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  1. As the ship and several other shuttles broke out of hyperspace over the world of Falleen, the Linnorms inside were still singing alongside Solus’ chantings and songs. Death, blood, and violence were extreme themes in each one, and Solus had taken to the role of choirmaster in it all. Even with his vocoder unable to perfectly emulate the emotions all organics could, his spirit could be felt with each word. And even as the shuttle rocked back and forth avoiding the fire from the enemy ships, the Linnorms kept singing. The Madness that burbled in his brain even began to leak out of his Shard, black ichor dripping along his chassis only to vanish before hitting the floor. Slight tendrils tried to pry apart the pieces of metal, looking for an escape, and little eyes peered from behind solus’ sensors. As the music continued to play, the Madness continued to grow and gurgle at the noises. Only the Linnorm’s excitement of the music prevented them from seeing it. However, when the pilot mentioned they were entering the atmosphere, Solus stopped his playing. Instantly the Madness vanished from sight, as if it never existed. Solus himself appeared to have not noticed its existence as he called to the pilot. “Turn off all lights and open the door as close to the Communication Network as possible!” Solus commanded. He turned towards his master and explained himself. “I figure it would be better if we separated right away. Your lessons back on the warship dealing with those Acklay still resonate with me, and the Temple’s teachings encourage me to ‘lose the rules of gravity’, so I see no reason for us to stop yet…” The shuttle door’s began to open up, and a deafening roar of wind made everyone freeze momentarily. Everyone save for the Shard. “You will not regret placing this trust in me, my glorious master!” Solus shouted over the wind, and without hesitation, he leapt out of the shuttle. After a moment of descent and laughter, Solus’ envy flared itself again as he tumbled down through the night air. Not at the fact that everyone else was flying in a ship and he was literally falling. He wanted to do it this way. But the fact that he couldn’t feel the wind’s bite on his chassis, nor the moisture in the air, like every other organic could…this made his sin grow. And Solus knew this Envy was what he needed. As the ground approached rapidly, Solus threw out his arms and willed the Impossible Geometries to obey. The idea wasn’t to force the ground to move for him however. The idea was to slow his fall. A properly focused force push would help with it. Solus noticed how his body suddenly slowed slightly after the push. Again Solus pushed, and tucked in his legs for a roll. Hitting the ground, Solus moved forward and slowed to a stop, sitting on the empty street. The Shard adjusted his sensors as he watched the shuttle that held his master fly away. “Hoohoo! What fun! Oh what fun indeed. Now for my mission…lets see…” Solus focused on his memories. The last time he was here, he had literally drained the memories from the would-be assassin and nephew of Falleen royalty, Bel Xatuun. There was a lot of memories there to siphon through, and while Solus had lost a great deal of them over time, there were still several that were of use. “Alright, theres the Palace in that direction…” Solus pointed in one direction as he began to calculate. “And there are secret entrances according to the….5 sacred marks of the King. yes, that makes sense. But first, the communication network, which is in…this direction…” Solus turned and faced the opposite direction. Directly ahead, several towers and dishes were silhouetted in the black sky. Without waiting, Solus broke into a sprint. He had to hurry. It was possible that the Imperials would outright bomb the network, and damn the consequences. The central building that housed the network was locked, but the clan’s passwords thankfully still worked. As the door slid open, Solus hoped this portion of his mission would be easy so he could move onto his more important ta- The Impossible Geometries turned into a dangerous yellow. Solus drew his blade as two laser bolts shot towards him. Inside, several Falleen militia had taken control of the building and opened fire on the intruder, bodies at their feet. Solus sighed after he ducked under one bolt and blocked another. It seemed that the Falleen species were already rebelling against the Clan, having seen the Imperial Forces' arrival. With their king dead and burned at the stake, they were itching to take back their planet from Clan Brasganu. “Well this got more fun!” Solus laughed as he charged into the room, Apostae and the Madness eager for blood.
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  2. Solus gave a salute to his master and happily proclaimed “Yes my Lord!” at the task given to him. Finally, a chance to show his actual skills and to be shown the respect he, the great Solus, the Dragon, deserved. Not to mention it would be an opportunity for his own Madness to grow. The Madness that dwelled thrived in chaos and abandonment, and what was more wild then destruction and battle? Where a wound was possible, the Madness could grow in both Solus and in others. Though, Solus had another reason for being so happy. To be told that he was right by his own master, who had so tortured him over and over for speaking out of turn or doing something odd, was ecstasy. While Solus’ sin was envy, his father’s was pride, and he inherited a portion of it from Roshan. And it was very tempting to let his pride take over. However, solus resisted for the moment. He turned to Innmortos and bowed. “I bid thee farewell, man of frost! May your reign on this dead world be as stable as when it was alive!” And to Dictim, “Good luck blind one. Perhaps next we meet we can exchange notes on our paths into the darkness…” And finally to Bernon, Solus stayed silent for a few moments before saying “Good luck corpsewalker. If you still possess your own body when we meet, then you will impress me.” With that Solus turned and led the way back down the mountain It certainly was easier going down then up. Once at the bottom, Solus met with the other Linnorms on the planet and gestured towards the ship. “Lets move you maniacs! We have a world to full of imperial scum that need to die!” At this, the Linnorms gave out a cheer. Solus chuckled to himself as the ship, filled with Linnorms and Akheron, took off and made preparations for hyperspace. As they did, Solus pulled his instrument and began to play a Bragsanu song. A more sacred one, but one that would get the spirits far more alive for the group. Even as the ship broke hyperspace, the Linnorms were already singing along with the Shard, excited for the possibility of blood and death. “Stand up faster! Forever! Faster than the flame! Make disaster! Together! Disaster within pain! For tonight we’re going wild, as we let loose Golden Child Rolling faster, faster, faster than the flame!”
