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9 minutes ago, Darth Calypso said:

The terentatek's arm came up and batted away the axe, its strength monstrous even as a juvenile. It trumpeted in victory, lunging foward.

 

Then it stopped short.

 

Blood filled its mouth. Its tiny eyes flared wide in confusion. It willed itself forward, willed itself to finish off its prey right in front of it, but its legs wouldn't move. Its arms dropped to its sides, limp. Blackness crept in at the edges of its vision, rage bleeding away like water through a sieve.

 

Fiochmar's sword had gone straight into the beast's mouth, and pierced its spine.

 

Its body collapsed nervelessly to the ground, its eyes staring up, a look of disbelief apparent in its brutal features.

 

Then it was dead.

 

Fiochmar roared in triumph cutting a fang and spine from the beast. He ran back to Calypso as fast as his legs would take him.

 

The Tsis covered in his own blood and that of his enemy smiling still he reaches Calypso.

 

"Mistress I took down the beastie!! Its fang and spine will make good additions to my light saber when I'm deemed worthy!" He smirks and takes a look around cheeks darkening as he does to see the crowd gathered to watch his conquest.

 

"Was it a good show!? Were you not entertained?!?! Were you not entertained??!!" The young Sith shouts to them all gauging their reactions.

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The air shifted, as did Dictum's aura upon Lady Calypso's response as the blind Sith's flowing silver locks came to an eerie calm and his smirk only widened. Not only did his presence consider the opportunity and challenge she presented, but so did his appearance as the Sith Lord's figure seemed to flicker and split like an old hologram. But no, this was no hologram. This was the Sith Lord known as Dictum, and for a brief moment, his mind contemplated to test her consideration.

 

"Your words carry wisdom, Mi'Lady." He spoke from beneath his smirk as his form settled devishly amidst the snow. This place, this world, it was the culmination of the Darkness and its incarnate. But he was yet still an outsider to them, an unknown. His father and grandfather may have belonged to them once before, but he had never. And the circumstances seemed to paint a very different picture than what he had been led to believe. His gaze shifted about the other's, their demeanor flowing upon the currents of their will. Turning back to Lady Calypso, he nodded. "I understand. I merely requested the opportunity to do so. You have my thanks."

 

As he let his words seep upon their minds, Dictum's own began a brief stroll down memory lane, starting with his first interactions with these Sith at Helvault. What he had thought to be power enforced by numbers had been a misinterpretation. No. These beings, these Sith, were each powerful in their own rights. But together, with the culmination of their combined might, made tasks menial. Unbound by doctrines and philosophy unlike his bastard cousin who cowardly walked away and chose to embrace servitude. No. These Sith were just like he, each molded by life and given the chance to take from it what they will. And in that singular decree, broke free of moral constrictions. 

 

This is what stayed his hand, for now. Not curiosity. Nor was it fear. No. She had commended a semblance of respect in her words. A mutually beneficial arrangement. Her power was immense. As was the others. And she welcomed death as if an old friend, just as his former Master did when he sunk the crimson blade into his heart. It was time to truly learn from the Masters of the Darkness. Humbled by his own, a kinship if you will, he chose to stay his hand for his own gain. Death would come in its own time. Was there any current need to hasten it?

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Dictum.jpg.0f5717fd74fdc4ee9bfc91ffc3fa3457.jpgDarth Dictum

 

"The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?" - Edgar Allen Poe

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On 12/3/2022 at 1:10 AM, Atrid Torsen said:

"Mistress I took down the beastie!! Its fang and spine will make good additions to my light saber when I'm deemed worthy!" He smirks and takes a look around cheeks darkening as he does to see the crowd gathered to watch his conquest.

 

"Was it a good show!? Were you not entertained?!?! Were you not entertained??!!" The young Sith shouts to them all gauging their reactions.

 

Calypso smiled. It would seem she had an apprentice. Her first apprentice, and he was as hungry and passionate as she could ask for. She laid her hand on his shoulder, saying nothing, but letting her pleased expression show him her approval.

 

On 12/3/2022 at 7:54 PM, Lord Ōk Rägnär said:

"I understand. I merely requested the opportunity to do so. You have my thanks."

 

She turned to Dictum.

 

"...and you have my attention, Lord Dictum. I look forward to seeing what you will become." And she meant it.

 

Her eyes swept over the group that had begun to gather. Some had clustered together, while others spread out, some close and some far enough that they were nothing more than silhouettes against the white of the snow. The Force itself subtly shuddered and twisted. Many wills drew upon it, and the silent conflict of such strength quickened the Dark Side. Calypso imagined it as a beast, straining at the leash, yearning to turn this silent congregation into a chorus of passion and death. All these powerful individuals who had been drawn here, by her call or by fate, were now waiting.

 

It is enough, she thought.

 

She walked to the base of her crude pyramid, the cold wind and the rapidly diminishing snowfall whipping her torn clothes about her thin frame. Her mundane, vulnerable appearance contrasted with her calm and assured posture. Only the glow in her yellow eyes betrayed the anticipation that was growing inside of her. This was the moment. This was the start of everything.

 

When she reached the base of the pyramid, she leapt. With the Force buoying her up, she effortlessly cleared the 25 feet to the top of the lowest layer. From there, she pivoted to face the gathering figures in the snowy wasteland.

 

She raised her hands.

 

"SITH!" she called, her voice echoing through the air and through the Force both. All here would know what she had to say. "I have called you here! Your challenger stands before you!" She swept her gaze across the crowd, gray shapes in the cloudy twilight. "I am Darth Calypso. I was born from the depths of the Old Republic's decrepitude, over 1000 years ago. I have awoken again, and I emerge to see the Sith truly returned. In the time since the fool Kaan and his Brotherhood of Darkness, the Sith have clawed their way back to the blood and iron they were founded on." She paused. "...And yet, once again the Sith Empire...has fallen!" Her words echoed out across the landscape like the crack of thunder. "How many times has our order been beaten back? How many times have the weak, the ignorant, and the cowardly united to smother a truth they know they cannot hope to control? And yet we always return, as perpetual as the spinning of the galaxy!" The slate gray clouds above her began to spiral, centered over the pale woman in ragged clothes.

 

"So why have we failed again?"

 

She fell silent for a moment.

 

"...Because we have ignored what we are.

 

We are not generals or admirals. We are not kings, queens, or emperors. We are not politicians slinging words to fool the masses, or knights fighting loyally in the service of a lord.

 

We are gods! We ARE power! 

 

There will be no great conquest. There will be no empire. We will not unite the galaxy under our rule, as the Sith have attempted so many times before. We will SHATTER IT!"

 

As she shouted these last words, arms upraised, her passion escaped her control, and the ground vibrated almost imperceptibly.

 

"This new Alliance will fall before us. Always the Sith have come as a conquering army, but this time we will come as the monsters we truly are. We will not ape our enemies. We will not try to bring about peace under our rule. We will plunge the galaxy into fire and death! The time of republics, alliances, and empires will come crashing down! The lies of the Jedi will be torn away, and the truth that the Sith have always known will finally be made evident to all! Everyone, Sith or Jedi, soldier or civilian, weak or powerful, will finally understand that a being is only entitled to what it has the will to take and the strength to hold! When we are finished, the idea of a unified galaxy will be laughed at by the survivors digging through the ashes, and the hypocrisy of the Jedi will be seen for what it is.

 

It will be a new Age of the Sith.

 

And in this age...the strong will finally receive their due. They will carve out their realms by their own hand. They will defend what they have, while taking what they wish from those weaker than them. All beings, not just the Sith, will follow our Code! All will fight for victory and freedom, because there will be no other way!"

 

She gestured at the crowd. "Is this not what you want? Do you truly wish to serve under some distant ruler, content with what you've been given? Don't you want the opportunity to prove your worth to a galaxy that has denied you what you deserve?

 

I will give that chance to you. I will give that chance to everyone."

 

Then, Calypso lowered her arms, the animating passion of her speech dwindling.

 

"But these are only words. Sith are not ruled by words."

 

She took a breath.

 

"I declare myself Dark Lord of the Sith!"

 

The words rang out, echoing across the wasteland without softening, as if they had a life of their own.

 

And then Calypso stopped holding herself back.

 

The ground shook. A deep, grinding rumble drowned out every other sound as the stone trembled beneath the snow. With a deafening CRACK, a dozen crevices as wide as a man spiderwebbed out from under the block where Calypso stood. The air crackled with electricity. Wind that had nothing to do with the weather howled and screamed across the snow. The Force itself seemed to writhe and boil.

 

Calypso's power had never come from arcane rituals and ancient secrets. Her master had never afforded her that opportunity. No, she had spent her time perfecting herself as a channel for the Dark Side, refining what strength her master had thought safe to give his tool. She had studied Sith philosophy, and put herself through every trial and strife imaginable to purge any hesitation, weakness, or self-delusion from her.

 

What was left was the passion she drew on, and it was endless.

 

Her master had once called her a misanthrope. The clinical sounding word had never seemed to capture the reality of what the coruscanti street urchin had felt. Her hatred was a consuming, burning thing that ate away at her. It was something she'd learned to lock away until it was needed, but always hovering below the surface.

 

She hated the people of the galaxy. They were self-deluded idiots who spent their whole lives fighting not to think, serving anyone or anything that promised them even the illusion of control.

 

She hated the Jedi. They preached compassion, but had never come to save those like her starving right below their feet. They preached justice, yet stood by as the rulers and officials they defended openly enslaved others. They preached peace, but had been at the forefront of major galactic wars time and time again.

 

She even hated the Sith. She hated the figures gathered before her, either arrogantly thinking themselves superior while they fretted at their mundane or pointless ambitions, or willing to fall to their knees in humiliating subservience and cast away their very thoughts.

 

And she hated herself. Even now, she knew what she really was. The child who had never left Coruscant. The orphan ruling a kingdom of blind, animalistic cannibals.

 

In her new galaxy, there would be endless war. Endless strife. Endless destruction. It was no more than what they all deserved.

 

She leapt down from the block, the quake created from her telekinetic power fading as she gathered her will. Her lightsaber leapt into her hand, and with a hssss its red blade flared to life.

 

"So...who's first?"

Edited by Darth Calypso
Edited sentence punctuated wrong
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                 Bernon Mrrgwharr listened closely to the speech, he didn't agree entirely with her philosophy, but he certainly wasn't powerful enough to challenge her, at least not yet. When the meeting began, he pulled the lightsaber out of his boot, and walked over to Krath Inmortos. He held out the blade as he kneeled before his dark master, saying "Oh great and mighty Sith Lord, I present to you your lightsaber." He was so close to becoming a Sith, he could almost taste it, and if he was trained by @Krath Inmortos he would certainly become a strong one, he knew that with almost complete certainty. The time of the Sith was now, and this Lady Calypso, however wrong in her philosophy, was the strong leader they needed to rebuild and be strong overall and individually once again.

