Jump to content

Recommended Posts

Assigned PC: Kahla Zendrin

Task Force Experience: Green (1XP)

Harrower-class Dreadnaught Phantom's Spear 9/25

 

Mobile Disruption Escort: The Net of Hate

Assigned PC: Kahla Zendrin

Task Force Experience: Green (1XP)

Crusader Class Corvette 2/2

Crusader Class Corvette 2/2

Crusader Class Corvette 2/2

Raider II 2/2 Raider II 0/0

Raider II 0/0

Vigil Class Corvette 2/2

Vigil Class Corvette 2/2

Vigil Class Corvette 2/2

Vigil Class Corvette 2/2

Vigil Class Corvette 2/2

Vigil Class Corvette 2/2

 

Precision Strike Carrier Group: Wings of Glory

Assigned PC: Kahla Zendrin

Task Force Experience: Green (1XP)

Gladiator Star Destroyer Devout Cardinal 9/9

Terminus Class Frigate: Trident of Raxus 0/2

Terminus Class Frigate: Galvanized Spirit 0/0

Terminus Class Frigate: Crimson Crescent 0/0

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

Artillery Battery: Incendiary (Vulcan)

Commander: Exodus, Inquisitor Barca

Task Force Experience: Green, 1XP

Onager-Class Artillery Cruiser, God of Cinder |10/20|

Imperial II-Class Frigate, Gremlin |0/0|

 

Engineering Support Cluster: Bucket Brigade (Chariot)

Commander: Exodus, Inquisitor Barca

Task Force Experience: Green, 1XP

Providence-Class Carrier, Blood Merchant |9/9|

Interceptor-Class Frigate, Maiden |3/3|

Interceptor-Class Frigate, Iron Moth |3/3|

Interceptor-Class Frigate, Little Wasp |3/3|

Raider-Class Corvette, Left Hand |2/1|

Raider-Class Corvette, Right Hand |2/1|

 

Heavy Brawler Escort: Hammer and Anvil (Colossus)

Commander: Exodus, Inquisitor Barca

Task Force Experience: Green, 1XP

Gladiator-Class Star Destroyer, Colossus |27/25|

 

Golan I Space Defense Platform |25/25| (GSDP)

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Destroyer Group [Missile]: Sith Resurgent

Assigned PC: Mordecai Valar

Task Force Experience: Green, 1XP

Harrower-class Dreadnought Krayt's Fury 16/25

 

Advanced Warfighter Cadre: Through Power, Victory

Assigned PC: Mordecai Valar

Task Force Experience: Green, 1XP

Interdictor-class Cruiser Korriban’s Retort 9/9

Terminus-class Destroyer Kressh’s Lance 3/3

Gage-class Transport Juggernaut-1 2/1

Gage-class Transport Juggernaut-2 2/1

Gage-class Transport Juggernaut-3 2/1
Gage-class Transport Juggernaut-4 2/1

 

Shadow Warfare Pod: Shadow of Dread

Assigned PC: Mordecai Valar

Task Force Experience: Green, 1XP

Interdictor Cruiser Sadow's Wrath 9/9

mord_sig.png

 

Link to post
Share on other sites

Anarchy continued to erupt across the ambit of the Kuati Shipyards at a terrifying cadence. Star Destroyers thundered their firepower with destructive intent, bursting warships into pieces and boiling whatever shields stood in their path. Smaller battleships maneuvered under duress, executing far more complex flight patterns while heaving through mounting debris. The black expanse quickly became a theater of metal and death, quietly aroused by the incessant Rebellion.

 

The communication beacons did not falter under the heightened strain of information that was divided between the war-machines of an Empire; their efficiency and discipline easily highlighted as the primary nature of their brutish domination over the years since resurgence. The Emperor King demanded this of his galactic kingdom, and those that failed this, would endure an uncompromising reproach. The cannons would drum until the fire that fueled them burned out; the legions of his military would fight until their body and mind caved to death and then push further; these worlds would not loan an inch to the seditious. 

 

From the hindquarters of the Imperial fleet line, reinforcements gushed through hyperspace. Hordes of blackened-titanium TIE variants rose sharply into the scramble, ionized gasses burning loudly through their thrust arrays, expelling a rich square-wave harmonic infamous to such Imperial powerhouses. Proximity sensors would swell, as the haunting fighter-craft flooded the battlefield. These were experimental TIE Silencers; tremendously frightening in their sudden emergence, with macabre hulls of ingratiating black. Several of these weapons of war had their frontal viewports smothered with red-painted hieroglyphs of the Spider. He was alive, the totality of the grand armada would soon realize. The Emperor had come.  
 

P3UXctm.gif

Link to post
Share on other sites

The oversized mountain of filth slithered across the semi-abandoned hanger, austere behind his façade as a kind and idiotic Hutt, but within, the Maw churned through its digestion of the Jedi’s energy. It was a meager feast, but it was sustenance that he had not found since the violent end of the Jedi Council’s response team during the hunt for Geki.

 

…Notes of cherry and happiness. Love perhaps? Why did it taste like a shower-scene? 

 

What had been the last thoughts of the Jedi as she had died? Were they of peace or of Love? Were they of the Code and the admonishment of life it brought with it? The Hutt could not quite taste the truth, but there was a feeling of peace within the meal, which saddened him. He preferred terror, horror, or even despair over such a melodramatic peace. It was like unspiced Nerf, sautéed in plain linthseed oil. No real flavor.

 

Crimson, slitted eyes blinked, their many lids sliding and focusing upon a figure at the far side of the hanger. The Force reflected the storm of grief and rage that played upon the Sith’s soul.

 

So the Lord Xahl was dead then, and a meaningful bond shattered. Poor boy. 

 

The Hutt slithered on, concealing his rotting wounds by knitting the shattered flesh together like a babushka knitted a blanket for a babe. The Sith Master drew in the pungent puss and ichor, binding it into his undead flesh once more. It wouldn’t do for the boy, that Lord Mavanger, to see his favorite apprentice as the Master of Filth he was. Sheog raised a greasy, dirty hand as a soft greeting as he approached, inclining his misshaped head in a small bow, a line of drool dribbling down his multitudinous folds. His voice was soft, filled with empathy instead of joy as it had been.

 

<<My Lord, you have my condolences for the loss of your friend. I have a gift, taken from the kill of a great Jedi Lord, may it help to ease your suffering.>>

 

The Hutt tossed the Jedi Master’s lightsaber to the decking at the Sith’s feet. The lightsaber echoed like a wound in the Force,  a reflection of The Maw and of the terrifying power of a master of the Krath, imprinted forever with the death of its former owner.

  • Like 1

OvQX5BE.png

King Kheldar vos Correlli said:
Sheog, I have to ask, overkill much?
Link to post
Share on other sites

The soldier stepped backwards, her heart racing as she watched the enemy survive her grenade, making an inhuman leap in the process. Her shoulder was throbbing, stiffening up as she retreated, and she gingerly moved her rifle back into her primary hand.

 

So it was a Sith after all, and not a soldier.  

 

The Sith was kneeling now, and Kenna angled to fire a bolt into her, but a lightsaber tore itself into light before her, burning bright against the relative dimness of the assembly-hanger. The silver medallion ground against her teeth as she stepped backwards, her eyes wide and drawn to the lightsaber’s brilliance. Her eyes dipped to her own weapon.

 

Oh Kriff. That’s a lightsaber. This’ll be no good now.

 

Kenna toggled the firing switch on her blaster rifle, her thumb depressing the stun setting, the only thing she had left up her sleeve. Stun was at the least, more effective against the Sith’s lightsabers, or at least that was what the Imperial Knights had trained into her. She began to backpedal faster, her already adrenaline-fueled heart beating with and even more furious pace.

 

Another inhuman leap and the Sith’s lightsaber came down like a bolt from the heavens and Kenna, scrambling backwards in her oversized boots, dove to the side, but not quite quickly enough. Searing heat roared its way in a dark furrow down her side, the plasteel armor disintegrating under the lightsaber’s attack. The armor absorbed much of the lightsaber’s furious onslaught, but the skin bubbled and burned beneath it, the lightsaber’s tip scorching its way past her ribcage, frying nerves and skin on its path.

 

The soldier yelped, wrenching herself to the side with the continuation of her momentum, her feet staggering as she jumped into a clumsy dash. She spat out the medallion and shrieked in pain, depressing the trigger to unleash a stream of stun-blasts towards the Sith’s flank. She was running on pure instinct and adrenaline now and the fury of a cornered predator.

 

((3))

 

bane.png.f129906906ce51627e34f12901b35cd9.png

 

 

 

Link to post
Share on other sites

Her fiery orange blade impacted the decking with great fury; a blastwave of sparks, molten metal and chipped plasteel was blown wide. Kahla had clipped the trooper, but the girl had shown a swiftness to rival her own. And while she had hoped in that heavy swing she could end the battle, she knew it wasn't over yet. In the moments of her landing she focused hard, drew on the blistering pain in her neck, the shrapnel she could still feel buried in her muscle. The pain coursed through her mind, she felt not failure, not pride; she was impressed. Such a young trooper holding her own against a trained Sith. She drew a level of respect.

The clopping of loosely fitting boots echoed in her ears, then a shriek of pain. Kahla lifted herself, her agony fueling her charge for the trooper. A volly of stun bolts came opposite of her sprint, dropping down, Kahla slid low, barely avoiding the first two shots, as she rose back to her feet, she swung her saber wide, catching a third bolt. But she had underestimated the strength of the round, and her saber was flung from her hand with a disappointing hiss of the discharging blade.

