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Darth Calypso

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Darth Calypso last won the day on July 9 2023

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  1. Calypso stopped as the roar of the rancor grew closer, a crate settling itself on the ramp as she sighed. Perhaps she should deal with this before it got any more out of hand. She swept across the hangar bay, striding with the assuredness of someone who assumes they belong anywhere they choose to walk. She looked out on the scene taking place around the outpost. It seemed the others had handled most of the other warriors of this little expedition, and even the rancor was being distracted by the third of the trio. She considered the scene, then stretched her arms out. This would need to be done subtly. Utilizing her full power here would simply call the Jedi, and that she could not afford at the moment. "Apologies," she said to the Felucian dodging the rancor's blows, her voice polite, "but we can't delay any longer." Her focus shifted to the creature's rider, another Felucian. This one clung to the top of the rancor, and did not move with the experience or grace she might expect if this Felucian had been doing this all his life. A young warrior then, proving himself on a mount as raw and eager as he was. That made a degee of sense. Rancors, despite popular depictions, were creatures of deep emotional connection. They cared, they formed friendships, they mourned. It followed that a young rancor and a young rider should be paired up together, and allowed to connect on an emotional level. That bond would serve them over the course of their lives. Unfortunately for the rider, right now it meant his mount was far more temperamental than an older one might be, and he was simply along for the ride at this point. Well then. Rider first. "Mrias." The arcane word reverberated slightly, a thrum of power at the edge of hearing. A flicker of her deep-seated hatred, focused now on this rancor riding fool who had crossed her path, flared to life in her hand. A searing white hot ball of energy, a Bolt of Hatred, swelled in her hand before flying off directly for the rider. He only had a split second to see it coming, and no more time after that to dodge. The bolt took him square in the chest, and began its work. The rider screamed, pain unimaginable twisting his voice like hands wringing a towel. Steam rose from his chest as it seared and boiled under the power of the Dark Side. Then, abruptly, the scream ended, and the rider slipped off the back of the rancor, either dead or in shock. Either way it didn't matter. The rancor's confusion only seemed to grow, the limited input from its rider suddenly missing. Calypso capitalized on this with another hand gesture, and a blast like wind struck the rancor at the knees, driving it to the ground. "Would you like the honors?" she asked the dark Felucian who'd been dancing around the beast, laughing. She was genuinely curious if it could finish off the beast.
  2. Calypso felt the war party approach before she heard them. They glimmered and glowed like little beacons of light, their energy blending and flowing through the vast network of life that was Felucia without resistance. Unlike the twisted, murderous collection of creatures that had followed her here, these Felucians truly belonged to this world and embraced it, as much a part of it as it was of them. Such unity, such affinity, such rapport... A wordless urge filled her, a desire to rip these young warriors away from their mother world that they so loved. She appreciated agony of any kind, but to tear apart something so harmonious was a treat. It had been so long since she had truly taken her time with a foe, taken the time to fully communicate the depth of what she was to another living thing before she snuffed it out. And here that hurt would echo outward into the very roots and soil of the planet itself, as it felt the pain of its dying children. But...this was not the time. She had work to do. So she was equally pleased and regretful when she felt the creatures outside fight back and begin to slay the enemies who'd found them. She would continue to monitor the situation, and if they required her assistance...well then she might not have a choice but to indulge. A smile crossed her lips as she turned her full attention back to her task. Many of the crates had already been moved, and more than half the shelves were empty. While she could take some credit, the researchers had truly been efficient in how they packed their samples. As the last sets of boxes began to lift, she walked out, following them into the hangar bay. There stood the shuttle, a model that had been old even in her time. Likely a donation no one had a use for, refitted to suit the researcher's needs. Ministry-class shuttle Near its ramp were piled the crates Calypso had been moving. With another gesture, the ramp lowered, and she began to move the crates aboard. The irony of the Dark Lord using the Force to load a shuttle like a common dockworker was not lost on her, but pride had always been the one vice Calypso had been wary of. So many Sith died to it, and she did not intend to be another. She felt the Rancor rider, and though her procession of crates did not stop, her attention was drawn outside. Would her new allies survive?