 

                 Bernon mostly disagreed with her philosophy because he believed in rule of the strong, and the idea of plunging the galaxy into anarchy means that nobody will rule, everyone will just be dead or a survivor on a barren wasteland. He knew she would make powerful enemies, one day she would die, and one day someone smarter and stronger would take over. For now however, the Sith needed her as a leader. Bernon Mrrgwharr knew what his agenda was, he wanted immortality, to live forever, to never perish, and of course ruling over many and having great combat prowess are also end goals for him, but not as much as immortality is.

 

                 He was excited to become a Sith, to gain power, to have the honor of wielding a great lightsaber in combat, and to do so much more. He knew the road to success would be hard, and could end gruesomely for him, but if that's what it took to gain ultimate power from the Darkness, he was willing to accept the suffering. He looked up at the Sith Lord, ready for him to take the saber, hoping desperately that he would be accepted as a Sith Acolyte. He truly was ready to embrace the darkness.

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12 hours ago, Darth Calypso said:

Calypso smiled. It would seem she had an apprentice. Her first apprentice, and he was as hungry and passionate as she could ask for. She laid her hand on his shoulder, saying nothing, but letting her pleased expression show him her approval.

 

Fiochmar smiled as he basked in Calypso's approval running back quickly he wanted to take yet another trophy from the beast. Cutting a claw from its massive hand he tucked that the spine and fang into his bag. Than almost as if for the first time since it happened he noticed the gaping wound across his chest and abdomen from where the beast's claws had found purchase and struck home. Hissing in anger and pain, he smirked and smacked it a few times with his fist. Each time hurt more than the time prior and served to anger him further. A reminder to use the anger and humiliation from this to never again make such a careless mistake. Reaching Calypso's side again he follows as she starts moving forward to start addressing those gathered. 

12 hours ago, Darth Calypso said:

"SITH!" she called, her voice echoing through the air and through the Force both. All here would know what she had to say. "I have called you here! Your challenger stands before you!" She swept her gaze across the crowd, gray shapes in the cloudy twilight. "I am Darth Calypso. I was born from the depths of the Old Republic's decrepitude, over 1000 years ago. I have awoken again, and I emerge to see the Sith truly returned. In the time since the fool Kaan and his Brotherhood of Darkness, the Sith have clawed their way back to the blood and iron they were founded on." She paused. "...And yet, once again the Sith Empire...has fallen!" Her words echoed out across the landscape like the crack of thunder. "How many times has our order been beaten back? How many times have the weak, the ignorant, and the cowardly united to smother a truth they know they cannot hope to control? And yet we always return, as perpetual as the spinning of the galaxy!" The slate gray clouds above her began to spiral, centered over the pale woman in ragged clothes.

 

"So why have we failed again?"

 

She fell silent for a moment.

 

"...Because we have ignored what we are.

 

We are not generals or admirals. We are not kings, queens, or emperors. We are not politicians slinging words to fool the masses, or knights fighting loyally in the service of a lord.

 

We are gods! We ARE power! 

 

There will be no great conquest. There will be no empire. We will not unite the galaxy under our rule, as the Sith have attempted so many times before. We will SHATTER IT!"

 

As she shouted these last words, arms upraised, her passion escaped her control, and the ground vibrated almost imperceptibly.

 

"This new Alliance will fall before us. Always the Sith have come as a conquering army, but this time we will come as the monsters we truly are. We will not ape our enemies. We will not try to bring about peace under our rule. We will plunge the galaxy into fire and death! The time of republics, alliances, and empires will come crashing down! The lies of the Jedi will be torn away, and the truth that the Sith have always known will finally be made evident to all! Everyone, Sith or Jedi, soldier or civilian, weak or powerful, will finally understand that a being is only entitled to what it has the will to take and the strength to hold! When we are finished, the idea of a unified galaxy will be laughed at by the survivors digging through the ashes, and the hypocrisy of the Jedi will be seen for what it is.

 

It will be a new Age of the Sith.

 

And in this age...the strong will finally receive their due. They will carve out their realms by their own hand. They will defend what they have, while taking what they wish from those weaker than them. All beings, not just the Sith, will follow our Code! All will fight for victory and freedom, because there will be no other way!"

 

She gestured at the crowd. "Is this not what you want? Do you truly wish to serve under some distant ruler, content with what you've been given? Don't you want the opportunity to prove your worth to a galaxy that has denied you what you deserve?

 

I will give that chance to you. I will give that chance to everyone."

 

Then, Calypso lowered her arms, the animating passion of her speech dwindling.

 

"But these are only words. Sith are not ruled by words."

 

She took a breath.

 

"I declare myself Dark Lord of the Sith!"

 

The words rang out, echoing across the wasteland without softening, as if they had a life of their own.

 

The speech by his Master held the young Tsis enraptured, he believed everything Calypso was preaching, he knew that what she said was the truth. The strong conquer and take from the weak, that we only have the right to that which we can take and have the power to keep. That anything of value that we have another has every right to try and take from us if they thing they are stronger and more worthy of it. Gods were we really Gods though....This was a question he went over in his mind a few times in rapid fire succession the only thing that he came up with was they must be. Power we had it, strength we had it, pettiness and infighting oh we have it in spades. But all of these things all of them every last one keeps the pecking order alive, it makes sure that weak stay serving and dying and the strong keep all that they attain, power, glory, wealth all of it. But to watch the Galaxy burn in infinite war, seems like something his ancestors would have wanted, so hell he was on board. He'd follow Calypso his Mistress and Dark Lady until there was nothing more he could learn from her...then well then would be time for him to make his decision on what he'd do once he could learn no more from his mentor. Then came her challenge and he smiled broadly punching those wounds harder and harder as he laughed into the howling wind and the cracking stone.

 

When Calypso leapt down from the pyramid Fioch was there by her side and to her back, his demeanor showing he was giving his full support to Calypso and not challenging her for the mantle. However also showing that should any wish to challenge for the mantle he'd not stand in their way or interfere. Though he does eventually dig through his bag to get out some bandages and the like to at least staunch the bleeding for the time being.

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Calypso’s words struck several very specific chords within the Shard. A person who technically was older than they looked, claiming a new birthright. A rage at how things had not changed. And most of the declaration of the Sith being gods. Solus’ own visions before his ascension led him to declare Jedi and Sith to be deities in their own right. And here, this new claimant of the title of Lord of the Sith, echoed the words that he had spoken once. 

 

Solus even felt giddy at the lady’s end goal. While he doubted her on Coruscant when she was resurrected, here his soul wanted to sing. Her declaration of plunging the galaxy into pure, unbridled chaos, where strong ruled the weak, appealed to every fiber of his being. He could foresee the Fanged God’s final meal take place in the state she desired. The end of all life ever. The annihilation of existence. 

 

Solus’ blade twitched at his side, as his giddyness suddenly transformed into the pure, unadulterated envy. The crystal inside, made from his very essence and envy, called to him, and the whispering horror inside himself burbled words of destruction. He should’ve been the one to come up with the idea. That should be his idea. Why should this nobody from an unknown time be able to just pop up and describe HIS dreams? 

 

The ground that shook and opened forced Solus to stumble and regain his balance, nearly tumbling backwards. But even the force that flowed from Calypso could hardly stifle the envy that encircled the Shard in the Impossible Geometries. 

 

The little Shard’s hand even started to drift towards the handle, when he stopped in realization. What in the name of the unholy madness was he thinking? Challenging this clearly powerful lady to a duel, even as she accepted any challenge at the moment? A woman who, just with pure emotion, cracked the very ground he stood upon and moved the air? No, that was no way for an Assassin to do it. Not one of his lowly calibur. If he wanted to kill her, he would need to do it in other ways.

 

Solus glanced at those nearby and thought. The lesson of killing the Acklay with traps flashed in his twisted memory. Solus had already pledged the loyalty of the Temple of the Spider. Calypso wouldn’t expect  the Shard to attack. If someone else challenged Calypso, perhaps he could join in when unexpected and kill the Lady where she stood. But who would actually challenge her? 

 

Solus’ gaze settled on his master. The Lord of Rage. An ideal tool to use, if done correctly. 

 

“Master, this is our last chance to see this Sith to prove her worth…and yours” Solus whispered, careful not to let others overhear like back at Naboo. “We have both grown, but where is your proof? Does not the Fanged God demand trial by combat? Prove to everyone why either you or her should rule. Anyone can move the earth, but you… the skills you have are beyond exception. Show her that power I saw on Faleen, the power that made me dedicate myself to you and our deity. Demonstrate the rage of Korriban. Show that the Lord of Rage is not just an empty title, but a moniker for your magnificence. ”  

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

 

Should she fail to grant that, he would step forward and claim the title for himself. But should she defeat her challengers, claim the throne free of any real dissent, then he would return to the shadows, watching, waiting for the day that he would lead the Sith from hiding into a glorious new conquest.

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Tros watched from a distance, letting the Sith take to front seat of the show that what could only be explained as a show of power and declaration as the new seat of power. He was unfazed by much of what had transpired, as it meant little to him. Some of the texts comms that came through his own HUD offered up strong discussions and points of interest for everyone present. However, Kot'dral sent a personal one declaring that it sounded like they were not needed here. To which it was true. The Sith here seemed more intent on building up their own armies for the coming wrath they would unleash upon the galaxy. While it didn't mean they would break off from the Sith, it did mean that he was maybe less tied down to fuel his own people into two wars and could focus on his own coming war. 

 

Quietly, on a private voice channel, he responded to Kot'dral. "Yes, they are indeed focused internally. Which isn't a bad thing. We still have nothing to prove here, but lingering could gain us some more information. Our forces can withdraw back to Almas after this is all over. From there, we can prepare for our own war path emergence." After he finished, he slowly moved to gain a better view of the entire area, and every so often placing his hands upon his two Westar 75 Heavy Blaster pistols to make sure they were still at his side. He didn't feel like getting into a challenge with any Sith today, nor did it feel like the time to unveil himself to the Sith as Mand'alor. So he choose to wait in the shadows. 

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As Lady Calypso began to speak, her power roared not only across the landscape and the Force, but vibrated within his very soul as Dictum stood amongst the gather masses with a smirk still adorning his face. This world, this Order, it was all so new to him and it was as exotic as it was enthralling. He couldn't help but be carried away in its ecstasy and find himself captivated. The last time he felt this way... well, he claimed his Lordship from his fallen Master.

