Mavanger

Mavanger chuckled as the Jedi spoke, making an earnest- if unsuccessful, attempt to anger the Warmaster. The wookie spoke of anger as though he too knew it intimately. But how could he? He had never given himself to it willingly, made it an ally and a friend, a tool for vengeance sweetest. And yet... He closed his eyes, reaching out with the Force. He could feel it, just under the surface. Even if the Jedi didn't know what it was like to master his fury as a tool, he knew anger well. "Fury sharpens everything. Every breath. Every twitch. Every trick, laid bare. It gives us the power to right the wrongs done unto us. A tool is only useful if the one wielding it knows what it's used for. It's something that many of the new generation of Sith fail to understand." He waved a hand, looking to the surrounding Linnorm. "Leave us. You will be more useful somewhere else- the two of us will be plenty sufficient to hold the plaza." As the Linnorm filtered out, reinforcing the surrounding troops, Darth Mavanger turned to face the Wookie. "But we aren't as different as I first imagined. I can feel it now- Loss. Anger. Hatred. You know the loss. You know what it means, what it does. Tell me, who did you lose? A friend? A brother? A lover? And maybe, if the Sith were responsible, I can grant you what I have claimed for myself already- vengeance. A name, a location. An opportunity to reclaim some small part of what you had."

Darth Mavanger frowned behind his mask as the Wookie moved for his weapon, a silent threat. He raised his hands softly, a sign of peace, at least for now. It seemed the Wookie knew his ruse was over, but the Warmaster had no intention of revealing it to the Linnorms. No- He had something much more promising in mind. Talk. He'd had precious few opportunities for it since his Masterhood. He couldn't express doubt, lest the others sense weakness. None questioned him, for fear of raising his renowned fury. Those who opposed him saw him as too dangerous to waste time talking, and his confidants were all dead, or missing in the wake of Nar Shaddaa. "The flaw in your logic is not your doing- you do not know Darth Akheron as I do. This place has done nothing to him. It has served him faithfully, and loyally, as I knew it would when I sent him here to claim it all those years ago. In truth, he has little to be angry about save the loss of our empire. The war was kinder to him than most. He doesn't know what it means to lose something that you hold so sacred to your very soul that all that remains is rage. To be at such a loss that the only thing that soothes is to lash out, to destroy what has caused such pain." He took a deep breath, breathing in the smells of a brewing warzone. Burnt tibana gas wafted through the streets, it's ionized scent singeing the senses. "He won't achieve true greatness until he is no longer a slave to his anger. Until he learns how to shape it, direct it as his tool to claim his seat among the Sith Lords as I have. I suppose it doesn't matter though, seeing as how we've been all but exterminated. All that remains is this- lashing out against an alliance that we can't hope to stop. But if you and yours are determined to take me, you will have to earn it. Our empire is gone, but I will not go meekly to the slaughter."

It wasn't long before Darth Mavanger reached the lone Jedi, separated from his kin and his allies. The Linnorms hadn't recognized what he was, the power he held. They were followers of the darkness, but they were blind to the machinations of the Force beyond what their lords allowed them to see. He could feel the other Sith's presence in the force, it's waves merely drops in the ocean of what his own fury entailed. They stood in a plaza, the Wookie's cover unbroken to those around him. A charade, then. He strode forward, his calm only a mask, hiding the truth of what he was. "Tell me, conscript. Mercenary of my ally. Do you feel it? The light, coursing through the world. Darth Akheron does not realize that his world has already fallen, and if you stand here, unafraid, then I wonder if you, too, are ignorant of this world's sealed fate. Even now, he grandstands. He speaks of hatred, and fury, and rage, but what could he possibly know of such things? What do you suppose has happened to him that drives his anger?"

