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Calypso smiled. It would seem she had an apprentice. Her first apprentice, and he was as hungry and passionate as she could ask for. She laid her hand on his shoulder, saying nothing, but letting her pleased expression show him her approval. She turned to Dictum. "...and you have my attention, Lord Dictum. I look forward to seeing what you will become." And she meant it. Her eyes swept over the group that had begun to gather. Some had clustered together, while others spread out, some close and some far enough that they were nothing more than silhouettes against the white of the snow. The Force itself subtly shuddered and twisted. Many wills drew upon it, and the silent conflict of such strength quickened the Dark Side. Calypso imagined it as a beast, straining at the leash, yearning to turn this silent congregation into a chorus of passion and death. All these powerful individuals who had been drawn here, by her call or by fate, were now waiting. It is enough, she thought. She walked to the base of her crude pyramid, the cold wind and the rapidly diminishing snowfall whipping her torn clothes about her thin frame. Her mundane, vulnerable appearance contrasted with her calm and assured posture. Only the glow in her yellow eyes betrayed the anticipation that was growing inside of her. This was the moment. This was the start of everything. When she reached the base of the pyramid, she leapt. With the Force buoying her up, she effortlessly cleared the 25 feet to the top of the lowest layer. From there, she pivoted to face the gathering figures in the snowy wasteland. She raised her hands. "SITH!" she called, her voice echoing through the air and through the Force both. All here would know what she had to say. "I have called you here! Your challenger stands before you!" She swept her gaze across the crowd, gray shapes in the cloudy twilight. "I am Darth Calypso. I was born from the depths of the Old Republic's decrepitude, over 1000 years ago. I have awoken again, and I emerge to see the Sith truly returned. In the time since the fool Kaan and his Brotherhood of Darkness, the Sith have clawed their way back to the blood and iron they were founded on." She paused. "...And yet, once again the Sith Empire...has fallen!" Her words echoed out across the landscape like the crack of thunder. "How many times has our order been beaten back? How many times have the weak, the ignorant, and the cowardly united to smother a truth they know they cannot hope to control? And yet we always return, as perpetual as the spinning of the galaxy!" The slate gray clouds above her began to spiral, centered over the pale woman in ragged clothes. "So why have we failed again?" She fell silent for a moment. "...Because we have ignored what we are. We are not generals or admirals. We are not kings, queens, or emperors. We are not politicians slinging words to fool the masses, or knights fighting loyally in the service of a lord. We are gods! We ARE power! There will be no great conquest. There will be no empire. We will not unite the galaxy under our rule, as the Sith have attempted so many times before. We will SHATTER IT!" As she shouted these last words, arms upraised, her passion escaped her control, and the ground vibrated almost imperceptibly. "This new Alliance will fall before us. Always the Sith have come as a conquering army, but this time we will come as the monsters we truly are. We will not ape our enemies. We will not try to bring about peace under our rule. We will plunge the galaxy into fire and death! The time of republics, alliances, and empires will come crashing down! The lies of the Jedi will be torn away, and the truth that the Sith have always known will finally be made evident to all! Everyone, Sith or Jedi, soldier or civilian, weak or powerful, will finally understand that a being is only entitled to what it has the will to take and the strength to hold! When we are finished, the idea of a unified galaxy will be laughed at by the survivors digging through the ashes, and the hypocrisy of the Jedi will be seen for what it is. It will be a new Age of the Sith. And in this age...the strong will finally receive their due. They will carve out their realms by their own hand. They will defend what they have, while taking what they wish from those weaker than them. All beings, not just the Sith, will follow our Code! All will fight for victory and freedom, because there will be no other way!" She gestured at the crowd. "Is this not what you want? Do you truly wish to serve under some distant ruler, content with what you've been given? Don't you want the opportunity to prove your worth to a galaxy that has denied you what you deserve? I will give that chance to you. I will give that chance to everyone." Then, Calypso lowered her arms, the animating passion of her speech dwindling. "But these are only words. Sith are not ruled by words." She took a breath. "I declare myself Dark Lord of the Sith!" The words rang out, echoing across the wasteland without softening, as if they had a life of their own. And then Calypso stopped holding herself back. The ground shook. A deep, grinding rumble drowned out every other sound as the stone trembled beneath the snow. With a deafening CRACK, a dozen crevices as wide as a man spiderwebbed out from under the block where Calypso stood. The air crackled with electricity. Wind that had nothing to do with the weather howled and screamed across the snow. The Force itself seemed to writhe and boil. Calypso's power had never come from arcane rituals and ancient secrets. Her master had never afforded her that opportunity. No, she had spent her time perfecting herself as a channel for the Dark Side, refining what strength her master had thought safe to give his tool. She had studied Sith philosophy, and put herself through every trial and strife imaginable to purge any hesitation, weakness, or self-delusion from her. What was left was the passion she drew on, and it was endless. Her master had once called her a misanthrope. The clinical sounding word had never seemed to capture the reality of what the coruscanti street urchin had felt. Her hatred was a consuming, burning thing that ate away at her. It was something she'd learned to lock away until it was needed, but always hovering below the surface. She hated the people of the galaxy. They were self-deluded idiots who spent their whole lives fighting not to think, serving anyone or anything that promised them even the illusion of control. She hated the Jedi. They preached compassion, but had never come to save those like her starving right below their feet. They preached justice, yet stood by as the rulers and officials they defended openly enslaved others. They preached peace, but had been at the forefront of major galactic wars time and time again. She even hated the Sith. She hated the figures gathered before her, either arrogantly thinking themselves superior while they fretted at their mundane or pointless ambitions, or willing to fall to their knees in humiliating subservience and cast away their very thoughts. And she hated herself. Even now, she knew what she really was. The child who had never left Coruscant. The orphan ruling a kingdom of blind, animalistic cannibals. In her new galaxy, there would be endless war. Endless strife. Endless destruction. It was no more than what they all deserved. She leapt down from the block, the quake created from her telekinetic power fading as she gathered her will. Her lightsaber leapt into her hand, and with a hssss its red blade flared to life. "So...who's first?"

Nia couldn't believe this. Three Jedi, and the war droid and the stranger seemed to have a better grasp on the situation. She looked at all the drawn weapons, the tempers flared, the threats issued. "Enough! All of you!" she shouted. In all her years, she'd never once shouted. She'd always been quiet. Always timid. But here, in the middle of chaos, she found her voice. "Mjan, Rose. For all your talks about fighting this war to defend the innocent, to defeat the menace of the Sith, you jumped so quickly to threaten them for your own protection. That is not what a Jedi is." She wheeled around to the second lightsaber-wielding Jedi (@Leena Kil), no more impressed. "You jump so quickly to your weapon, and though you do so to protect the innocents, you threaten an ally in the same manner that you are trying to dissuade him from doing it. You are a hypocrite." Next was the Cathar shouting of conspiracy and betrayal, oblivious to the countless innocent lives that had also been taken. (@Durose Roshan) "You are no better! You think this is a trap, and yet you draw your weapon and try to goad us to a fight! What good would that accomplish? We'd simply have even more dead Jedi. Not to mention the scores that still need our help, trap or no!" She spun around, addressing them all. "You're disappointments to the Order that my father gave his life to serve, bickering and spreading fear like the Sith of old, and if you insist on following this path to its end then I will have no part of it. You can find me out there, with the sick and the injured, doing what a Jedi should be doing, rather than spend your time acting like criminals and terrorists. You should all be ashamed." She spun towards the crowd, and subsequently, the exit. There were injured people out there, and sick ones too. She would help them, even if the others wouldn't. She pushed through the crowd, and towards the exit. She had a sinking realization she may have just left the Jedi Order, but right then, she didn't care. All she cared about was helping those that needed it.

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.

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.

Sandy looked from her datapad to Leena, then to her friend's new apprentice. then at last to Keenava. The briefing was a quick one, more of an outline than anything final and set in duracrete. But it was her responsibility to make the mission work, and she would not have chosen a better Jedi team than the few people that stood around her. “Thank you for joining me on such late notice, as the situation stabilizes on the galactic front, it appears there are still dozens if not hundreds of Sith allied worlds whose governments have not been willing to or have been unable to approach the Alliance for help. One such world is called Falleen. A previously peaceful world whose goverment was overthrown by the Sith. We have not been able to establish contact since, and any reports speak of a blood cult, slavery, and massive brainwashing programs.” She looked up again. “We are to infiltrate the planet under disguise, identify leadership, and identify if there is a way to help the people of Falleen overthrow their oppressors, or if it should be left to the Imperial Military.” She smiled wanly at the thought. “We are not a member of the alliance military due to being Jedi Affiliated, which gives us a lot more leeway in how we proceed. Are you in?”

“Unit S-I23” Oogoo’s vocalizer’s monotone emitted. “Please scan P3, he seems to be suffering from some sort of malady in his right back leg.” The analysis droid nodded and went over to the massive aquarium tube that held several tens of the lizards together. Each lizard inside was attached to the central feeding unit inside, so no doubt it wasn’t going hungry, but Oogoo cared for the Yslamari all the same. If one was feeling discomfort, he wanted to know why. “Sir, P3 seems to have damaged one of his claws. Must have gotten stuck when it was trying to move.” P3 reported back, still looking the lizard over. Oogoo floated, or rather, swam, over to the tube, wanting a better look while being 35 feet up in the air. The Celegian raised a loving tentacle up to the glass and pressed against it, much like a human youngling would do with their fish tank. “Awww, did little P3 cut his little toe-bean?” Ooogoo’s vocoder emitted. Despite its monotone, the vocader plugged directly into the floating jellyfish’s brain still somehow projected the emotion that Ooogoo had for his wards. The lizard inside made a couple of wounded chirps, its pain obvious. Ooogoo focused, projecting her own natural telepathy to the lizard, trying to convey that everything would be ok. The Yslamari quieted down and didn’t even flinch when S-I23 injected a pain medicine into the afflicted area via the feeding tube. “There, there, you see? All better…” Oogoo cooed a bit more before turning to the analysis droid. “Make sure little P3 gets a daily regimen of extra nutrients and pain medicines until his claw is healed. The droid nodded in acknowledgement but Oogoo had already turned away to look at the other 29 tubes in the massive chamber. While some beings would have considered this job mind-numbing at the very least, doing nothing but fill out paperwork, keep an eye on a lot of lizards, and oversee the droids who actually did keep an eye on the lizards, Oogoo loved it. The ritual, the consistency, the non-excitement, despite being in one massive prison. Being a natural telepathic that his species was known for, he always had company with the lizards in a way not many beings had. A klaxon alarm blared out. Oogoo felt a rush of annoyance and confusion as the Yslamari became frightened at the noise. She tried to calm the lizards, but that was a pointless task. There were too many to calm down. Instead, she swam to where the alarm was coming from: The door. “Odd” Oogoo stated to no one in particular. “I am not expecting any visitors. S-123, my replacement isn’t for another two years, correct?” S-I23 confirmed it. Oogoo became more confused. Visitors were extremely rare. Unannounced ones more so. With the entire chamber filled with poisonous cyanogen, the only beings that could enter without a protective suit were droids and himself. The ‘perfect security protection’ the authorities called it. Oogoo preferred to call it the ‘perfect isolation chamber’. The inner sealed door opened. Standing before him was a LV8 security droid and another analysis droid. “What is the meaning of this?” Oogoo demanded. The security droid didn’t reply. Instead, it looked at the analysis droid, diminuative compared to the large security droid. “Here is section 45, unit S-0L115.” “Excuse me, what is the meaning of this?” Oogoo demanded again. The LV8 turned to Oogoo. “I must now get to the section 18 to attend security alarm. Please remain here until the situation has been handled.” Oogoo’s vocoder groaned in annoyance as the droid left. “Stupid security droids. Too rigid.” The Celegian turned to the new analysis droid. Something was odd about the droid. It wasn’t built like the others, its wiring was in odd locations, and its parts looked a bit rusty. But that wasn’t what was bothering Oogoo. Even as it stood, looking at Oogoo, adjusting its sensors, something about it felt off. “Unit…what was it? S-0L115? Stupid number…” The droid didn’t react. It only adjusted its sensors further. Oogoo shuddered as the thing looked him over and over. He felt like his yslamari felt occassionally. Being studied by something he didn't fully understand. “Hello? Droid! What’s your malfunction droid? And what is that at your side?” Oogoo reached forward with a tentacle to grab the cylindrical device at the droid’s side. The droid reacted quickly. Much too quickly for an analysis droid. Its hand went to the device and activated it. Swinging it, the red blade emitting from it cleaved the tentacle apart. Oogoo would’ve screamed in pain, had the blade not slashed the vocoder next. It sparked and exploded with energy, sending Oogoo flying backwards and crashing into one of the tubes, shattering it. All the Yslamari, both in the broken tube and the other tubes, felt their protector’s mental screaming and began to screech and click in their own language of pain. Solus didn’t stop with the floating brain. The other droids were reacting, moving for the alarms or blasters. If he still had access to the force, he could race across the room in a flash of an eye, but without it, he was forced to resrot to running after them. Thankfully, they were only analysis droids, restricted by their programming and unable to overclock in anyway. They could not sprint like he could, nor aim like he could. They were made to study and analyze, not combat. Solus on the other hand held no such restriction and pushed his gears and parts further then they were meant to go. Within minutes, each droid was cut down. “Well that was unnecessarily annoying…” Solus commented while sheathing his blade again. “Now, onto the important stuff…” Solus moved to the control panel of one of the undamaged tubes. “Lets see, lets see…” Solus mused out loud. “Temperature controls…temperature controls, where are you, temperature controls, ah! There you are. Now let's lower the temperature, shall we? Hmm, how low can we go? Lower, lower… That won’t work Solus froze. “Excuse me?” That won’t work. The temperature. The tanks can only go down so far. Its a… safety feature Solus looked everywhere. “Wha…who is this? Who is talking to me?” I am Solus turned around. The floating brain was still laying next to the broken tube, the yslamari no longer screaming. It was only then when Solus realized all the lizards were not screaming. “You? But…thats…” It is my way the voice spoke. The brain thing raised its slashed tentacle, to emphasize the fact that it was speaking telepathically to the Shard. “But…the lizards..” Solus pointed at the Yslamari. The force has no use for me. I am simply…connected. Like them, it is simply biology, nothing mystical. Limited, but useful. It is why they hired me Solus approached the blop of a brain and placed a foot on a tentacle. The yslamari screeched as the thing’s pain communicated through each other. “Fascinating…” Solus released his foot. Instantly, the lizards stopped screeching. “Telepathy without the force. You are a fascinating thing…” The same could be said for you. What are you? You are droid but not droid? You are organic but not organic? “A Sith. And a Shard. A crystelline being” Solus commented, and then realized what he said without thought. This telepathy was making the Shard more loose then ever. I see. And you want to kill my babies. Well it won’t work. “Ya, the temperature like you said, you bulbous ball of brains. Thankfully i can always do this…” Solus reactivated his blade and attacked another tube. The thing shattered, leaking water, and lizards everywhere. Instantly the things started to screech and scream as Solus continued slashing the bodies over and over. “Aheh? See? So I can't be as finesseful as I want, but I can still… Solus stopped. Oogoo was talking to him again. The voice, as strange as it was, communicated with the Shard like a soul speaking to another. Oogoo was laughing. You think too little, lonely Sith. There are more throughout the station. You can kill these, but the Force still won't work in here. The brain thing started to levitate slowly. It was a struggle to be sure. More than once it fell back over on itself. But it tried over and over again, much to Solus’ confusion. This station has the Yslamari all over the station. This is just a breeding and shipping area. When one dies, I make sure a replacement is sent. If one needs more nutrients, I make sure my babies get what they need. The Celigian laughed harder, Solus’ shard starting to throb in pain from the intensity. Did you think it would be that simple to kill my little ones? Solus clenched his fists. His own vocader screeched as he swung the blade again, aiming for the floating brain’s other tentacles, slicing them cleanly off. The lizards screamed again as it tumbled to the ground. No! Stop, there is no point in hurting me! This time Solus didn’t stop. He stepped onto the brain’s last functioning tentacle and began to poke the blade into Oogoo’s soft exposed body. “If it's not a simple matter of killing your babies, then maybe you and I can come up with something more complex, you stupid sack of sheltering scum!” The room was filled with the sound of screaming lizards as Solus began his first experience in torture.

The Grand Admiral of the Court of Madness observed the swirling mass of enemy ships before him, protected by their millions of mines. How the devil they had remained able to get civilian ships in and out of the sector was beyond him. He stroked his peppered goatee with long, slender, sexy blue Chiss fingers. He flipped a single finger towards the viewscreen and he channeled an open commlink to the enemy. “Greetings, Rebellion. Or Empire. Whatever you are. Fear not, stand down and stand by. We are here only to hunt Nar Shadaa’s famous Azov Battalion, and to rid you of the evils of fascism. Please disarm.” His subordinate, Under-Admiral Pog’Champ, stared up at him with similar crimson Chiss eyes. “Admiral Frawn, I believe it’s pronounced ‘Imperial Knights’” The Grand Admiral waved his had dismissively. He would suggest the Under-Admiral to throw himself out an airlock at some later time. His eyes caught several fleet elements within the Enemy ranks, of particular interest. He waved another hand indicating full fleet forward. “Admiral… The Mines?” A highly annoyed Chiss Admiral stamped his foot in dismissive rage. “Damn the mines, there are Squibs to kill. Sheog would not want any of them to escape.” The Grand Fleet lurched forward, losing countless ships to strike at the irritating creatures. Several Corevettes exploded almost immediately, whether it was the mines or just the will of the force, one would never know. No matter the losses, those Squibs would perish. Grand turbolasers lashed out towards The Rebels, and their beloved Squibs.