 

The clash of two crimson blades sparkled against the moonlit sky as the two played each against the other upon the catwalk they positioned themselves. Sweat beaded across their foreheads as their skills were tested to their maximum. And then,  the blades slipped, slicing one side of the catwalk loose and the two dangling above the abandoned city below. Both smirked and his Master's words echoed within Dictum's mind. It was kill or be killed... no other path to be taken. This was the way of the Sith... the way of the Darkside.

 

Back to reality, Calypso's convictions and emotions rolled across her words, blossoming his own within himself as his blood boiled with strife and despair. For the first time since he had joined the others, he felt her call as the Tsis had mentioned. And in that moment, he ached a beautiful pain. 

 

It was a dance of death across the battlefield his Master had chosen for his final trial, and Dictum had consummated his soul to rising the victor. Even despite their power differences, Dictum held true to his word that he would surpass Darth Sanguine in every way. He would not go quietly. For his destiny was his own, solely to be written by his hand and never another's. And while crimson blades lay upon earthen soil hundreds of feet below, the Force was still his to beacon."

 

Shifting his gaze across the gathered masses, Dictum watched attentively to those that stood there in awe, questions plaguing his mind as Lady Calypso's words came to a dead silence and her message closed. She was a Master of the Darkness, a devout of her self in every aspect. She had climbed not just out of death's reach, but beyond her own mortal station. Her destiny was her own and she had grasped it with both hands. They were her's to devour, and yet, the silence was near deafening.

 

The crimson blade slid deep into Sanguine's heart as his yellowed eyes stared upward toward the veil that covered Dictum's face, his hand grasping for his Apprentice's throat as his flesh and skin cooked from the inside out. Deactivating the blade, Dictum thrust his hand into the broiling wound and grasped at the pierced heart, removing it from its confines. As his Master took his last breath and his strength left him, Dictum grinned devilishly before taking a bite of the scalding heart.

 

Stepping forward first, Dictum smiled that same devilishly grin as his lightsaber activated, it's crimson hue enlightening his form. If the others wouldn't, then it would be left up to Dictum to respond to her request. "I may be new, a mere Lord beneath a Master of the Darkness, but let me be the first to welcome you."

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Dictum.jpg.0f5717fd74fdc4ee9bfc91ffc3fa3457.jpgDarth Dictum

 

"The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?" - Edgar Allen Poe

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The Mandalorian Inmortos amalgamation stood listening to the newly proclaimed Dark Lord on high. It was the same rallying speech given a thousand times by a thousand different would be lords; and yet, a smile played across the woman’s face, for she knew. She knew. Inmortos knew. This war was not over. It had never been over. They were just the next cog in the machine of eternal damnation. They would do their part and then they would fall away, forgotten chaff all but they who struck their sigil upon eternity. All, but eternity, those bound by immortality. All but Inmortos, the god-king of death itself.

 

And yet that was what was missing as @Darth Calypso pontificated from

on high. She claimed a throne of blood. Inmortos had been there since her rebirth. She had no claim to this throne, this world,  these people. She spoke of the weakness of words, but her claim was only just that: words. When she had been reborn, she had shed no blood. @Karys Narat iv-Adas had shed blood. @Solus had spilled blood. Inmortos had spilled blood. The trio summoned to her crypt to bring forth she that stood now before them. But she, the self-proclaimed Lord of the Sith, had not cemented her claim in blood. The harbingers of her return, lords @Mavanger and @Darth Nyrys and @Exodus had carved the path for her, a path of destruction, of blood, marred on the force their feeble marks upon the eternal scroll.

 

And so he listened, his eyes scanning the feeble few who remained loyal to their ancient right, the legions of undead that now stood ready to ‘serve’ Calypso; the undead of Inmortos’ eternal plan. None stepped forward to fulfill the ancient bond. None dared throw themselves at the mercy of the dark side to do what need done. The shard had merit, Inmortos could feel it. He would still adorn the god-king’s saber some day; so was his destiny.

 

And as Calypso and her suckling apprentice leapt to the ground, she called forth a challenge. The crowd rustled and none dared move, none but . . .

 

Bernon ( @Thought Bomb ) the necromancer’s newfound apprentice. Inmortos could sense the turmoil in him, raw and untamed. He would be shaped into a great cleaver of darkness. In time. For now, he must be brought to heel. As the heavily armored warrior knelt and spoke, he produced the saber of Inmortos for all to see. Surely Akheron and the saber crystal Solus would know of Inmortos new form; his ambiguity, a powerful wraith on the wind betrayed into one body, the body of a slave.

 

The Mandalorian’s eyes rolled back painfully in her skull as the ire of Inmortos was aroused; and yet, a smile played across her face. To disobey, an eternal sin; and yet, the courage to do so so openly. It would be acknowledged as well.  Such an act would need punished. To disobey publicly, one must right the wrong equally. To kill this vessel of sin; however, would be premature and would reveal a weakness of the god-king.

 

Stepping forward, the gauntleted hand of the Inmortos-bound woman, brushed Bernon’s shoulder gently. With her free hand, she reached up to remove her T-visored helm. She tossed it aside, her face ravaged by the claws of her own fingernails, blood caked and cracked as it oozed between the cracked scabs mingled with the ichor of pure darkness, her eyes white and bloodshot, their pupils bound in pain backwards in her skull until the rage of Inmortos was sated, the tiara of impermeable soulfrost bound to her skull and a symbol of Inmortos claim

to the body and to his throne world Aaris III, as ashen and desolate as it now was. “My apprentice,” she hissed as she raised her hand and one by one tugged at the fingers of her armored gloves, dropping them to the ground. “You have done as I instructed.” Her icy white hand gingerly played across the intricate ultrachrome of the hilt in his hands as the whispers of her spirits within manifest curling up the Mandalorian’s arm like snakes return to their master. She grasped the hilt, her knuckles whitening even more if such a thing was possible. With hilt-clenched fist she backhanded her apprentice with a feeble blow that radiated upon the force in a surge of rage to knock him back. Stepping forward, her bloodshot eyes rolled back to behold the human, “defy me again and your punishment shall

be eternal!”

 

Steppibg forward, she began to strip the cumbersome Mandalorian armor that had been the facade of the god that now possessed her body. Each piece fell to the ground as she walked along the assembled Sith and their armies. “You claim a throne of naught but words,” she dropped another piece of armor with a thud in the snow that was beginning to accumulate beneath their feet. “The ancient blood rights remain unfulfilled.” The woman turned, her eyes flashing a wicked deathly yellow as they locked for a moment with the mechanized eyes of Solus relaying a simple message, one even he could attain. ‘Should the apprentice of Inmortos interfere, destroy him’

 

”You claim to be a god, to rule the chaos of the Sith and yet,” they gestured to the assembled Mandalorians under @saberforce, “was it not they who unfurled your royal carpet in blood? Was it not we three,” she gestured to Akheron and Solus, “who released you from your mortal bonds? Did not the Sith who scourged worlds, scarred the force, and languished in life pave the way for you to awaken from your blissful slumber?” Reaching the end of those assembled, Inmortos and his host turned to walk back towards the middle of the open area betwixt pyramid and assembled. “You claim a throne already claimed.” They came to a stop directly in front of Calypso and perhaps twenty-five yards back. The dark echoing voice of the god king boomed on the winds as they turned cruel and cold, it’s cold bite clawing at metal and flesh. “You claim the throne of an imposter, of an exiled spider who may yet rule from afar; and yet, you have shed no blood for it. As emissary of the dark empire, master of death, god-king of the damned, and one who has seen eternity and not slept idly by, I invite you; prove yourself worthy.”

 

Cold air billowed from the Krath in rolling clouds of icy fog mingling with the wind and untouched by it’s growing howl, mixing with the snow to shroud the black-body suit clad frozen acolyte (possessed body). The winds continued to plummet the temperature and without a word, Inmortos hung his hilt on his belt, the wind itself turning as to his will to drive at the self-appointed queen, to drive her back with a headwind, the edge of the storm.

 

Biting her lip in concentration, blood and ichor spilled forth as the host of Inmortos’ will exhaled deeply through her nose like a reek preparing to charge. Even possessed as she was, as the cold tendrils

of death played about her soul, she was still fresh, a child of Mandalore born and bred for battle. And then they struck, as she pushed the last remnants of air from her lungs, Inmortos struck at the fear that encircle her soul and she inhaled. A deep startled gasp that crystallized the air, the force, as she went to draw air into her lungs and by it suck all of the heat and warmth, the powers and energies of the battlefield away to dissipate them into frozen unending stillness.

 

Cold and frigid darkness fell over the battlefield as the winds blew and an unnatural permawinter drew upon the dark forces that bound this world together. All who were there would bear witness to the death storm of eternal stillness unleashed by the god-king and no one would walk away untouched by his bitter touch. In the midst of it all stood Inmortos, his challenge apparent as the forces of eternal damnation came at his beck and call. 
 

CALYPSO V INMORTOS ((1))

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Akheron listened to the words of Darth Calypso. As she spoke of her plans for the Sith before proclaiming herself the new Dark Lord, making more promises. He agreed with much of what she spoke, and then he heard his apprentice. But not before feeling his intense Envy. And with it his plan was undone, for Darth Akheron was no fool, he would not be so easily deceived or goaded into a challenge. For he had experienced a lifetime of betrayal, he was a Master of Darkness. He was Sith.

 

He desired to see his power. To see the Lord of Wrath and Rage. He would have it, although perhaps he would live to regret that decision, for he had provoked a great beast, one that if tampered with would come at a great price. For to call Akheron's actions cowardice and question his commitment was to invoke consequences. He would not tolerate such disobedience from his apprentice, especially not in front of others and the Dark Lord. Besides he required no proof, at least for his apprentice. He was beyond him, it was he who was required to prove himself worthy. To prove he was worth the effort of having been chosen.

 

Besides he had proven himself, or so he thought. He had Sacrificed. Through blood and Sith trial by fire. Who was his apprentice to question his motives, his beliefs. And require him to prove himself. Only the Darkness and Fanged God could demand it, he had no such right. He would learn his place yet again. 

 

He continued to listen, finding some truth to his words, approving of his compliments, and yet it could not undo what was to come. 