Darth Mavanger's shuttle landed in the jungles just outside of Falleen's capital, on the other side of the city from the Imperial Knight's invasion and the Jedi's stand against the Linnorms that Lord Akheron was so fond of. In truth, he didn't care about the world. Lord Akheron had his pet projects here, but it had little value to himself or his goals. This world had been doomed to fall with all the rest after Nar Shaddaa, and no show of force would have been able to prevent it. He wouldn't even been here if it weren't for the promise of one thing. Revenge. With an invasion, there would be generals. With strike teams, elite commanders. Targets that he knew would need to be weakened before the Sith could return in their true force. Kill a Jedi master here, an Alliance general there, and the Alliance would be in tatters before they ever realized they were being hunted. He left the stealth active as he disembarked- should he fall here, and his shuttle be captured, it would jeopardize their mission irreversibly. The trek to the city proper would be a long one, and he likely wouldn't be in the city until the invasion was in full swing, but it would have to do.

Darth Mavanger glanced at his communicator, his moment of introspection interrupted by a message marked as urgent across all Sith communication networks. He scowled, listening to its contents. He looked at the Dark Lord, nodding his head. "It seems our work never ends. I will handle this ill-planned call to arms, and do what I can to cripple the Jedi. Until we meet again, Darth Calypso." He send his own message through the communicator, his unique identifier notifying any who saw it of his role as Sith Warmaster. It would remain his job until Darth Calypso said otherwise- Any who would cast doubt on his worth would meet his blades, as every previous foe had. "By order of the Sith Warmaster, all forces are to belay that order. To reveal ourselves at such a critical time would undo everything we have looked to do. I will handle this incursion myself, but we will not hold Falleen." He quickly boarded his shuttle, departing Ziost, and powered his hyperdrive, bound for Falleen.

Darth Mavanger nodded slowly. He was talking to an ancient creature, he knew that much. She had likely seen cycles within cycles within cycles. But that did not make her omniscient on the ways of the Sith. "There is truth in your words, Sorceress. The Sith have always been their own downfall. I would often debate such a topic with Lord Xahl, a dear friend of mine. He had the same mindset as you did- The Sith were destined to grow, unite, then fracture under the weight of our own hubris. I've always believed that growing out of our more... self destructive tendencies was the key to the survival of the Sith Empire. But that is something easier said than done, for they spawn from what it means to be a Sith at it's very core. If we don't seek to topple each other for power and position, do we truly uphold the most valuable tenants of our order? But that debate died with him over Kuat. Struck down by a coward who would sooner flee than face the consequences of his actions." He inhaled slowly, remembering that moment. Xahl's smoking corpse tumbling across the durasteel ground, slick with the blood of the rebels they had just killed. A man struck down by his own lightning. A stark mirror to his own philosophy, and the first of many to die in Mordecai Valar's quest for conquest. One that would be warped into a crusade of vengeance, who's final victim was the man himself. All that was left now was Darth Mavanger, the Sith Warmaster. Fury incarnate, as unkillable and the Sith's ancestral rage. Sorrow bled into rage, which in turn brought on more sorrow. They were two sides of the same coin, a vicious cycle of death and mayhem. But he had the power to break it. Whe nthe Imperials and the Alliance lay burning at his feet, when those responsible for this collapse of an empire had met their Empress in the afterlife, the circle would finally be broken. And his chains would be broken.

Darth Mavanger considered her words for a while before responding. The truth in her words was evident in her passion and the Dark Side's reaction to it. But what wasn't was whether she included the current Sith in her hatred of the Galaxy. She spoke as though she intended to lead them on the path of destruction, but had left it ambiguous as to whether or not that would include their own. He sighed, looking at her. "I must tell you Calypso. I have lost everything for the Sith. Brothers, friends... lovers. I've protected our empire at Kuat and Corellia countless times, and I've burned theirs to the ground at places like Naboo and Nar Shaddaa. I've defied one Dark Lord, and followed another into madness. I have slain a Queen and claimed a world, and I have slain an Empress and toppled and empire, all in the name of the Sith Empire. Even though my life is not dictated by the whims of the Empire, I will not stand idly by and watch as you burn the results of my suffering and sacrifice down alongside the Alliance to satisfy your lust for destruction. I've made that mistake once before. I have no plans on getting between you and your enemy, as long as that doesn't include the Sith." He let his words sink in for a moment before continuing. "But these are not words of war, nor a declaration of my opposition. Make no mistake, when the time comes I will challenge you for the throne, as is the way of the Sith. But that day is not today, and until it is, our interests align. If you learn of someone who needs to be slain, simply inform me and I will do so."