  3. Xervatus jerked back, saving his arms but unfortunately doing nothing to save the system controls. Numb, he saw the sparks fly as the blade cleaved through the system, and the screen flashed briefly and died. There was a moment of silence. Then he screamed. The Dark Side flowed through him as it never had before. All the rage cultivated by a lifetime of insults and disrespect from more powerful, more reckless Sith welled up inside him. His last hope had been smashed, his composure, scheming, and restraint had been for naught, and now nothing held him back from simply giving in. His frustration at the sheer audacity of these cretins, of the Alliance, of the universe itself to deny him in such tantalizing, taunting manner...it was enough to burn his soul. And so he burned. His lightsaber, a baroque thing decorated with sigils and occult ornamentation slid into his hand and activated with a hiss. His eyes flared yellow, more power flowing into him than he'd ever experienced in his life, matching his mad fury. A wordless howl was his only response. His blade came up to block the scattered shot, and while he defended his most critical locations, rage and power were not enough to stop the simple, technical superiority of a scatter gun in close quarters. The shot tore into his arms, sides, and legs. The old man staggered, and for a moment it seemed like he would fold right there. But, like a marionette, he drew himself back up, his scarecrow like body propped up by the torrent of sheer emotion possessing him. His teeth were bared in hate, and no wit or thought sat behind his wild eyes. He staggered forward, blade raised. (OOC, feel free to kill him, he's finished. Good stuff everyone!)
  4. Calypso smiled, her mild expression not something that would be out of place on the face of a coruscanti lady appreciating an opera. Behind her eyes though burned the cruelty that reveled in the carnage these fascinating creatures were wreaking. She enjoyed this. Strip away all the philosophy and rhetoric, the talk of lies and strength, and that simple truth remained. She enjoyed this violence. She enjoyed hurting people. "All of them," she said, her voice again poised and refined. She wore the elegance of a cultured woman, a subtle mockery of those who used it to hide their weakness, even if no one here who wasn't currently panicking, fighting, or dying would appreciate it. In her own way she supposed, that was her petty vengeance, proving that even a once ignorant gutter rat could play the part they were so proud of. That was her little cut at her "betters." A bit of leftover spite inherited from an angry child, but what was the point in achieving true power if you couldn't indulge yourself now and again? "Follow me," she said, moving down the hall. Any remaining gas or spores wafted away from her, a subtle pressure in the Force protecting her. As she did, another technician ran across the intersection, seemingly headed for the hangar bay. He didn't make it two steps once he came into view. With a sickening pop followed by a bloodcurdling scream, the man dropped to the ground, clutching at his now twisted and maimed legs. On closer inspection, it looked like they had been rotated at the knee almost 180 degrees. Calypso had considered killing him but...well, the Felucians seemed to be enjoying themselves, and she wouldn't want to rob them. She continued through the facility, first using her power to seal the door leading into the hangar (couldn't have the shuttle leaving early), and maiming anyone who crossed her path. She'd need to be more thorough and kill everyone eventually, but first she wanted to find her target. It did not take long, a benefit of the small size of the outpost. She soon entered into a room that was filled wall to wall with glass boxes, most the size of a hand, and some as large as a human. Perfectly preserved inside each box were cuttings. Slices of fungal growths, exotic leaves, bioluminescent flowers, Felucia's floral diversity was on full display. Perfect. Calypso extended her hands, and with a control that would have shamed many Jedi, the various clear boxes began to lift up and form up into a procession, which slowly made its way down the hall and towards the hangar bay. With a simple gesture and the sound of wrenching durasteel, the door that she'd bent in place to seal it suddenly became straight again, and opened up to admit her little plant parade.