 

 "Oh my apprentice, you are good and have learnt, I give you that. But did you really think you could deceive me? That you could hide your Envy from me, your plans. That you could goad me into a challenge? I am a Master of Darkness. I will not be so easily tricked into your games, however I give you credit for having the audacity to try despite your failure to understand the gravity of the consequences of your actions. For in provoking the beast, in questioning my Sith beliefs, in implying I am a coward and questioning my commitment you have invited the Lord of Wrath and Rage upon yourself. You forget your place my apprentice."

 

 Akheron quickly spread his thoughts into the Darkness, spreading his awareness outwards until he touched the Shard within the droid that housed Solus. And he began to apply pressure, crushing upon the Shard...hoping to mark him. A permanent, painful reminder...another lesson learnt. Around him lightning began to crackle, a outward affect of a intense Wrath and Rage towards his wayward apprentice.

 

 "Your words may be true, and I respect the compliment, however I shall decide when and if to challenge. Not you. I have no desire for leadership or to challenge her, I keep my word. I shall give her the chance to prove she is different, to keep her promises. If she fails to live up to that, then I shall challenge. Not before, besides you may think me ready but I know I am not. Question my beliefs, my commitment or call me a coward...ask me to prove myself again my apprentice and you will not live to regret it. For you forget. It was I who chose YOU. That you were chosen by me. I am your Master, you are my Apprentice. I not required to prove anything to you, but you have much yet to prove to me. You wanted the Lord of Wrath and Rage, to witness my power. You got what you wished for my apprentice.

 

Never question me again unless it is permitted understood?"

 

 Turning to face Dictum, he spoke.

 

 "I am sorry about that, my apprentice is strong but he is Envious. As with all in the folly of youth, he oversteps his bounds sometimes and needs reminding of his place among the order of things."

 

 It was in that moment, Akheron felt the change. The temperature dropped as the strange Mandalorian woman he had suspected of being Krath Inmortos turned out to be exactly as he thought. The necromancer had returned. And even more than that, he did something unexpected, he challenged the newly self-proclaimed Dark Lady himself. Getting his hands dirty for once, which amused the Master Sith Warrior. And earnt a bit more respect, for he did not think he would ever expose himself like that. To challenge for leadership, it just didn't seem his style. Looking beside him, it appeared Dictum wanted to also challenge. His lightsaber was ignited. Akheron knew things were about to get very interesting.

 

All eventually became clear. It was a trial, one only for the Dark Lord. And for Inmortos. And so Akheron made room, stepping aside and motioning his apprentice do the same, to observe and see that the Darkness and Fanged God had it's own plan. That he was correct in not being chosen for the task currently.

Edited by Karys Narat iv-Adas

https://jedirp.net/topic/4851-trodai-narat-iv-adas-darth-akheron/

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 "Only in my pain, did I find my will. Only in my chaos, did I learn to be still. Only in my fear, did I find my might. Only in my darkness, did I see my light." - Darth Akheron

 

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Solus’ voicebox screeched its ear-piercing screech as the crystalline being inside the chassis was slowly crushed. Like a human having their brain crushed, so did Solus have his. The pain experienced by the Shard was beyond description. The Impossible geometries shuddered around him, twisting and conjointing into newer, uglier forms, with their sharp contrasting colors simultaneously intensifying while muddling together.

 

It was in this moment, where thought could not exist, did the thing inside feel its restraints loosen. 

 

Even as Solus fell to his knees gripping his head, the thing burpled and reached out. Nothing more than a figment in the Force made visible, its tendrils and legs reached out and pulled itself on empty air,  until several unblinking, bulbous eyes revealed themselves on top of mandibles and fangs. Vaguely spiderlike, the thing hissed at the world around, until the Force Crush stopped. Then, it simply wasn’t there, as if it had never existed. 

 

Solus, picked himself up, and didn’t look up at his master. His hatred refused to allow him to do so. Instead, he kept his head down and simply stated “Yes master” and turned away. 

 

At the start of the duel, Solus did not perk up visually, when in actuality he was pleased. To have Innmortos, even in his newer, younger form, challenge Calypso presented a win-win situation. If he won, Calypso would be humiliated and brought low, taking attention off the Shard’s failure. If Calypso won, well, Solus greatly desired to see the necromancer fail over and over. 

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On 12/8/2022 at 5:07 PM, Krath Inmortos said:

Cold air billowed from the Krath in rolling clouds of icy fog mingling with the wind and untouched by it’s growing howl, mixing with the snow to shroud the black-body suit clad frozen acolyte (possessed body). The winds continued to plummet the temperature and without a word, Inmortos hung his hilt on his belt, the wind itself turning as to his will to drive at the self-appointed queen, to drive her back with a headwind, the edge of the storm.

 

Biting her lip in concentration, blood and ichor spilled forth as the host of Inmortos’ will exhaled deeply through her nose like a reek preparing to charge. Even possessed as she was, as the cold tendrils

of death played about her soul, she was still fresh, a child of Mandalore born and bred for battle. And then they struck, as she pushed the last remnants of air from her lungs, Inmortos struck at the fear that encircle her soul and she inhaled. A deep startled gasp that crystallized the air, the force, as she went to draw air into her lungs and by it suck all of the heat and warmth, the powers and energies of the battlefield away to dissipate them into frozen unending stillness.

 

Cold and frigid darkness fell over the battlefield as the winds blew and an unnatural permawinter drew upon the dark forces that bound this world together. All who were there would bear witness to the death storm of eternal stillness unleashed by the god-king and no one would walk away untouched by his bitter touch. In the midst of it all stood Inmortos, his challenge apparent as the forces of eternal damnation came at his beck and call. 

 

The roar of the wind was like the roar of Ziost itself, a bestial sound of defiance and rage. Up till now Calypso had been holding back the cold of the planet's surface through the Force and her own will. This supernatural chill, however, cut through her, stripping away her life's warmth even as it pushed her back, shoving her against the rough stone of her pyramid as if the wind was the true hand of the sorcerer standing before her.  She held her lightsaber like a talisman, a single line of red in the sea of white. And while the snow blinded her mortal eyes, she still saw through the Force. No matter what body the necromancer had borrowed, his soul remained distinct. She saw it now as a dark, inverted thing. It did not shine, but consumed. It was absence incarnate, a hungry emptiness that left only cold and death in its presence. In her memory, Calypso had never perceived a Sith's soul as dark as Inmortos in the full of his power.

 

She laughed. Her voice, rich and throaty, mingled with the howling of the necromancer's magic.

 

This! This was the darkness she would turn on galaxy. The darkness she would awaken in the heart of every Sith. Joy surged within her in response to the display of primordial power.

 

But wait...there was something else there as well. A faint glimmer of light, almost lost in the roiling oblivion of the necromancer's spirit.

 

...Ah. The soul of the body he puppets. Of course he would keep it. It was such a fine source of fear.

 

For both of him...and her.

 

As the wind died, and the necromancer's puppet inhaled, Calypso extended her free hand in front of her, palm down. If not for her tattered clothes, she might look like a queen giving a benediction. Inmortos' cryomancy was a thing of true skill, draining away the swelling energies of the Dark Side. A lesser Sith might try and cling to their escaping strength. But Calypso understood.

 

From passion, I gain strength.

 

She did not attempt to hold onto the power that Inmortos took. Instead, she drew in more.

 

She drew on the passions of the Sith who had gathered before her challenge. Such anger, such hate, it was a sea of darkness at her fingertips, and she had spent her life carving herself into the perfect channel of that darkness. And for added measure, she drew on the poor soul the necromancer had imprisoned in its own flesh. Such pristine terror, coaxed to greater heights by Inmortos' own manipulations.

 

Inmortos skill was impressive. His cryomantic arts might even be a match for her raw power. But she was no ordinary Sith, and this was no ordinary battlefield. He could suck away as much power as he wanted, for in this moment, surrounded by these black-hearted witnesses, Calypso's power had no end.

 

She called out, "My chains are broken necromancer. Allow me to teach you what that means."

 

She took Inmortos' attack. No trace of fear wormed its way through her. Her gaze did not falter or flinch. She simply stood, defiant. For moments that felt like minutes, what little heat remained was drawn away by the vortex of the necromancer's draining magic. Frost formed on her skin. Numbness took hold and began to spread inward, and she felt her limbs turn leaden. Her body would be slowed now. But in the Force, she simply drew in greater strength to replace what he took.

 

And when it seemed to Calypso like the necromancer's puppet would be able to inhale no more, she struck back.

 

Lightning lanced from her extended hand, an explosion of raw, crimson electricity bolstered by the black emotions of the Sith surrounding the two combatants. The air shuddered and screamed as the darkness-turned-energy crackled through the air and drove towards the necromancer and his hijacked flesh-suit. It was simple, pure, and powerful.

 

It was the judgment of a god. 

 

 

CALYPSO V INMORTOS ((1))

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               Bernon Mrrgwharr felt the sting of the striking hand, funnily enough, it was also cold as death itself. He had taken more than one hit in his form of boot camp, yet this felt stranger than normal. However, what was most important to him now was that he was a true Apprentice of the Sith. He was finally one of them, and he had no idea what to say, so he simply said "Thank you, Lord of the Darkness, I will not fail you again. I promise you will not regret this decision." He watched his new Dark master @Krath Inmortos move towards the beginning challenge. He moved back in order to keep safe from the ensuing fight, if he was too close, he might not even be able to hope to survive such a clash between two powerful Dark forces.

 

             He of course hoped that his Master would win, and maybe even become the leader of the Sith. He hoped he would also not lead the Sith down a path of destruction for themselves with ideas like that of Lady Calypso's. For him, he thought that Calypso would lead them to nothing but chaos and weakness. For now however, he did not truly know how this would end, and he didn't have the power to influence it currently. For now, he would just enjoy the show.

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As Solus retreated after his punishment, the Sith Master and Warrior smiled beneath his mask and laughed a little. Enough that his apprentice could hear it. Even as they observed he could feel his intense Hate towards him. His feelings betraying the apprentice as his thoughts flowed openly, how he thought that just because there was a duel of such proportions, that his recent transgression would be forgotten. He knew little of the Sith or had he forgotten. The Sith do not forgive or forget. 

 

And yet Akheron saw a lesson that he could perhaps learn from the bout. Indeed, perhaps he could impart something to this newcomer as well...advice he wished he had been given when he first began the Dark journey.

 

 "Do not think your transgression is forgotten my apprentice, I have not despite this change of events. For have you forgotten already? A Sith does not forgive nor do we forget. But regardless use your Hate for me, let it drive you...let it fuel your thoughts and lead you to heed the lessons I have been trying to impart. Only by accepting your mistakes, learning and becoming stronger because of them will you unlock your true potential. Until you learn to listen, be patient instead of rush at everything like a Rancor charging, then a Apprentice you shall always be. 

