Onderon

[Sheog the Mad]

With greasy fingers, the grand Hutt helped the genderbent Milenko to stand, taking her gently by the chin. He pulled her close to one of his crimson eyes, the multilidded iris focusing on her gentle, yet flawed features. To her it would be as if being consumed by a gaze of blood and sulphur, deepset into Huttish features, and yet so far beyond them. His maw didn’t move, but his voice spoke to her all the same, a creaking groan of a voice, as if hewn from timber shifting in the wind. He cared little for the praise of a princeling, and he did not hear it.

 

<>

The great eye blinked slowly, the many lids and lenses shifting as if they were laughing at her request

 

<>

 

The grip on her chin softened

 

<>

The grand Hutt let the woman drop, his terrible eyes both now focused on her

 

<>

 

The Master of the Krath listened to the advice of Karys, thankful that the boy had an admiration for monologuing, it gave him time to ponder. Karys still reminded him of Darth Lucifer, far too concerned with his pride, too consumed with coming conquests under a thousand stars, to be able to grow amongst his brethren. He breathed out a blubbery sigh, and the pounding of the veins of Kyber grew to a gale of power. The girl in the tank spasmed, her muscles clenching as the demons churned.

 

<>

 

A wisp of light sparkled from the breathing Kyber, dropping between them like a flare. Within the force it was faint, but with each breath came a bestial howl of rage. A broken soul, damned to be the plaything of the new gods.

 

<>

The Hutt beckoned to the princeling as he leaned upon his staff. Within the tank, the form was still but for a twitching in her long fingers. Hayley stood by the Prince’s side, her eye closed once again, her own seething slowly calming.

 

<>

[LiveDieLiveAgain]

The hard muscles and bone beneath the scales of Borsk's face flexed as he spotted several Black Sun officers sitting at the Onderonian bar, drinking and laughing seemingly without a care of the millions who would die in the upcoming battle, the suffering of every side. Borsk knew well how celebrating could relieve the tension, purge the thoughts momentarily from their minds, but that time had since passed, or had not yet come. With a frown, he strode over to the table, slamming a thick hand down on the table to get the attention of the drunken mercenaries, "Your leader has killed Jedi. Bring me to him."

[The Black Sun Armada]

"Ah then we will get you to him then."

 

Came the voice of the largest mercenary with a pair of blood stripe down the side of his pressed trousers. He examined the trandoshan and compared him to his datapad. The alcohol seemingly having left him completely. Finally he stared up at the Lizard like being and said two words.

 

"Rote Festung"

 

And placed a hyperspace coordinate pad into his hand. A long string of three sets of numbers that when compared against the galactic zero placed them very near this own system, though outside of it in darkspace.

 

“Remember Rote Festung it is the phrase you will need to get clearance to the main operations centre.”

 

It was some kind of code word. And he emphasized it by pointing to a about to depart troop shuttle marked for deepsace and packed with Black Sun Marines.

 

((You will arrive in Space alongside the black sun battegroup. THere you will report to Delta aboard the Golden Dawn))

 

____________

 

“No they never did anything for you or your people at all did they? They let their Republic get built on the labour of slaves and peons and do nothing.” The girl took Celora’s hand in hers and marched her towards the Nubian ship. Once inside, they walked to the lusciously decorated cockpit and the Black Sun girl began running through the preflight checklists. She ran her strong pale fingers across the rows of switches and toggles and the engines began to humm.

 

She reached over to the side of the crash webbing and opened a side hatch, withdrawing a long charging and data cable with one hand and removing the cap from her head with the other, she plugged the cable into the back of her skull. Her grey eyes flashed a bright blue and the repulsor lifts kicked in. The impulse engines hit next and flung them into the atmosphere. An hour later they were past the minefield and with a pull of a lever they were in hyperspace.

 

((Post next on Ord Mantell))

[Chaotic Tranquility]

Three gasped as the Mad Hutt offered her a hand, rising to her feet with little understanding of his seemingly kind act, and her eyes never faltered as she did. Staring into his eye, she felt slightly violated and went to push away, yet his grip was too strong even for her to resist. And as his voice spoke, fear sank into her form, not only affecting her flesh, but her cybernetics as well, all the way toward her Kyber core. Struggling momentarily, she stopped as his words echoed within her, and through her, into Milenko.

 

"You are correct, Master Sheog." Three spoke back, her head hanging in shame as he released her and she fell once again upon the floor. She questioned herself, wondering how she could have been so weak, how she could have failed not only Milenko, but herself as well. For despite his inexperience, her creation was a blessing, and the failure laid in her for not having realized it, yet that she had long relied upon Milenko to better his skill rather than aid him and take hold her own growth. Silently she sighed. "I must embrace my creation and grow stronger myself. Then and only then will I truly be worthy of being an asset to Master Shiro." Her gaze shifted toward Milenko, who, at that moment, merely looked on with his own realizations, One and Two oblivious to what was going on.

 

"But how does a Vassel like myself grow stronger and find my perfection in myself?" She questioned, her gaze looking back up toward the towering Hutt inquisitively. While it was true that was partily flesh, she was still cybernetic, a creation and clone of Milenko, built for the sole purpose of aiding Milenko in his pursuits. She had never held no ideal other than that alone, nor could process or fathom any means to achieve what Sheog spoke of. Meanwhile, as Karys left the group, Two momentarily followed him about, syringe propped up against his shoulder like a soldier during drill, marching with his pace in unison before Milenko telepathically ordered him to stop and leave the Sith be.

 

Milenko, having remained silent during all of this stepped forward. Something within him was churning, beginning to swirl and stir. He held no idea as to what it was, but it was like being beckoned, something within calling upon him, as if it ached within him to find freedom. Felling the gale of power surge about him, he felt it grow from a churn into a storm, as if it would tear apart his insides. Yet, despite the internal war brewing, his cold and collected composure remained... however briefly. That's when it touched him, whatever laid within the girl in the tank, causing his gaze to shift toward her, followed quickly by his devilish grin. Hunger, Lust, Desire; within him it held one name, and that was Greed. And because of this sin, this desire, hunger, and lust, Sheog was in for a unexpected surprise.

 

As Sheog spoke, most of his words... though heard, were mostly ignored by the young Prince. Not from disrespect, but rather it held little to do with him, much like a brother hearing the words of his mother scolding his sibling. It wasn't until Sheog turned to Milenko that he began to listen. And despite his intructor's instruction, Milenko was already beginning to understand. Perhaps it was a combination of Milenko's skill with Teras Kasi mixed with the skill of those around him using the Force, either to speak to him, display their power, or through the Kyber around them. But his ears and sight were already beginning to attune themselves to what Sheog spoke of, and his sin was growing stronger.

 

He felt the girl's scream, he reveled in her pain, and he lusted in her despair. She need not have to move for him to feel her emotions. And as his brown eyes glazed an almost emerald green, it was self evident that he envied her power. His voice trembling with desire, his form shaking with excitement, his gaze focused on the girl before him, he spoke but three words to Sheog. "I see Master."

[Sheog the Mad]

To the golem of flesh and kyber the Hutt nodded slowly. A long wisp of spiced tobacco smoke leaked from the edge of his flabby maw. As it drifted to the slimy floor, it began to crawl towards the female, ripping itself into the form of a clawing demon.

 

<>

 

The smoke curled about her legs before it fell into a mass at her feet with a resounding clatter. As it cleared all that remained was a metallic rod that rolled about as if possessed. It was screaming. Even in her kyber soul she could see the dying Jedi that the weapon had been collected from.

 

<>

 

The choice was ominous and tantalyzing.

 

...Do you truly see?

 

All light but crimson fell away from about them. Screaming intensified as the soul began to unwind and fracture. Fragmented life falling about them like rain, the joys, the happiness, the love, masking the sorrow and loss. The massive Hutt smiled cooly, allowing his apprentice to take upon the next steps. The soul was open for exploration as it fought against its binding.