  5. Xervatus listened to the shade. Words that the ancient force user spoke resonated with something in him. He was afraid, yes. But not just of the defeat, imprisonment, and death that would surely await him once this new alliance got its hands on him. Like the shade said, he was afraid that all this was futile. He'd been afraid of that for a long time. So many saw the most powerful of the Sith, the mightiest and the maddest of their order, of the darkness they shed like water from a cliff, of the fear they engendered in the galaxy. But beneath them were the Xervatus's of the Sith. Those who stood just below, yearning to reach the next level but always knowing deep, deep down that they never would. Xervatus knew his place in the history of the galaxy. And like the shade said, even the greatest Sith would eventually be defeated. Maybe one day a Sith would achieve what they all strived for, but down in the parts of his soul where his mind feared to walk, he knew it wouldn't be him. And if the greatest among them hadn't achieved the true freedom they strove for, then what chance did an old man have? And if he could never "win", what was the point in trying? He sighed. And then he began to laugh. "Ha...haha...ahahahahahaHAHAHAHA!" His laugh turned into a mad cackle, his body shaking as if in a seizure. "In a way, you're absolutely right shade. But in other ways, you're absolutely, dead wrong." He grinned at the ghost. "I'm a historian. Even before I was a Sith, that was my calling, my passion. I've seen more than most how much is lost by the simple passing of time. I've seen great victories that saved and shattered worlds reduced to pieces of pottery on a shelf. I've seen the galaxies greatest heroes and villains reduced to footnotes on a page." He turned back to the controls. "It's not about meaning. It's never been about meaning." He held his hand over the button that would activate everything. "It's about living. And Sith live free." He brought his hand down... ...and was knocked aside when a chunk of the ceiling crashed down and sent him sprawling. He looked around in confusion, momentarily stunned. That wasn't caused by a bomb's explosion. Something else had triggered a partial collapse. This whole tunnel network had been built for the express purpose of collapsing in on itself, and if someone or something had broken in somewhere else, like say from up above, it might have caused the ceiling to start to cave in on the central chamber where Xervatus was at. That meant the enemy was in the tunnels. Xervatus had minutes, if that, before they found him. He stood up, brushing away the dust. It didn't matter, it would only take a few seconds for him to- He saw the cracked, flickering screen on the system controls. Xervatus cursed in three different languages consecutively, and furiously began to work on the flickering display. It would take him a few moments to get the control system back online properly, otherwise the entire system might fail to activate. He only hoped he had that time.
  6. Calypso's face remained passive as she looked down at the warped Felucian standing in front of her. Her nose wrinkled as the sickeningly sweet stench of rot wafted past her nose. The air around this foul procession hung heavy and unnatural, saturated in the wrongness that had rooted in their very core. They reminded Calypso of something... Then she laughed as it came to her. They reminded her of the Cthon. A different breed of aberration perhaps, but aberrations nonetheless. They were monsters, and Calypso was kin to monsters. "What twisted little things you are," she said, still laughing. "I like you. I won't kill you." A sweet, almost maternal smile spread across her face, though it didn't dim the dangerous glimmer in her eyes. "You want to know why I'm here? I'm afraid it has nothing to do with the Jedi. Indeed, I'd prefer to avoid them for now. No, I'm here for seeds." She gestured around her at the jungle. "This garden of yours will give me seeds from which I will grow pandemonium and fear." Her smile widened. "And as for gruesome work, oh yes, rest assured there will be the blood of off-worlders spilled before I am done. Come with me if you wish. Indulge in your appetites. After that...we'll see." Calypso did not wait for a response. Instead, like a beast suddenly catching a scent, she was tearing off through the jungle again. In her head, she did not know if the strange creatures would follow. In her soul, she was certain they would. The Dark Side walked along its own path, and this chance little intersection was important. Of that Calypso was sure. ___________________________________ The Sionver Research Outpost stood out starkly from the colorful backdrop of the jungle. A silvery dome with a communications dish set at the apex, it was an island of technology in a sea of wilderness. While there were only several dozen technicians and scientists