 

Embrace your punishments, embrace your pain and grow stronger for it. Use this bout as a lesson also."

 

 He turned to face the newcomer, Inmortos apprentice, his words of advice meant for both. He knew Inmortos would not object, for what he could not learn from the necromancer, perhaps he could help with.

 

 "Perhaps you both can. I know Krath Inmortos would not object to this lesson I shall impart young Bernon Mrrgwharr. Observe this battle both of you, learn from it, see where, were it you what you might do. Bare witness to the true power of a Sith, how they each wield it differently. Learn from this their weaknesses...their strengths should either become your enemy some day. As is the nature of a Sith. To destroy all who would oppose them. Jedi or otherwise."

Edited by Karys Narat iv-Adas
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 "Only in my pain, did I find my will. Only in my chaos, did I learn to be still. Only in my fear, did I find my might. Only in my darkness, did I see my light." - Darth Akheron

 

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If Solus could have rolled his eyes, he would have. If the Shard’s chassis was capable of giving a glare he would have. However, instead he was restricted to giving his master a look as the words fell. 

 

“I haven’t made a mistake, master. I simply haven’t discovered as much as I needed to know. Besides, I have already learned much from the consequences. As well as these two combatants. Behold! They both fear the same thing every mortal fears. The Fanged God.”

 

“Well, maybe not him specifically, but they certainly fear Death.” Solus corrected himself, shrugging slightly. “Look at Calypso. She was frozen and restrained for countless centuries, and when she awakes, she finds nothing the same. So her very first desire?”

 

Solus gestured to the battle. “Become Lord of the Sith. Establish herself as something grand. Become immortal, like the Spider and Empress before her, and establish what she hopes is an eternal, chaotic rule over the galaxy. Have to admit, galactic chaos has beauty to it, but I wonder how long that may last?“

 

Solus knew that this information was a stretch, relying on what he gathered so far. He could have been wrong, but even as the words left his voicebox, he felt like they were true, and thus, he believed it to be true. The Madness in some corner of his mind gurgled in approval. 

 

“And for the necromancer… well…” Solus pretended to scratch an invisible chin, pretending to be in thought. In truth, he was wondering how well he could annoy Innmortos’ newest apprentice. 

 

“His motives are less-than-subtle. I mean, what kind of mad-man seeks control over death? He has to prove his control by sacrificing his body over and over, just to show the galaxy he can come back. Even I, a lowly apprentice, killed him once. Makes one wonder what state of mind he has to be in to make decisions like ruling the Sith…”

 

Solus then glanced upwards and at @Bernon Mrrgwharr and held up his hands in a tauntingly apprehension. “Not that I doubt he chose well in wishing to train you, oh young one! Surely he must still be sane enough to see raw talent! Perhaps when he falls here, you will be allowed to see his corpse return to life, something none of us have seen” 

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                             Bernon Mrrgwharr was angry with the droid, listening to what he currently believed to be a form of Sith heresy against his master. He did not do anything however, he didn't even respond. He would let his anger build, his hate boils over time, so that it would be stronger when he needed it to be. The time to use his anger was not now. He had learned long ago that aggression was a tool to keep built up for times that it would be useful for, he wasn't about to waste built up anger and hate in order to strike at a droid, especially not if it already had some form of training, and he didn't. He also didn't feel like making any enemies, that wouldn't be a smart strategic decision.

 

                             He then turned his attention towards the other Sith, who was also apparently a Warrior, just like he wished to become. He took in the wisdom of his words and thanked the Dark Lord for his help. He knew how to listen already, it was a critical thing he needed to learn to do at the Mercenary Academy. It was there he learned that when people say "listening can save your life" they really mean it. He wasn't about to carelessly ignore his teachings. He planned for when he was in training, he would be subservient, he did not have the power or knowledge he needed to have any real power over anyone, nor would he until he finished his training and learned the secrets of lightsaber combat, immortality, and many other things.

 

                             There were several things he already knew to be true, things that aligned well with the Darkness. He knew that the strong are meant to rule and that the weak are meant to serve. He knew that he should take what makes him weak like fear and sadness and turn it into something that makes him strong like anger and hate. He also believed that honor is a fool's game, and that honor is for the living, surrendering is never a preferable option however. He believed he would make many new discoveries, learn more Dark wisdom, and eventually, become powerful with this new great training that Krath Inmortos would teach him.

 

@Solus @Karys Narat iv-Adas @Krath Inmortos

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Power, by it’s nature, it is not created, nor is it destroyed. It simply changes form.
 

Such a scientific fact, while true, was brushed away in the great inhalation of the  god-king of death. As Inmortos sought to drain the power of she that would make false claim to the mantle of lord of darkness, the power that flowed from her, drawn by the world around them was nigh but endless. The little heat that remained in the air from Inmortos’ cryomantic display of power was whisked away, dissipated into nothingness. The frail legion of undead, an artificial gift from Inmortos to @Darth Calypso upon her resurrection at his hand, fell away like chaff, their soul-bound corpses collapsing where they stood. Their weapons clattered to the ground. The necromancic energies that bound these undead soldiers unnaturally to the realm of the living were sucked away and dissipated in the cold, drawn unnaturally from them into Calypso and from her into the host of Inmortos to be rendered no more. And yet, the vessel of Inmortos inhaled, the attack only ceasing as the physical limitations of the Mandalorian body he possessed reached it’s limits.

 

It was then that Calypso spoke, her attack rebounding in turn. Fiery red bolts of jagged energy, energy drawn from the world about them arced through the air even as Inmortos’ host exhaled in brief. The bolts struck the woman’s flesh with an explosion of power, of dark raw energy coalescing with the infinite icy stillness of eternal damnation. It sent Inmortos and his host careening backwards with the sheer kinetic energy the attack possessed. They landed amongst the recently fallen foot soldiers of Aaris III. The rotted bodies of his servants cushioning their blow as they sank amongst the fallen. Still the energy pressed on, playing across the fallen bodies, exploding some in bloated gouts of rotted flesh and ichor as it reached for the necromancer within the bodies, searching for the living amongst the dead. Lancing forth it would have found it’s mark, the still sizzling flesh of the possessed warrioress; but for the scourge of Inmortos, his will, and her strength of a lifetime of battle fighting off the residual energies of the initial blast. A crimson beam erupted upward from the mass of bodies, not followed by the telltale hiss of a lightsaber, but accompanied by the press of spiritual whispers and chants, of eternity unbound. The world about them muted to a deep red as all other color seemed to be leeched from the world. Whispering voices cackled with glee, sinful souls bound within the blade itself inviting their eternally tortured comrades from the world beyond; the veil of separation between this present mortality and eternal damnation beyond growing thin.

 

Inmortos eyes flashed a wicked yellow as he, as she, as they stood; the blade held before them like a wizard’s wand, extended outward in one white-knuckled hand catching the crimson bolts of retribution on it’s burning hissing shaft of energy. The darl lady’s power coursed upon the blade as it was transformed into an ethereal energy and in turn wrought unto the veil, parting to allow the spirits of eternal damnation to flood all bit unhindered into this realm. They cried out. They screamed. They chanted. Their emotions plagued the battlefield swarming and overwhelming the forces of mortality of their feeble emotions. The vengeful spirits sensed their keeper’s will and coursed onto the field of battle. Without direction, they felt the force, they could sense Inmortos’ raw emotion beneath his frigid facade and they followed it. They could feel Inmortos’ dark desires for @Bernon Mrrgwharr, his future in the god-king’s hands. They hated it. Did he not know that Inmortos was theirs alone? They could feel the blood oaths that bound @Karys Narat iv-Adas and @Solus to the god-king, the despise he felt for the one who would become his next blade. They could feel the oath sworn by their keeper to she that he now fought. They could feel his disdain and his devotion to his oath. The dead, wraiths and specters, phantasmal ghosts and amorphous spirits hated the living and they that they found they sought to destroy. With chanting wails and unearthly screams they swarmed their targets, physical protections of little use against a extraplanar foe. Seeking to destroy them, reason abandoned, they screamed through the billowing fog and wind to seek and to tear at their flesh with unseen maws and claws; physical wounds from an ethereal foe.

 

And through it all, the energy of Calypso’s assault crackled and sparked against the cursed blade of the god-king. A wicked smile played across the Mandalorian’s twisted face, her face half-burned, her blonde hair singed as bits of charred flesh fell sizzling and black to the snow. Her pain was palpable and yet she did not cry out, her body overtaken by the will of Inmortos and her spirit and mind ensnared within his power. They hissed, her Mandalorian voice carrying like that of the eternal whisper of the spectral dead across the field,

 

“You know naught of the chains I suffer.”

 

With a yellow flash of power, Inmortos’ jade-bound eyes fell upon the very soul of the dark lady. It was old. It was grotesque. It was coveted by Inmortos for the power he could drain from it. With a glance and a surge of ectoplasmic power his will wordlessly called forth a trio of smokey demons from beyond. It did not matter from whence they came. It did not matter what they sought, they were called into this world by a flash of necromancic power and bound to Inmortos so long as they were held within this mortal plane. Their will their own, their power that of the dark keeper of myth and legend, these inky black splotches of smoke in the fog made to set upon Calypso, the first to fall within their gaze, and with that they attempted to smother her with distractions and despair, to cloud her connection to the world about her, the force, and to life itself with their hateful false claims of her histories torn from the depths of Tartarus. They screamed and whispered, working to weave their taunting and mesmerizing sinful distractions as they made to close in upon her in the fog.

 

And as he stood, knee-deep in the bodies of those who had sworn their adoration to him, his gaze beholding Calypso through the eyes of the eternal judgement of the force, he struck.  The spirit within his host twisted in agony, a useful tool, but so too an annoyance; for even as he drew upon her lifeblood, so too did his foe. If she sought such power, a shadow of the power that Inmortos possessed; well then, she would have it and know herself judged unworthy. With her free hand, the necromancer wove a brief spell in the air across the Mandalorian’s chest pressing her own fingers inwards into her flesh. A cry of anguish, warbled with evil glee escaped their mouth, the glowing eyes of Inmortos never leaving Calypso. The spirit of the Mandalorian was cleft from the body whole, cast out of it’s living form leaving in it’s wake a pure muscled body, albeit singed, under the domain of the god-king of death. The spirit was unstable, unable to maintain a pure form having been plucked prematurely from existence. It howled in pain. It did not matter. Inmortos cast the spirit off, careening towards Calypso a pale translucent figure vaguely reminiscent of the host. Rapidly she broke down as she charged. In moments her spiritual existence would implode, a fragmentation grenade in reverse, drawing all about it inward at lethal velocities. 
 

