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  1. The bartender, an overlarge and gregarious Hutt watched the three clone trooper swho sat at the long table, their armor gleaming in the dim light of the cantina. They were a sight to behold, each one a perfect copy of the other, their faces set in determined lines. The bartender watched them from behind the counter, a feeling of unease settling in his many many stomachs. These were not ordinary soldiers, but fighting machines, created for one purpose: to serve the Republic and fight in the Clone Wars, or at least it was, many many many years ago As he mixed various, idiotic and fizzy drinks, the bartender couldn't help but wonder what horrors they had seen on the battlefield. What atrocities had they committed in the name of duty? And yet, despite everything, they remained stoic and resolute, their loyalty to, perhaps The Republic unwavering. Or was it the Empire. Or perhaps some form of Sovereign Alliance. Or maybe they were Jedi. The clone troopers lifted their glasses and clinked them together, their eyes meeting in a silent toast. The bartender watched as they drank, his greasy hand shaking slightly as he wiped down the counter. These were not men, but weapons, and he couldn't shake the feeling that their presence bode ill for the future of his comfortable and definitely not a mafia or Sith Front of a bar. The overfat Hutt couldn't help but notice a Twi'lek across the room. She was tall and slender, with a lithe grace that caught his eye. But it wasn't her appearance that captured his attention, it was the way she moved. It was almost as if she were dancing, her body flowing with an unconscious grace that he had only ever seen in one other person. Lallu. The name hit him like a physical blow, bringing with it a wave of memories and emotions that he had thought long buried. Lallu had been a dancer, or maybe a Sith Assassin or something, a Twi'lek like this one, with the same flowing movements and captivating presence. He had met her in a cantina much like this one, or maybe a Sith Temple, or maybe on a Mission, and they had spent a wild and passionate night together, at least in his mind. But in the harsh, and yet dim light of the bar, he had realized that he could never truly be with her. She was a dancer, and he was just a Hutt, he was a punk, she did ballet, what more could he say He had said goodbye and slithered out of her life, hoping that she would find someone who could give her the life she had deserved. And he had never looked back. Until now. As he watched the Twi'lek across the room, he couldn't help but feel a sense of longing and regret. He knew that he could never go back, that the past was the past. But he couldn't shake the feeling that he had made a mistake, that he had let something special slip through his greasy, chubby, dirty fingers. Great crimson eyes, welling with tears, stared from behind bright blue contacts while his greasy hand fiddled with the poorly made prosthetic beard and large hooked nose that adorned his face. He couldn't help but notice a Wookie, all too familiar, speaking to a young blonde woman at the other end of the counter, and what may well have been Admiral Ackbar himself. The Wookie was tall and muscular, his fur ruffled and unkempt. He gestured wildly with his hands as he spoke, a look of intense concentration on his face, as if reminiscing upon the time he slept with an Empress or something. The young woman listened intently, her blue eyes fixed on the Wookie as he spoke as if imagining his ringlets of fur deep in her nostrils. She was slender and graceful, her blonde hair falling in soft curls around her shoulders, something of a flitmoth. She seemed to be hanging on his every word, her expression one of the rapt attention that often graced the faces of mindless young women The Hutt watched the pair with interest, wondering what could have brought such disparate beings together in this seedy cantina. But he knew better than to ask questions, especially in a place like this, or meddle in a new budding romance, rife with shower scenes. He had learned long ago to mind his own business and keep his fat head down. So instead, he turned his attention back to those clone troopers, their presence a constant reminder of the dangers that lurked beyond the doors of the cantina, and that some people didn't know how to dress for a covert ops mission. With their distinctive armor and precise movements, they stood out like sore thumbs in the dingy cantina. It was as if they wanted everyone to know exactly who they were and what they were capable of. The overlarge and sweaty bartender watched them cautiously, his grubby hand never straying far from the blaster concealed beneath the counter. He had heard stories about the clone troopers, about their strength and their bravery on the battlefield. But he had also heard rumors of their ruthlessness, of their willingness to do whatever it took to win. His mind wandered to the Nightsister Quesadillaea, and how she had slept with a clone or two. He couldn't help but wonder what had brought them to this backwater planet, to this seedy cantina in the middle of nowhere, so filled with phermones. Was it a mission to retake the planet, or were they simply passing through on their way to somewhere else? Perhaps they could use a large Hutt for some nighttime activities... His multiple, greasy folds seemed to quake with potential excitement.
    4 points
  2. Sandy could feel something off in the force. Not just the constant drudgery of evil that seemed to permeate the world, but this was coming from her new friend, someone who always struggled with her own evil. Sometimes thrust upon her, and sometimes, like now, the vain temptation put forward by biology and desire. This was certainly an odd world, and though she had experienced the pheromones of the local species before, it always came as a shock. It stirred emotions deep in the pit of her stomach desires that she hadn’t really put fully away after her time with Aidan. But she did learn to control those feelings so long ago, that it felt like secondary nature to let them pass through her and out. She took a breath, using a little bit of her energy to dispel temptation and desire, and replace it with the fierce calm of the force. She reached out a scarred hand and lightly touched Keenava’s wrist. She let the force flow through her touch. Not the willful and forceful touch that she may have experienced from prior masters, but a calm reassurance. Letting her lean on that strength, should she need it, to resist temptation and to steady her nerves. There was no reason to harm herself to try to regain composure. She smiled warmly at the waitress, and took a seat next to Kirlocca, slipping a thin arm around him to give him fierce hug. He had lost much. More than all of them. And though his presence was a surprise, she was very glad to see him here. There was no one better to rely on than the wookiee Jedi master.
    4 points
  3. Leena felt the struggle as @Keenava Dira fought against the darkness until finally a glimmer of light burst forth. A smile played at the edge of her lips as she focused on the fallen girl. She knew the new Jedi initiate had it in her, even if the twi’lek had doubted it herself. The smile was short-lived however as Leena’s senses probed the girl’s form. This was no ordinary illness. Not that she would expect that on a world so saturated in dark side power as this; no, nothing was as it seemed here. Leena almost recoiled at the darkness that pulsated beneath the surface of this small girl’s body. She was a conduit for the darkness and little more; a victim of the ravages of the dark side. Suddenly from all around them the very world seemed to pulsate and dark fog roiled into the air. The darkness within the girl seemed to manifest about them, appearing on the fringes as cries of fear and pain laced with the fog and the green shadows cast the world in eerie hues and icy shadows. Leena lurched backwards on her heels, grabbing at Keenava’s arm to pull her backward. Shooting to her feet, the duo were joined by @Basi as he bounded back down from their ship to Leena’s side, pressing the silvery shaft of Leena’s old blade into her palm. With her face steeled against the advancing horde of red eyes piercing through the fog in the distance, Leena slid the hilt up her own sleeve as she grabbed Keenava’s and Basi’s hands. “Together,” she whispered. “We shall not be overcome.” Leena reached deep into her soul and felt for the light that rested within her soul. She grasped onto it and let it flow like a surging spring throughout. She felt for the light of the memory that glowed within Keenava and reinforced it with the exponentially expanding light from her own soul. Leena found the light that burned like a fire in Basi and with the peace of her soul bolstered it. She expanded her senses outwards, feeling for the glimmers of light in the world around them, even in the form of the consumed girl at their feet. The glimmer of hope that was her mother, warm memories of embrace, and that too she grew and into the web of light that was beginning to invisibly weave around them. At the head of the seeming army of evil marched a single woman, a leader of unknown origins and power. Leena felt her presence, felt the darkness that swirled about her. Leena felt the waves surge in the dark priestess’ wake and bolstered the light about their trio, prepared to stand in the gap, healing life-filled energy beginning to crackle and pop as any tendrils of darkness began to interlope within their aura.
    3 points
  4. A sliver of ice tickled the base of her neck. Her feet brushed steel through thick boots, pounding hard with desperate speed. Panic, fear, and terror spread from her shoulder; it was a familiar touch, gripping hard. But she saw no assailant, nor any looming darkness. Yet the dread she felt was exigent. Hello darkness, my old friend… A young Falleen collapsed at their feet. But Keenava could not see her. She felt the floor drift, and her gaze shifted. The gashes began to blister on her back, and fresh whip lacerations stung as air rushed by. Her heart pounded the melody of suffering. Hot salt bit at the skin of her face, and her mind warred… Keenava stood, her body limp and forgotten—a prisoner of the cologne of misery that the victim effused. The twi’lek’s eyelids drooped, and her gaze focused on nothing. Her body felt numb from the waist down. But, in a way, so did her mind. She tore at her own lekku, trying to feel something—anything—but nothing happened. She was nothing…just meat… Only meat… "Focus on the light. Find it within yourself and drive the darkness back from her mind." Leena’s voice washed across her; cold water brushed over her sordid trance, shaking her from her reverie. She slowly flexed her hands and felt as her mind rose from the murk bit by bit. "This girl needs you." Keenava felt Leena’s gaze on hers, and a rush of ice cracked against her mind. Awareness was restored like a flash of lightning, which almost brought Keenava to her knees. Warm streaks tickled her cheeks, and now she could see the injured girl at their feet. "Right… yeah, we need to move her." The Twi’lek looked around quickly, spotting a pile of crates that seemed just large enough to obscure them from view. "Alright, help me get her over there." She made a sign with her lekku. On the way, Keenava tried to do as Leena asked, but… how? She'd just given up on twisting the force to her advantage. How did she…find the light? Did she just ask nicely? Would the force respond to that? Fake it til you make it, I guess? __ She imagined herself going outside and seeing stars, a moon, a sun, or any other brilliant astral body; she pictured herself lighting torches, candles, light emitters, flashlights, etc. But she couldn’t ‘find the light’ as Leena said. What a beautiful little one! Confused, Keenava probed her mind, but nothing was there. She looks lost and afraid. You remember that, don’t you? A song of regret and pain gripped her for a second, to be replaced by a ballad that stung with a visceral sadness. A voice called from somewhere. It was soft, gentle, and familiar. M-m-mom? Kiki. It’s nice to hear my strong girl’s voice. But I’m not strong. I ran away for so long. I killed so many people. I caused so much anguish.I’m not worth forgiveness. Why am I here? Why did I come back? Why didn’t I just stay floating in that void? Free from the confidence she’d built to protect herself, Keenava’s heart was bare, and streaks of tears flowed freely now. Whether her tears were real or imagined, she didn’t know, nor did she care. You’re right. You did run. You ran from a world that threatened to consume you. All the cards were stacked against you. And yet, you never gave up. You kept fighting. Do you remember this? __________ A cloudy scene enveloped Keenava. She was pre-pubescent again, and the darkness of her cell was a dim black, lit only by a sparse arrangement of blinking light emitters. It had been a few years since she volunteered to take her mother and sister’s place. She sat staring at the space between the bars, hoping for things to melt away and go back to how they were. Scratches throbbed up and down her lekku. They made her a little lightheaded, but she barely noticed. "You gave us a lot of trouble, you druk. And, as punishment, you get to watch us do this!" The cruel face she had known for so long swept across her vision. And, in his hands… "NO! MOM?!" "Oh, so this lady right here means something to you. It’d be a shame if something happened to her." "YOU GET YOUR HANDS OFF OF HER RIGHT NOW!" Flames erupted from Keenava’s arms and lit her mother’s captor ablaze. Her mother’s eyes widened with concern, but her mouth was gagged. __________ Why are you showing me this? I lost control. Yes. But why did you lose control? To protect you from them, but it didn’t mean anything. I know what comes next. I couldn’t save you. And you can’t save everyone. But maybe that’s okay. How could you say that? You’re gone, and I didn’t even get to say goodbye! Her mother appeared to her in a spectral form of lavender light that bent down and put a hand on her shoulder. People die. I never got the chance to talk to you about it, but it happens. If I hadn’t died there, I would’ve died somewhere. The important thing is that my strong girl held on. She kept on living. And if she hadn’t, none of us would be around anymore. Your sister would’ve been alone, and you would likely have passed away sometime later than me when they deemed you too much trouble. You may be lost now. You may have a hard time forgiving yourself, but I’ve never blamed you. Never once did I look at you and see anything but my strong little Kiki. You even have my eyes now, which makes my heart soar every time I look at you. Keenava sniffled. The beauty of her mother's aura transfixed her. I don’t deserve you. Of course you do. They do too. Keenava’s mother stretched her arm out, revealing Kana, Kara, Kava, Malive, and all of her daughter’s alters. Many people made a strong impression on you, giving you a voice to speak for yourself. But, in all of that, you lost your voice. Now they’re all here to remind you that there’s only one Keenava. There has always been one, and she’s right here. The figment of her mother touched a hand to Keenava’s chest. All the alters joined hands. And the closer Keenava looked, they all looked a lot more like her than they used to. They all cried together. The murdering, the sadistic, and the chaotic were all weeping in tandem. And then all of them faded into Keenava’s mother’s hand. They are only fragments of you. And now that you can think again, the whole galaxy—no, the universe—gets to hear your voice: my fierce, protective Kiki. Now you get to be the beautiful soul you were always meant to be. And maybe, just maybe, you can help others do the same. Thank you for everything, Mom. The Twi’lek looked up to see her mother once more, but she wasn’t there. All that remained was a vivid light glowing in the palm of her hand. __ Keenava smiled. It was a small gesture, but it echoed in her physical form as she bent over the Falleen that lay mired in darkness. She stretched her hand out and connected to the light she still felt in the palm of her hand, letting the force flow through her. She gently ran her fingers along the young woman’s brow as a mother would her child, tucking stray strands of hair behind her ear and wiping the blood from her cheek. Under her breath, Keenava hummed a lullaby that her mother used to sing. Soft tears continued to flow across her cheeks as she tried to share her light with the young woman.
