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Krath Apothos

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  1. House Sovros “The House of Greens” “Ein Hanobaith Sofran.” - House Motto of House Sovros. Translation: "Our Sovereign Desolation." While House Sovros has not openly existed for much of its millennia-long life, nor has it always existed under that name, it is one of the oldest Dark Side cabals. Originating on Onderon thousands of years ago, the founders consisted of the various Dark Side enthusiasts among the nobility who eluded the purging of the planet by the Jedi and the Republic, namely by virtue of not being Force-sensitive themselves. The organization quietly preserved the teachings of their Dark Side masters, hoping for a new Dark Lord to rise from their bloodlines and return them to power. As time passed, other groups on Onderon, mostly minor nobility, who felt disenfranchised or threatened by the Republic or planetary government found their way into the fold, tempted by the promises of a dark uprising. However, no Force-sensitives were born into the old or new bloodlines, and at some undefined point the House's methods changed. They began to quietly acquire Force-sensitive human children wherever they could, raising them as family and marrying them off to members to introduce Force potential into the House's various family lines. The adopted Force-sensitives themselves never became more than minor Dark-side practitioners, partly due to fear and neglect of the House's noble members who disliked an adopted outsider gaining too much power. Then Abraxes Vastoga was born. A powerful Force-sensitive and the first born to the House, Abraxes was showered with opportunities and training, whispered by his family to be the new Dark Lord they had hoped for. Abraxes took on the name of Sovros as the persona he would use to conduct the House's business in secret and away from the judgmental eyes of the Jedi. He began quietly growing the power of the House, and eventually inducted non-humans with Force-sensitivity potential into their ranks, envisioning whole dynasties of Dark Side users spreading across the galaxy under his rule. This dream never came to fruition. While his sorcery did preserve his life beyond its natural limits, he eventually died to betrayal when another Force-sensitive was born to a different family line, and the new Sovros was chosen to ascend. Since then, House Sovros existed as a hidden entity on Onderon and the surrounding systems, emerging with the rise of the Sith Empire to embrace their long desired destiny of power. Today House Sovros is an influential Sith house, mostly based out of their ancestral home of Onderon. Their patriarch or matriarch is always known by the title of Darth Sovros, and they see themselves as elite and sophisticated compared to other Sith. Class, legacy, and wealth mingle with their Sith hunger for power, intrigue being one of their favorite tools along with the more subtle applications of the Dark Side. New members looking to be inducted from outside of established bloodlines must show strong Force-sensitivity, a keen intellect, and a civilized demeanor to be considered. Even more importantly, a member is expected to marry (sometimes to several spouses) and bear children (not always with one of their spouses) as directed by the current Darth Sovros to ensure strong, numerous offspring. Where Force-sensitivity can't be found, partners are selected for their health and other talents in the hopes of breeding the positive traits into the family line and eventually into future Sith Lords. Families in the House determine their status by the deeds of their ancestors and the capability of their line to produce new Force-sensitives. Much of the House’s wealth is tied up in the slave trade, with cloning, breeding, and capturing all used to supply the demands of Sith society. They sponsor auctions and run shipping lines specifically catering to slavers throughout the galaxy. Independent slavers are often sponsored by the nobles of House Sovros, and entertainment centers using slaves such as gladiatorial pits and brothels often have the Sovros seal somewhere on the paperwork. They savagely compete with other slavery-interests in the Empire, envisioning themselves as a monopoly on the evil trade in their promised future. Outside of the slave trade, House Sovros owns some of the most fertile, valuable land on Onderon, which it exploits ruthlessly to fill House Sovros’ coffers and feed their extravagant lifestyle. They are extremely territorial, and lesser Sith who encroach on their claims or stand in their way often end up dead or disgraced before long. In the event that the House cannot rid itself of its rivals in such a direct way, the House of Greens turns to contracts to try and ensnare and litigate their obstacles out of power, eventually turning them into just another slave. Orders “You bear a legacy beyond millennia. A river of blood has carried you to this moment, and you shall carry our noble house along its path to our foregone destiny. Those who don’t will drown. Remember this as you take up the mantle we have graciously offered.” -Sovros noble speaking to newly inducted warriors of Vu de Zakkeg House Sovros is divided among several orders, ranging from the nobility to the commoners. All serve Darth Sovros, but outside of their master’s direct influence the orders are prone to cold and cruel competition with each other. Each plots to put their own Sovros in command of the House, and intricate plots years in the execution are an accepted reality among the House’s higher orders. Vel de Malraas, the Order of Assassins Sith who follow the path of the Assassin find themselves given over to the Vel de Malraas, an order named for the stealthy Malraas native to Dxun. This fraternity of killers, illusionists, and manipulators are currently the dominant order of House Sovros, largely due to the current Darth Sovros having risen from their ranks. The Vel de Malraas prefers subtlety and cunning to the brutality of the warrior or the strange magicks of the sorcerer. Indeed, it’s considered a blot on one’s honor to have one’s deeds attributed to one’s self. An ideal member of the Vel de Malraas will never be known as anything but another stuffed shirt sipping wine, at least until they bear the title of Sovros. Vel de Drexl, the Order of Warriors Named for the infamous apex predator, the Vel de Drexl takes on the martial duties of House Sovros. In particular, they take up the art of dueling with a fanaticism bordering on mania. Disputes are often settled by the saber among the warriors, though typically duels are only permitted to go until dismemberment, not death. Cybernetic limb replacements are a common sight on the warriors of House Sovros, and the rigorous scorekeeping of these contests determines a warrior's status. Outside of duels, most warriors are trained to dominate a drexl mount of their own, which they ride into battle at the head of the House’s common troops. No warrior can truly achieve greatness within the Vel de Drexl without a proper mount, and the most venerated warriors often duel atop these mounts in grand airborne spectacles excitedly watched by enthusiasts across the Empire. Vel de Crasna, the Order of Sorcerers Vel de Crasna’s titular creature is a good representation of the Order’s place within the House. Named for a carnivorous plant, the sorcerers of Vel de Crasna are known for approaching things from unconventional angles compared to their fellow, more predatory houses. Lurking in remote estates and in winding tunnels and catacombs, the Vel de Crasna is hardly ever seen by outsiders except at House functions and any opportunities for the scheming magicians to grab power. Accumulating lore and going through slaves like firewood, rumors abound as to the sorcerer’s goals and plots, something fed by the intricate and seemingly nonsensical rules and rituals followed by the order. Vel de Crasna earns its keep by providing the House with Sithspawn, “improved” slaves, curses, and Dark Side imbued talismans and weapons. Vu de Zakkeg, the Order of Riders The highest of the non-Sith orders, Vu de Zakkeg is composed of the failed children of the various family lines of House Sovros. That is to say, it’s made up of those born to House nobility without the blessing of Force-sensitivity. Their namesake animal, the tough and ferocious Zakkeg, are given cybernetic implants to allow the noble-born to control them, and the warriors