward at the man that stood in the way. The support vehicles finished their long-winded whining as all breaks were engaged to a full stop just outside of the encampment ahead. The individuals in the black robes knelt down immediately and bowed their heads. The half-mask that covered Exodus’ features, blanketed him from pure identification, but those eyes were always the most telling detail he had. “Who is that?” Colin whispered to his partner, his voice uncertain and riddled with fear. “The most dangerous man you’ll ever lay your eyes on.” This she was sure of, the steadiness in her voice spoke from a certain knowing.

Exodus walked forward, paying no particular attention to any one person. He was a King of the Sith, making his way peasants who buried their worth in the measure of coin, they were small fry but still more valued than the worth of Jedi. This was just what the picture looked like, but the truth was, his mind was far too occupied with his vision to dissect the fearful that stood before him. The sphere that was hoisted upon the tanker was where his focus laid. He marched forward, stopping in front of the drill that led the envoy and reached out with just one arm. The metal of his crush-gaunt flickered in the evening light that trickled through the thicket of leaves high above. The mercenaries looked back hesitantly, unsure of why that man had his arm out, and even more unsure of the natural feeling of fear that snuck into each and every one of them. “They say, in a time of Gods and Monsters, this man was the one of the coldest and most fierce. He could bend your mind as easy as he breathed. They say he married darkness itself to reel her in close, slitting her throat at the altar, and skinning her alive to take her precious skin as his own. Her skin was what shadows are made of, and he slips in and out of it as he pleases..”

There was a certain rustling behind the spherical artifact, but the envoy was still halted. Suddenly those great lengths of chains that were connected to the sphere pulled up and off of the dirt, a countless number of them rising high and low from all around the contingent. The thick metal links clicked loudly and began to wrap tightly around the massive calves of the trees, some wrapping higher up and others rooting themselves into the dirt below. Some of the chains began to puncture deep into the earth, and with the chaos of metal swinging every-which-way, the group of mercenaries instinctively dropped a knee and held their arms to cover their heads. Now they were all bowing, and Exodus grinned behind his mask.

There were oohs and awes as some could not understand how the chains moved on their own. There was unease, and understandable fits of panic, while others understood it to be some sort of use of the Force. Many here had never witnessed such displays of magic or force, if any at all in their lifetime, and even the simplest of applications surprised them. The chains began to puncture the earth rigorously, digging deep into the soil and rooting themselves as far as their lengths would allow. Between the trees and the soil, the spherical amalgamation of Sith steel would now begin to lift and suspend itself above the carrier it arrived on and above the masses gathered here. It was different than the setup on Arachnakorr, but it would make do.

Exodus · September 30, 2017

(Sorry, I'm holding a lot of people up because I've been so busy, so I'm just going to post quickly. Excuse the quality.)

The encampment was structured with a cautious perimeter, while just outside of it, the excavation continued. The service vehicles from Iziz had started their dig while the mercenaries roamed the camp aimlessly. ID-I through VI were deployed as sentinels just outside of the makeshift camp, while Exodus and a few other Sith took heed of the artifact. They called it The Heart, and it could only be assumed that this functioned as a source of immediate dark energy. The tempered steel now appeared deeply rooted into the lower shelves of Onderon, and equally fastened to the thick trees that surrounded it. The hoist of The Heart was invincible; there was no easy way to remove such a thing at this point. Just as it did on Arachnakorr, the sphere began to hum with a low resonance, growing louder and at a slow pace as time drew on. The project would conclude as soon as day turned to complete night, and then the Sith machine would begin to poison the smaller eco-systems one-by-one, and give rise to a new breed of Sithspawn.

A special, and long awaited comm signaled towards Delta;

"Good evening, Delta Seventy-Three. You are a creature of overindulgence, and yet you showed unwavering restraint on this simple conquest. Your discipline and tenacity is commendable and has not been overlooked. You have proven yourself irreplaceable for the coming war, and as a result, you have earned your keep. It was I that brought your Black Sun from the recesses of limbo, and it is I that recognizes your greater purpose. I wish for you to keep your vessels, and hold strong to your command, Blood Prince of the Black Sun. I entreat you with a single chance to strengthen our mutuality, here on Onderon. Rise up once more, take the reigns and make use of my lands to reawaken your power. You have seen the fruits of what my promise has brought, so what say you?"

Another comm signaled for Sheog, before Exodus made his way towards the temporary departure of the planet;

"Lord Master of the Krath. You puzzle me, dear friend. I heard word of your slaughter at the protest. In convincing fashion, you seem to deliberately undermine the status quo and the deception we play at. You are a creature of unbridled power, and such fits of imprudence is far beneath you. You are, by far, my strongest. You must protect your social superiority against these common vermin. Do not show them your hand, do not spend on them your might. There are far greater enemies that you and I both seek to annihilate, and by that same token, I can feel your patience wear thin. The time will soon come. Leave this planet, and track my ship to the planet of Nubia. Our journey will begin there, old friend."

Exodus would then depart Onderon with the Lightbreaker, transferring coordinates to the Master of the Krath.

Exodus · October 16, 2017

Construction on a Golan III Space Defense Platform began to sift through their primary stages.

To be completed 11/06/17.

Exodus · April 21, 2018

=======================
// Onderon, Outskirts of Iziz.
//// ??? —
=======================

Battalions of warriors moved about the area, patrolling the broad hall with impeccable formation. These monstrous creatures were stupendous in size, with a few of them sharing similar features to the Mandallian Giants. As abominable as each of them was in presence, their march was polished and to an unnatural distinction. The names of these creatures, all fiendishly ogre-like, had never been mentioned before and their delegation to the Sith Ranks was unknown. One thing for sure was that, as the few battalions made their sweeps, their animalistic snarls and snorts illustrated their ravish hunger. The Hall itself was opulent; simple, but overindulgent in space and crescending chandeliers that reflected their blue flames across transparisteel walls. The floors shared the same design, but was completely dressed in a rich ivory rug that held a wintry palette of white and silver to address the season. The symbol of the Spider could be seen in the hard-knotted patterning of the fabric if one paid careful attention. Lord Exodus sat poised and unbothered on the seat of a throne.

The throne was built of a main seat, with a few decorated steps that led to it. The throne was carved from a perished wood and embellished with cream-colored stones. Jewels, and precious stones rich with the color of mauve and aurum were set inside of the monarchic piece. The balustrades of the steps that lead to the seat were set with serpentine figurines, and the emblems of the trinity dressed their scales. King of Onderon, or such was the concept of these titles that whispered inside of his head. The thought of such verbal claims tired him, but he understood the principle of power that rested behind their declarations. He awaited the arrival of his apprentice alone, covered in a regal olive and gold raiment of spider-silk and rancor leather. The Wyyyshokk harness previously attached to his spine moved independently now, scouting the neighboring areas for prey.

Exodus · April 26, 2018

"..You're alive, Skinchanger."

The voice was neither surprised, nor was there a trace of disappointment. It was an indifference and a deepness of his tone that sounded coarse and echoed hard across the hall. Malacoda, the first of the Syn. A black shadow that mused comfortably, seated upon the embellished throne. The robes that covered his powerful body moved like running ink. Golden markings reminiscent of his bloodline, flickered through the fabric as little rays of light reflected against the pattern of watered spidersilk. He had a voice as lean as wild honey, but a power that could easily crush any mortal man that stood before him. His eyes, of the usual emerald, were remarkably cold. He watched yet another apprentice offer her fealty on a silver platter, and could only stifle the temptation to laugh softly. He straightened his seated posture, and brushed the deep red thickets of hair from his face.

“Humor me, child. What.. do you know of me?” The Dark Lord flashed his pearly whites with a clever grin.

Exodus · April 27, 2018

"You know so little of me, and yet, you submit.."

The idea teased him. There was palpable conviction inside of their voices, a resolve to follow the Spider under the darkest of moons. His will was the march of a million men, and the power that crawled between his clutches guaranteed it, but did they truly fear what they did not understand? Exodus leaned forward and peeled himself from his comfort, shaking the question from his mind. Here and now he had a child of the dark before him, one that swam in the promise of her forefathers, and he would make something of her. He could smell the dense deterioration from her old flesh, the blood that pleaded to heave from her body, the corrosion that ate at her mortality. Her band-aid solution stood hesitantly inside of his hall, a little taller and warily grasping the functionality of her new skin. The ability was not foreign to him, and he had fought against these skin-changers back on Dxun, but such an experience was unknown to the Dark Lord. "Ready yourself, Telperiën. I will prove to you what the spirits say. And you will show me just what you are made of." Exodus stood to his full height and stretched the listlessness from his core, the canvas of his spidersilk collapsing around his blackened rancor-leather boots. Suddenly, Transcendence found itself in his palm, and bloomed a heavy vermilion blade.