    3 points
  5. It felt good, after what felt like an eternity, to be in the cockpit of an X-wing again. Sure, the luxury of the Viper’s Rest had its appeal, but there was something truly freeing about piloting a ship without crew or guests. At any moment, the vagabond spirit could exert its influence and he could be in another system with none the wiser, another mote of cosmic dust blown by the winds of whimsy and libertine pursuits. Today, however, was not a day for idle deviancy and carousing. Traversato cut through idyllic clouds just as they were beginning to adopt tinges of sunset colors, with the sky’s dominant blue yielding ever so slightly to a restful golden orange. Beneath him stretched pastoral fields that spoke of Chandrila’s continued preservation of the balance between civilization and nature. It was a far cry from what Tygo was used to, and on some levels disconcerting. What sort of devil’s bargain did it take to have such preserved innocence in a galaxy so consumed by war? Would the masters of such a place flinch in the midnight hours of what was to come when the bravado faded and the costs became all too real? Tygo’s family knew all about costs, both from sin and more recently virtue, though many only commented on the former. When he was hunting crazed cultists and lunatic sorcerers, the dark stains of his family’s past had their uses, but in the eyes of lords and ladies who lived safely in pristine towers and manses overlooking verdant greenery, it was a vulnerability to be needled at and leveraged for their idle sadism. The sneers and comments weren’t even particularly biting anymore, instead the banality of every single noble and courtier thinking that their particular jab was nuanced and original turned many events into trudging through a slurry of tired comments and tepid insults. He landed at the estate’s private hangar, cycling the ship through the shutdown process before hauling himself over the rim of the opened cockpit. He was extremely nimble, but several hours in a tight enclosed space would make anyone stiff until they could stretch out. Of course, he could have called upon the Force, but the prince had found that keeping an awareness of the physical allowed him to be better connected to the spiritual, while also avoiding over reliance. He paused his stride for a moment to limber up as an attache moved from the edge of the hangar to greet him. The usual formalities cascaded forward in rote performance, a necessary but boring dance. It wasn’t long before he was being presented to another room of his peers and their assorted hangers on, and while the faces were largely unknown to him, the reactions were all too familiar. Primarily disdain, even from those who were largely beneath him in standing, a few curious glances from the sorts of people who wanted to upset mommy and daddy, and knowing nods from the veterans who knew what the scarlet scarf he wore meant. One of those veterans was the venerable Lord Commander Constipex, a man whose eyes seemed to have wandered far from his home, iron and haunted in contrast to the peaceful elegance of the estate. He moved with mercurial grace towards Raphanel, sidestepping a would be heckler and producing a datapad directly for the Lord Commander’s eyes. It showed the butchers’ work that had concluded his last assignment, an outer rim cult that had a penchant for sacrificing youths to some deranged fairy tale demon. It was the conclusion of several months of investigative work, looking into the disappearances, staking out the cult’s procurer’s, and verifying the information before launching a surgical strike. The cult leader had tried to scream his idea of an esoteric ill omen at him, they always try to project this aura of occult fatalism, just before going limp as their cries die into gurgling silence. “Apologies for my tardiness, Lord Commander. The Wardens always like to be thorough after anything cult related to make sure that we don’t get any dark ritual on our boots and go spreading it everywhere.”
    3 points
  6. Kirlocca almost looked confused at the sudden amount of movement and activity happening within the cantina, so his quick response was to down all that remained of his Garrmorl. His eyes went wide at the sudden intake of a lot of strong alcohol, but quickly recovered. His eyes darted towards Leena, who wanted to adjourn away, but he knew he couldn't leave, not after he set himself up as an ex-pirate looking to be hired. So he gave her a formal wave of goodbye, as if there was zero chance he'd follow her. Besides for his own past memories of getting into strange ships seemed to have been joged enough with the drink he just inhaled. He turned towards the door, to watch Leena leave, only to see two semi muscular men and a very tiny girl walk past her. They were covered in a bunch of fancy looking clothes and bright jewels, which were made to stand out. They looked as out of place as a Jawa at a senate party. His own fast working mind knew that they were the priests he was told about by the waitress who would need to be present to lock in a contract. Since she was still next to him, he felt he could further lock in his cover, which was already greater than perhaps the others. << Would one of those outlandishly dressed people be priests? >> He had said it in a typical drunk pirate fashion. Loud, obnoxious and designed to be insulting. His experience with pirates, including his own dad allowed for him to know that they sneered at people who dressed royally in any fashion. They made themselves a mark, unless they made themselves an ally. With any bit of luck, or the Force, he would attract one or all three over. And if he played his cards right, information could come his way that would greatly profit him in what path the Jedi should take. Assuming they were all here for some purpose. He was simply just following the Force's guidance. The others here seemed like too much of a coincidence.
    3 points
  7. The Sith Warrior reclined upon the edge of his bunk within the quarters assigned to him within Ziost’s garrison command. It was a spartan residence, lacking the finery that had adorned the Warrior’s Barracks within Lord of Gluttony’s reign. It was, however, fully functional for his uses. He ignored the conflict outside. Dark Lords came and went these days like credit-chit whores, he had his own machinations to pursue, and none a change of leadership would interfere with. The datapad he held lit his pale, severe features with an unsteady glow as data streamed across its holoscreen. As Blackmorne thumbed through news articles streamed from the heart of the Sovereign Alliance, the whole right side of the datapad reflected a single face, pale and thin, with hair the color of honey and eyes a severe blue. He had been obsessed with this creature, every angle of her royal features caused the thrill to hum within his veins, that rush of cold adrenaline that drove him. Bloodletter’s devious words turned through the rush within his mind Have you discovered where you might snip… This bud from its stem? A half smile tugged at the edge of his frown, enticed by the thoughts of future joys. His voice churned like falling stones “The Alliance speaks greatly of hope, a frail human emotion.” With a flick of a finger, the galactic view of the mid-rim settled on his screen. It panned to the Chommel Sector and towards Naboo, the world from which his target hailed. A planet once devastated by war, brought to ruin by the natural turns of galactic fate. A few news articles came with it, outlining the efforts of a young queen to rally the galactic community to action “They will try and rebuild with that hope at their core. That is when the foundations of this Alliance are most fragile.” The light of the datapad died away, reflecting only the dimness of the barracks, the Sith Warrior, the crimson bedsheets, and the tangled remains of his bedmate. The Sith had found her amongst the captured padawans, the honey-stained hair drawing his sulphoric gaze. Her screams had fed his desires for a time, but such passions were always short-lived. Blackmorne stood, binding his long, white hair with the scrap of bloodsoaked robe he had kept as a totem from his first victory. He placed Bloodletter within its sheath, its long blade shifting from a mass of star-streaked deepspace into blackened steel. The hunt was about to begin.
    3 points
  8. Duel of fates between Darth Calypso and Darth Inmortos Mods: Delta73 and Darth Nyrys Overall a magnificently written duel. My kudos to both writers for writing, very interesting characters, and a very interesting duel that seem to reflect the heart of both characters. Seeing two Sith masters clash in the force is always a sight to behold and you both did very well! Points of critique: Power use: summoning thousands of sith bound spirits from hades to attack from your blade, while also freezing the battlefield and throwing a whole lot of ice spears is a bit too much in one post. All of these actions take immense concentration and work which is very hard or impossible while your body is burning and ruined. Doing too much like this can backfire and especially when dealing with sith spirits they can just as easily turn on you! Overall I think this last post was a bit too much on the power level. Respect of damage taken: Inmortos, taking a full force blast and having it flambé your entire character is great, however it seemed to have no actual impact on your character or his power, effectively undermining the potency of Calypso’s attack. Plan of attack: Calypso, there was no strategy of your attacks, no real build up from one attack to the other and the attacks could have been interchanged with little impact on the direction of the duel. The attacks did not feel like they were building on one another towards a win condition. Overall it was well written on both sides but Calypso stands victorious
    3 points
  9. The hair on Aidan's neck bristled. He'd felt the darkness before, but this was just a slap across the face. Naboo was supposed to be a peaceful world, what about it kept attracting the scum of the galaxy to it like hotchflies to bantha skut? Aidan had hoped they would be able to train in peace, but the whims of the galaxy were always crashing down around him wherever he went. Now, he had to deal with the emotions and mental pain of his mother dying, and somehow his only thoughts as the mental assault began were not this again. His hand found his staff saber hilt instinctively, though for the moment its silver blades remained extinguished. Aidan wasn't sure exactly where the mental attack was coming from, but it did no good to induce a public panic before it was absolutely necessary. Instead, he looked around and located a security officer before responding to Anne. "Yeah, well, you're going to learn that in this galaxy there are big fish and there are small fish, and sometimes you can't help but be the small fish. You need to have spines to survive, you have that right. And right now, I need you to have spines, okay?" Through the Force, he barely managed to eke out one strong thought to her, but it was simple enough to break through the emotional static the dark sider was flooding the Force with: Sith nearby. She may have been able to feel it as well, though Aidan knew that Anne's connection to the Force was not as strong as he and his fellow Jedi. It might have instead manifested in her as a sense of extreme unease. The whole ordeal certainly had him queasy, and he kept a hand on his stomach as he tried to ignore the intrusive thoughts. Quickly, he walked to the security guard, flashing his lightsaber hilt as if it were a badge of authority. "Jedi business. I need this area cleared of all civilians, but I want you to claim it's because of a gas leak. No need to start a panic." The security officer simply gave him a "really, buddy?" look before walking away and going about his job. Welp. So much for that. Aidan turned back around to the other two and made his way back.
    2 points
  10. “No. Fret not little clone.” The priestess smiled a bitter smile, revealing teeth that had been filed into brutally sharp points. “We are looking for someone. And we would pay top dollar to those mercenaries that might be interested in some contract work.” She shrugged her scantily clad shoulders and looked back at the cluster of cloned soldiers. “It is, as you would say, easy money.” ______ Her bodyguard shrugged at the Wookiee. “You can tear off any enemies of the state’s limbs you want in fact. And with a physique like yours, well you would be welcome in the service of the temple any time.” He grinned and walked towards the table where Sandy and the Wookiee still sat. “We have been sent by the very same temple on a mission should you be interested in joining us. Quite good credits, and there can be some suitable arm pulling if you wish it.” ______ Consume us. The sound of running feet echoed in the landing zone. Lights flickered and died, and the earth trembled. What was that feeling in the air? Fear? Hate? Resolution? Despair? It mixed together like a paste, scooped and dumped onto the planet's surface. It felt ancient, though it was reflected in new faces of shallow pale green. A sweep of dark shadowed fog swept its way into the landing bays. Its deep dark bringing the shiver of the darkside. In its wake pedestrians froze, and children cried in fear as they clung to parents and buried their faces. But those soldiers, those Linnorm beasts that had been made by the Sith it did not cower. They raised their furrowed brows and walked into the darkness. Their red eyes joining the masses of others that stared out of the abyss. Looking to all before them like a field of red stars in the pitch black of night. A solitary woman walked before the storm of fog. Almost lazy in her jaunt, her footsteps matching those of the young girl as she strode towards where she lay. The woman stared towards the trio, her red eyes glowing like iridescent pools of blood. Pitiless in their stare, set like rubies in her skull, ancient beyond the years of the form it now possessed. Consume us
    2 points
  11. Their esteemed company was joined by another, the legendary hunter of Sith Kyrie. Tygo had never met the woman until now, but her prowess was often spoken of in hushed and reverent tones amongst the Redcloaks. She wasn't highborn, but her talents in slaying Sith spoke on their own, and it would be an honor to draw steel by her side. A lesser noble whose dress suggested Caridan nobility spoke out of turn, but the Lord Commander dismissed the poorly crafted jeer offhandedly. Acting out as such was a great way to end up on the vanguard in times when lives needed to be spent for the good of the galaxy. "The Falleen are an aristocratic and rational people, they will be both well suited allies and an example that we are not beholden to any xenophobic beliefs of the old empire. We'd best move with haste though, the purity and virginal innocence of the Jedi is at risk, and if we let dust gather they are in great danger of actually having fun."