Her heart skipped a beat, dread washed over her, her empty hand clenched as the next bolt hit her center mass. Kahla fell to her knees crying out in pain; her voice crackling as her vocal cords spasmed. Her blood felt boiled in her veins, her skin raw, and her muscles constricted. Pure rage flowed through her as she called on the force, her only ally through the pain she endured. Dozens of shards from the broken panels around her flew, careening towards the girl.
 

Albeit she was still in immense pain, it was starting to wane, it almost felt relaxing. right next to her hand she saw a larger fragment of the shattered solar panel. Kahla sneered as she gripped the glassy material. She screamed bloody rage and hatred, her grasp so tight as to draw her own blood. With one final push she bolted, with the force as her aid, she made a wide stab at the burnt ribcage of the young trooper. This time she wouldn't miss, nor graze, her prey would feel the pain she had endured.

 

((3))

kahala.png.91259c682421c23e82bdf3466492cecc.png

Link to post
Share on other sites

Round Three Fleet Results

 

Attackers Defensive  Actions

 

|Alexandra| detaches from |Anastasia|

|Phobos| Guards |Aeneas|

|Fleet Commander Starfighter Action| Interception(Forward Deployment)

 

Attackers Offensive Actions

 

|Aeneas| attacks |Wings of Glory| which takes 8 DPS

|Fleet Commander Starfighter Action| Bombers Inbound on |Wings of Glory| 3 dps (Covered by interceptors, reduced two points to shield damage)

|Fleet Commander Starfighter Action| Bombers Inbound on |Wings of Glory| 3 dps (Covered by interceptors, reduced two points to shield damage)

 

All Task Forces retreat

 

Defenders Defensive Actions

 

Defense Heavy Brawler Escort: Hammer and Anvil (Colossus) is covering Golan

Engineering Support Cluster: Bucket Brigade (Chariot) is covering Phantom's Spear

Mobile Disruption Escort: Net of Hate covering Phantom's Spear

 Interception (Forward Deployment)

 

Defenders Offensive Actions

 

|Vulcan| attacks |Sairdonga| for 8 points of DPS, launching ordnance at Sairdonga that will hit next round

|Sith Resurgent| attacks |Alexandra| which takes 6 damage

 |Phantom Spear| attacks |Alexandra| which takes 4 damage (This includes the minus two penalty for stacking fire and the partisans)

|Through Power, Victory| attacks |Anastasia|, but is intercepted by |Alexandra| for 4 damage (AWC attacks at fast speed)

|Golan| attacks |Sairdonga| for 4 damage

Bombers Inbound on |Sairdonga| (Veteran Destroyer), Forward interception shifts one damage to shields

Three Bombers Inbound on |Romanova| for 9 damage(One of which from each attack is converted to shield damage by forward interception)

Technical errors reduce shields on the |Sairdonga| by three, it's probably nothing...

Technical errors reduce shields on the |Anastasia| by three, must be a bad motivator...

Technical errors reduce reduce shields on the |Misercordia| by three, checking for mynocks...

 

 

No cloaked ships detected

NYRYS.png

Link to post
Share on other sites

The Emperor of the Sith Empire sat grimly within the dark cabin of his Silencer, heavy arms mantling loosely over the control deck orientations as his war vessel erupted into enemy formations. His broad-shouldered and magisterial body heaved coolly while cloaked in the draperies of Sith aristocracy and power. Dimmed light sources reflected off of his black spider spun armor-plates, but the long drawn hood over his head covered most of his semblance in a ghoulish shroud of darkness. His squadron of fighters steered the deep battlefield territorially in his likeness; as wolves that masticated any metal that did not hail the colors of their command. Point-of-view numbered these late arrivals in the hundreds, but these TIE demons draped in oily obsidian and reds were a mere dozen strong across radar calibrations. Reality was quickly distorting.

 

“Inquisitor. The reinforcements found you well.” Cold breath left his mouth beneath a devilish tone, faintly misting his scope of vision as his machine of war punched through the opposition. 

 

“Lord Emperor? You’re—You..” The voice of the Emperor buzzed through the communications array of the Onager-Class Artillery Cruiser, God of Cinder, and much to the surprise of their stoical crew. Barca hesitated with a raised eye-brow, treading whether he should ask the question on his mind, and then burst out with estranged laughter as he realized just who he was dealing with. “Affirmative, Black Lead. There were those that held reservation on the choice of support for our task forces. But, as you see, the enemy crumbles before you now.”

 

“I see that, Barca. Order the Armada to impede the enemy retreat.

Our wolves will tear apart those left behind, for they have not learned their lesson.

No mercy, Inquisitor.”

 

 

The small company of TIE silencers moved in hyper-aggressive patterns, shelling and picking apart life pods without remorse. Scrambling TIE-variants swarmed the scurrying rebellion and increased their oppressive firepower, unrelenting in their efforts. Accompanying bombers laid into anything that moved without the full force of their shielding, bleeding the morality of their enemies. Over the year, these shipyards had become the most exhaustive graveyard in the Empire, and continued to swell with death as the Rebellion offered their own as cattle to the flame. Hundreds of thousands would be lost here in such a short window of time, unimpressively and unremembered. Hard judgment would passed for their transgressions against Imperial Law. As for the Sith King, he would take as many lives in this affair as was offered, while reviewing parsed information revolving Lord Mavanger, his apprentice Zendrin and the elusive Master Sheog.

 


 

P3UXctm.gif

Link to post
Share on other sites

Kahla Zendrin vs Kenna Banebridge

First, I want to congratulate both of you. This was an excellent duel, with both party's creativity and writing prowess on full display. I fully believe, for the most part, that these are two low-level fighters who just had the misfortune of running into each other on a larger battlefield. Both characters are played excellently, Kahla finally accepting what it means to be a Sith, and Banebridge very much accomplishing what was set out for her in coming off like a rookie, without making her seem incompetent. I know I often talk about how it's hard for me to read very fluffy posts like these, but this duel made it more than worth it.

 

First we'll touch on the only error either of you made (Very well done on both of you, by the way.) In Kahla's final post, the use of mass telekinesis. This is generally a power reserved for master level sorcerers and consulars, and while others can use it, Kahla has no specific training in telekinesis that would make it a viable piece of her kit.

 

Next, the meat of the duel. The attacks and how they are handled. You both did an excellent job of writing believable attacks and treating them like such. Between the hail of fire from Banebridge and the strikes from Kahla as she closed the distance, this is a great example of how to respect your opponent if you out range them, and if they out range you. There was no 'I run backwards and stay out of range', no 'In a single leap I close the distance' type moves, and you both got the opportunity to work with your toolkits to their strengths (And weaknesses). I want to make particular note of the fragmentation grenade and how it was used as a sacrificial leap by Kahla- she took a decent amount of shrapnel, and as a return she got to use that as fuel for her power and it gave her the ability to propel herself forward with the momentum to close the gap. I also want to touch on Banebridge and her reliance on training to get the job done- A more experience soldier would likely be able to come up with a solution to defeat a Sith on the fly, but she's not that. Instead, she buckles down and makes a gamble on her training, specifically, her training against force users such as the Sith.

 

The last post from Kahla is where the duel is decided. The stun blasts are a difficult attack to respectfully acknowledge, and while it's great that Kahla didn't just deflect all of the blasts, she lost one of the most essential pieces of her toolkit as a warrior, her lightsaber. In doing so, she's forced to perform unorthodox attacks. It's handled well, but ultimately the time it takes for her to recover from a stun blast coupled with the loss of her lightsaber puts her at an extreme disadvantage. In conclusion,

 

Kenna Banebridge is victorious over Kahla Zendrin

 

The next post goes to Banebridge, and I urge you to work together on the conclusion, whatever it may be.

mord_sig.png

 

Link to post
Share on other sites

Oh. She’s just a woman like any other.

 

Kenna put away her weapon, gasping at the pain in her side as she hobbled over to the fallen Sith. With the toe of her oversized boot, she kicked away the lightsaber, wincing at how loud it sounded as it skittered across the decking. There was distant shouting, and it was growing louder.

 

No time to take prisoners, and I won’t kill a disarmed opponent, not even a Sith.

 

The Soldier gasped again as she leaned down, feeling a roaring, biting pain rush through her ribcage. With weary hands she retrieved the Sith’s rank cylinders, a proof of her conquest she could giver her superior officers. The shouting grew louder and the soldier retreated back towards the Alliance lines, hobbled by her wounds.

 

bane.png.f129906906ce51627e34f12901b35cd9.png

 

 

 

Link to post
Share on other sites

This was it; the drive yards had claimed her. She slowly came back to consciousness, but her energy was failing her. Her eyes wouldn't open, and all she she could do was lay in her misery, and listen to the rising sound of trooper's boots. They're coming to take me Kahla told herself. From Sith, to prisoner, all in but an instant... The thumping grew louder, she could feel their presence, standing over her. She couldn't make out what they were saying, but she knew as she was lifted from the ground by her arms, it was only a matter of time now until some Rebel scum laughed in her face. Her feet dragged, and she was helpless to stand.

As the bootsteps echoed in the halls, Kahla's rage smoldered inside her. Had she really given up so easily? Given in to Kuat's call without so much as a fight? These were just troopers! She could cut them down, with or without her saber! Inside her festered the hatred of this place, it bubbled in her soul, boiling her blood. Her muscles tensed, she was ready to fight for her very life.

From deep within her she called a primal roar, her boot stomping down into the plating of the halls. Before she had even opened her eyes, she had flung the trooper to her left against the wall, in her right hand she gripped a man's throat. She tightened her grasp as she stood, she could feel the air being cut off from his lungs.

"Lady Zendrin!"