She could feel the ambition in the room, the hunger of the Sith around her. A consequence of the Spider’s unorthodox choice to hand her the title instead of having a successor claim it by force. It would have been easy to return that doubt with bitter venom and vitriol, but there was no need. Any worthy Sith would either challenge her or fall in line, otherwise it was all just bravado masking cowardice and envy. She did not recognize most of the assembled Sith here, many of the old masters had faded away, although even from all this distance she could sense the presence of her old master, Sheog. That eldritch horror operated on a different level, more Dark Side than individual at this point. Reports of Qaela vanishing at Lehon were coming in, but that did not surprise or sadden her, that woman’s ineptitude had already cost the Sith plenty. Perhaps she had been struck down by a final command of the Spider, or maybe she was faced by an opponent that wasn’t an apprentice or an asthmatic toddler. Akheron, on the other hand, was a veteran Sith warrior, an accomplished line officer who had returned to the fold after a period of absence. SSB had informed her that he had fallen in with some new cult, but as long as he performed his duties such things were of no concern to her, besides, an interest in cults and secret knowledge came naturally to the Sith. She herself had started a cult on Onderon. Akheron’s access to forces specializing in reaving would be of great use in the next phase of the war. Not to mention her plans would be of particular interest to him. Darth Mavanger was another veteran Sith, on the verge of achieving mastery over the Dark Side. He followed the warrior’s path, had led his forces on a largely successful campaign, and had defeated worthy adversaries in single combat. Of everyone assembled, he had the most viable claim to challenge, his accomplishments fresh in the minds of the assembled Sith, but she had read him as more interested in martial command than control of the order. The position of Dark Lord required much from the Sith that held the title, and would have inevitably taken him away from his beloved battlefields. Darth Oni was something of a mystery beyond his rank of master, his presence inconsistent throughout the years. He seemed to be following a similar path to Darth Sheog in becoming an avatar of the Dark Side over pursuing personal interests. The entity had reached out to her while she had been indisposed, but she would speak with him at the meeting to see what he offered the order. Darth Inmortos was a relatively fresh face, which was amusing given the state of decay that his body was in. He had played a part in the defense of Dac, was a known practitioner of necromancy, and had enough reputation that she had sent him to assist with the retrieval of plasma from the core. His story was just beginning, but it seemed to have potential. Telperien, another legacy like herself, had done well in keeping herself out of her mother’s shadow. Although she was trained in the occult truths of the Night Sisters, she had always been a presence in the Sith Order that Darksong had always tried to claim but ultimately failed to deliver on. Perhaps one day she would make the leap and join the order, so that she might surpass her mother in every way. Ca’aran was there of course, despite not being a Sith. His presence amidst this dark pantheon of divinities was telling of his worth and value to both her and the Order. He was an exemplar of mortal ways and means, an unrivaled soldier that had survived an endless procession of brutal wars. His counsel prevented the blunders of Sith getting tunnel vision and overly focusing on matters of the Force. Awenydd was there as well, though little was known of her and many of the reports were conflicting. She had served at Coruscant though and had since largely devoted herself to training, particularly an apprentice named Shiro. Akheron and Mordecai had both brought apprentices with them, and this made Darth Nyrys smile. Apprentices were the future of the order and only fools neglected them. The ones before her were an odd pair, one looked to be a tribal warrior descended from the nearly extinct bloodlines of the Sith race, the other… at first it seemed to be a construct of some sort, but after some scrutiny she realized that the machinery was just a shell for an alien mind inhabiting a crystal. How peculiar. Soon there would be plenty of chances for them to prove their worth to the order. The leader of their Mandalorian allies had been permitted to join the meeting as a sign of respect and trust. The rumor mill was suggesting that Tros Ardell had felled the Jedi that had brought low Darth Mavanger, and if true, that made him an exceptionally worthy ally. Darkwatch soldiers, whose loyalty she was certain of, approached and set up a localized jamming along with sonic and visual dampening fields. Rebel spies were always a concern, and her plans demanded discretion. “I know that this is a time of rumor and speculation, unknowns and theories. Allow me to lay them all to rest. Exodus is gone. If this is a play for some greater game, he left no indication amidst his advisors and generals. He did pass his saber on to me, but this is not the way of the Sith, so after I make my speech I will be opening the floor to challenges of single combat, should any of you doubt my ability and possess the courage to act on those convictions.” She had no interest in the theatrics that the Spider had often used amongst his own. It was the way of warriors to speak directly and bluntly, and with her brothers and sisters she would be true and clear. It was the capability of a ruler that was the true measure among an inner circle, not spectacle and illusion. Such things should be reserved for the enemy and the populace at large. “That being said, we live in interesting times. The cloak of benevolence and statecraft that Exodus shrouded us in for so long has burned along with Theed and the rest of the planet, and the people are once again vulnerable to the hopemongers and grifters of democracy. If we were to try and maintain direct control over the galaxy through the Spider’s corpse empire we would face thousands of unknown enemies, without the benefit of whatever schemes he was weaving. To charge ahead on this course is to invite disaster, to trudge through a mire when another, clearer path presents itself to us. We have glutted ourselves on the bountiful rewards that Exodus’s empire has given us, grown fat off of plenty and easy conquest over lesser beings. Now is the perfect time to hone our inner strength and cut away the accumulated fat. We will allow our enemies their republic so that we may expose it as a weak and corrupt institution, led by the self interest of politicians rather than ideals. We will bloat their creation until it festers with stagnation and blight, pumping poison through the veins of their government until the people beg us to return as liberators from the liars and the charlatans. We will exalt their politicians and quietly strike down any who show true leadership qualities. We will distract them from vigilance with pursuits of culture, benevolence, and charity. Meanwhile in the dark we will become as razors. We will scrape away weakness on the whetstones of training, focus, and discipline. We will perfect our crafts of death, war, and darkness. We will not only be worthy of the galactic throne, but have the means and abilities to seize it. A clean cut that severs the head of our enemies, rather than a thousand blind swings at potential threats. In order to facilitate the creation of a hidden Sith temple and to stabilize morale in response to this path, we have been securing the means and power to resurrect the lost world of Ziost. Once the capital of the Sith Empire, it was used in a ritual to contain the rebel fleet while our forces moved to disable the Grand Death Star’s super weapon. The rebels and their treacherous Jedi allies turned the weapon on Ziost, destroying five sixths of their own fleet in the process. While the sacrifice of Ziost was necessary, now its doom can be undone and our ancient capital restored. This is why I dispatched some of you to the hollow core of Naboo to retrieve plasma at the start of the invasion weeks ago, and why our forces are securing ancient Dark Side relics on Lehon. We are at the threshold of a new beginning for the Sith, and it will usher in a new golden age for our order as we decisively defeat our enemies.” She unsheathed her blade in a single, smooth motion, and surveyed the assembled Sith. “Now, as I said before, the floor is now open to challenges. If you think you have the strength to oust me and claim the throne, approach. Know this well, however, challenges will not be met with mercy or hesitation, regardless of rank and experience. This is our path to glory.”

First, the good stuff: -I appreciate how each opponent let each series of attacks do something to them without crippling them. Each side felt like they were respecting the other throughout the duel. -In the same regard, no side tried to create a “gotcha” moment or make themselves seem impossible to fight, instead playing their characters tactically without trying to control the narrative to their side. I have a few comments, but it isn’t really bad stuff so much as things I would have liked to have seen expanded. -Tros takes the first lightsaber blow to his thigh. “The blade cut through the armor plate and flesh.” While we don’t see how damaging this blow is, we do see that he favors it later in the same post. However, the damage is a bit forgotten after this. In the second post he lands, and there’s no mention of the leg injury. This isn’t a big deal as he doesn’t start sprinting or anything, but I would have liked to see it brought up as it seems likely he would have felt it. -On a similar note, Alcemene takes a blaster shot to the wrist that blows apart the “tendons and muscle,” along with the shield. It’s a pretty harsh injury from the brief description we get, and it’s also forgotten afterwards. Again, like with Tros, it’s not a big deal as we don’t see her trying to fight two-handed or anything, but it seems a serious enough injury that I would have liked to have seen it mentioned again. Then there are two issues with the duel that I need to bring up before ruling. -Alcemene, I notice you didn’t call back to the damage you suffered in your previous duel. I 100% get not wanting to mention it, and I would have been fine if it was mitigated a bit in some way, but not ignoring it entirely. -Tros, I hesitate mentioning this as the class rules are very new, but your arsenal in this duel did violate them by employing a heavily armed minion in addition to your own armor and collection of weaponry. As we saw, that was a big advantage in this duel combining your mobility, multiple firing points, a sacrifice, armor, and a varied arsenal against a melee fighter. All that being said, the new rules did go up on the same day this duel started, so consider this a friendly warning for next time. Understand that what I said in the beginning still stands. You both fought admirably and with respect for the other person, and the way you handled each other’s attacks and played to the flow of the duel instead of one-upping each other was awesome! This ruling is a bit tough due to the issues I mentioned above and how they gave each side advantages they should not have had. Both of you also fought very evenly through the fight, taking hits and writing well. Final Ruling: Tros wins

In Rieva’s line of work it was always best to assume that one was always being watched. You never knew who could be sneaking up and checking in on you; officers, thieves, nosey neighbors. The possibilities were endless, so it was best to cover your ass. That started with a good security system and a secret basement that no one aside from her knew about. Not even her closest colleague. Never trust anyone but yourself, that was her code, and she stuck by it. Rieva was working in the basement when she heard sounds coming from upstairs. Nothing incredibly loud, but noticeable enough for someone used to the sounds of light pitter-patter on wood flooring. How curious she thought as she gently set down the painting she’d been wrapping up, closing it safely in her safe. She was wise with her safes, opting for the blending-in approach in the hope that people would overlook it, and many did. There were a lot of naive fools who called themselves ‘thieves’ these days. With the merchandise safe, Rieva made her way up the stairs, hand hovering over the pistol on her hip as she listened through the wall. Definitely footsteps, though not close. She felt she could safely slip out of the stairwell without being seen. Though waiting was a good option, just to see if they were clever enough to see past the bookshelf ruse, seeing the look on their face when they realized they weren’t alone would be priceless, she was sure. So she stepped out, quietly closing the bookshelf behind her, and crept her way toward where she thought the person was. ”If you’d like to see the art, you’ll have to come back during business hours”. The words slipped past her lips in a mostly professional way, though the sassy ‘I just caught you’ sass was definitely lingering in the air. She was ever vigilant of the person, eyes scanning for any potential others who could be around so she didn’t end up in a trap of her own.

Tygo heeded the Lord Commander's orders and sent a short range burst to the Bekenden, a number of whom rapid repelled from their perches to further encircle the trench line. With calm precision the prince and his Haulanz pressed along the enemy emplacement, coldly dispatching the remaining opposition. Resistance wilted as they swept through the fortifications and tunnels, ever tightening the noose. The Bekenden were trained as urban hunters, and the trenches and bunkers translated easily to the narrow alleyways and enclosed spaces that they were used to fighting in. The Bekenden were soldiers of grim aspect, monsters that outlived the tyranny of their masters, but they were now sworn to the light all the same as Edsbryder itself. They were living proof of a way back from the darkness, which made the situation on Falleen all the more irksome. The soldiers they were fighting were victims of Sith indoctrination, who until the arrival of the Sith had led normal lives. When treating the Sith blight upon the galaxy, sometimes amputation was necessary, but Tygo had never fallen in love with the image of blindly destructive hero. This was why he was so dedicated to the destruction of cults, every false prophet and dark priestess that he slew would preserve the light for countless lives. They would save as many as they could, but for these poor fools, there was nothing left for them but the firm cut of justice's blade.

You have no kriffing idea… Fate started to say when she overheard the Jedi’s comment. You haven’t had to deal with the lack of food, the crumbling ruins, the radiation zones, and those cultists that scream their heads off for a dang plant. The two pushed on until they came upon a deep crevasse. The cityscape of the planet had several crevasses like this one, all built for letting ships and speeders into the lower levels of the world. Miles wide in diameter, the only way across the impossibly deep pitt was a long narrow bridge, complete with a wider area for a broken turret station in the middle. The bridge was more than just worn down. Its durasteel railings had fallen off long ago, its floor plantings partially melted, and its supports corroded to the point that the thing swayed with its own weight. Under the acidic rain, the entire thing groaned, threatening to break down at any moment. Like a suspension bridge missing its wires, so did this bridge miss its sturdiness Despite the uncertain structural integrity, a single figure stood on the bridge, undeterred by the potential of falling to his death. Instead, under the raining acid, the figure stood stoically and unmoved, wielding an electrostaff in its hands. Its shoulder plates had been completely melted away, revealing muscle and nerve bundles burning and regenerating under the rain. This Gen’dai had been forgotten to time, stored in a cage for thousands of years. In its loneliness, it had lost any semblance of sanity. And after the Sith attack, it broke free and found this place. Now, only one thing mattered to it: The Bridge. After studying the figure for a moment, shield over her head, Fate looked across the crevasse. She could see what vaguely looked like a domed enclosure, no doubt the place the Jedi was wanting to get to. She could even see the outline of what looked like a ship. Her one source of hope to escape this wreckage of a world. YES! Fate shouted in her mind as she rushed forward. She had no idea what the figure wanted, but the possibility of escaping was almost too much to resist. From his position at the center of the bridge, the Gen’dai raised a hand to halt her and the Jedi. “None shall pass!” his voice boomed over the pouring acidic rain. “Approach further, and die.” Fate stopped in her tracks. Kriff this stupid piece of... she wanted to swear. She glanced at Vox, unsure what to do. The bridge was the only way across, and with the acid rain, finding another way around would be both exhausting and dangerous.

Elliot staggered for a moment, but regained himself as the sounds and visuals of his experience ended. He turned to the old woman, grabbed the goblet from the ground, apologizing to her as he went to the counter to pay for it. She cursed him in an unknown language, and he felt ashamed as he paid her far more than what the goblet must've been worth to her. He threw it in his bag and hurried out, nervously looking over his shoulder as he hustled out, and back onto the street, in the bazaar. He looked left and right, and decided it would be best to not be so vulnerable with such an item in his possession. Turning on his heel, he walked briskly out of the bazaar to his speeder. He assumed his nervousness was visible, as he was quickly noticed and followed. Elliot could feel their eyes on him, and he paced his steps accordingly. Turning the final corner, he found the valet and sent him off to find the speeder. While he was off, he was cornered. He had been followed, yes, but by more than just one person. Elliot turned around to three people circling him. "Seen you pull up. Nice speeder you got, huh?" "Yeah, thanks," he said plainly, looking over his shoulder and setting down his bag slowly, "You guys waiting on yours too?" "Right, yeah, we are," one of the thugs laughed," That's a good one." "And the valet can get yours after mine, right?" Elliot said this plainly, and directly. The thugs stepped to him, but he narrowly avoided conflict when the humming of his speeder returned to earshot. The valet, joyriding the speeder, whipped it around onto the dock and, with a massive grin, returned the keys to Elliot and smiled down the men who had cornered Elliot, his hand immediately reaching to his datapad. The three looked off and wandered off into the distance again as Elliot was returned to his vehicle. The trip back through the city was quick, and Elliot took every inch of speed on his cruiser as he made his way back home, curving through the gates of his Imperial alumni neighborhood. His father, unofficially out of retirement, had earned a small manor on the new Coruscant streets. Gliding into the pad, he hopped out of his speeder and rushed back into his home, clambering through the halls, disrupting his mother, and into his room. He tossed the goblet onto the table, and he rummaged through his things, packing a bag as quick as he could. The way he saw it, one doesn't easily ignore what could only be described as the summons of a witch, especially when the life he currently led was fraught more with boredom than danger. He had enough credits, and he had a connection for a hyperdrive for sale. He was waiting for the universe to tell him when the time was right. He couldn't be any less sure if this was it, but he was so determined to force himself on his own fate it did not matter. He typed a message on the holonet and waited. The anonymous source for the under-the-table hyperdrive could be anyone, and he could get shot, robbed, or any number of things. Nothing he wasn't used to, but Elliot figured it would be prudent to take one of his father's blasters. He packed a small duffel bag and threw it over his shoulder. On his way out, his mother stopped him. "Where are You going?" Elliot stopped and was silent for a second before responding," Heading off world to see a girl." She shrugged, seemingly happy with the answer, and Elliot continued on, rushing out. He returned to his speeder and flew fast all the way to the private port for the families' of Imperial command. He took the lift to his father's hangar, and he found his ship. An old, old, X-wing; T-65 model with a custom black and purple paint job. It was Elliot's baby, and the only thing he ever could entertain himself with, now that his life was lavish and full of splendor. He approached, just as wide-eyed as when he found the seller, the ship now refurbished from the old piece of scrap metal it was before. It was almost ready for light speed, and Elliot was so close. He sent the message to the seller of the hyperdrive core on the holonet. Got the credits. Where can we meet? @Mavanger

Kirlocca was truly amazed at the healing that he got to witness from a fellow Wookiee. He'd never thought he'd live to see such a thing. To even know that the ancient and revered Tree Carers were still very much involved in their craft was a small relief to him, as his home planet has been the target of so many attacks over the past two decades or even longer meant that there was always hope. Always would be. To release such wounds and pains gave him even more comfort in knowing that he made the right decision in letting Raven's killer free. Peace could still be made out of the chaos. Letting a breath out that he was unaware he was holding in, he felt Leena through the Force. She was beginning to heal the planet they were on. He found it even more comforting to know that there were such great Jedi healers and many still found it worth specializing in. He wouldn't lie, he thought when Skye disappeared from the galaxy that the craft would die out, leaving room for more pain and sadness. Yet, the Force always wills it's own path and direction upon the galaxy, to which he was very grateful for. His own comlink went off, as Leena spoke about what she was doing, and what she wanted the other Jedi to do in joining with her. Letting himself fall into a more natural state, he closed his own eyes and reached out into the Force, pouring himself into it, allowing for his own light to radiate more strongly within the Force and pushing against the Dark Side energy that remained upon the planet. The cold and icy tendrils of the darkness that remained would soon be drowned by the collective lightside that was now beginning to grow.

Deep exhaustion clung to her skin like a vac suit. Where on her body there was not a wound, there was the deep ache of strained muscles. The streets were mostly deserted now, dark and filled with stark shadows from the few fires in buildings that had been struck by errant missiles and ammunition from the battle in the north. She took a strengthening breath, letting the force fill her, letting it touch where she was wounded. The long carved lines on her chin, shoulder, and arm glowing with the healing power of the force. The battle was won. Such as it was. The Sith were defeated again only a week or so since their last great defeat. And when Sandy breathed in again she could feel the presence of many Jedi and their Sov Knight equivalents. And one light presence only a few meters away from where she had paused. An alien but honourable mind and the mind of a scared child. Hiding for protection. She took a few steps and looked into the alleyway where she could see a large wookiee and a wounded child. Not exactly the Wookiee Jedi she had been trying to find, but she smiled best she could despite the blood that still seeped from the deep wound on her face. Her Gala accent only slightly showing itself. Alongside the tattered jedi tunic that she wore. “Well met stranger, what brings you from the shade of wroshyr to these desolate streets?”