stationed there, the dome was large and well-equipped for an outpost of its type. A sizable door on side, set halfway up the dome, held what Calypso suspected was the outpost's hangar, where the staff's shuttle would be kept for when trips to one of the cities was necessary. A second door, this one on the ground level, would be the one to lead into the base proper and act as an embarking point for the staff's skiffs when they wanted to venture out to take samples. Calypso waited outside the research station, first to look for any potential security measures, and then to give the corrupted Felucians time to catch up, if they had chosen to trail her. Finally, she made her move. She allowed a trickle of the Dark Side to flow through her, calling on her bottomless hatred with the ease of reflex. Her body shivered in anticipation, but she kept herself in check. It wouldn't do to let her full power out here, and draw the Jedi down on her. Instead, she made a small gesture with her hand, and a brief squeal of metal cut through the sounds of the jungle as the communications dish shifted on its base, sparking briefly as its connection was cut. Calypso did not have to wait long. The main door opened a minute later, and a technician stepped out and started moving towards a set of rungs running up the side of the dome, wearing a belt festooned with tools. He started up the side, and Calypso waited until he was halfway up before she held out her hand again. The technician stopped, and while clinging to the rungs he began feeling at his throat with his free hand, first slowly and then more frantically. Faint gagging noises could be heard as he futilely tried to suck in air. Then his strength failed him, and he tumbled down the side of the dome like a toy. Calypso caught a brief glimpse of the man's terrified face, and a thrill shot through her. Her breath quickened, and her eyes widened. She was going to enjoy this. She shot out of the jungle, and as she entered the opened door the technician had come out of, she gestured, and a large spanner jerked out of the now dead technician's utility belt and floated next to her as she raced inside. She couldn't use her lightsaber here, not if she wanted to keep the Sith's presence minimal. But that didn't mean she couldn't kill them in other ways. A scientist was in the entry chamber when Calypso came in. The woman only had time to open her mouth in confusion before the spanner caved in her skull. And then Calypso was past her and moving through the outpost.
  7. The towering plants of Felucia rustled as a dark blur loped through its depths. Calypso had been running for hours, the Force both guiding her and propelling her along with every step. Even though the jungle was quiet to her ears, to her sense of the Force, it was like moving through a thunderstorm. All around her, life clamored and howled into the Force, a riot of silent cries sent up by the overpowering flora. In time, she knew she would acclimate, but until then she enjoyed the sensation. She had felt something like this before, in the depths of Coruscant in its heyday where the deluge of sentient lives and emotions drowned out anything that the Jedi might sense. Here it would be the same, so long as she didn't draw attention to herself. The jungle would only hide so much. As if thinking about it conjured it up, she sensed a presence. A dark power, not foreign like her own but something else. If she was a blade cutting through the weave of the Force, then this was...an infection. Yes, something insidious and subtle, but present. And it was moving towards her. She abruptly stopped her rapid trek, pausing only long enough to gauge the direction this subtle feeling was coming from. Then she took off again, this time to meet what was coming for her. _____________________________________ There was little warning of her approach. Calypso had spent much of her life living in the depths of Coruscant, under the Jedi's noses, and if there was one thing her Master Darth Vilius had been good at, it had been hiding. As such, her presence in the Dark Side was muted, a dull ember of power where a star should have been. Even so, as she leapt out of the foliage and dropped in front of the native Felucians and their warped procession, she showed no fear or surprise. She could sense their darkness clearly now. It was unusual. Erratic. Something similar to the Dathomiri, but also something else. "You seek me," she said, no question in her voice. Her hand flexed briefly, and she allowed the suppressed channel of power to open a fraction. All around her, trees and other plants shuddered. The light filtering from above dimmed, shadows lengthening as the light seemed to withdraw. It was a simple display of power. "...Why?" She did not ask what they were. That would come later. Right now she simply had to determine if they were better off dead, alive and free, or in her service.