She froze. Her heart sank as she opened her eyes. The black helmets of the Sith troopers under her command stood expressionless as ever, staring at her. Immediately she releases her grip, on his hands and knees the man hastily pulls off his helmet gasps for air. The Staff Sargent, who was leading them through the halls, speaks up. "The Rebels are retreating, the Sith empire still holds Kuat. Darth Mavanger has requested your return to the Krayt's Fury." He seemed to have little care for the man choking on the ground next to Kahla, perhaps this is just what he'd expected from the Sith.

"Good, good.." She clears her throat "I.. Apologies, for the outburst. I had thought-" "It's fine." He interrupts. Kahla stared blankly at him a moment, disappointed at his disruption. She looked down to the blonde haired trooper, he had caught his breath, and was sliding his helmet back on. Kahla stretched out a hand, offering to help him up, but he ignored it, standing on his own.

The Staff Sargent broke the silence. "I'm sure your master would be none to pleased that you'd lost this." He held in his hand her lightsaber. She took it from him, placing it back to her belt. "I'm sure he wouldn't." The adrenaline had waned by now, and as she went for a step, she faltered. Caught on her left by the trooper she had thrown, he helped her up, and they continued down the hall. The only sound breaking the silence were their collective footsteps, and Kahla's occasional grunt of pain.

They returned to her interceptor, the medic tended to her wounded flesh as the Staff Sargent flew them back to Mordecai's flagship. With no windows for her to peer threw, Kahla's concern chafed in her mind. Had she lost her closest, perhaps only friend in the battle? And what of her fleet? Why not return to her own ships? But she had little time, the medic gave her okay and she stood as the landing ramp extended. She stepped out into the hangar, awaiting the belittlement from her master.

kahala.png.91259c682421c23e82bdf3466492cecc.png

Link to post
Share on other sites

Mordecai stood from where he kneeled over Xahl's body, glancing warily at the Hutt. Another loss- Whatever Xahl had learned had died with him. It meant that he would take matters into his own hands, soon. As the lightsaber clattered against the durasteel plates of the hangar floor, he stared at it. So, the apprentice had kill his first Jedi. Impressive. Normally, such a feat in combination with the eerie energies around the lightsaber would draw no end of suspicion. Right now, however, Mordecai was blinded to such details by his own grief. He was silent, looking for the correct words. It was worthy of praise, but in light of all that had happened this day, he could not muster the words. They were lodged in his throat and his brain tried to tell him to speak. After an excruciating moment, he spoke softly, in a tone that had long since been removed from his vernacular.

 

"Good."

 

Behind the Hutt, Mordecai caught a glimpse of his own apprentice's dropship. Good, then she hadn't joined in Lord Xahl's fate. He strode slowly past the massive slug as she disembarked. There were already medical teams on standby from his own arrival that he had brushed off, but now he motioned them towards her. He knew what had happened before she spoke, he knew the air around her, the glances her troops were giving her. She had failed. No matter. On another day he may have punished her, berated her. For now, he had surprised himself in his gratitude to see her living. He approached, placing a hand on her shoulder. He didn't speak at first, he simply nodded.

 

"Lord Xahl has fallen, Kahla. Come with me."

 

By now news had spread of the Sith Lord's death- Those of Mordecai's entourage, as well as Xahl's own, had come to the hangar to pay their respects to the body of the fallen man. He stepped before the gathering crowd as his personal guards began moving the corpse. Again, silence. And then... rage. The force channeled through a booming voice, his fury evident on his face.

 

"This was the work of the rebels, the heathens who have now struck down your allies and your homes in triplicate! Gaze upon Lord Xahl, one of the strongest among us, and know- we will have our revenge. We will subjugate every world in the outer rim, and any that align with the rebels will know the losses we've faced today. We will raze entire continents if any dare stand before the might of the Sith. Lord Xahl died seeking vengeance for comrades slain, and now his legacy is ours. Gaze upon his body, burn this image into your mind. You may not have known him as I did, but you have all lost people. Family. Friends. Trusted comrades. His legacy of vengeance is our mantle to bear, and we shall use it to burn whole fleets, to genocide entire armies! We are the Sith Resurgent, and the Rebels and their false empress will know each and every name of those she has wronged!"

 

A cheer broke out from the ranks, but it quickly evolved into a roar for vengeance. His personal guard loaded Xahl's body into a transport before exiting, the ramp sealing behind them with a hiss as the hydraulics raised. Remotely, the shuttle slowly lifted from the deck. A soldier in the crowd began a chant- he didn't know it, and he was too far to hear it properly, but it spread like wildfire amongst the troopers as they stomped their boots on the deck and beat their durasteel armor. It quickly became a din of voices and clattering as the shuttle launched out of the hangar, and as it left their view, angled towards Kuat's star, it began to fade away. It was only quiet for a moment though before a soldier pointed at the rebel ships that were beginning to jump away. Another cheer ripped through the crowd, and Mordecai couldn't have asked for a better ending to the simple service.

 

Xahl's death had set the Sith, troopers and otherwise, to their melting point. His speech had shaped them, their goals, their feelings, their hatred. Now, their victory over the rebel fleet had galvanized them in confidence.

 

The Rebels' days were numbered so long as he lived.

mord_sig.png

 

Link to post
Share on other sites

The roars crawled to a room full of whispers while the shuttle released from the Destroyer and set course for the burning star. Citizens of the Sith Empire had shown en masse to pay their respects. Many among them carried faces of fury, long expressions of pain and vengeance whether or not they held a personal familiarity to those that fell to the desperation of the struggling rebellion. "Awuzi ir midwan." Unheard words in the highest of Sith dialect, purred nobly from beneath one of the many dark cloaks scattered throughout the gathering. There were other voices, other tongues sharing words with the dead, and for a moment, there was an unbreakable unity that spread through the halls like the fanning of a great flame. An oath of retribution could be heard, ringing through the heart of the dark side. 

 

Just outside of the larger viewports, they all could see their enemies turning tail and pulling back to the trails of hyperspace, retreating before the unbridling might of the true Empire. Mercilessly, the Sith Armada hunted the remnants of their derelict vessels and tore through them with an anger that the entire congregation could feel. Emotions of wildfire passion boomed through the chambers, filling all in attendance with an adrenaline spurred from the speech of a rising champion, infectiously spreading through the body of the Harrower-Class. The rest of the Armada cheered with thunderous applause for their own reasons, mattering less for what, and more that the energy spilled through the entire dominion of the Empire through communication relays. 

 

A tall man stepped from the disguise of the crowd and into the clearing, lowering the black hood covering his face as the riotous celebrations continued. The long length of his dark mane was pulled back and tied into a braid of ceremonial cloth skirting a metal-fanged half mask wrapping the lower half of jawline. King Exodus held a magnificent grandeur, while the crude scar carved through the lids of his eye, hinted at the powerful barbarism that he traded in. The Emperor was noticeably taller than most creatures surrounding him, thicker and more brutish by far judging by his imperial gait, and the way his heavy black cloak capered his ivory-bone armor chassis. Those that began to notice just who he was, shifted uncomfortably fast when the inimitable features of his appearance surfaced from the dark shadows that swam about him.

 

 

"Warrior, we meet at last."

 

  
 

P3UXctm.gif

Link to post
Share on other sites

As she came down from the ramp she knew she'd caught her master's attention. The air was filled with a somber sentiment, much less the dread and fury that Kahla had come to be familiar with. She did what she could to hide the slight limp as she made her way slowly down the ramp. That eerie feeling of eyes looking onto her from all around had Kahla cautious, but she knew her failure, she couldn't hide it.

 

Mordecai's stride was foretelling, much less his usual aggressive march; something was wrong, not just in Kahla's failure. Her heart skipped as he placed his hand on her shoulder, a gesture she had never seen from him. Finally she'd met her masters saddened gaze as he nodded, the grief in the air around him cut through her feelings of failure.

 

"Lord Xahl has fallen, Kahla. Come with me."

 

It took a moment for the words to sink in, as they did Kahla could feel her emotions sink into a bottomless pit. She knew only very little of Xahl, yet still his loss punctured her. He had been the first fallen Sith she'd personally known.

She followed him back, joining at the front of the now gathered crowd. She couldn't bring herself to look upon the man's body. Addressing the crowd, Mordecai made point of the actions of their enemy, the devastation they'd faced, and will continue to face. And then, a rising vengeance; Lord Xahl would be a true martyr of their cause, his views now at the forefront of their crusade.

 

Capping the speech with all but a direct threat to the Rebels, the hangar erupted with great cheer. As emotions rose and voices cried out, Kahla couldn't help herself, and let out a roar of confidence.

Xahl's body was carried gently aboard the waiting shuttle, and as it lifted itself from the decking, a low voice started calling from behind. It wasn't long before the words echoed into a chant across the hangars floor. While Kahla chose not to take part in this ritual, the empowerment of clamoring came to strengthen her resolve once more. Not unlike adrenaline coursing through her veins, the moment let her forget her pain to the extent of feeling healed. She watched the shuttle drift towards the sun she grew up under, and the noise calmed. Not but a few seconds had passed before another cheer came over as they watched the Rebel fleets turn tail and run. Kahla smiled wide, as in the face of her failure, was a much greater victory. She knew her own fleet was a major contribution, and the man she'd put at her helm fit his roll perfectly.