    2 points
  12. Darth Mavanger considered her words for a while before responding. The truth in her words was evident in her passion and the Dark Side's reaction to it. But what wasn't was whether she included the current Sith in her hatred of the Galaxy. She spoke as though she intended to lead them on the path of destruction, but had left it ambiguous as to whether or not that would include their own. He sighed, looking at her. "I must tell you Calypso. I have lost everything for the Sith. Brothers, friends... lovers. I've protected our empire at Kuat and Corellia countless times, and I've burned theirs to the ground at places like Naboo and Nar Shaddaa. I've defied one Dark Lord, and followed another into madness. I have slain a Queen and claimed a world, and I have slain an Empress and toppled and empire, all in the name of the Sith Empire. Even though my life is not dictated by the whims of the Empire, I will not stand idly by and watch as you burn the results of my suffering and sacrifice down alongside the Alliance to satisfy your lust for destruction. I've made that mistake once before. I have no plans on getting between you and your enemy, as long as that doesn't include the Sith." He let his words sink in for a moment before continuing. "But these are not words of war, nor a declaration of my opposition. Make no mistake, when the time comes I will challenge you for the throne, as is the way of the Sith. But that day is not today, and until it is, our interests align. If you learn of someone who needs to be slain, simply inform me and I will do so."
    2 points
  13. Vangar relinquished his grasp on the cylinder, and with it his grasp on the helm of power to steer the Alliance. Standing, he stepped around the desk. “It is my belief that Empress Raven is still out there, somewhere; but until such a time as she is found, you have my loyalty.” Vangar offered a crisp brow-level Imperial salute before clapping a fist across his chest in a much more militaristic one. “The threat of the Sith is still out there. A warship was seen assaulting the Helvault before all contact was lost. With your permission, I shall resign myself to The Bespin Storm. From there, we will scour the Outer Rim and hunt what remains of the Sith scourge.” ”May you live long and prosper Emperor Pilon.”
    2 points
  14. "My goal for the Empire?" Her face remained neutral as she paused, then answered. "Nothing at all." She locked her gaze onto where his eyes would be, behind that mask. "I suppose its fitting that our goals are not that different. I'm not here to rule the galaxy. Sith before have striven for that, and some have succeeded in one manner or another, only to fall. I'm not here to found some new Infinite Empire to rival the Rakatans. Their own destruction illustrates the fatal flaw in such an enterprise. And, like you, I'm not here for my own glory. I've studied the histories of dozens of terrible Sith Lords who were legends in their day, and all their legacies were ground into dust by the endless turning of time. No, leave those dreams for those who care for them. I desire something else, something more..." she paused as she considered, before smiling as she continued, "...primitive. I want to kill my enemy. Nothing more than that." She gestured up towards the stars, hidden by the clouds. "This galaxy...it galls me. It offends me. It disgusts me." Her lip curled down, genuine vitriol creeping into her voice. "I want to hurt it. I want to see it suffer. I want it to know my hatred as intimately as I do. And then, when its whimpering and begging for some bright hero to come and save it, I want to see it shatter and burn." Her flaring emotions called the Dark Side to her, and the air seemed to quiver like a string drawn taut. "This Alliance...it's the latest iteration of a stagnant status quo, and I want to see it and its entire line finally die." Passion laced her words. "And when I'm through, and the galaxy is ashes and smoke and blood, I want to watch what comes next." She smiled again, almost sweetly, her demeanor flipping as quickly as it had changed. "Whether that's some new Sith Empire, or something else entirely, will be up to the strong and the ambitious to decide. Perhaps, it'll be you who decides. But make no mistake. Anyone who stands between me and my enemy will die."
    2 points
  15. Leena shuffled through the crowd, catching sight of @Keenava Dira as she brushed by. Sensing @Basi nearby, Leena moved with purpose back towards the spaceport, avoiding eye contact with the mulling crowds. The oppression was almost palpable in the air, but the glimmer of light that Leena and company carried with them cut through the darkness like a knife. Seeing their ship up ahead, Leena’s pace quickened. The ship was their bastion of safety on this world and it carried their gear, specifically, a relic of Leena’s past. That was what she sought now. Before they could reach the ship though, a child tumbled to the ground in front of them. Had the force not been guiding Leena, she would have inevitably tripped. As it were she was able to jump over the child, reacting in the blink of an eye. Quickly the Mon Cal spun, sensing the fear, the pain, that seemed to consume the child. Leena knelt, cradling the girl’s head in her arm. “There there my child,” she coo’d as she looked the girl over from head to toe attempting to sense or see any injuries visible and invisible. And then she came to the child’s eyes. They were glassy and dark. The Jedi felt a chill go down her spine as if the cold glove of the dark side had passed over her. Looking up, Leena waved Keenava towards them. “Get down here. We must keep the darkness at bay.” Leena pulled on the Twi’lek’s hand to pull her down to them. “Focus on the light. Find it within yourself and drive the darkness back from her mind.” Leena looked into Keenava’s eyes. “This girl needs you.” Tearing her eyes from the two, Leena looked up at her apprentice. “Get aboard the ship. Clear a space and find a medkit.” ”Oh,” he called as almost an afterthought, “and there is a piece of my gear tucked away. Find it. We’re going to need it.” She spoke of the lightsaber owned by her former master stowed aboard.
    2 points
  16. Consume us Bare feet made little noise on duracrete walkpaths as she ran. Gods she ran. It felt like the very spirits were with her as she made her aimless sprint. Anything to get away. Anything to leave that terror behind. She could feel the cold ice of the blade still pricking at her chest, even though she had left the temple far behind. Every ragged breath an exposition of agony as her lungs struggled against the rising blood that was likely filling them. She could feel her knees weaken with every step, but still. Still she had to find mother. She had to tell her she was all right. That she was alive and to stop worrying. But every breath was an agony. And she could feel the thick foam of blood upon her lips. But running felt different, duracrete had turned to durasteel, and though she blinked her eyes to bat away the black at the edges of her vision it still covered most of it. Was she at the space port? She took another breath and broke into another coughing fit. The black disks covering her eyes like a shade as she pitched face first into the ground at the feet of a hooded Mon Calamari.
    2 points
  17. For a moment, a wave of hatred came off Solus in the Force. However it was only for a moment, as a wave of mutating madness rippled on the Impossible Geometries. The things that had latched onto the spirits had returned to Solus’ mind, and in the process, brought something to him. “Oh shush shush, yes I understand, but now is not the time.” Solus started to coo as his hand went up to his opposing shoulder to stroke something not there. “Yes, yes, darkness comes in many forms, but for now I listen to master. ” If Solus was trying to be secretive about what he was saying, he certainly wasn’t trying very hard. He was loud enough for everyone to hear. Solus glanced towards the newest apprentice @Bernon Mrrgwharr. “Oh that's right, you can’t see it. I forget that I am the only one here trained in something more…exotic. Here, new one, let me enlighten you…” For a moment, Solus focused on the Madness inside of him and directed it. His lessons at the Temple already started to bear fruit, as the hallucination was now being given an ounce of life. A step towards performing the Ritual of the Wyyrlok, this ability held no malice. Solus only wanted to let the new apprentice see what Solus saw. To Bernon and only Bernon, if he chose to not strongly resist, he would see the thing on Solus’ shoulder. The Rat-like thing was almost hairless, its skin covered in warts and glowing pustules. Its tail splitted into several ends, wrapping tightly around the Shard’s chassis so its hands could scratch its head. Instead of a face with teeth, under its 5 glowing blue eyes was a mass of tendrils, with a singular human finger poking out, being chewed upon. “Isn’t it amazing how many times a master can fail and yet remain a master? What wonders will they show in failure I wonder?” the thing asked as it devoured the finger. “Alright, back home you go…” Solus ordered, not breaking his gaze or focus from Bernon. The thing, under Solus’ command, quickly swallowed the finger and climbed onto Solus’ head. Once atop, it seemed to squeeze and shift its body as it moved unnaturally through the cracks of the chassis. Once it got inside completely and out of view, Solus looked away, the ritual complete. “Come, come, let's not keep my master waiting.” Solus turned and began to follow his master. “Hopefully Falleen will be alright without my attention.”
    2 points
  18. Berry fizz tickled, an expression of wonder; then nothing remained. Keenava savored the dregs of her beverage. Bright notes of red fruit clung to the inside of her palate as the fizz settled at the back of her throat. It was a lovely bouquet, one that Keenava had hoped to repeat. But, as she bent from her post to discard her glass on a nearby tray, three newcomers joined the throng. The first figure was small and covered in ornamentation. The others who loomed behind were almost certainly hired muscle to cover the first. Bodies were displaced, pressing closer together, and the heat of the room rose a few degrees. She could feel the distinct weight of influence as everyone’s tempers shifted. It was as if the entire cantina tensed in unison, save for the troopers. They seemed content to continue their crude jokes and gestures. Keenava sidled up to Sandy and bent ever-so-slightly toward her master, letting one of her lekku—the one facing the front of the bar—fall in front of her before whispering, "I'm following Leena. If you need me, I’ll be at the ship." This close to her, it was almost impossible to ignore her intrusive thoughts, but Sandy’s guidance still sang beneath the chaos of her mind, keeping her away from inappropriate diversions. That said, getting out was easier said than done. She could simply walk out the door, but who's to say their new guests would let her leave? The repugnant behavior from the trooper’s table reached a fever pitch to the point that a group of toughs nearby were preparing to leave. Keenava, though also disgusted, saw her opening. She fell in step behind the rough-looking individuals as they left, shuffling her silhouette with theirs to mislead those that chose to follow. Once her tail hit the door, they veered into the crowd. Keenava broke and carefully followed her steps toward the shuttle, intentionally brushing Leena’s shoulder as she continued.
    2 points
  19. Bureaucracy was such a pain. Aidan had been waylaid from his duties for several days due to processing out of the Imperial Knight ranks and into the Jedi. Now he found himself once again looking for his ward, finally finding her with another Jedi on one of the landing pads. "Hey! Your Highness! Anne!" Aidan waved them down as he jogged on over. The Jedi robes he now wore felt different, lighter. "Good lord, I'm very sorry about that, I trust you had an okay time while I was gone? What are we up to now?"
    2 points
  20. Sandy kept her place next to Kirlocca, playing the part of close company, her own hood pulled up enough to cover the bright platinum of her hair. She spared a smile for the imperial officer, but her pale green eyes kept watch between the door and the bar. Leena had done the right thing exiting when she had, and it spaced their already overcrowded group out. And gave an avenue for escape should the need arise. Her gaze turned to her apprentice and the hutt she was talking to. She would have cried out in alarm and grabbed her sabre from its hidden place had the force not told her that there was no threat from him. She kept her gaze on him for a moment until a new danger revealed itself in the form of two massive Falleen men and a lithe lilithesque figure. She let her gaze fall naturally down to the table. Willing herself and her allies to not be seen as a threat and for them to be passed over as normal patrons.