  8. In the moments before the Commander died, he had a moment to think. This moment was a unique instance, since for first time since the Sith had broken him to their will, there was nothing he could do. There was no way to escape and fight another day. There was no act of service or sacrifice that would help his masters. He had done his work to the best of his ability, and could only wait for the death that was coming for him to arrive. So, in this last instance, he could finally think for himself. What...what was my name? Then the Commander was no more. ________________________________________ The remaining Sith elite fought with the unerring purpose of living weapons, but no amount of focus would stop the weight of the new galaxy crashing down on them. In only a minute, they elite Home Guard of Korriban lay dead on the floor. Xervatus sensed something, even as he keyed in the sequence that would activate the carbonite freezing process. Something foreign, and unwelcome on this world. It was not a Jedi, not exactly. And no one from above could have made it down here so fast. [PRIMING SEQUENCE COMPLETE] [INITIATE{?}----Y//N] Xervatus' finger hovered over the confirm key. One press... He sighed, and for all the universe he looked like the old, husk of a man he was. "If you're here for me..." he said, his voice echoing out into the silent tunnels, "...than I ask that you not take up too much of my time. I have a deadline to meet, you see."
  9. Calypso fell within herself. On the outside, she seemed mundane, not at all an ancient Sith reborn. Her tattered clothes were gone, replaced by a simple brown worker's frock that wouldn't be out of place on an assembly line. Her yellow eyes had dulled to a sickly ochre, and her pale skin and white hair now looked more the result of a lack of sun and early aging respectively than of any connection to the Dark Side. Perhaps the one thing her master had been talented at was hiding in plain sight, and she'd picked up the knack herself during her time building her strength underneath the Jedi's notice a thousand years ago. Inside, however, a black torrent of emotions swelled and waned to her will. Fury and disgust at the universe mingled with her ever present hatred, and the Dark Side responded as it always did. She let it flow through her, an icy burning that scoured her and left her painfully cleansed. It was only in moments like this that she ever felt truly whole, and she took a moment to savor the exhilaration, before turning her will to the task at hand. She directed the power out into the world, willing the Dark Side itself to manifest in the physical plane, a perfect blasphemy. The power left her, and she opened her eyes. ...Nothing. Frustration curdled her cultivated reservoir of emotions, and she briefly considered letting them out in a display of power. She quickly decided against it. The ship was coming up on Felucia, and she would not risk being discovered by the Jedi now, not over a reckless release of emotions. Better to wait until they'd landed, and the planet's own life energy would act as camouflage. Speaking of which... She got up from her unassuming quarters and exited out into the hall. The other colonists on The Ottega Dawn milled about, excited to be landing and starting their new lives in Har Gau. None of them gave the thin, meek Sith Master a second look, and she shuffled her way towards the bridge. As she walked further away from the living quarters, the crowds thinned. When she reached the final door that led to the ship's command center, she did not pause, but gestured with her hand, and the door whooshed open. Where the crew should have been, only a single Ithorian remained at his station. By the symbols on his drab uniform, he was the captain of the ship. The rest of the crew lay piled into a single corner, charred to the point of their various species being unrecognizable. The captain's response to her presence was immediate and visceral. Letting out a high-pitched whine that would have been more fitting coming from an animal, he cowered, tucking his head down in a futile attempt to look as small as possible. Calypso strode over to him, and the man began quaking in fear. "Are we landing soon?" The Ithorian could only nod. Up close, scorch marks and burns became apparent, a testament to the hours and hours of "meticulous" attention Calypso had bestowed upon him after she'd disposed of the unnecessary bridge staff. She did not have any long term plans for the ship, and so she would only need the captain for now. "Good, land as planned. Then await my instructions." She did not need to threaten. The two of them perfectly understood each other. The utterly broken, wreck of a captain could only nod again, shaking so badly Calypso was mildly surprised he could stand. If her time among the Cthon had taught her anything, it was how to break a beast to her will. ______________________ The Ottega Dawn touched down outside of the city of Har Gau. Colonists, eager to make a new start for themselves in the city trickled out. No one noticed the single woman disappear deeper into the jungle.