A great presence shifted in the roaring behind her, slowly she turned to see the break in the crowd. She stepped aside for the giant scarred man, as his attention was unmistakably on her master. Kahla's heart sank, though she knew only that the man had almost an all-powerful presence in the force. She stared, enthralled in the man's great potency, anticipating the duo's next moves.

kahala.png.91259c682421c23e82bdf3466492cecc.png

Link to post
Share on other sites

Mordecai watched as the crowd parted as the man strode forward. Mordecai knew him immediately-  He'd felt this presence before. Once when he was an apprentice aboard the Sith flagship, before his first conflict. He's been victorious that day, claiming the limb of the Jedi padawan that had opposed him. At the time, it had been a great victory, his first battle ending in triumph. He'd not seen the Dark Lord that day, but he had felt him. The second time had been at Corellia- He'd caught merely a glimpse of the Spider that day, dueling a Jedi strike team in the bowels of his ship. Mordecai had come to assist, and had ended up on the wrong floor. He'd only glimpsed the Dark Lord when he'd sent one of the Jedi through a hatch in the floor. Another victory, for Mordecai.

 

But this was his first time meeting the Dark Lord in person. Mordecai stood his ground as the others in the hangar knelt or saluted. He didn't stand in defiance- not yet, at least, but he stood as a matter of politics. He'd heard tales of the Dark Lord, of his powers and exploits, of his conquests in war and in battle. But what Mordecai hadn't done was seen it for himself. An assassin like the Dark Lord would be more than adept at simply pulling strings and leaving the gossiping of the Sith do the rest. His judgement was yet unrendered, but he didn't trust the Dark Lord.

 

"My king." he said simply, giving a polite bow. He would not kneel, but he would not stand in open defiance of this man. Not now, when his wounds were fresh and his mind scattered. His eyes still carried the intensity that they always did, however, as they met the Dark Lord's. He could feel the man's smothering presence, gnawing at his weaknesses, whispering to his grief and rage. He shut it out, lifting his head and straightening his posture. He was dwarfed by the King of the Sith, but it didn't matter. He would not buckled and break at the mere presence of the Dark Lord.

 

"What brings you aboard in our hour of victory?"

mord_sig.png

 

Link to post
Share on other sites

The Hutt kept his head bowed, his multitudinous folds of fat lapping into ripples that were luminescent with grease. His multiple lids fluttered across his crimson eyes, his best imitation of a grieving apprentice. The Sith Master had, in truth, little care over the death of the Lord Xahl, whom he had met little of, and had never conversed at length about politics over a tankard of Lumninats Brogg Ale with the man. The Sith Lord had seemed more of an IPA man, and so he had a disdain for the dead man.

 

To which Sin did you adhere, Xahl, that left you so predisposed to mortality? Why do we mourn the passing of the weak? 

 

The Hutt stared out into the frenzied and irritable Sith forces, mystified as to why they too seemed to care about the death of a minor Sith Lord. Were the forces of Exodus so bereft of decent fighters that such a loss was meaningful? With a small flourish, he snatched his discarded gift from the floorboards, the saberhandle leaping into his greasy palm with a wet slapping sound.

 

The mountain of filth breathed in, taking in the taste of the emotions that flew through the room, the rawness of rage, that mix of bitterness, the grief of lost love. A delicious cacophony of unrestrained emotion. He let it channel through him, feeding upon it like the Maw, drawing from it strands of emotion to savor and roll upon his tongue.

A new sensation.

 

The Spider had come.

 

Sheog pushed his way to the side of the Lord Mavanger, leaning heavily upon his ceremonial staff. He bowed low, his folds tripling, the seems of his flesh, that façade of life, buckling against the stored rot within. He kept silent but eyed the Spider with a coy slyness. He would have given a quip or started inane rambling, but he didn’t care to ruin the moment.

OvQX5BE.png

King Kheldar vos Correlli said:
Sheog, I have to ask, overkill much?
Link to post
Share on other sites

 

Darkness descended.

 

The eleventh hour drew nearer. Destruction and devastation fell like rain-water around the Imperial Battlefleet and the prestigious shipyards. Annihilation of life now seethed within this sector after yet another attempt on their way of life. Kuat had always been a place of respite. The arid landscape, the tumultuous weather, and the invigorating boon of the Dark Side of the Force were tranquilizing, principally for the hard-nosed industrialists. Rebel scum had changed that forevermore. The Drive Yards of Kuat was constructed as the beating heart of this corner of the galaxy, from which the life-blood of many civilizations and military might spilled forth. Each section of the garrisoned shipyards was designed for defense, with hundreds of chokepoints and redoubts scattered throughout the narrow winding superstructure. The marriage of Jedi and Rebel Forces, incessantly slaughtered their own faithful against the vast Imperial barricade, atomizing the bulk of their resources in the face of an undying Red Sun. The end of another rebellion played out again, across a long history of feverish feuds. What did the enemy gain?

 

The Darkside relished in this reckless abandon, victory rhythmically drumming throughout the heart of the militia as a hunger growing unabated. This yearning would be met swiftly, and a heavy-handed reckoning would soon fall upon their enemies. However, the Emperor was not a man goaded by simple emotions. The mortal fall of weaker men was a transaction; a bartering or thinning of the herd that was necessary to inspire survival of the mighty. The weak, for the strong. Judgment was the only reason the Shadow now marched openly. With treasonous ruminations festering inside of his mind, Exodus recognized early that many from within posed as deferential allies, but equaled nothing more than bottom-feeding leeches that nursed on the affluence of an Empire built with his hands. This is why he had destroyed Raynuk Montar, and would punish Kakuto Ryu, as well as any other that dreamed they could double-cross the Sith. 


"What brings you aboard in our hour of victory?"

 


The Emperor stalked the three comfortably in half-circles, carefully measuring the choice of words and tone that came from the human’s mouth. Hundreds of eyes watched with nervous uncertainty from all around as Exodus heeled dauntlessly through each and every one of them. Molten-ivories curiously dissected any hint of body language or behaviour left naked for him to see. The world was always a little unsettled wherever he tread, the reaper entreating with anything he considered a harvest. From beneath white-plastoid composite helmets, the traditional range of ceremonial black hoods, and just plain flesh-faces pulled over bone with a smattering of expressions, they watched. 

 

"I came to see for myself.." Exodus, closer now, spoke plainly. An empyreal gaze settled upon the fair lady Zendrin for a deliberate moment, glacially to the familiar Master of the Krath, and then back to the one enunciated as Darth Mavanger. In passing, he shared a knowing look with the Maw, and then his attention naturally shifted. The moment revealed no such familiarity, but this Hutt was a creature he considered a part of his brood, family from an age of Gods. Sheog was a creature that would have wrenched the spines from any and everything that stood before Exodus, bowing them to their knees exempting any form of hesitation. Suspiciously, he had disappeared for great lengths at a time, now standing across from him in the mire of fresh blood. Lord Ryu had done nearly the same. Now delusions of grandeur tickled at his mind, but for any other to know that, was an impossibility.

 

“Mordecai. A name, among few others, enumerated to the defense of my Empire.

Your superiors spoke lightly of you. Those that have fought alongside you, speak more."

 

He moved authoritatively in his position of power, left hand massaging the ridges of his bone overlaid armor-plate while his right toyed with a terrifying Sith Blade, the tip of which angled towards the floor and to the rear of him. Exodus was quite large for an assassin, with a distinguished body of muscle embellished in long tapestries of black shadow silks and golden imperial grandiosity. A medley of brutish black and red pallets born of a Sith King and the aristocratically gold trimmings of a sworn Emperor. Spun spider silk frayed at the seams of heavy black cloak, wisping subtlety from his body as if shadows crawled from him in soft vapors.

 

"You will report all activity directly to my council henceforth, there is no discussing the matter.

For your endeavors however, I have motioned your campaign forward in totality,

and by my hand alone it moves."

The Emperor took another step forward, eliminating the distance between the two.

 


"Be cautious of your next step, young warrior" He lowered his voice to but a whisper

Whether within the circle of the Emperor, or an enemy of those within it, either path represented a significant change in the power structure of the Sith Empire. Narcissistic belief was in abundance throughout the machine of the Empire, especially in the youth. There were a great many that considered themselves the next best thing, most lacking any regard for those that had laid the foundation for others to find footing within higher civilization, but Exodus had surveyed decades of such creatures fizzling out beneath the weight of their own sickening vanity. Yet and still, positions of strength would need filling from the most promising. Classes of Warriors, Assassins and the majestic Krath would need candidates to steer their expansion. Cogs within every function of the resurging Sith Empire, would need tithe and toil from those chosen by the King, and anything less than would be rooted out from it's stem. 

 

"You and those you have become responsible for, depend on it."

P3UXctm.gif

Link to post
Share on other sites

Mordecai listened closely to the Dark Lord's words as he circled them like a shark. The only indication that Mordecai was on high alert in this situation was  a hand resting gently on his own lightsaber's hilt, his head tilted to the side as he watched the Dark Lord size them up. Mordecai's own judgement wouldn't be rendered until he saw the Dark Lord in action, but he carried a Sith sword. An admirable weapon. It was a start, for him. Something that indicated the Dark Lord's true self besides words. That he relied on a true weapon spoke highly of him. He listened patiently as the Dark Lord spoke his decree, closing the distance with a single stride. Mordecai stiffened, his muscles coiling to strike if needed. He spoke quietly now- these words were not for those who watched. 

 

"Your title and position are owed respect, my Lord. I haven't seen if you're worthy of them, but there will be time aplenty for that on the battlefield. The Sith need a stable leadership more than they need a new Lord. You will face no mutiny from me- not as things stand now, at least. On this, you have my word as a warrior." Mordecai replied, matching the deathly whisper of the Dark Lord.

 

It was the truth- Mordecai had no wish to usurp the Dark Lord in these troubled times. To do so would only weaken the Sith. And perhaps, by the time the Rebels were defeated, Mordecai would be dead, or the Dark Lord of the Sith's worth will have been proven to him. The threat against himself was understandable. It was possible that the Dark Lord saw him as a potential rival. But the threat against his people drove at his anger. He forced himself to remain calm- He would use that anger, but not here. Not now.

 

His voice returning to it's natural tone, he responded publicly to the Dark Lord.