Exodus · April 27, 2018

=======================

// Onderon, Hall of the Mynock

//// Lightsaber Form Training —

=======================

Killer instinct swept over him and tuned out the noise. She spoke, but instead he paid attention to the diction of how the child moved while she wasted her breath. She was oppressively disqualified to maneuver a body that was not her own, the foundation of her physical structure measuring much different than the one she had shed. “Shiak.” Exodus rolled the word off of his tongue without the slightest measure of enthusiasm, then pointed his entire arm towards her charging blade. Where the power of her force rolled forward in reckless abandon, Exodus stemmed an incredible dark force of power through his whole body, dragging his left foot forward against the slight snare of the static friction beneath him and unleashing a raw kinetic force from his open palm. The force push was strong enough to cave her brittle chest in and send her off of her feet, a simple technique but one with range enough to impede a linear opponent. "Shiak is a mark of contact. These marks are areas of an opponent's body which are considered principal targets in order to end the conflict. You attempt to use the tip of your blade to finish me, yet you have only just begun. You are just as sloppy as your Father." Exodus almost spit the words from his mouth, allusions to Dun Möch fragmented in his speech.

"Your strikes are desperate for purpose. So feed them!"

Exodus · May 2, 2018

The small Onderonian child serviced to the order of the Dark Lord was wrenched from his feet. The tray that his tiny hands had clutched, whizzed into the air, pitching paltry delicacies across the hall. His small frame was snatched without consent and fissured from where he stood. The body of the boy warped violently in shape, and unexpectedly snapped under the whip of immense pressure, folding into a kinetic distraction. His consciousness suffered the memories of his loving parents as he ripped towards the Spider, too panicked to feel fear, and clueless to the commanding draw of the Dathomiri Witch. Exodus moved even faster still, almost nauseating with the speed in which he chose to function at. In fluid motion his lightsaber sprung free, the thick of his crimson blade frothing at the mouth with a feverish heat before a swift pivot and a violent heave separated the boy's head from his body.

Exodus brandished masterful footwork, and needed no more than a few quiet steps to execute his laterality. He would embrace the feint with his first step, skirt the counterstrike with a gathered second and heavily plant his pivoted third to baseball swing through the neck of the slaveboy. The heap of flesh landed smack against the feet of the apprentice, while the head rolled a few feet behind her, circling back as the nose of the head broke momentum, then finally stopping curiously at the shoulder of it's own body. The eyes of the child were of surprise, or horror rather— but he stared at Telperiën alarmingly, attempting to seize her guilt.

Exodus held his executed form for a second more before releasing and easing back into composure, the wicked onyx tinge of his robes falling and following suit. His body was now positioned differently; facing the transparisteel wall while his right shoulder was adjacent to the little apprentice and her new friend. The Dark Lord exhaled slow through his nostrils, venting the convergence of excruciating dark side power manifesting itself throughout the entirety of his muscular composition. The restraint inside of his mind acted as a coolant to the engine of the dark side buried beneath his empty soul, that would no sooner see him accelerate into a besieging onslaught. The small unit of twelve that made their rounds inside the hall were no doubt aware of the confrontation, each of them monstrous in size, which then of course paled in comparison to the larger brute war axes that they palmed. These barbaric creatures claimed audience now, always drunk off of battle and aroused at the sight of death. These were the cold-blooded mongrels of The Horde.

“Telperiën. Can you see it?”

Her mind would trade her present reality with a few flashes of a small child dancing wildly with a toy sword, spinning wildly in his palm. It was the boy that now laid at her feet. He was unlearned while he lived, but was enthusiastic to learn the techniques that the Sith from all around had tirelessly exercised. His expired corpse shivered into a silent surrender, but released a canal of memories that passed onto the apprentice through his lifeless eyes. The mirrors of his soul reflected such a joyful spirit, exploiting the sheer impulsiveness of Ataru. The child would have made an excellent student of the form, but his destiny was proven wholly unappealing.

"The saber technique known as Ataru is a demonstrative combat form that relies on power, speed and adaptability. You must manifest pure aggression, and unpredictably attack with powerful strikes. Use the force to feed your body, and unhinge your physical limitations. Free your mind from constraint and allow your anger to fuel your savagery. Those who employ this form, mobilize at higher speeds and can rain down the heaviest blows, jumping and attacking from the most complex maneuvers. Learn quickly now, you have a challenger." The words of the Dark Lord played inside of her head. Exodus defused the spirit of his blade, and stepped slowly out of the way. A gargantuan mongrel from the watch came barreling towards Telperiën, his oppressive magnitude moved surprisingly quick, with a massive double-bladed axe of refined Sith Metal leading his charge.

Exodus · May 5, 2018

The powerful creature embraced the assault and pounded the thick of his hands across the armored plate that loosely draped his chest, braggadocious as he did so. He wanted more. He wanted to feel. There was an itch to battle that he could not scratch over the recent months, and his doltish mind could not fathom more than bloodlust. He was of course the most inferior to his company, the rank of mongrel was what most conscripts were considered, and these were nothing like the berserkers that crowned themselves king of battle. Fat and muscular definition covered the entirety of his seven-foot, four-hundred and fifteen pound frame. He was monstrous and his mannerisms were exceptionally animalistic, similar to the rest of his pack that looked on from the entrance to the hall. The differences in size was outstanding, yet still he stood before the little lady with very cruel intentions running through his thoughts. "Since there is no meat on them, I will grind your bones into soup, young ssithling!" The warrior opened his mouth and showcased the crooked rows of sharpened teeth that lined his black and bleeding gums. His loud words were followed with the grime of his drool splattering forward and the heave of his mighty axe. Whichever direction he swung, it would hit hard enough to shake the rust off of your bones and disturb the body's equilibrium, and so he swung purposefully everywhere. He plummeted his first strike directly in front of him to establish the distance between himself and the apprentice. The entire hall rattled with unreasonable tremors, risking the opulence of the chandeliers above. The rest of his barrage would lean forward now with the intent to crush the young lady, continuing to hammer both vertically and horizontally with surprising swiftness, whether he landed or not. The accuracy and rhythm of his long sweeps were deceptively impressive for his gargantuan size. The footwork he carried was mediocre but definitely practiced enough to push and corner his prey, and so he shuffled to cut off whatever retreat she could find on the floor as he rained down seven hells.

The communal Hall became a theater of combat and Exodus was now thoroughly amused. He receded towards the jurisdictional throne, one of few marked throughout the capital, and watched as the environment slowly shifted from peace to dread. The maidens and the labourers scurried to the nearest exits while the members of the Sith Legion remained unflinching at their posts. A golden tray that rested atop the gilded armrest of the throne, carried a mountain of exotic berries imported from Dxun. There was poisonous content to these types of foods, but that had never bothered Exodus ever before. There was an arcane secret to the wash of blood inside of his flesh, and his immunities were far superior to that of the ordinary. Just as he crushed the first batch of the bitter berries, and the lethal extract bled down his throat, the doors of the hall opened wide. A familiar, but expected face swept into the room with an ungodly grace, one he had not seen in quite some time. Exodus knew the second that this man had entered his world, for the forefather of the assassins could not be found unless he wished it so. "..Alcazarin Oni. What brings your kind to my Empire?" The silvery voice of the Dark Lord spelled out a peculiar curiosity, as if it were a mythical Anakkona sizing up small prey.

Exodus · May 12, 2018

The spread of shadows inside of the candlelit hall continued to recede, expand and morbidly dance to the sudden stints of battle. There was an utter wash of dark, and with the absence of light, it appeared that the shadows themselves held the most ghoulish of features, quivering wildly as Telperiën fought hard. It was a waltz of darkness thinly illustrated by the fire of a few candlesticks, stirring restlessly under the weight of the indomitable power that coursed the saturated veins of the true Dark Lord Exodus. His presence alone goaded envy down the throats of all creatures and spirits, for what they desired was a command that he alone possessed, one that would not break under the rot of the dark side. "Your confession seems a little hollow, Alcazarin." Exodus converged his attention towards the brash warrior, addressing his gripe over liberation, while accepting the darksaber graciously. "You claim to prefer freedom, and yet you are the furthest thing from. You are a blade to be sharpened and drawn across the backs of my enemies until dulled and tossed for another. Please, save your confessions and preferences, brother. You are in my world, and I am that freedom." Exodus smiled knowingly, understanding the old Sith face, while factually revealing the holes in his confession with a tempered voice of steel. In his youth, the boy known as Malacoda Syn had run alongside some of the fiercest Sith the galaxy had ever seen, and each of them served the same foolish impressions. They became blinded by their power, they overbearingly pronounced their strength and threw their weight against the worlds, and they all fell flat on their face. They severely neglected the building of a solid foundation, a nucleus for both new and old to flourish from. Extinction had fell upon the Sith, and not a single one of them had raised their hand to impede the reality, except he. The King of the Sith remained at ease on his throne, brushing the soft curtain of blood red hairs from his face, still grinning as if he knew much more than what he spoke.