    2 points
  21. Having lived primarily on a Sith occupied world for the last several years, the waitress was not adverse to seeing strange sights. An entire armoured squad of look alike human soldiers was certainly not ordinary even before the departure of the grand fleet. In fact they were so look alike that the waitress could swear they looked like clones and they carried a distantly familiar face. A dangerous element, especially with all the heavy crack downs the government had been doing recently. Her mind wandered as she selected the best and most expensive bottle for her patrons. Could this be the rumored rebellion coming? After leaving them to their own devices for so many years, having defeated their sons, brothers, and fathers, over Nar Shaddaa, now slowly seeding the world with operatives for a final confrontation? No, that would be silly. Something out of a holo-film. Not real life. Nothing interesting happened here, she was not a main character of anyone’s story. She knew that, and had no aspirations to be a part of anything grandiose. Still, this development bothered her and a glance back to the bartender, told her he felt the same. She swallowed the sudden bile of fear that pulsed up into her throat, and she smiled back at the Wookiee. “I am sure three fifty will be far more than enough. You are most welcome to hire yourselves out as contract mercenaries or whatever you have a desire to do, just make sure that the Priests and masters get their cut. I can call a priest for you if you would like.” ____ Outside the bar, in the dark streets amongst the oppressive tide of the darkside, three individuals approached the bar. Two huge and muscular men and a lithe woman who was covered with ornamental jewelry of a priestess. They tread past the hooded Leena without a second glance.
    2 points
  22. Bernon Mrrgwharr felt the calling of his Sith Master, and as he rose, instinctively walked over towards the location of his fallen Master. He sifted throughout the remains, until finding a blood caked lightsaber hilt. He walked back over towards Akheron and Solus, and while he wiped off the hilt and cleaned the exterior of the hilt, he thought for a little bit. Maybe he was wrong about his initial thoughts on the philosophy of the Rule of Strength and the Death of Weak, maybe the dead were better servants, after all, his master could conjure up many dead beasts to do his bidding, however, for himself learning the secrets of immortality would be enough, however he also realized that there was a chance that wasn't possible either, because he was not following the path of the Sith Sorcerer. In the end only time and his teachings would tell, if he couldn't become immortal so be it, either way, his legacy would be. Bernon Mrrgwharr had also noticed a feeling in his eyes, a slight change, and soon realized that his eyes must have changed to yellow as he gave himself over to the Dark Side when both becoming an Apprentice, and using the power of Force Rage. He was glad and accepting of this change, as it meant his transition to the Dark Side was happening quickly, or at least quicker than he had initially thought of. Turning on his heel to look at Akheron, he asked a simple question "When do we leave, Master." For him the idea of having unofficially two Masters seemed amazing, as he had more opportunities for power. He believed from what he had seen that Darth Akheron was a Sith Warrior, and that Krath Inmortos was a Sith Sorcerer. From Darth Akheron he could learn the ways of the warrior, the ways of the sword, spear, and lightsaber. From Krath Inmortos he could possibly, however unlikely he now realized given he was a Warrior and not a Sorcerer unlike his Master, learn the ways of Immortality, as well as learning the basics of the Force and other such things. He now began realizing the point Lady Calypso was making, and that he was too stubborn to realize it at first, but at least now he understood. The weak did deserve to die, as they were nothing but a burden on society, the Sith, and nearly everything else. Even the dead could be turned into servants, after all, it seemed. A weak soldier is more of a liability than a boon to sheer numbers, he remembered hearing from his Mercenary training. In the end, at the very least almost everything Lady Calypso had to say was true. He felt angry at himself for his stubbornness and stupidity for not realizing that. Only through following his Masters and their wise teachings could he gain real power, and for that moment in time, he had failed to do that, he would not do so again. @Krath Inmortos @Karys Narat iv-Adas
    2 points
  23. Aaris III; a once lush jungle-covered world inhabited by primitive diminutive kobold-like lizard-men as they swelled within ancient cities build into the jungle. Now, it was all gone. The jungles burned to nothingness. The seas boiled until their cracked beds were bone dry. The cities reduced beyond rubble to ash and dust. Even the people, erased from the cycles of life and death entirely. This place did not smell like death, for in it’s destruction, it had transcended it. Aside from the one survivor dropped upon an Alliance world and the undead army bound to @Darth Calypso as a gift from Inmortos, there was nothing left. It was if they had never existed. Even their souls shattered so that they too along with their bodies could never be raised again. The world was vast and empty. Desolate as storms ravaged across the world unchecked by natural or artificial barrier. The climate cataclysmically altered in passing bands of searing heat and unbearable cold. Aaris III was a world destroyed, a testament to the power of the Sith, the Dark Side, of Lords @Karys Narat iv-Adas and Inmortos, and even to the touch of the Shard Sithling @Solus who someday would adorn the crowned brow of Inmortos and act as a conduit of his will. Life was gone from this place and in it’s stead even death was naught to be found. Vast swathes of emptiness from horizon to horizon were all that remained. The only thing that broke the landscape as it was lashed by eternal lightning-laden blizzards was a towering ziggurat of soul-bound ice, soulfrost morphed and twisted to hold the throne room of Inmortos high above his kingdom and within it’s dripping dark frigid interiors, atop a dias of skulls and ice sat a magnificent icy throne that seemed to warp and morph the room So that it was at the center, the focus, and dwarfed all within it’s presence. Below, icy walkways and frozen barren gardens twisted outward from the base of the tower leading to a fortress, walls and towers, halls and dungeons, all that sat atop a deeply buried library of ice, guarded by spells and incantations, wraiths and lethal traps: the secret library of Inmortos, gathered, stolen, and summoned from the dredges of history. Profane and lost texts that detailed ancients rights and civilizations long lost to eternity, forbidden magics even by Sith standards. Outside, butied within the dust atop a webbed nest existed a solitary being, a caretaker of sorts, neither living nor dead, a Sith abomination whose invisibility and poisons haunted and hunted the world and consumed any that dare trespass upon these sacred profane grounds. It was to this place that the veil between life and death split the sky with a monstrous clap of thunder. Souls, imprisoned for ages within death spewed forth to herald the return of their newly crowned god-king. And from this cleft descended an ethereal form, a ghost, a specter, a wraith; a being of form but not substance, a true embodiment of that young Firrerreo man cursed by the dredges of Coruscant so long ago. Inmortos, and yet, Eligreen, drifted down unsullied by the winds and darkness, cloaked in a veil of the damned, the very winds lashing put from his translucent form as he touched down upon the open balconies of his throne room. From there, he drifted to his throne, up the skulled stairs and turned to sit. As his ghostly form and his throne connected a flash of dark power erupted, consuming the tower itself in roiling clouds of deathly ice and lightning. The god-king was upon his throne once again. He only hoped that his servant @Bernon Mrrgwharr brought him a more suitable host this time, upon which he could exercise his will once more.
    2 points
  24. Leena smiled warmly at the waitress as she accepted the drink, sliding a pilfered Sith credit chit, the kind still accepted on such a world, to the Falleen. “Keep the change.” She smiled, probably warmer than she needed to. The bar was getting crowded; possibly a side effect of the regular workday ending and people looking for a small window of escape from the world around them, even if they refused to acknowledge the hopelessness of their situation. Turning towards Kirlocca, Leena’s eyes passed over @Basi, shrugging her shoulder forward indicating him to join them. “Getting a little crowded in here.” She mused, ”Lets adjourn back to our ship. All to many friendly faces about this joint.” Leena raised the whole bottle toward the @Wookiee Jedi. “Better to enjoy this in private with fewer . . . Imperial . . . eyes,” She shot a sidelong glance to the gaggle of commandos that had made themselves at home about the bar. She didn’t know who they were, but at a place like this, nine times out of ten they’d be unfriendly. Bounty hunters at best. Sith enforcers more likely. Donning her hood again, Leena slid out into the lightly falling night rain, set to make it back to their transport. Her mind drifted to the letter from a long lost associate and the memories of the catastrophe that had heralded a Sith invasion of Mon Cal, the world of her people. She was getting a déjà vu feeing about the whole thing. It was strong enough she could not help but steal a glance upwards for looming warships through the night covered clouds.
    2 points
  25. The air tightened. The number of bodies began to test the edge of subtlety. It became increasingly obvious that something was going on, even to untrained eyes. Troopers of no indicated allegiance, mysterious hooded individuals, and a scant few nameless patrons that could easily contribute to the mess combined into a stew of suspicious origin. Her eyes gilded the cantina, leaving no inch untended. Conflict was inevitable, and her instincts fought to keep her aware of each ebb of the growing dissonance. The soothing touch of Sandy’s guidance was a boon, and she managed to successfully divert her intrusive thoughts, but it was a silver thread amidst a rough-hewn thatch. When she finished with the bulk of the building, her eyes fell on each patron in turn. And though his paltry beard was enough to give pause, the price tag clinging to its tawdry fibers diverted her gaze to a very familiar Hutt, gazing at her from behind the bar. The misshapen contacts did little to hide his crimson eyes, and his crooked nose looked like it was almost falling off his slimy face. Sheog... Despite herself, Keenava laughed. It was a bright sound, full of joy; there was no hint of the chaos she once possessed. The smell of blood and sod lingered in her mind. She could almost feel the scabs ghost over her arms, and she could remember the feeling of slime upon her lips. Alters warring against themselves, antiseptic burning the fibers of her skin, and uncertainty clashing with anxiety merged to form a lovely bouquet. The planet of Trulalis wasn’t the best memory she had. But it was where she first met Sheog, so it wasn’t all bad. And though she hadn’t always treated him as well as he deserved, he, Rose, and Raia were the only real friends she had until a few days ago. It was not the reunion she expected. But she was glad it was him. "I’ll be right back," Keenava said quietly to Sandy before making her way to the only open barstool. Like the others next to her, she sat with a mask of patronly indifference. However, her beautiful eyes—a brilliant amethyst replacing their former crimson hue—told a different story. "I’ll have a Hyperdrive or a cup of something fizzy if you don’t have it." Keenava said, settling her elbows on the bar. After a beat, the Twi’lek found a lapse and penned something discreetly on a small piece of paper. Then, through practiced sleight-of-hand, she pinned it to the back of a credit chip that she handed directly to the bartender. "Plus a little tip for your trouble," Keenava added with a genuine smile of gleaming ivory. When her drink came, she grabbed it happily and hopped off the stool, finding her familiar place on the wall a foot or two from Sandy and the others.
    2 points
  26. Even as Inmortos’ possessed body dissipated into the air, a spray of blood and ichor, the spirit of the dark lord was loosed; an ethereal being amongst the rising waves of darkness that seemed to roil from the very soil at their feet. A harsh wind seemed to draw back the legions of spirits loosed upon the field until inly the few most powerful or local remained to haunt the fringes of the mind. @Darth Calypso’s words carried across the field and as she finished, the very breath of Ziost, a breeze, carried the essence of the necromancer upon it, his quiet whispering words to play upon her ears alone, “Blood has been spilt. The ancient codes appeased. Hail the new Lord of the Sith” and then the voice was gone sweeping out across the landscape before being swept towards the veil, drawn back to that final resting place once again, not yet condemned to remain there. Before he could be dispersed completely however, he reached out, a skeletal ghostly finger of cold tl rake across the minds of @Karys Narat iv-Adas, @Bernon Mrrgwharr, and finally @Solus. To his fellow blood-bound Master, he wordlessly bid, a thought, a memory, of Aaris III, of the destruction they wrought there, of his grotesque tower of ice and a desire that his apprentice be brought to him there, alive or dead. To his apprentice, he cast forth a cold and lustful desire, a task infinitely more and yet so simple he had filfilled it already, only to fail in the final stretch: ”Fetch my saber to me upon my throne.” And finally, he passed over Solus, a cold disembodied soft laughter that faded into the sky. A reminder of experiences past and present and eternal. And then, as if he never was, the presence of Inmortos passed from this realm into the next, a tortured soul, a king amongst the sodomites. He had accomplished that which he was bidden to do and now would attend to his affairs elsewhere in preparation for the great purge. Who said there was more use in life than death? Inmortos found it quite the opposite. The dead made much more obedient slaves.