Darth Mavanger glanced at the new Dark Lord as she spoke. Then it was true- She wasn't from this time. Shemay very well have been from the era of the Old Republic and Old Sith Empire, the one he had so foolishly tried to emulate in his early years. Those were simpler times- The Rebels were naught but a few isolated incidents, and he had been surrounded by allies, both force sensitive and otherwise. In the years of fighting that followed, he'd lost everything. He'd lost brothers, friends, his lover, fallen out of favor with the Dark Lord Exodus. And then, Darth Nyrys had given him a tool. The tool that had pushed his humanity to its breaking point until he lost that, too. "I am as much a warrior as I am a strategist. Your challenge was tempting, to be sure. You do, after all, stand before a generation of Sith that served under me, and beside me in the galactic conflict. But after Nar Shaddaa, the Sith don't need another warrior, leading them to their deaths before they've recovered their strength. Have no doubt that when the time comes, I will take your title or die trying. Maybe it will finally stick. But for now, I have my own objectives, my own plans to enact. You have my word, whatever that's worth in the pit of vipers that are Sith politics, that I will not undermine your rule. I care not for my own glory, only the death of the fools in the Sovereign Alliance." He took a moment before speaking again. At his mention of death, he remembered Naboo. The crucible that had turned him into what he is today- Rage and fury incarnate. Since the Dark Side had reached out, dragged him back to unholy life, those emotions had never truly faded, although he had better control over them now than he had before. It's what made him so dangerous. "My current objective is to remain on the course plotted by the previous Dark Lord. I will slay any who represent strong leadership within the Alliance, and leave the vultures to tear themselves apart. I know of Akheron's ambitions to grow his little cult. Inmortos wishes to draw ultimate power from the dead. I wish to lay waste to the Alliance. But I wonder, Darth Calypso, what your goal is for the Empire that I have bled and sacrificed for while we rebuild." He did not fear her, or her machinations. She was surely formidable, perhaps she could kill him, and perhaps it would be his final death, but fear was weakness. He was, however, cautious. He told her part of his plan, that she may focus on that, and remain oblivious to what remained. Geonosis had thusfar remained safe from the Alliance, so far into the Outer Rim, but it was only a matter of time before they consolidated their forces and started striking at old Sith holdings. Already, Korriban had heard whispers of interlopers. He had much to do, but getting to know the Dark Lord was, for the moment, his largest priority.

Darth Mavanger approached quietly, his rage a vortex in the Force, sucking in the light and spitting out a foul miasma of hatred and wrath, even in a dormant state. His hood concealed his mask, but many Sith here already knew him by his stature and weapons alone. The new Dark Lord had made a good show of her power, but she was still new to the galaxy of the present day. He didn't want the throne- not yet. The Sith needed a gentler hand- His would only guide them to all out war, and they could ill afford that now. But his counsel could be useful. He stepped up, climbing the raised position that Darth Calpyso had taken. "Darth Calypso, I am Darth Mavanger, Sith Warmaster under the previous Dark Lord. Should you find yourself a moment away from those below us, I would like a word with you before I depart this twice-damned world." He spoke only loud enough for Darth Calypso to hear him through his mask before brushing past her towards his commandeered shuttle. His words were not for the remnants of their once mighty empire.

Darth Mavanger watched from seclusion with interest. His cloak his his telltale armor, and while he doubted his presence in the force went unnoticed, her rested easy knowing that any who noticed him would likely let him bide his time. He knew the Sith needed strong leadership, and this new contender seemed to offer it. He would lead them himself in due time, but he had no place in aiding their efforts to rebuild, at least not yet. But there had been discontent even with Darth Nyrys, a renowned master of the Dark Side with a storied history of victory- there was no telling how the Sith would accept this stranger. She had power, but no standing ,and none loyal to her cause to protect her claim. While he believed her worthy, at least for now, the Sith needed stability to rebuild. Should she fail to grant that, he would step forward and claim the title for himself. But should she defeat her challengers, claim the throne free of any real dissent, then he would return to the shadows, watching, waiting for the day that he would lead the Sith from hiding into a glorious new conquest.