"I accept your oath however, but you will not shame such an oath twice and live to tell it. You see, I was there when the Alcazarins were rounded, and the proposal was handed to me. They were not called so then, but when I spit on the proposition to conduct business behind the back of our Dark Lord, I knew then just what you all were. Our brotherhood reigned supreme, but we were not without dissension. The Alcazarins true purpose was to overthrow our leader in hopes of a new direction, one that would coincidentally fragment us further, and allow our enemies to revel in our failures. Instead, the Trinity was conceived, and all of our enemies suffocated to death on a nightmare manifested."

The apprentice jousted harder now, and the language of the Dathomiri escaped her lips. The functionalities in her movement improved, and the control over her vessel moved more seamless. As the incantation mimicked across the expansive halls, Exodus could see the bone that ruptured from her tissue recondition itself in the space of seconds. "Witchcraft". He nodded slowly, brilliant viridescent eyes digressing from the creature before him, to the unraveling apprentice. She heaved callously now, possessed by that anger that he had seen before. She advanced more rapidly, and the combination of her dark magic and the speed with which she labored forward must have stunned the titanic beast because he froze. The lightsaber clutched in her tiny hands now stormed across his thickened skin, horsewhipping the powerful blade across his body, parting his flesh completely from bone. The creature was astounded by the eruption of mutilation that he had quickly suffered, and summoned the will to hoist his axe once last time, before his body fell to pieces. The leverage of the massive weapon felt unbalanced, and his peripheral vision knew exactly why— There Telperiën was now, launching herself from his axe towards him, burying the length of her weapon into his face. He dropped dead, absent of any difficulty, slamming into the floor. Exodus nodded indifferently towards his apprentice, whether she witnessed him doing so or not was of less concern.

"You may yet prove yourself useful. Master Oni, just as Telperiën the Golden seeks too." The Dark Lord reciprocated an ingenuous moment, knowing that the Sith Master craved this.

Exodus floated the weapon back to what one would assume is it's designer, curious to the permanence of metal that was used to construct it. The hooded man (Camik) that stood behind Oni did not go unnoticed in the least either. The individual remained quiet and well reserved, perhaps more powerful than the one he stood behind, or another ambitious apprentice perchance. The Dark Lord would know the answer to this. The rise and evolution of the Sith Empire was phenomenal and there were none who would dare hinder this machine now, especially not within the ranks of his own kin. "Telperiën. Show me what that other guest is made of. Master Oni, on the other hand, will tell me what he knows of the Alcazarins.."

Exodus · May 18, 2018

The Imperial Sentries that were posted around the hall fell one after the other, their life forces sapped through their teeth and harvested into a form of the metal that had pricked the curiosity of the Dark Lord. “Unification,” the promise was amusing, for the reason that this Alcazarin had just soulfully butchered a batch of his own allies, but the expression was unequivocally understood. Exodus had driven the Sith further in solidification than any other that this Oni had made mention of, which meant he understood better than anyone else, the necessities of sacrifice when the occasion demanded it. Nevertheless, the Spider paid particular interest to the architect of this Darkmetal, his baleful watch probing the secrecy behind such artistry. When the process completed, the presentation of two distinct commodities of the Dark was laid bare before him and elucidated with a humble warning. Exodus outstretched his left forearm, the one opulently sheathed in micronized mandalorian iron, and summoned the items to his cold clutch. The distraction of the sparring apprentices did little to sway his cognizance of these open-handed contributions, for he could feel the steady churning of dark milieu buried into their very construction.

"Very well, Lord Oni of the Alcazarins.." The longish blade drifted to lean against the arm of the throne, while the Jagged Crown slowly eased and rested into the hard hands of the summoner. The anomalous metal seemed to breathe into his skin as the two touched, an ethereal flush of sensation that warmed his wintry palms. There was a phenomena of metal and biology; an unnatural chemistry that threaded itself through his body, knotting and fastening itself to his black soul. He closed his eyelids just as a strange zenith of power severed from the fallen men, unhinged like ecstasy into his cerebellum, churning a palette of scorching color inside of his eyes. The rapture of their cries behind the veil of death, played like savory music in his ears, a howling hatred for the blacksmith of this darkmetal. He opened his eyes as the tension of power loosened in his titanic physique, eyesight sedating once more into a cool and treacherous green. He lifted the wreath of Alcazarin metal, the Jagged Crown of the Spider, and set the powerful luxury upon his wolfish mane.

"There is much left to do. With the harlotry of the old traitorous Empire, those still faithful to the Sith come in droves. Our military strength has far exceeded expectations, but most of the remaining Sith that would command them have become despicable shells of their former glory. Still, there exists promise—" Exodus motioned towards the two battling apprentices, voracious yet purposeful in their movements. "The Mighty that remain have sworn themselves to these hands," Exodus squeezed the reactive fiber of his crushgaunt, weathering the very thread of the force that gathered between his fingers. "..But the foundations of what these hands have built requires more attention. It has started here on Onderon, the expansion spreads like wildfire and the common-people rally behind our strength. You will need more than parlor tricks to survive this brother, are you prepared? Exodus stared unshakably torward his returned kinfolk, knowing the question to be rhetorical, trusting that this was not just another burden to be carried on his back.

Exodus · May 22, 2018

The Old Gods were weak. Exodus held no tethers to the ilk of rotted men and women who professed themselves as heralds to a power that now dwindled in the wind. Each of them had tasted the dirt and fell before lesser men, becoming nothing more than a memory to the fanatics that served them. “You will have opportunity enough to prove it, Dear Oni.” The swindle of his smooth dialect spelled more than what the words themselves meant, for it was his nature to question all things, and that would never change for anyone. The Alcazarin spoke with a conviction that seeped from his grisly flesh nonetheless, an incessant assertion of his allegiance that would need to be tested by the superior strength of time. To obey the words of the unfamiliar man alone, would be a fool's gander, one that would see his Sith Empire collapsed overnight. He would hear his brother loud and clearly, but this Assassin trusted no one.

The Dark Lord shed himself from the comfort of the decadent wood-worked throne, standing upright to watch the culmination of the battle between apprentices. The oily black of his spider-silk cloak fell around his calves, absorbing and refracting the petty bounces of light that fell from the chandeliers. Gold and rich olive slits were plaited into his exalted accoutre, championing the comely physical features of the Spider. It came as a surprise that a man so overly endowed with corruptible power, remained unmarred and unsparingly aesthetic, drowning out the inevitable taint of a power more monstrous than most. Shouldering such deep and spellbinding physical qualities loaned itself to the benefit of his silver tongue, sharing an electric eloquence that could charm even the most devout Jedi to fall for the inebriation of the Dark Side. His secret to this would remain as such, and as he stood there imperially dissecting these newborn of the Sith, he wondered exactly what the two of them would become.

Exodus placed his left foot forward, his heel lowering dramatically until the pressure of his weight bore down onto the tips of his leather boot. In the next moment, he vanished. The air that surrounded where he had stood, inadvertedly lashed out with a bitter draft. His acceleration was uncharted as he moved the distance of around fifteen feet in what seemed to be a blink of an eye. The dark mantle of his clothes flared outward, screaming the appearance of a thousand crows in desperate flock. His speed alone fetched him inside of the small space spread from the Cathar to the Dathomiri, capitalizing on a shatterpoint manifestation that nestled itself inside of his far-reaching web. The Dark Lord inhaled sharply, and raised both of his arms high, angled towards each apprentice. Their forward momentum died immediately, all weapons and control of telekinesis falling and failing without hesitation. Exodus slowly closed both of his hands in a grip-like gesture, squeezing telekinetically at the throats of both Camik and Telperiën. The pair of them were dragged off of their feet, no more than a half meter from the ground, smothering their blood flow and oxygen circulation. The execution of the dual force-choke was relatively simple, and held long enough to butcher the combative adrenaline that seethed inside both fighters. The Dark Lord sustained the strangulation without a trace of emotion on his face, a little longer than expected, and then longer than that. Then he released, letting both individuals crash into the floor below them, sucking violently for air.

"..Enough."

==================

RULING ON THE DUEL

Spar Evaluation

Enjoyed the little back and forth between the two of you (Camik & Telperiën). Quite frankly, the two of you would have benefited from a duel that was not restricted by post count, and it would have made more sense because of the lack of options afforded to both characters this early on. You both wrote well, and improvement to your individual writing styles are becoming more obvious by the post. I encourage you both to explore more descriptive avenues with your characters in the realm of your species, emotions and their emotional triggers, as well as your youth.