    2 points
  27. Bernon Mrrgwharr had a new mix of emotions, anger, rage, hate, despair, hope, and victory. Anger for his master's failure to rid the galaxy of this threat to the Sith and their longevity and survival. Rage at the false words of this new Dark Lord of the Sith, and her belief that the weak must die, no, he believed that the weak must serve, not necessarily die, the dead had no use, but servants did. He had hate for Lady Calypso, he believed her to be a false prophet. He had despair for a short time, believing his master to be dead, and his hope at a Sith life destroyed. However the despair turned to a feeling of hope as Darth Akheron offered to support him. A feeling of victory washed over him as he realized his master was not truly dead, and with any luck, wouldn't be for some time to come. His negative feelings went into his reserve, to be kept for a more useful time, and after all, yelling at the Dark Lord of the Sith would just get him punished, most likely with a bloody death. He had however learned what he could from the fight between the Sith and took in the few words of wisdom that Lady Calypso spoke. He had also taken in all the wisdom he could from Darth Akheron, one of the few Sith here he was actually fond of, along with his master, of course. He listened to his new unofficial master and bowed before him, before turning and kneeling to Lady Calypso. He had no words to offer the Sith Master, he didn't want to betray his feelings with words dripping with contempt. He was also most grateful for the supportive suggestion that Solus gave Darth Akheron. As a new apprentice of the Sith and after the recent developments, he needed all the support he could get. And he was fully willing to take advantage of the support he was given. He was excited as well to learn at the feet of a Sith Warrior, one who was also a master in his own right, before and while they traveled to Aaris III. @Karys Narat iv-Adas @Solus @Krath Inmortos
    2 points
  28. They opted to remain quiet, conserve energy, the battalion although really a squad of three Clones, the "Bad Company," spent their time reloading abd repairing equipment and weapons. This also included repainting and fixing the damage on the armor of primary black and accented orange, not the standard colors of the Galactic Alliance nor the Imperial Remnant, but it works better than not. When Falleen was mentioned the Clones hid the Grand Republic insignia as their battalion symbol was left on, they didn't know what situation Falleen was in but given it was originally either a Sith occupation or a sieged world they did not was to run the risk of the republic patch being recognized. It was always nice to work for someone you don't openly "associate" with from time to time, doing illegal things for the sake of the law was fun in itself. Neither of the Troopers had been on Byss, however they remained silent and more or less focused on the tasks at hand. Still they would be traveling alongside two Jedi this time, maybe even pick up some souvenirs or a drink. Once they landed the soldiers suited up and checked their gear, and after exiting Tilt would tell the duo befire they passed the squad, "We'll be shadowing you, Generals. If something goes wrong we'll relay you, but otherwise we got your backs." On e everyone was on a move, the squad would literally blend in with the surroundings, walking more like actual mercenaries than soldiers, looking around for trouble and of course a "job" if they picked one up. Of course right now they were keeping an eye on their Jedi to make certain they weren't in trouble... Not that the Jedi would be, still, it was best to have backup in case things got too hairy. Upon the rain getting heavier the Jedi moved faster until going into a nearby bar where the Clones would follow. No one had said much, just that they were more or less tired from the back to back missions and combat they were involved in, but at tge same time the squad was very much awake and focused. When entering the bar Tilt immediately led the group to the opposite end of the bar to a lone table. They took their seats and started to quietly chat, however in truth they were very much keeping tabs of the ongoings of the bar.
    2 points
  29. Solus almost clapped at the final demonstration of power Calypso did at her victory, While he hated the fact that the necromancer had not done more damage to the now Empress, he rejoiced in the fact that the Necromancer was once again bested. No doubt he would regenerate on his own on some far flung world, or even back on that blasted heath of Aaris III. True, it meant that Solus would have to endure the Necromancer’s words of annoyance further, but that also meant that the opportunity to kill the necromancer permanently was still in Solus’ future. His master’s words to the no-doubt lost apprentice confirmed his thoughts. Once rejoined with him, Solus bowed before Calypso as well, and offered his own confirmation of servitude. “Great Ladyship, forged from a time forgotten, may your goals and the goals of the Spider always align. And when they don’t, may our passions make us both stronger still!” Solus suddenly had an idea come to his head. This situation presented an opportunity, if played correctly. Solus turned to his master once done with his pledge. “Master, a thought…” Solus chided in, while gesturing to . “This apprentice’s master once gifted me the opportunity of blood and learning. Why not gift him one as well? Teach him one of your enlightening lessons on Aaris III with his master’s approval, and in the mean time, allow me, your newly humbled apprentice, to regroup and rejoin some of our forces. I do recall a certain assassination plot on Faleen that might require some further investigation. Our people may require someone like the Dragon to establish some order among the ranks."
    2 points
  30. Where the Warrior wore the wrath of rage, and the Sorcerer wore the visage of fear, the Assassin enveloped themselves in the despair of pain. And it was a gluttonous feast indeed. For pain led to many sins, and it was a core value in the presence that was called the Darkness. It led each to its call. Whether pain inflicted one's wrath, or wrought one's greatest of fear, pain led to all. And through pain, the Darkness could be divided. And upon the surface of this reborn world, pain had already claimed its stake. From the wounds of the combatants, the despair of the lost souls called from the ether, it came without end. And for an Assassin such as Dictum, it was a buffet. A grin creased his face as the Sith Daggers tore at the veil that enraptured the lost souls, the despair that wailed from their fruitless plight enveloping his darkened soul. He could feel the Force that purged from their forms as he pulled another into his mawed presence, a reminder of mortality. They may have been the essence of shades, mere mimicry of their former selves, but they weren't untouchable by no means. But neither was Dictum, and he reveled in their dance, a dance with death. He could feel its glancing pull, taste the ichor of its presence, and he gested it with glee. For in the presence of death, life was a fleeting victory. And the bitter cold only a reminder of the veil that separates the two. Yet, as it's Master exploded in defeat, and the veil threatened to thicken, Dictum stepped back from its claim. Scratches and scrapes from the other beyond frozen upon his form, and he dropped to one knee as the dead began their retreat. And in its place boomed a voice that scorched the very earthen ground it reclaimed. It was done. The victor had been chosen, but not without cost. Shifting his gaze across the battlefield, Dictum heard the Dark Lady's words. Words that would be, as is her decree. Standing up, congealed blood beginning to drip from defrosting wounds, Dictum lowered his head with fist over heart. A new era had begun.
    2 points
  31. Keenava found a reliable groove to follow that effectively smothered the whispers conspiring to drag her into very uncomfortable territory. That is, until Sandy's scarred hand clasped her wrist. At the fragile contact, Keenava's defenses vaporized like tissues in a typhoon. Catalyzed by the surprise, chutes of electricity shot up the sinew of her arm, exploded like fireworks at the crux of her skull, and fell down the length of her brain tails. There the sensations lingered, smoldering at the tips of her lekku, taunting her. Keenava's imagination hadn't sufficiently emulated the touch of a callused master's hands as they slid across the thin flesh of her forearm, eliciting a soft yet vibrant blush in the apples of her cheeks. Images of ecstasy danced in her brain at the razor's edge of decorum. And, without the ability to rely on the force for fear of doubling down on her fantasies, Keenava was trying to tread water as the surface rose quickly above her head. But then, almost as quickly as it came, the candle was snuffed out. The sensation of peace washed over her, replacing and renewing her confidence. Sandy's power was a gentle rock to lean on, standing against the tide, and it helped Keenava regain her footing. Perhaps she would investigate and unpack her curiosity at another time, but loosely indulging her ego or id was not something she deemed appropriate anymore. Especially when it was very possible her feelings would not be returned. "Hey, miss," Keenava hailed the waitress as she walked by, "can I get a Hyperdrive?" Keenava asked, flashing a warm smile. "If you don't have that, please get me a nice juice or some water. I don't need alcohol this early. Thank you." The former Sith Lord leaned against a wall near the table they were gathering at and handed the waitress a modest credit chip as compensation. The ident on the account had no details about her in particular if anyone chose to investigate. The creds ran to an account on Corellia owned by a woman named Ullanna Gwynn. And, at least in this case, it wasn't because Keenava was incredibly prepared. It was due to the fact that that was the only account Keenava had ever opened, and she still remembered the access codes.
    2 points
  32. Kadi grinned as the bird came over- He was a natural, even if he didn't know what he was doing. It seemed that he was unaware of the power that was within him. She reached out, gently caressing the bird. She couldn't speak to the creature like Kerriwarr could, but that was something she shared with Juro. She knew it well. This planet was his as much as Felucia was hers, and even without training he had learned the first step to learning what she knew. "You're already doing it. Close your eyes. Feel it inside you- the Force is there. It surrounds us, a massive tapestry connecting all life, a story for us to tell. One of peace. Of protecting life, and stopping those that would harm it. Your connection to your world is what she comes here for. When life has nothing to fear, it flourishes. Listen, and she'll tell you how she's feeling, even without saying it. It's through this connection in the Force that Jedi draw their power. It's also what gives us our duty- Many who feel this connection are compelled to portect it, myself included. That's why I came here." She took her weapon, laying it on the branch before her. "I am a Jedi naturalist. Through the Force, I seek to heal wounded worlds, and through the Force, I seek to protect those that the forces of evil set their sights upon. We are champions of the people, guardians of life, and servants of the Force."
    2 points
  33. The corpse puppet tore like cloth. Weakened by the battle and stiffened by the cold, its bones shattered and sinew was ripped apart by the wave of telekinetic power. In barely the span of a blink, the body that had once been Inmortos' mandalorian victim was nothing but strips of meat, shards of frozen bone, and dollops of congealing blood scattering across the snowy fields in a macabre rain. Calypso stood, hand still extended, a wave of destruction extending out from her. Her body was slick with red as a dozen cuts trickled blood down her skin. For a moment, she remained like that, silent and motionless. Then she raised her face to the sky and screamed. Her voice was savage and defiant. In that wordless shout, she crowed her victory as an animal might. And laced throughout that primordial sound, a call that predated all language in the galaxy, was another simple message that could not be misconstrued. Who's next? But even in her victory over the necromancer, she knew the truth of the matter. He was not dead. Not truly. Calypso did not have the means to put a permanent end to such a creature yet. His tricks would save him for a while longer. But...that did not matter now. Killing him had never been her intent. She had defeated him, and that was more than enough. She spun in place, her sight in the the Force alighting on all the figures who remained in audience of her duel. Fully enmeshed in the Dark Side from the battle, her gaze was like a physical tremor in the air. It was the rumble in the ground that came before a volcano tore the land apart. She called out, "By right of victory, I claim my title! From now until I am defeated, any Sith who seeks to prove they are the rightful Dark Lord may challenge me!" Her eyes roved again across the gathered figures. "And if any think I have claimed this title falsely...then you are more than welcome to correct me at any time." Moments of silence passed before she continued. "The Sith have suffered a great setback. We must rebuild our forces before we can finally gut this galaxy of its masters and strip away their lies. So, I call on each and every Sith here. Serve yourselves, for by doing so you will serve me. Plot to depose me, for by doing so you will elevate me. Lay the groundwork for your own domains, for by doing so you will hand the galaxy itself into my hands. Gather power, train apprentices, barter alliances, and prepare your strategies and your gambits. And when the time comes, when the signal is given and the Sith emerge from the shadows, this new Galactic Alliance will fall, not by a single army but by the corruption, selfishness, and fear that they suppress and deny. They will crumble, as is their nature, and we will rise, as is ours. For those of you whose ambition would have you serve me directly, rest assured there will be work for you...and opportunity." She smiled. "This is a trial. Before, you had the fear and weight of an empire standing behind you. Now you must prove that not only do you have strength, but that you have the intellect to wield it subtly. Try to stand stubbornly against the might of the fearful masses, and you will be broken. Learn to use them, and you will find power you have never seen. The weak will die, and the strong will rule. And it is high time the galaxy learned that lesson."