The creeping doom of the ice left it’s mark as the snow and wind and fog billowed about them, and while Inmortos commanded the powers of stagnation, of eternal stillness, he was still a necromancer; a master of the dead and the bridge that stretched between mortality and the infinite. It was in that that his full mastery was on display, the legions of the damned called forth at the edge of Inmortos’ control, to make war on their god-king’s behalf. Standing there amongst his fallen worshippers, saber clenched like a magical wand of power, Inmortos trod the veiled edge of mortality and madness. He would stand here, his ancient oath to the Sith of eternity past culminating in this moment; to ensure that the Sith traditions and magics were answered, lest the order be cursed anew, again.


 

Calypso v Inmortos (2)

 

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                               Bernon Mrrgwharr was startled somewhat by the appearance of undead coming after him, probably an accident his master must have made, he thought. As they came at him he realized another thing, that they were ethereal. These creatures could not be harmed by normal means, blasters, or even lightsabers probably couldn't harm them he thought. He would have to come up with another solution, and he quickly realized, that he had to use the Force, only another mystical energy could kill these beings. Summoning up all of the built up anger and hate he had in his mind, from the bullying he often received at the academy, to more mundane things he saved his anger for later during, to even the anger he felt towards the droid calling himself Solus.

 

                               Now, he would truly let out his Darkness. The anger and hatred and passion he had hid under a facade of cool calmness all this time was now being shown, now not of course nearly as strong as a Lord of the Darkness, but it certainly was enough to rid him of these spirits. He unleashed his rage in the form of a bellowing war cry, sending the spirits that came after him reeling. Once they were gone, he could hide it away once more, and with not much effort either, after all, he had hidden his passions for most of his life. He would need to conserve his passions for a later date once more, he was sure of it, now was not the time to continue to use his passions however. He would let them continue to boil under the surface and build up.

 

                               He had drawn on the Dark energies of this planet, as well as the Darkness and rage that radiated from the other Sith here. There was so much of it to use, and it had proven useful after he had removed the wraiths and undead from his sight. He stood back at attention, like a soldier awaiting orders, and continued to watch the fight. His master was certainly putting on one heck of a show.

 

@Krath Inmortos

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Crimson illuminated the frozen tundra of Zoist's pale veil and the pale of his mortal flesh as stood at the ready, the ever present smirk still adorning his actionable face until a Master of the Sith stepped from behind the masses and took forth the forefront of her own accord, a justifiable and declared right held not just by title, but by consequence. The smirk left his face and Dictum reclused, his saber finding its deactivated place upon the Lord's waist as precedence took place. Even a Sith born outside the Order knew this right given to all, and as such, was to be respected and unquestioned.

 

As Akheron spoke his peace, Dictum nodded. But his explanation needed no voicing nor concern, as his Apprentice was his and his alone, the teaching of the lesson a necessity. With the addition of the confrontation before them, it was of very little attention, and focus should be placed upon the former, not only as a witnessing as testament, but as a display of the two Master's declarations and skill. Something they each held in common with the band of warriors gathered near outskirts, his vision falling upon the Mandalorians at the rear. At times, dominance needed to be remembered amongst the powerful, and the outcome honored without prejudice. Something they held deeply upon their foundation. 

 

But what Dictum didn't expect was the shift in the air that came upon the flowing currents that encompassed them, a malicious intent to incur the wrath of all that it encompassed, the snarling jaws of death echoing through the Force and the embodiment of a singular's expression. His expression changed at the notice, a disgruntled grimace at the need to include them all, and his hands fell upon the Sith Daggers that sat beneath his robes. 

 

So, this would be how it was to play out? The Sorcerer held more gall than what Dictum had originally gave him, or rather it, from the very beginning. As the Force swirled around the Assassin, he shook his head dauntingly, grudgingly belittling his own self at the fact that he had underestimated any of them, as the Sith ways were the Sith ways. So preoccupied by the Order and their presence, he had forgotten that they were Sith, and as powerful and unified as the front they proposed, power still clung to the roots of this tree and each of these branches fought for its nutrients. Even Dictum.

 

These creatures Inmortos had risen, however, were not as pervious. They were of the dead and as such, held nothing to lose, creatures who had lost everything already. Agonizing wails like banshees threatened to rip sound from ears and claws like Terentaks threatened to rip life from form. However, as the twin blades nestled in Dictum's hands found themselves in reversed grips, one thing was evident. Dictum did not intent to join their surplus. A cursed blade may have bore them, but cursed blades could also end them. And creations of the Sith always held the darkened curse that bore poisoned fruit. Blades manufactured by mortals may not be able to hinder the dead, but those created by the darkside could exert their own will of reality.

 

And in this case, as the kyber gems within their guards flowed with the encompassing persecution of the Darkside's nature, each strike would feel as deadly as any would have felt in life. Feeling his power extend from the corrupted gems within, he pulled upon the nearest of the wraith to his location and sliced at the veil that bound them to this reality. Poison may not provide any agony to these projections, but perhaps the agony of the ancient arts that forged them would.

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"The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?" - Edgar Allen Poe

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As the battle raged and Akheron found he had to keep adjusting his position to not be hit accidentally, he felt a change in the air. And it wasn't just the temperature or the obscuring most before them. No, this he could feel with the Darkness. And then he saw the reason, as the sky turned a crimson red and the veil between life and death was rended open by the necromancer. Akheron was impressed, for he had yet to see this display of such power from him. 

 

It spoke to his true power and demanded a certain level of respect. 

 

And yet there was a price to pay for opening the veil. The dead, angry, suffering and seeking hosts to torment were set loose upon the living. Sith or not it didn't matter to them, only the intent to maim. Akheron smiled. It was a opportunity...one he could use to impart some more lessons. He knew the newcomer would need protection to a degree, for he was untrained and Akheron doubted Inmortos would want him so prematurely ended. He had a duty to his equal to see him survive for now.

 

Or at the very least, show him the way to survival on his own. As such he spoke out first to Solus.

 

 "My apprentice, it looks like we are afforded a opportunity. Show me what you have learnt, send these wraiths back into the veil and Chaos beyond."

 

 He turned to the newcomer.

 

 "Stay close for now. You are untrained yet in the ways of Darkness, and I don't think your new master wishes to lose you just yet...so allow me to offer a way to survive this. Focus inwards, use your Hate, your Rage, Wrath and all negative emotions you feel. Focus one specifically, use it and focus those feelings upon your enemy, you will begin see the truth of the Darkness and begin to do things you thought impossible. Observe, what a true Sith Warrior and Master is capable of and learn from it just as you would your own master."

 

With that Akheron focused himself as he removed the Limnal Blade from it's sheath upon his back. A weapon he had not used as much as he might of liked, but now was afforded the opportunity to do so. The sword reacted almost immediately to the presence of the undead wraiths, attempting to pull Akheron towards them and consume their souls. Entering into the Warrior spiritual state of the Wisdom of the Blade, Akheron suddenly became calm and hardly seemed to move at least at first. Within moments he channelled the Darkness, unifying both himself and his weapon into one circuit, finding equilibrium. With a supernatural and otherworldly type of grace, the Sith Master seemed to move about almost in a circuitous pattern or dance that never lost forward momentum. Akheron drifted across the battlefield, dispatching a nearby wraith, seemingly untethered from gravity as electrical discharges soon sprung from the effort, elements of a storm weaving into his attacks. At it's centre was a eery calm where Akheron stood, while around him chaos and slaughter was ensuing.

 

((For reference his currently using the Wisdom of the Blade/Blade Dance technique in the Warrior guide.))

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 "Only in my pain, did I find my will. Only in my chaos, did I learn to be still. Only in my fear, did I find my might. Only in my darkness, did I see my light." - Darth Akheron

 

I survived the Great JNet Outage of 2012

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When the spirits attacked, and his master gave the order, Solus at first froze in thought. Exactly what was his master expecting him to do to the ethereal? What would be something that he could do that wouldn’t be better then a lighted blade? 

 

Solus didn’t get much chance to think, as several spirits rushed at the Shard. Despite holding a robotic chassis, the things could sense the life within. Much like Tear when they first met, the spirits knew where Solus’ ‘heart’ was. 

 

Solus first ducked under the first spirit that charged, and rolled out of the way of another. On all fours, Solus barreled through the snow and the spirits clawed and snapped at his heels. 

 

“Come on, think think think…” Solus stated to himself as he stopped and suddenly jumped upwards, dodging over another barrage from the ghosts. Much to his surprise, his training at the Temple of the Spider was already paying off. His training of ‘losing’ the rules of the galaxy had helped him learn the importance and skill of dodging and moving. 

But it was a temporary solution. The spirits didn’t tire. They didn’t exhaust themselves. They were lifeless things focused on nothing but death of everything around them. 

 

Solus gave a glace towards the battle between Inmortos and Calypso. Solus memory flashed to the planet the necromancer had so easily let die. All those people that he chose to eliminate for no reason. All those under his command, like these spirits. 

 

The Impossible Geometries around Solus shuddered. Solus faced the attacking spirits and opened his hands at the charging things. The clouds of rage in the Geometries swirled around the attackers. The lines of envy dashed and began to bind themselves. 

 

The spirits rammed themselves into the Shard, but never touched him. Pushed back several feet, Solus slid but kept his digits focused on the now ball of death before him. Ethereal skulls snapped and bit out at the shard, claws swiped and clawed, but could not reach him. 

 

“Not fair, these should be mine! I should have these, not him!” Solus declared. The lines of envy tightened. The spirits squirmed in pain. The thing in Solus burbled excitedly. Solus, without losing his concentration, opened the scomp link in his hand and thrust it into the ball of death. 

 

In the Impossible Geometries, the lines of envy shuddered and opened up where the Scomp link entered. Like a syringe inserting medicine into a patient, so did the scomp link insert the Madness. Its gory, pussy, blubbering glory quickly squirmed and wriggled  into the chaotic shapes that were the spirits and began to spread amongst them. 

 

Solus released and sent the spirits hurtling. The ghosts crashed and squirmed around on the ground, clawing at themselves like men with horrifying migraines. Inside them, the Madness infected the three spirits like a rabid virus, feeding on the Force that connected them to this realm.  Solus had recalled one of the stories that the Temple of Spider adored. They called it 'that Between the Force'. Here, Solus had pulled an idea from the story and inserted his own version into the spirits.

 

Their ethereal gaseous heads began to leak bulbous, wax-like flesh, shining with an almost radioactive glow. With their connection to the Force now tainted and corroded, the spirits couldn’t see or act normally.  They saw everything in a different manner. Anything that moved for them was alive. And being the undead things they were, they needed to kill it.