Camik, your approach was more defensive than anything which I can understand because of the differences in weapons available. It was good to see your character give a very brief analysis to the situation in your first post, almost feeling out the opponent as best as you could with the little that you had. I feel like your post set the tone in terms of preparedness moving forward, and counter-punching what the opposition had in store. However, the challenge quickly became; "How coordinated is this Cathar with telekinesis and is it feasible to see so much of it exercised in this fight?" The theme of this ran throughout the three of your posts, utilizing telekinesis as much as you could, with extremely little written experience in that prior to this. Granted, I did like the fact that the debris was deemed smaller and still had an impact on the opposition, but what type of debris are we talking about? And where did it come from? These type of details can be crucial when it comes to evaluating the authenticity of what is happening, and how dramatic your maneuvers really are. Perhaps this was debris from the previous battle, where the floors were chewed into and small cutting blades were knocked over when the in-house slaves took flee. You did well by acknowledging the environment, but you did not take small liberties to turn opportunities in your favor on that front. Furthermore, I liked that you conceded to some damage, but a suggestion moving forward is to really exploit your racial advantages. When I think of a Cathar, I think of a complete beast of an animal. If there was a wound to it's flesh, I imagine a furious roar that could shake and disorient on some type of level (even if insignificant). Cathars are known to be exceptional in the close-range, and of course that card was off the table for you, but you do have a Blaster Pistol at your disposal. If in your last post, you pulled that piece from your trousers and blasted the ever-aggressive Dathomiri in the face, there would be some strong points for calculation and utilization of an ace-up-your-sleeve type of move. All in all, really excited about you moving forward and I'm sure your learning curve will be a lot easier than most I've had the pleasure of reading.

Telperiën, you held the aggressive approach, which was easy to see because of the immediate advantage in weaponry. What I enjoyed about your side of the coin was that, Telperiën continued forward no matter the cost. She pushed the agenda, and conceded to damage as it came with realistic flair. The challenge for me here was the sheer difficulty it takes to make effective use of the lightsaber, and the inexperience that she as a character has with such a tool. The maneuvers she exercises are not advanced in the least, and as she dispatched an NPC before with said weapon in practice, she is given that lieniecy. Exodus is unaware of her prowess with the weapon prior to their eventual meeting, and the NPC before was a measure of that. I do love the imagery of the initial pull and heave of the giant blade of the axe in the beginning, I just wish there was more description put into the struggle to do such a thing. What I mean is this; both apprentices have barely touched the idea of telekinesis to my knowledge, but I could see the Dathomiri being able to draw upon the relatively large weapon better than the Cathar could by way of her background. Instead of the visualization being her dragging it across the floor menacingly (Dragging because her pull and heave of large objects is still difficult at this level to some degree), with sparks showering her wake. She lifts it and throws the thing like an arrow, which exemplifies precision and sheer speed. Her makeover into a force of the dark is shown as she stalks her prey and continues to press forward, all of which I enjoy. Her pacing and acknowledgement of angles, as well as movement and deliberation of overused tactics, kept it fresh. It was clear she wanted to close the distance, and accepted damage whether willing or unwilling, to get what she wanted.

Congratulations Telperiën, edging this fight slightly for me.

I will definitely enjoy working with both of you moving forward, and I hope to see the struggle of growth more apparent in both of your writings. The most enjoyable part of this early stage is the constant failures, and small breaks of succession that amount to actually learning and self-discovery. Camik, if you pulled that blaster out last minute, like I anticipated you would, the nod could have gone to you instead. It is the only weapon listed on your person in your sheet and that is why I thought you were saving the surprise. Please, do the Cathar justice and begin to really carve out your character's personality and racial differences through his growing youth. Telperiën, I ask you to do the same and not just list her anger and her enjoyment of it, but help us understand why she is now so excited when it comes to the pain and injuries that befall her. She is still young of mind and heart, and fear of things are just as exciting to read because of the fact that they are just starting out. I am no judge of character or how to write, these are just suggestions that you two may take or leave all the same. Read your posts and allow it to make sense to you in context to what your character is, and how early it is in their 'career'.

Exodus · May 30, 2018

The footfalls of the Spider carried him between the two apprentices, and passed the several bodies that had been warped of all life. The skin on their faces shriveled as loosely as raisins, and mucus ran sourly from their open orfices. "Amusing," Exodus thought. He moved unerred and without remorse for their demise, for the war was upon them and soon the rain would shower down the bloodshed of his enemies. The darkmetal blade lifted from the armrest of the throne and whizzed into his possession as his footsteps neared the exit. The crown still sat on the comfort of his wild mantle, barbarically illustrating the jagged features of a creature that ironically represented his venomous youth.

"..Lord Oni. The Alcazarins may have been founded on the ideologies of a true brotherhood, but the secrecy of their foundation was testament to a far greater betrayal. The division and collapse of the Sith, and an usurper to fetch the throne was the heart of it. Do not feed from one hand, and not ask what the other conceals. If it is solidarity you seek, you will find that my hand is the steadiest of all the Kings before me, one that ushers respect from the fiercest of Sith. In time, you will come to understand this."

Exodus pushed the double doors of the old sanctum apart, a place that was sanctioned for demolishment in the days to come, to make way for a stately citadel to reign. The settlement of the Sith and the Black Sun reinforced the need for a fresh framework that would elapse the capital Iziz. First however, there was a war on their heels and he would be sure to wipe the floor with his enemies before the restructuring of Onderon would commence.

"Telperiën. Prepare yourself. The war has begun."

// Exodus exits. (Next post I have with him will be time-skipped ahead of the BETA forum. You're all free to do as you please until we start the Warriors Storyline. Sorry, posted on phone.)

Exodus · June 5, 2018

The washout of the Alliance and Jedi armada spread across the black of space. The skies burned with a charred chalk while starship debris began to drown beneath the Onderonian clouds. Turbulent atmospheric pressures chiseled at the small shells of the life pods that had scattered from the battlefield, and now descended into their worst hell, the rushed metal of their chariots rocking viciously before their disastrous plummet. There would be no survival for them, there would be no escape. Most of the opposing survivors fell just outside of the comfort of the walled Iziz, dangling by the neck from the open circuitry of their life pods, or by the overgrown vines that suffocated the labyrinths of forestry from all around. The order had been given to launch a series of reconnaissance teams, patrols of Sith Troopers that would stake large woodens posts where the survivors had landed and pin them alive until they had bled completely out, the carnivorous creatures that stalked nearby would have their meals. The Galactic Alliance and those that were sworn to their service were offered no mercy, especially those that had crashed inside of the city. Black Sun and other allied forces captured droves of men and women, and moved them like cattle into confinement for processing. The Sith Empire openly and indiscriminately butchered the enemy survivors like gutted fish, and to the favor of a frenzied Onderonian public that had been mere moments from an all-out war. As promised, this planet had been covered in the permanence of greater powers, and not by any measure of good-will, but because this is where the Axis had chosen to seed the future of their campaign. Most of the citizens would applaud the means of their justice, others understood and turned a blind eye to the steep violence.

Repairs and restructuring to the fleets would begin after a thorough assessment of damages had been communicated across the board. Salvage ships would do their part to recover valuables, and coordinate with the remainder of the Axis to ensure maximum efficiency during this entire process. The project to continue to build this planet would not be cheap, and although they had wiped the floor with those that would try to hamper their progress, the cost of war was never mild. Soon, the compounded factions would need to satiate their treasuries by means of a source outside of this planet, and that time would come sooner than later. In the meantime, development of a new Sith citadel and an orbital station to fuel the Axis were in the works.

The four moons were full and bold in the night sky, their light sparkling across the lapping waters that mapped itself around the capital, offering their faint glow in the spaces between the fires of the encamped Sith Troopers stationed just outside the walls. Travelers, pilgrims, and merchants wove their way between these camps, an unspoken tension filling the air between their paces, heading into Iziz. Some challenged the awkward tensions with idle chatter, while others drowned it in drink, but the past few days offered little in the way of sleep for a great many of them. The Jedi and the Galactic Alliance were rumored to be on the aggressive, but this had proven it. This was unprecedented and signaled unrest amongst many of the inhabitants of Onderon. There were many that had believed the Sith to be untrue in their occupation of the planet, dishonest with their ambitions as always, and convincingly they had brutalized the enemies that had knocked on their front door. The Onderonian populace knew now that they had made their bed with an irrepressible evil, and could not feel more invincible in doing so. Little did they know, it would turn out to be a gift and a curse, with a toll that would begin to sap the humanity out of those who did not keep a watchful eye on this marriage of the people.