There was no response, as Lumare moved slowly and low, just as she would when hunting her prey. Well, wasn't this just the same, the thrill of a hunt that could fight back? She would wait, patience was the third lesson, knowing when the best time to strike was. Just one more beat. The first Kukri slammed into the skull of the first unfortunate, a satisfied hiss as Lumare took first blood. The second blade came into the chest of the second, far too close to raise their blaster, moving quickly out of her spot letting the first drop slain and moving the other into the hall as a decoy. Shots snapped past but she was already gone, moving to get around the pirates whilst they gathered their senses. Her knowledge of the ship gave her an advantage, even if only a slight one, hitting by surprise would only work for so long and with two of their number dead it was highly likely the Pirates were now alert. Slow and steady she moved position, taking cover as something moved quickly towards her in the darkness. It ran on all fours but was no beast, at least nothing she knew perhaps a mutant or some monster of the pirates. That was how Lumare swung out from cover and by the will of the force struck the sheathed blade.

EMPRESS TETA Astrographical Information Region: Deep Core Sector: Koros Sector System: Empress Teta System Orbital Position: 4 Moons: 3 Grid Coordinates: L-10 Physical Information Class: Terrestrial/Temperate->Arctic Atmosphere: Type 1 Breathable Primary Terrain: Urban, Forests, Mountains, Plains Points of Interest: Cinnagar Royal Palace, Core District, Great Library of Cinnagar, Hyperspace Navigator’s Guild House , Monument to Lost Navigators, Core Mining Guild Headquarters, New Iron Citadel Societal Information Indigenous Species: Humans (71%) Immigrated Species: Variety of alien species (29%) Primary Language(s): Galactic Basic Standard Faction Affiliation: Galactic Alliance (Capital) JediRP Canon History: A near ecumenopilis, Empress Teta rivaled Coruscant in its prime. Boasting a strong military presence and defensible position, Enoress Teta was left relatively untouched from the galactic conflicts up to this point. As the galaxy lay in shambles post-Imperial Sith Apocolypse, this stronghold of military and economic might has emerged from the treachery of the Deep Core to serve as a crown jewel of lead worlds in the galaxy. From a newly reconstructed Iron Citadel, leadership of the Galactic Alliance oversee the governance and defense of the known galaxy and all worlds that ascribe to their alliance.

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

The Exorcist stepped out into the humid, rank Falleen air, she could smell it all, and hear its echoes in the Force. There was corruption here, beyond the rot of foliage and the chittering of insects. A deeper reverberation, a seeping wound, infected and gangrenous that wept into the Force with a song of sadness. The Dark Side had latched hold of this planet like a parasite to suck it dry. She shook her head, the mess of braids falling about her slender shoulders. Just like your sister… She motioned for her apprentice to follow, remembering his training on their path here. He had passed a number of blade trials, but seemed to lack the natural flow of the Force, relying on Pride and instinct instead of more subtle beats of the song. He would hold his own against a few mangey cultists. The one you failed... Kyrie’s silent step quickened to match the Edsbryder Princeling’s pace. She had relatively little care for the conquests of noble houses, for Constipex or others, but she was more than eager to rid the world of its corruption. Her probiscis matched the pace of her song, flicking and tasting the air, leaving small white sparks in their trail.

Aidan sidestepped the thrust directly at him, already positioned to do just that with the fencing stance he'd taken. Makashi wasn't nearly a strong enough style to be able to take on a greatsword like this head on, but it was lithe and nimble like Ataru while also being cunning and calculating. As it was, Aidan wasn't in much of a position to counterattack given the range, so instead he simply used the Force to kick up some dirt into the Sith's face. ((1))

As their assailant made themselves known, Aidan took up a defensive position in front of Anne. Either he or her were the likely targets here given the dark sider's opening gambit, and Aidan wasn't about to let his padawan-to-be get turned into mincemeat. Igniting one blade to use the full hilt for leverage, Aidan adopted a defensive Makashi stance, the blade pointed straight at his foe's head. This wasn't a fight he was going to back down from, not after he got to relive moments from one of his mother's most painful experiences. "'Scuse me, sir, you seem to have lost your way. I recommend you go about your business, preferably back to whatever snake-hole you crawled out of. Otherwise you're going to invoke Sugma." Aidan wore the most serious of looks as his strong gaze nearly pierced his foe. The tension in the air was palpable.

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.

The air shifted, as did Dictum's aura upon Lady Calypso's response as the blind Sith's flowing silver locks came to an eerie calm and his smirk only widened. Not only did his presence consider the opportunity and challenge she presented, but so did his appearance as the Sith Lord's figure seemed to flicker and split like an old hologram. But no, this was no hologram. This was the Sith Lord known as Dictum, and for a brief moment, his mind contemplated to test her consideration. "Your words carry wisdom, Mi'Lady." He spoke from beneath his smirk as his form settled devishly amidst the snow. This place, this world, it was the culmination of the Darkness and its incarnate. But he was yet still an outsider to them, an unknown. His father and grandfather may have belonged to them once before, but he had never. And the circumstances seemed to paint a very different picture than what he had been led to believe. His gaze shifted about the other's, their demeanor flowing upon the currents of their will. Turning back to Lady Calypso, he nodded. "I understand. I merely requested the opportunity to do so. You have my thanks." As he let his words seep upon their minds, Dictum's own began a brief stroll down memory lane, starting with his first interactions with these Sith at Helvault. What he had thought to be power enforced by numbers had been a misinterpretation. No. These beings, these Sith, were each powerful in their own rights. But together, with the culmination of their combined might, made tasks menial. Unbound by doctrines and philosophy unlike his bastard cousin who cowardly walked away and chose to embrace servitude. No. These Sith were just like he, each molded by life and given the chance to take from it what they will. And in that singular decree, broke free of moral constrictions. This is what stayed his hand, for now. Not curiosity. Nor was it fear. No. She had commended a semblance of respect in her words. A mutually beneficial arrangement. Her power was immense. As was the others. And she welcomed death as if an old friend, just as his former Master did when he sunk the crimson blade into his heart. It was time to truly learn from the Masters of the Darkness. Humbled by his own, a kinship if you will, he chose to stay his hand for his own gain. Death would come in its own time. Was there any current need to hasten it?

Upon the approach of Akheron, Solus first stared. Adjusting his sensors, he said nothing at first, his usual flair of dramatic honor replaced by an eerie silence and calculations as cold as the snow around him. For a moment in the Impossible Geometries, Solus himself seemed to shift slightly, his own shapes congealing and liquefying erratically. But after a pause, his nature seemed to return, covering over the silence with more, almost maniac, energy. “Ah! My great master, Lord of Rage, and Ender of Entrails, it is wonderful and inspiring, nay, invigorating to be in your presence again” At this, Solus did his usual exaggerated bow, arms outstretched like some dancer concluding a performance . “Your presence befuddled me, for I did not sense it on the ground, though that is probably because of our fair lady here. But now that I see you, I do sense the growth in you. I’m sure the Fanged one himself smiles with this revelation, as I know he did with my discoveries. The Temple of the Spider is truly a most worthy discovery for us all.” With this, Solus strode towards his master’s side, and upon seeing Dictum, stopped momentarily to speak “Darth Dictum! So good to see you again. Did you find what you were looking for in the library, blind one? Did you find sight of what you sought? I certainly have. I have found sights that would make all other sights meaningless.” After this, Solus then took a step behind his master, waiting to see what Lady Calypso would do next. He also kept glancing towards the armored woman, who had been approached by someone. Adjusting his sensors again and again for the distance and the snow, Solus couldn’t help but ponder silently. However, a chuckle escaped his vocoder as the Lady’s newest apprentice snarled over the howling winds. It seemed that all of his master’s species were inclined to rage. No wonder Korriban was such a place that it was.

She arched an eyebrow before turning away, facing back out into the wastes they were walking deeper into. "You speak with conviction. That is commendable, else I would have no use for you. That would be a waste" Her tone, while light, betrayed a cold, callous quality. "Your words are those of a servant. You talk about honor, about the past glories, and about being worthy to bear your ancestors' legacy. You humble yourself before corpses, Fiochmar." She held up a hand to forestall any response. "I'm not criticizing you." She still did not look back. "Passion must begin somewhere. When I first began, I dreamt of bringing justice to those who denied it and to those who deserved it, like a child would. That passion empowered me, and drove me to the very edge of my limits." She shook her head, a flicker of amusement crawling into her voice, before becoming serious again. "But time, suffering, and power all conspired to strip away those lies, no matter how gratifying I found them. And as that chain broke, my limits did as well. If you pursue this path Apprentice, you will find yourself changed as well. Your humility will snap like a rusted chain under the weight of your growing power. If you truly wish to take my place one day, and claim title of strongest, then your legacy will need to outstrip that of your ancestors'." Now she did turn to look back at the Sith apprentice. "You are a god ascending Fiochmar, never forget that. If you wish to stand above all others, then you will need to cast all others beneath your feet, even those who helped you rise in the first place." The pale lady in the tattered dress smiled then. "Just remember to respect me to my face until you are ready to kill me. Or I may find you to be a waste yet." "Ah, we are here." Here was just more wasteland. Nothing stood out to distinguish it. They could not have gone far from the pyramid in the short time they walked, but the structure they had come from was now completely obscured by the blowing snow that surrounded them. "We have discussed your passion then. Next is your strength. As it appears we still have some time before the main test, we can do this properly." She made a small gesture, and the ground shook as a crude pillar of stone rose out of the ground 4 meters away, called up by Calypso's power. The rock cracked and shrieked in protest as it scraped its way free, but it came up all the same. When it was almost of a height with Calypso's waist, it stopped. She walked over to it, lifted herself up, and sat down on top of it. She held up a hand, palm down, fingers splayed and pointed towards Fiochmar. "Do you have the strength to touch my hand apprentice?" Without another warning, lightning lanced out of her outstretched hand. It was not a quick burst, but a constant stream made possible by Calypso's seemingly infinite wellspring of power. It was not powerful enough to kill though. Well, at least not right away. The pain however would be absolutely exquisite, and the muscle spasms would not do the Tsis any favors in his task.

Qessax wasn’t sure what surprised him more: the Force-User dispatching the Umbaran was such lethality, or the battle droids that came to life around him and greeted him like some kind of commander. “Welp, I guess it shouldn’t surprise me too much” Qessax muttered as he picked himself up. When the droids had activated, one had tripped the Kaleesh accidentally. That moment could have spelled doom for him, had not Kara Thren-Sarrati intervened and saved him. “Much thanks,” Qessax muttered. He briefly surveyed the damage. Thankfully blood cleaned easily off of durasteel. “Can’t help but be surprised at your efficiency. Not that you will find me complaining.” Qessax then surveyed the rest of the ship. Everywhere, droids were becoming active. A piece of the Kaleesh felt excitement at seeing so many battle droids come to life under his team’s control. He almost felt like his ancestor so long ago. He even half wondered if that long-dead Kaleesh was smiling at this. “No, probably not” Qessax muttered to himself before activating his comm unit. “Good work gentlemen. I will be at the control room soon. ” Qessax looked at the slaves nearby and the Knights defending them. He thought to himself a few moments. Releasing the slaves would be a process, but a welcomed one. They would obviously need to be questioned on what they knew about the Umbarans, who kidnapped them, where they came from, where they were moved throughout the galaxy, etc. If slavery was going to be an issue taken seriously, Qessax would need to get familiar with the slaver’s methods. Unfortunately for the Alliance, information on slavers had been put on the back-burner, and fighting slavery would be a long, costly battle. But for the Kaleesh, who’s own people had their own experience with slavery in the past, it was an issue that could not be ignored. “Get back to your knights, I will be needed at the control room. “ Qessax directed Kara before taking off.

As the klaxon sirens blared, confusion began to reign. Umbaran mechanics who swore the ship was in perfect condition suddenly doubted themselves and their work. Soldiers who were confident that the ship would never be attacked gripped their rifles tighter than ever as they escorted the workers. And the slavers recoiled in pain as they became blinded by the Force-user’s work. They were not expecting this kind of enemy to board the vessel, let alone to become the sole target of said enemy. A few of the slavers lashed out wildly, but blinded as they were, their efforts proved less than fruitless. The slaves, the ones who still had both strength and fire in their hearts, took advantage of the situation and turned on their masters. The Kaleesh who were focused on the mechanic in the power armor fought furiously. The sirens only added to the confusion the poor soul inside the armor sufferred under gunfire and smoke bombs. Eventually the Kaleesh finally brought the thing down, wrapping durasteel wires at its feet and pulling like the snowspeeders of hoth. Once down, one Kaleesh woman stepped forward, grenade in hand. One of the larger openings provided the perfect spot for the explosive. Qessax smiled as the explosion destroyed the armor. “Excellent work Vangar. Enemies are moving towards escape pods.” Qessax commented. “You too Lord-Comman…oh kriff, Commander, look out!” Qessax spotted in the distance the mechanic in the power suit bulldozing towards where the slaves were. Having heard the comms of the one mechanic suffering under the Kaleesh attack, this one had begun to make his way over and in the process, spotted the slavers being attacked. Even with the klaxon sirens blaring, this mechanic charged at the groups of slaves attacking their masters. These slaves would not escape alive if he had anything to say about it. Qessax leapt from his post and broke into a sprint towards the Lord-Commander and the slaves, pistol out. “Everyone, get moving to the command center! Vangar, captain, see if you can activate some of the droids so that we can actually fly this hunk of junk out of here. I don’t want to be a sitting Mynock when Umbara sends reinforcements to investigate what's happening. Double-time everyone!” Qessax was now between the charging mechanic and the slaves. With 300 meters between him and the slaves, Qessax knew he needed to give Rapheal some time to move the slaves to a safer location. Pistol in hand, Qessax opened fire. The lasers from the small arm bounced harmlessly off of the power armor, but it accomplished what the once field-agent had hoped for: it created a distraction. “Let the chase begin…” Qessax muttered to himself. He began to weave between deactivated battle droids as the Umbaran mechanic began to open fire. So often he had been the hunter. He did not appreciate the change of pace of being the hunted. Inside the command center, the Mechanic helped out as much as he could. Given how much focus he had given the command center, he proved to be useful, as the command consoles came to life once more. However, when it came to activating the droids, he confessed he did not know anything about that. His focus had been on getting the ship running, not activating the small army that could kill him.

"You know the code, but you do not understand it." Darth Mavanger turned to look at the Sith Lord before him. "There are those among the Sith who believe you to be ready for the title of Master. I am to be the judge of that. While none question your ability to fight, I question your loyalty. Your beliefs. Your dogmatic fanaticism to the cult that you've fallen in with raises concern. In the Sith code, we speak of chains to be broken. Not just physical chains, but mental chains. To be a master of the Sith, you must be above the chains of the lesser man. How can you claim you have broken free of yours if your every move, your every victory, is snatched away from you by some false god taught to you by a wayward cultist? There is a reason those that blindly follow gods do not rise above fodder." He set his glass down, his eyes finally meeting Akheron's in judgement. "What separates us is that you are a cultist blindly following a deity that if it exists, does not care for you or your struggles, seeking to be deemed worthy. I am a Master of the Sith Order, and I am the one who passes judgement, the one who people blindly follow. Lord Akheron, the true question to be asked of you here, is whether or not you are too blinded by faith to cast off your chains and rise above the fodder to show the galaxy why it should be you, not some dark god, who passes judgement on the worthy and unworthy alike?"

The Home Guard Commander watched the screen with the stoicism of a droid. A tall, burly example of a Trandoshan, his face was made conspicuous by his black ritualistic tattoos and a deformed snout that had been broken and not set correctly more than once. He'd had a name once too. In his rest time, when he was forced to stop training and allow his body to recover, he liked to occupy his thoughts by trying to remember it as a sort of mental exercise. He never could, which made it the perfect way to pass the time. It didn't matter. He was the Commander. He served the Sith. Anything beyond that fact was just context. The scanners picked up an object dropping through atmosphere. No discernable lifeforms... Darth Xervatus wants more time. He ordered that anything that descended be shot. With the speed the object was approaching at, the Commander was unsure if the Praxeum's defenses would get a solid hit. Still, a demonstration of firepower might make the enemy back off and reconsider their approach. And that would buy time. A few quick keystrokes and a crisp series of orders on the command frequency, and the turbolaser batteries and point-defense cannons rotated on their positions and trained onto the descending object. The turbolasers were the first to open fire, their incredible range easily encompassing the descending object. The point-defense cannons slowly adjusted as they tracked the object, waiting for it to come into range. Only the ion cannons were held back. After all, it didn't appear that this object was powered. The Commander's tail twitched as the bombardment commenced, an echoing boom accompanying each blast. A lucky shot struck one of the missile launch tubes before it could close, followed by a geyser of fire and a quick series of status reports leaping onto the Commander's display. Only a few casualties among the technical staff stationed in the area, but the losses were irrelevant compared to the damage done. The other tubes in that battery would have to be checked and cleared before firing again, or risk premature detonation. The enemy's gunners were good. The remaining blasts scorched the Sith Steel of the pyramids, but for the moment the structures held. Perhaps with enough time the enemy might burn their way through, but given the time it would take "Shift fire to the next set of batteries. Continue randomized rotation as planned." They didn't need to win. They needed to stall. So said Darth Xervatus. So it would be. Darth Xervatus stopped as he descended the stone steps into the depths of the Praxeum. He'd...felt something. Panic? No, nothing so uncontrolled. Fear had many complexities to it to the truly enlightened, and the perception of such had always been one of Darth Xervatus' true strengths. That and the exploitation of said fear. This felt...restrained. Familiar. Like the one feeling it had felt it before, and wore it like a old leather glove. Ah, a soldier, of course. Closing his eyes, let himself draw in that fear, make it a part of himself. It wove through him, around him, and suddenly he knew. Raising his communicator, he keyed up the Commander. "Commander, you have an enemy approaching from the northeast, moving towards the canyon. I advise you prepare a welcome for them." ________________________________________________________ The Commander did not question. Still, he wondered how they had done it. A cloaking device seemed unlikely. A dead drop then? That might work, but you'd have to be extremely good or extremely reckless to try. In the end it did not matter. Even if they had missed the enemy on their descent, they'd catch them once they entered the canyon. Within moments, the ion cannons that had been idle repositioned, preparing to lay down a hail of fire along the canyon the moment an enemy target appeared. The Commander allowed himself a brief smile, lips peeling back from reptilian fangs. These attackers were good. But the Sith were inevitable and absolute. He felt that certainty more than anything, more than the need to breathe itself. How could these fools possibly hope to win?