Darth Mavanger nodded. He'd heard enough- While Akheron clearly believed in his god, his declaration was a good start. "The road ahead is long, Lord Akheron, and you will have many trials ahead of you. The galaxy has fallen into the hands of the rebels, and the power that is rightfully ours has been stolen from our very grasp. The Jedi and Imperial Knights, despite their losses, walk openly in the galaxy once more. The Dark Lady has plans for a shadow war, anonymous terrorism and assassination. This is not a fight for me- the time is for those amongst our order who did not have a chance to show their worth under Darth Exodus to do so now. And to do this, you will have the backing of the Sith Empire as a Sith Master. By taking the first steps to casting off your chains, you have passed your trial. Masterhood is yours- use it well, or die trying."

"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?"

As Akheron spoke, Darth Mavanger shook his head. More talk of the Fanged God, of a fate that wasn't his to control. The man had been so neutered by his faith in this... cult, that he had forgotten what he was. It would be Mordecai's duty to rectify this mistake. While Nyrys's new shadow empire would sow discord and discontent within the new galactic government, he would remove any vestige of weakness and misguided faith from it. While he disagreed with the Dark Lady's methods, the deed was done, and the only chance to succeed would be to ensure that the Sith were at their very best when they were ready to return. "I don't recall asking for privacy, only for you to close the ramp behind you. Had I wished to remain anonymous, however, such a guard being placed outside defeats such a purpose. In truth, their presence matters not. What leaves this room after this conversation is for you to decide." He pulled himself to his feet, moving to the Ysalimiri enclosure that had protected them on their way into the Helvault. The beasts had been disposed of shorty after their retreat, and now the terrarium lie empty, still as the day it was created. No evidence that life had ever congregated within. "Are you able to recite the Sith code, Lord Akheron? Did your master ever teach you its proverbs? Help you understand it's meaning?"

Darth Mavanger watched in amusement as Lord Akheron swept for bugs and placed a rather overkill number of guards outside of the ship. As he finally returned, sitting before the Sith Warmaster, Mavanger took a drink from a cupboard. The ship was not only a stealth transport, but as it had been furnished for Sith operatives and members of Sith Intelligence, it had a healthy amount of luxurious hardware. He poured himself a glass- A bothan wine, from a manufacturer he didn't know. No matter, it was a formality more than anything. He poured a second glass, placing it upon the table before him. "Help yourself if you wish, Lord Akheron." He took a drink, watching the man's actions carefully. "Tell me, what do you believe the cause of this meeting to be if you have placed so many guards and performed such a diligent sweep for bugs? Do you not trust your own crew? The fellow Sith who just aided you in a mission most dangerous?" At a glance, he was at ease, more interested in the drink before him that the Sith that now sat opposite. But this, hopefully unbeknownst to the veteran Lord, was a test. A measurement of his character. A chance to see if his hunch was correct. His answers here would laregly steer the conversation, for better or worse. He would either be found a worthy ally, or a hapless pawn.

There was one last thing he had to do. As the other Sith filed out of the shuttle into the Sith vessel, he closed his eyes, leaning back in his seat. Inmortos had gone down with the station, an unfortunate loss. But he doubted the master Necromancer would die so easily. No, he'd be back. Death had as little grip on the Krath as it did on himself. A monkey paw's curse. Immortality, but a life of pain and loss and grief. All that was left, the only reprieve he could find, was vengeance. Cassandra's death, Raven's. Every rebel he'd killed, every monarch he'd toppled, none of them were an equivalent exchange for the single one he's lost. And yet, it was all that came close. He forced himself to his feet, the weight of his armor holding him back. It was more than physical nowadays- it was an emotional leash, a psychological weight put in place by time after time of being handicapped at his moments of triumph. But this time- It would be his last, whether he won or lost. Even if death still refused to claim him, he would be done. Of that he was sure. He pulled out his comm device, keying it to call the last piece. "Lord Akheron, return to the shuttle immediately. Seal the entrance behind you. We have much to discuss."