  10. A pair of soldiers on the firing line dropped, one dead and the other knocked down as his armor took the brunt of the blast. "Steady..." called out the Commander The Commander felt the Jedi's influence. Like the other Home Guard, his mind had been broken and reforged by their Sith masters, repeatedly. He knew the touch of the Force. Unfortunately for his soldiers, a few succumbed to the mind trick, if briefly. The commander picked out those breaking formation, and his rifle chattered as he began dropping the weak minded squad members with precise blaster fire. Weakness would not be tolerated. Unfortunately, the distraction proved successful, and the Jedi launched his assault in the momentary lapse brought about by his trick. Into that lapse came the droid. The Commander watched as he tore through his troops, first with his hammer and fists, then with one of their own guns. But he would not surrender, or flee. He couldn't. He was the Commander. There was nothing else. The Sith had left nothing else. "Concentrate fire on the Jedi. Prioritize attacks from multiple angles." He reasoned that if the Jedi went down, the attackers would lose heart and fall back. "The droid is my priority." The remaining Home Guard were the elite of Korriban. Minds broken and wills reforged by Sith alchemy and mental conditioning, they followed orders and held discipline as well as any droid. In near complete disregard for their well-being, the soldiers redirected their fire towards the Jedi, simultaneous volleys opening up on the intruder. The Commander sprang across the battlefield, taloned trandoshan hands and feet propelling him forward like a beast, dodging back and forth through the hail of laser fire. Snarling, he leapt at the terror droid, intent on ripping out the mechanical soldiers facial bits, even if it cost him his life. He was the Commander. There was nothing else.
  11. Deep below the Praxeum, Darth Xervatus picked his way through a set of winding tunnels. It was interesting, you could see the increasing urgency of the excavation work as you walked along. At first, it was perfect grid of square passages, mathematically precise, clean cut, and reinforced at regular intervals. The floor and walls were swept clean and sanded smooth. Then, the passages stopped following the grid, and instead started to move with the stone instead of through it. Several spots had uneven floors where the workers had taken advantage of existing passages formed by underground streams. Further along, the once clean stone was coated in gradually thicker layers of dust. Just a bit further along, Xervatus had to weave past discarded bits of machinery, left behind where they'd broken. As he neared the end of one tunnel, he had to step over the body of a worker, similarly discarded after he'd broken. "Foreman, report," he called. A boxy DV-supervisor droid waddled up to the elderly Sith Lord. "PER SCHEDULE, WE HAVE REACHED ALL REQUIRED FAULT POINTS. STRUCTURAL READINGS ARE WITHIN EXPECTATIONS. HOWEVER, EFFICIENCY OF EXCAVATION HAS DROPPED BELOW ACCEPTABLE LEVELS. DETONATION OF SEISMIC CHARGES AT THE PRESENT CONDITIONS WOULD ONLY RESULT IN A 47% CHANCE OF MAJOR STRATUM SHIFT. EXCAVATION BY THE INVADERS WOULD STILL BE POSSIBLE." "How much longer do you need?" "WORK FORCE IS DETERIORATING. WITHOUT ADDITIONAL-" "Brief answer, please." "...42 HOURS, AT MINIMUM." "Then we're out of time. 47% will have to be enough. Begin readying the charges. Have the other preparations I requested been completed?" "AFFIRMATIVE. ALL REQUESTED MATERIALS HAVE BEEN ENCASED IN CARBONITE." "Good, at least that's on track. Have the detonation code sent to my commlink, I'll detonate once I receive the signal from you that everything is ready. My chamber should be just beyond here?" "AFFIRMATIVE." If the droid had an opinion of Xervatus openly stating he would bury him and his entire workforce alive, it didn't show it. This was their plan. Or rather, this was Xervatus' plan. The calculations to pull this exact stunt off had been lengthy, but if they were right then Xervatus could bury the Praxeum out of reach of