Solus turned to the Master of Hides and bowed, thanking the Bith before leaving the library. Overhearing Dictum’s words, Solus couldn’t help but comment as he followed alongside “If I may comment, Ziost is of note to our current empress as well as a challenger…” Solus stopped, knowing his words would garnish attention. “The power balance in the Sith Empire is changing from my understanding. I would be careful of who you support. A recent acquirement on Coruscant has been dropped off on Ziost, and more than a few Sith around her seem to think she is worthy of so much more. Personally I don't know if she’ll succeed our current empress or not, but if you do meet with a being known as Calypso, I’d treat her with more respect than a common underling. More respect than our necromancer at least.” With that, Solus excused himself. Akheron had told him to be in the training room after this, and he did not intend on disappointing his master again. In the training room, Solus found himself early. His master was nowhere to be seen, though his resident mechanic Stitch-Mouth was sitting on the floor waiting. Looking up, Stitch-Mouth nodded to the Shard and snapped his scarred and burnt fingers, before pressing a button on his wrist. Solus felt the Impossible Geometries shift suddenly as several doors opened up in the massive chamber. Linnorms armed with staves, swords, knives, bows, and other primitive weapons entered. Each of them gave a shout and charged. The shard instinctively reached for his lightsaber, only to find it missing. Glancing down, Solus saw just in time for it flying into the Alchemist’s waiting hands. “You kriffing son of a” Solus started as he reached through the Geometries to grab the saber back. But with another click of a button on his wrist, Stitch-mouth activated the room’s random walls protocol. Metal frames rose up and down at random, making a literal moving maze for everyone. Following this, klaxon sirens blared and pierce the air, creating a deafening noise for all, and the lights began to flicker and pulse at random. With the bombardment on the senses that would drive many organics to the point of seizuring, Solus understood what was going on. This wasn’t punishment or an attempt to kill him. This was training. Solus shut off his visual sensors and focused on the Impossible Geometries. No matter how much visual or auditory chaos there was, the Geometries were the same. A conglomeration of shapes and symbols that, when navigated property, gave insight to what was happening. Solus almost mused how foolish the training was, since he had done a decent enough job using the Geometries in Naboo’s depths and… Solus stopped as pain shot through his entire robotic body. The floor panel Solus stood on became energized, shocking the shard’s chassis to his very brain. Just as soon as Solus lost control of his sense, the energy stopped. “So that’s how it is…” Solus commented. “If you sense me using the Force, you will shock me. But If i don’t…” Solus rolled forward as a sword barely missed his head. Turning around, Solus, blinded by the flashing lights, threw a force push in the direction he came from, and then kept running. The trick was obvious. Solus had to keep moving while he sensed what was around him. If he stopped, Stitch-Mouth would know exactly what panel to shock and render Solus defenseless to the Linnorms with weapons. However, Solus did have to get creative from time to time. At one point when hopelessly lost, Solus found one of the Linnorms, and lodged his comm link into the Linnorm, killing it but draining what it had known about the layout of room and where he was currently standing. More than once did Solus crash into a suddenly rising wall or have to stop to take down a Linnorm using only his body, but eventually Solus found Stitch-Mouth. Sitting at the center of the chamber, the alchemist waited. Thankfully, combat wasn’t needed, as when Solus approached the alchemist, Stitch-Mouth held up an open hand and then clicked buttons on his wrist to stop the training. Solus took his blade back as everything quieted down and then looked around. He was getting anxious and wanted to tell his master what he had discovered.

The story played across holofeeds the galaxy over. Reports had been received by dozens of news outlets on dozens of worlds. Each one was the same. Shaky security footage from inside the nefarious Republic era prison, The Helvault. Footage that showed a red lightsaber wielding being cutting through security along with a variety of goons. Some footage was too graphic for all but the most biased news agencies to play. Footage of an octopus-like being suffering a grievous death at the hand of some murderous robot. Other footage was all but begging to be played, with a few faces blurred. Staff members struggling to escape as the g-forces aboard the ship pulled at them and threw them about like ragdolls. Reports indicated that the station had possibly been besieged by a variety of mechanical issues allowing an unauthorized ship to land in one of the receiving hangars. Pirates for all intents and purposes. Pirates, it seemed, wielding red lightsabers; the trademarks of the Sith. And then, as the station was careening out of control towards the planet below, sensors captured the shaky image of a warship. The ship slipped from the shadows of space, illuminated by the sun and stars. It did not take government clearance to recognize it as a ship of Sith design. In fact, it was an eagle-eyes investigative journalist who recognized the vessel as one seen fleeing the Battle of Nar Shaddaa. Dozens of stories, all with different insights and details, played across the holonews. Some had tear-filled interviews with the family of prisoners nearing the end of their stay in the notorious prison. Others had experts discussing the potential engineering flaws in the design of the station, flaws that caused it to too easily fall from the sky. Even others toted the story as a conspiracy, a way for the newfound Galactic Alliance to do away with old problems. Some stations speculated that the Sith were looking to replenish their ranks with the worst of the worst. Some stations swore that The Spider himself had returned to the galaxy after the disaster that was Nar Shaddaa. Every reporter had an opinion, speculation, or factoid they thought they could tie in. What ran common threads ran through them all were that a Sith warship presided over the destruction, the station had smashed into Nespis VIII, and lightsaber wielding raiders had stormed the station. All aboard the station were presumed dead. When pressed for an official statement, the Galactic Alliance Board had nothing to say. The Bureau of Justice’ Subdivision of Prisons on the other hand released this statement: The events surrounding the Helvault prison station are currently under investigation by the Alliance Department of Threat Analysis. At this time all aboard are assumed deceased and the station deemed a total loss. The Subdivision of Prisons wishes to express our deepest regrets and condolences to the families of those who gave their lives fighting to preserve justice and safety for the people of the Galactic Alliance. Their sacrifices were not in vain. Nobody aboard was deserving of a death sentence and the Sith soldiers who acted as executioner to those guards and prisoners will be brought to justice.