 

<>

Before Milenko, a stagnant pool of memories formed, its shores shattered like a corrupted hologram. It was a playground at a school, lined with woodchips and swarming with silent children. He was gazing into the life of this broken girl. A small hand grasped his, and a small giggle came to his ears. Beside him stood a child, no more than eight years of age, bright blue eyes and blonde curlets bound with pink ribbon

 

“Papa said your name was Mammon. Come play with me!”

[Terra]

As the nimble starfighter, Fractura Cordis, shifted into realspace, Terra was met by a cacophony of alarms. She had exited hyperspace at the edge of a vast minefield that enveloped the twin planets of Onderon and Dxun, hidden from long range sensors by lines of buoys. As each mine was marked in crimson on her viewfinder, the system seemed to become entangled in a colourful nebula, blown by the solar winds. A vast web of death with only one way in or out.

 

“Personal Starfighter, Fractura Cordis, please come to the civilian entry corridor for armed escort.”

 

The Assassin glanced down at her comlink as the snarling voice of a Sith control officer issued forth from it. He certainly didn’t sound human. The purity standards of the Sith seemed to have fallen by the wayside with the loss of the Titans like Lord Ar-Pharazon or Darth Aschezet. Putting aside her disgust, she answered with a quick affirmative and sent along her licensure for sanctioned termination on Sith worlds, stamped by the grand worm Sheog himself.

 

“You are cleared from escort, Blackwraith. Safe travels on Dxun, hunter.”

 

With a few clicks on her navicomputer she set the ship in motion once again, slinging the starfighter around the vast minefield and through the approach lane that had been made available. It was a deathtrap, lined with Golan platforms and capital ships. They certainly were outdoing themselves to keep up security. She noticed a few XJs following her at distance, and the sensor package picked up a tentative torpedo lock. They weren’t taking any chances.

The Sith must be making this a capital world.

 

Terra followed her broadcasted route to perfection, and set her starfighter into automated landing mode for the uninhabited moon. She allowed the starfighter to select its own clearing from the several the topographical map showed, and began to prepare for her own mission. She had much to find and much to do.

 

...Landing zone compromised…

 

Terra’s eyes snapped to the consul and she yanked the control yoke to send the ship higher into the dark cloudbank. It was late evening for the jungle moon, and her landing lights had not yet activated. Pale fingertips tapped on the viewfinder, selecting a sensor alignment to reveal what the ship had not yet shown her.

 

Computing: A small complex of disguised buildings, a shantytown covered in camo-netting. Long-range scanning disrupters.

 

Refugees of the Sith Occupation.

 

Terra sent an information readout to the Sith Fleet, with a query on current operations on Dxun

 

“Blackwraith, we have no outposts on that hemisphere. Feel free to take out the trash I guess.”

 

The Assassin rolled her eyes at the flamboyant nature, using her fingertips to scroll through the weapon-settings on her starfighter. She selected concussion missiles and began to calculate the ranges and population density. A panicked voice chirped into her ear as she ran the numbers

 

“Unknown starfighter, please land and treat with us. My name is Navin Cordus, leader of our humble refugee camp.”

 

Terra raised an eyebrow at the man’s fear as she continued her calculations. She selected a firing pattern of four concussion missiles, detonation patterns for half a kilometer above the surface.

 

“We are in need of basic supplies, pilot, and we will pay handsomely for any you can smuggle to us!”

 

Terra closed her eyes and sent an invoice to the Sith fleet for six concussion missiles, and began to record the targeting vector. She powered up the weapon system and waited for a response on the comlink

 

“PILOT! Wait! We have women and children here!”

 

Depressing the triggers on the control yoke, she sent the missiles screaming towards the settlement, raising the volume of her comlink as she did

 

“NO PLEASE!”

 

The viewscreen flashed as the system muted the blinding eruption of light that came as the clearing erupted in dazzling energy. Selecting her turbolasers, she lanced the glowing area with virescent columns of energy. She could see the jungle burning, backlighting the voluminous billows of smoke that roiled from the destroyed facility and flash-burned trees. Terra made several passes over the jungle, capturing footage and scanning for movement. All that was found was the fleeing beasts of the jungle, running from the carnage. Only static rumbled across the comlink, garbled by the radiation from the concussion missiles

 

As the starfighter began its landing sequence, far from the former position, she watched the currency transaction roll across her viewscreen. The Sith had transferred funds from one of their multiple shell companies, in neutral currency based out of the outer rim. They had thrown in a bonus for the footage that would be used for morale documentaries for the troops.

 

It’s nice to be paid.

[LiveDieLiveAgain]

It had been long since the scaled Lizard-Man had been near a ship the size of the Golden Dawn, and the assembled battle fleet of the Black Sun pirates was a truly magnificent and dangerous sight. He thought back on his choices as a small bounty hunter, and wondered what his life might have been like if he joined such an organization instead. All he owned, save his extensive weapon collection, could be carried in the large military back which currently rested at his side upon the metal floor of the troop shuttle. He looked rather out of place amongst the troopers that filled the shuttle, larger than most and lacking any distinctive armor. Most probably took him for a new recruit, but those who recognized some of the weapons he bore and his many scars would know him to be a warrior to him violence was an old companion.

 

Borsk scowled slightly, he knew nothing of the interior of such a massive ship, far more comfortable with the insides of small freighters and raiding vessels. He waited outside the now empty shuttle, slowly growing more irritated as none stopped or even glanced his way in the constant press of the docking zone in war preparations. Finally, he stopped the first officer who looked to belong to the ship, clapping one heavy hand down on the smaller human male's shoulder, "Command Center, Now. Clearance phrase is Rot Festug, or Rotei Fesung. No... think it's Rote Festung? Damn your language."

[Sgt. Slaughter]

All over the world, sensor stations began blaring alerts as a significant Galactic Alliance fleet approached from hyperspace. The exact point of reentry into realspace was not yet certain, but the subspace and gravimetric distortions that followed in the wake of the armada’s approach indicated that the size of the force was substantial and its vector made it clear that its commander had not chosen the obvious hyperspace routes between Onderon and Coruscant.

 

((The Battle of Onderon will proceed in the campaign subforum--OK.))

[Karys Narat iv-Adas]

Finding no console, Karys proceeded to simply observe and see what was happening...even, so he felt the feelings from the girl inside the tank. Like Milenko he was somewhat taken by what was occurring. And then his attention diverted to that of the smoke as it shifted and solidified into a lightsaber, a fact that intrigued him.

 

He decided after seeing it to look into the art of illusion, thinking it would be of great use if one were able to perhaps create the illusion of multiple versions of oneself on a battlefield. But his thoughts were soon overtaken by something else...as he heard several alarms start blurring.

 

Soon enough he became aware what it meant. The enemy had arrived, sooner than expected but arrived nonetheless. He turned briefly to Sheog and spoke.

 

“The Galactic Alliance are here it seems. I shall proceed to the prisoners and begin the preparations, ya time to show them the fool's errand they have embarked upon in thinking they could remove us from this place.”

 

With that he walked away, one thought on his mind as he headed towards where the prisoners of the occupation were kept.

 

And so it begins.

[Chaotic Tranquility]

Milenko smiled, the visions of the girl's painful life falling like a haze of tear filled droplets, visions of love, joy, happiness; all attempting to mask and hide those of sorrow and loss. And Milenko reveled in it, walking amidst each colorful haze as if he was taking it from her, grasping it and tearing it away, as if he only desired to see her pain, all with a devilish grin across his face. It was almost as if his mind was working ahead of his actions, plotting and scheming before he even acted, a greed filled aura oozing from his presence.

 

As was self evident with what happened next, Sheog's words echoing within him and resonating down to his very core.