 

"You have my gratitude, my lord. I will see the rebels weakened and crushed under the strength of the Sith Empire, and you will be kept in direct contact with my fleet," his voice lowered a final time, in a sentence meant only for the Spider "and when the bloodshed is over, whether in victory or defeat, I hope you will remember that it was I who mustered these fighters for this cause."

mord_sig.png

 

Link to post
Share on other sites
  • 2 weeks later...

The Hutt’s crimson eyes caught those of the Dark Lord as the Spider stepped to congratulate the Warrior Mavenger. They shared a look, one the mad Hutt could only hope to decipher. Was it lust with which the Dark Lord gazed upon his corpulence? Was that an eyebrow waggle? A blink or a wink?

 

The Lord of the Krath supped in a moist breath, a froth forming upon his tongue. He had missed the mysterious Assassin with which he shared so many ages of history, but that was mainly due to the Hutt’s own propensity to disappear into the madness of the Force. As the Hutt self-reflected, the Master of Assassins moved past, to address the man of the hour; Darth Mavenger, renowned duelist of two ties. Why Sheog wasn’t getting a pat on the back for smacking down a Jedi Master, the Hutt would never know.

 

But he was beyond vanity. Or was he?

 

The Hutt scratched at one of his multitudinous chins and took the time to admire the Dark Lord’s sword. The angle of the ebony blade was perfect. It fit the man’s stature, and for a moment, the Hutt was utterly proud of his oldest friend. It had slayed many, there was no doubt.

 

The Hutt sighed, almost seductively through his heavy breathing, and looked for Mavenger’s sword, but found none, which was somehow both disappointing and relieving.

OvQX5BE.png

King Kheldar vos Correlli said:
Sheog, I have to ask, overkill much?
Link to post
Share on other sites
Posted (edited)

LESSON

 


"Your title and position are owed respect, my Lord. I haven't seen if you're worthy of them, but there will be time aplenty for that on the battlefield. The Sith need a stable leadership more than they need a new Lord. You will face no mutiny from me- not as things stand now, at least. On this, you have my word as a warrior."

 


Shimmering, full-bodied hair cascaded down the strong bone structure of his face, celestial eyes sat deep behind cheekbones that angled symmetrically with an arrant nose and a broad full-lipped mouth, all of which screwed itself in careful consideration. Unyielding features of a peerless and brutish general were on rare display, features accented by a sovereign lambency that oozed from the ornate build of his fiendishly obsidian armor-plating, the face of an elysian Anzati gladiator at whose feet the wise would crawl and submit, the face of a King made in legends against conquered worlds and the open rule of the galaxy: The Dark Emperor.

 

Rage almost surfaced onto one such face. An unruly vibration of power could have erupted and stifled the moment, stirring a mixing pot of volcanic blood and ethereal fury in his chest. His white eyes would have churned into a burning deeper than the red cresting of a dying Coruscant, empty soulless things, debasing the proud lines of brow and jaw, peeling lips back to show sharp drawn-out porcelain fangs. 

 

 

It never came.

 

 

“Disappointing.” Flatly, the single word fell as apathetically as one could ever speak it, souring what the King had come to expect. A world-weary sigh escaped him, nostrils somewhat flaring from the heavily bored exhalation. “Words of mutiny, insurrection, and worthiness." Exodus said the words indirectly as he paced, as if tasting them for the first time, wondering why each one had felt unbalanced against his tongue. Exodus met the eyes of his lesser with the same indifference he had exerted with all that opposed him. Antipathy lurked beneath his facade of noble decorum, a cold and meticulous cunning as glacial as frostbitten steel, perusing the demeanor of the human before him. "Your validation has never been, nor will it ever, be any of my concern. It is fetching that you’ve come to believe otherwise, adorable even. But unfortunately, your respect is not a thing to be desired in the slightest, my child.” Basic was the simplest language he could use to relay his meanings to such a creature, stressing the importance of every word as if it were indeed, his very seed.

 

 

Ungrateful. 

 

 

As if enjoying the Emperor’s stalking prowl, aberrant shadows flowed beautifully across the mapping of the Sith King. Maintenance headlights flickered a few episodes, and the silence drew menacing. It was wildly apparent that many here drew strength from the same source, the Dark Side of the Force, but none brandished such power with equal footing. The rushmore of power within the Sith Empire had many faces far more tried and tested than the machinations of an over-eager student, the unstudied would be wise to acknowledge each and every face that had paid their dues beforehand, for fear of gravely disparaging those that had paved the way. Delusions would have one quickly believe they could rival or displace the throne of the Dark Lord after they’ve bumped their chin in a few scuffles. A few bruises and victories were a far-cry to a near impeccable legacy carved from persistence and steep reverence. Such a lack of awareness was why the creature did not appreciate that it stood a mere footfall from the maw of the great Sheogorath the Insatiable. Did the human even realize just who that was? These thoughts ran through the mind of the Emperor, and swiftly by all means.  

 

 

Severing the head from his spine cleanly, or watching the Hutt devour the soul like marrow from hollow bones.

No. No.

 

 

What stood before Exodus was the equivalency of a spoiled child, a child of his own brood, broadly ignorant of what it took to manufacture such dominion. An affluent galactic estate built from nothing but rubble. From the very brink of extinction to the triumphant subjugation of the known galaxy, the entire infrastructure of this superpower was laid brick-by-brick by Lord Malacoda and his Faithful. This very fleet and the souls that crewed them, were but a gift given to divulge freedom and autonomy to his Sith kindred. Such things could be taken away, and by the snap of a finger. But he would teach this one, for he held a promise that if nurtured by the right hand, would reap wonders. To empower the young, and not castrate the lifeblood of an Empire.  “You’ve mustered nothing. Nothing but arrogance and delusion it seems, for you have been given the means and the resources freely, but fail to recognize which hand provides these in abundance. Do not misunderstand, you have simply done your job Mavanger, a duty shared with the many others that have come to Kuat." Or would you have them excluded to flaunt personal glory? Exodus nodded genuinely towards apprentice Kahla for her efforts in battle, encouraging her victory for the next. Inquisitor Barca had laid the stratagem for the first round of contest between the fleets, despite criticisms, yet had stoked the flames of victory before the battle even truly began. Such efficiency garnered praise from the men that followed the beast, but even larger praise from the King himself.

 

"..And yet, your hope is that I am to remember that you showed yourself,

That you've done what is expected of you? ..Foolishness.

 

You are strong, Mordecai. Your active presence has not gone unobserved, but you have much farther to walk.

The Rebels weaken by the moment, and I have belief when you say they will be crushed underfoot.

For that, you have my ear.

 

Nevertheless, it is imperative that you become wiser than what you've shown, young warrior.

 Your poor choice of expression has proven less than the promise of your future,

 

Show me that this changes when you return victorious."

 

 

The King shifted from his half-circle hounding, now disinterested in offering what he had come to propose to the promising warrior. There would be another time, depending on what side the human found himself on when the line was drawn in the sand. Exodus instead rounded towards the disguised Hutt, bowing graciously before the creature. The Emperor smiled something sinister at the stern of his bow, dangerous white-pearls stretching from ear to ear knowingly. "And you. Executioner of Jedi Master Sarna." Words fell from his mouth with silken satisfaction, snarling at the name of an arch-enemy, as he rose slowly to his full height once more. "Inquisitor Barca cannot take his eyes from the feeds of your brutish supremacy, he quite enjoys your style of aggression. Most would say they have missed it." Exodus hinted fluently, that he had indeed longed for the company of the insurmountable Krath, while adhering to the secrecy that the Hutt was maintaining. "You have honored the Sith, and the Empire in totality, with such pivotal triumphs against our sworn enemy."

 

"LONG LIVE THE EMPIRE!"

As if signaled, the entire floor and audience shared in an explosive salute,

every hooded figured, and every armored soldier,

observing the great contributions put forth.

 

"I myself, look forward to bleeding the fields of battle with you, shoulder-to-shoulder.

It is time to bring our enemies what they have been dying for;

an extermination the likes of which the Galactic Alliance would have begged for.

Do not venture too far, the time draws near."

 

"LONG LIVE THE EMPIRE!" "LONG LIVE THE EMPIRE!" "LONG LIVE THE EMPIRE!" "LONG LIVE THE EMPIRE!" "LONG LIVE THE EMPIRE!"

  Hysteria and frenzy became infectious across the bay, heightening with the declarations of swift retribution.

"LONG LIVE THE EMPIRE!" "LONG LIVE THE EMPIRE!" "LONG LIVE THE EMPIRE!" "LONG LIVE THE EMPIRE!" "LONG LIVE THE EMPIRE!"

 

 

Honoring the hierarchy of the Sith was a key ingredient in why this dominion had lasted as long as it had, eschewing the infighting that had collapsed every rule prior in short order. There were a great many that held significant power within the ranks, many of which Lord Mavanger had yet to face, or answer to if his hubris ever sparked an affront to the efforts of others. His journey would be long and difficult, but his careful considerations of choice would dictate how far he would reach within the emerging Sith Empire. Exodus would curate each and every fighter charged to his campaign, and for now, gestures of conciliation would last only as long as his patience allowed. 

 

 

The Dark King of the Sith Empire turned and motioned to move through the havoc,

Thralls and officers of every nature converged on his march, procuring an unimpeded path to his departure.


 

 

 

Edited by Exodus
  • Like 1

P3UXctm.gif

Link to post
Share on other sites
  • 2 weeks later...