Imperial Knights Executor Guide “I am not the sword of my family, nor am I the face. I am the executor of my family’s authority, I am the hand that wears both steel gauntlets and silk gloves. The Paladins protect the throne from enemies without, and the Falcons protect the throne from enemies within, but I am the one that gives the throne meaning.” Executors are the epitome of knowledge in action, the application of learned understanding to solve problems. The Paladins are often considered the poster girls and boys of the Imperial Knights, but it is the Executors that are building the empires that arm, armor, fund, and legitimize them. Students of political science, the arts, civil engineering, history, and a number of other disciplines, the Executors are the minds that build and maintain the structure of noble claims, treaties, and political initiatives. Executors are common choices to sit the throne or to serve as its closest advisor. Third or later born Executors, like Paladins, are often called Errants and given tasks of great import that require considerable focus and attention, or duties in distant lands or otherwise abroad. The first and foremost role of the Executor is to see to the foundations and inner mechanisms of their house, ensuring that each part is properly outfitted to do its job, and playing the roles intended for them. Despite their role as keepers of the symbols of office and familial identity, the Executors can find themselves in combat just as readily as Paladins and Falcons, as their secondary role is the protection of the people, places, and heirlooms that the house views as important or sacrosanct. While at first glance it might be easy to view the Executors as knock off brand consulars, the focus and utility of these scholar protectors sets them apart. The frivolity and whimsy of academia is not a distraction that they can afford to indulge in. An Executor must play many roles throughout their life, rarely having the luxury of being able to dedicate themselves to a single discipline or purpose. However, whatever they are tasked with becomes the center of their focus, study, and training. Because of the mercurial needs of power, Executors clad themselves in adornments and symbols that declare what their current function is. While the Executors have considerable capacity for flexibility, these shifts do require periods of training and study, so if an Executor should find themself in a conflict, they are considered “locked in” to their current Adornment. Adornments themselves often have little power beyond sentiment or symbolism, instead serving as signifiers of the training and study that largely happens behind the scenes. Adornments: Adornment of Legacy: While the Imperial Knights are relatively young in galactic terms, the noble houses that sponsored them have long and storied pasts. Heirlooms and relics from across the ages are scattered across the stars, waiting to be reclaimed by their rightful owners. An Executor that is trained in the preservation of their house’s legacy is a researcher and procurer of lost or stolen family artifacts. Upon recovery, they can use their understanding of the Force and the item’s history to imbue it with noble purpose and power. These scholars do not just recover treasures for themselves, instead they put these powerful objects into the hands of the Imperial Knights that need them the most. Because of the nature of their duties, Legacy Executors heavily cultivate their bonds to the Unifying Force, using it to both locate lost heirlooms and to evade and outmaneuver opponents. In combat, they infuse their weapons and regalia with the resonant power of their house’s greatest deeds. The stories that they have relived through the unity of the Force can empower blades and turn cloth into a bulwark against the darkness. Adornment of Rule: The most common Adornment for those that sit the throne, but ultimately a tool for any that embody the role of the symbolic leader, Ruling Executors leverage the power of status, symbolism, and authority. Inspiring to allies and seemingly dauntless to enemies, they exude the reassurance of benevolent authority uncorrupted by tyranny or self interest. With quiet inner strength they can voice edicts wrought of steel or subdue attackers with an arresting stare. Should these Executors find themselves in combat, their foremost goal is not survival, but embodying the role that they play. If they should fight and perish nobly, they will have served their legacy far better than succumbing to whispers of cowardice or self preservation, for to stand in service or sacrifice to the dream of liberty and justice is a far more important and necessary victory than walking away. Adornment of Sanctity: The power of the Light is in its ability to protect and preserve that which matters. Sanctifier Executors are protectors of important people and places, making them both similar and different to Jedi Guardians in philosophy, with the Guardians seeking to protect all life while the Sanctifiers focus on protecting the people and places that can do the greatest good. Clad in ceremonial armor, trained in polearms, and possessing a natural affinity for Force barriers, the Sanctifiers are immovable objects on the battlefield. Stealing away the focus of their enemies from more vulnerable targets, Sanctifiers use their defensive style to punish aggression and exhaust opponents. While lacking the prowess or strength of their Paladin cousins, Sanctifiers can still use the reach of their polearm to rebuke attempts to close in. Ranged attackers are equally thwarted by their power to conjure enduring barriers. Adornment of Strategy: While the title might suggest that these are glorious leaders commanding great armies in resplendent armor, they are more accurately described as intelligence officers for the Imperial Knights. It is their job to know the capabilities of the enemy, and advise their allies on the best methods to secure victory. Sometimes this involves combing through combat recordings and intercepted comms, other times its interrogating captives and suspects. In addition to knowing the training and kit of the enemy, Strategist Executors possess supernatural insight into the minds of their enemies. They do not meddle with the function of minds like their Falcon cousins, but they can react to an enemy’s attack the moment that they conceive of it. The Executor does not have full access to their opponent’s mind, but the neural messaging of attacks is generally urgent and less concealed, and therefore easier to intercept and decrypt. Adornment of Esoterica: There is no hiding the dark history of the noble families and their compliance, if not outright collaboration with the Sith and other forces of darkness(Although efforts are still made anyway). The Esoteric Executors are the scholars and inquisitors that seek out the darkness and corruption hiding in the roots of the houses and drive it out with the serene light of the Force. They discern harmless tradition and occult curiosity from true corruption, and sever the tendrils of the latter from the persisting legacies of the past. Esoteric Executors are some of the most likely Imperial Knights to interweave the folkloric traditions of their people into their understanding of the Force while still being recognizable as Imperial Knights, and excel at the application and manipulation of light, whether as a manifested force or dispersing their own light to conceal their power when walking amongst servants of darkness. Adornment of Arbitration: The ambassadors, liaisons, and tutors of the Imperial Knights, Arbitrators create and strengthen the bonds between all who fight for a just and good society. Through networking and power brokering, they uplift the virtuous and suppress the cruel, creating hierarchies that build a better galaxy. They also serve as instructors and advisors to families that have only recently secured Force sensitive bloodlines and haven’t the experience or qualified personnel to properly raise and educate them. Finally, they are responsible for negotiating marriage alliances between the noble houses and testing the caliber of Force sensitives that come from lowborn families but are candidates for breeding the next generation of Imperial Knights. Arbitrators are not combatants and rarely invest the time and energy necessary to upkeep a combat training regimen, instead relying on personal champions provided by their families or earned through the respect that they have cultivated with allied factions. Tools of Power Lightsabers: The Executors have a complicated relationship with lightsabers. On the one hand, lightsabers are powerful weapons that can be deadly even in the hands of a novice Force user. On the other hand, they are heavily associated with the Jedi and Sith, and almost all historic lightsabers are tied to one of those two orders. For Executors that prefer alternatives, reforging heirloom weapons into Force blades, imbuing heirlooms with power drawn from their triumphs, or drawing upon ceremonies of early faiths are all options for creating implements that can compete on the field of battle. Executors that do craft lightsabers tend to use crystals mined from their holdings, and handles often crafted by artisans. Heirloom weapons: Noble families often possess armories filled with the carefully maintained weapons by which they conquered and then defended their fiefdoms. With careful research and ceremony, Legacy Executors can transform these relics of history into Force-imbued weapons, whose true powers are accessible to those of blood or bond to the family. What those powers might be depend on the family and weapon’s legacy, but increased durability is almost so common that it’s a rule of the process. While Executors are limited in their own abilities to use heirloom weapons, they often restore them for Falcons and Paladins. Dynastic weapons: A term particular to the Imperial Knights, dynastic weapons are weapons that were reforged from the pieces of a broken heirloom weapon. This allows for construction more suited to the channeling of Force energies, although the powers woven from the weapon’s legacy are somewhat diminished. In time, dynastic weapons can develop their own legends after taking many forms. Scepters and staves: Traditional symbols of power and rule, many Executors use these symbolic objects as foci for their abilities. Like heirloom weapons, these implements can be imbued with greater power by Legacy Executors, and are often used to signify advancement in rank or title. Imperial finery: Executors generally eschew armor, with the exception of the Sanctifiers, and prefer ceremonial or luxury dress that clearly states their status. Their clothes are often state of the art in design and technology, with data display integration and luxuries like powered climate control, privacy fields, and vocal amplifiers. Some even have built in repulsor technology, allowing the noble to eerily hover above the ground rather than walking from place to place. Core powers Executors are light side users that skew towards powers that involve directly touching, feeling, and manifesting the Force. They do not practice the conduit like approach of Guardians or Paladins in which the Force manifests through supernatural physical feats, or the sapient intuition for people that Sentinels and Falcons share, instead conjuring the Force in its rawest and most untailored form. While some Adornments benefit from additional focus on the skill set, all Executors have a natural inclination towards the various barrier powers, prioritizing it over powers that Jedi Consulars are typically known for such as healing, which Executors see as a response to failing to protect what must be protected. Executors also highly prize the ability to protect one’s mental faculties and capacity to reliably perceive their surroundings, considering clarity a vital aspect of their role as leaders. For better or worse, the legacies and traditions of noble houses have contributed to a stalwart sense of identity that is difficult for others to undermine or warp, and mental warding is regularly trained and tested. Inability to adequately shield the mind can result in an Executor being put on leave or discharged if no improvement is shown. As such, where other Force users emphasize and obsess over fighting styles, the Executors instead develop and define themselves through philosophies of defense. The measure of an Executor’s ability with the Force is often determined by their spiritual fortitude and tactical application which they display in trials of mock combat. Not all options in the following list are meant to be competitive, with some coming with severe drawbacks that are traded for narrative potential. Executors pick up one form at the rank of squire, a second at knight, and master one of the two at liege. Paladins and Falcons can learn the basics of one of these forms at knight rank. Citadel Doctrine: The classical style of barrier defense as taught by the Jedi. The defensive style is seen as conservative and lacking a desire to adapt, but proponents of it point out that its application has been tested and refined for millenia. Herzboden: A barrier technique that is built upon the connection between lord and land, turning the ground into a malleable medium as clay to the sculptor’s hand. When upon natural ground the Executor can form earthen barriers that do not require focus to sustain, while turning the soil beneath their opponents’ feet into mirelike mud. Furthermore, they can staunch and stabilize light to moderate wounds by using Force infused mud, bidding the land to restore what they lost. Mentally, Herzboden has been described as calcifying the mind into unyielding stone when the user’s mind is assaulted. Herzboden is regarded as primitive and shamanic by most Executors, a remnant of beliefs that they have long since moved past. Most often it is learned by Executors who are chafing against the traditional expectations that they are held to, meant as a mocking sort of protest that compares tradition to mud encrusted rituals. Alternatively, it is sometimes taught to the Executors of houses considered provincial or poor compared to more prestigious families as a cruel jab of contempt. Despite this, Herzboden has the advantage of mitigating some of the perceived distance between an Executor and the lowborn, and often casts them as being more in tune with the lands and people that they rule. Between its capacity for healing and the suggestion that practitioners of Herzboden are willing to get their hands dirty to get things done, executors who practice this form enjoy more willing and positive interaction with the working class. All that being said, even the most humble Executor will seek out additional defensive forms when able, due to the style’s dependence on natural earth or hewn stone to work. Cifre del Vuoto: Most people regard void and absolute absence as things of evil and destruction, but for the merchant princes and princesses that oversee the intersystem shipping lanes, vacuum is a day to day part of their daily lives. Citre del Vuoto is the understanding of void that allows its inherent traits to be used defensively, sapping the energy of attacks, tossing enemies about, and consuming projectiles. Often referred to as the Celestial Calculus, Cifre del Vuoto works by carefully applying generalized and concentrated nothingness to the path of oncoming threats, consuming, lessening, or redirecting them. Generalized application, or veiling, saps the power of energy attacks, exposes attackers to subzero temperatures, and can often stun opponents when they first enter into the perimeter of extreme cold. Mental attacks often find themselves lost in a vast and empty expanse, as if the Executor had conjured leagues of void in the space of a few meters distance between them and their attacker. As such, mental attacks are often delayed before taking effect, provided the attacker isn’t gutted and the attack pulled up at the root first. Advanced Cifre del Vuoto techniques are both incredibly powerful and incredibly draining, and require the same immense expenditure of energy regardless of how slight the attack is. Because of this, along with the utility of having something that can cut through a bulkhead on a ship, practitioners of this form tend to build and carry lightsabers that they can use to supplement their defenses with less draining options. Rather than creating a field of generalized protection, the practitioner creates a brief and tightly focused orb of vacuum with enough pull to reroute projectiles that move through its orbit or yank adjacent attackers off their feet as if the area had just suffered a hull breach in deep space. Masters of the form can plot slingshotting trajectories that redirect attacks into their enemies, but doing so adds additional strain to an already costly style. The navigator nobles of House Corrado were the first to develop this defensive form, and it is considered by most Imperial Knights to be the first form truly unique to their organization. Corrado Executors were instrumental distributors of knowledge in the early days of the Imperial Knights, spreading knowledge of Force techniques to eager squires, and Cifre del Vuoto’s potent nature meant that it was a preferred go to for instructors putting arrogant students in their place. It was a massive powerplay that cemented House Corrado’s knights as a force to be respected, especially amongst those that didn’t understand the form’s limitations. Jal Nrty: Developed in secret by Ishvaran nobles who resented their world being treated by the Sith as a planetary sacrificial altar, Jal Nrty is a discrete collection of defensive powers that are difficult to detect and function with minimal overt effort. Jal Nrty teases the Force around the Executor into roiling currents and swirling eddies, causing dark side energy to dissipate and bleed off of Force attacks, and to a lesser extent the energy of mundane ranged attacks. These unseen currents wrap around opponents, creating both resistance to their movements and applying disruptive force to any attempt to perform actions with precision. Sense perception fades as the energies in turmoil distort the feedback that the senses receive, blurring sight, eroding scent, and warping sound. Once the currents have bled off enough energy, the Executor can redirect the flow into a typhoon of the accumulated energy to shut down their opponent with a spiritual form of toxic shock. Jal Nrty practitioners have a dreamlike way of moving while using the form, a dreamlike hybridization of dancing and swimming from which the name of it is derived. This form of mobility is not any faster than normal physical movement, but it can allow for evasive maneuvers that normally aren’t possible for the body. This carries over to Jal Nrty’s mental defense, which attackers have described as making the mind slippery and difficult to find purchase on. Executors who use Jal Nrty are often mistrusted or seen as cowardly by other Imperial Knights, due to Ishvara never joining the rebellion in spite of the abuses delivered upon its people. That being said, they are often sought out by houses with family branches in places where the eyes of the Sith are firmly affixed. The form can rather easily be taught metaphorically over time without overtly revealing to others that what is being shared is light side teachings. Tafki Mai Nunawa: The Force is a guiding power of benevolence that often wears the faces of fallen loved ones to deliver revelation. Tafki Mai Nunawa is an amalgamation of ancestor veneration and barrier techniques that wears the faces of ancient rulers and stalwart conquerors. This form excels at countering single threat damage, but struggles handling attacks from multiple directions at once or area of effect attacks. It works by embodying the protective energy of the Force in the visages of the executor’s ancestors, whose specters turn aside blows with shield and blade. Mental attacks on a practitioner of Tafki Mai Nunawa must contend not only the Executor’s resolve but also the guidance of their forebears. The “ghosts” that this form conjures are not in fact actual spirits of the dead, but rather manifestations of the Force that bear the likenesses of people that the Executor has imbued with great meaning. Since it is not the pale candle of sorcery that Sith use when performing necromancy, it brings about a fuller and truer imprint of who the person was, unclouded by misconceptions and incomplete understanding. This makes their champions consummate duelists that are not limited by an Executor’s grasp of melee combat, although the Force ghosts never attack, only intercepting and turning aside blows. Tafki Mai Nunawa training is often offered as a wedding gift to an Executor who is marrying into a new family, acting as a statement of the spouse now having access to the house’s legacy while also being required to study that very same legacy. Practitioners are seen as having an exceptional connection to the will of the Force, and also benefiting from the wisdom of great ancestors, and so are often highly respected as councilors and sages. Noble houses will often request the presence of a Tafki Mai Nunawa Executor at major ceremonies as a symbolic form of ancestral participation and blessing. Lóngzhū: Across the galaxy, many noble houses have come to be associated with a creature that for many is little more than myth or speculation. That creature is the dragon, the embodiment of elemental power manifested beyond the means for people to contain. Lóngzhū is the study and application of that power yoked by wisdom and compassion. To study this form is to study the duality of water, both a life giving necessity and an uncontrollable storm. Lóngzhū storm walkers accept that nature can be in turmoil but do not use it as an excuse to suffer others, instead using enlightenment to ride the storm to a greater and more noble purpose. These Executors can enshroud themselves in mist, rebuke attackers with mighty torrents of wind and rain, and shatter the poise of their foes with resonating thunderclaps. Any dark sider that tries to use a mental attack on a Lóngzhū practitioner is about to learn a valuable lesson about conductivity as their mind is spiritually flashbanged by the connection. When Executors are researching defensive forms, Lóngzhū is often presented as a middle ground between the intense force of Cifre del Vuoto and the subtle manipulation of Jal Nrty, providing both direct answers and concealing ambiguities. Teachers of the form have likened it to the need for a sword to be both firm and flexible at the same time. As such, Lóngzhū provides the practitioner with a varied suite of options, including empowered telekintic pushes, access to concealment, and incredibly disruptive bursts of energy that can stumble and disorient enemies. The compassion needed to temper the storm that this form calls upon causes most Lóngzhū practitioners to become enamored with philanthropy and humanitarianism, which doesn’t always mesh well with the big picture focus of other Imperial Knights. The Executor’s connection to the storm makes them more acutely aware of the suffering of others, and drives them to act against it. Left unattended, Lóngzhū practitioners will often lose themselves in performing small kindnesses while greater concerns are left unattended to. That being said, their compassion often makes them beloved by the commonfolk, for whom they regularly show great kindness to, and their connection to the Living Force can cause them to become a regenerative font of power that restores the natural world around them. Macayac Ixaci: This form takes a different approach to defensive philosophy, crippling and disabling opponents through precise vibrations applied to specific points on the body to affect the organs. Macayac Ixaci generates a vibrational field around the user through Force empowered chanting that disrupts bodily functions, potentially causing nausea, blindness, migraines, vomiting, loss of balance, and a host of other side effects. While neophytes project a general unwellness about them, more practiced hands can hone in on exacerbating specific conditions and maladies. Practitioners react to mental attacks by attempting to shake the opponent’s brain into a concussion. Macayac Ixaci is efficient in use of the Force but requires heavy concentration. Its wide area of effect makes it excel at protecting against multiple attackers, but if an attacker does manage to pull off an attack the practitioner must rely on other forms of defense to protect themselves. Masters of the form can project the vibrations forward in a cone that has greater range and intensity than the traditional field. Executors who study Macayac Ixaci must also study healing, a fact that they consider to be a source of shame and the mark of lesser users of the Force. While few Imperial Knights would actually display contempt for one of their own being well versed in healing if actually faced with it in the field, it remains a galling aspect of the form that its practitioners do their best to conceal out of embarrassment. Macayac Ixaci also has a peculiar side effect of making the practitioner hungry, but this is more of a nuisance than anything else that makes them prone to snacking. Zatyshna Pisnya: More modernly called the Jubilation or the Woe depending on which aspect of the form is being used, Zatyshna Pisnya is the art of using the Force to silence tempers, second guess the folly of violence, and if necessary, force would be attackers into submission bound by the power of the voice. This discipline of Force use enhances and builds upon the Jedi mind trick to ensnare even normally sound minds or to strike at the will as if wielding a massive sledgehammer. The Jubilation is a subtle technique that pacifies mental resistance and lulls the mind into willing obedience, generally for the purpose of preventing combat before it starts. The Woe, on the other hand, imbues the words of the Executor with tangible force that can still sword strikes and make barbarians bend the knee. Mental attacks on a Zatyshna Pisnya practitioner can cloud the mind with infatuation if they are using the Jubilation, or fog it with dimwittedness if they are using the Woe. Prior victims of the Woe have described its commands as feeling similar to sleep paralysis or being pinned by inertia. Even those that could overcome the commands described it as extremely emotionally exhausting. That being said, the Woe requires the practitioner to be aware of the target’s presence. An opponent bested by the Woe can be convinced that they have been bound and captured, or spend the next three days in the full belief that they are a taun taun. The Jubilation, on the other hand, creates an enrapturing aura around the Executor that draws the interest of those around them and teases their curiosity. Befuddled Sith troopers will stumble out of a confrontation with the Executor having forgotten they were even in a battle to begin with, compulsively humming or singing a song that they have no memory of ever hearing. The Jubilation ensnares positive memories or seeds the mind with false ones to create a temporary manic delusion of being a friend or lover of the Executor, with greater understanding of the target making them more vulnerable to the practitioner. The Jubilation cannot make its victims fight for the Executor, and trying to use it as an interrogation tool can rapidly erode the fantasy away, leaving the Executor with no answers and a now most likely violent threat. Zatyshna Pisnya has something of a sinister reputation amongst the Imperial Knights, both because of its tendency for practitioners to use it subconsciously, and because of rumors that the noble house that first used it was cursed in some way and subsequently fell into ruin. Fear of manipulation is a constant for those who know what these Executors are capable of, and paranoia leads to even the most natural of friendships being questioned. It would be pleasant to think that galactic leaders don’t believe in superstitions like curses, but none want to see their family become the next House Abryct, a tattered shell of a great line mumbling quiet and incoherent warnings. Legacy Powers Remembrance: Infuses a weapon or set of armor with supernatural durability and power, and gives it characteristics that tie into its own legend. While the Executors lack the training to wield more advanced weapons or combat armor, they will readily perform this ceremony for the benefit of other Imperial Knights, especially Paladins. The results of this ritual should be in line with the power level of the Executor performing it, and best practice is to run ideas by a mod for pre-approval. Sense Glory: Executors can intuit the power and quality of arms and armor through the Force, with knights and masters gaining even deeper insight into the capabilities of each piece. Force altered gear and talismans are especially susceptible to this power. Embody Myth: Legacy Executors often wear symbolic faux armor tied to the roots of their noble house, lightweight facsimiles that favor form over function. There have been a number of recorded accounts of Executors that wear them surviving blows that only real armor should have been able to stop, as if for a fleeting moment a pale echo was transubstantiated into an unassailable bulwark. If a Legacy Executor takes the most powerful hit of an enemy attack while protecting others or refusing to give ground against the darkness, their garb momentarily becomes treated as heavy armor. The sudden weight makes melee combat or advanced mobility awkward and difficult, but it can be the difference between life and death. Knights can use this power to turn what would be a wounding blow into exhaustion instead, and masters can stand defiant against even the most mortal of blows, shrugging off rocket blasts and disruptor beams. The power is too exhausting to treat as a passive always on ability, but it can put an aggressor on the back foot to see their strongest blows fail to find any real purchase. Worthy Inheritor: Legacy Executors can use the stories of their bloodline like armor for the mind and spirit, girding them against eroding forces like fear and doubt. Even in the darkest moments, these Imperial Knights can recall past triumphs and acts of defiance that encourage them to persist through hope alone, despite the odds. Ruling Powers Glaring Halo: Manifesting a crown of golden radiance, the Executor blinds those who would raise arms against them with scouring light. This light affects both physical and spiritual senses, and the intensity is dependent on the rank of the Executor The Crown Stands: The Executor is a symbol of people standing united against the forces of evil and darkness, a symbol of hope and fortitude. Ruling Executors can remove mental barbs and steady resolve in others, tending to the mind and spirit in the same way that Jedi healers tend to the body. Symbol of Triumph: The Executor can cow the weak willed and shake the resolve of the cruel with a draconic glare. This power can paralyze chaff soldiers and turn the attempts of more capable opponents to strike the Executor into a contest of wills. Noble Edict: The Ruling Executor can align their commands with the will of the Force, bolstering allies who hold true to their shared path. The Executor issues an edict to their allies such as “Hold the line”, “Protect the innocent”, or “Drive out the darkness”. As long as allies hold to the path of light, they gain increased resistance to mental attacks and eroding morale from circumstance. At knight rank, this power persists beyond the Executor’s death(although at a reduced capacity), martyring them, and at Master rank, the resistance actually increases should the Executor fall. Sanctifier Powers Always Standing: Sanctifier Executors are trained to always maintain their footing, even against the most brutal of strikes. A combination of physical training and telekinetic manipulation, this power counters attempts to knock the Sanctifier off their feet or out of their stance. Coalescing Light: Calling upon the light that gathers in places held sacred, or coruscating around the Sanctifier as they defy the darkness, the Executor empowers the area around them. Dark sorceries struggle to persist in the area, and creatures conjured from the dark or imbued with power from its twisted energies find it difficult to enter or remain in the zone. Dark Side amulets and alchemically altered arms and armor, while not stopped or destroyed upon entry, suffer from reduced effectiveness and power. In cases of the Sanctifier anchoring the zone around themself, they symbolically draw a circle around them with the tip of their weapon, and the area within is considered the affected area. Protector: The Sanctifiers are something of a hybrid between Executor and Paladin, wearing medium armor and possessing above average skills with polearms. Their application of the Force to their spear fighting is not on par with a paladin or guardian’s, but it does let them competently wield the spear one handed while leaving the other hand free to channel the Force into powers such as barriers. Barrier Mastery: The Sanctifiers are exceptionally keen to train their ability to conjure barriers, and have a number of options available to them regarding barrier powers. Inviolable barriers focus entirely on keeping bad things out, and are the sturdiest form of barrier. Reflective barriers only counter Force powers, but send them back at the attacker. Diffused barriers don’t stop attacks but slow them down tremendously, giving the Executor greater leeway in reacting to them. Strategist Powers Intelligence Analyst: Strategist Executors hold information as the greatest weapon, a blade that they sharpen tirelessly. When allies report and document their battle experiences to the Strategist, used enemy equipment and powers becomes in-game knowledge for all allies in battles that the Strategist participates in. Psych Profile: Strategists review and extrapolate on documented conversations and verified histories of major players to build profiles that note strengths and highlight potential vulnerabilities. These profiles are considered in-game knowledge for all allies in battles that the Strategist participates in. This ability should not be treated as omniscience regarding enemy characters, it doesn’t magically provide insight into their psyches, but it does show the value of comparing notes. Probability Web: The Strategist scans the weave of probabilities and senses tremors caused by intention and focus. This translates into preternatural reflexes and the ability for the Strategist to start reacting to attacks before their opponent even starts willing their muscles to move. This does not make the Strategist impossible to hit, but it does allow them prescient ability to prepare themself. Known Enemy: The Strategist uses their understanding of the enemy to disrupt their focus and undermine their concentration. Unlike a Jedi who might use this knowledge in an attempt to reconcile or redeem an opponent, the Strategist utilizes it to goad the enemy into making mistakes and acting rashly. Esoteric Powers Light Diffusion: Esoteric Executors must often move amongst the forces of evil, both mortal and otherwise, and this power allows them to conceal anything that would make them notable. It is not invisibility, but rather a distortion that prevents others from detecting their connection to the Force or perceiving them as remarkable in any way. Using the Force or engaging in conflict ends the effect of this power immediately. Transmutive Barrier: The origin of the Esoteric Executors began with the shadow purge of dark side adepts within the noble houses, a great number of whom practiced sorcery. The transmutive barrier was a natural adaptation, both providing protection and unbinding corrupted Force energy in a process that creates light as a byproduct. An inordinate amount of light that is a pleasant golden glow to light siders and excruciatingly blinding to dark siders. Athame: A general term for a ritual blade that has been ceremonially infused with the Force, often according to pre-Jedi religious traditions. An athame cuts on both the physical and spiritual level, and exploits the connection between sorcery and sorcerer. If the Executor cuts a manifestation of the Dark Side, whether that be an item, creature, or power, the “owner” of that manifestation feels the edge of the blade in their mind. Additionally, when the athame is used in battle, each slash releases a burst of blinding light, as if the blade was cutting a veil concealing an unfathomable brightness. Esoteric knights have learned how to combine the traits of an athame blade with a lightsaber. Upon reaching mastery, the light projected by an athame lightsaber functions like the Sanctifier’s coalescing light power, with dark sorceries struggling to persist while exposed, and creatures conjured from the dark or imbued with power from its twisted energies recoiling in fear as they begin to erode away. Dark Side amulets and alchemically altered arms and armor, while not stopped or destroyed upon exposure, suffer from reduced effectiveness and power. The power of the light trails off over distance. Aurora: Gathering light and color about themself like a cloak, the Esoteric moves in a riot of brightness and iridescence, soothing to allies and searing to enemies. Opponents who look upon them can easily find themselves disoriented, and the glaring luminosity leaves confusing after images in both the physical and spiritual senses. With great enough intensity, this power is known to cause seizures. Privileges and Accouterments Scholar princes and princesses, Executors hold ownership over the legacies and identities of their houses, both bearing and defining the crown. As such, they wield political power and assets Halls of power, throne rooms, archives and holy places: The Executors have the greatest association with the historical roots of the noble houses, and the symbolic places of origin, so they can often be found in ancestral mansions, keeps, and citadels, but also modern political centers and capitals as their role demands. Aides, Staff, and Scholars: The duties of an Executor are often exhausting and demanding of great focus, and so like all nobility, they maintain service contracts with servants, political aides, and scholars. Aides and scholars are generally selected with a priority on accuracy, reliability, and competency. Reputation and Pedigree: As well respected members of the ruling elite, Executors have direct access to other nobility, and can request (or if hierarchically appropriate, demand) meetings with other power players, request sanctuary when under duress, and generally expect royal hospitality when traveling. Keys to the Ivory Tower: Executors also enjoy strong connections with galactic academia, allowing them access to university facilities, labs, and personnel. Quality that defines an Empire: As symbols of power and success, Executors go out of their way to have the highest quality tools, fashion, and means. Luxury and survivability tend to take precedence over flash as the Falcons prefer, or combat performance as is the want of Paladins, when it comes to conveyances. Shot Caller: On matters of state security, Executors are often the final authority that presses the button so to speak. It is within their authority and purview to order, authorize, and fund operations to contain threats to public safety and government function, either through elimination or capture. Errata and Esoterica Dark Origins and the Gravekeepers: Though they would never admit it, many of the defensive forms that the Executors now cherish as tools of the Light originated from questionable if not downright evil practices. Macayac Ixaci evolved from occult cannibal rituals by magi seeking hidden knowledge of the body. Citadel Doctrine was pieced together by reviewing records of imperial interrogations of Jedi. Herzboden used to involve blood sacrifices where hearts were removed from living sacrifices and buried on sacred ground. Lóngzhū came about by studying the notes of a mad noble, and later his daughter, who captured and dissected Duinuogwuin with the mad desire to become dragons themselves. Imperial Knight kill teams called Gravekeepers are tasked with wiping out any remaining traces of these historical scars, often led or advised by Esoteric Executors that purge corrupting relics and review texts for any knowledge that can be repurposed for the light. Lucky Bastards: With the Imperial Knights rising to prominence on the galactic stage, the need for potential recruits has never been higher. The Executors have the unenviable task of tracking down illegitimate heirs that might have potential Force sensitivity and bringing them into the fold. Resentment and the pride of the commons tends to wrap around their bearing like a cloak, but for those that stick around, these unlikely knights find a path to legitimacy and respect laid before them. Most houses have discreet records of extramarital dalliances, usually so that silence can be bought, but are unwilling to let Executors have access to them. There is a growing trend however of the parents themselves quietly contacting Executors with leads. The recovery teams believe that increased connection to the Force, and therefore increased empathy, is the cause. Evidence is however beginning to mount that some nobles are using the increasing acceptance of bastards as a stepping stone to conduct their own little eugenics programs. Seiwatari Commission: An academic organization dedicated to the discovery and research of cultures with alternative Light side understandings of the Force. Without the religious strictures that so heavily define the Jedi, the Imperial Knights are always on the lookout for teachings that could potentially enhance their champions. Seiwatari chroniclers do their best to record and preserve the practices of isolated cultures while deriving what new useful data they can. Artisan Guilds and Certification: The engineers, crafters, and artists that the Imperial Knights rely on for creating their gear are not selected at random or according to affordability. Instead, potential inclusion into the verified network of providers requires heavy vetting and evaluation, not to mention references before an application will be reviewed. While the process is not always above table, the consequences of bribing your way into certification so that you can sell substandard quality items at premium prices have become increasingly steep. Artisan guilds offer a more reliable means to earning certification, sponsoring apprentices that can pass their own rigorous entrance exams, and giving them the training necessary to succeed in their chosen field. Executors often cultivate guild contacts to source the best work when projects arise, and to provide expert evaluation of the works of certification applicants. Malmourral: A black ops task force with the secret mission of evaluating, and if necessary eliminating, noble heirs that are classified as a threat to the realm due to their moral failings or proclivity for the dark side. Malmourral is one of many such task forces, each named after a fairytale monster said to kill misbehaving children. Kill orders require extensive investigation and profiling to be approved, but once issued are considered beyond contest. The task forces do work with psychologists to see if potential threats respond to therapy and positive influences, but unfortunately not all do. Visions and prophecy are largely considered inadmissible as evidence, as the future is always in motion and prophecy can be falsified or misunderstood. The Deceived: Given the willingness of the Imperial Knights to incorporate the practices of smaller Force traditions into their own methods, and the scholarly nature of the Executors, it is not unheard of for well intentioned researchers to go native while researching other cultures, or be ensnared by hidden dark side elements of a culture’s rituals and ceremonies. Collectively called the Deceived, these obsessed nobles tend to drop off the grid to start cults centered around their own interpretations of a culture, or fall in with already existing mystic orders that trade truth and reason for sorcery and the occult. The Deceived tend to slip into isolation, and are considered more of an embarrassment than a threat, but if the opportunity arises the Imperial Knights will send a team to collect or eliminate the misguided would be magus.