of Vu de Zakkeg are trained their entire lives in the use of weaponry and battlefield tactics in order to serve the house in its conflicts and conquests. Some are trained in specialized fields, such as bounty hunting, finances, or technology, but most find their place on the back of a Zakkeg. Those who do well often find themselves a position of honor as a subservient spouse to a Sith, in an attempt to draw out the latent Force potential in the warrior’s bloodline. Vu de Boma, the Order of Vassals Near the end of his life, Abraxes Vastoga tried another method of creating Force-sensitives to increase House Sovros’ power. He secretly constructed an underground cloning facility, and began cloning himself and other Force-sensitives in the hopes that a few would bear the capacity to wield the mystical power he hoped to build his dynasty on. When clone after clone failed to display the necessary abilities and was promptly recycled, he refused to give up and expanded the operation. By the time he died, the cloning facility was truly vast, but had failed to produce any Force-sensitives. It was abandoned for a time, but with the coming of the Sith Empire the House saw the purpose of such a place and brought it back online. Short-lived clones were pouring out of the facility within a few years, and were being sold as high-quality slaves or made to serve as soldiers and workers for the House’s interests. Thus the Vu de Boma was born. Composed entirely of clones, the Vu de Boma forms the bulk of the House’s military force. Each clone is flash trained and brainwashed to make them perfect for their planned occupation, and House Sovros has not been hesitant about utilizing species specific to the jobs they require the clones to fulfill. Abyssins, with their capacity to regenerate from the abuses heaped on them, are typically found in the role of common laborers. Wookiees and Talz can be found leading Sovros battle-lines as shock troopers. Zeltron are cloned and trained as supervisors, taught to use their pheromones and telepathy to keep other slaves in line and root out dissidents. There are even rumors of a special project to manufacture the notoriously difficult to clone Clawdites to serve as a spy force. Some say that the House has already succeeded. Vu de Orbalisk, the Order of Servants A small order stemming out of the clones of Vu de Boma, the Vu de Orbalisk are servants and bodyguards for the three Sith orders of House Sovros. By tradition, the highly trained and extremely subservient order are the only slaves permitted direct service to the Sith of the House of Greens. As such, they hold great authority carrying out their masters wishes among the lesser Vu de Boma, and are given greater access among the House’s many properties. The Vu de Orbalisk acts as the right hand of the Sith orders, valued for their skill and trustworthiness. Occasionally a member of the Vu de Boma proves itself exceptional enough to be promoted to this honorable order, but more often members of the Vu de Orbalisk are custom cloned for the purpose. Genetically modified consorts altered to their master’s tastes lounge in parlors while warrior cyborgs decked out in gold and green patrol the halls.
  2. A screech of grinding metal echoed through the district as one of the repulsorlift transports smashed through the fence and crashed into the wall of another building, erupting into flames and electrical sparks. The rear hatch opened and Nok stumbled out before ducking down a side alley. If that Booster Rann did his job, the security feeds would be wiped and Nok would never have officially been there. Combine that with a planetary government in transition after an invasion and biased, corruptible, Sith officials in charge, and Nok would easily avoid any lengthy investigations. Particularly since his investment group were now one of the most influential forces on the planet, and Nok would soon be listed as one of the chief executives of Mon Calamari shipyards. All in all, a good day. ____________________________________________________ Nok shuffled into the cantina "The Knotted Keelkana", feigning that his blindness was as complete as it looked. He loosely held a sealed case in one hand, and his other held an ornate walking cane of black wood inlaid with gold filigree. An uneasy undercurrent of fear gave the neimoidian Sithling plenty to see with. People huddled around their drinks, scooted tables from one another, and periodically checked their masks. People were scared. Plague, invasion, and the news of a slaughter by an unknown assailant at the Shipyard's planetary office had everyone spooked. Nok faintly heard "secret police", "assassins", and even "witches" being muttered in the tight clusters scattered across the room. The air hummed with tension bordering on panic, and it warmed Nok's skin like a hot bath as he passed through it. He had no trouble finding the man (men?) he had come to see. Well, meet anyway. He was the only one with two heads. The Troig gave off a distinct impression, one that resembled a biohazard warning on top of a posted notice of wild Gundarks in the area. "Mess with me at your own stupidity." The cantina's patrons stayed well clear of the man, and a few shifted around the tables to marginally better cover as they saw Nok approach the him. "So..." Nok said quietly as he sat down, "I understand your the man to talk to about 'offworld' purchases." He kept wrists loose as he set the case on the counter, ready to draw one of his knives if he sensed the wrong thing from the dangerous criminal.
  3. Nok stopped midstride as Xar’s voice came in over his “seeing eye droid”. Command? Nok hesitated for a moment, then let it go. The best specialists were always a bit special. A gran hacker Nok had employed once had demanded to be served live fish before every job, claiming it helped him “energize” or something. Nok suspected the hacker had a few personality problems, and last he’d heard the gran had overdosed on spice. I suppose that is one of the benefits of working with a droid. I don’t have to worry about him inhaling something he shouldn’t and either dying or talking. “Understood. On my way.” Nok changed course and headed for the nearest set of stairs. Emergency signs along the walls told him he was going in the right direction, something Nok couldn’t have normally known if they hadn’t embossed the signs with raised lettering. Good of them to make allowances for the disabled. He had almost made it to the stairwell when voices echoed through the hallways. “20 seconds from office. Still no response from guards.” That was fast. “Sir!” a guard called from about 30 feet behind him. And observant. Nok slowly turned, allowing the guard to see his “disability”. “Yes?” The guard approached, one hand holding a raised blaster pistol pointed at Nok’s head, the other pulling out a set of stun cuffs. “You’re droid is on the loose and Master Edda isn’t resp-” His words stopped mid-sentence as his blaster flew from his hand and into Nok’s. Without pausing for a beat, Nok shot him in the head. He let the blaster tumble to the ground. Bursts of fear blossomed through the hallways, no doubt people who had heard the shot. Judging by their bulky frames they were armored guards. Nok shook his head and raised both arms. Two of his knives hummed as they came to life and zipped down the hallways, turning corners and homing in on the nearest guards. Nok saw the fear spike into reactionary animal panic at the sudden sight of floating weapons. Whatever wry satisfaction he got from the display turned to frustration as Nok struggled to put the nearest two guards down. He’d successfully stopped them, but he’d made a mistake trying to control two knives at once from a distance. His attacks were clumsy and ill-timed, and while he succeeded in cutting the guards he failed to put either down. Two more guards were pounding down hallways to Nok’s left and right, and the’d be in their lines of sight in moments. Growling, he sent one of the two knives into the ceiling, burying it in a light fixture that sparked and exploded. The other knife, now under Nok’s full attention, twisted and moved through the air with far greater speed and precision. Still a bit clumsy from the distance he was at, it was nevertheless enough for Nok to slit the guard’s throat after aa few passes. Letting it go, he turned back to the other knife, wiggling it out of the fixture and down towards the guard who was just activating his night-vision. He turned it on just in time