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  3. To descend upon the arid world of Aaris III was akin to descending both into madness and decay, a turmoil world both of the few living and the dead as Inmortos had pointed out. And simply to step out upon the precipice of such a descent was thought ludicrous. Yet, here these two souls stood and marched, intent to delve deeply into its interior and face the machinations of its corrupted creation. That act alone, was maddening of itself and the world that beckoned them to be recieved bellowed within. The Citadel portion, Dictum had encountered on his climb to greet Inmortos. But the Ziggurat below was an unknown and frozen terrain that he had yet to venture, and as the world began its turn to the darkness of night and the temperature began its own descent, the very air around them began to crystallize and fall, like lost souls condemned to the Corellian Hells spoken often by the Elders across the Galaxy. The very presence of the air felt sinister and decrepit. Nightfall upon Aaris III was a different beast indeed, and it plagued even a Lord such as Dictum. Undeterred, he cautiously continued. He studied Bernon as the man made his pace, watching his thoughts and actions as he painted a sculpture of his intent upon the canvas of the Force, some more pronounced than the others, and some harder to ledger. But with the right keys to every puzzle, any can be figured out without an entirety to behold. He could sense his own endeavor, his right to belong. Similar to Dictum in alot of ways, even if Dictum had long walked the path he had just begun. As his breath frosted amidst the snow and wails, he could help but feel a kinship with the man amidst the peril they sought. After all, some of his questions poised upon his mind's eye was similar to one's Dictum himself wondered. And yet, Dictum held a truth he thought he knew. As an Assassin of the Sith, he understood variables were always at play. It was one of the many things Sith sought to control and bind. To bend the very fabric of fate to their will so that it would be done. But what good is controlling variables if self control isn't? He thought this would set the Sith Order under Calypso apart, her first decree one of patience and rebuilding. Yet, for centuries, even amongst the mortal years of great eras long forgotten, the Jedi and Sith counterbalanced one another in infinite combat, like the turning of the suns and moons that enveloped so many worlds. Was there a variable that couldn't be counted and weighed? A variable that couldn't be controlled? He had often wondered upon this very point. This was the truth he sought. This was which he wished to decree under his own. As the two forged themselves down deeper into the Ziggurat, a realm of underworldly unknowing, Dictum turned his attention away from thought to the vision of the present, his vision eternally darkened yet by his own desires. Here, in the netherrealm of Aaris, where the creped air lingered in vaults of disuse, where the dead slumbered, Dictum could feel the heart of the planet's power. He could neatly wrap his mind's eye around what laid ahead behind frozen doors. And he longed for its secrets. Yet, he knew they were not for his gaze, his focus upon the task determined. For when Inmortos chose to share, if he chose to share, it would be for a different time. Not until then, lest he break the trust that was placed. No. Dictum could not be persuaded otherwise. Nor could he be faltered in misguided ruses. For as an Lord Assassin, timing and intent was forged to perfection. This is what kept strong the hold of the line between all assassins and thieves, and Sith were held to a higher degree. No. If Dictum held one weakness that could be exploited, it was not in temptation. It would be buried much deeper than that. Deeper than what they had already traversed. Much like the heart of Aaris that resonated within Inmortos, it was buried in the very core of Dictum. Hearing Bernon's voice up ahead, Dictum quickened his pace. Gazing upon the enlarged doors of blackened wood, frozen in ice to the point that even lightsabers were useless, he placed a hand upon its aged carcass. Even at the slightest of touches, the maddened energy within threatened to overtake him and he reeled backwards like a wounded animal from its touch. His gaze shifted to Bernon with a resounding affirmation. "Indeed. It's unmistakable. The maze lies within.... we will need to tread carefully." Though Dictum seemed undeterred, he was anything but, the power he felt crawling beneath his skin like an infestation of worms that threatened his very sanity. Even now, he was hesitant to go any farther. ((1))
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  4. Bernon Mrrgwharr had heard the call to battle for Darth Akheron, and had also heard the Lich King Krath Inmortos and the Sith Lord Darth Dictum decline the offer to join in the fray. When he was given the Limnal Blade, he took it cautiously, aware of its malevolent power over the Darkness, and carried it as a soldier into war would carry his sword. He had used and trained with vibro-blades and vibro-swords throughout his Mercenary training before, so he knew the basics on wielding this blade, but he also knew that it was no mere sword, that it had some kind of power, a power he may not know of yet, but one he would soon find out. He spoke his words of gratitude to his Dark Master "I thank you for this blade of great power, my Master, I shall put it to good use." After thanking his Sith Master, he rose from his kneeling. Bernon Mrrgwharr turned on his heel, and followed Darth Dictum towards where he was headed, and joined the search for the Maze underneath the Citadel and the Ziggurat. Where