Calypso was silent for a moment, then she stood. "As you wish, Fiochmar." She turned, and started walking, not towards the pyramid or Fiochmar's ship, but out into the trackless wilderness. "Follow. There's something I need to show you." As she began to move off, the wind hissing and whistling past the pair, she continued with a conversational tone. "We'll start with the key fundamentals then, evaluate, and work our way out from there. Strength is born from passion, this is the first lesson of any Sith. So tell me Fiochmar...what is your passion?" She turned to look at him. "What is it the source of your strength?"

Apothos accepted the hilt of the lightsaber, something that might have been a smile on his face. How interesting that out of every Sith here, it was him that Inmortos handed his weapon to. There was something in that, something that might be of use later. But, as Apothos had said before, now was not the time. "I must agree," he said to the armored Sith who'd suggested that the group get a move on. "We leave now." With a lurch, his cobbled mechanical throne stomped across the metal floor, magnetized feet keeping it from rising off the ground. With his movement being handled by the basic subsentient mind of his chair, cobbled together from fragments of droid processors, Apothos was free to use his own mind for other things. He extended his sense of mechu-deru into the system around him, and was immediately assaulted by flashes of alerts and alarms coming from all over the station. He did not see the code itself, like a computer might. He only gained an impression of the information running through the system, much as how seer might sense events halfway across the galaxy. It was not technological skill, but simply an esoteric form of magic. The station was awash in confusion, even in the datastreams. Apothos sensed mangled code and garbled commands from some catastrophic malfunction, and for a moment he was lost. However, he sorted through the impressions, examining each carefully, until he spotted what he needed. Security alerts, notices of damaged turret emplacements, calls for droid reinforncements. In Apothos' mind, the alerts painted the path that the Sith had taken to get here, and led to where they had no doubt landed their ship. Apothos' chair picked up speed, full on sprinting down the halls. Any turret that managed to target him was assaulted with garbage code, and any droids that stood in his way found their maglocks suddenly deactivating. Apothos was back in his element. He raced towards his escape.

Darth Mavanger snarled as they entered and he heard the other Siths' words. As they spoke, the station was in freefall, flooding with dangerous droids, hostile prisoners, and force-bound horrors, and yet they stood around posturing as though for court. He glanced back towards where they came from- it seemed to still be open, albeit a path of much resistance. "You all speak to much. First we escape, then we can introduce ourselves. If you are Sith, follow us. If you are not, find your own way off this hulk. We have no interest pursuing you." He glanced at Apothos- Another lost to the battle of Mon Cal. Pain flashed in his chest- It was a battle that had claimed too many able warriors. At least Apothos could be recovered and rescued. The self proclaimed Darth Dictum, claiming title and position within the Sith Empire, although he was a stranger to the order. The veteran Lord Akheron, a warrior who's combat ability he'd been made aware of long before Nar Shaddaa. With these collected Sith, not only would the Empire survive, but he would with luck retain loyal allies within while he undertook his self-imposed exile. His glance drifted to Inmortos, nodding. "We have what we needed. We should return to the ship."

((For @MSA and @TerrorBot)) A sort of psychic revulsion coursed from Sanguis. Grandmaster Draygo’s back stiffened and she stood upright despite the exhaustion, and her mind alerted from sudden concern, rather than outrage at the ridiculous accusation that the Jedi Knight had just leveled at her. Her pale-green eyes studied Aequitas, taking in the shadows under the Jedi’s eyes, posture… possible bloodshot eyes. There was a chance that he had not slept in quite some time, but it was the location of his mind that concerned her the most: that is, its attention was present elsewhere. Those were symptoms that Armiena was very familiar with. “We’re not talking about a species of exotic birds or a megafauna that require protection against a bunch of poachers that believe its horns will cure… these are people. They have the misfortune of living on a world that’s about to be visited by a… liberating force, but they have their own politics and agenda, and we may even be able to parley with them. Good luck, Agent, and The Force be with you. And Sanguis… I would appreciate it if we could speak in private for a moment.” The Jedi Grandmaster nudged Aequitas by one of his shoulders and guided him towards an electronics closet that was being rewired by one of the Alliance’s technicians. The Devaronian seeming to recognize that he was about to be privy to a highly personal (and possibly classified) conversation, the technician decided that it would make a fantastic opportunity to take a lunch break or smoke a cigarra or… be anywhere else. The closet was not a comfortable room–the briefing room was humid and somewhat close, but the electronics closet was stuffed full of blinking, heat-generating computers and spools of cables that the two needed to step over. A number of ventilation fans was insufficient comfort, and sweat immediately began to bead on Draygo’s face. “Sanguis, I know that you’re in pain and lashing out because of it.” In these close quarters, it was impossible to avoid the unnerving study of her eyes. She watched carefully for twitches in the facial muscles, potential redness in his eyes, tension in his shoulders. “I have lived in that state for an unreasonable length of time and drove away people who didn’t deserve it. But I do want a Jedi on this mission, one that I can trust to do what they think is right regardless of the circumstances. If you do go… I would like you to try and make contact with these… Tsis. We probably won’t succeed, but I would very much like to try and bury this generational grudge between our peoples. Regardless of your choice, please contact me later. I will make time–what in the…” At that moment, an enormous battle droid had begun to stomp into the briefing room. It stood only a few centimeters taller than the Jedi Grandmaster, but it was covered in so many layers of armor and redundant servos and Force-only knew how many weapons that it had to mass several times her weight. In contrast, an insect-like droid perched on its armor-plated shoulder. Armiena made a triple-take, her eyes flickering between the clearly troubled Jedi Knight, the battle droid, and its pre-Imperial counterpart. There was something else she felt she should say… but it would have to wait for later. She squeezed the Jedi Knight on the shoulder. “I mean it, I will make time,” she repeated. “But I need to see to these two.” There was a mixture of confusion and fascination on Draygo face, because the Jedi Grandmaster was fairly confident–but not certain–that the two droids were a pre-Imperial Buzz Droid and one of the pre-Clone Wars battle droid prototypes–not the pathetic B1-series that had somehow undergone mass production, but one of the truly capable prototypes that had only been produced in limited runs. That was probably a cost-cutting measure by the Confederacy, much to the benefit of the Old Republic. She had no idea that any of those droids were still intact, let alone operational and certainly not in the service of the Galactic Alliance. An exceptionally nerdy corner of Draygo’s mind wanted very badly to get a look under the droid’s chassis, violations of the droid’s privacy and sapience be damned. “Hold up, I can understand binary, but it’s been… a long time. Please repeat the former.” Armiena held up a hand when she approached the two droids. She looked downwards at the battle droid’s feet, listening intensely to the rapid-fire beeps and buzzes from the buzz droid. A few seconds passed when the droid repeated itself, intense concentration furrowing the Grandmaster’s brow as she translated the borderline-mathematical language to Basic. She had been surrounded by droids her entire life, but the dialect of some of the pre-Imperial droids was challenging to discern. “You are correct, the Galactic Alliance is launching a mission to liberate Korriban from the Sith Lords. Admiral Slaughter will be in command. It will be an assault in a dense urban spaceport, with civilian assets that must not come to harm. “Before I continue, I’d like to ask.” Her gaze returned from the floor and passed between the two droids. “Are you two… professional counterparts? Or a single symbiotic unit?”

Shuttle LZ-2443–or as Draygo had come to call it, the Nutmeg–turned out to be even lower on fuel than the Jedi Grandmaster had feared. Fuel gauges on shuttle craft always had something of a error range, as they were typically fueled for predictable and calculated transportation routes, and were not expected to expend fuel in combat maneuvers. Nutmeg must have been undergoing the process of having its fuel tanks siphoned empty as a battlefield precaution. That bare marginal sliver of fuel in its tanks was barely even sufficient to make a single jump into hyperspace and to carry it to the Cha Raaba system. Only seconds after the glow of hyperspace subsided and the muddy jewel of Ylesia filled the canopy of the Nutmeg, every light within the shuttle darkened. The control boards turned black. The steering yoke became unresponsive. Only the low crimson emergency lights provided illumination. The shuttle had run out of fuel. The Jedi Grandmaster spat out a series of curses that she would have never uttered in the presence of one of her peers as she crawled under the control boards to perform surgery on the power routers. There was certain to be a few joules of power left in the Nutmeg that could be rerouted into its engines… or barring that, its communications array. A few minutes of cross-wiring panels succeeded in restoring the hiss and air currents of the shuttle’s life support systems. Several more minutes of digging her fingers through the wiring succeeded in nothing more than restoring power to one of the cockpit’s control panels–specifically, the communications panel. That would be sufficient to effect some kind of landing. Propping herself over the comlink, Armiena spoke loudly into the microphone. This would be a very low-power transmission, one that might not even reach the planet with sufficient signal to be audible. “Ylesia ATC, Jedi Grandmaster Armiena Draygo on board shuttle LZ-2443, recognition code…” she rattled off a series of characters. “In bound ballistic on Ylesia, course one-seven-three mark two-six. Repeat, ballistic, I have no power, course one-seven-three mark two-six. I need a tow, before I…” Burn up on re-entry, or crash into the ocean, or suffer a gasp death by carbon dioxide poisoning were among the many potential fates that Draygo could have imagined. She never got to voice any of those candidates, however, as the lights within the cockpit dimmed and the gasp of the ship’s life support systems faded. Draygo just sighed and waited as the planet loomed larger in the canopy. Eventually, a pair of white running lights blinked brightly against the blue-brown-green glow of Ylesia. Draygo rose from her seat and stared into the canopy, peering at the pattern of blinking lights. She couldn’t make out the shape of the craft, but the pattern of the lights indicated that it was an assault shuttle: a craft that would be stuffed to the gills with marines and anti-ship weapons, and possibly a low-power tractor beam. She winced as a bright floodlight flashed into the cockpit--it pulsed rapidly to form words in blink-code: All crew meet at boarding ramp. Leave weapons on floor. Armiena’s response was to ignite one of her lightsabers and hold it up for the assault shuttle to get a good look at it. __________ Several minutes later, Armiena slinked in behind @Talyn Orin to enter the same briefing room that was under reconstruction. The Jedi Grandmaster could have been smelled when she entered the room--she reeked of the sweat of twenty armored stormtroopers, one nervous Jedi Master, and a spilled mug of caf. She was still dressed in the plastoid armor that she had repurposed from the armory of the Imperial Knights, not even having had time to change into a clean set of robes. “Agent, it’s absolutely critical that this operation results in the establishment of a government capable of rebuilding Korriban after decades of Sith repression. Deal with the Sith Lords as necessary, but clear contrast between the Sith Empire and the Galactic Alliance will be critical as we advance through the territory they have abandoned. I’ll thank you to remind Admiral Slaughter of that. Now, I think we’ve delayed you enough. Go and assemble your assault team.”

For the first time in many years, Slaughter was forced to ride a Lambda-class shuttle. There was no way to conveniently lift a wheelchair into his favored LAAT/i. He closed his eyes during the descent to Ylesia, trying to feel… anything. Not in his legs–those were completely numb–but some vibration in the deckplates, turbulence from the notoriously foul Ylesian weather, some reassurance that he was actually in a military transport designed for speed and maneuver, rather than a passenger on a flying pillow. Nothing. He hated the damned shuttle. He had a suspicion that the pilots were deliberately trying to avoid discomforting their passenger with turbulence by taking a circuitous route towards the groundside landing pads. Slaughter tried to not dwell on that unintended slight. There were too many other matters that needed his attention: how to seize the initiative from the Sith Empire after their disastrous “victory” over Nar Shaddaa, this new self-described viceroy of a new self-proclaimed Galactic Alliance, the dwindling survivors of the republic that he had sworn to defend. The shuttle finally gave a light jostle. A muffled whirr of servos and clank of the boarding ramp against duracrete identified that minor jolt as the shuttle settling on the ground. He held a hand up when Master Healer Zal moved to wheel him away; he would show up to this war council on his own power, even if he was late and red-faced and sweaty from the effort. ___________ He was not late. Admiral Slaughter’s reputation for punctuality and dignity remained untarnished–which was to say that he wheeled in almost exactly the moment that the council began, red-faced, and moist from a mixture of a scattered mist and his own sweat. His appearance, rolling in at roughly the level of the waist of most of the attendees, was exactly as shocking as he had hoped. He recognized one of the bodyguards despite the shadows of the warehouse; the man, a former Republic Talon, gave only the slightest hint of reaction with the widening of his eyes. Slaughter’s hazel eyes drifted away from his old comrade and towards the other commanders who had been summoned to this unlikely warehouse. Of all of them, the only one that he might have known was Admiral Pilon–or perhaps that was another one of the Imperials, from the state dinner at that restaurant in the Upper Levels. Force, even thinking about that made him feel old. He couldn’t even remember the name of the place. It was almost certainly rubble at this point. Slaughter saluted in the Republican fashion, palm facing outwards, and listened. And listened. And tried to ignore the eyes from the unfamiliar Kaleesh. “Very well. Viceroy.” A speech threatened to bubble up to his lips, he managed to hold the temptation until, at last, the former Moff became silent. “Trying to remember the word for what the Sith accomplished at Nar Shaddaa.” His rhetorical abilities left something to be desired. Those were the benefits of an education focused almost entirely on the practical rather than anything approaching the classics. “In order to claim victory in their campaign, they needed to destroy the ability of the Rebel Alliance to make war–decapitate its leadership, inflict irreplaceable losses. They accomplished neither. We’re proof of that. What the galaxy saw when the Sith raped Nar Shaddaa was that we fought them to a standstill–that they wasted the best of their forces on a moon of secondary importance–that they surrendered the space to us.” Slaughter leaned forward, forgetting that his newly-formed abdominal muscles and lifeless legs weren’t quite to the task of keeping him upright. A hand from the Jedi Healer at his side pushed gently against the Admiral’s sternum to force him back into his wheelchair. “The phrase is pyrrhic victory, Admiral.” The Barabel Jedi Master whispered–snarled, really–into his ear. “Pyrrhic victory! Yes." Slaughter's heavy fist slammed the surface of the table. "This is a time for aggression if there ever was one. If we declare our survival to the galaxy–our ascension–the Sith will have significant difficulty maintaining their hold on the population centers of the galaxy. Even more so when our ships enter their systems. At this moment, their empire is wounded and brittle.”