Heavy black plastoid-armor covered the martial formations that surrounded the Dark Emperor. By the very inch, their assembly was kept tight and moved with supreme military discipline. Exodus marched forward, aware of the wide perimeter that they fashioned for his advancement through the passageways, with a keen eye that curiously watched over each one of them. He would never be comfortable in the hands of even his most faithful, for the life of an assassin disallowed him the comfort of idle ignorance. The hilt of his blade played against his palm and for but a moment, felt far more familiar than his own flesh, instead of the cold bite of alchemical steel. His blade was ready, the impressions of bloodlust itching at the recesses of his mind. The instant he decided to draw steel, aligning the broad blade with the stretch of his forearm, there would be nothing that could stop him from instantaneously severing at least two of their heads cleanly from the neckbone. The Anzati held no drum of the heart, but an invigorating adrenaline would carry through him nonetheless, igniting a rageful lunge for the third, tearing through their chest cavity with blunt force. Sheer momentum could only carry him forward now, surging through the formation as a wind-churned demon, fangs jerking hungrily for the fourth, biting into— 

 

 

“Commander?”
One-Eyed Crow dared.

 

 

Exodus faltered slightly in his last step, revealing an unusual lapse in balance, catching the attention of those sworn to screen the measures surrounding the Crown. The present came back to the King, just before his eyes drowned in blood that wasn’t truly there. These reveries were becoming more pervasive, a feverish famine that spent unexpected moments to try and convince him that there were enemies everywhere. Whispers of insurgency, dark demons that traded secrets just outside of earshot, the same shadows he visited when he opened his mind’s eye. Reality was quickly blurring, and something had to be done.

 


“These warships are nauseating,” Exodus feigned a half-lie.

 


The armada was filled with enormous impounds, destroyers aplenty, but suffocating for a creature of the wild. That was not the cause of his misstep, but the distaste for these vessels quickly grew. The sovereign formation cut through the Sith Resurgent more quickly now, gathering aboard their own dispatch, separating once-and-for-all from the bruised Destroyer. The Eye of Ida made descent towards the surface of Kuat.

 

______

 


[Undisclosed Location]


Rows and rows of hypothermic tanks were scattered through this hatchery, submissive to the near-extreme temperatures that cooled the operating systems of this subterranean complex. The architectural design of this hatchery was wholly mimicked from the imaginative concepts that the Kaminoans were known for. The cloning chamber was interspersed with cylinders that housed developing reproductions of particular dignitaries. The genetic material from the host was originally extracted and amended to the desired parameters, creating artificial embryos to nurture within the compound. These embryos were grown inside glass incubation wombs housed in the cloning chambers. There, the chamber provided the developing embryos with the nutrients that were needed for healthy development in the form of a nutrient bath. The components of this Kuati cloning chamber included the actual cloning chamber, diagnostics, DNA sequencing, energy supply, life support, and the fetal clones housed inside the chamber. A subsect of Nightbrothers had recently been assigned to this location, brushing the frost from the face of a chamber coined to a Master of the Sith Empire.


A special commission of metempsychosis had been ordered, an expensive and rather taxing modus operandi, that would steal the life force from a few, in order to exact the soul of one that had been lost. In a few moments, she would be awake once more.
 

P3UXctm.gif

Link to post
Share on other sites

𝕷𝖎𝖋𝖊 𝖎𝖘 𝖆 𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖚𝖌𝖌𝖑𝖊,

𝕾𝖙𝖗𝖚𝖌𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖈𝖆𝖚𝖘𝖊𝖘 𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖓,

𝖆𝖎𝖓 𝖇𝖚𝖎𝖑𝖉𝖘 𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖊𝖓𝖌𝖙𝖍,

𝕾𝖙𝖗𝖊𝖓𝖌𝖙𝖍 𝖌𝖎𝖛𝖊𝖘 𝖑𝖎𝖋𝖊.

 

 

Time incalculable passed in eternal struggle. Life was supposed to be the source of struggling and pain, but for some, death was no escape. Jedi spoke of "becoming one with the Force" and entering some sort of nirvana of peaceful bliss, but that was not the path of the Sith and all who embraced the Darkness. Struggle guided them, pain encompassed their life, and through that all, they were hardened and made strong or discarded and left to suffer pointlessly. There was no middle road for those who wanted to reach the pinnacle.

 

She had no recollection of the act of dying, but she had a sense of what surrounded it. There was a point, a struggle, and a battle for supremacy that encompassed her death. But that struggle didn't cease just because her heart was turned into jelly and her body crushed into a mass of organic fluid on a battlefield in Corellia. Death was but the start of her struggle.

 

She had enemies, a great deal of them, and many of those had not survived her. Though she thought herself rid of them, they still waited for her, patiently biding their time for her to join them in what she recognized as the Spirit Realm. Once her spirit joined them, the struggle she fought throughout her living life resumed with no less vigor and strain.

 

Many of her fallen former Sisters whom she slayed had not forgotten the flesh they had lost. Chief among them was her cursed mother, and though she had learned a great number of things and surpassed any of them in life, in death, things were different. She was more than a match for any two of them, but against dozens, there was no escape. Torment, pain, suffering, and even fear consumed her for an eternity.

 

Yet, even eternity has an end.

 

Through her solitary struggle, after so long alone and outmatched, help came. She didn't know who or what, but she was no longer alone. Others joined her in the unending battle and lent their strength to her. Their numbers grew as the souls of those whose master saw further use for her joined in the struggle so that she could return to service. With these new reinforcements, these new Sith allies, she was able to drive back her foes and instill fear in them for once.

 

When there was finally room to ponder something other than pain and struggle, there was a sense that she was still needed. Words were for the living, but she knew nonetheless why help had come. Her time among the living was not yet completed, there was still a purpose for her and she would answer it. There was a calling, a summoning that beckoned her spirit back into the realm of the living. Following that calling was not easy, but it was possible now that she was no longer beset by foes.

 

Life finds a way.

 

Because there is pain at birth, it is only fitting that there would also be pain at rebirth. At first, everything was blindingly white, but soon, when her as yet unused eyes began to adjust, she saw hazy shapes and movement. Vibrations assaulted her being, only barely recognizable to her as sound being picked up and by her eardrums and translated by her scrambled brain. Time passed and her neurons began firing while her brain began to register the sudden arrival of a spirit to inhabit it and give it true life. Another eternity or another hour and she felt the first prickling of sensation on her skin: the first understandings of pressure and heat and cold. The hazy, blurred movements resolved themselves into figures that were hastily working to ensure her tenuous connection to life didn't fade back into death.

 

At last, through the assistance of both the Force and technology, she became more aware of the mortal sensations of flesh and blood. Gone was the purely spiritual existence, replaced by the mortal coils and trappings of a living body once more. A swirling sensation accompanied by falling down disoriented her and caused her to gasp-the first air her new lungs had ever drawn into themselves-as the body temperature fluid that kept her suspected was drained out of her new universe.

 

What happened next was a blur of motion, sensations, and an indeterminate series of experiences that faded into one, but when it was done, droids and machines tended to her bodily needs clearing out her nose and ears from fluid, making sure her lungs and heart were working, and testing her brain and motor functions. Pure water flowed over her washing away the thick fluid of the cloning tank and sheets brought to keep her warm.

 

Time passed further as she adjusted to her body. Words were formed, questions asked, and tests run. Little information was given, but she knew she had a purpose otherwise, she never would have been sent aid or summoned. Memories of the living world flooded back to her as memories of the Spirit Realm began to fade and blend together to generalities: the mortal mind was never meant to comprehend both at once.

 

Tests were run, food was given, and physical activity was tried. Though her body was an exact genetic match to her natural one, it was younger, stronger, healthier, and lacked the marks of violence that her previous one did. The doctors told her she had the most optimal body she would have had when she was in the middle of her twenties, with extra immunities, vaccinations, and boosts that she had not received before. The Empire did not spare expenses with the chosen few it's master choose to bring back. It also did not tolerate weakness and her physical fitness level reflected that. She was not unnaturally strong, but she had the lean body of one who spent a great deal of time improving it.

 

Her connection to the Force, however, was another concern. Naturally, she had been born with less of a connection to the Force than most Sith. It had taken great pains and sacrifices to increase that strength and she had no desire to go through that again even were it possible. The doctors blinked at her questions, but had no answers: they dealt in the physical, not the Force. Those Nightbrothers who provided the guidance that brought her back probed her and assured her that she was as strong as ever, but she would need a true test to know for sure.

 

At last, those who tended her pronounced her rebirth complete and decreed there was nothing further for them to do. The rest was now up to her to get used to her new body and to serve the Emperor as he saw fit. With no orders and nowhere to go, Qaela waited, knowing that those orders would come.

Qaela Sig

Send PM's to Travis.

Link to post
Share on other sites

The subterranean complex nestled into the dead marsh as a laid egg tucked between thinly cracked branches. It was an arid landscape stretched industriously far, with nothing but haggard machines and cutthroat fortifications, carving out an aura of brutalist architecture and military decorum. Activity had remained scarce, and only the dull operational hum of energy churned throughout the expanse. 


Meticulous surveillance went on for quite some time, revealing the exact moment when her lungs filled slowly with labored breath. Blood and power soaked her insides, tethering her empty shell of a body by eating at the life force of those within her proximity. Her appetite at first was miniscule, but after weeks it had become ravenous, while her consciousness knew nothing of it. Her comatose state persisted while her body fed vampirically. Reports pegged that some nights were worse than others while the Sith Master slept, draining those that tended to her care with a force so heavy that it buckled them at the knees. Details explained this as a sort of physically felt gloom, comparative only in sensation to when the dark council skulked nearby. Handmaidens held surveillance on her in day-and-night cycles, spending every moment washing her bare flesh, nourishing the body, and stabilizing erratic life-pulses that riddled her new form. Each of them were at risk for every minute spent, but a sacrifice of life at the command of their King was the holiest of honors. And now she had awakened.