 

As he felt the cold, clammy hand embrace his, his gaze shifted toward the young blonde child standing beside him. Behind the closed eyes, warm embracing smile that embraced his face and he crouched down toward her eye level, something sinister within him laid behind his façade. "But of course, child." He spoke, his words calming and warm. "But first, would you do me a small favor in return?" Milenko pointed toward a faceless boy not far from where the two stood, playing contently alone with a toy. his gaze falling back upon the girl, he smiled. "Would you perhaps retrieve that toy for me from the boy over there? it is very precious to me, and I would love for it to be returned to me."

 

As he awaited the young girl's response, Milenko noticed something amiss, or had for quite sometime now, his telepathic link with the three others despite hazy and confusing, seemed unaware of what he saw, especially Three's own emotions. Despite this, he carried on, seeing where this path would take him. Besides, he could slowly feel himself growing in strength and power, his mind focused. He could feel the Force filling his form, and it's taste was delicious. Why not have a little fun?

 

Three, though, on the other hand, engulfed within her own illusion, watched in fear as the demon formed from the smoke clawed it's self toward her, almost frozen by it's grasp. Yet, even in this moment, she realized a moment of clarity. She had never felt fear, yet, in this moment it nearly froze her body into stillness. Closing her eyes as she felt certain doom as it snake its way up her legs, she opened them at the sound of a clank, only to realize that she felt the moment of disperse and knew the demon was gone.

 

Momentarily shifting her gaze around in a panic, it soon found her gazing upon the saber, feeling it's cries, it's pain, and the death of the one who wielded it. Being cloned of Milenko, she stared onward with content, watching everything unfold, feeling something awaken in her Master and in her own realization, decided to take up her own cause in a manner of speaking. "I see Master Sheog." She spoke, her tone slightly more serious than it had been before. Without hesitation, her hand reached up toward he scalp, blood dripping down her wrist and arm as he plucked forth the telepathic implant Milenko had installed and crushing it beneath the weight of her clenched fist, and in that moment, Milenko smiled truly, feeling her connection die from him. "You will grow strong Three." He spoke in content, still focusing on his own illusion.

 

Meanwhile, One and Two had seemingly followed the Sith Karys. Watching the bloodbath unfold before them, they stared blankly from beneath their hoods. Two, following Karys, seemed to be picking up body parts and draining their blood and removing their flesh into a collection of vats, piling the bones up to be bleached later for whatever his Master would choose to do with them. One, on the other hand, went about cleaning duties, making a singular comment toward Karys amidst his duties. "You really should be more careful Master Karys. We don't want Master Sheog to sludge through such filth later on, now do we?"

[Terra]

The acrid smell of burning jungle followed Terra through the darkened undergrowth as she walked, seeping in through her environmental scrubbers. The scent was clinging to her clothes like the clawing hands of the damned from the beguiling waters of the Styx, a memorial to her earlier slaughter. The jungle was oppressively dark, even through the night vision filters that came over the UI of her buy’ce.

 

Every step she took echoed in her ears, the sounds of the wilderness amplified through her helmet, a precaution against the predators of Dxun. She moved slowly, leaving no trail in her path due to her light weight and flexibility. Every hundred yards she placed a camouflaged sensor, to allow her to find her way back to her ship. Her topographical map showed the area around her was heavily scarred from the ancient battles of the Mandalorian Crusade. Terra could hear the quiet whispering of the old gods in the back of her mind, speaking in the ancient Taung of the deeds of her people.

 

“The Valley of the Immortals… Our catacombs. Our Dxun Tomb. We are buried here in our faithful thousands…”

 

The young assassin smiled, her pale lips twisting over her metallic, sharpened teeth.

 

What gifts are buried here? What can I steal from the afterlife?

 

Terra moved her way around the dips and crags hidden by the jungle, sites of long overgrown bombing sites that had fractured the land. The Republic had sieged the Mandalorians for almost a year before the defenders had fled. More ordinance had been used in this battle then in half the wars that had ravished the galaxy. A small green light on her UI blinked steadily, showing her proximity to the supposed entrance to the Catacombs.

 

She had picked up the information on Nar Shaddaa, tearing the location from the minds of two archeologists who had been giving a presentation on ancient warsites. She had left them dead, but they had given her a crude map to what they had found: the entrance to an ancient base. The latest groundquake o Dxun had shifted the jungle, opening up an ancient waterway that had been used by the Mandalorians to supply their command post.

 

Terra stepped over a line of felled and twisted trees, coming to the edge of a yawning canyon. The jungle had been ripped away, leaving only brokenness and churning ground. Working her way down the sheared and slippery granite, the young assassin finally reached ground once more. She splashed down into a cold river, and began to work her way against the current to the river’s mouth, marked by shattered stone and freshly fallen trees.

 

It was far darker than the jungle, and deafeningly quiet. No more shifting of trees or chittering nightlife. The silence of a grave. The spirits were oppressive there, and Terra could feel their chilling weight about her limbs as she inched har way up the granite, slickened by moss and slime-molds. It smelled no longer of organic rot, like the jungle had, but of stale air and dust. From the tunnel's entrance, she came to a larger room, filled with an ancient purification lab, the consoles and readouts jumbled and scattered about by millenia of groundquakes. Her UI showed no power readings, which wasn’t a surprise. She was glad she had brought a remote battery pack instead of a jetpack, it could be useful for powering up blast doors and ancient systems if she needed them. From the water purifier, she came to a hallway cluttered with cots, only springs left, the material having rotted away over the thousands of years.

 

Will anything worth salvaging be left?

 

“Beskar does not rot. Our machines may be ancient, but they were made true.”

 

Terra rolled her electronic eyes, their emerald glow shifting to azure as she shifted the wavelengths of light she was taking it. As normal colour faded to ultraviolet, symbols and ancient stains lit up the walls, marking what she hoped were bloodstains. The language of the symbols spoke of a diary, written in lifeblood

 

With Mandalore the Ultimate missing, we have lost our hope. All that is left is the voice.

She walked on, boots scraping up clumps of dust

 

The voice speaks of a final battle, we prepare

 

The assassin’s pace increased as she moved through the halls, towards the main command center. The voice of the gods began to fade in her mind

 

“The voice of the false god...”

 

I wonder if this false god can be sold?

 

The hallway became littered with scattered armour, ancient Mandalorian Crusader patterns, the leather bindings having rotted away to leave them all disjointed. Scattered amongst bone dust and Republic blast armour, she took quick note of the sides. There were far more Republic dead.

 

A shriek of static fully amplified into her ears caused her to jump, terror turning her blood to ice. Terra flattened herself against the wall, slipping a disrupter pistol from her holster. A small alarm told her of her increased breathing and heart rate, but the shrieking static continued. It did not fade as she cut the audio, but it became clearer. It was a question.

 

• .̤̙͕.̺̳͠.̜̲̞̦̫̘̱W͙͈̳͙͢H͓̺͜O̯͉̱͠ ̗̤A̘̱͕̻̻͈̼͟R̦̱̘͟E̶ ̬̝͖Y͚͕O̦̟̰̭͠U̵͖ͅ?̨

[Terra]

The voice chilled the young assassin’s blood. She could feel the ice seize in her stomach and begin to sink, spreading its chill throughout her body with tendrils of infectious fear. Its effect on her was not unlike that of the pull of the darkside, the heat and rawness of bloodlust, but this feeling was its inverse. It begged her to make a choice, to run and hide, to flee and never return, or to face it head on and take it onto herself. The static continued to rush through her head, matching the pounding heartbeat that rocked her body.

 

Terra pressed herself to rise, but her body felt like it was held down by the weight of a Bantha, her joints screamed as if filled with sand and molten lead. All she could do was gasp through metallic teeth, sucking in wind to deflated lungs, but there was no respite to the burning in her chest. A grinding rush of sound echoed through the hallway, raising the dust into clouds and causing the shattered armour to rattle around her.