The Sith Legion was on the move, en masse, and if the reports were true they were bloodthirsty in their hunt. They would make examples of their enemies, and their audacity would be repaid in full. The legion spurred with cheer inside of the city however, beneath His temple, and under His watchful eyes. Their Deliverer, Dark Lord Exodus and his champions were praised by word of mouth as far as the city could stretch, and inside the other walled cities scattered across the planet, their tale of dominance spread. An elusive H-type Nubian yacht slithered from the monstrous Scarab, descending planet-side by way of escort from the formidable Omega Squadron. Their itinerary would lead them towards the reports of a former high-ranking Jedi captive, but as they cracked the atmosphere, the reflective yacht slowed to a slow and soothing decline through the skies. There was another captive on this very ship, one still wedded to the perverse ideologies of the Jedi, and this one finally began to stir awake. The holding cell was small and extremely dark, perhaps a reasonable ten by ten feet box, with stoutly reinforced walls. The woman known as Jaina Jade Skywalker lay bare, only pieces of torn fabric to cover her shame. The sweat and grease that patched her skin did little to impede her physical identity, and she was given no washing in the event of her capture. She remained sprawled on the cold metal of the floor, a slaving collar attached tightly around her neck, with a pair of demons that watched her as she slept. Exodus and his apprentice stood over her, waiting.

Exodus · June 11, 2018

The impenetrable obscurity of the small cell crawled up and down the walls, an opaque so dense that it blotted out the distance from your eyes to your nose, filling the air between them with nothingess. An accompanying chill toyed with their sixth senses, hair-raising with how silent each of the bodies were, sweeping eerily between them as they breathed in suspense. The Jedi woman stirred awake, and the Spider watched her searchingly, knowing just who she was but held a keener interest in what she was capable of. The extremely high potency of his predaceous vision pierced the darkness and fastened tightly on even the tiniest of her movements, while the wolfish emerald wash of his irises bled a small measure of shine into the room as he watched. It took a brief moment for her to come to her wits, and then another few for her to draw herself against the back of the wall, before she spoke. And speak she did, in the profound language of the Sith, with a particular polish of dialect known to the Dark Lord.

"Lady Skywalker," the soft drum of his charming voice was strangely mimicked with an underlying cadence that could only be described as inhumanly devilish. "If water is what you desire, I shall have a maid fetch you a glass." Exodus spoke deliberately with sheathed satire, but the depth of his tone passed for sincerity. He took a step forward while she closed her eyes and leaned her head on the cold surface of the thick wall. He took another few to close the distance, but his movement went unheard, as if the echo of his steps played themselves curiously in a separate plane of existence. "..As for your friends?" Thrillingly, he now knelt one knee down next to his captive, the words of his voice brushing off the side of her cheek. "I have murdered far too many of them this time around, to appropriately fit their corpses here with you in the comfort of this cell. I am sure they send their regards." The expression on his face was impassive, even if she could not see it. He did not care to jest with this woman, what he spoke rang true, and before the night was out, many more would die.

Exodus leaned forward cordially, brushing aside the strands of her hair that matted against the metal collar wrapped around her neck. He could smell the expired perspiration that had soaked into what remained of her clothes, the salted scent rolling off of her skin. A metal click then echoed off of the walls, and the collar that once binded the Jedi fell inoperably into her lap, circuits completely rendered. The pilots that had captured the practiced warrior took the precautions of the slave collar in order to execute her if she woke with resistance. A different force was before her now, and his presence alone would manifest a threat exposure parallel to none.

"..Es neesmu tumsa. Es esmu tas ir Dievs."

Exodus returned to height, and he could feel the yacht shudder to a stop. Security protocols would be deployed before departure from the ship, and a thorough debriefing would be the follow up. But for now, this Jaina Jade Skywalker would have a moment of clemency, and an opportunity to inquire about what had happened since she fell. Her time was surrendered the moment she had arrived above the planet of the Sith.

Exodus · June 18, 2018

=======================

// Onderon, Edge of the Wall.

//// DRAGONS' GATE —

=======================

As the words left her mouth, an uncomfortable hush followed the sound of her echo. Exodus stood as a monolith of black stone, an expression of indifference shaded dimly across his face as she spoke. He considered the manner in which she chose her words, how the nature of her voice heedlessly articulated how certain of her life she was. The skin of her porcelain white teeth chewed as she accented the insidiously heavy speech of the Immortal Sith, dangerously unmindful of who she stood before. Unrevealed inside of the silence, was the absence of an answer to the question the Jedi had posed, knowing that she would soon uncover the answer for herself. Perhaps she had surmised that the Spider was no different than the fools of the past, and if that was the case, there would be a powerful revelation on her heels before long. "..The Language does not belong to the Light. Cut out her tongue if she speaks another word of it." Dispassionately, the sudden decree fell from his hems and broke the calm, addressing his venomous apprentice that stood quietly in wait. The woman appeared perky, and disinterested in the unmitigated slaughter of her own people. Her temperament felt unusually suspicious, while an air of improvised confidence belched from her every word and movement, despite the gravity of her situation. The charade she kept could not breathe like this for much longer, the darkness would choke it from her throat. There was an abundance of her people out there, hunted into exhaustion and cut down without a trace of humanity. The brawn of her allied fleets snapped like soft branches beneath the might of the Axis, leaking their unsightly corpses across the black of space without the honor of proper burial. Survivors bellied their deepest screams for mercy, but would find only the comfort of cold stone. Before this Jedi stood no fool, just a man measuring the fortitude of his enemies, and the findings were bleak. Exodus did not allow her distractions to falter his study however, conscious to a deeper realization that something else meddled inside of her, an anomaly he had felt on Kashyyyk not long ago. How well did she believe her secrets would be safe here?

Exodus fanned his hand nonchalantly, the devilry of his Force manipulation, shifting cogs and a chain of gears beneath the floor. The steel-laden bulwarked hatch sputtered as the latches loosened, then opened whole from bottom to top, ushering in a small flourish of visible radiation from the lavish yacht. A pair of Elite Sith Troopers covered in dark reflective armor, secured the room from the outside, remaining motionless with peculiar halberds held across their chests as the doors peeled free. The aluminous vibrancy of the ship interior dashed forward and freed the small cell from the blinding black, washing the three individuals with color and detail. The wild nature of his eyes now fastened with those of the Jedi for a brief culminating moment, magnetically enamoured with the hint of dark side that crawled inside of her savoury skin. Then it all made sense. The Dark Lord turned from his prisoner and took leave of the small cell. “Come with me.” The Spider stood majestic, a hardened tunic of leather, and the most exquisite dark velvet hugged tightly against his strapping abdomen. A long-stretched cloak of imperial sanguine mantled around his broad shoulders, braced and buttoned by brooches carved with the insignia of his Empire. His weaponry remained veiled from sight, but efficiently close. His brooding watch swept over the vicinity and now stationed around him were a number of advisors, Sith Lords, and councilmen that awaited the word of the Dark Emperor. "Inform the Blood Prince that he has my blessing to proceed, I will meet with him shortly." A councilwoman nodded, and made her way to the console.

Most of personnel uniquely rendered their services to the powerful and ever-expanding machine that was the Sith Empire’s monarchical government in Iziz. Their fresh triumph over the Galactic Alliance and the Jedi had spurred a hungry fervor among the people, and a serpent of raw exhilaration rounded itself throughout all of Onderon. Exodus stalked towards the landing ramp of the ship as it unfolded, impatient militia prodding the Jedi Master to follow suit. Slowly, the Emperor approached. His march was a thrum and thunder inside of those that surrounded him. His passive power was an intoxication of the mind and the body. His movement was simple and polished, but an unbearable heaviness sat in the atmosphere around him while his blood cloak thrashed powerfully behind him. Each step he took was a tremor as the ramp unfolded, an unnatural rhythm that provoked a fear of death and destruction, magnifying it the closer he came.

And there it was..

A towering fortress of pure adamantine bedrock, carved into from the brim of the escarpment, standing as tall as the highest of spires. This was the outermost region of the Wall that circled Iziz, a complete marvel of stone and power, a bastion between common civilization and the beasts that lived on the other side. This was Dragon's Gate. Since the first arrival, and the outing of both Faust and the GA-Jedi occupation, the Sith Empire had put in motion an extreme redevelopment of the capital at large. And today, as one of the most feared to have risen to power in such little time, Lord Exodus and advisors understood that he would quickly become a high profile target. As the winter solstice winds breached the chartered yacht, Exodus stood at the withdrawal of the ship and stared towards the highly concentrated fortress. There were masses of men and women, completely immersed in their active duty. It was impossible to assume just how many there was, but legions of the Sith Empire commanded this Fort and supervised the coming and going meticulously. Winds of change crashed into narrow gaps of the secured landing, carrying with it the chill of snow.

The atmosphere here was less joyous than on the streets of Iziz, there was business to be dealt, and the queues of chained prisoners being ushered into the hindquarters of the fortress was a telling sign. As the Dark King moved off of the ramp four Temple Wards surrounded him and their exquisite appearance made some of the others wheeze with wonderment. These Wards were seldom seen and offered a powerful presence that bested many, and their black and golden blend of reflective armor stood out just as richly as their long-red cloaks did. In a larger perimeter there was a strict margin around the Emperor where hundreds of Sith Elite Troopers absorbed into Exodus' formation. They stood uncompromisingly in their boxed arrangement, their dark armor revealing nearly no space for the crowds of personnel to see through. The moment the Dark Lord had passed them with his regal stride, a thunderous march sounded off at his rear, thousands of them trailing their victorious King and his company proudly. This staging area was secured by a vast array of emplacements, as construction and auxiliary divisions of troops kicked up a racket, the assemblage of noise from flesh and machines did little to smother the hungry screeches of the revered Drexl that soared high above. The reptavian winged warbeasts scoured the white skies in flocks, more aggressive than they've been in months, and in record numbers. Flesh hung from bones as the survivors crashed fatally into danger zones, their open wounds producing a putrid scent that attracted carnivorous breeding grounds for miles. The aftermath of war was unforgiving.