Darth Mavanger didn't know what Inmortos had in mind, but his own objective had been accomplished. The Helvault had been breached, and Apothos had been retrieved. Anything past that was secondary to getting those who had accompanied him off the station. He pushed through, just behind the wake of the remaining Sith forces as they filed towards the hangar. Upon their arrival, he swiftly boarded, firing up the engines of the craft. "Brace yourselves." As the Helvault plummeted towards the planet, a glowing meteor hurtling towards it's inevitable demise, the shuttle rocketed out. To the naked eye, it seems no more than a piece broken loose by the forces of re-entry. Yet another pillar of the false peace of the Rebels and their government- More willing to consign the souls aboard to death than to give them a chance at freedom. The shuttle rattled violently as they escaped the vortex left behind by what was now a glorified fireball. He stood, removing his mask and moving to the passenger section of the craft. Their allies would be here soon, and there was much to be discussed. He nodded his head at the new arrivals, his eyes decades older than they had been months past. "Krath Apothos. Did you think I would let an ally rot in a cell? It seems you made an ally of your own while inside." he said, motioning to the unknown party with a gauntleted hand. "We lost much at Mon Cal, and at Nar Shaddaa. Now, we rebuild."

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."

Progress was easy, even without the use of the Force. At least, at first. Turrets with pre-programed targeting algorithms were easy to fool, and as long as they killed them faster than the station's systems could adapt, they would stay ahead of the curve. That was, until the programming realized that turrets alone couldn't stop them. A squad of Droids pressed towards them from a separate hall, and Mordecai snarled under his mask. He'd hoped to find a straggler, to give them time to find the registry. Instead, he'd gotten an entire security detachment. He ran forwards, his blades cleaving through droids like they were made of paper, stun batons bouncing off of his Sithsteel armor, blaster bolts trying desperately to keep up with his sporadic movements. The only thing that slowed him was the return of the Force. All at once, it hit him. Death. Anguish. Grief. Betrayal. Thousands of spirits, finally free from their eternal prison, finally able to find a vessel for their wrath. Even he could feel it, despite his unfamiliarity with the Necromancers' skills. But the feelings they forced on him, they were more familiar than most counted on. He didn't resist- He knew the burning rage in the souls of the departed. Left here, forgotten, nothing but death as their destinies were robbed of them. He let the fire rekindle in his chest, he channeled the emotions of the spirits around him. As the necromancer behind him screamed, and the droids in front of him fired another volley of shots, he felt them impact. Most were absorbed by the armor, but a few hit the less protected joints at his shoulders and elbows. He hissed, sneering. The ghosts around him cried for revenge. They tried to take control, to force their will upon him. They had no true hold over his psyche, however. Death had tried once before to claim him, and it had failed. The Force had dragged him back to this accursed war, to fulfill his purpose of establishing an unquestioned peace across the galaxy. He darted forward, the power of his rage fueling him once more as he sliced through the remaining droids with ease with the help of the Necromancer. He turned, nodding respectfully. The other Sith's power had grown since they last met- A harbinger of things to come, it seemed. He turned in time to see Solus peel around the corner, followed by a beast he'd never witnessed before. It was horrific, a snarling mass of rage and decay that seemed to destroy anything in its path. But Darth Mavanger recognized it for what it truly was. A puppet of the Dark Side, the amalgamation of the horrors of this station. Loss, pain, regret, and obscurity. And beneath it all, a desire. A hunger. But not a hunger for life. He knew this desire well. It desired death. It's own, or anything that got in its way. He would grant this kindred spirit its wish. That, or it would grant him his. His momentum carried him towards the beast, his oil-slicked blades cutting through grasping appendages and roiling flesh alike. The incarnations of his fury and grief, his greatest weapons, not just blades in his hands, but extensions of his body and of his will. The beast landed blow after blow against Darth Mavanger, but he pressed further in. "Let me grant you peace" he whispered in the chaos. The beast's death, or his. That was the only option.