these rebels. With seismic charges set in precise locations, they could fracture the very bedrock down to a nearby fault line. The tunnels beneath the Praxeum would collapse, but the building above would seem unharmed...at first. The newly unstable ground would move with the fault line, and if Xervatus was right, the Praxeum would begin to sink as the planet swallowed it up over the course of several hours. Too slow to take any invaders with it, but it would deny them the prize they'd fought so hard to take, along with all the lore and relics still contained inside. Excavating it would be a difficult prospect with the ground so unstable, as any attempt to dig out the Praxeum would hopefully just result in it sinking deeper. It would take a major effort, and even then Xervatus had been determined to spite the invaders. Most of the valuable materials had been moved into these very tunnels, and sealed in carbonite to preserve them. A trained Sith might be able to detect them, but to most scanners they would just be indistinguishable bits of metallic rubble swallowed with the Praxeum. Now, maybe the invaders would commit the resources necessary to undo Xervatus' plot, but even then he wondered if they'd truly be able to find everything he'd scattered. Or if they'd be able to find him? He wasn't planning on dying here. He would encase himself in carbonite just before the detonation, and wait for the Sith to return to Korriban. The Sith always returned. _______________________________ The Home Guard Commander snarled, trandoshan features twisted into what might seem like an expression of hostility to those not familiar with his species. And while he was undeniably hostile, that wasn't the reason for the expression. He felt alive. It had been a long time since he'd been in the field on the front lines. He'd forgotten how much he'd enjoyed it. They'd driven back the first invader to poke their head in, a droid by the looks of it. If they hadn't already, they'd soon learn just how devastatingly effective this strong point was. The entrance hall was wide open in the center, and the artistic sculptures and statues that had once occupied its center had been blasted to rubble to provide a clear firing line. Sandbag emplacements replaced them, each manned by a heavy weapons team with their guns trained on the door. An elevated platform ran around the edges of the room, originally intended to hold monuments to ancient Sith Lords, but now served as a firing line by the Commander's best troops, crouched behind makeshift barricades while training standard blaster rifles on the doorway. One way in. Heavy weapons emplacements scattered across the entire hall. A firing line on three of the four walls. It was a killbox. They might take them, but the Commander intended to make sure they paid for it. Still...they had Jedi with them. And the only Sith they had was down below.
  12. The Home Guard Commander snarled deep in his throat as the holo-feed played. A few moments later, the feed was cut, but not before it had likely been seen by any remaining bulwarks. The rest of the defense was not going well either. The invaders were coordinated, and the Sith had only been left with the most zealous of their forces outside of a few elites. Zealots were good for dying, but unfortunately it seemed that was all they were accomplishing in this battle. The Commander watched as another turbolaser battery fell silent. Then the artillery started up... The Commander turned on his heel and strode out of the command center. They'd lost the outer defenses. All that was left was the mopping up, and there was no way any remaining troops would be able to retreat to the Praxeum with the invader's controlling the skies. He gestured to his personal guard to follow him. They would join the entrenched squads of Home Guard elites already in place at the grand entrance hall. They would not be able to give Darth Xervatus much more time, but they would give him what time they could. And they would ensure that when the enemy commander walked into the Praxeum, he would do it on a floor of his men's corpses.