 

Including each other. 

 

Solus began to laugh heartily as the three spirits began to fight amongst themselves. As quickly as they turned on each other, they then separated and began to attack the other, unaffected spirits around them. Ghosts fighting ghosts, they had completely forgotten about the Shard that had affected them. 

 

“Oh that is much more fitting!” Solus laughed. “See master? See how I, the great and ascended Solus, don’t need to kill? I am too great for these peons! I make them kill each other!” 

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Feeling the Dark side grow the power emanating from Inmortis and the deep deep cold Fiochmar shivered as he bandaged his wound his breath coming in shuddered gasps as he pulled the bandage painfully tight. He opened his mouth as if to speak and thought better of it closing it again.

 

Fioch stood watching his new master do her thing. Amazed by Calypso and what she could do. He wanted to stay with her to remain where he was, but the Tsis's thoughts went to whether she'd want her new apprentice there or not. So he decided to head for where Akheron and his apprentice were so he could watch the duel without being in the way, getting nearer he spoke to Akheron softly.

 

"Hello, it's been a while, you feel stronger than last me met." Fioch spoke with a small bow before nodding a greeting to Solace and looking over at the newer man. "You, I've not seen or met you before."

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                 Bernon Mrrgwharr was closely watching the fighting, learning as much as he could from it. He turned when he heard Fiochmar speak. He somewhat thought of Calypso's Apprentice as a rival, given the current situation. However, he was not powerful enough to be making enemies, so he instead nodded and stated "I am Bernon Mrrgwharr, Apprentice of the great and mighty Inmortos. No, I do not believe we have met, but I do know that you are the Apprentice of Calypso." He stood rigidly at attention, as he often did, out of habit. He was not extremely fond of the idea of Calypso spreading her chaotic vision and ideals for the Sith towards any Apprentice, but all Sith needed an Apprentice, he supposed.

 

                 He was only half paying attention to the fight now, engaged in conversation and somewhat lost in his thoughts. A question had been stuck in his head for a while now. As he wanted to become a Sith Warrior, he knew he would soon need a weapon. He was thinking about whether he wanted a single-bladed lightsaber or a double-bladed one. In the end, however, a double-bladed lightsaber would probably suit his combat style better, as he used heavy weapons and heavy armor often. He knew that the double-bladed variant would be harder to master, but he was willing to put in the work to have such a weapon.

 

                 The way that Solus had dealt with the spirits was strange indeed, but it was effective. The way that Akheron dealt with them was more impressive to him, however. He was grateful for having a Sith like Akheron here, as he had given him useful information thus far. He didn't thank him specifically for the advice, believing the best way to thank him was to put his advice to good use, which he certainly did. He now knew a good Force power, that being Force Rage, and he would remember this lesson well.

 

@Atrid Torsen @Karys Narat iv-Adas @Solus @Krath Inmortos

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She felt the necromancer's servants before she saw them.

 

Demons, specters, phantasms... The trio of beings were nameless creatures. Their unnatural presence was like slithering worms, threading through the currents of power and life so foreign to them. Calypso did not run, but instead gathered power to her. She would dispose of these interlopers, and then their puppetmaster. For what weakness of her mind was left for them to attack?

 

All around Calypso, the fog took on a life of its own as the apparitions commenced their attack. Images seemed to flash in the haze, while wordless whispers echoed in her ear. Half-remembered smells, tastes, and feelings of her past played out before her. It felt as if these beings had unspooled her memory like a scroll and were scratching their taloned fingers along its length. Lies came with the sensations. She saw enemies she had killed changed to friends she had betrayed. Her moments of victory were turned bitter and hollow. They even went so far as to transform her memories of hatred into puling cowardice.

 

None of it so much as stirred Calypso.

 

Each of their formless attacks on her psyche slid away, finding no purchase. Their lies were discarded as quickly as they formed, each no more substantial than the mist they were woven out of. Like children tossing pieces of paper into a bonfire, the creatures' attempts to break her focus and occlude her senses were useless. Against anyone else, they may have had more success; but Calypso had spent her life ridding herself of such weaknesses and insecurities. She was the Dark Lord. Nothing these creatures could conjure would hurt her, for her will was absolute and her hatred was all-consuming.

 

Then a figure appeared before her. It was vaguely humanoid, and surrounded in a soft, golden light. It smelled of grease, dirty metal, and sweat, the scent of a long day of hard work. The face was indistinct, because Calypso had forgotten it long ago, but the impression it made on her resonated deep in her soul. This person was warm. This person was safe. These thoughts echoed all the louder because this was no lie, but a true memory.

 

The figure stepped towards her, holding its arms out as if for an embrace. Calypso stepped back. For a moment, her hatred faltered.

 

Then came her wrath.

 

Pure, burning fury flowed through her. Fury that these creatures had dared try and needle her mind with these tricks. Fury that she had flinched, she who was first among the Sith, and who'd freed herself of her chains. Fury that she had such a weakness left, buried in her subconscious as it was.

 

Her power grew with her rage, radiating out like the rays of a star. Ire and hatred fed off each other, and in turn glutted the Dark Side as it flowed through her. However, the creatures accomplished their objective after a fashion. For that moment, Calypso was distracted, and did not sense Inmortos' next attack until it was almost too late.

 

The imploding spirit of the mandalorian careened towards Calypso, and only at the last instant did she realize the danger. With all the strength of the Dark Side she could muster, she flung herself up and back. It saved her life, but it wasn't enough to escape. Fog, snow, and stone all rushed inwards as the spirit formed its own brief singularity. The power of the implosion yanked Calypso back down, blackness creeping in at the edge of her vision from the sudden change in direction. She used the Force again, this time to slow her fall. Even so, she struck the ground hard, skidding across the now bare stone circle centered on where the spirit had met its end. Blood turned her scraped palms and knees a deep red. Her breath was shallow as she fought to get her wind back.

 

Her rage grew even hotter.

 

Ignoring her body's protests, she got to her feet. Her lightsaber, dropped when she hit the ground, zipped across the stone and back into her grip. It reactivated with a hiss, and Calypso flung herself across the battlefield. The fog parted as this living missile of searing emotion and power hurtled towards the necromancer.

 

She came to a stop only ten feet away from his puppet body, her free arm extended again, palm out this time.

 

"Suffer..."

 

Normally, Sith who channelled the power of hatred into a Force blast conjured an acrid, yellow-green energy that corroded their enemy's body and assaulted their mind with screams of pure malice. But Calypso's cultivated hatred was of another level entirely, and nothing tainted it as she directed her assault towards Inmortos in a 15' horizontal column tall enough to engulf a man and just as wide. And so, the light that emerged from her palm was not yellow-green, but the raw, searing white of a sun.

 

"...and die."

 

CALYPSO V INMORTOS ((2))

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Inmortos shifted slightly, his blade angling to brace for a blow that never came his free hand weaving an intricate spell by his side. If he had elicited this type of response, even in the cold, it meant only one thing. He, they, were winning. He felt it, her wrath, her rage, boiling over as she landed. She was almost within reach, within saber-striking distance of even a withered scion of death. She was close enough that even through the fog and snow he could see her outline, her saber only illuminating @Darth Calypso further.

 

Raising a withering undead hand, Inmortos began to form ancient words of power; but before he could do so, Calypso unleashed a storm of her own. The burning maelstrom of the cosmos turned towards the lord of the damned. It took Inmortos by surprise as the heat blasted the lifeless body that he now possessed and sent it careening backwards. The body glove offered what protection it could before it succumbed to the force of the blast, sizzling as it turned ashen and was blown away and consumed by the blast. Ethereal screams assaulted the woman’s eardrums, the undead woman’s ears. They mingled with the whispering cries of joy and hatred brought forth by the wraiths and spirits crossed back to the lands of the living. 

 

The body flew backwards through the air, Inmortos blocking out the screaming assault, shutting it up behind a wall of a spectral choir that screamed beyond natural hearing and simply releasing his power on the Mandalorian’s hearing

 

Landing at the edge of the battlefield with a squishing splurch amongst the rotted bodies of his fallen army, the necromancer lay there amongst the dead, amongst his people; a stark reminder of who he was, that which he had not yet overcome; at least, not entirely. Inmortos lay there, his host’s dead body burnt, scorched, and oozing blood and frigid ichor. The pain would be unbearable, had it been his own pain. One of the benefits of already being dead was that the corpse, suddenly spiritless and lifeless, felt none of it. Inmortos felt none of it The blast burned her, her skin, her hair, it melted and twisted her face and body from the outside leaving bubbling oozing flambéed flesh in it’s wake.

 

And yet, through the pain, the screams, all of it, Inmortos remained. He was more than a simple spirit within a body. He was Inmortos. He was eternal.

 

He lay there, the muscles of his host tensing either from the natural reaction of the dead or Inmortos’ innate control. With his spirit bound lightsaber still casting it’s crimson hues, the Mandalorian’s fist clenched white about the hilt and slammed downwards into the ground. The built up sorceries flowed freely. The snow packed surface cracked as the silvery hilt clanged into it, fracturing the powerful hilt’s exterior as a gutteral hysterical laugh erupted from the twisted lipless melted maw of Inmortos’ host.

 

It is finished.
 

Power. It flowed from everywhere. it came from everywhere. The bodies of the 10,000 fallen all about him. The air. The assembled Sith. The reborn Ziost held together by twisted black magics as dark as the necromancer’s soul. Even the veil. All of it. Their power. It was sapped in an instant, drawn into the powerful vacuum of the void. The temperatures about the battlefield plummeted, winds drawing inward to tear any vestiges of hope or heat away as the power of the battlefield was drawn into the spell, into the nothingness cast beyond eternity. The veil, thinned by the saber and it’s dark passengers and blackened sorcery, the same saber that now served as a conduit of the god-king’s power, tore all but in two, unleashing torrents of the damned upon the battlefield to swirl and cleave at any that stood in their path. Great spears of ice erupted from the ground in spiraling circles about the necromancer, shards of frozen eternity piercing through the power-sapped air. They cut into the air between Calypso and Inmortos, withering before the attack, but continuing to spiral outward as the dead hand of Inmortos clenched the activated saber hilt tighter still, her burnt skin cracked as even the bones beneath it began to strain beneath the undead power commanding the spell.

 

And still, Inmortos laughed; an insane cackle. If she but knew, he was already dead. She would not, could not, kill him. His chains were not her chains. Her chains would be her undoing.