 


/////

 


The moment the dried hide of his buckskin boots fell from his lander and dug weight into the parched land, an overshadow the size of a mammoth swelled across the earth. Acrylic black-resin warplates only emphasized the daunting ambience of his arrival, light metal shifting crudely as he marched towards a clearing in front of the compound. An imperious high-collar cloak was fastened by gilded links to his dark breastplate, entirely blood-red as if soaked and dripping by the spill of his enemies. Brisk winds carried the rich fabric, snapping theatrically against the pressure, hailing the fearsome insignia of the Spider high and proud.

 


“Bring her before me.”
His voice snarled wolfishly, half heard out loud, and half inside of their minds.

 


A pair of Imperial Sentinels were a scarcity in most worlds, and ones as mountainous as these were only referenced in words of old fable. Colossally they stood, twice the size of any known humanoid. Each Sentinel brandished large vibro-axes, and donned heavy battle armor under ceremonial, reddish-purple cloaks emblazoned with intricate gold patterns at the chest, back, and shoulders. They wore large thick-set helmets that concealed both the head and neck, leaving only their glowing red eyes visible. No parts of their bodies were left uncovered. At the command of their King, the two immediately shifted their statuesque demeanor and moved to secure their objective. 
 

P3UXctm.gif

Link to post
Share on other sites

𝕾𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖔𝖓𝖘 𝖇𝖊𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖐

 

After an indeterminate amount of time recovering and regaining her strength and awareness, something stirred in the Darkness of the Force. Even before the massive, hulking Sentinels partially crouched through the doorway of the room she had been held in, Qaela knew she had been summoned. The pureness of the Darkness that had come near could not be missed by any that had a sense of the Force.

 

She readied herself, though there was little that needed to be done. She wore simple robes of the darkest grey that could approach blackness without actually arriving and matching boots of hardened leather. She had no weapons or any other equipment to grab, either. She would face whatever was presented, though she doubted all of the effort to bring her back had been made simply so she could be executed. The Dark Lord seemed wise and prudent enough to leave those who had failed him to their own fate when death was their reward.

 

The Sentinels needn't even pause for more than a moment in her room before she exited. One led while one followed as they took her from the facility and to her awaited fate. She kept herself under tight control, her emotions level and her body strictly devoid of any signs of fright or trepidation. When she was before the Spider, she bowed deeply with a genuine respect that could not be falsified before one as attuned to the Force as he, yet she did not abase herself like one of those destined to grovel and die as a slave. Regardless to what failures she may have made, she was still a Master of the Sith and would not demean that title by becoming naught but a sycophant, even to the Emperor himself.

Qaela Sig

Send PM's to Travis.

Link to post
Share on other sites

KEEPER OF KIN

 

 

There was a surreal iridescence that tinted the full surface of his eyes with fever, shimmering unevenly as if the shallow beat of a bright star splashed against the scales of a sun-bathing dragon. There was something majestic in the way the darkness manifested inside of the Anzati Warlord, an elegance and savagery that danced across his flesh and made bed with his every mannerism. More and more of him offered itself, and more of his sanity swam eagerly with the current of the Dark Side. The longer he waded, the more his mind pruned with a bitter and biting coldness, for his heart had already been long forgotten. 

 

Not a single biorhythm echoed from within him, not one recognizable frequency of life hammered through his body. His temperament left neither indication nor trace of emotion to suggest he was nothing more than a grand sculpture, but the atmosphere around him sizzled with a humming of absolute power nonetheless. King Exodus watched indifferently as a master of his court rose from the sunless compound, bearing the housecoat of a commoner of Kuat. A gauntleted hand rose to brush the draping of his long corvus mane from his face, casually clearing his view of the ordinary woman, and then to signal the Sith Master to be at-ease as she bowed respectfully low.

 


"Failure, death, abandonment—”
The order in which she felt them, every word stretched just enough to resurrect the feeling.

 

“What do you now feel?”
 

P3UXctm.gif

Link to post
Share on other sites

𝕰𝖒𝖊𝖗𝖌𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖔 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕷𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙 𝖔𝖋 𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖐𝖓𝖊𝖘𝖘

 

Keeping herself in tight check, Qaela knew better than to lie or deceive the being before her. "I now feel deserving, and yet, also undeserving," she said evenly. "I went forth to oppose a worthy foe and gambled that I could turn that foe into another servant for your mighty campaigns. That gamble did not pay out as I had desired and I deserved to be crushed by failure and severed by death. My abandonment in the Spirit Realm was my own reward for the actions I have taken in this life, though you did not leave me to it."

 

She bowed again, "None but you could have ordered the aid that I received though I failed you on Corellia. I am undeserving of your effort, though I may not know exactly what caused it. I would not be fool enough to attribute it to your mercy for you have no mercy and nor should you. You have tools that are useful to your cause or you have obstructions to be crushed. Because you took the effort to rescue my spirit and bring it back into this body, I must conclude therefore that you have further use of me, so I shall serve once again."

Qaela Sig

Send PM's to Travis.

Link to post
Share on other sites

N I N E

 

 

The Emperor found the evenness of her tone, her breath neither hurried nor holier than need be. Exact was how the woman held her demeanor, nothing more than what she needed to show, except the glaring lack of self-importance she held onto. It was coincidence then that the man she had chosen as an apprentice in her time before death, held behaviour that had shown the complete opposite in just body language alone. A Human typically overwrought with pride compared to a domesticated Dathomiri with as much humility as a Ziostian monk. The connection would have made him smile, but a simple question lingering in his mind removed humor altogether; which of the two would attempt the knife in his back?

 

As she revealed herself through words, the powerful width of the imperious Warlord shifted forward. He stepped closer at a disarmingly slow march, the sound of dirt and stone grinding beneath his boots. Exodus closed his eyes as he moved forward and tasted the wind through his nostrils, brushing coolly across his tongue. He moved forward yet, closing the distance between the woman and himself, even catching the dead gaze of the two stationed Sentinels.

 

 "Nor should I?" Interesting was the way the sentence carried a tune of command, as if she would ever dare, but the Emperor couldn't resist hearing the words played aloud once more. He whispered them loud enough for her to hear, and questioned what it truly meant. Anzati held a particular liking towards the aristocratic taste of fine arts, an appetite for the flavor of many manner of things. The brutish organization of many language had been just one that always arrested his attention, perhaps this was simply a language barrier rooted in translations. Basic was nowhere near as expressive as the Anzati tongue, but she would not make the mistake again.

 

Closer now, Exodus was but a half-meter span from where she stood. He stalked where her feet planted, moving with wolfish grace and curiosity. He studied her scent as it drew off of her ignorantly, filling the small space between them. The Emperor leaned forward, nearly brushing the bridge of his nose against her shoulders, lifting just before and against the cascade of her hair. Her body was flush with nutritional saturation, force-fed until her physical maturation improved on the natural decay of her first-form. He could taste the richness of her. Even her hair seemed wet still with the dampness of the underworld, a moisture carried forward between the physical and spiritual worlds.

 

"Lady Darksong," Exodus moved passed her now, approaching the two gargoyle Sentinels that lurched in watchful formation. "...a great many have failed me, and in more ways than you could ever imagine. Yet and still, here we are, atop the food chain. Do you know why that is?" Rhetorically speaking, the King handwaved her from answering.

 


"The useful pieces remain at my side, they adhere to my call."

 


The seers on Arachnakorr had showed him the way, gave him the means to conquer the distant stars, unraveling the darkest mysteries of the Force. The Umbarans kept his burial chambers sacred and sanctified, worshipping him as a God that kept watch from the mountains, drowning him in tribute. Onderonians carried his name as a legend born from the superstition and mysticism in which his journey was carved. The creatures of the known galaxy understood the lure of the assassin, connecting the Sith in such a way that had never been done before. Exodus drew his Sith Sword, listening acutely to the scintillating kiss of metal dragging across metal. The balance of the blade resonated with him as he held the weapon in his hand, turning it over and studying the glyphs etched into its surface. It bled down the alchemical metal with ancient knowledge, cursive text that whispered in a tongue from Chaos itself.

 

 

"I could care less whether you think you are deserving or not.

You are a Master of my Court, and will conduct yourself as one at all times, in victory and in defeat.

Hold your head high, for you have gone to lengths that others will not.

You brought a measure of value to your name, while others wait for me to hold their hand.

 

I grow weary of my own, I see the envy in their eyes.

They are leeches, spoiled by the sanctuary I grant them.

I will weed them out, and feed them to my wolves.

And I will bring our enemies what they have been dying for.

 

You say you will serve, as they all do. But will your sword become synonymous with mine?

I have fetched you from your grave, how far will you follow your King, Lady Darksong?

 

 

Exodus dragged the tip of his blade against the dirt, smiling.
 

P3UXctm.gif

Link to post
Share on other sites

𝕮𝖔𝖑𝖉 𝕰𝖛𝖆𝖑𝖚𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

 

Qaela stood resolute as the Emperor approached, showing no fear for fear did not exist within her. After what she had faced, she no longer possessed any room for fear, only resolve to do what was needed and an acceptance of her fate regardless to what it may be. She was curious, though, and observed the peculiar behavior by the Dark One. She could not judge because a being in her position was not worthy of judging any more than a new adept could judge her.

 

"Though all see your power, most beings follow you for one of two reasons," she said evenly. Her eyes met the blackness of his with neither fear nor pride. "The majority fear you and do not wish to suffer your wrath, so they will do or say anything to keep your displeasure away from them. They will lie and cheat each other to accomplish what they think you want, and they would blindly take actions with no thought but to save themselves regardless to how foolish or pointless those actions may be. They are ruled by their fear and are useful only as fodder.