Jaina could be next. The wound to her leg hampered her movement more than she had let on. Bruising and internal bleeding stifled her natural muscles and decayed her ability to keep proper march. As much as the presence of Exodus unearthed an incredible awe from the world around him, there was similar interest in why this woman stood at his side. She captured a rare degree of beauty all on her own, even as she hobbled about, her dark jumpsuit torn haggardly over her desirable shape. Exodus himself was not naive to her physical allure, and the lend of her bejewelled eyes was where it all began. Her facial features were lean but her powerful physique exemplified that she was indeed, a warrior at heart. She chose to align herself with an order and men that evidently, did little in exposing her true potential. They were pretenders, playing at a game far more dangerous than they were accustomed too. She settled for less in the entirety of her career, the writing was on the wall. Although she was not chained down, and could have pounced to her freedom, there was no escaping the Spider, especially in the shape she was in, and her realization of that continued to sink it's teeth into her. Her comrades were everywhere, and some looked towards her with hope as trains of prisoners filed out of sight, while others held their heads down in defeat and disappointment.

He could feel Telperien and her emotions rise as a supernova. The thrill of power was both refreshing and dangerously new to her. The level of exposure that she had been introduced too now was electric. There was death in the air; suffering and pain, fear in abundance. Exodus was proud in a sense, for she conducted herself with calculation. She remained a shadow in the midst of chaos and strolled forward as an extension of the Dark Lord, cloaked in reaper black robing. A secondary perimeter defended by lesser Sith complements were beyond the main formations, and the space between them was lethal territory. Indiscriminate of who you were, whether the highest of ranks to, the lowliest of curious citizens, there was no passing through this perimeter. The Dark King was unfamiliar with this level of immunities, easily able to fend for himself in any given situation, but there were now levels to governing such vast deployable elements. Cleared at his side was the apprentice, the prisoner, and a few advisors that were monitored by the Wards. Passed that, there were different areas of jurisdiction managed by the rest of the Sith Empire, and anything remotely suspicious would be weeded out with no exceptions. To defy these standards, marked you as a hostile, and that would be tantamount to suicide within the Dragon's Gate.

There were elements to this entire scheme and layout that were kept as a surprise however, there were forces hidden in plain sight that had never before been revealed, panels of the platform flooring that contained ray shield technology. Mobs of, what appeared to be nobles dressed in all black, looked on from the vast expanse of the titanic platform. From what rumors spilled, they were hailed from a higher echelon of the Anzati people, whispers of a Vermilion Covenant played on the ears of a few. There were others more heavily armed that littered the working populace, squads of what appeared to be defected stormtroopers that were lightsaber equipped and outstandingly armed for the deadliest of firefights, seemingly prepared for the fallout of this war. Every building along the path the Dark King took had personnel inside, snipers covered the high walls of the fortress and militia in plainclothes wandered the invited crowds of citizens. This was the migration point of the entire Sith Empire, and a hive of denizens heaved to and fro in audience of a show that was about to begin. "..My King, shall we pin her with the rest?" An advisor pointed towards an awning where a small band of Onderonians dressed in casuals stood, parading with cheer in the face of a few captured prisoners. In the short distance, bloodily pinned to wood through their ligaments, these individuals were nailed and harassed by the folk within The Gate. "An Aryian Darkfire, formerly of the Jedi. A man known as Scorpio, enlisted with the Galactic Alliance, and others that are still in processing. What will we do with this one?" The advisor had all his physical features covered, but sneered towards the Jedi woman derisively. Exodus smiled, and redirected the march towards the makeshift gallows, eyeing his old friend. The crowd grew quiet as he approached..

".. Lord Darkfire. To what pleasure do I owe this visit?"

Exodus · June 21, 2018

The smallest traces of snow fell amidst the strained words of a broken man, thawing prematurely into drops of water against the heat of Dragon’s Gate. Exodus reviewed his old nemesis, appraising the twisted metal that was immersed into his body. The blood from his open wounds soured quickly from the unclean steel pitched into his feet, hands and biceps. Dangerously pale was the hue of his skin, all color from his body draining into the puddle of red that pooled beneath him. Aryian Darkfire was dying, and fast. Tension painted the air, and the presence of hundreds in solemn march did little to ease the prisoners, even though their numbers was what kept the Drexl from gnawing at their flesh. Exodus leaned in closely despite the excretion of the force, abstracting the meaning behind his words, wondering if there was value in the wisdom of this ennobled Grey Hermit. The Horde of his Militia remained motionless, and the furious swarm of onlookers became a docile audience, surrendered to awe.

".. Death will not come slowly then, Grey One."

Exodus took one last look, and then retraced his footing several feet, retiring from the field of the ysalamiri. With the wash of the force instantaneously relapsing into his body, he submerged his command into the mind of a pair of foot soldiers. Two demolitionists that were separate from the formation, who busied themselves with the construction of small barricades to field resources, responded without hesitation. Their reflective-trooper armor was stained in a noticeable bronze, so their approach was recognized immediately. These men were heavy-set by nature, conditioned to manage hundreds of pounds in weight at any given hostile situation. What each of them now carried in their arms was terrific barrels of fuel for a band of speeder bikes assigned to patrol imposts. At that moment hooded servants emerged from a peripheral gloom, with smaller pots of oil and sponges held in their hands. The cowled servants slithered through the crowd, and made their way onto the execution gallow, while the demolitionists followed their trail. Exodus looked onward curiously, and wondered what were the thoughts that ran through all of their heads; Darkfire, Jaina and Scorpio—reparations of war. The small troupe carrying their particular resources came to a halt before the three effigies of wood. One was empty, awaiting the bolting of a third, and the other two were engorged with the blood of the two prisoners prior. The demolitionists planted the barrels at their feet, while the hooded men knelt and turned to face Exodus from the podium, bowing so low that their clothed foreheads touched the ground as both pot and sponge were set aside. “Lady Jaina, councilmember of the Jedi. I bid you a one-time offer,” Exodus pointed towards the third wooden slab, the one that divided the prisoners Aryian Darkfire, and Scorpio of the Galactic Alliance.

“Your allies, or rather, your friends are before you now. I will allow you to spare just one of their lives.”

Ambrosial pillars of smoke and fumes heaved skywards from large metal braziers situated at each end of the execution platform. A single torch illuminated the center frame where the vacant wooden slab was positioned. Exodus reached behind his head and gathered an exhaustive amount of his dark mane, bounding it back into a simple ponytail with his off-hand. A much darker counselor approached from his sanctioned fellowship, darker in a sense that this individual personified a most sinister evil. His attire was the shadows themselves, with blackened trinkets that covered him whole. He handed Exodus a simple leather band to tie with, and then pulled a decorated jewelry box from his robes. “It is time, my liege” The menacing councilman whispered low enough with a slowed speech impediment, every word dripping like poison, but the words were for his Master alone. He cracked open the box and an unusual gem sat inside. Turning, the creature seemingly glided towards the podium and placed the fist-sized gemstone on center-stage.

"If it is mercy you choose, take the place of just one, and he shall be freed.
If it is cowardice you choose, both men will suffer..
And if it is mercy that you seek, you must confess the name of the traitorous Sith that has chosen you over his own.

..Choose wisely.”

Exodus · July 11, 2018

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// Onderon, Edge of the Wall.
//// DRAGONS' GATE —
=======================

The secret here was that, neither side could be defined with moral. There was no evil, and there was no good. Each side of the coin offered a taste of something more, but also demands that a price be paid. The Jedi offered security at the expense of liberty, while the powerful Sith offered liberty at the expense of security. It was order versus chaos, using the blinders of morals to cloud what was perceived as right or wrong. The reason, though, that neither side is meant to hold the crown of a moral good, is because the thing they take is not worth what is offered in either case. The Sith provided an infrastructure that held unparalled freedom but held the likelihood of a short life with a violent end. The craven Jedi held an unrelenting order of conduct, but sacrificed every inch of your humanity in doing so.