    2 points
  34. As the quartet of Sith and the Linnorm traversed the many steps to the top of the tower, Akheron decided to answer the younger, potential Warrior's enquiry. He approved of the fact he was asking such questions...for all had merit. And the more asked the better Sith he would become. "I'm afraid that is not for me to decide. That decision lies alone with your true master, Krath Inmortos, for only he and you shall know when the time is to to begin the process. But mark my words it shall not be long, that said however a lightsaber is not the only weapon that in the hands of the right Sith can inspire fear or respect from your enemies. Some favour the ways of old, forgotten arts like the Sith Sword or a staff imbued with Darkness enough to resist most other weapons and a lightsaber itself. On the subject of a lightsaber perhaps I should clarify a misconception. A lightsaber is a weapon yes, but it is also more than this to a true Sith. A lightsaber is a extension of yourself, of the very Darkness within you. It assists us in accessing and unlocking our abilities in the fury of battle, a Sith and his or her lightsaber are symbiotic in nature. We are one, and this why the Jedi fail, time and again. They do not understand this. That a lightsaber is more than a simple crystal or weapon. There are many ways to make a lightsaber crystal itself, involving a few dangerous rituals for those untrained in how to do so. Methods known only to a true Sith. Although that is not to say there are easier methods such as a synthetic crystal...but these lack the potency of a crystal crafted by your own hand. They lack the same symbiotic relationship with the Darkness. A real crystal must be made one of two ways, two potent yet dangerous rituals in their own right. Either they are bled...that is to say you must take a crystal from a enemy, a Jedi or Imperial Knight and 'bleed ' it. Pouring your negative emotions into the crystal until it bleeds crimson red, all your Hate, Anger, Rage, Wrath and anything else. Or the second method and I believe personally the best method. But also the most dangerous as my apprentice here can attest too, is by making the crystal yourself. This can only be done in places of potent Darkness, a Dark Nexus in the Force. Such as Korriban and other such places and at the epicentre of the Darkness within the Nexus. In these places with this ritual you must take some of your own blood, fresh and untainted, and that of a creature or enemy you have killed. Along with a bone or tooth of this creature, which shall form your hilt and the electrical components required to power your lightsaber properly. With this you head into such a Nexus and there you must focus yourself in deep meditation, focusing yourself in the Darkness and drawing it in. You must enter a kind of trace like state, a euphoric moment of awakening to some, and in that moment focus all your Rage, Hate, Wrath etc until the blood you took from yourself and your target begins to float...to join together and in that moment crystallize into a physical form. It is a draining method and not easy, not by any stretch...For you will face your demons and the Darkness will test you, you will experience pain and anguish unlike you can ever imagine, but I assure you, no other lightsaber crystal is more potent or more connected to you than this. For it is a personal endeavour, a sacred bond between you and the Darkness that takes place. As I said the method of a true Sith, at least one willing to prove their dedication to the Darkness. I hope that answers your questions for now."
    1 point
  35. Calypso inclined her head in a gesture of respect. "I have no intention of destroying the Sith. Honestly...I'm not sure if I could. How many thousands of years have the Jedi been trying to do the same thing?" She shook her head. "The dream of the Sith Empire is not one of mine though. In truth, I don't think such an Empire is even possible without an enemy to unite us. If we should ever conquer the galaxy, I foresee us fracturing and warring with each other in endless struggles for power and position." She smiled, her dignified veneer breaking for a moment. "By the Force I'd love to see that. But perhaps you know something I don't. Or perhaps we simply disagree on that point." She cocked her head, her gaze becoming more intense. "Or perhaps you're more ambitious than I give you credit for. When all is said and done, I only wish to use my power to tear this stagnant galaxy apart. Your appetite would far exceed mine, if you would use your power to tame the very nature of the Sith." There wasn't a trace of mockery or deception in words. "A true conqueror." She shrugged then. "But in the end, that's the beauty of our truth. It doesn't matter which of us is right or wrong. It only matters who's the stronger. Rest assured conqueror, when you come for me your Empire will be intact. It's a useful tool to keep the Sith from killing each other before our enemy is defeated, if nothing else. And when you do finally come for me, we will decide the fate of the galaxy between us. The destroyer or the conqueror. I look forward to learning the answer."
    1 point
  36. With a subtle yet quick flick of his wrists, the Sith Daggers twirled elegantly into the sheaths almost uniformly. The moment of pledges and honor had passed and each went upon their own paths. Dictum had seen this before whenever he encountered other Sith and Darksiders amongst his travels as an Apprentice. And yet, this time it was subtly different, not really a simple passing of the times. There was focus, and purpose, and each were like a cog within a grandeur machine. As Akheron's words reached his ears, his head acknowledged. "This planet, this world... or perhaps the moment of being here..." Dictum spoke in return, his voice overshadowed by the exhaustion of the previous battle with the dead as he caught his wind. "It's woken something within me. But I yet do not know what it is.... My travels with you and your group is stirring up the Darkness, and it beckons vibrantly. I see no reason to depart from your company... yet." He paused briefly before ending with the yet part, a smirk crossing his face as he shifted his weight and form to follow the group toward the shuttle. It was time to see where his path with them would lead him next. Without looking back, he offered Akheron the lead. "Let us depart."
    1 point
  37. The noise and excitement level, which was fairly high for a covert operation, but not terribly too surprisingly for Kirlocca who had done enough of them in his long life kept some of his more overt hand motions down to a minimum. But it was mainly due to Sandy keeping a hand upon him. Her tension could be felt due her proximity to the Wookiee. Her gaze, side eyed gaze, was focused on the Twi'lek who came in with them and her interaction with the Hutt. Doing his best to ignore such a distraction, responded to one of the bigger guys who was acting as a bodyguard for the tiny and fragile looking girl. He kept his voice on the louder side, but not distracting. A typical drunk within a cantina. If he raised his voice any more or did more actions, he would have all attention. That was something he simply did not want. << I'm told I need to pay a cut to your god for whatever services I provide. >> Kirlocca leaned in to make sure his voice was more directed at the man. He wanted them to respond. He needed them to give him more insight into what he was dealing with. << Seeing as you guys represent a god or something, I figure I should know all the rules before I start hiring myself out. Like would this god get mad if I tore someone's arms off or shot them up? Is it female or male? First time on Falleen. Want to be welcomed back, or make this place home. >>
    1 point
  38. Tros stood and watched the interactions of those before him. There was much strife and discontent amongst the Sith, yet it seemed to be a unifying point as opposed to one that caused more unrest. From a distance without picking up any of the words spoken, he did watch the Sith Lady who claimed herself to be the new Dark Lord converse with Darth Mavanger, the Sith whom he gave out some of his own to help him accomplish his goal at the battle of Nar Shaddaa. In many circumstances, he would have sought to find their readings through his HUD, to analyze and see what sort of tensions or emotions could be present. But for today, he cared not about it. He was here because he felt called, and the feeling had dissipated ever since the grand display of power from the Lady Sith. On his HUD, a message came in from Kot'dral that they had made it back to the ship, missing only one, the one who seemed to have been possessed by a Sith spirit. He paused though, not responding right away as he normally would have. His mind had slightly changed. It seemed like this new Sith wanted things to web and weave from within their own ranks. Did that include him? He had pledged his banner to the prior to Dark Lords, but this one seemed to be more focused upon her own underlings. It was all understandable, seeing as the Sith did take some heavy losses at the battle. At least far more than his Mandalorians did. Minimal losses for House Solus, and the support of other Mandalorians from it. He was in a much better place than the Sith. Slowly, he turned away from the Sith and responded to Kot'dral with his own comlink within his HUD. "Warm the ship. We return to the Revenant within the hour. Then we head home to Almas. Alert the Clan Leaders. We meet to discuss the course of action everyone is to be on." He turned around to observe the Sith one last time. He knew it wasn't his last seeing them, as no doubt they would seek him out. It was only natural to ally with one who may have goals similar to yours. Even more so to ally with one that could help you achieve such goals. And he needed the Sith to do their thing in order for him to get what he wanted. And he was damn sure they needed him to do his thing in order to get what they wanted. The small group of Mandalorians were back in space and onboard the Revenant within twenty minutes, and the Crusader-class corvette was ready ten minutes after that, jumping into hyperspace and headed to its home. Almas.
    1 point
  39. Calypso's mouth quirked almost imperceptibly at the warrior master's words, a trace of a smile flickering across her face when he promised to hunt her down if she failed his expectations. "Go and prepare our way then, Darth Akheron. I look forward to the day when I see you in your element, regardless of what side of the battlefield we each stand on." She did smile then, a small, reserved, cruel smile. For a moment, foresight and imagination coalesced in her mind, and in her mind's eye she saw the wrathful Sith mowing down soldiers like grass, and heard their screams in her thoughts. "Yes...I truly do look forward to it." As her eyes slid across the masked man, she immediately understood he was not like the Sith she'd seen before. The Dark Side coiled around this one in a manner that... She could not quite put the feeling into words, but there was something different. Or perhaps she simply imagined it. "Warmaster," she said. With a hand, she gestured for any other Sith lingering around the pair to move away. There was an expectation of obedience in the casual, dismissive gesture. "A strategist then. Is that why you did not step forward?" She arched an eyebrow. "I don't doubt I'm standing before a Sith of true ambition." And I also don't doubt that I'm standing in your way, she added silently.
    1 point
  40. Piotr grinned as their company drew more Imperial Knights- a welcome distraction from the Lord Commander's family attempting to wed him to their daughter. It would hardly do him any good to return in a week with a woman on his arms, proclaiming himself a changed man, as humorous as the idea was. No, he was much more intrigued by the two new arrivals. A man of clearly noble birth, but with table manners nearly as poor as his own, and another Harlequin, an alien, one who seemed unsure of her place here. Another opportunity to test his newfound allies, and his current host. "Please, don't apologize. We're all allies here, there's no reason you shouldn't join us for a meal. I believe this gentleman was just about to regale us with stories of his valor?" He shot a glance at the other newcomer as he spoke. He was vastly overstepping his bounds- The Empire had a relatively strict caste system, one that lowborn aliens often found themselves at the bottom of. Even outside of that, he was not the host, and to invite a guest to the host's table could be considered a massive faux pas. He glanced at Montjoye- She could probably put together what he was doing. He'd done it to her not a few hours ago, feigning ignorance for an honest look at her character. She had every opportunity to spoil this attempt, but would she?