 

Gedet'ye… Let me breath…

 

• Y͙̩̬̦o̼̮̙̣u͟ ͓̥̤̝͚̗̣s̢̹̫̣̬p̪͕̀ę͖͔á̟̬͔̻̲͖k̫̩̪̝̩͔̺ ͙̱̕o͏u̬̭̞̫r̫̦̟ ̨͖̰͚l͔͙̹̝̰a̬̝̹̘̗̥͉͠n̤̜͎̖̥͓͚͢g̡̟̣̜u̙a͖̺̙g͔̣̻̞ͅe̬͓,̼̦̺̹̘ͅ ͕̪̮͡b͇͎͈͉ṳ͠t̛ p̹̯̤̺̖̝̘o͚̗i͕̠̱̲͓̞s̗̖͍̫̮̖̗o̵̟n͓e̜͔d ͈w͈͎̙͙ͅi͠t͎̮͍̣̤͔̘h̶̗̹̫͔͍ ̱b͝r͚̭̮͍͔͞o̵̠k̶e͚͙̭̝̰͝n̠̟ ̰̦t̩̩̙͉͍̱̕o̳̠͈̟͢n̤̭̺g҉̼̦u̖̭͔̯e̱̹͢.̡͈̗̪̻ ̵Y̟̜o̤̹̖͍̤̘̝u̧̜̗͉̹͖͙̱ ̬̜̫̲̥o̟̼̩̲͞ͅf̗̬͓͙̣ͅfe̴̲̣̲n̩̟̦̻d̺̰̮̞͖͇ ͏̮̩̳̲̫ḭ͙t̻͕̩͎̖̯͠ͅ ̢͈̣̻̦ẉ̷̤͉̲̮̙i͉͍̘̜t͎h̸̼̟̼̩̣ ̢̯̳̦̜͖̥̰t̨̫̙h̤̗̀ͅe͉̟̣̻͚͜ ̼̱͇̪̖f҉̥͈̯̦u͢s͎̣͔̙ͅi̭̣̲̱̲o̷͎̰̥̟̟̝n̴͍͔̝͈ ̳̲̤̥̰͍o̵̮f̹͢ ҉w̥̩̲͇̜e̥̜̼a̲͘k̫n̨͓és͜s̼̮ ̧w̠̪͞i̺͔̜̝t͇̭h̢̻͈̫̖̖ ͏̰̪̩̫s͚̻̺t̛̮̥̥̲͎̣ͅr͏̫̩͕e̹̣̦̞̖n̦̩͙g̭̗̮t̨̤h̝̙͙͉ͅ.͓̬̩͈̤̭ ̨̯̭̦̤̣̺
  

The young assassin concentrated everything into the motion of her arm, and it began to tremble, but not rise. The faltering fingers cradled her disruptor pistol, but without control she was liable to shoot herself. Horror began to overtake the fear, and the trembling stopped completely.

 

Hu’tuun, you fight without honor…

 

 

• • Ḧ̖̯̏ọ̠̎͋ͧͩͣ̈́͂n̿̌̋ͫ̍ͩ̋o͈r̮̖̯͖̰̂̈̀?̰̹̝͕̹ ̪͓̭̲̮̒́͊ͭ̈́ͤẂ͖͉̋h͇́̋a͕͇̠̲͓͍͌̓̎ͭt̤̱̩̗͔͔̳̍̔̈́͋ ̦͇̺̦̺̹d̖͈͔͇o ̰̮ͮ͒͆̇y͕̦̫̹ͦ̽͌̄̀̾̂ȯ̻͉̱͙̣̍ͦ̐̏̏ǘ͓̹ ̜̗͉̞̱͋ͦ̍̾ͨ͗kn͖̞͙̹̯̮͂͋o̐̾̌̀ͫw͒ ͎̩̪̟̙͖ͅo̗̬͛̆̚f̝̯͖̦̟̗͒̊ͤ͋̎̚ ̹̯̬̭͇̞̗͒̄͋ͭ̓̚h̼̳ͩ͌ͬ͐̌̾̑ỏ̪̺̜̥̰̼͆ͥͭͧͬ̌n̰̏̑̔̏ͨ̍̉o̰͕̤̼̫̳̗ͬr͓̝̟̺͇̲̓̓̃ͪ?͕̱̝̼̺̭̥ͣͯͤ́ ̎ͭ̄͂Y͓̖̗͉̍̒̈́ͮo͍͇̥̪̟̞u̻̩̘̟ͥ̀̇͂̈́̚ ̣̰͕͈͚̬̆̈́̉ͬ̅ͦͮm͍̮̭̪̭̘͕̀a̳̗͙̭̖͋̂ͮ͋ͧs̩̖̎ͥ̂̽̄s̭̙̐̇̾a̪̜̼͕̩̾ͪ̍c͎͚̫̱̩̬ͨ͌r̠͖͛̑ͣ̊ͨ̐̑eͪ̿ͦͩ̃̚d̮̐̊ͭ̂ ̳̺̺̱͇̎ͪ͒c̙̝͕͕̖̔͒̈̓ͯ̐̈ͅͅi̓̊ͥ̿͒̿v̤͙͎͈ͨ͋i̬̣͚͓̇ͣl͖̮̦̗i̖̹̖͌a̤̘̰̲̱ͦͧ̂̊n̰̫ṡ̬̠̣͕͓ͦͮͨ̌ͯ,̺̣̗ͩ̔ ͍̜̱ͫ͗ͮ̾̅̽̾y̳̦̬̾̐̔ͦ́ö͙́ͩụ̟̪̤ͫ̾ͮ ͖̬̹͔͗ͅp̩̥̭̹̜̫̭̉̽͛͗ͨo͉̖̺̣̝̗͓͑̌͂̐l̙̼̮̘̮̺̺̾̿ͫͪ̓ͤͦl͍͕̰̬̠̤̱̆̾ȕ̖̬͈͕̜ț͎̝͈̞̊ͬ̐̀͛ē̘̻̪͖̥̪͖ͤd͙̓ͥ O̬̳̳̱̲̦̔͒ͤU̟̞̹̜̥R̜̗͎̜̪̳͚̋̄͗̌ ̱̰̄ͦͯh̦̘̤͔̙̰̜̍̑o̩͓̖̹͇̟͆̎̔l̜̝̬͍̔́̒̀̍̆̽ÿ̻̹̻̬̭̳̺ͥ̓ ̣̮͍̩̭̂ͅw̹̥̩̞̺͋ͮͬͯ̆ͪͅo͍͇̫̎̒̉͋r͔̺̤̫ͨ̓̔̏ͥͥl͖̲̰̰̮ͅͅd͖̝̳͚͚̘ͭ.̹̂̃͆.̲̌.̟̰̗̪͉̞̣̑

 

 

• • • • Y̯͇̥̼̪̟̐ͯ͐̈́̆o͕̦̖͌̔͑ͦ̐̀̏̾u͈͉͔̬͎̬̰̽̾ ̣͉͚̗͈̳͕̿a̹̻̝̭͖ͮͣ̌͌̐ͭ̍̍r̲̝͚͕̾̏̔ͭ̒ͅê͕̬͙̮̞̭̠͈̽͊͒ͮͥͨ̍ ̭̩͓̏̀͂ͤ̈ͥ̿m̞̪̪̫̜̬̆̐̃̚̚o̤̰̱͉̝̲̿̅̉͛ͮͣ̾̔r͖̪̠͙̪̮̲ͥ͋͊̇ͪê͎͍̺̎̀̿ͣ ̳̻͉̒ͩͥͦͬ̾l͚͇̤̭̤̣̐̋̓͋̾̔̐ͩͅị̦̟̩͙̪ͮ͂̍͐̀̈̍̈́̏k̙͎ͤ̔ͯ̈͗͂e̺ͣ̍ ͈̦͊ͩu̬͆̑̽s͔̼̖̻͇̝͒̈́͑ͅ ̲̹̣̱͍ͩͪͨͬẗ̲̰̥̭͖̩̹́̔̓̄ͭ̊͋̇h͖̼͓̞ͭͩȇ͚̘̝̳͚̟͛n͙̟̱͈̼̊ͨ̋͂ͯͭ̿ͦ ̥̺͕̪͋̃͊̂y̦̠̘̬̰̯̘͓ͪ̐ő̭̠̹͙̹̑̀͛̓̚u͖̙ͨ̈̈ ̠͚̱͎̌́ͯͯͅk̩̮̠ͭ̌ͥ̔̚n͓̤̋ͣ̏̋̏̚ŏ͔̰̯̤͕ͯw̱͕͑̎ͩ̈̂͌̉̚.̳̮̭ͧ̽̊̊ͬ̓̅̚

 

Terra closed her electronic eyes, the azure light fading about her. She was honourless, she cried for honour only to drive others to its weakness. It had always been a trap, every duel every battle. Speak of honour and stab them in the back. It had always been her way.