to see the tip of the blade pass through his left eye. “Put your hands behind your head.” Nok grimaced. While he’d been so focused, the other guards had caught up to him. The only reason they’d likely not attacked him outright was because all they saw was a blind neimoidian with his hands in the air, twitching and waving like a madman. Raising his hands, Nok brought his focus back to his surroundings, to the intricate currents of the Dark Side all around him. The demise of the two guards had washed over him, releasing that intense power that Nok was beginning to associate with violent death. He touched it, and he comprehended it. Instinctually, naturally, he understood the vast energy that surrounded him. It felt...excited. Anticipatory. Death only whetted its appetite. More, it seemed to say. Nok exhaled, touching the Force in just the right way to get the reaction he wanted. He didn’t wrestle it or coax it, he played it as if it was a part of himself. His remaining two knives hummed to life and tore out of his sleeves, passing through the tops of the skulls of the two Mon Calamari guards. Their deaths exploded like fireworks to Nok’s vision, their light passing through him like a bolt of lightning. With a set of dull thumps the guard’s bodies crumpled to the floor. Nok’s knives came shooting back to him on the strings of the Force. He pocketed them in his robe, his sleeves and forearm holsters ruined, turned, and walked down the stairs. As he descended, the noise of people rose from a faint murmur to a frightened chatter to a panicked mania. A set of durasteel doors, locked, barred a single room in the duracrete hallway. A TT-8L/Y7 gatekeeper droid, given a polished white finish, emerged from the wall and scanned. “DO NOT MOVE,” it blasted. “WHY ARE YOU HERE?” They turned up the volume on this one. “Please,” Nok said, panic edging into his voice, “please let me in! There’s a killer droid!” “...YOU ARE NOT ON THE LIST OF REGISTERED EMPLOYEES.” “My ID isn’t in yet! Search under Nok Morliss.” The little eye held still for a moment, then backed up. “I’m sorry sir. I was not aware you were on the board of directors. However, without a way to confirm your identity, I cannot let you in until I’ve determined you are not a threat.” “Run me against internal logs. My security check should still be on file.” “...Confirmed. You were registered as a guest. This is sufficient confirmation of your identity. Apologies for the delay sir.” The door swished open and Nok stepped inside. The fear in the long, featureless storage room exploded at the opening of the door. Several workers pointed at Nok, but whatever they were shouting was lost in the jumble. Nok stepped towards the crowd, but was stopped when a large, muscled Quarren blocked his path. “Who are you?” Nok kept his face pointed forward into the tall man’s chest, and spoke in a breathy, edge-of-hysterical voice. “I’m...Jin...Jin Meer. I’m an investor.” The Quarren’s tentacles twisted in what Nok thought might be suspicion. “What’s going on out there?” “Intruder. Some crazy droid.” “...Alright. Security will take care of it. Just find a spot and sit down.” “Thank you...umm…” “Kuaggs. Foreman Kuaggs.” He started walking away. Nok cocked his head. “Head of the union?” Kuaggs gave a burbling noise that sounded something like annoyance. “Head of the Quarren Workers Union.” He turned back, suspicion clear in his blue eyes. “How’s an investor know that?” Nok only backed away, slumping against a wall and sinking to the ground. “Hey,” Kuaggs called. “I asked you-” Nok bowed his head, ignoring the Quarren as he sunk into the Force. He could see the fear saturating the room, desperate and maddening. It just needed the right push. A flick of his fingers, and the one of the light fixtures burst into a spray of sparks. Then another, and another, and another. Kuaggs’ head whipped around, following the exploding lights and the growing shadows, before turning back to the seated Nok. Nok saw the comprehension dawn on his face. “You’re one of them!” Nok’s hand flicked out once more, and like slipping on an old glove one of his vibro knives sailed out on currents of the Force. Kuaggs screamed and then gurgled as the knife buried itself in his throat, twisted, and shot back to Nok. The scream was contagious as blood geysered out of the former foreman, and the fear turned to blind madness. Shoving, trampling, and blind flailing turned the crowd of workers into a full mob. “Sorry Kuaggs,” Nok muttered. “But better this than disbanding the union later.” He paused. “Better for me I mean.” He stood up, shattering more lights until the room was pitch black, and walked out. The TT-8L emerged from the wall. “Sir...what is going-” Nok gestured, and a squeal of metal preceded the droid eye being ripped from the wall and dropped to the ground, sparking wires and hardware trailing behind it. “Xar,” he said into his commlink, “I think I’ve done all I can here. Our target was not in the basement, but I managed to eliminate a tertiary objective. I’m heading out. Alert me once you’re done, and our Holonet partner will wipe the security feeds.”
  4. Jorl Edda, chief administrative officer of Mon Calamari shipyards, looked stressed. While it was difficult to gauge emotion from the fishlike faces of the Mon Calamari, the unhealthy pale skin and dull eyes of the CAO spoke of long nights and far too much caf. His eyes flicked up at the approaching neimoidian, a minor, masterless Sith apprentice. His eyes were covered by a gold-embroidered crimson blindfold, and long, silky red robes swayed silently as he walked forward. Clipped to the side of his head was a seeing-eye droid, a small eye and voicebox that whispered instructions to the handicapped man as he slowly walked forward. Every finger sported several glinting rings adorned with nova crystals, and his headdress was a complex thing of black felt that looked more like modern art than clothing. Everything about the creature spoke of pretension and insecurity. Jorl’s lip curled, and he said nothing. ____________________________________________________________________ Nok made a show of feeling around for the chair, and sat down. “Thank you for seeing me Master Edda. I’m happy to see your planetary head office escaped the invasion unscathed.” Jorl grunted, but remained silent. Nok could feel resentment boiling off of the man, and he could guess at its source. Jorl was one of the most powerful men on the planet, yet the coming of the Sith had changed all that. Now, Mon Calamari shipyards was waiting for the inevitable word that the Sith Empire would seize direct control of the planet’s biggest industry, crushing the economy and plunging the planet into downturn and ruin. Even now, all exports had been halted while the Sith government consolidated its power and integrated its own laws with the local populace. And that was on top of the planet suffering a plague and rebuilding after the violent invasion. The planet was in ruins, its future was unclear, and the Mon Calamari and Quarren had no control. And now the Sith had sent a minor apprentice to deal with Jorl, a clear insult. “Straight to business then. I’m here to discuss the future of Mon Cal Shipyards, and where you’ll be in the new order.” Jorl grimaced, but kept his voice even as he said, “Mon Calamari shipyards will be happy to comply with whatever legal action the Empire requires of us. We want to make this transition as smooth as possible.” Nok could only imagine the bile in Jorl’s mouth as he said those words. But now was the time to play the game. “I think you misunderstand me Master Edda. I’m not here on behalf of the Sith Empire.” Jorl’s movements stopped dead, though only for a split second. Nok had thrown him. He recovered, and Nok could see the man’s evaluation of the sithling change. Nok wasn’t an official to the CAO, he was an opportunist. Businessmen like Jorl could use opportunists. “...Explain then.” “We both know what’s coming, Master Edda. Control over the shipyards is key to control over the planet, and the Sith are hungry for the warships you can make for them. Once the Dark King appoints a Sith Lord over the planet, that Lord will seize the shipyards, appoint his own officers, and scrap all existing contracts. Workers will rebel, or quit, or just not work fast enough, and he’ll respond with imported slaves or make the slaves right here. Quality will plummet, profit will follow, and the planet will be gutted to make up the difference.” As he spoke, Nok saw ripples of