“You speak of breaking chains, but I see no truth in the statement. These chains bind you still. Even as you kill me they tighten. I know you have heard the platitudes before. I care not for such things, but I look at you and I see a dead man where a live one should walk.” Dig your grave beside mine Lord Mavanger, for you have come so far and have never varied off your destructive course. Even with the many signposts and warnings. So heed me now. There is always repentance and there is always absolution. But you must be the one to choose such a path. Your soul is in your keeping alone. Blame cannot be laid at the feet of Emperors past and present. On shadows, on lost loves, or unbroken chains. That was the mistake of the Jedi of our childhoods.” Her hand touched her own chest, trembling slightly as a finger brushed the wretched knife still buried there. Where blood seeped like oil into the black cloth of her dress uniform. Everything felt distant. Her senses narrowing to fine points like the closing of a theater curtain. "They made their ‘hard choices’ and they blamed those that they killed. They blamed their situations, they blamed orders from above. But they never stopped. No, they were proud of their victory. And in that pride they planted the seeds of Onderon, of Coruscant, of here. But they redeemed themselves in the end. Through toil and forgiveness, work and love. And even as my knights and theirs lay in their own coffins, the tide turns in their favour. Planned or not, your empress’s time is at an end. And you are cast aside like a spent blaster cartridge." Her hand fell back to her side. And she did not have the strength to lift it again. She struggled with a bloody smile and her large eyes stared into his. “Your chains lie within yourself. As mine once did. And there is only one remedy.” She smiled again and was gone.

She let her eyes wander over his extensive sketch of the proposed blade. It would be an interesting design, not something that she had seen before in her time as a Jedi Knight, but she had seen some Jedi and Imperial Knights use varied weaponry in the form of lightsabers. The famed Imperial Knight Kyrie had used a lightspear to great effect in the defense of Corellia. Laying low one of the Sith Emperor’s vanguard in single combat. A fight that was still much discussed even a year later. A fight that Vox himself had fought and nearly died at. She nodded slowly. “Then if the queen does not possess such a thing, then we must find one ourselves. Yavin I know has green gems suspended in its lower gas clouds.”

Kirlocca found himself moving almost aimlessly towards Raven. He could suddenly feel her almost calling out to him, but it was not without warning. The room seemed open, yet closed off all at the same time. For him, he knew for certain that he was allowed in, simply because Raven was allowing for him to be present. He knew he had the right room when an Admiral stepped out of the room and offered up a glance at him. Both immediately recognized each other, and both held a different facial expression upon seeing each other. For Admiral Beck Pilon, it was shock followed by a cocky smile. Kirlocca let his own expression be readable to the Admiral by pure surprise. He was certain that such a facial reaction would give the Admiral something to ponder for a few days. I'm surprised that he's still around, let alone that she kept him around... The thought faded as he stepped into the room, remaining quiet and let himself hide within the shadows for a moment. There was another Admiral speaking, rather downcasted towards the Jedi. His response to the Jedi Master seemed to be towards a young woman, but he didn't catch everything she said, nor was he certain on if what she said was the focal point. He choose instead to remain quiet and let the Admiral talk. As he stood, he listened, along with providing some quietness to Raven, as he could feel her emotions as the talks went back and forth. After the Admiral finished, he spoke first, alerting everyone to his own presence, followed by him stepping out of the shadows only after speaking. << And your stance is absolutely right. Jedi have never been trained to lead defenses of systems, be generals and take command. Our morals almost forbid it. We have no training to do any of this. And even as I say this, I am well aware that I myself have been at the forefront of almost every major battle that has taken place within my lifetime. Yet, by no one here, we have always been called on to act as such, helping to repel and defend worlds because we have the Force, and that seems to be enough for many Rebel generals. And whatever goodness may be tied to us isn't even strong enough to redeem the failures of the Jedi, as acting alone breaks to very nature of what it means to be Jedi. We have been acting outside of what we should, all because of some time ago the political game was tricked by a Sith. The Jedi were tricked as well, by the very same Sith. >> Kirlocca now unfolded his arms that he was unaware he had folded to begin with. His eyes darted from every single face within the room, resting a bit longer on Raven before continuing on. << Such uses of the Jedi as we are found guilty of are indeed worthy of governing, as it should be. But the Jedi should never be used in such a manner. That right is reserved for the Imperial Knights, whom I have always fully supported and wish to see them grow into a better branch for you. I would love to see the Imperial Knights grow into what you need them to be, governed fully by this council here. But know this, the Jedi are not governed in a sense that maybe you think. We act alongside, but no one outside of the Order is ever in a position to dictate what we do within our own walls. >> Kirlocca then let out a big breath and folded his arms again. << With such information, know that I do not speak for the entire Jedi Order. I am but a servant of the Council. And with that stance, I am here to help support you in whatever you may need. >>

"Leena's this way. Also, I’m your pilot” Ruin followed the female closely behind, glancing at Lok and giving him a scanning over, as if analyzing the man’s walk and facial expressions. “Tensions and Teeth? Or Exhaustions and Exceptions?” Fera didn’t seem to desire to translate the question that Ruin had placed forth, so it was up to the Jedi to draw his own conclusion at what Ruin meant. Finally, the group met the Jedi Healer. Ruin tilted his head when she introduced herself, as if a thousand questions were forming in the silicon brain of the terror droid. Fera even seemed intrigued as it moved from one of Ruin’s large shoulders to the other as if to get a better scan over the being in front of them. “You are quit the cute little buzz droid. Tell me friend, what is your primary designation?” Fera paused for a moment, then started into what seemed to be a memorized and recited introduction. “This semi-independent droid is designation B5-87, codename: RUIN. My designation is F5-18-1. Codename: FERA. You must be Healer Kill?” “Killer Healer.” Ruin stated plainly, head still slightly tilted. “But no weapon? Odd Healer. Jedi Healer? Odd for a Jedi. Still, looks like a Jedi. Two Jedi is good. Better than one. I like. Good for dealing with Sith.” After Leena talked, and the female named Mons mentioned her ship, Ruin’s attention turned towards Mons with pure intention. When she left, Ruin followed, not stating a word for the entire trip. Fera seemed to show a genuine confused expression, as much as a buzz droid could show. Between the glancings back to where the Leena and Lok were left behind and forward towards their captain, Fera’s buzzings turned to a low growl, and jumped off to crawl back to the group to ask his own questions. “Healer Kil, I must ask…” The Buzz droid started, its beepings and chirpings hopefully understood by someone in the area. “Where is it that we are traveling to? Why is this task so unofficial? Are we dealing with something more illicit like our previous mission? Because I believe there is a 45% chance Ruin will go renegade if this mission has nothing to do with the Sith.” Meanwhile, Ruin continued to follow Mons silently, not stealthing his footsteps at all but not stating a single word neither. His silence stopped however the ship became visible. Just as the Mons had said, the ship was a box-like looking vehicle with wings. A true Nu-class shuttle. “Fly and Fry” Ruin said as he stepped closer to the vehicle and placed a metal hand on a wing, creating a slight scratching noise as the palm slid over the metal slowly. “Fly and Fry. Crash and bash. Guns and gas and guts. Smoke and smash. Bad time, good ships.” Ruin looked at Captain Mons, and tilted his head. “Not white? Eh, still good. Fly good. Fly fast. You fly fast? I fly fast. Crash fast too. Flash and crash, heheh. You ever flash and crash?”

I heard the visitors before I saw them. The crunching of underbrush signaled them as foreign to this world as I was, but it was the natives that gave me my real warning. Each of them tensed a full second before I'd even picked up the sounds of the approaching pair, and I watched one warrior adjust his grip on his spear while "casually" leaning against a wall. These people had been through a lot, and I certainly wasn't about to blame them for being jumpy. When the two emerged, my eyes immediately locked onto the droid. I'd like to say it was threat assessment or something impressive sound like that, but honestly it was just a lot of droid. Definitely Baktoid design, but not a model I recognized. I racked my brain, calling up fuzzy images from old history books, but I couldn't remember any Trade Federation droid that had looked like it had been built around the skeleton of an abyssin bodybuilder. I briefly glanced and then did a double take at the very recognizable frame of the buzz droid with the big guy, and my breath caught for a second. You go through one bad job with a couple of those little chittering monsters crawling all over you with their saws whining will make anyone nervous. I've punched people who tell me they're "harmless". Or worse, "cute". The other one was a warrior. I could tell before his face even registered. The armor, the stride, the posture, all of it screamed veteran. Then I recognized the armor, and took a closer look. An Imperial Knight out here, working with the Jedi. Mix in the droid duo and myself, and this was turning into a pretty eclectic group. I stayed silent but kept my eyes steady as they approached. An accountant I'd once hunted who'd had a very impressive vocabulary (but not the common sense to not get caught embezzling company funds from his personal computer) had called me "phlegmatic", "laconic", and "taciturn". At the time I hadn't understood what those words meant. Echani don't talk much as a principle, and impromptu freighter crew families tend to teach a whole different kind of vocabulary. After I'd looked them up, I'd learned they were all just fancy ways of saying I don't talk much. And...I don't. Maybe Lady Tajara and the Echani way of life rubbed off on me more than I thought, but I always saw talking as kind of like fighting. You don't get points for fancy flourishes, or how fast you can flurry-punch the air before you get down to business. Its about getting the job done, and doing it right. If two words can do what 20 words can, then why waste your breath? Plus it helped sell the whole "stoic" thing, and branding is important in any commission business. I pulled out a cigarra and lit it up, taking a few puffs to steady myself before responding to the pair. "Leena's this way." I started walking away. "Also, I'm your pilot."

Felucia... It was a world that Lok hadn't been to since he left the Jedi Order and followed Master Kyrie into what was now known as the Imperial Knights. To step out of the transport behind Ruin and Fera upon his soil once again only antagonized his mixed feelings about working with the Jedi Order, and as he felt the pain of the world flow through him, he could only grimace at the Jedi's failings. In silence he wandered about, not straying too far from the two he was meant to watch over, but far enough that he could gather a feel for the world he last stepped upon as a Jedi Knight. He could see the world's pain as much as he could feel it. The injured wailed, the broken sat stagnant, and everything laid in ruin. In his heart sat sadness, for this world would take generations to recover even with their aid. But Felucia was not why he was here. Nor were it's citizens and misplaced refugees. No. It was the Jedi Healer they had came to support, and upon opening his mind and soul to the Force, he was quickly able to locate @Leena Kil. Her presence was subtle, yet powerful, a Master of her craft. But she was a Jedi, and he still held a disdained belief in their weakness. Not personally toward the Healer, for each had their own role to play, but in their reluctance to fight. In their inability to react, worlds like this one suffer. This was why he walked away from the Order with Kyrie and the others. And he didn't attempt to hide this fact in his emotional presence. "Ruin...Fera..." Lok spoke as he stepped beside the two droids, offering the young girl a brief nod in his arrival as he pointed out the fleeing guard. "I don't believe we will be requiring her assistance. Our ward shall know of our arrival momentarily."

Let me start by saying that this was a rather classic Star Warsy duel. On Team Sith we have Sheog, a powerful Sith Lord capable of consuming all life on a world, much like Darth Nihilus, and is attempting to do so here. On Team Jedi, we have standing against him the Wookie Jedi and his new apprentice, the last line of defense protecting this world from this eldritch monstrosity. This scenario comes out of something like classic KOTOR, or some of the larger scale Legends novels. We'll touch on the bad first, and then touch on the good and end on a happy note. First, we'll touch on Sheog. In the first and second round, you react to the attacks out of order. While largely not changing the effects of the attacks, it's important to note that Kirlocca attacked in order to make an opening for Johan's attacks. In the grand scope of things, you still took damage from both, but I'd like to set a precedent that duelists should respect attacks in 2v1s in order of posting, from the first attack of the first post to the last attack of the second. The exception is if the duelists post their attacks happening out of order, such as if Johan had mentioned his attacks coming before Kirlocca's. Next, Johann. This was Johann's first duel, both IC and OOC, and while it's a good showing, there are areas that can be improved. I would recommend putting more detail into your attacks to give the readers, and your opponent, a more clear idea of what you're attempting to do. For example, where did he aim his shots? What angle did he swing at? Is he on the Hutt's left or his right? Things like this not only make the duel easier to visualize, but in a 2v1 it gives your ally more to work off of in their post, and helps your opponent understand what they need to do to respect the attacks. Kirlocca did much the same. In a duel, you should not simply be saying 'I used x ability for y effect'. The abilities should be the foundation of the writing, not the other way around. Your opponent and the mod should be able to know your attack and what you're trying to do with it through your post, and shouldn't have to pull up the ability spreadsheet to find the effect. For example: 'As he moved, he used his Deft Bladework, having his blade move in a fast back and forth movement, each one designed to make small cuts and wounds, none of which would actually do any damage to the Hutt's naturally thick skin. Kirlocca finished off his maneuver with a low sweeping slash.' If I had not looked at the ability on the guide, I would have no idea that the attack was supposed to off-balance the opponent. In the future, what I would like to see is an explanation of how the attack is achieving its goal. What about the slashes will throw off a Hutt? How can you take a different approach to it to match the circumstance? A duel should be more than using abilities in sequence, and the guide should only be the foundation of your character's abilities, and a guideline as to what characters of that guide can do. Now, onto the good. Sheog, as usual, made a stellar effort to eat him some hairy Jedi. His attacks were clear, descriptive, and from what I can tell, his opponents and myself could clearly understand the desired effect and ways to respond. He's very dismissive and arrogant throughout the fight, but is a character with a storied history that give credence to these factors. He does a good job of balancing this with the subtle realizations that his opponents may be more than flies to swat away. Johann and Kirlocca did an excellent job of believably attempting to coordinate their attacks, and both also played their characters well. Kirlocca, a seasoned Jedi who has faced Sheog before and knows the danger trying to watch out for his apprentice and guide him through the danger of his first duel. Johann plays the role of a padawan in over his head well, and while not knowing who or what Sheog is, understands the danger he's in against him. With that said, Sheog is victorious.

Some twenty kilometers directly behind the enthusiastic charge of the contingent of battle droids, four Republic Talons were preparing to make a significantly less noisy entrance into the city-station of Outer Heaven. Launched quietly, without search-and-rescue beacons blazing their automated message into the black, an escape pod drifted towards the station. It made for a highly substandard entry vehicle--the four shock troopers were nearly sitting on each other’s laps--but it sufficed as a prototype for this first demonstration of the Talons’ capabilities. One of the shock troopers that was forced to stand on top of several kilograms of packed satchel charges watched with her face pressed against the tiny windows of the escape pod. “Nothing tracking us. Everything is still pointed at the fleet,” the Togruta happily announced. “Lovely. Equipment check, Talons.” Matching words to action, Bryce patted her armor down, confirming the reassuring weight of her carbine, vibromachete, air tanks, and a host of grenades and small explosives. “Lead ready.” “Two ready.” That was Saam Tros, the Duros sergeant and second-in-command of the fireteam. “Three ready.” Specialist Harlaa Rys hopped down from the tiny viewport and began to tie down the tips of her montrals. “Four ready. Gum, anyone?” Jansen Vor handed out a packet to his squadmates. “Check seals. Thirty seconds.” Hisses of air--and a sigh of displeasure from the Togruta in the fireteam--issued as the shock troopers crammed their helmets onto their heads. “Ten seconds. Brace.” The four shock troopers turned towards the hatch of the escape pod. A series of explosive bolts threw the hatch out into the void and flooded the interior of the escape pod with vacuum. As one, the Talons clambered through the hatch and launched themselves into a city-space that had gone mad. Freighters and smaller craft were racing to and from the station, some owners taking shelter on the ground and others deciding to take a risk in braving the blockade. Turbolasers and weapons of smaller caliber were firing varying levels of effectiveness at the fleet and filled the vacuum with green and red bolts. It was into that madness that the shock troopers plunged, propelled by four brief puffs from their jet packs. As the shock troopers monitored the chatter from the Rebel strike team, the defenses of the city-station suddenly fell silent. “Loss of targeting data from the control center’s fire control. Won’t last long, they’ll be switching to local.” “Significant power source in quadrant Forn-Six, Cap’n. Right in the middle of that big cluster of batteries at two o’clock. Shall we say hello?” “Copy, four. On my lead, Talons. Command, picked up a primary power signature in sector Forn-Six. Think it might be powering local batteries. Checking it out.” A second puff from their jetpacks diverted the shock troopers from their cruising flight over Outer Heaven and into a rapid descent towards a cluster of turbolaser batteries that ringed a central dome in the cityscape of the space station. As the Talons descended, the batteries opened up in a blaze of red and green bolts, illuminating Bryce’s side in a terrifying lightshow--but the fire was directed towards the fleet, rather than four undetected infantry. The Talon activated her repulsorlifts mere seconds before impacting with the dome, decelerating just in time to smack into the durasteel with bruising rather than lethal force. The other three shock troopers landed beside her in painful, but otherwise harmless impacts. With nothing more exchanged between them than a glance and a series of hand signals, the four armored troopers began to assemble an entry charge. Spooling out ribbons of shaped charges, they formed a rough ring in the ceiling of the dome...