he headed to now, he would learn valuable knowledge for his chosen path, the Wisdom of the Blade Warrior. The ground he traveled on to get to his destination would be his trials for gaining such knowledge, as his will, his power, and his strength would be tested, he knew this with almost complete certainty. The blade in his hands had a heavy weight to it, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. What bothered him however, even with his great constitution and endurance, was the absolute freezing cold weather, but it was something he would have to get used to. He continued searching as he thought to himself. The Sith had lost the war with the Rebellion, then the Galactic Alliance and Imperial Remnant, and the Jedi. That, of course, was obvious, but what caused the loss wasn't very apparent. He had a few ideas behind the failure. The first reason was because the Sith had used the traditional weapons of the Jedi, the lightsaber, rather than the traditional weapon of the Sith, the Sith Sword. The second reason was probably infighting, as the Sith Empires had all fallen before in part because of something similar to that. The third reason was most likely because their Empire focused on strength in numbers, rather than the quality of their Sith or their troops. The Sith had many who were weak among their numbers, sentient beings unfit to be Sith. Their troops were probably poorly trained and equipped as well, though he didn't know for sure. As he continued his search, he finally found the entrance to the maze, and called out loudly above the howling wind. "I have found it, the entrance to the Maze my Master spoke of." He braced himself for whatever would come, he strengthened his mind, readied the blade in his hands, and prepared his will to fight against whatever would come at him. He waited for Darth Dictum to arrive. He sincerely hoped he would make it through this, and he knew he absolutely had to. If he failed, he would die, and his Master would turn him into a walking corpse, a fate he would deserve for his weakness. If he succeeded, he would gain power, and knowledge of the Sith Order that would be invaluable. There would be no room for failure, and he would not, must not, fail. This would be his first trial, and if he could not succeed, he would be unfit to be a Sith. @Lord Ōk Rägnär@Krath Inmortos
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  5. Oh how her heart raged with the fight. The battle moved faster than she would have ever realised. Death whirled between its intercessors, as fast as any man she had ever seen move. Faster than the Solleu during summer monsoon, fighting with all its hideous strength to overcome its banks and bathe Theed in mire and ruin. How often had her mother warned her of the speed of its currents during the summer rains? A shout of warning from the man beside her. A blink and the assassin in white was upon them. His scarred and terrible fist searching for her, seaking her heart as if to tear it out of her chest before the throngs of spectating and horrified onlookers and aid workers. What a victory it would be to put a queen down before her people. Who would stand to take her place? No longer were there lists upon lists of ladies in waiting, cadets, or other young women searching for the crown. No. If she died here her people would forever wallow in their defeat. Begging for return to the pacifism that led them to the destruction of their sacred city. Begging for the boot of the Sith to forever remain upon their necks. Thanking them for the privilege of the grovelling. Anne could feel herself getting shoved from the side by her guard and she hit the ground hard. Tucking her arms enough to come back into a crouch as another man died where she should have. A brave man. His leather impact vest, though useful against low power blaster bolts, slug throwers, and bladed weapons, was not rated for a punch from a powerful Sith Lord. The leather split like the rind of a Muja fruit, peeling back layer by layer to expose the flesh underneath. First came the leather, made from processed Moroi fish leather, hardened, and combined under the immense weight of a heavy press. Next came Duraplast and thranai cotton weave manufactured in a plant that had long since rotted away after the bombardment of theed. In that way, at least, the uniform and heraldry of the royal guards were relics. A touchstone to an age that no longer existed. An age of peace instead of war. A relic which was now combined with the blood and flesh of a martyr. As fist drove its way through sternum, lungs, organs, and at last spinal column. Exploding a red viscera out of the other side. It was horrible to watch. He died instantly enough and crumpled forever onto the ground of his ruined city, without a word or gripe to spit into the sand. Another brave man slain in the war against the Sith. Anne could hear herself howl in anger. She could taste his blood on her lips as she stood like a pier in the middle of the mighty Solleu. Though the waves may wash over her, though the tides may rise. She would stand. Her people would stand. There was no retreat. Her people had tamed the river before. They had bounded the river to her banks, guiding its destructive power to their own ends. They had regulated flow from the glaciers, stopping forever the type of destruction she had been known for when the planet was young. No longer did they fear the rising summer monsoon. The Naboo had tamed the great river, and so too would they tame the man in white. She brought the bloody pistol up again, and with her two remaining men fired at the man until their pistols glowed a white hot. ((3)) ((good duel, thank you for the opportunity))
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