 

• • • • D͇̲̥̺̳̈ͧͩ̽͟ͅe̫ͥͭ̏͐c̳̼̰̫̠̳̐ë́ͮ̉҉̟͕̯̪͎̗̝i̞͈͗ͤ͟v̥̘̺͌͗ͣ̓e̩͋̿̏͛͛ͨͅr̯̬͓̮͚͍ͪ̈ͭ͗ͭ̒…̔ͯ͗̃̔͑͏̹͉

 

 

 

• ̴͈̩͗̅ͨ̈́ͫ̚B̓̽r̷̰̣͕͇͕͐o̸͎̳̻̳͑͐͋̉̄́̚ḵͥͦͭͨ́̕ẹ̢̩̖̲͙̭͔n̸̰̦̓ͣͩ̾̔ͬͦ ̧̐̒g̢̰̮͙̗ͬ̎͒̓ī̖̚r̜̥̮͓̦̃̃ͯͣͫ̉ͅl̛͖̞̄̉ͨͭ,͓͈ ̪͚͌ͩ̎̈̚͘tͫͥ̍̆͏͎̝h̸̑̃̒͆̋e̫͔͚̮̯̤̋̓̌̚͟ ̖̠̟̜B̹̟̝̜͐̏̈͋͝l̠͈̳̙̚͜ȧ̲̣͕̖̻̩̘ͨ̀̾̀c͕̙̼̥̪̗ͣͯͦ͋͋͂ͫ͡k͍̫̻ͫͨ̕ẇ̝̣͐ͨ̓r̢̖͇̯̈̽̒ͨͣͪ͐ȁ̦̬̥̦̯ͥ̒i̢t̸̥͖͍̏ͮh̴̞̭̗̖̘:̷͔͑́̊̔ ̖̭̦̘̳͊͆ͮ̌̓̄́ P̻á̦͉͎͖̹̩̺͒͂ͬ̂͂͡wn̫̤̜ͦͥͥ͞ ̸̠̙͖̏͛̑o̥͉̦̥ͩ͑ͯf̏̐͗ ͔̯̟̈́͞t̗̻̫̝̖͙̥͒ͭ̑̓͟h͂̆ͧͪ̒̉͌͞e̢̫̼͍̬̱̘̔ͥͨ ̺͎͎͚͈͙̿S̫͟ȋ̞̖̤̰̀ͥt̒h̷̓̐ͦ̑̑̚.̰͔̯̝̩

 

She dove deeper into her own mind, bringing herself into the joys she found. Away from the horrors of weakness and into the strength she found from culling. She embodied strength, not weakness. A smile formed on her frozen face. Warmth was coming back. She spoke, but not through her mind

 

“I am death embodied, a pariah. My sins were great enough to cause even the force to flee before me.”

 

 

• • • ̹̟̬̣̩̱̅ͬͭ.̩̊͂ͦ̋̌ͬ̀.ͤ͊̔̋͐̋ͣ.͚̝̝́̒̓ͮ̔ͧͅS̠̬̳̖̰͍̩ͪͮ̾ͬ̀͛̑ì̥̹̹͑n̦̭̱͓͒͆͐ͮṣ̣̖͕̈ͦ̔͋ ̞͔ͦ̍d̥͉̋͛̂o̠̠̮̹ͩ ͙͎͍͇̞̖ͩ͑̄̌ͅn̏̉ͩ̾̎͋͗o҉̪̣̠t̞̗̩̿ ̹̦̘ͬ̐ṁ͓͖̟͍̞̫̊͊̈̐̀a̬̝̎̂̂́̚̚ͅk̼͖̦̟̆̊ͧ̑̅͡ḛ͎̾ͫ̒̋͋ ͙̝̘͈̤̯͇͛̅̄͋̔́y͖̿ͤͨͣ͐̉ȯ͇̼̭̮̑͋̇ͬ̚ư͕̱͖̻͙ͥ ̖͕̦̦ͨ̋͐̈͌s̺̞͖͈̲̜͗̐͡ț̲̫͇̗̍͆̒̄ͨ̔ͮͅr͕̣̼͖̩͒̑̾̽ͦ̽̃ǒ̮̜̬͆ͫ͞n̉̄͏̺͕̙̺̭g̰̹̹͈͈ͭ̈́.͈̖̹͍͖̻̻͑ͪ͢ ͉̈́ͭ͝

 

 

“They make me effective.”

 

A laugh of grinding steel washed over her, and she rose to her knees. She felt so heavy.

 

 

 

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • .̥͎̘̖͔̱̝̝̺̞̤͕̥͚͂͒̀ͧͅ.͕̭̠̖̦̻̦̫̗̯̦͕͔̼̹̙͓ͨͥ̔͂̒ͫͭ̏̋͑̈̎͑̈́ͤͭ̄ͅ.̳̥̣͚̫̠̏ͨ̋C̭̱̤͈͓̦̱͈̪̝̹͙̘̰̗͔̩̩ͧ͆ͯ͆̅ͭ̈̀̏o̲͙͇̟͂̐ͥ̑̀͂̅ͭ̔́͗ͭ̇͌m̳̬͖̫̻̰̞͎̪̞̤̣̰͉̗̼̻̭͂̊͒̀ê̯͇̟̻͖ͮ̑̆̽͌̅͗ͧ̚̚ ̼̦͙̗̩͕ͨ̔̍̏͒ͦ̌̔ͮ̾ͯͭ̂̀ͦ̅ͤ̅̚t͎̪̹̳̲͓̫̫̝̩̪͋̓͐́̂̌̃̓ͣͬͫ̓͂ͧ̃ͮͧͭő͕͙͍͉̻̞̫͉̠̥̏͛̊͋ͅ ̤̺̤̠͓͙̪͈̹̯̱̪̗͔̻́̄͛͐̈ͤ̈́̅͊̆́ͯ̆ͪͥ̔ͫ̿m̲͚̬̗̳͇͓͚̼ͥ̃̀̓ͅe̘̟͕̟̳͙̙̰͙̯̘̦̾͂̏̀͊͗,̥͇̖̭̱̰̜̬̩͖̤̜ͦ̓ͧͧͤ̑̏̔͛ͯͧͪͪͩ̿ͅ ̱̖̹͔̪͖̭͚̓̄ͭ͊͆̆ͅs̬̪͇͎̩͉̹̞̪̯͛ͮͨ̆̀̔͗̅ͦ̆̿ͨ͆ͫī̠̜̥̯̯̯͇̹̦̹͚ͯ̉̓ͨ͒͗ͥ͑̋͊ͮ̑̎n̩̣̫̺͙͎̘̠̯͚̩̜̖̼̥ͧ͊ͦ͒̅̌͊͗͛̓̓ͣ̑n̹͍̺͖̰̺̤̼̭̰̼͕̘̣̜̥̫̰ͮ̇̽͐̈́ͦ̀̂e̲̖͎̠͋̍ͤ̆ͪ̾͋̅͆r̻̥͈̜̎ͧͥ̂̈͗ͫ͌ͨ…͓̜̻̻͓̮̱̠̣̝̐̏̆́̓ͭ̔̌̈́ͤ̒̀

 

 

 

Stumbling steps brought her into a cavernous antichamber, each footfall causing echoes in the new silence.She broke a glowrod and tossed it to the center, her throw faulty from weakness. As the rod rolled across the tiling and activated, it illuminated a machine of beskar steel. It lay in darkness, surrounded by broken armour.