Mordecai's eyes snapped open as he drifted into the air and the Force rippled around him, even if for just a moment, sparking the quiet rage he felt deep within his chest. His respite, it seemed, was over. There was pain, but pain was not his enemy. He grabbed the bulkhead, pulling himself to the wall as he glanced at Inmortos. The Whiphid smashed into the cell once more, and he looked out. A shame- He had hoped that the local populace would relish their freedom, but it seemed this one wanted them dead. It mattered not. "Follow us, and you will be slain where you stand." He glanced at Inmortos, motioning him to follow as he began to move deeper into the station, pulling himself along the wall. He could hear the blaster fire throughout the station- It seemed that his compatriots had trigger the alarm. They would have to move fast if they wanted to find Apothos and escape in time. "We have much work to do, and I doubt our whiphid friend here is the only one who will try to kill us on sight. We must find a droid- more than likely, they will have a registry of prisoners for us to use."

Darth Mavanger watched from the cockpit as his fellow Sith left, with Akheron and Inmortos charging headfirst into the frey. He closed his eyes, trying one more time to feel the Force. This was a place designed to hold and kill people like them- Those who's power relied on the Force and its machinations. They would get themselves killed like this. His armor rested heavily on him, moreso than usual. He would be slower, less coordinated, but even still he was confident that he was one of, if not the most dangerous lifeforms on the entire station. He rose, walking towards the still-cloaked exit ramp. He took one last deep breath before darting out of the craft. The force of his impact on the hangar deck still rattled the floor plates, and as he sprinted towards the prone form of Inmortos, his mind cleared. It was no longer clouded by the hate and anger that the Dark Side fed on, though the emotions were still there. His fury was not so easily calmed, but for now, it would take a backseat to the mission. Inmortos's plan had worked, and the blast doors had been torn apart by the station's turrets, with naught but twisted metal and burning slag remaining. He could see the turret reacquiring it's target, and he pushed himself harder. He reached down, grabbing the old necromancer by his clothing as the turret whirred to life again, firing a slew of deadly bolts behind them. The station's AI had adapted, and the bolts were no longer strong enough to tear open durasteel, but they impacted his armor as he crossed the threshold, launching him forward as he dropped the Necromancer into cover, his cloak smoking from the impact as he lay motionless for a moment, merely grunting at Inmortos to signal his survival. The bolts hadn't pierced his armor, but they had rattled his body from the impact.

Mordecai boarded behind the rest, his voice silent as he took the helm. Wordlessly, he shut the boarding ramp and engaged the ship's cloak. In mere moments, the ship had disappeared from sight, and Mordecai engaged the engines. All that was left was to get in position and wait for the hangar shields to drop. As the ship lifted and began it's approach to the prison in the stars, he felt his stomach drop, and felt something leave him, as though he'd lost an organ without realizing it. The Force had left him- it was an alien feeling. He felt the true weight of his equipment, his strength no longer aided by the Dark Side. He was still strogn ,still powerful, still a warrior, but without the force he was as capable as any other. It reminded him of his days on Korriban, his connection to the Force a small strand of wool compared to what it was now. He hadn't known then what he was missing. There was something else though- It was like a bag had been taken off his head, as though he was coming to from a drunken stupor. A dark pressure that had loomed over him for years seemed lighter, less pervasive. His grief seemed to abate, even if momentarily, and his rage left him nearly entirely. It was a shock to his system- Was this some secondary effect of the Ysalimari? Was it an effect that was used to placate the prisoners and make them less violent? Only time would tell. The ship drifted into the void, approaching the prison with little trouble. He shut off the engines and leaned back, keying his communicator. "We've arrived. Once the shields are down, we'll infiltrate. Make yourselves comfortable- there's a chance we will be here for some time"

"Krath Apothos is a Sith Lord that pledged himself to my campaign. I am not one to leave an ally to rot in a cell for my ambitions. Indeed, were it not for Darth Nyrys and he plans set in motion, I would have led this rescue months ago." He motioned towards the clearing, pressing a button and revealing a shuttle taken from the drydock of the Kuat Drive Yards months ago in nearly forgotten preparation for this very mission. Outfitted with a state of the art cloaking system and with enough room to fit several squads of Sith troopers, although it was empty now, it was the key to the locked vault. Sensors were useless against it, the active cloaking protected it from visual identification, and the Ysalimari aboard the vessel would stop anyone from sensing their presence in the Force. The only remaining hurdle was to find a way to open the hangar shields- He imagined that there would be a transport here eventually, and then they would simply slip in behind. "This is our way in. Once inside, we simply find our opening and take it."