“Sir I don’t think that…” the cadet spoke out. He was met with a gentle shove to the side as Ruin stepped by, not slowing down for a moment. “Got to go. Time is right. Make my entrance.” “I have already programmed the coordinates for the pod. Simply start the launch sequence and we can begin. Everyone else who has expressed a desire to follow us will be inside or have decided their own route of entrance” Fera buzzed from inside the already cramped escape pod. “I really must protest this…” The cadet tried interrupting again, raising a hand as if to make a point. Ruin placed both hands on the doorway to the pod and glanced at the cadet. The cadet silenced himself with a gulp, unsure what to say. After a moment, the human could only nod and give a forced smile and step back. With that done, Ruin strapped himself in and sealed the door. “Who’s ready? I’m ready. Who’s hungry? I’m hungry.” Ruin chanted a bit to himself. With three strokes on the keypad, the pod was released from the small transport ship and took off. The trip was short and relatively uneventful. During the entire time, Fera gave a countdown as well as several updates. “25 seconds to impact. I have been able to connect my long range sensors with that of the other members of the crew. 20 seconds. You and I are essentially able to communicate with them, and the fleet in general if necessary. 15 seconds.” “Brace and hold! Brace and hold!” Ruin shouted. The metal underneath his hands screeched as Ruin gripped the walls tightly. The entire pod rocked violently as it connected with a substance outside of itself. One particularly large indentation formed just above Fera sitting at Ruin’s feet. When the movement stopped, Ruin kicked open the damaged pod door. “Knock knock! Who’s there? I’m there! Hahaha! Guts and guns, guts and guns!” Ruin began to shout, jumping out of the pod and dashing forward with a maniacal energy, blaster pistol in hand and Fera on backside. With pulls of the trigger, Ruin opened fire on the people nearby. The shock of surprise combined with the blasts to the legs made them go down quickly. “Gotta move! Don’t stop moving! Show them who’s boss!” “Agreed. I am pinpointing the target location now.” Fera hung on tightly, being almost a permanent addition to Ruin’s backside. The two made their way towards their target. Klaxon alarms began to blare, as the realization that an attack was underway had been sounded. The entire way, there was only some resistance. Those that stood in the way and had guns drawn were shot in the legs or gut. Non-lethal but painful enough to stun. It was obvious the forces here were not expecting an attack, especially with one that began with an escape pod being launched into a non-hangar area. "Keep going! Who's the man? I'm the man! Guts and guns, guts and guns! Out of the way, I want guts and guns!" Ruin said as he ducked beneath a large man's arms attempt to hold the droid off. This was followed by a heavy shouldering and knocking to the side, with Ruin continuing his charge down hallway after hallway. "The control room should be up ahead. Security will be heavy there…" Fera announced as the two turned a corner. The command room layed open before them, surprisingly empty, save for the computer monitors, the chairs and tables, and the one lone figure. Ruin skidded to a halt. Even Fera’s buzzing silenced itself momentarily. The figure dwarfed the tall Ruin by several feet. Its green skin was barely visible beneath its shredded black robes and the numerous technological grafts over its whole body. Its face, left arm and legs were completely encased in black metal, and it bared a singular red glowing eye. “By order of the Sith Empire, you will cease your advancements and surrender. Failure will result in dismemberment” The thing spoke with a reverberating, artificial voice box. It followed this by producing a thick ebony vibro blade from its back, measuring at least a full meter from handle to blade tip. Ruin simply laughed. “You big! You got big guts! Gimme that! Gimme gimme gimme! “ And with that, Ruin lunged forward, firing away. _____________ Onboard the ship where the Admiral was, a holo pad came to life, revealing the form of Fera buzzing excitedly. In the background came the sounds and crashing and banging. The audio also transmitted over to the other forces in the area. @Skyshatter @Johanna Bryce “Admiral, the defenses have been temporarily shut down. However, security forces here are already attempting to bypass our work and lock us out of the system. If you wish to maintain a minimum casualty amount on your side, I would recommend attacking now.” The image broke momentarily as suddenly Fera was knocked aside. In its place were two bodies wrestling for control. Ruin’s robotic head and the Abyssin’s mechanically altered head were in the forefront. Just as quickly, the two vanished, rolled off the holo image, and was replaced with Fera again. “We have encountered some form of Sith force. Unsure on how many Sith there are here. If you wish to maintain control over the defensive capabilities of this place, I recommend to all forces to knock out the power core. We will continue to maintain control of the contro-” “Guts and Guns! Give me your guts and guns!” Ruin’s voice came from the background, followed by the tearing of flesh and a vocalized roar of pain. Then the transmission was cut short.

Lehon, once known as Rakata Prime Tempered Wastes, Unknown Regions Simka had developed, during his time in the Temple growing up, a sort of unhealthy obsession with star-charts. He would often be engrossed in the hologalaxy in the library of the Felucia Jedi Temple during his childhood, wondering if he would ever be able to be to all the known regions. So, while this entire trip had, so far, been a surprise to the young Mirialan - from finding out the famous Master Leena Kil was interested in mentoring him to seeing hyperspace in all its azure glory for the very first time - nothing came close to the fact that his first trip was not towarda any of the known regions of the Galaxy but, in fact, the even cooler alternative: the Unknown Regions. "But, why Lehon?" he wondered out loud as he wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead, heaved in a deep breath and relaxed his form, having practiced the Form I katas throughout their trip. He brought the durasteel cylinder that constituted his training lightsaber up and stared at it. Master Leena had basically helped him fry the blade power adjustment knob, and that meant his training saber had actually become quite a bit dangerous. He twirled the hilt around in his hand and ignited the saber, the blue plasma blade snap-hissing to life. Blue was not really his colour, he thought. Simka was attempting to resume training in the Form I katas as his Master had instructed when klaxons started blaring and a moment later, they had dropped out of hyperspace. Simka wobbled a bit for a second, this being his first time dropping out of hyperspace in an actual freighter outside of a flight simulator. "Whoa," the Mirialan grinned, yet only a second later the expression of awed delight was wiped off of his face. Klaxons started blaring again, though this time, the entire crew suddenly shifted to emergency mode. Master Leena grabbed him and seated the stunned boy forcefully, and Simka quickly snapped out of his stupor once the situation started making sense to him. "Kriff. I'm actually up against Sith now?!" he exclaimed. Que Epic Force Music Finding himself panicking, the Mirialan boy quickly reached out into the Force. Waves of darkness, promising death and dripping with venom, assaulted his senses. The Sith... the Mirialan shook head, before beginning to focus through the darkness. Above it, beyond it, towards the Light. For a moment, the darkness was so suffocating that he felt his hope of reaching out to the Light ever an unreachable dream. Then, he felt it - near instead of far. Master Leena was the Light, he realized - she was his closest manifestation of it. Closing his eyes, Simka focused on his Master, finding himself being positively blinded by the intensity of her Light. Through Leena's Light, Simka connected himself to the pervading light of the Living Force. His Master's voice was an ethereal echo that seemed to come from everywhere at once as Simka meditated upon his newly-forged bond with her. Following her voice, her instructions and her presence in the Light, Simka felt a surge of power - pure, beautiful and luminescent - flow through his every vein. His eyes took on a faraway look as he opened them again, connected, through Leena, to each and every single person Leena herself was connected to through the Force. The Padawan felt his Master as she squeezed his hand, and through her, he felt the captain, the other Jedi - every friendly and every hostile. In fact, Simka was quite surprised when he felt his Master's signature in the Force intertwined with those of the hostiles, and he quickly realized with a slightly agape jaw that she was drawing strength from the smothered light that emanated even from those ambassadors of the Dark Side. Simka instinctively knew what Leena was doing, even though it was his first time actually doing it or even seeing someone do it. "Whoa..." he couldn't help but voice, but he quickly shook his head and returned to focusing again. He followed Leena's actions in the Force again, before beginning to copy her to the best of his ability. It took quite a lot out of him, he realized, as his stamina had not yet developed to employ the Force on such a vast scale. Nonetheless, through sheer focus, the Mirialan attempted to augment the morale and fighting spirit of his comrades through the Light, and attempt to boost the Light within the Sith as Leena was doing, which would have the effect of making them reconsider and feel guilty over what they were doing. In truth, Simka's contribution - due to his inexperience and present insignificance in the presence of so many powerful foes and allies - was like that of a drop falling into an ocean. Still; ultimately, it was drops that made up an ocean. So, Simka focused, his immersion in the Force preventing him from worrying too much about the insane dives and drops their freighter and its ace of a captain was presently employing. He only truly registered that they had landed in the Jedi Temple after the fact had occurred, and he felt the onslaught of Light that a nexus such as the Temple emanated against the curtain wall of his senses. Simka gasped as he disconnected himself from his attempt at joining in the Battlemind, placing a hand on his chest as he heaved in deep breaths, feeling he could finally rest for a few moments now that they were safely in the confines of the Temple. Panting, he turned towards Master Leena. "M-Master, were those... the Sith? Why are they attacking us everywhere?" the wet-behind-the-ears Padawan asked.

Laying back with the sun shining upon his form, his eyes closed as he embraced the warmth after so many hours of Mon Cal's deep cold, Lok felt the vigor and gusto of the workers return. He smiled, letting the Force and himself rest against the soft breeze that flowed across his damp form. Despite the lingering darkness, Lok focused on the peace of the moment, letting his mind and body become one with the moment. It was a moment that bared a resemblance to his time as a Jedi, long before the schism that tore the Order apart. Upon Haruun Kal if he remembered correctly. As a shadow crept across his form, he smirked, feeling the dampness of his shirt grow colder in the shade and he lifted his arm from over his eyes to gaze upon the Knight standing before him. He was beginning to wonder what the others here were up to, but with the status of Coral City, he half expected to run into a single one of them. As the Elder began to speak in greeting, Lok rose to meet him. "Lok... Lok Skyshatter." The Onderonian Knight spoke with a soft voice and a sincere smile as he offered out his hand. I've heard rumors amongst the workers about them, but no solid lead. I was beginning to think it was fabrication of fearful minds or petty thugs spreading false narratives to keep others away from potential salvages. But without proof.... Lok stood and stretched upward, interlocking his fingers and arching his back. "Well. It's a moot point now. It seems you've gathered better Intel and possibly a location." When Lok first arrived, the rumor mill was abuzz with such tales, the workers fearful and distraught. His original mission was aid and relief, but given what had become of Mon Cal and the terror in the workers, he decided to investigate these claims in secret. But every lead had led to a dead ends, even the latest that led him down the aquaduct. He was beginning to relax, unable to find any truth to these fears until now. Wiping the sweat from his face with his hand, he kinda wished that it wasn't true. "We can gather my gear from the tent over there and head out." Lok pointed to the tents set up over near the powerplant. "In truth, brother, I was beginning to hope these rumors were just that, rumors."

Code of Conduct JediRP.Net Foreword By playing in JediRP and engaging in the associated discord channels, you agree to abide by our Code of Conduct, detailed below. The goal of these rules, guidelines and principles is to foster a vibrant, collaborative, character-driven role-play environment with a welcoming and supportive community. The following is the first draft of a Code of Conduct for the growing community in the RP and OOC discord channels. Feedback is welcome, and encouraged. We will attempt to document major changes and maintain an effective record. Rules Observed and enforced. Characters & Setting Time period and technology. Our Stars Wars galaxy is highly influenced by Star Wars Legends. With regards to technology available to characters this is generally interpreted as anything derived from Canon/Legends besides Super-weapons. You may not play characters drawn from books, movies, TV or similar works to which you do not hold the copyright. You are allowed to play characters inspired by books, movies or TV or with comparable powers, but not characters directly lifted from those works or directly referencing specific elements of those copyrighted works. OOC Conduct Foster a pleasant environment. Treat others as you would expect to be treated. Snark and negativity lead to an unpleasant OOC environment, and such attitudes should be checked at the door. It is your responsibility as a member of the JediRP community to ensure that the channels of communication that are established remain a safe and welcoming atmosphere. If a newcomer has questions, do your best to provide a helpful answer or point them in the direction of someone who can. If they prove to be disruptive, offensive, or problematic, inform a moderator and try to remove yourself from the equation. Avoid being a keyboard vigilante. No OOC bigotry or discrimination. Expressly forbidden are sexism, racism, ableism, ageism, homophobia, transphobia. This list will be amended as other "-isms" are brought to our attention for inclusion. Those who make comments out of ignorance will be given an opportunity to pivot their conduct. Those who intentionally cross this line will be dealt with firmly. As we are playing a game which allows for taking on the roles of villains, bigotry may come up as a theme in some fictional characters. However, anyone found to be sheltering this kind of toxicity behind a veil of "roleplay" will be considered to be crossing the same line as listed above. Context is important. Do not assume anyone knows that you do not share the same opinions as your fictional characters. Be considerate. JediRP is home to a community of players with diverse backgrounds and sensibilities. If you are informed that an OOC conversation is making another player uncomfortable please respect their feelings and find something else to talk about. Racism, sexism, homophobia, stalking, harassment, or other abusive or discriminatory behavior will not be tolerated. Conflict resolution. The great majority of OOC conflict between players results from miscommunication rather than actual malice. Disagreements or differences of opinion between players should thus be addressed first with mutually respectful private conversation between the parties involved. Moderators can be called upon to provide neutral mediation if desired or it becomes necessary. Away for awhile? Let us know. Life always comes first. If something comes up which means you’re no longer able to participate in an ongoing story, let someone know! This allows the other players to work around your character’s absence rather than the story stalling and everyone being left in limbo. We're generally relieved to know we need to work around these situations instead of being left hanging, so never fear backlash over announcing your absence. IC Conduct Consent-based roleplay. Freeform roleplaying uses consensus between players to resolve conflict between characters, based on a single rule: The player generally has the final say on what happens to their character (except at the conclusion of a duel). Your character may attempt to perform actions upon another character, but it is up to the other player to decide what effect (if any) it might have. Likewise, other characters may attempt to perform actions upon your character, but the result is up to you. This doesn't mean you should disregard all attempted actions against your character or are allowed to god mode and break the roleplaying rules, rather you should never feel constantly pigeonholed into only one course of action that you're not keen on based on the controlling actions of someone else. If you have questions about this, reach out to a Moderator. Informed Consent is important. Perhaps the most important element to mutually satisfying experiences between roleplayers. Specific details do not always need to be discussed in advance of every interaction, but if everyone involved in a scene is on the same page as to what to expect for content and tone, then (theoretically) fewer issues with those narrative elements should arise. However, since risks are somewhat mitigated in a setting where we are each encouraged to collaborate intentions, informed consent is not necessarily a requirement to role-play interactions. After all, for some of us, the pleasure of a role-played scenario is not knowing in advance exactly what's going to take place, and having our character(s) react to it accordingly. To facilitate this, we recommend getting to know your audience before broaching a topic or subject matter which may be challenging. We all have different lived experiences and different levels of sensitivity and empathy. Some topics have very personal significance to some people, and their feelings as they pertain to those topics are important to consider. While one individual may have no limits to the fictional subject matter they are willing to participate in, it is important to remember that such limitlessness is not universal. Every complaint, concern, or issue expressed out-of-character related to in-character conduct should be given full due respect. Avoid OOC notations in IC forums. Please only make in-character posts in the IC forums unless necessary. All out-of-character comments or conversation should be directed to the appropriate forums or discord channels. Do not engage in any of the following behaviors: Godmodding (or GMing) is a term used to describe someone who consistently and flagrantly ignores, avoids, blocks or otherwise disregards actions taken against their character, often to the point of being effectively invulnerable. This makes things really boring. Power Gaming is a term used for someone who defines the outcome of an attack themselves without giving the other player an opportunity to react or evade. This is illegal per the roleplaying rules and will almost always result in a loss for any duel confrontations. Meta Gaming is a term used for the practice of basing IC actions on OOC knowledge. As a player you can access a lot of information there’s no way your character could know – board posts like character sheets, or conversations with other players. Having your character act on such privileged information is strongly frowned upon unless there is a plausible way they could have known about it. Moderators will review these cases carefully, and produce judgment case-by-case. “Mature” vs. “Explicit”. Roleplay in JediRP can and will touch upon mature themes. Characters are free to use adult language, engage in physical relationships, or commit acts of violence, but we expect our players to exercise restraint in how such subjects are portrayed. Graphic violence and sexually explicit content are not appropriate on any of our channels or forums. As a rule of thumb, aim for a PG-13 rating. When in doubt, fade to black and allude to something happening rather than use explicit detail. Guidelines The following is not strictly enforced, but review and adherence is strongly encouraged. Good RP Habits Turn order. Whoever posts first goes first, whoever posts second goes second and so on; once established this turn order is maintained for the rest of the scene unless otherwise agreed. An easy way to keep track is to remember who posted immediately before you – if they’re the last player to have posted then it’s your turn again. If there are a lot of characters active in the forum at once, it is usually decided beforehand and a turn order is pre-organized (definitely encouraged). Keep in mind: this turns into an enforced rule in any hostile scenario, e.g. duels. Post length. We do not impose strict limits on post length, but recommend that you try to keep IC posts in the general region of two to three paragraphs (that’s about 160-240 words or 800-1200 characters), with priority given to what your character does and says, since those are the main things to which other characters can react. If in doubt, ask. Is it my turn? Is this allowed? What’s going on IC? Where’s everyone standing? What does that character look like? If you find yourself uncertain or confused, the easiest solution is to ask for clarification. Communication is always key. Create opportunities for others. Roleplaying is above all a collaborative exercise, in which each player contributes not only to their own enjoyment but also that of their RP partners. The enjoyment you get from RP often directly relates to the amount of effort you make to include other players. A good principle to bear in mind is that every interaction should promote further interactions. Try to include hooks that will encourage both player and character interest and give them something to incorporate into their own roleplay. Give other players reasons and opportunities for their character to engage with yours. Pay attention to the mood. Different players have different tastes – some enjoy tense, emotionally-fraught drama; others prefer a lighter or more whimsical style of play. Just as grim menace might not suit a scene of playful banter, slapstick antics might not be appropriate when characters are engaged in deep soul-searching or bitter confrontation. Please be mindful of the tone of play when you join an ongoing scene – and if in doubt, ask the players involved. Respect the setting. While it may be exciting to wreak havoc, please refrain from constantly having your character casually murder NPCs or engage in wanton destruction of the setting just to demonstrate how dangerous they are. If you feel that incorporating such elements are necessary to develop a plot, please communicate these things with others that are involved and find compromise. Principles Things to bear in mind while playing. Actions have consequences. Player characters do not exist in a vacuum, and NPCs are not passive cardboard cutouts. If your character engages in egregious acts of violence or criminality the setting will push back against them. A character who consistently evades IC consequences to an implausible or unreasonable extent may be considered to be godmodding and will be dealt with accordingly by the Moderators. The Force is not always a solution. Conflict and the struggle against adversity are vital for interesting stories. While it can be tempting for a force-using character to apply their powers to every obstacle they face, blanket-fixing those problems with the same application (and no downsides) is boring. Instead, maybe the force fixes one problem but causes a different one; maybe it exacts a cost upon the practitioner; maybe it has unpredictable or unreliable results that provide opportunity for further role-play. Moderators have authority, but we are all human and subject to mistakes. Sometimes those mistakes may result in an unfair judgement. Please remain polite if you ever feel the need to discuss something which you feel was done in error by a moderator. If you don't feel comfortable contacting the specific moderator in question, please reach out to any of them. These Moderators are volunteers, so while it's important not to feel like you can't discuss something, please bear in mind that a moderator is not professionally obligated. Reminder This is a growing document, and subject to change. Civil, informed, and rational discussion is encouraged as to ensure the best possible standards are met. However, if you find yourself continuously at odds with the rest of this community, I strongly recommend you perform some introspection as to whether or not this is the appropriate community for you to be involved with. Our intention is to have a large and diverse group of people role-playing in as harmonious a gathering as possible, but we acknowledge such an intent is more dream than likely reality. Tempered expectations can do wonders for everyone.