  13. Calypso inclined her head in a gesture of respect. "I have no intention of destroying the Sith. Honestly...I'm not sure if I could. How many thousands of years have the Jedi been trying to do the same thing?" She shook her head. "The dream of the Sith Empire is not one of mine though. In truth, I don't think such an Empire is even possible without an enemy to unite us. If we should ever conquer the galaxy, I foresee us fracturing and warring with each other in endless struggles for power and position." She smiled, her dignified veneer breaking for a moment. "By the Force I'd love to see that. But perhaps you know something I don't. Or perhaps we simply disagree on that point." She cocked her head, her gaze becoming more intense. "Or perhaps you're more ambitious than I give you credit for. When all is said and done, I only wish to use my power to tear this stagnant galaxy apart. Your appetite would far exceed mine, if you would use your power to tame the very nature of the Sith." There wasn't a trace of mockery or deception in words. "A true conqueror." She shrugged then. "But in the end, that's the beauty of our truth. It doesn't matter which of us is right or wrong. It only matters who's the stronger. Rest assured conqueror, when you come for me your Empire will be intact. It's a useful tool to keep the Sith from killing each other before our enemy is defeated, if nothing else. And when you do finally come for me, we will decide the fate of the galaxy between us. The destroyer or the conqueror. I look forward to learning the answer."
  14. "My goal for the Empire?" Her face remained neutral as she paused, then answered. "Nothing at all." She locked her gaze onto where his eyes would be, behind that mask. "I suppose its fitting that our goals are not that different. I'm not here to rule the galaxy. Sith before have striven for that, and some have succeeded in one manner or another, only to fall. I'm not here to found some new Infinite Empire to rival the Rakatans. Their own destruction illustrates the fatal flaw in such an enterprise. And, like you, I'm not here for my own glory. I've studied the histories of dozens of terrible Sith Lords who were legends in their day, and all their legacies were ground into dust by the endless turning of time. No, leave those dreams for those who care for them. I desire something else, something more..." she paused as she considered, before smiling as she continued, "...primitive. I want to kill my enemy. Nothing more than that." She gestured up towards the stars, hidden by the clouds. "This galaxy...it galls me. It offends me. It disgusts me." Her lip curled down, genuine vitriol creeping into her voice. "I want to hurt it. I want to see it suffer. I want it to know my hatred as intimately as I do. And then, when its whimpering and begging for some bright hero to come and save it, I want to see it shatter and burn." Her flaring emotions called the Dark Side to her, and the air seemed to quiver like a string drawn taut. "This Alliance...it's the latest iteration of a stagnant status quo, and I want to see it and its entire line finally die." Passion laced her words. "And when I'm through, and the galaxy is ashes and smoke and blood, I want to watch what comes next." She smiled again, almost sweetly, her demeanor flipping as quickly as it had changed. "Whether that's some new Sith Empire, or something else entirely, will be up to the strong and the ambitious to decide. Perhaps, it'll be you who decides. But make no mistake. Anyone who stands between me and my enemy will die."
  15. Calypso's mouth quirked almost imperceptibly at the warrior master's words, a trace of a smile flickering across her face when he promised to hunt her down if she failed his expectations. "Go and prepare our way then, Darth Akheron. I look forward to the day when I see you in your element, regardless of what side of the battlefield we each stand on." She did smile then, a small, reserved, cruel smile. For a moment, foresight and imagination coalesced in her mind, and in her mind's eye she saw the wrathful Sith mowing down soldiers like grass, and heard their screams in her thoughts. "Yes...I truly do look forward to it." As her eyes slid across the masked man, she immediately understood he was not like the Sith she'd seen before. The Dark Side coiled around this one in a manner that... She could not quite put the feeling into words, but there was something different. Or perhaps she simply imagined it. "Warmaster," she said. With a hand, she gestured for any other Sith lingering around the pair to move away. There was an expectation of obedience in the casual, dismissive gesture. "A strategist then. Is that why you did not step forward?" She arched an eyebrow. "I don't doubt I'm standing before a Sith of true ambition." And I also don't doubt that I'm standing in your way, she added silently.
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