 

"A smaller number follow you because they want to one day be you. They bow and scrape before you, but behind your back, they look to gain their own power so they could one day topple you. They view others of your servants as rivals to that power which keeps them from fully uniting and working together towards the common good. In their greed, they do whatever they can to diminish your power to build their own. They are sycophants until they get the slightest taste of opportunity then they will become treacherous foes that perpetually undermine your authority."

 

She tilted her head sideways for a moment, then added. "The smallest number follow you for a third reason: because they see what you are: the best hope to maintain the Balance of Nature and build up the Sith Order that brings the true strength of Nature to the Galaxy. You have great power and use that to strengthen the Sith and bring about a better Galaxy instead of just amassing it for your own benefit. I serve you after ignoring all of your predecessors because of that fact and that fact alone."

 

A touch of defiant resolve entered her tone, and she knew how dangerous her next words were. "I serve and follow you because you are allowing the strong to rule while culling only the weak without becoming excessive. The Sith are the best hope to bring about the Balance of Nature and you are good for the Sith. You put an end to the excesses and infighting that plagued the Sith in the past, and you are still the strongest to rule. I will serve you faithfully and contribute to your strength until the day you no longer espouse those virtues or give into a self destructive urge. At that point, I will do what must be done and destroy you so that the Sith can remain on the course you charted.

 

"The difference between me and most others is that I don't want that power. I want you to succeed and will do whatever I can to make sure you do. If you do not like this answer, strike me down here and now. I have no more fear of death."

Qaela Sig

Send PM's to Travis.

Link to post
Share on other sites

COURT OF DARKNESS

 

 

"You speak true, Dathomiri." 

 

 

Exodus replied quicker than even he expected, but sensing the truth in her words was something he could not mistake. "A rarity," that another before him could string the words together almost as well as he, and draw a conclusion similarly to the one she had confessed, or so he thought. She left nothing to the imagination through the lens in which she saw things laid out, she coined roots of a paranoia that perhaps, even he was unaware of. Such clarity and transparency would be a cornerstone to the longevity of a Sith Hierarchy. 

Exodus weighed the expression of her thoughts, dragging his warblade from the earth and balancing it high above his head, as if words and weapons were one and the same. The windows to his soul held a desperate color of black death as he stared out into the open peacefully, the shapes of his irises becoming less circular than they were sharpened and lined with an oozing volcanic drip. 

 

The atmosphere about them had changed, a sweet and subtle change that many could never bookmark in their lifetime, never really knowing what it all meant. Many biological beings resorted to a sensation of fear, but it was simply the presence of the Dark Side. And as Exodus lowered his blade slowly, now walking towards Master Qaela, he placed the visceral edge of his weapon just past her fearless face, hovering the kiss of it beside the soft wall of her neck. Sharpness of such steel could fall gently from where it was raised, and carve down into the small woman from her neck and shoulders, sliding as if cutting through butter, opening her belly wide enough to watch her insides sloppily abandon ship. The point of the weapon instead revealed what it was that had crept down in the far distance. 

 

"I brought you something." 

 

It was beyond gargantuan, a smattered fusion of crystallized black and thrice-hardened steel with an underbelly of power synchronously pulsing with feverish light. The lining of this monstrosity flaunted organic shells, as if birthed from luxurious stonework. It was alive, and so immersed in the call of the Dark Side that only the presence of the Dark King could distract from such. And still, the beast whined and moaned; singing a somber cry filled with pain and destruction, an unholy choir that reached out to the heart-strings of those that could hear it. The ISD-II variant Kyber-Class Herløv, a mighty herald of Master Qaela had shuddered into the clouds of Kuat and buckled the atmosphere with it's raw power. 

 

"Did not let this little toy fall to our enemies, with you is where it belongs, enjoy. They return gloriously from the defense of Fondor, they have fulfilled what was asked of them, providing me with time. Get reacquainted, but do it quickly. We have a place that needs burning. I'll send for you." Exodus retracted the blade and sheathed it's brilliance. He nodded to the Dathomiri and stepped off from the compound, grabbing at her shoulder proudly with his free hand, subliminally hinting at the differences between his hand and his blade, and the choices she had made within the moments spent. She walked a thin rope, and would fall as foe or cross as comrade in the war to come. He had his answer on who she was, for now, and so he  made way for his chariot.
 

P3UXctm.gif

Link to post
Share on other sites

𝖂𝖆𝖌𝖊𝖗𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕭𝖊𝖙𝖘 𝕳𝖊𝖑𝖉

 

Though it was truth that she no longer feared death, by no means did Qaela seek it. She had wagered that the Emperor had faced enough lies and deception that he would be able to sense the contrast when the truth was presented before him. She could always have falsely professed undying, unending loyalty no matter what actions he took, but that was a lie and she respected him too much to do so. She followed him because he was worthy, but should he ever become unworthy and fall back into that self destructive nature she despised in the Sith of old, she would do her best to destroy him to preserve his own work. It was a calculated boldness, but having come so recently from death, it would not be so great a loss if she returned. Better to go there quickly than drag it out if that was to be her fate at the edge of his delightfully Dark sword.

 

She didn't flinch when that blade was placed against her neck, but when it didn't slice into her flesh, she let out the air that had been drawn into her lungs. Turning to where the sword was now pointed, she smiled in the first bit of genuine pleasure she had experienced since waking up in the cloning tube. The sight of her old ship made her grateful. She hadn't commanded its crew for long, but it was her first true military command and she was very happy to have it back, even if it did look like it had taken some damage in the recent past.

 

While she was staring at the beauty of the Star Destroyer, she was startled to feel the Spider's hand briefly upon her shoulder. She couldn't recall him ever having actually touched her before and it was a startling feeling. She did not completely understand its full meaning, but she hoped it meant he accepted her. She wouldn't look too much into it.

 

As the Emperor and his escorts departed, she remained behind, for a moment wondering what was to be done next. It didn't take long for her question to be answered. In the skies above the swampy facility, a shuttle streaked down and landed where the Imperial Throne's chariot had once been. Eight Sith Troopers exited and took up flanking positions around the landing ramp before an officer emerged.

 

Qaela smiled at the sight of Captain Geratos' salute. "My Lady, it is a pleasure to serve you once more," he said. He had indeed been a good servant and able to maintain a proper respect for her place as a Master of the Sith even while she respected his own superior ability in military tactics. Unlike some among the Sith Order, she was smart and humble enough to accept advice from one who had grown up in warships and waging wars. They had had such a good working relationship that, had he been two decades younger, she might have taken him to her bed.

 

"I am glad to see you continue to serve the Empire," she responded. "You will have to tell me why you let the Herløv get so busted up." There was no heat in her voice and he merely smiled slightly before bowing and gesturing towards the shuttle's ramp.

 

"The Rebels attacked Fondor and we were part of the relief force," he replied as they got seated for the ascent back to the Herløv. "The Rebels were so intimidated by the Herløv's power they focused their efforts against her and we were ordered to retreat."

 

Qaela felt the momentum as the shuttle took off and began the short flight up to her waiting flagship. Geratos continued to update her on the damage and repairs that were taking place. They had lost many crewmen in the attack, but Kuat was the center of the Sith Navy's war machine, so replacements would be procured. The ship itself would need a good bit of work, though the worst of it was being taken care of here. He had been told by Central Command that they would have only a few days before needing to head out again, so preparations were being made to finish remaining repairs along the way.

 

It was not long before she stood back in her old quarters. While everything she had taken with her to Corellia was lost, she still had many things here that would help. It would take time she didn't have to rebuild a lightsaber, but she still had her Force imbued spear that would more than adequately serve her needs until then. Shucking her robes, she took her first true shower since decanting and savored the heat of the water. Being the master of a ship had its perks and access to a fully functioning shower despite being on a warship was definitely one of them. Once the shower was complete, she dressed in her favored deep charcoal grey robes and reequipped her belt with commlinks, datapads, and the other accruements she normally possessed that allowed her to both be reached by her crew and exert her command with all of the computer systems.

 

Leaving her spear behind, she made for the bridge. It was time to formally take command of the ship so she could get fully up to speed at the current situation and all that she had missed while in the Spirit Realm.

Qaela Sig

Send PM's to Travis.

Link to post
Share on other sites

After his confrontation with the Dark Lord, Mordecai had returned to his quarters, isolated. There, he ruminated on the events that had transpired. His grief. Another victory robbed of him on the shipyard. The Dark Lord's arrival, and their first meeting. The vengeance that would be his. Darkness clouded his mind in those hours, his only respite being action. But his troops needed to recover, his ships needed repairs, and his allies needed to re-assess their own standings. And so, he stagnated in the mire of his emotions, a black mark on his psyche. He remained in that state for countless hours, unmoving.

 

When he finally emerged, he had steeled himself for the coming battles. Despite his disdain for the political games of the Sith, he was now required to participate, and he had played his opening hand poorly. Now was not the time to make enemies- With Lord Xahl dead and Lady Sirena returning to Korriban, his forces were dwindling. The was hope for the new blood though. The Hutt that had slain a Jedi Master, warranting a personal investigation in the near future. The former Sith Lord that was now seeking retraining with his former apprentice. And Kahla, his own apprentice, who had now survived two battles and defeated her fair share of opponents. It was to her quarters that he now strode, a satchel hanging from his waist. When he reached her door, he did not open it. He could sense her there, and he spoke.

 

"Kahla, report to the bridge immediately. Bring the saber." he said.

 

And then, he strode away, towards the bridge himself. As he walked, he pulled out his communicator, contacting his officers and what remained of his war council, and ordering them to the bridge. It would do them well to witness what was about to happen.

mord_sig.png

 

Link to post
Share on other sites
×
×
  • Create New...