 

The Basilisk at the heart of the mountain.

 

Terra slipped a powerhook from her back and approached the darkened beast. Her footfalls were uneven, her balance reeling like a spice addict. The closer she got, the more nauseas she felt. Bile rose in her throat as she attached the beast to her batterypack.

 

...Radiation Warning. Radiation Warning…

 

With trembling fingers she activated the pack, and an electrical discharge threw her across the chamber like a ragdoll. She landed in a painful heap, loudly scattering armour in all directions. The whir of machinery caused her to raise her head. The readings on her UI were off the charts for gamma radiation, blinding her sensor readouts. .

 

Kriff.

 

From the cloud of obscuring radiation came a metallic shrieking. Her helmet’s UI stuttured and fractured, before terminating completely, leaving her in darkness.

 

Double Kriff.

[Exodus]

• =======================
  // Onderon, Outskirts of Iziz.
  //// ??? —
  =======================

 

 

 

Battalions of warriors moved about the area, patrolling the broad hall with impeccable formation. These monstrous creatures were stupendous in size, with a few of them sharing similar features to the Mandallian Giants. As abominable as each of them was in presence, their march was polished and to an unnatural distinction. The names of these creatures, all fiendishly ogre-like, had never been mentioned before and their delegation to the Sith Ranks was unknown. One thing for sure was that, as the few battalions made their sweeps, their animalistic snarls and snorts illustrated their ravish hunger. The Hall itself was opulent; simple, but overindulgent in space and crescending chandeliers that reflected their blue flames across transparisteel walls. The floors shared the same design, but was completely dressed in a rich ivory rug that held a wintry palette of white and silver to address the season. The symbol of the Spider could be seen in the hard-knotted patterning of the fabric if one paid careful attention. Lord Exodus sat poised and unbothered on the seat of a throne.

 

The throne was built of a main seat, with a few decorated steps that led to it. The throne was carved from a perished wood and embellished with cream-colored stones. Jewels, and precious stones rich with the color of mauve and aurum were set inside of the monarchic piece. The balustrades of the steps that lead to the seat were set with serpentine figurines, and the emblems of the trinity dressed their scales. King of Onderon, or such was the concept of these titles that whispered inside of his head. The thought of such verbal claims tired him, but he understood the principle of power that rested behind their declarations. He awaited the arrival of his apprentice alone, covered in a regal olive and gold raiment of spider-silk and rancor leather. The Wyyyshokk harness previously attached to his spine moved independently now, scouting the neighboring areas for prey.

[Telperiën Ar-Pharazon]

The form of the last of the Ar-Pharazons walked through the vast hordes of the demons of the Sith Lords. Under the banner of the Spider she walked, batting aside the course blood stained fabrics of one of the low hanging banners with a white hand. Telperiën Ar-Pharazon was still not adjusted to the new body, one that she had seized from such a lonely spirit of an Acolyte named Tierih from the planet Anaxes. And though that girl’s memories flooded her with every new breath and every new smell, Telperiën continued to walk in it. The body was impressive, strong and beautiful with feelings and urges the young Ar-Pharazon had never thought to think or feel before. She was no longer a young girl, but was a beautiful emissary of the Sith, for whom the only blemish were the long red swirls of the blood tattoos that marked her as the Apprentice of the spider.

 

For now at least, Telperiën had cheated the death curse that had been placed upon her by her mother’s people, and the curse of the force that had been given to her by her father. Both still haunted her, but the latter was more defined in this form and she had to use less energy to put off the decay of death that still clung to her. This body was also dying, though at a dramatically less rate than her real body had been. But still the huge aura of the force that she carried with her would burn though this one in time.

 

Finally she knelt before the throne of the Spider, casting back her hood and revealing her new face to her master. Her voice carried the deep gravel tones of Telperiën though mixed with the lovely grace of a core worlds accent. The girl from which she had claimed this body had been of noble birth and had carried herself as such. She smiled with full lips and a full heart.

 

“My Lord, I am ready to serve.”

[Terra]

A buzzing resounded in her ears, echoed in the pounding of her heart. All there was was darkness and the acrid spice of ozone in her nose. She could barely muster a breath through the haze of her consciousness. She attempted a feeble, stuttering breath, but it caught in her throat in a rasping, wet cough. As feeling began to slowly return, the young assassin could feel frothy drool ringing her mouth.

 

The spice of ozone was replaced by the sickly smell of vomit, and Terra began to realize she had emptied her stomach into the interior of her buy’ce. She triggered the emergency seal and the helmet slid off to clatter on the metallic floor. The dusty air felt fresh as it caressed her dripping face, and Terra slowly sat up, letting the caked vomit slip from her to her armoured chest. Her long braid of flaxen hair was clumped and ragged. Another wave of nausea took her, but there was nothing left to empty. All she could manage was painful dry heaves as she clung to the broken ground. A few drops of frothy blood painted the darkened plating. Her heaving moans echoed in the silence.

 

Radiation sickness. Kriff.

 

Terra sat a moment, the pounding of her heart in her skull driving off her sense of balance. She felt as though she was trapped upon the seas of Kamino, driftwood tossed amongst the cresting waves.

 

Where is that metallic demon?

 

From her utility belt, she brought out her glowlamp, and dropped it meekly onto the ground beside her. It clattered about, rolling into a set of discarded armour before activating. Its light began to strobe and falter almost immediately, a consequence of radiation damage, but its illumination showed the yawning entrance to another chamber. It was once a blast door, but now it was all but shattered, twisted metallic shards and broken beams. The broken permecrete and twisting metal appeared like an ancient skeleton, left to rot over the centuries, picked clean by the carrion and insects of the jungle

 

Terra stumbled towards the broken stone and unrooted steal, retrieving her glowlamp. She felt a disembodied pull upon her mind, like she was a Bandarin, being driven by the streaming winds of her homeworld of Anteon. IT felt of promise and payment, and she knew it was not of her own mind.

 

False Gods.

 

With trembling fingers, she felt the broken permecrete. She would let this feeling pass, she would not be given to something not of her own mind. Terra had been down the road of servitude and bondage before with Ason Antilles, and she had no intention of repeating that mistake. The lichen and slime mold was soft and wet under her fingertips, it felt of dirt and simplicity. It was real. What was in her mind was not.

 

Panic began to form again within her, adrenaline turning her blood to fast flowing ice. A primal feeling bid her to rush into the dark and embrace safety. Terra laid her face against the moist stone, letting the coolness touch her heated cheek. She could feel her blush beginning to subside. The young assassin laid back against the stones and emptied her canteen across her face, tasting the purified water as it flowed in a river across her skin. The water broke the haunting feeling and sound began to return to her ears in a rush. Static began to pour in about her, echoing off the damaged walls, distorted by the acoustics. It was laughing

 

...I’m not your pawn. I’m not as weak as the Arasuum Mandalorians you are used to...

[Exodus]

• "..You're alive, Skinchanger."

 

 

The voice was neither surprised, nor was there a trace of disappointment. It was an indifference and a deepness of his tone that sounded coarse and echoed hard across the hall. Malacoda, the first of the Syn. A black shadow that mused comfortably, seated upon the embellished throne. The robes that covered his powerful body moved like running ink. Golden markings reminiscent of his bloodline, flickered through the fabric as little rays of light reflected against the pattern of watered spidersilk. He had a voice as lean as wild honey, but a power that could easily crush any mortal man that stood before him. His eyes, of the usual emerald, were remarkably cold. He watched yet another apprentice offer her fealty on a silver platter, and could only stifle the temptation to laugh softly. He straightened his seated posture, and brushed the deep red thickets of hair from his face.

 

 

“Humor me, child. What.. do you know of me?” The Dark Lord flashed his pearly whites with a clever grin.