anger and fear interplay across the Mon Calamari, who had no doubt been fearing that outcome ever since Sith troops took the capital. “Alright, fine, let’s say that you’re right. Are you offering to take the position of Mon Cal’s new lord?” Nok laughed. “Hardly! I can’t control the King’s choices. But something you don’t understand is Sith politics. We’re not, contrary to the holo-propaganda you might have seen, one cohesive horde intent on destroying the galaxy. The truth is we’re similar to any government, with different Sith vying for power and influence. A Sith Lord will be appointed here, and I can’t stop that, but what I can provide you is a Sith on your side. Sith, even apprentices,” he said as he casually gestured to himself, “have rights. A Sith Lord of a planet can seize almost anything he wants, but the exception is the property of another Sith.” This time it was Jorl’s turn to laugh. Nok’s “ploy” must have seemed so obvious to him. “So you want me to give you control over the Shipyards? Is that it? And you promise to run them responsibly?” he mocked. He raised his hand to gesture for security, but Nok interrupted him. “Of course not. I only want 10%.” Jorl stopped. “10%?” “Yes. Your family, the Edda’s, control 40% of the stock in Mon Calamari shipyards, with the remainder in the hands of other Mon Calamari families across the planet. Oh, and one Quarren.” Nok shrugged, and continued. “Essentially, I want you to put 10% of your stock in the company up for sale. I have a buyer waiting to snatch that 10% up on open market price.” Jorl’s head bowed as he considered, and Nok could guess his thoughts. With the Sith invasion, the plague, and now the global export shutdown, Mon Calamari Shipyards’ stock was at the bottom of the ocean, ridiculously cheap. But cheap stock of a massive company like the Shipyards’ was still a lot for a single buyer. Nok would have to invest over 3 billion credits to purchase that 10%. Doable, but Jorl must have realized that such an investment would tie Nok firmly to the performance of the company, while still keeping him in the minority of power with his fellow directors. “Won’t the new Sith Lord just seize the stock of the remaining members?” Nok shook his head. “A Sith on your board of directors prevents that. A Sith’s rights extend to all sorts of peripheries, including his business partners. Attacking you would mean attacking me, and while I’m only an apprentice that still means legal involvement, and that means time. A new Sith Lord won’t want to deal with that kind of delay. They’ll be much more willing to deal with a fellow, weaker Sith to get things moving and deal with them later. What I’m offering you is time for the Shipyards to find their footing. All I’m asking you is that you put up some of your stock for sale.” Nok sat back, and waited. He saw Jorl’s face contort as he tried to consider the angles. Nok had no doubt that Jorl now saw Nok as an opportunist looking for a bit of financial glory, gambling that Mon Calamari Shipyards would make a strong return and reward his investment. As the Sith on the board, Nok would be the face of the company to their Sith overlords, but he would still be controllable so long as Jorl and the rest held his purse-strings in their joint venture. Nok was a worm, but a worm that Jorl could put in a box. Jorl’s computer flared to life as the Mon Calamari scanned through legal documents and reports. His eyes stared intensely, but Nok could tell the decision was made. Eventually, Jorl sighed, though Nok couldn’t tell if it was genuine resignation or a performance for his benefit. He keyed in a few codes, then closed his computer. “Done.” Nok’s datapad dinged from inside his robe. The sale was complete. He smiled. “Thank you very much. I hope our next board meeting is soon. I’m looking forward to meeting my fellow directors.” Jorl’s lips turned up as if he’d just swallowed something spiny and poisonous. His voice remained civil. “Well, I’m sure the other’s will be happy to know their 90% is safe.” “70%” Jorl paused halfway out of his chair. “What?” “70%. Kip Jento was killed several days ago, likely in the chaos of the invasion.” Nok saw Jorl’s eyes narrow. They both knew the mogul Kip Jento had been alive only yesterday. “Still,” Jorl said cautiously, “her children…” “...cannot inherit as of yet. There are taxes on that sort of thing in the Sith Empire, and in order to properly tax their inheritance the Sith need to do a full evaluation on their holdings. Like the value of the Shipyards.” Nok shook his head as if in exasperation. “It’ll be months before that gets done, and until then their inheritance will be held in trust by the Sith government. That 20% is effectively null until then.” Nok saw everything click for the CAO. The widening of the eyes, the catching of the breath… Jorl’s hands flew for the security call button. Nok casually lifted his arm, and a glint of metal and a soft hum preceded the vibroknife as it buried itself in the CAO’s neck, carried by the gentlest touch of the Force. The most powerful man on Mon Calamari tumbled to the floor. Nok remained seated as the vibroknife deactivated and levitated back to his sleeve. He had only a few minutes. He walked out of the room, and the guards outside looked at him as he passed. He paused. “I had a guard droid I was forced to leave behind when I came in. Where can I retrieve him?” The guard responded curtly. “He’s likely at the front security checkpoint. I’ll message them that you’re coming down.” “Unnecessary.” The guards didn’t have time to even react as Nok sent two knives into their necks on the currents of the Force. He activated his own comlink. “Xar? It’s time. Your target is Chief Financial Officer Hars Volda. His office should be room 217 on second floor. He is not to leave the building alive. Everyone else is expendable. Make some noise. Your payment will be wired on completion.”
  5. The Black Bracer trundled forward, its engines flaring pale blue against its ugly black hull. The knobby, bulky vessel was a blot on the starfield, with only the thin, white slit of the bridge breaking the monotony of its face. Commander Jaden Jorus watched the rebel fleet from the viewport, arranging for an attack, chewing his lip and flexing his mechanical arm with the hiss of hydraulics every few seconds. "Commander," First Officer Malk broke in. "Several enemy cruisers are lining up an attack run on the cruisers. Scans indicate turbolaser batteries." "Orders from command?" "Unchanged." Jorus relaxed, held his silence for a few seconds, then said, "Full power to the engines. Aim a course directly for the enemy cruisers. Point-blank range." Malk, to his credit, didn't blanch at the order to fly the ship into superior firepower. He likely suspected what Jorus knew. They were the shield, not the sword. Turbolaser flashes filled Jorus's view as the enemy cruisers opened fire, the hulking Black Bracer blocking any effective attack run on the smaller and more nimble cruisers. Dull thuds and the hum of dissipating energy rang across the bridge as the shields withstood the bombardment. Still the ship kept on, steady in its advance on the enemy vessels. The bridge held an eerie silence, punctuated by the rhythmic cadence of the enemy blaster fire. Malk broke then spell when the enemy ships almost filled the viewport. "Approaching point-blank range in 7...6...5..." "Gunnery officer," Jorus said without taking his eyes from the enemy, "give them the teeth." The uniformed Gran nodded curtly and crisply spoke into his console. "Snub gunners! Deploy weapons! Prepare to fire on my mark!" Across the hull of the ship, the unsightly protuberances that gave the ship a cancerous look swiveled and opened to reveal short-range rail-guns. Barely able to adjust their aim by more than a few degrees in each direction, the stubby barrels of the cannons pointed out from the ship at whatever happened to cross their path. The shields of the old Bulwark Mk II were nearly a universal green hue as the bombarding turbolasers assaulted the ship that had recklessly piloted into their midst from every direction. "Do it." "Fire!" A cacophony of explosions erupted as the cannons fired, sending rounds of slag into the enemy shields. Seconds later they did it again, and the enemy responded with ever more turbolaser fire. "Commander! Corvettes have entered the battle zone!" A few officers gawked and swore. That cramped space between ships was a deathtrap. What captains would actually fly into such a