The hardened black leather he wore, embroidered with regal silk twines and gold smelted trinkets, stood out defiantly against the falling white of the winter skies. The lavish red cloak that was buckled atop his shoulders held a more emphatic flair, thrashing impassively against the bold wind, glorifying the meticulous Mark of the Spider drawn upon the thread. The groans and mumbles of the previously tranquilized crowd grew slowly, and would become more incessant now, fueled by an impatience that was masterfully tamed by the presence of the unopposed power of the Dark Lord. ".. Very well." The herd caught their next breath half-way in their throats when the sound of his voice tremored eerily, dismissively callous in tone. Exodus cut his eye from the craven Jedi, and shot a knowing stare towards his chief adviser instead. The mysterious man understood immediately, nodding before shuffling off towards the rear of the gallow. In less than the count of five, the unconditional crawl of the Force ushered forward and blanketed the barren execution stand. The powerful tidal push could be felt to the few who had already inherited a connection to it, and all of their senses would burn with a deeper conviction. The flames inside of the torches that aligned the podium flickered more fiercely now. Lord Exodus advanced forward, towards the wooden carapace with the heaviest of burdens mantled onto his broad shoulders. He carried them proudly, the sins of his choices, and the fruits of his labor.

"Onderonian whores scream the name better than you, little scorpion." Exodus rounded the wooden stairs to the podium with three graceful steps, then passing beside the one known as Scorpio, he leaned over to gather the oils. "You claim the head of the student, and assume that you are then prepared for the Master? The two do not equate, and never have. You are weak because you stand for nothing, and your choices reflect this." He approached the foolish white-haired man, tipping the large flask of strange oil in his hand, pouring roughly half of the content down his body. It streamed down his face, and then to all of his open wounds, the liquid trickled bitterly. "Allow me to deepen your despair," Exodus smiled unforgivingly, understanding that this one held no idea what he would become, his future was sealed.

The thick red concotion ran amuck, strange in the way it slithered down skin, very much alive in the way it moved. Exodus continued forward, stepping passed the focusing gem placed in the middle of the platform, and leaning towards his age-old enemy. The blood loss that the Grey Warden suffered was astounding at this point, and the return of the Force would do little to recover a body this depreciated, in the short amount of time that it had surfaced. Exodus felt no remorse, but was drawn to a curiosity that no other individual was able to spark in him. He reached out with an iron-lined hand and clutched the skull of Aryian, pulling his head back with his hair so he could shake his consciousness. "It is time to come home, Lord Ares," Exodus released his grip and with the other hand, he washed the old warrior with the rest of the mysterious fluid. The insemination of the red-water found full bloom once inside of the open orfices of a victim, vulnerable tears of the flesh is where it would begin to fester for both of the men here, changing them forever.

Stepping away, the Dark Lord descended the elevated platform and signaled the same two men who had carried the barrels of fuel, with a dismissive wave of his hand. The two, highly indistinguishable from one another, glanced at each other quickly before marching up the same steps that Exodus had come down from. Both bronze-armored troopers stood in front of their respective objectives and uncorked the old steel tankards, before lifting it and steadying themselves before Aryian Darkfire and Scorpio. The crowd remained a hornets' nest and gasped with excitement as the visualization of judgment became tangible. Suddenly, both barrels were lifted and both men began to splash and pour the foul smelling fuel onto the prisoners. Exodus arrested all movement as he raised his fist in the air, the two men marching off of the platform immediately with the rest of the fuel in tow.

Exodus withdrew his legendary lightsaber Transcendence, igniting the brilliant blade and pointing towards his two unlikely captives. The red of the savage beam was ravishing, surging almost uncontrollably with sheer power, dripping with an atmospheric bleed of heat. In a quick marvel of finesse, Exodus spun the sentient handle of the weapon with the speed of an axial propeller and plunged the swelling lightsaber into the dirt before him. He dropped to one knee, and pushed the cutting blade deeper with both hands now almost ceremoniously, distracting from a truer display of might seething from his skin. It was not noticeable at first, but small ethereal threads of perfect black began to wriggle free from the back of the Dark Lord. They were thick, unmistakably void of any light, and crawled higher and higher from his body. They sprouted from his back almost as a gas, but quickly thickened and filled out until completely opaque, even burning away the materials of his clothes from where they spawned. Thick serpentine tendrils of the dark unfastened themselves in grand display, unraveling with an ungodliness that fed the entire capital with a seeping continental dread. There were six of them, or maybe eight, but even ten was likely, that heavily wreathed all around him. There was a clear separation of space between him and the others now, with all inside his vicinity taking several instinctive steps back. Exodus drew an unnatural breath, an inhalation that was so deep and unending, empowering the flourish of dark side energies that now suffocated any and everything inside of Dragon's Gate. It was cyclical in nature, as if becoming a vacuum to the natural atmosphere and churning it into a nexus of the Force that bled from his back into pure Sith Magic. These wings were searching, un-webbed and grandiose as they flared in their fierce multitudes before the masses. The composition of these tendrils of darkness were inexhaustible; an undivided concentration of dark side energy. They lashed more intensely as they fleshed out their corporeal synthesis, drawing from the world of the living and harpooning from the land of the Damned.

"Iet, un sludināt Evaņģēliju par manu nāk!"
(Go and preach the gospel of my coming!)

The spears of black rushed forward with a violence tantamount to the beating wings of a Dragon, punching through the middle of the wooden gallow and shattering the tied lumber. The torch that was anchored to the middle beam shook loose and smashed against the floor of the podium. Then chaos spread in the form of wildfire. The fire scattered immediately and roared loudly while the superheated timber began to cackle. The blaze swooshed beneath the wind and slithered up the bodies of both prisoners without prejudice. Three more spears of the unbound wings on the back of the Dark Lord punched into targets; one suctioning into the focusing gem that now lay with the flames, one hooking like a stinger into the neck of the scorpion, and another, darker than the rest, slashing into the heart of Darkfire. The Immortal King of the Sith could harmonize their pain, could smell the burning flesh as if it were his own. The threads of darkness that connected them now, welded their consciousness together. The euphoria of their torment belonged to the Spider, and the very stems of his irises began to wither into a bone white until there was no color or pigmentation at all..

=====

Venom of the Valari

• Processed Forms: Hjertet av Raseri (Grounded mushroom), Foot of the Rahkghoul (Raw Resin), Blood Syrup (Concentrated liquid)
• Origin: Incubates near a Hjertet av Raseri, and grows in areas of pitch darkness.
• Usage: Unknown
• Appearance: A small and rare fungus growing in clusters, on long and thick stalks covered in nigh-invisible needles. The growth has a soft mushroom cap colored in black with red streaks, giving the illusion that the fungi are bleeding. Upon being picked, the fungus decompresses a large amount of gas. The cause is a high-pressure release of toxic gas from the pores on the underside of the mushroom cap. Prolonged exposure or deep inhalation can cause insanity. Loss of consciousness, and if left untreated, death are not uncommon. The fungus is soft even when dried, and have intensified red coloration, depending on maturity.
• Effects: (Liquid) Euphoria and weightlessness, followed by sleepiness and apathy, sedation and insanity in large doses. Other effects include nausea, vomiting, sleeplessness. Withdrawals are severe, including anxiety, panic and hallucinations. Digestion or open-wound contamination of this liquid can mildly suppress connection to the force, and if left untreated, can become mentally degenerative; nullifying connections through the force or to the force itself. Strangely, the poison is highly addictive in all forms.
• Other Information: House of the Valari. Rumor suggests there is a link between this venom and a reanimation of the deceased.

Exodus · July 14, 2018

The bone-white stems flickered with a phosphorous twinkle, while his eyes unnoticeably rolled into the back of his head. The moment was surreal, a painting perhaps; The Immortal King of the Sith on bended knee before his burning prey, tentacles tenfold swarming from his back as if the soul of a kraken was buried beneath the plates of his bone, surfacing to feed on the flesh of the sacrificed. The Grey, the Scorpion, the Witness and the Spider all woven into a brilliant tapestry of Destiny. Exodus could see now, with eyes wide shut, infinity was before him. "What is this place?" Marvel and confusion crawled out of his inner voice. The expanse of it all, even if it were just a taste, the sample was endless. The darkness was beautifully breathtaking. It held tremendous depth, silence, and reign here. Light would always come and go; but the permenance of the darkness proved that it would always remain, far more eternal than that of light. For all light required a source, but the same was not true for the core of darkness, an inextinguishable absence of those same sources. So there it was, a blinding ocean of light spilling relentlessly from a monumental source, breaking against the invincible nocturnal shores of black that surrounded it. Exodus looked down, trying to find measure with his hands, a contrast to the wild insignificance he felt in the presence of this eternal war. "How can this be..." Anger rose in him, and he blew steam from his nostrils. Any reasonable person knew that this was the truth of things, but to be shown in a way that others could never see, or should never see, was systematically defeating. Exodus cursed beneath his breath, wanting to reach out and snap the equilibrium in half, there was a confidence inside of him that believed he could, but he was as a pebble of sand inside of this hurricance. But why? Exodus stayed his blind hatred for a moment, and a glimpse of revelation eased over him as he looked closer at how the tides rolled over those shores. An understanding began to seed itself inside of the Dark Lord, a violent drum of a seed that echoed with purpose enough to defean him to reason. He reached out once more, casting aside the humility of his indifference, and—

"Hear me, Dark One..