 

CALYPSO V INMORTOS ((3))

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Calypso stood her ground as the tide of the tormented spirits washed over her. Her mind was inundated in their screams of hate and misery, and with them came the supernatural cold of the necromancer's magicks. The chill cut through her once again, and traces of numbness began to spread in from her fingers. She couldn't last long in this.

 

The spirits that touched her clawed and scrabbled at her mind, seeking to tear her soul away and bring one more damned specter into the deathly current, but once again they found no purchase. Through sheer weight of numbers, however, their attempts drew her attention for a brief, but vital, few moments. And so it was that she was once again caught off-guard by the necromancer's secondary assault.

 

As one of the spears of ice lanced out of the ground towards her, she only had a moment's premonition that allowed her to try and block the thrusting icicle with her lightsaber. Whether it was because of Inmortos' dark magic strengthening the ice, the sheer momentum behind the attack, or Calypso mishandling the block, the spear did not simply dissolve under the plasma blade but instead sheared even as it forced her back. The ancient sorceress was sent tumbling over the icy stone. The still bleeding palm of her free hand left red streaks as she came to a stop several yards away.

 

The analytical part of her mind, holding itself separate from the maelstrom of rage and hate that flowed through her, identified the best course of action was to retreat. Get out of Inmortos' immediate range and then assault his weakened body from afar until he gave out.

 

...No.

 

This was not simply a battle for survival. This was a battle for the soul of the Sith. Inmortos, with his ancient tricks and forbidden lore, represented another way of the Sith. An older way. A way that saw the Sith hiding and plotting, yet accomplishing nothing outside of building temples to ego that would fall to ruin, creating legends that would be forgotten, and training apprentices who would continue the pointless cycle. Each was so arrogant in thinking that they were the exception. Each so foolish in their inability to see the most basic lessons of their own history. The galaxy was a grinding millstone, turning by the momentum of millennia. Inmortos and his ilk sought to build monuments, palaces, and thrones on it, only to be ground to dust when it turned around again.

 

But Calypso had no desire for those things. Instead, she would shatter the stone.

 

That was why she could not retreat. Why she could not win this through tactical trickery. She had to leave no doubt, not in her mind or Inmortos' mind or the minds of the Sith watching, which of them was truly stronger.

 

She would not defeat Inmortos.

 

She would crush him.

 

Calypso stood. She seemed such a frail thing, a scarecrow in tattered cloth. But as she stood, the Dark Side surged to her side. Some spirits that had been assaulting her suddenly began to orbit, as if she was their sun, to eternally circle but never touch. For a brief second, Calypso thought it familiar, and then she remembered. She had been surrounded by spirits just like this on Coruscant during her 1000 year sleep. She had drawn on their suffering too.

 

She walked forward.

 

"I am Darth Calypso."

 

Another icy spear of the necromancer's spell rose to meet her, almost faster than the eye could track. Guided by premonition, Calypso's free hand was already up, as if to block it with her scraped, bloody palm. As it closed the distance in an eyeblink, coming within inches of skewering her hand, she sent a touch of will into the vortex of the Force that surrounded the two combatants, and conjured a brief telekinetic burst.

 

KSSCHK

 

The spear shattered into a thousand pieces under the opposing pressure. Some of it acted like shrapnel, slowed but still moving with enough speed to leave red, trickling lines on her bare skin.

 

She did not slow.

 

"I am stronger than you."

 

Her pace quickened. Each spear that emerged to run her through was shattered by telekinetic power guided by premonition. Even as shards of ice left behind bleeding cuts, as the freezing wind numbed her body, and as screaming spirits whipped and howled about her, her stride did not waver.

 

"I am the Dark Lord of the Sith..."

 

She could see Inmortos now, both with her eyes and with the Force. He seemed as if he was the center of a tear in reality, an entity beyond nature that sought nothing but cold and silence. It was as if she stood before Death itself.

 

She did not falter for a moment.

 

"...AND I HAVE HAD ENOUGH!"

 

She extended her hand towards the necromancer, and called all the power she could summon.

 

Force Push was perhaps the single simplest technique a Force-sensitive could learn. To use it to destroy this undead god-thing that had accumulated and wielded such dark, mind breaking secrets...it was the ultimate denial of his power and arrogance.

 

She unleashed the Push, all her rage, hate, and desire behind it. The stone ground before her, caught in its edge, shattered and pulverized into gravel with a deafening roar. The wave of telekinetic power raced towards the necromancer, bearing enough strength to tear durasteel and shatter starships.

 

I am the end of this age necromancer, she thought.

 

And you are nothing but a ghost.

 

CALYPSO V INMORTOS ((3))

Edited by Darth Calypso
Forgot to add Calypso V Inmortos ((3))
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Duel of fates between Darth Calypso and Darth Inmortos

Mods: Delta73 and Darth Nyrys

 

Overall a magnificently written duel. My kudos to both writers for writing, very interesting characters, and a very interesting duel that seem to reflect the heart of both characters. Seeing two Sith masters clash in the force is always a sight to behold and you both did very well!

 

Points of critique:

 

Power use: summoning thousands of sith bound spirits from hades to attack from your blade, while also freezing the battlefield and throwing a whole lot of ice spears is a bit too much in one post. All of these actions take immense concentration and work which is very hard or impossible while your body is burning and ruined. Doing too much like this can backfire and especially when dealing with sith spirits they can just as easily turn on you! Overall I think this last post was a bit too much on the power level.

 

Respect of damage taken: Inmortos, taking a full force blast and having it flambé your entire character is great, however it seemed to have no actual impact on your character or his power, effectively undermining the potency of Calypso’s attack. 

 

Plan of attack: Calypso, there was no strategy of your attacks, no real build up from one attack to the other and the attacks could have been interchanged with little impact on the direction of the duel. The attacks did not feel like they were building on one another towards a win condition. 

 

Overall it was well written on both sides but Calypso stands victorious

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Ca'Aran

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The corpse puppet tore like cloth.

 

Weakened by the battle and stiffened by the cold, its bones shattered and sinew was ripped apart by the wave of telekinetic power. In barely the span of a blink, the body that had once been Inmortos' mandalorian victim was nothing but strips of meat, shards of frozen bone, and dollops of congealing blood scattering across the snowy fields in a macabre rain. Calypso stood, hand still extended, a wave of destruction extending out from her. Her body was slick with red as a dozen cuts trickled blood down her skin. For a moment, she remained like that, silent and motionless.

 

Then she raised her face to the sky and screamed. Her voice was savage and defiant. In that wordless shout, she crowed her victory as an animal might. And laced throughout that primordial sound, a call that predated all language in the galaxy, was another simple message that could not be misconstrued.

 

Who's next?

 

But even in her victory over the necromancer, she knew the truth of the matter.

 

He was not dead. Not truly. Calypso did not have the means to put a permanent end to such a creature yet. His tricks would save him for a while longer. But...that did not matter now. Killing him had never been her intent. She had defeated him, and that was more than enough.

 

She spun in place, her sight in the the Force alighting on all the figures who remained in audience of her duel. Fully enmeshed in the Dark Side from the battle, her gaze was like a physical tremor in the air. It was the rumble in the ground that came before a volcano tore the land apart. She called out, "By right of victory, I claim my title! From now until I am defeated, any Sith who seeks to prove they are the rightful Dark Lord may challenge me!" Her eyes roved again across the gathered figures. "And if any think I have claimed this title falsely...then you are more than welcome to correct me at any time."

 

Moments of silence passed before she continued.

 

"The Sith have suffered a great setback. We must rebuild our forces before we can finally gut this galaxy of its masters and strip away their lies. So, I call on each and every Sith here. Serve yourselves, for by doing so you will serve me. Plot to depose me, for by doing so you will elevate me. Lay the groundwork for your own domains, for by doing so you will hand the galaxy itself into my hands.

 

Gather power, train apprentices, barter alliances, and prepare your strategies and your gambits. And when the time comes, when the signal is given and the Sith emerge from the shadows, this new Galactic Alliance will fall, not by a single army but by the corruption, selfishness, and fear that they suppress and deny. They will crumble, as is their nature, and we will rise, as is ours. For those of you whose ambition would have you serve me directly, rest assured there will be work for you...and opportunity." She smiled. "This is a trial. Before, you had the fear and weight of an empire standing behind you. Now you must prove that not only do you have strength, but that you have the intellect to wield it subtly. Try to stand stubbornly against the might of the fearful masses, and you will be broken. Learn to use them, and you will find power you have never seen.

 

The weak will die, and the strong will rule.

 

And it is high time the galaxy learned that lesson."

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The Sith Warrior reclined upon the edge of his bunk within the quarters assigned to him within Ziost’s garrison command. It was a spartan residence, lacking the finery that had adorned the Warrior’s Barracks within Lord of Gluttony’s reign. It was, however, fully functional for his uses. He ignored the conflict outside. Dark Lords came and went these days like credit-chit whores, he had his own machinations to pursue, and none a change of leadership would interfere with.

 

The datapad he held lit his pale, severe features with an unsteady glow as data streamed across its holoscreen. As Blackmorne thumbed through news articles streamed from the heart of the Sovereign Alliance, the whole right side of the datapad reflected a single face, pale and thin, with hair the color of honey and eyes a severe blue. He had been obsessed with this creature, every angle of her royal features caused the thrill to hum within his veins, that rush of cold adrenaline that drove him. Bloodletter’s devious words turned through the rush within his mind

 

Have you discovered where you might snip… This bud from its stem?

 

A half smile tugged at the edge of his frown, enticed by the thoughts of future joys. His voice churned like falling stones

 

“The Alliance speaks greatly of hope, a frail human emotion.”

 

With a flick of a finger, the galactic view of the mid-rim settled on his screen. It panned to the Chommel Sector and towards Naboo, the world from which his target hailed. A planet once devastated by war, brought to ruin by the natural turns of galactic fate. A few news articles came with it, outlining the efforts of a young queen to rally the galactic community to action

 

“They will try and rebuild with that hope at their core. That is when the foundations of this Alliance are most fragile.”

 

The light of the datapad died away, reflecting only the dimness of the barracks, the Sith Warrior, the crimson bedsheets, and the tangled remains of his bedmate. The Sith had found her amongst the captured padawans, the honey-stained hair drawing his sulphoric gaze. Her screams had fed his desires for a time, but such passions were always short-lived. Blackmorne stood, binding his long, white hair with the scrap of bloodsoaked robe he had kept as a totem from his first victory. He placed Bloodletter within its sheath, its long blade shifting from a mass of star-streaked deepspace into blackened steel. The hunt was about to begin.

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Death is No Escape

 

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