hellscape? "Corvettes are...they're taking up positions along our flanks! They intend to penetrate our shields! Sir, our hull is strong enough to withstand them. Concentrating power to the forward shie-" "Belay that order First Officer. Full power to the flank guns." The pause was brief, but deafening. Commander Jorus had just ordered them to sacrifice some of their invaluable defensive power in this firestorm to punish some crazy corvette captains playing hero. "...Aye sir!" The flank cannons roared to life, tearing into the corvettes that had approached the rear of the ship. "Shields dropping commander!" Malk called. "Shields at...shields failed commander!" The barrage took on a new cadence as the blasts made direct contact with the reinforced hull. "Sir, corvettes are taking evasive maneuvers to avoid the flak and... Sir! Missile barrage from the Moon Beetle and Broken Bullet just made contact with one of the turbolaser cruisers! And the Goliath just focused its axial cannon on the same ship! It's shields are down! Scans indicate hull integrity close to failure!" Cheers came up around the bridge, but Jorus didn't change his grim expression. The rebels weren't going to run this time. Chunks of molten slag drifted across the nightmare of space between the Black Bracer and its enemies, some from corvette captains and fighter craft unlucky enough to be caught in the barrage, some sheared off the Black Bracer's own hull. "Fires on deck 2....and deck 3! Mess hall is venting vacuum!" Jorus ignored it. "Status on the missile cruisers." "A bombing run was detected and intercepted attempting to attack them." Jorus closed his eyes, already knowing the answer before he asked. "Their current heading?" Malk looked up, a mixture of disbelief and fear in his eyes. "Us. Sir." "All hands, brace for impact." Jorus's voice remained calm and even. This wasn't pirate raids or imp dodging. This was war, the bloodiest kind. Emotion had no place here. As his orders were relayed, he watched the incoming wings of bombers from the viewport. They soared over, almost close enough to read the personalized stamps the rebel pilots had marked them with. Then a new, deep thudding added itself to the percussive orchestra of death only meters away through layers of durasteel. "Commander! Taking damage on all levels! Rear passage 1-3 is-" "Just put it on the screen First Officer. There's no need to shout." Outside, half melted lumps of durasteel, the skin that protected the crew of the Black Bracer from the enemy so intent on their death, rolled past. Jorus flexed his arm.
  6. Nok turned to the droid, and studied for several long moments. Then, he pulled out a datapad, and began tapping at it. When he finally spoke, his voice was smooth and amiable. "120,000 was the amount we originally agreed on if you got me to the source of the voice and got me out again without serious injury. Seeing as I also offered to pay you for any injuries or repairs, I'm going to round that up to 140,000 credits. Unless you're planning on coating yourself in liquid chromium, that will be the extent I'll pay for repairs. If you disagree, feel free to provide me with a maintenance quote indicating you incurred over 20,000 credits worth of damage." The amount stung, but Nok would make it up once he gutted Meer Medical and sold the equipment and freighters to the cartels. "I'll also pay the 2800 for the schematics and info now as well," he said, tapping a few more times on the datapad. "Counting the 15,000 I already gave you, that's...127,800 credits." He lowered the datapad and pulled out the lightsaber, staring down at it as the aches and bruises of the last few hours emanated soft ripples in the Force and outlined the hilt. "I will not pay for this. Not because I can't afford to, but as a matter of principle." He lifted his sightless gaze to meet Xar's. "You killed her, true, but this is mine. I'm not going to throw out any technical smokescreens or legalistic jargon to defend myself. If I were in your position, I'd probably do what you're doing. I'm not going to make this into a lesson or a power play or some display of superiority. I'm simply making a claim. This. Is. Mine. If that's a problem, then simply type in the ID code of the account of your choice here," he said, holding out the datapad where a credit transfer of 127,800 was ready to be confirmed, "and do what you need to do. I have a job offer for you that could easily triple what you're about to make." He held the datapad out further. "I won't surrender on this Xar. The choice is yours." Nok waited. In the cold, clean corridors of his logical mind, he knew he was being foolish. He should just pay the droid for the weapon and move on. But he wouldn't. There was a line he wouldn't cross, a time when surrendering wasn't just part of a plot or the smart move but when it was true surrender. This was that line, that time. I ate the howlrunner to prove something. I won't surrender.
  7. "Commander on the bridge!" The officers of the Black Bracer came to attention as Captain Jaden Jorus limped to the command console. His eyes scanned the officers, impeccably attired and fit specimens of imperial military excellence. Their eyes danced with the fire of zealots, and every officer to a man bore the patch of Varaka, their vaunted god-king. The dregs of a cult and and a ship built to get shot. He smiled. I guess I'm home. Jorus was anything but the naval ideal of a commanding officer. Threadbare combat gear bleaching from green to gray, old cybernetics whirring with each movement, a sun-seared face, and wrinkles turning to crevices painted the picture of a man with more years lived than he'd been alive. "Get back to work. At ease and all that." The officers turned back to their posts, but the steel cables under their skin didn't seem to slacken. I guess having the Dark King's eye on you will do that. First Officer Malk, an impressively built Cerean, eyed Jorus's limping leg as the irreverent commander rubbed feeling into it. "Were you injured in the battle Commander?" "Nope. Leg cramp. Report." "We've arrived in the Corellian system sir, and are moving to rendezvous with his Majesty's force now. ETA 8 minutes. We just received the all's well from the Moon Beetle, The Broken Bullet, and Our Velvet Ire." Jorus nodded absently. "And our new toys?" Malk didn't miss a beat at Jorus's informal inquiry. Good soldier. "All upgrades installed on Kuat are functioning properly. Calibrations and tests run during the transit indicate everything is operating within optimal tolerances." "Those kuati grasscutters really know their ships. I guess pulling their collective bank accounts out of the firing line made them all grateful." "Actually sir, the upgrades were ordered by direct command from-" Jorus waved his hand in dismissal, and Malk obediently stopped talking and went back to his work, an equally muted and fierce anticipation lurking under his starched and dried expression. Jorus knew that they'd gotten the upgrades for "exemplary service", but he'd bet his last arm that they'd come with at least two Holonet conferences, a shouting match, and a dozen bribes. It was just how things got done. Speaking of which... "Let's pick up the pace. Increase forward thrust by 12% and have our cruisers follow us in pattern 22-Beta. And get Zyro to turn that fancy new cloak on."
  8. Nok breathed. In. Out. In. Out. He stood on the edge of the burning city, Sith soldiers running around him as his Sith savior strode away surrounded by troops. You survived. I survived. The cold, the dark, the shadow of death had hung over him but failed to hold him down. His focus shifted to the lightsaber hilt in his hand. He had survived where another died. I was right. I was always right. But it's not enough... I've hidden for so long, been so afraid of revealing myself, of coming into the light. Hiding isn't an option anymore. I am Sith. Enemies will be drawn to this power, enemies I may not understand or see coming. Monsters that will see through the shadows. I need more. I need power. As if in answer, a wave roared against the city barriers, temporarily overcoming the screams and howling flames. Nok's mind, coming down off the adrenaline, began to assemble something like an idea. Disparate pieces wove together into a picture, something vivid and daring. He saw the future of this world. He saw how it could be his. Nok breathed. In. Out. In. Out. And he smiled. "Xar! I believe I owe you some payment? And if you're interested...I have a job for you."