    1 point
  41. "Well, I'm only assigned to train you, the where was never stipulated. So if being on your home world helps, then I'm not going to stop us." Aidan joined the two, making small talk with the other Jedi as they boarded the transport, introducing himself and getting the lay of the land, as it were. In moments they were skyward bound, and shortly thereafter in the hyperlanes. ((If there's anything important to tell me, just OOC catch me up by the time we get there and we can say that's what they discussed))
    1 point
  42. The sickening perfume of the poor and oppressed cloyed at the Sith Warrior’s nose, clinging and clawing its way into his senses with decomposing, despondent hands. Refugees, the displaced and hopeless, huddled together in masses and each carried with it a new smell. It was beyond simply the spices of a meal, or the sickening stench of unwashed, half-rotted sweat; it was the reek of despondence and depression. It crooked a smile at the corner of his severe features. Wartorn and shellshocked, each migrant carried their trauma openly within the Force. It was a feast of dark emotion that was unmatched for a Sith. Blackmorne leaned his head against the bulkhead wall, listening to the distant hum of the hyperdrives as they began to power down, a subtle announcement of their arrival. With each breath he took of the fetid air, the Sith Warrior’s pulse began to quicken, driven by the thrill of the hunt and the cacophony of dark emotions in which he lay. His sulphoric yellow eyes were darkened to a deep umbar by application of dryhese compound, made for him by Awenydd, his sister and leader of the hunters, from whom this mission had been suggested to him. The lamellar plating made almost no sound as he slowly stood from where he had been huddled amongst the squalid masses, its bindings muted by a heavily torn cloak and the hours he had spent rubbing its edges with the tallow of a dozen Kath hounds. Even stooped and with the appearance of a war-shocked refugee he still towered over those surrounding him, with his haggard and unkempt white hair hanging in ringlets below his sagging shoulders. Iron screamed as rusted and carbonized loading ramps lowered, and the Sith was met with the mixed floral scent of a hundred trees in bloom and a distant, and a stale decay of a world not yet recovered from war. Bright light filtered in, and the Warrior saw the ruins of a once great city, Theed. He had seen its fall, in explosive fire with its shining streets soaked in blood, but now that damage was being slowly rebuilt. Hundreds of scaffolds swarming with loading droids and workers restoring the jewel of naboo to its former glory. It would be a grand achievement for the Sovereign Alliance, rebuilding what the Sith had destroyed and casting hope of a grand rebirth into the hearts of billions. The corner of Vorin’s mouth was tugged unbidden into a smile as the thrill of the hunt began to race ever faster within his blood
    1 point
  43. Deep in the jungles of Felucia, a small war has begun. The native Jungle Felucians have identified a splintered off group that has access to strange and deadly powers in exchange for their life and servitude. Those who die to the power become mindless, ravenous beings, eating everything in their path, while those who resist the deadly effects of the Great Spore. During the Sith wars, the Sith attacked and created several Force wounds across the galaxy, such as on Coruscant and Naboo. While the attack on Felucia never reached those levels of destruction, a Force Wound did start to open and, in a strange twist, manifest in the fungal life on Felucia. The Great Spore, as the Native Jungle Felucians call it, grew and began to spread, eager to feed. The Cult of the Spore The Cult of the Spore began when several Jungle Felucians, surveying the planet for damage from the Sith, came across the Spore and got infected. The Three Shamans who discovered the Great Spore recognized the Dark side energy and sought to destroy it right away, but in the process, each one inhaled the mushroom’s spores. Over the course of a few days, thick, bile-like mushrooms began to grow out of their bodies. The Shaman Felucians seperated themselves from other Felucians and experimented on themselves, trying to find a cure. One of them turned to use the dark side, and in the process, unlocked unique powers. The Shamans had unlocked the voice of the Great Spore and began to heed its wishes, hoping to discover more control over their powers. Lured by the Great Spore’s unnatural power, they turned to feeding the Great Spore other beings. First the dead, then the living. And as they began to strengthen their power, they lured more Jungle Felucians into their grasp. The Native Jungle Felucians began to fight back the Cult of the Spore, but to their horror, each warrior that died only fueled the cult’s efforts. New breeds of ‘drones’ that were previously dead warriors have wandered into crowded areas to suddenly explode in a burst of spore clouds. The Felucians were fighting both a cult and a pandemic. Surprisingly, the Felucians have refused to ask the Jedi for help, feeling that their involvement may make the situation worse when they get infected. . The Cult of the Spore seem to not mind this, as they are unsure if they could survive an attack from the Jedi. However, the Cult of the Spore have been eagerly looking for ways to leave the planet. Effects of the Great Spore Ingesting or inhaling the fungus’ spores seems to always grant the same effects in various stages. In each stage, the spores feed on the victim and when the victim is no longer of any use, tries to spread out to other targets. At any stage, one could easily slip forward into stage four, so each member of the cult must be vigilant against Apprentice: The first stage is at first ingestion. As the spores begin to first grow inside the victim, they attach themselves to the brain and to midi-chlorians. In doing so, they actually enhance a person’s connection to the Force. During this stage, the victim feels elation as they feel their connection to everything become strengthened, and find their abilities easier to utilize. This however, is the trap of the Spore, for as the user uses their abilities, the spores feed faster. The victim’s skin takes on a slightly yellow hue with further use, and they begin to hear ‘the whispers of the Great Spore’, which at this point, is indecipherable nonsense. The victim also starts to become incredibly hungry, easily eating three times their normal diet. Lord: The second stage is when the spores begin to sprout. Much to the horror of everyone around, the victim begins to have hair-like mycelium grow out of their skin, with several bulbs at places. The victim doesn’t usually cut off the mycelium because, to their own horror, they feel the pain the spores feel. Hunger is now a way of life, and anything organic looks delicious to the victim. The ‘whispers of the Great Spore’ become clearer at this point. What everyone hears is different, and seems tailored to the individual, but usually includes feeding on living things as well as a desire to spread the disease. It is a constant battle between self control and power, as the ‘Great Spore’ grants unique powers at this point, but also is constantly making demands that are harder and harder to resist. What is worrisome is that the ‘voice’ seems to coordinate with its other members, leading to the theory that the entire cult is slowly becoming one hive mind. This is the stage when the three classes emerge. Master: The third stage is the full fruition of the Great Spore. Those once small bulbs have become larger, and open occasionally to spread new spores. Large mushroom caps often grow on a victim's back, chest, or lower extremities, with more and more mycelium spreading further from the victim. The victim is almost constantly eating material, for if they don't, their entire body will shut down and move on to stage four. The ‘voice of the Great Spore’ is a pounding reminder that their powers are the result of an outside source and not their own, and should the user lose the battle, they will die. That said, people in this stage are terrifying to behold. Only the greatest Felucian warriors have survived encounters with these ravenous beings. Death: The final stage, also known as the Spore Drone, is the fate of all who come under the effects of the cult of the spore. Eventually, when one dies under the effects of the Great Spore, or when the spores are spread over a dead body, the Great Spore operates the body on its own. Most often, these mindless things do nothing but eat everything organic around them, feeding the spores until there is enough energy to go to a public or crowded space and explode with spores, infecting a new generation of victims that will either join the cult, or die trying. CURES: There are several cures to the Great Spore, none of which are pleasant. The Jungle Felucians have created a blend of tonics and draughts that when applied rigorously and constantly, halts the growth of the Fungus, leaving them weakened but able to continue on with daily life. This, combined with Force Healing, would theoretically completely cure the victim. Another theoretical method would be to starve the victim and subject them to several poisons, destroying the Great Fungus’ food source. Once this is done, the fungus should die and if the poison is cured quickly, the victim should survive. Beyond these methods, the best method of destroying the Great spore is to cleanse the area with fire. Classes Spore Virago(Warrior): Despite their name, not all Virago’s are female. All Virago’s however share the characteristics of becoming vastly stronger then what their species would normally allow. Some have been nicknamed giants, due to growing to impressive heights. They are not mindless however, and share a special relationship with the Great Fungus. They often listen to its words and heed its advice. Out of all the classes, they have the most Mycelia growing from their bodies. They are not above eating their opponents in the middle of a battle. Unique abilities: Mycelia Expansion: Calling on the Great Spore, the Virago forces the Mycelia on its appendages to rapidly spread and attach to whoever it can grab in arm's reach. While weak enough to break away with effort, this sudden grappling move can become difficult. Virago’s have also used this ability with the Mycelia to help attach themselves to the ground, rooting them to the ground. Some have even grown Mycelium from their mouths while trying to bite down onto their target. The Pain of the Spore: Like many Sith warriors, pain can be enraging, and in rage, there is power. Being able to feel the damage the Mycelia takes on means that a Virago can tap into a new pain source. Virago’s can even use the Force to intensify the pain from the mycelia, and in turn, become more rageful. Growth Surge: Earning the nickname Giant isn’t an easy task, but for Viragos, they have ways. Feeding the Dark Side of the Force into the Great Spore, the Great Spore in turn surges in power and size. The Body unnaturally stretches and grows up to 3 to 5 feet in a few moments. While painful, and taxing to the user unless they begin feeding right away, in the heat of battle this can be a terrifying and powerful maneuver. Devour the Weak: Healing is never a Sith’s strong suit, but the Viragos have found a temporary method of healing. By feasting on a corpse or, more preferably, something alive and sentient, the Virago can quickly bind a wound with a growth of mycelia. Some Virago have mastered the ability to unhinge their jaws to swallow entire animals whole after a growth surge. Spore Pariah (Assassin): If Viragos are deeply connected to the Great Spores’ Mycelia, then the Pariahs are deeply connected to the spores. Often having more open wounds on their body leaking spores, the Pariah lacks the subtlety that Sith Assassins have in exchange for more straightforward approaches. Where an assassin may be able to make believable illusions, Pariahs make toxic or blinding clouds, by choosing which specific breed of spore to emerge at what rate. The most deadly of Pariahs can even use several different spores at the same time, at a small cost of unquenchable hunger and the screaming voice of the Great Spore. All of their abilities relate to their diet, so Pariahs often carry a wide range of foods with them in case of combat. Unique Abilities: Blinding Clouds: Not all spores from the Great spore are inherently dangerous. Perhaps its a holdover from the first fungus the Great Spore manifested in, but some are just irritating. By focusing on this breed of spores, and by eating something filled with nitrogen like plants, the Spore Spreader creates a cloud of gas around himself that is usually stinging to the eyes. Choking Spores: By eating something meaty and full of minerals, the Spreader can shoot a jet of spores at a target, reaching a distance of thirty feet before spreading out. These spores are thick and cloying, normally causing targets to choke on the air around them. Maddening Spores: Usually the most taxing ability, after eating a good source of ergosterol like mushrooms, excluding the ones on his back, the spreader can create a thin cloud of spores that, when inhaled, begin to cause hallucinations. Usually limited to only one or two senses at first (auditory or visually) Masters can create spores that affect all the senses simultaneously. The spreader has very, very limited control over the hallucinations. Delicious Spores: Taking a trick from the Shaman’s cooking pot, the Pariah can naturally emit a clump of spores to throw at a target that, after exploding, create a mist of sweet smelling spores. These spores are delicious to taste and grant both the Pariah and other combatants a desire to try to eat the target, even during combat. Corpse Growths: By placing spores that rapidly reproduce on dead corpses on the battlefield, the Spore Spreader has newly forming places of cover as great mushrooms sprout and expand. When destroyed, these growths explode in a burst of blinding spores that provide cover that, like blinding clouds, sting the eyes to anyone inside them. A master can even force the corpse growths to explode on command, or pre-set a time for when the mushrooms will explode. Kaaten Spores: the Kaaten on Felucia would lure its prey using the Force to appear less deadly. Similarly, the Spore Spreader will appear less deadly by ingesting several spores that, when activated with the Force, will make the Spreader appear weaker and more frail then he actually is. This ability has no physical effect, it only is an illusionary effect. Spore Shamans (Sorcerer): The ruling members of the cult, shamans are experts at cooking and brewing. Sometimes called hags and more akin to alchemists than sorcerers, Shamans carry homemade pots with them everywhere they go, utilizing the Force, various foods and the mushrooms on their back to make specialized potions to conduct twisted arcane rituals. With practice, a Spore Shaman could even create new breeds of Sithspawn. Most members in the cult hope to be reborn in their cooking pots, granted new levels of power and clarity into the mind of the Great Spore. Unique Abilities: The Mindless Connection: By tapping into the connection that all victims of the Great Spore seem to have, a Shaman can command the ravenous things of Spore Drones, and by spreading some Force-fueled spores over dead bodies, make new drones on the spot. While doubtful they will be able to handle a seasoned opponent, it provides the Shaman time to prepare their other abilities. A master can even override the Great Spores' orders, and force specific drones to explode on command. Weakening Broth: By using a touch of the target’s material, such as hair (or more preferably flesh), the shaman can make a stew that when she drinks it and focuses on her target, begins to slowly sap their strength away. This concoction requires fresh material, so often a shaman will carry a knife with them at all times. Fair is Foul: By mixing in a few types of poisons and powders, the Shaman creates a paste that, when it hits a target, creates random, debilitating mutations. By perverting and twisting life suddenly and erracticly, the Shaman makes Necrotic appendages form along the neck to prevent turning the head, extra eyes grow on the arm that cause confusion, sticky skin on the hand that momentarily causes the target to get stuck on something, buzzing wings near the ears that momentarily deafen, a clump of gangerous nerve cells along the leg that are irritating to walk with, and other effects form where the paste touches the target, but none last more than about 20 minutes. Usually after being made during combat, the Shaman will simply throw the paste at the target. While the Shaman has no control of what the paste will make on the target, the target will most likely be startled and suffer some miner effect like listed above. Foul is Fair: Using their own flesh and fingernails, the Shaman creates a stew that, when poured over a sithspawn or a Spore Drone, grants them unnatural mutations. Extra limbs, hardened scales, and multiple heads are just a taste of these abilities. Attempts on using this ability on sane users tend to be short lived, and should only be used on minions the Shaman can control. Fire burn and Cauldron Bubble: A burst of dark energy into the Shaman’s cauldron creates a bubbling substance. Having complete control over the brew, the shaman can force the brew to fly out at opponents, creating deadly burns. Masters have been even able to create brews that disintegrate those it touches.