[Telperiën Ar-Pharazon]

Skinchanger…

 

An apt name, Telperiën believed, as that was literally what she had just done, though even this body was not likely long for the galaxy. It would be a blessing and a curse, forever trapped in the between, feet in the grave while holding onto life with all her strength and tearing it from everyone she met. But that was her heritage and that was her future. When the Spider asked his next question she could feel doubt crawling up her spine faster than the arachnid creature that the Spider himself had built. Was this a test? If it was, she saw little point to it and decided to answer truthfully.

 

“Master you are known as the Spider and were the Sith Assassin member of the great Galan Trinity, there you fought the Jedi and led the charge to their slaughter. Though your greatness proceeds you, I know not much other than what the spirits have whispered in my ears and what my adoptive father spoke in hushed tones before I met you on Korriban. I was raised with the Dathomiri and carry their curse of isolation from the galaxy.”

 

His eyes frightened her, but she kept control of the fear, ebbing it into the force to feed her strength.

[Terra]

• • T̞̼͎̝̝͇͔͈͑͑ͯ̃̀̋̚ḥ͓̯̲͍̺̺͙̖̑e̱̺̟͉̗̙͍̾̓ͭ̽͌̈ͅͅ ̞̲͚̣͙̍̅A̦̩̚r̫͗̏̽̌ͨ̽a̬̞̩̝͎̞̿̑ͨs̫̮̼̯̯̱͐u̳͈͛ṷ̀͋̽̐m͙̫̤ͭͮͣͯͫ̚?̻͕̝̫̞̪͍̲̯̆ͮ̒ͣ́ ̯̜͙̳̺͈͓̝̐̔̑̅̿ͮ̈̊

 

 

Dispassionate static poured about her.

 

 

• T͚͚̳̱̪͉͐̃ͭ̽̂̓ͨͅh͋̃͏̹͎e̶͈̗̼͐ĩ̭̃̐̇̿̆͠r̭̘̲̻̩̯̹̎͐̃ͨ͢ ̼̬̓̽̒̒̐w̜ͪ̒ͫ̂̃e̟͙͓̝̩͞a̶̞͛̿͆k̨̓́n̪͉͔̗̑̍͊͒̆̏͠ͅe͈̹̫͇͓̯͜s̪̲̮ͩͣ͟s̯̲ͬ̾͠ ̬̑ͧi͖̱͍̪ͪş̠̲̫͚ͩ̓̑̐͊̌ͫͅ ̞̝̤̀ͣͬ̿w̤̗͍̄̊̉̍͋ͧ̋ȟ̼̗̹͕̜͛ͫ́ͦ̽͟ȃ͕̥͖̜͚̮̆̊ṫ̷͚͚͊ͩ̽ͩ̈ͅ ͒̄͑͏̭̩͓̞b͕̐̃͌ͭ͒̈́̓r̦̠͕ͭ̆́o͏̙͔̺u͓̟̰͖ͧͥ̄̄g̯̭͓͚̏̄̋h͍͉̙̳̱͇ͤͪ͆ͧt͙̙̻̰̱̭̞͆͛͗̑ ̷͈̝̩͖̟̔͗o͓͙̒̎̾͠u̳̻͙̮̘̗̓ͪ͊͘r̖̳̘̤̣̓ ̰̪̥̯͍̣ͭ̋̌̅ͫ̍͠ͅg̾ͯ͏̲̮̹͔lͩ̅͋̾ͦ̿o̗̥̣̖͕̞̹͟ṛ̢̫̱̘̱̖͒͗̀ͯͯ̃io̖̮̲͈ͪ̊̌̔̌̌͊u̩̤̼̦̜͚̟̕s͓̟̭͓̝ ̣̭̝̜͕͛̋ͅc̝̥̺͙̓̄͢ͅr͙͍̲̰͇͍̜u̱͓̼̟̗ͧ͐s̪̣̙̣͕͕a̷͇͓̾̈́̽͊̏̊ͥd̷̫͉̖ḙ̡̫͒̚ ̪̦͖̻͉̘̣̀tͭ̐͛͒̓҉ŏ̲̗͢ͅ ͉̳̺̳͉̟ͨ͠ͅa̴͒̃̔ ̡͇̩̜͗͊ͮ̂̚g̤̖ͬ̌̉r̛̗̟͍̦̥̞ͦ́ͣi̺̳̺̗̝̾͌͌́̽͗n̦̝͖͎͔ͅd̺̜̱̼̺͉͙ͮ̿̀į͔̺͉̞ͤ͐ṅ͓̮̑̓̓͟g̤̺̦͖ ̳͕̦͍͔̏̀́̽̒͡ḥ͍̖̒́̎͒ͥ̽á̻l̙̰ͤ͑̄̄̒ͤ͞t̻̩̖̭̬͔ͧͣ̅͌̆͢ͅ…̨̙͖͚̦͂͆͆ͭ͌

 

 

Terra’s body spasmed involuntarily as the static began to roar about her. Her skin felt aflame, bursting and twisting with the crescendos of disjointed noise. She could feel the presence closer than even her own, impressing on her mind. It flowed over her like the breath of a beast, whispering of darkness across her flesh. She reached out with her feable, gravely voice

 

“The Arasuum desired only honour, they did not consider the whole hologram. They…”

 

She took a slow breath as the weight on her began to increase

 

“Didn’t look to victory… They were unwilling to compromise their honour for the better glory of conquest”

 

The noise around her faded, each particle of static voice passing into emptiness. A bitter coughing came from her own mind, the gutteral tongue of a humanoid. She could hear the rattling of death on the voice as it spoke

 

...I am Indomitable. My victories cannot be undone...

 

Terra reached out with her mocking mind. Her voice was disembodied, and carried her Echani accent

 

The Jetti played you a fool, as they played your successor. Your path was weakness through morality

 

The coughing became more vocal, ringing with the wetness of lifeblood. His voice carried judgment and dismissal

 

Your people died in weakness

 

The young assassin smiled cruelly, her cracked lips twisting to reveal metallic teeth

 

The Taung are long dead, but my people flourish. Your people follow an honour-bound fool. A charlatan that has bound the Mando’ade to his weakness. That is your legacy. Weakness

 

A shattering blow knocked the young assassin across the room, breaking the vision, and opening her eyes. All she could see was falling stars and the fields of war. Her victims on Manda’yaim cried for vengeance that had escaped them. The children she had put to the sword to drive her opponent into weakness. Terra had died that day, but she had robbed her opponent of honour, which was a victory that would haunt her enemy forever.

 

The Arasuum Mandalorians had tossed away their children without pause or consideration. Without care or consideration. After the thrill of the hunt, such illfated actions had turned and tainted the whole contract with bitterness. Clans had been lost, their future uprooted. She had left a lasting scar on every opponent she had faced. The grinding of twisting metal echoed over her and the static returned, dragging her from her own mind.

 

• .̛.D͏o ͡you ćons̷i̡d̵e͘r ̡yo͝ur͏s̕el͞f̷ o̕ur͜ l̵èa͝de͟r, o̷ne͏ ̵wh҉o͝ h͢as͠ alw̡a̶y̶s͟ ̵b͠e̕e҉n ̶a҉ ͡slave?