  9. Nok turned his sightless gaze on the droid, hands remaining still as he touched the Force. Fear ran through him, crystallizing and echoing through his will. Nok was a part of the Force, a spreading stain like blood in the water. This creature was a simple machine, a tool. He inhaled, exhaled, and pushed. The droid slipped and slammed into the water as Nok shot its feet out from under it. It was up in a second, and barreling towards Nok. "Fine. I'd hoped to discourage you, but..." Nok waited as the droid closed in, durasteel fingers extended. He waited...waited...waited. The droid reached for his neck. "No." Nok ignited the lightsaber he'd taken from the zeltron. He might not have been trained to use it, but pointing it away from him while concealing it in his sleeve was well within his skills. The droid jerked to a stop as the blade penetrated its neck. Its red lights flickered briefly, then went dead. "Never fear, you're getting paid. Now we just need to figure out how we're going to escape alive."
  10. Three freighters lost... Calculating cost... Battle remains cost-effective. Freighters designated disposable. Continue combat. Master had commanded the freighter's disposal. Master desired the freighter's disposal. They would absorb incoming fire, and be disposed of simultaneously. The freighters were disposable. The Starbride's sides blossomed in pinpricks of light as its "missiles" revealed their nature. When the previous owners had been attempting to refurbish the battle cruiser as a luxury cruiser, they'd been required to add sufficient escape pods to handle the maximum number of guests that the ship would carry. Master had simply loaded the pods with explosives and a rudimentary guidance system. The explosions of the flight of pods striking the escorting corvettes painted Lady's face gold through the viewport. She twitched. Commence new attack pattern...show no mercy.
  11. The Force swirled in a torrent of fear and passion that matched the physical water flowing past the legs of the creature's victims. Nok had only as moment to appreciate it as he gestured at the nearest risen corpse, sending the limping cadaver tumbling backwards with an act of will into the monster's gullet. Perhaps it won't like the taste of rotted meat, he thought sourly. The power the creature displayed was incredible. It flowed out from it, embracing its puppets in a subtle saturation Nok couldn't parse. It was strange, alien, and vast. And arrogant. The creature's mystique had dimmed slightly after it threatened them in Basic. There was a mind there, a mind as limited and emotional as any humanoid. A powerful, hungry mind, but not a god. Putting aside his impulse to bask in his newfound perspective of the Dark Side, Nok's analytical mind turned and ground away at this new evidence. It doesn't just want us dead. If it did, it'd stop the droids from holding back the sea. It wouldn't be talking to us. It has an ego. A grudge. It wanted us here. As an audience? No... It needs us to get out. His thoughts were interrupted as he spotted a small orb hurtling towards the monster's maw. A thermal detonator. A grin spread across Nok's face. Holding out both hands, he gestured at the tendrils nearest to the explosive, knocking them aside and away from the incoming weapon.
  12. Krath Apothos

    Kuat

    "Commander Jorus...enemy fleet is jumping to hyperspace! Full retreat!" Jorus smiled as the bridge cheered. The Empire had won. The rebels- "Commander! The Lightsbane! It's...it's been destroyed!" "What!?" "A ship evaded our sensor sweeps and assaulted it. We're receiving orders to pursue." "Pass the orders onto the Broken Bullet and Moon Beetle." Outside the viewport, the shattered remains of the imperial ship spun through space, framing the stealth cruiser in debris. "Destroy it."
  13. That is power. Nok watched the currents of the Dark Side respond to the passions of the Sith as he scythed and weaved through tentacles' grip. He did not grip the Force and wield like a crude weapon. He flowed through it, and it wove to his desire, a beast anticipating its master, a body obeying its mind. I see. I see where I was wrong. Nok had only ever seen Darth Akheron truly wield the Dark Side, the man a font of focused power that crackled and scorched the universe with pure intensity, like the moment of a bomb's detonation preserved in a life-form. Nok had been aping him, trying to gather that intensity with each expression of the Force, only to be frustrated time and again as it came slowly and slipped his grasp. But this new lord...he was a creature of power, but not the same as Akheron, any more than a cloaking field was the same as a blaster bolt. His power was subtle and fluid, and he ran with it instead of wielding it. But...that's not my way either, is it? I need to go back to the beginning. Nok let his Force attack fall and let the gathered strength drain. This was important, he knew it was important without knowing why. I don't wield. I don't flow. Nok couldn't close his eyes. He simply stopped looking outward. The world, the battle, the task, it all faded away. I unravel. Nok's mind let go, and he unspooled into the Force. His mind threatened to pull apart as it rode the currents of life, power, and passion. He let it. That fear that had threatened to overwhelm him, the invasive presence he'd recoiled from, returned at his call as if it had never left. Maybe it hadn't. Stronger than ever, it coalesced around him, whispering his own thoughts. Are you a conqueror? A coward? Or nothing at all? I don't know what I am. ... Good answer. Nok did not rise out of the depths of the Force. He came out the other side. The battle raged around him much as it had before. The fear, rage, and death resonated through the chamber, giving Nok the vision he needed. But now he saw more. He saw intricacies to the currents that the passions of the dying stirred. He the faintest hint of patterns and structure in the rolling energy that moved unseen by organic and artificial eyes. But more than that, he understood it. His comprehension wasn't academic or conscious. It was a part of him. He just had to let go to take hold. "I am one with the Force... ...and the Force serves me." Nok didn't gather the Force or try to move with it. He touched it gently. The Force responded as he knew instinctively that it would. His hand held out in mimicry of his will, he gestured at one of the tendrils that had gotten close. He grasped it and flung it aside into the stone wall, the wet slap of cartilage and meat hitting stone reverberating in Nok's ears like a victory bell. No delay, no clumsiness, no difficulty. It had been as easy as tossing a stick from his hand. I don't wield the Force. I don't flow with the Force. I unravel into the Force, and so I understand it.
  14. The screams of the troopers accented the bursts of terror that washed across the room. Nok watched in stunned fascination as the...creature swallowed Xar before spitting him back out. The droid, true to its ego, got right back up, shouted orders, and fired at the thing. And yet, Nok couldn't actually see the monster. The Dark Side warped around it in a haze, only giving Nok glimpses of teeth as the troopers were drawn struggling toward the unseen maw. Backpedaling, he raised his hands, gathering the Force to him before throwing the most powerful push he could at the nearest tentacles, hoping to give the troopers enough space to start firing back. He immediately began gathering for another push, gritting his teeth as his mind raced to find a way out of this. The Sith who'd been washed in with them, that was the their best hope. Even now, the Dark Side coalesced around him in subtle patterns and complex currents Nok would never have been able to picture. The power moving through this man was greater than any he'd seen before.