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  44. Akheron continued his assault upon the undead spirits with his Linnorm Blade up until the very moment their master who had unleashed them, exploded in a gory fountain of giblets and blood upon the very ground each stood. Akheron himself was not immune from the aftermath as blood splattered across parts of his armour and robe coming down from the sky like a red rain. The newly minted Sith Master and Warrior stood impressed as he noted how the wailing spirits were either retreating or being pulled back into the tear of the veil into the void beyond. Into Chaos itself, a plane of existence and hellish dimension of the afterlife he was all too familiar during his lifetime. Some attempted to resist...and those closest to the Sith Warrior who did so soon met their grim fate at the end of his almost ethereal , Wrath propelled Limnel Blade as he used his connection to the Darkness, a gift from the now late necromancer. The Darkness emanating from him like a vengeful beast that had been unleashed. One with little regard for the fate of those around, only existing in that moment to see that his targets were destroyed. This was Darth Akheron, Sith Master and Warrior as he truly was. His true self. He was a beacon of Darkness, one who served the Fanged God through the Sith. And now through Darth Calypso. His new sovereign. The new Dark Lord who had completed her trial of strength and faith. By overcoming Death itself in it's emissary, the necromancer, Krath Master Inmortos. Yet Akheron knew as the Dark Lord did, he would return. It was his nature in the Darkness. Death could never truly die. With his demise, Akheron knew his new apprentice would not know what to do. And so motioned for him to come over once remaining spirits were dispersed. He knew what Krath Inmortos most likely action would be and what he would want for his apprentice. He had been around him enough times now to have a somewhat understanding of his mind. To a degree. Facing the young human Warrior apprentice, he spoke. "Come, we must show allegiance to the new Dark Lord, one who has passed the trial of fire for the mantle of leadership. By making a Sacrifice of blood to the Darkness. Your master knew what he was doing young one. He was testing her, one she passed with flying colours. Your master will return, what you saw was not his true form. For he has many. He moves between bodies like we hunt our prey. I have known him for some time now, we are well acquainted. Well enough to understand his thoughts to some extent, not telepathy mind...but his intellect. He would want you to go to his throne world most likely, Aaris III. Where his spirit is bound too. It would be where he most likely returns. It is where he holds his true power. The power over Death itself. For he is neither living or ever truly dead. I shall take you there when we are done here. In the meantime, stick with me and you may learn a few things about the Order and what the Darkness may teach you. For now consider yourself a unofficial apprentice. You would be wise to call me Master and treat me as you would your own Master, Krath Inmortos himself. That said feel free to ask questions, but for now best we kneel and pledge our loyalty to the Dark Lord's decree." With that Akheron motioned him and his own apprentice to kneel before he spoke to the new Dark Queen. "You have erased any doubts from my mind about your power and strength in the Darkness. Your chains are truly broken my new my dark queen. My Dark Lord or in your case Dark Lady. I pledge myself, and my apprentice to you and your decree so long as you are not found wanting in the eyes of the Darkness. Betray the Sith philosophy and the Order, the very Code we stand behind and I shall hunt you personally....a fact you no doubt would enjoy. Until that day my blade, my Wrath and Rage, will be yours to wield against this galaxy. I will bring the vengeance of the Sith to any who would deny us our right."
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  45. Pandora could only initially sigh at the Queen's response, the aura of the young woman's anger and resentment razed red and a moment of silence enveloping the two. Perhaps in her cander, Pandora misspoke, or implied something that wasn't meant. She could have imposed, but knew that it would only make things worse, and Pandora didn't want to take such a route. Instead, she gripped at her robes, sighed, and let her heart speak its truth. "Forgive my ignorance, mi'lady. I wasn't implying that I could know anything of what you feel or know your plight." Pandora's soft tone carried an embarrassed undertone and her cheeks flushed beneath her veil. "I only wished to give hope using the story of my people and the world of Alpheridies that they now call home." "But the truth is, what is it that I even know of my people? Or who I even was." Her blinded gaze shifts to meet that of Namari's own, hidden behind the veil and yet almost as if her true visage could be glanced in that brief moment. Gripping again at her robes, she continued. "I am an orphan of both heritage and past, a being without a history. The only path I know is forward." A halfhearted smile broke beneath her veil, a semblance that could barely break its thin opaque cloth. Pandora could only hope her words settled Namari's anger. But if not, perhaps the revelation could at least extend a branch of trust. "I'd like to offer my help in the Naboo's path forward, if you would have it."
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  46. The tang of blood ran fresh in Kerrigan's mouth, a gift from the Devaronian thug the pit boss had sicced on her. It wasn't the first time she'd taken a punch, but it was never something she cared to ever repeat, either. Kerrigan winced as the Devaronian hauled back for another punch, but the Quarren pit boss put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. Nobody could hear her in one of the myriad backrooms of the casino, especially over the loud dance music that was being pumped through the place. Calmly, Kerrigan spit some of the blood onto the floor, meeting the gaze of the Quarren, who started to speak once more in a smug, condescending tone. <"You thought you could cheat us? That we wouldn't know? We have been watching you since you stepped off your transport."> So she was a little more popular than she thought. That wasn't good. With a half grin, she replied back. "Look, nothing happened, you didn't pay out, and my collateral was never called anyways because I won. What's the real harm done here? Why not let this small fish go?" The Quarren nodded at the Devaronian, prompting another punch. <"This tournament was held by powerful and influential people. People with reputations. If word got out we didn't clean house when we had a mess, it would severely harm those reputations."> Kerrigan's blood ran cold. She knew she should have avoided Ord Mantell due to the crime syndicates, but the prize money offered could have had her set for months. And now she'd just pissed off the wrong people at the wrong time. Right now, she had nothing to her name, no assets to call on. She had gone all in for the tournament as she'd needed everything she'd owned just for the ante, not to mention her securing collateral that was a hacked fake ship registry she'd traded half a months' rations for. After a moment, though, the Quarren backed away, leaving the room. <"Guard the door. I need to contact the Vigo. They will know how to dispose of our friend."> There were a million things that could mean, off the top of her head she could list several different things that could happen to her that were worse than death. Being sold into slavery was even one of the nicer options.
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  47. Inmortos shifted slightly, his blade angling to brace for a blow that never came his free hand weaving an intricate spell by his side. If he had elicited this type of response, even in the cold, it meant only one thing. He, they, were winning. He felt it, her wrath, her rage, boiling over as she landed. She was almost within reach, within saber-striking distance of even a withered scion of death. She was close enough that even through the fog and snow he could see her outline, her saber only illuminating @Darth Calypso further. Raising a withering undead hand, Inmortos began to form ancient words of power; but before he could do so, Calypso unleashed a storm of her own. The burning maelstrom of the cosmos turned towards the lord of the damned. It took Inmortos by surprise as the heat blasted the lifeless body that he now possessed and sent it careening backwards. The body glove offered what protection it could before it succumbed to the force of the blast, sizzling as it turned ashen and was blown away and consumed by the blast. Ethereal screams assaulted the woman’s eardrums, the undead woman’s ears. They mingled with the whispering cries of joy and hatred brought forth by the wraiths and spirits crossed back to the lands of the living. The body flew backwards through the air, Inmortos blocking out the screaming assault, shutting it up behind a wall of a spectral choir that screamed beyond natural hearing and simply releasing his power on the Mandalorian’s hearing Landing at the edge of the battlefield with a squishing splurch amongst the rotted bodies of his fallen army, the necromancer lay there amongst the dead, amongst his people; a stark reminder of who he was, that which he had not yet overcome; at least, not entirely. Inmortos lay there, his host’s dead body burnt, scorched, and oozing blood and frigid ichor. The pain would be unbearable, had it been his own pain. One of the benefits of already being dead was that the corpse, suddenly spiritless and lifeless, felt none of it. Inmortos felt none of it The blast burned her, her skin, her hair, it melted and twisted her face and body from the outside leaving bubbling oozing flambéed flesh in it’s wake. And yet, through the pain, the screams, all of it, Inmortos remained. He was more than a simple spirit within a body. He was Inmortos. He was eternal. He lay there, the muscles of his host tensing either from the natural reaction of the dead or Inmortos’ innate control. With his spirit bound lightsaber still casting it’s crimson hues, the Mandalorian’s fist clenched white about the hilt and slammed downwards into the ground. The built up sorceries flowed freely. The snow packed surface cracked as the silvery hilt clanged into it, fracturing the powerful hilt’s exterior as a gutteral hysterical laugh erupted from the twisted lipless melted maw of Inmortos’ host. It is finished. Power. It flowed from everywhere. it came from everywhere. The bodies of the 10,000 fallen all about him. The air. The assembled Sith. The reborn Ziost held together by twisted black magics as dark as the necromancer’s soul. Even the veil. All of it. Their power. It was sapped in an instant, drawn into the powerful vacuum of the void. The temperatures about the battlefield plummeted, winds drawing inward to tear any vestiges of hope or heat away as the power of the battlefield was drawn into the spell, into the nothingness cast beyond eternity. The veil, thinned by the saber and it’s dark passengers and blackened sorcery, the same saber that now served as a conduit of the god-king’s power, tore all but in two, unleashing torrents of the damned upon the battlefield to swirl and cleave at any that stood in their path. Great spears of ice erupted from the ground in spiraling circles about the necromancer, shards of frozen eternity piercing through the power-sapped air. They cut into the air between Calypso and Inmortos, withering before the attack, but continuing to spiral outward as the dead hand of Inmortos clenched the activated saber hilt tighter still, her burnt skin cracked as even the bones beneath it began to strain beneath the undead power commanding the spell. And still, Inmortos laughed; an insane cackle. If she but knew, he was already dead. She would not, could not, kill him. His chains were not her chains. Her chains would be her undoing. CALYPSO V INMORTOS ((3))
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  48. Basi had spent the ride training, meditating, listening and learning. His mind reeling as it so often did however when training with the saber and developing his form and technique he was at peace, calm and tranquility even. Upon entering orbit he did remove the vision obscuring gear and turned off the training saber handing it back to be put away. Closing his eyes inhaling deeply and focusing, a few moments later his eyes snapped open and he shuddered as if struggling with something. "Yes Master I do feel it, the dark side...it's so thick I'm almost choking on it." Basi let that light wash over him feeling the warmth he sighed happily, smiling back at Leena he nodded to her. "Yes Master as you say." With that he focused letting the light fill the crystal and when it was glowing he gave a soft smile and stowed it away. Looking between the other three he waited a moment before responding. "Been to Byss no I can't say I have. As far as looking serious that's not a problem for me, I was a soldier after all, well a fighter pilot the demeanor is relatively the same." With his small piece spoken Basi shook his head trying to clear away the memories of his time in the cockpit, dog fights and the death and destruction he'd seen. This did however cause his facial features to grow serious as he looked to Sandy and awaited their instructions. He gave his gear one last once over making sure the broken lightsaber hilt was hidden under his leather jacket and his blaster was ready to go and holstered upon his hip.
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  49. Mirdala was well-connected with the others through their empathic bond as she made her way toward her target terminal and initiated the program. Luckily, since Tey had been the one to have trashed the systems, she’d had some insight as to how to write the program that would, hopefully, bring as much of that data back to life as possible. As the program began to run, she noted that her implant’s short range had been pinged. Luckily the band was on the lower end of the spectrum so it was rarely, if ever, used by someone other than the handful of Augury members, only two of which were currently in the system. She sighed, cursing herself for not thinking to warn him of her and TeVerd’s plan to split up. The last several months she’d gotten so used to working with the others in the empathic stream, that she hadn’t thought to voice her intentions to Fett. She considered saying something, but was concerned with having to explain that she wasn’t completely disconnected from the others, despite appearances. The other thing preventing her from setting his mind at ease, was the chances that anything other than passive signal strength across such a distance could set off any number of potential or sensors within the facility left behind to warn of intruders. Both she and TeVerd continued to work in concert for the next hour as their respective programs ran through the system, sweeping up bits and pieces of the scattered data and working to reassemble them as best as it was able. The waiting was the hardest part, but Mirdala kept her eye on the door and her connection to TeVerd and Rhys open, constantly on the ready. The scans that she and TeVerd had conducted prior to their parting ways to run the program indicated that there was no one left in the station. ------------------------ Rhys noticed the flair on his sensors as another ship entered the system about an hour and a half into the operation. He checked the passive scanners to learn it was a StarViper. Don’t do it…don’t you dare… he thought to himself as the ship appeared to be ignoring his will and making directly for Abraxos instead of one of the other more habitable moons or platforms. Swearing under his breath he nudged both members of the ground team empathically telling them to be on their guard. He turned around to face Kandor, “Tell your partner she's about to have company. You and Rahg get ready.”
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  50. Fleshy veils parted, giving way to those ebon infinties in which this solipsistic world dreamed. Before him was a foreign landscape, a fetid indolence halting the gears that churned within the planet. The evanescent wraith flew towards a control panel, recoiling at the panel's glare. Some hermit, some homeless wretch had sought refuge in the depths of his forsaken planet. He had claimed it for his own, erecting a monument to his indifference like a scar upon the landscape left forgotten after the years since its tumultuous carving. "Why do I keep falling asleep for long period of time and then coming back like this?" As soon as the words spilled out of his mouth, the memories came flooding back in. Not those stale images shared by the galaxy in this lesser, limited plane. No, his thoughts were filled with the wondrous images of candy cane forests and lollipop mountains. These were the subjects of his dreams. These were the refuge of the reaper. "Well that makes sense. Night night again." And there Ason Antilles began his next wave of hibernation to last for an unknown amount of time. May it be blessed with gumdrop buttons. Wampa Town For Life!
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