Darth Mavanger regarded the other Sith from behind his mask, his own emotions not outwardly displayed. When he had last seen Inmortos, it had been in the throne room of Naboo, after he had convinced his ally to return to the council. He thought back to that day- The Dark Lady had given him a title and a mission, and he had set aside his complaints to see it through. At he known the extent of what she had planned, he would have protested more strongly. He nodded curtly as both Akheron and Inmortos greeted him- He had few words for pleasantries now. All that mattered was the future. The next fight. The next Empire. As Solus spoke however, his hands went to his blades, and he hissed through his teeth. "If you wish for that crystal to stay in one piece you won't try mentioning that mission to me or any others again. Her fate must be lost to history so that she will never be revived." He looked up- He thought he could see it. The Helvault. Where the Rebels had kept their most dangerous prisoners. All in one place, waiting, biding its time for one prison break to set them all free again. This would do more to destabilize the new Alliance than a dozen battles over supply lines. "It is not only Krath Apothos that is held in the Helvault. He is, however, our primary objective. You'd do well in the future to not cast aside former allies so easily. Do it too often and you will be left with none."

What a fucking duel. Just to give you guys an idea, This duel took 3 mods nearly an hour to decide who won because you both did so well and performed so close to each other. You both had good, bad, and fantastic, And even the bad was completely in character and narratively excellent. The idea of two of the greatest Mandalorians alive spiralling through the air in a brutal deathmatch was well portrayed here, from Terra's paranoia and sense of betrayal to Tros's desire to take disarm her and take her alive. If they ever duel again I'll be reading every post. Now, onto the meat of the duel: First and foremost, Terra's final post. In her attack, she grabs Tros's grappling hook and uses it to pull herself towards him to stab him in the collar. It's an excellent move, but grabbing your opponent's weapon and manipulating it for your attack is a very grey area. It works here since the nature of a grapple attack like this is to tether the two fighters, and in doing this Terra isn't undoing Tros's attack or taking actions beyond using it for it's intended purpose- to close the gap. I would not recommend trying this often due to the innate grey area of manipulating an opponent's weapon to your advantage in a closed way like this. Tros, your first post was a bit of a whiff. You made one attack against a target that you were informed was not a part of the duel. While thematic in the situation, and definitely in character, not making an attack in your first post is definitely not the greatest move for a duel post. In the future, I would treat things like this as part of the setup and make your attacks separate for the round. The barest edge was decided in the final post. While Terra is at a disadvantage, being without a jump pack or electronics to alter her course, Tros seems intent to engage her on this front with the intent of using his own blade. The deciding factor was that Terra was approaching rapidly with a long-reaching spear, and Tros hadn't even drawn his blade yet. You both did phenomenally and should both be proud, but Terra is the victor, and has next post.

Darth Mavanger's shuttle touched down at the coordinates he was given. It was odd, to be in the fight even after his departure from the Sith Empire, but he had unfinished business. He wasn't one to leave a faithful ally to rot in a cell, especially when the plan was concocted by other allies of his campaign. He was alone- his shuttle was piloted by a simple droid. None save those who would be present would know his location. The isolation of the Empress's soul was priority right now. Even now, it remained hidden aboard his shuttle. It was programmed to self destruct should someone try to board it without his permission, and if he fell on the Helvault and death truly claimed him, the crystal would fade into the wilderness of Nepsis VIII. He sealed his shuttle behind him, looking to the sky awaiting his compatriots. He was still the Warmaster of the Sith, even in hiding as the Empress had bid, and he knew they would arrive soon.