  15. Krath Apothos

    Kuat

    "Sir...the fighter carrier is gone! Our Velvet Ire has completely destroyed it!" "Keep up the barrage! We're not out of this yet!" Still...how much longer will they keep this up? Jorus didn't care for the firepower arrayed against them. The Black Bracer's timely positioning had denied the enemy a straightforward assault several times, but the armored hulk wasn't invincible. And that star destroyer...that thing was heavily armed and shielded beyond any standard imperial vessel. The flaming wreckage of an enemy fighter that had strayed too close to the Black Bracer exploded into shrapnel as it passed by the bridge, briefly illuminating the room in orange light. Jorus grimaced, but didn't react. "New coordinates and targeting priorities, prepare to broadcast."
  16. Krath Apothos

    Kuat

    The barrage of turbolaser fire transformed into rippling blasts along the Black Bracer's shields. On the bridge, the dull thuds rhythmically boomed through the room, punctuating the reports being called out from stations. "Shields dropping...40% and falling." "Sir, reporting direct hits from the Moon Beetle and Broken Bullet. Debris is disrupting our scanners, but no corvettes appear to have survived the barrage." "The Divine Justice. Status?" "Unclear, but it suffered heavy damage sir." Jorus's mouth twisted. The rebel's reinforcements brought them some much needed firepower, but the superior command and quality of the imperial fleet was leaving rebels dead in droves. The wreckage of ships and the corpses of crewmen hung scattered in the void between fleets, slowly turning as they careened into the infinite. Would the rebels fight to the bloody end or run? "Push us forward to sector 1148. Let's give them a reason to run. Prepare for updated targeting priorities."
  17. Nok's hand closed around the lightsaber hilt hidden under the chilled water. Surreptitiously he clipped it to his belt and didn't mention it. Xar had killed the woman, but he didn't seem interested in the valuable weapon, and Nok didn't want to draw his attention to it if he could help it. Still in pain from his fall, Nok could see the shape of the peculiar droids. They were no model he recognized, and they seemed decidedly fish-like in their design with their heads eerily similar to a Mon Calamari. He struggled to comprehend how they were still standing, but couldn't tell if they were even running anymore. They didn't appear to be armed, and weren't moving to stop Nok and Xar, so he hoped they were nonfunctional or at least didn't see the pair as threats. One of Nok's knives dropped back into his left hand as his right drew his blaster. The voice moved through the Force, spoke through the Force, but had no apparent source. Nok's attention fell on the altar and the skeletal remains laid atop it. His grim, tight lips creeped up into a macabre smile. He'd read about the labs of Force-sensitives amassing knowledge of concepts like souls and spirits centuries beyond modern science, and an altar in a lab filled with a dark presence matched the ideal perfectly. He crouched as he tamped down his dreams of the possible treasure trove they'd found, and forced his thoughts onto a more cautious track. The source of that voice...the corpse? A guardian? *Rumble* Is that...panic? Springing back at the sudden deluge, Nok half leapt, half sprinted to the wall and pressed his back against it. Water surged past his feet, and to Nok's Force senses, he saw the panicked struggle of sea creatures slipping into the flooding lab like dropped glowballs. Then, larger things dropped through. People. Alright, so they're functional after all. Nok sidestepped along the edge of the wall towards the back of the room, away from the droids and the altar. Fate or chance or the Force had granted him a surplus of new people, and if any of them were his companions who'd gladly thrown themselves at the Sith, he had no doubt they'd trigger whatever danger was here first if he just held back. Still...the feel he got from the newcomers was different... He sheathed his knife and holstered his pistol, but kept his hands ready to draw again.
  18. Krath Apothos

    Kuat

    The starfield erupted in explosions as the ships dealt death to each other. Corvette after corvette shattered into slag and debris as the bombardment. Jorus grimaced as reports came in of a Sith Cruiser blasting apart under a concentrated barrage. "Sir! The Divine Justice's shields are down!" "And Zyro?" "He reports that he doesn't appear to have been spotted. He's still lining up his attack vector." "Good, keep me apprised." "Sir, communications are online, we're receiving tactical telemetry from our allies." Jorus stared down at the data flooding in, then nodded. "Move along this heading, and order Moon Beetle and Broken Bullet to fire along these vectors." "Yes sir!"
  19. She died defiantly rather than lose control. Nok's lip curled contemptuously. Fool. Blind, dead fool. Control was an illusion. You only lost it when you stopped believing you had it. Nok was trapped underground in a flooding cave with a psychotic droid that could turn on him if he so much as insulted it. Not an ideal situation, but he had his mind and so he had as much control as he'd ever had. Only the weak thought they could ever lack control over their own choices, and only the arrogant thought they controlled anything else. The seawater rushed past Nok's legs, soaking and tugging at his heavy robes. Grimacing, he activated the vibroknife still in his left hand and sliced his ruined robes away, letting them drop into the current and flow into the pit. Underneath, he wore black noghri leathers, tailored to fit his taller frame. His other three vibroknives, curved blades with horn grips and a different sigil engraved on each, sat nestled in their wrist sheaths, and his hold-out blaster hung snug at his hip. He shut off his knife and drew the inactive blade across the tip of his finger, pain blossoming and illuminating the cave like a candle while blood dripped into the water below. Perception is power, but no one to pretend for now. "Good work," he said to Xar as he approached. "She's dead, I-" He stopped as the unmistakable sound of creaking metal echoed up from the chamber below, barely audible over the rushing water. Nok got the faintest impression of shapes moving through the water. Droids... He smiled. "I guess this place isn't as empty as we thought. Good thing. We needed someone to ask for directions." Looks like a good twenty feet down. Fall probably killed her. As for me... Master Miwak, one of Nok's instructors, had taught him how to roll into a fall, but twenty feet was tricky at best and he hadn't practiced in some time. Dead in the cold and dark. Fear raced through him in waves in time with his breathing. Nok sunk into the emotion, channeling it into something useful. In that clarity, he had an idea, something he'd read about but never attempted. Nok wasn't about to stay up here. Sheathing his knife, he exhaled. Then he jumped. As he fell, he pushed with the Force as he had before, but now on himself instead of a fleeing woman. Even as he did, he could feel how he'd done it wrong, the move clumsy and and uncertain. It slowed him down, but through him off his balance. Instinctively, he tucked his legs like he'd been taught. Pain blossomed as he crashed into the water and rolled in the current. A pathetic landing that would have had his trainers beating him, but with the clumsy Force push it was enough to keep him from breaking any bones. That being said, Nok's formerly unbruised arm now ached, adding to the illumination of his Dark Side vision. With it, he could see through the water to the droids approaching...and to a metal hilt rocking back and forth in the current next to the corpse of the woman.