Your fate is thus:

“The Darkness comes to war with all,
And fearsome is the Lord’s approach.
Though ground doth quake and armies fall,
Shelter it brings beyond reproach.

“When silenced stars escape the sky,
And tainted blood in river’s run,
Instead of lost and left to die,
Prepared to fight, all rise as one.

“Your destiny is cast, your path set. Turn now, and invite ruin. Thus I have spoken, thus it will be.”

Infinity looked back at him, and he froze. The reach of his fingers receded into body language of indecision, and for the first time since the days of his apprenticeship, he hesitated. The voice that called out was both familiar and unknown, and the words spoken vibrated with a frequency of knowing. Was this the prophecy the Grey Master spoke of? How did a heretic come by such insight? The Dark Lord, or the Dark One considered every word meticulously. The plane of infinity peeled backwards, and things were as they once were. The beautiful tapestry, the painting of a world hanging off of the breath of the Dark One has returned. Time itself did not continue, and all things remained still for a few seconds. How much time had passed was unknown, and would go unnoticed by everything and everyone. The large focusing gem that shared in the unmoving blaze began to shake, and the vine-like wings of Sith Magic began to course with a shadowy electrical current. In one fell flash, reality warped back into normalcy with a powerful gush of raw force, stripping the ravenous fires from the gallow and from what remained of flesh.

Dead silence washed over the gathered. The majestic display of Sith Magic receded. The eaten wood of the gallows creaked and fell apart in large chunks, the bodies of the captives did the same. A strange red aura permeated the corpses, similar to a filament of dust that now Circled the large gem. And now the familiar clockwork of time could be felt once more. Exodus sighed deeply, the words he had just heard hauntingly repeating inside of his mind. He noticed his lightsaber first, and how the blade was no longer activated. The tendrils of dark had receded, and the sacrificial flames had expired prematurely. Exodus stood to his full height and the large gem flew towards him, catching it solidly with the wide grip of his metal gauntlet. "Lady Jaina. Drink of this and you are free to leave. My apprentice will escort you." Exodus sheathed the hilt of his blade on a clip, and pulled the flask from the same belt. He tossed it to his apprentice, nodding to her, implying that she was to be sure that their guest had her fill. There were no explanations to why the prisoners were doused in the same liquid, nor would one be given to her. For all anyone knew, this was a brand for each of the outsiders. The Dark Lord then leaned towards the rest of his counsel, and shared a few whispers. The commander of the regiment that followed Exodus separated himself from the group and barked orders to his men. Exodus then turned towards the ship to leave, not making eye contact with any one person, as the audience began to disperse.

"..Rest easy, Grey One."

==============

Synopsis

Fell poison extract from the flower on Onderon. Initiation into the House of the Valari. Few survive the extract. Will turn Ares and Scorpion into NPCS and Lords of the Damned. Permakills them. General Ares and General Scorpion will eventually rise. Exodus unleashes himself, and exploits the use of a focusing crystal to increase the potency and bridge a connection between his captives to feel their deaths and their transformations. He appears every bit, the God of Death as what seems like thousands of vine-like wings expand from his back and cut themselves into his captives. His ancient weapon Transcendence is jammed into the floor beneath him, bleeding red veins across the concrete, leeching raw psychosomatic imprints of unfiltered information from those in attendance. Aryian Darkfire and Scorpio are killed. The Valari Venom is successful. The prophecy is sealed with the passing of the Grey One; The Scorpion is sacrificed; The Witness bears the Story; The Spider is King. Jaina must drink the drink to shatter her bonds, and create her anew, and will be lead by the Golden Telperien into the outskirts to either die or survive.

Exodus · July 28, 2018

D I S C O N N E C T E D

Reflections inside a house of mirrors. His breaths were languid, head full of wolfish black hair resting inside both palms, with a dark brood that washed the walls with silence. His eyes stared into the very depths of nowhere. The sheets all around him were astray, and the Dark Lord found himself nested on the brim of the bedstead. Another Human lay sound asleep just behind where he sat. Light brown, layered hair braided to reveal a bony, well-worn face. Hollow silver eyes, set seductively within their sockets, watched admiringly over the King of the Sith. Several beauty marks spread magnanimously across her left cheek and drove home a flair of brilliance that combed her naked bronzed skin. This was the face of Sillaesa, a true Witch among her people. She stands imposing in every regard to those that have witnessed her, despite her delicate frame. Lord Exodus found that there was always a fine indecipherable layer about this woman, perhaps it was the way in which the font of her dark magic courted with the Other side.

“The Old Wolf has returned, but you knew he would, didn't you?” Sillaesa smiled with a tongue of poison, and her words slithered as a sound that could loosen the hardest of men. She spoke, and Exodus listened. The warmth of her unclothed body drew closer to his as she pulled herself onto all fours and teasingly brushed forward against his back, mockingly role-playing as the powerful canine. Her soft hands, nails colored in the likeness of her hair, reached behind her head slowly. From the mess of her braid, Sillaesa pulled a small blade and cautiously steered it towards the neck of the engrossed King. The handle of the makeshift hair-pin was crafted in an alabaster wood, inexpensively serpentine in design. He could feel her tantalizing scent creep across his broad shoulders, wafting about the room as if it were her own. The drum of her cold heart quickened a few paces, adrenaline feeding her wild nature, rolling off of her body and onto his as a constant purr. She giggled, but lacking any juvenile innocence, more malevolently determined in how it escaped her. She leveled the blade to his neck swiftly and..

"Silla."

He spoke, and now she listened. "What do your ancestors tell you?" She kissed the side of his neck quickly and flung herself back into the tangle of sheets, watching him curiously yet again before answering. Exodus stood to his feet, and drew his slacks to his waist, tightening the draw-strings. Leaning back onto the edge of the bedframe, Exodus glanced over at the focusing gem laid out in plain sight. Tucked into the corner, the large mineral rock kindled with a powerful and raw essence that drew otherworldly energies. Sillaesa knew what this was for, and Exodus could still hear the screams of burning flesh that accompanied it. Their sacrifice, their singularities, both knitted into the future of what was to come. As for the Spider, he was an impossible man to find, unless he so wished it. The calls of the Wolf would fall on deaf ears, for the prophecy of the Grey Warden had swallowed his attention whole, removing him from the laden access he had provided his people. Before long, he would encounter his brother with a levied revelation, but now was the time for preparation. The battle of Onderon had been won, and the spoils of war still rained down upon it's people.

"Okay, Malachi. I will share this one secret with you.."

Exodus · August 5, 2018

A stream of surveillance channeled itself across the width of the embellished bacta-tank, waves of information eagerly digested piece by piece as the Spider watched from within. The medicinal broth sank deep into his pores and drove itself to mend the powerful conqueror, reconditioning the wear and tear that burdened him both mentally and physically. The locks of his natural and wild hair crowded most of his face as he remained afloat, almost camouflaging the oxygen duct that funneled air directly through him. His sharp eyes remained fastened however, focused on the screen with a strange fascination. This lasted hours maybe, the translation of time disregarded completely inside of his mind.

- - - - - - - -

Three knocks echoed hard across the frame of the vat, and then the sound of a motor spurring loudly alive. The bacta, and the unique bacteria that had been mixed in, began to drain with comfortable force. The Dark Lord awakened suddenly, emerald irises expanded, feeding on the light that now poured into them. A dream had taken him, smears of the visions the Grey Warden had shown him earlier. Infinitude challenging the Spider, daring him to grasp an inescapable truth. Exodus pulled the respirator from his mouth, tossing it to the basin of the tank, while pushing the redoubled glass door free. His powerful physique brimmed vivaciously, each breath he took filling him with spirit, rallying a deeper purpose than the one previously had. “Hephae..” Lord Exodus hemmed from the hydration caught in his throat. Clearing it, he stepped forward and took the cotton towel that hung from the hands of a silent maid, wiping the wet from his face. She did not move an inch, and could just as easily pass as an uninteresting mannequin in how she carried herself. “The Maker, Lord Hephaestus. Tell him it is time. The droids posted outside of this room, use them to relay the message.” The droids he spoke of were the abominable Deimos X-20s. They had easily risen to worth with their unforgiving and resolute demeanour, heavily-equipped powerhouses that unerringly heeded the call of the Sith King. "..This Dark Metal, in the hands of a master craftsman.. We will see what our old friend has to offer." The maidservant bowed courteously, and made for the exit, while Exodus turned his attention to the bizarre chest laid next to the tank. Leaning over the strange metal box, eerily reminiscent of an ancient sarcophagus, he lifted the cover.

<< Coded message to Master Hephaestus sent >>

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