  20. Nok's gray-green face was stony as the fiery woman refused his offer. His expression didn't so much as twitch as she shouted at him, her anger cascading outwards in a torrent of emotion to match the rising seawater. Nok's shoulders dropped a bare fraction when she started insulting the droid. Her fate was decided now. The neimoidian mogul's outward composure finally broke when, surprisingly, the woman didn't suffer an immediate craniotomy. Instead, in a burst of speed that could only have come from the Force she actually managed to outmaneuver the droid and ran through the rising water. His body tensed as he sidestepped, a knife dropping into his left hand, but the woman barely seemed to see him as she raced towards the hole. A second later Nok was shoved to the side as his mercenary bodyguard barreled past him with a speed and focus only a mechanical death machine could muster. Gotta admire her spirit. She's no coward. He raised his empty right hand. But that saber is mine... His mind unraveled into the Force, the physical sensations fading to unimportant pinpricks of cold light like distant city lights. All around him the power of the Dark Side writhed and pulsed, a fire that clutched, consumed, and wove through everything it touched. Beyond it, in an infinite web of snares and connections, was the universe itself. At that moment, Nok felt like he was grasping everything. ...and I'm done pretending. Dead in the cold and dark Fear raced through Nok, fear of death, fear of weakness, and fear of failure. He tamed it, channeling it into the thick, acrid power of the Dark Side and compelled it, twisting it around the beacon of passion and pain running through the water. The Force pull wasn't elegant, or even very strong. Even with his attempts at practice, Nok's telekinetic abilities hadn't seen much improvement without formal training. To a tough-as-leather spacer like that woman, it would be the equivalent of getting hit with a thick, wet pillow in the chest. It would only slow her down. But her ribs were broken, and with the droid right behind her... <<Kill Shot Assist on Sara Corion>>
  21. Krath Apothos

    Kuat

    "Woo! Yeah! How's it feel when the sky falls on you Kolchak?! Hope you've made your peace, cause it's Judgement Day you karking starch-sucker, and this time I get to be the undertaker!" Jorus looked around at the staring officers and bridge crew. "Oh I'm sorry, should I postpone the battle for vespers? Watch your kriffing stations! Damage reports people, give me damage reports!" The crew, jolted back into action by their commander's vocal whip crack, rattled off data. The missile salvo had successfully pummeled the Divine Justice, and now its shields were holding on by a thread. Apparently the Black Bracer had been too unappealing a target to engage (or just not worth the ammo), and so Jorus's ships had gone unmolested as they closed in. In a few more minutes they'd cut those rebels off and turn them into blood and slag. "Adjust formation per my instructions and advance," he said as he keyed vectors into the command console. "Fire salvo on my command." He grinned. "Glory to Varaka." The crew exploded in a roar. Jorus hadn't heard cheers that excited for the six pod crash of the Nal Hutta Championship Podrace 12 years ago. "...Fire!"
  22. Dropping out of hyperspace, the scarred and dull hull of the Lucrehulk Opulence overshadowed the asteroid base. It's armor, patched and missing, sported dozens of anti-fighter turrets. Even as it slowed, droid starfighters poured from the hangars, their gleaming wings and bright red eyes sharing none of their parent ship's decrepit appearance. Seconds later, a Republic-era Centurion-class Battlecruiser dropped out just ahead of the Opulence. What might have once been a proud military vessel was now painted in garish red and yellow designs, its name proudly emblazoned along its length: Starbride. The result of a disastrous attempt to convert the warship into a cruise liner after the Clone Wars, the venture had bankrupted itself and the ship had been lost as collateral to one of the lenders. Appearing in a loose formation around the two ships, 12 XS stock light freighters dropped out of hyperspace and surged forward. Each looked two days away from a salvage yard, their names and identification hardware scrubbed and scrapped. Aboard the Opulence, A BD-3000 luxury droid watched the makeshift "fleet" assemble into formation. Or at least, what was left of a BD-3000 luxury droid did. Whole sections of plating had been removed, including the faceplate, revealing soldered circuit boards and piecemeal systems. One had had been replaced with a grafted flecette launcher, and the other hand had clearly come from a much larger loading droid. Jutting out from her back, four long legs of that may have once belonged to a BT-16 spider droid anxiously twitched and scraped across the floor. In her mind, she communicated with the droids piloting the other ships, the retrofitted control core of the Opulence relaying her thoughts. "Assemble into formation 13231456-A. No..13231456-B. Prepare for attack runs." The welded nightmare of a luxury droid was L4-6Y, or Lady. Her overclocked processors screamed as she calculated and recalculated vectors, strategies, damage projections, and a dozen other things. Every few seconds, a puff of silvery mist would burst out of her head as her automated cooling system flooded her cognitive module with coolant to keep it from melting. "Head can't handle. Maybe new head? No, extra head. Space on back sufficient for necessary hardware." She opened up another concurrent process and started shopping on the Holo-Net for spare droid heads. As she did, she sent the signal to the scrap heap of a fleet. "Attack" Master had ordered her to defend this base. She would defend this base. She would obey Master, because Master was Master was Master was Master was...
  23. Nok held up his hands, stopping roughly 30 feet away. The woman's form churned the Force around her, illuminating her body from within like a bonfire in a bottle. His voice was steady and serious, no pretense or smooth words to speak of. "Calm down. You're angry. You're in a lot of pain. You're scared. I can feel it. Just take a few breaths and think. I promise there are ways out of this." He waited, taking slow, measured breaths. "You have four choices." He extended his hand with four fingers up. He started ticking them down. "One, you can shoot me with that gun. Though," his sightless gaze deliberately fixed on her trembling hand, "I wouldn't bet on your aim. If you miss me, the droid will kill you before you can fire again. If you hit me, the droid will still kill you because he won't be getting paid and lightsabers are worth a lot of money. Two, you can shoot the droid. You might damage him a little, but I doubt you'll kill him before he kills you. Three, you can give me the gun. You have no way out, and if you want to bleed out what's left of your life here on the floor or get arrested and killed by the Sith for being a Jedi collaborator, that's your business. But I'm not turning my back on someone with a gun pointed at me. Four," Nok's face remained passive, "you give me that lightsaber. I want it. I don't intend to use it. That's all I'll say on that. You do that, and when the Sith eventually dig their way in here, I'll tell them you work for me. If we both make it out of here, I'll give you transport off-planet." He spread his hands, his voice still neutral. "Those are your options as I see them. Now think carefully, because you don't get to choose twice. And if you don't choose, someone else in here will."
  24. "If I had to guess, somewhere down there. I think-" Nok stopped as a deep boom followed by a low rumble that swelled into the roar of shattering stone echoed through the chamber. Throughout it, he remained perfectly still, but as the cacophony subsided, he turned his head and stared blindly towards the tunnel entrance that had been the source of the explosion. "...someone survived that." His mouth pursed in a thoughtful expression. "Just one...and in pain. Broken ribs, at least." Nok stayed silent for several long moments. Then, what was left of his eyes widened, the ugly scars spreading out from under the blindfold stretching and twisting in his expression of surprise. Then, just as quickly, his expression brightened, a smile sliding onto his face. He turned to Xar and kept his voice low. "I think we just hit on a stroke of luck." Looking back at the hole, he wryly added, "assuming whatever's down there didn't just get woken up." He stood up. "Let's go collect our friend." Maintaining as much class as possible in a robe soaked with fecal matter, Nok started towards the tunnel and the survivor.
  25. Krath Apothos

    Kuat

    Jorus grimaced as more rebel ships dropped out of hyperspace. "Sir! Our long range communications have been jammed! We can't contact our reinforcements." Smart, throw up a smokescreen. But I can see you now. "Beetle and Bullet, give them a full salvo! Captain Zymo, start lining up your attack run!" He turned to the navigator. "Get us in close. Let's give them something to shoot at." The Black Bracer lurched forward, even as The Moon Beetle and The Broken Bullet lit up the starfield with the firefly glow of a swarm of missiles arcing towards their targets.
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