 

Terra winced, the contortion causing pain

 

 

• • • • .̝̰̰̬͓͖̬͈ͯͯͣ̽͛̈́.̮͚̣͔͉͙̺̲̯̖̣̪͖̬̽̑̍̽͊ͥ̓̊̚.͎͉̣̪̘̈͐̌̽̆̚O͈̮̱͈̙͉̙̹̊̆͂͌ͨ͆̆̒ͧ̊͂͂ͮ̒̒̐̓ủ͓̼͇̹̤̟͍͓̞̼̯̫̻ͩ̈̏͑r̼̘͓̣̙̪͍͔̹̭̦̞͎̳͍̙̞ͣ͆̀̈̉ͪ̊̌͊ͫ̓ ̯͇̯̦̥̣̥̩̱̪̪͊̃́̏̓̄ͭ͑̊͒̄̚M̠͇͙͇̠͇͍̞̤̬̓͑̆̐͌̋͋ͯ̏̊̑ͦͩ̿ͫ̃a̳̯̫͈̹͉̮̼̞ͭ̾̓͋̄ͯ̑̊̇̚̚ͅń̩̪̹̺̗̫͙͍̩̺͚̫̣̠͕̼͚̄ͤ̋̄͛ͅd̥͕͉̥̉̆̂̑ͦ̃̅́̏ͣ͆̅̔̔ͤ̄̏̋a̖̼̜̞ͣ̎̑̅ͧͪͫ̀̾̉͂͑̏ͥl̦̦̝̳̓̊̓̃ͮ͛ͬ̐̔o͙̤͖͕͙̱̮̯͇̼̝̬̜̮̪ͮ̐͌̋̆̏ͭ̋͋͒̐r̹̩̱̭̟̱̟̩̹̭̯̫̓͒̾̃ͣ̅̿̚ͅé̤̼̱̬̖ͯ͆̎̒̊ͣ̓̑ͫ͋͐̾̀͆̋ͨ̿ͅ?̺̞̮͕̱̗̞̘̗̈̈ͩ̈̂ ̞̤̲̺̹̗͓͙̬͍̱̱̥̩͖͚ͣ̆̆̍ͅͅ

 

 

 

She struggled to draw breath, stopping when she could feel the stabbing of broken ribs. The breath became a cough, which made the pain far worse. Terra had wanted power and respect among the clans, but Fett had long denied it. He had led their people into obscurity and uselessness.

 

Do I want to be Mandalore?

 

Terra could feel the rush of victory, the thrill of a crusade. The glory of victory over the weak. The greatest soldiers in the galaxy needed to be guided. Needed to be shaped. They were only weak farmers, following a feeble leader. The Mandalorians echoed their leaders, and all they were now were decrepit mongrels, unworthy to even fight the Jedi.

 

• • • .̞̩͚̥͕̥̘̦̂̈́̅ͫͨ̎.̗͕̭̜̈̑̒̉̔.͇̎̾͊̏͋͆W̪̬̺͛i͖̘͔̐̊ͣ̈́̌͋ͯ̍ͅl̝̹̙̻͖̓̃̓ͩ̃l̘̪͎ͫ̐̏̓̄̉ͨ̉̄ ̰̤̎̅̽ͭy͎̱͙͙̠̲̌̆ͬ̆o̙̤̻̪ͦ̆̀ṷ͎̩͚͍̳̠͚̟̂ͩͣ̊̉̔ͪ̚ ̠̗͓̬̦͉̈̎͌b͇̮̲͙̪̫̖͆̾ṟ͈̙͚̏̎͐̆ͣi̲͔͙͙̠̞̰̼̽̍̾͂n̞͉̩͔̙̊ͬͨ̊̌̚g̙̥̳̱ͣ̋̍ ̗͈̭̠͓̗͉̘̊̐̃̌̃u̠̞̞̱̪̳̟̼̬ͨs̤͔͒̎ͯ̎͐͐ͫ̓͆ ̝̼̟̭̗̰͒̑̍̆̄ṡ͍̫̙̙ͩ̎͛ͅt̝̲͇̤ͨ̀͆ͫ̚ṟ̗͉̪͖̓̓͊̑̚e̦̪̳̭͇͉ͮ̏ͯ͐͐̉̚n̙͈̠͎̳͌͊ͤ̔͐g̯̫̺̉͂͐̋t̙͚͚̞̔̐̽̓ͩh̦͈͗̋̉?̝̮̗͍́̋

 

Blood from her throat began to gag her, choking away her breath. Crimson bubbles whet her lips, dripping down her scarred cheeks. Her fingers curled into fists as she struggled to live. Struggled to fight the call of death.

 

Oh yes. I would lead our people into the glory of conquest once again.

 

The static laughing faded into a low growl.

 

 

• • • • • T̩̦̗ͯ̑ͦ̌̾͐͋ͮͥh͖̙̫̆ͮͦͤͬe̫̿͆n̪̱͙̣̤ͣ̈ͣͥ̔̓͑͆ ͎̘͔̳̪̜̜͆̿̑I̤̫̤͔̭̱ͨ̓̇̏͆ͪ̚ͅ ̜̟ͬͩ͊͒͌ͩͨ̚ṣ͇̰̔ͪ͋͑̆̊e̟̻̙͊ͭ̌͌̆͗̍r̪̺͎͖̲̻͉͗̀ͩ͋̑̂̂ͯ͂v̩̗̭̯̝̭̍̅e̻͎̖͙̥͔̗͌ͭ̔ͪ̿ͫͦ̿̈́ ̝̍ͦ̿ͧ͑̆ͧy̪̤͙̒̐ͫ̌ō͉̗ͣͮ̈́ͧ̓͆u̟̩̫͓͛̆̑ͩͭ̈́̉r̗̮͖̖̹̘̈́ͤ͒̅ ͈̻̟̜̰ͯẅ͉̲̞́ͪ̎ͭ̌̂ͣi̬̫̹̭͔͐͆ͩͪ́͋̚l͈̬̬̼̱͕̦̟ͥͩ͆l̤̖͚̰̳͇̼̺ͫͯͬ̿͛͆ͣ…̤͉̌ͮ̂

 

The tone became serious and disjointed, as if a thousand voices were speaking at once

 

 

 

 

 

 

• • M̮̼̫̠̮̍̍ͬ̑̅̽͗͛̄̂ͯ̒ͩͯ̂ͭ̈́ͯa̹͔̮̖͙͉͍̫͉̰͚̥̦͉̯̳͖͍͌̈́͑ͧͪ̉͌̎̈́͋̀ͦ̋̊̐́̐ͅn̮̠͕̫̫͒ͧ̔̽ͭͪ̚d͈͓͓̻͚̳͉̪͉͉̪ͫ̌ͪ͒̓ͤͮ́a̙̠̟̟͗ͥ͐ͭ͐ͦͭ̓ͨ̑̄̾ͣͯͯͩ̽l̟̱͖̫͔̬̝̬̗̩̤͚͔̰͖̫̱̉̽̅̄̈̉͒ͅo̭̟̝̠͚̲̍̓̆ͤͦ̾͒̈̓͌̐̍̇ͤ̿̏̉̒̚ȑ̩̤̩̘̣̻̬̜̳̟̣͎̣̬̱ͩ̀ͩ͛̍ͫ̈́̄̇͐͗̿ͯͪͅe͚̭̜̮̯̹̩͓͇̩̺̜̣͈̳̝ͥ̊͊̃ ̥̩̹̻̠̥̑̆̅͊̈͐͋ͩ̓ͫ̋ͧ͗̎ͦ̏t͈̩͚̭̗̙̼̮͎̤̻̠͔̒ͬ̓̔͐ͪͮ̑̇h̪͙̣͓͔͎͍͔͈̜̖͚͉̦̝͈̼̪̎͑̓̓̎̈́ͩ͛ͩ̿̆̓̚ͅe̱̜̖̲̰̭̩̥̮̺̘͔̹̯̹̙̻͗͛͆͑̆ͦ͒͋ ͚͍̮͚͈̮̌͂ͦ̎͑͗ͤ͆̑̀ͬ͋̊͗ͭͭH͉͖̭̰͇͂̉̍͛̾͌͗̔̎̎̈͋͋̾̎̽̂̚ẽ͈̰̫̘͓̠̙̜͙̼͎̓̓̀̒̄̐̈ͩͩ̆̌a͍̯̳͖̼̞̲̪̙͖̭̼̲̪̍̀ͤ͌̓̄̍̿ͬ́ͫ̊̀̀̇̇ͅr͚͚̘̯̲̭͎͖͔̱̲̥̪̂ͯ̿̌̅ṭ̘̗͔̓̔̔̈ͮ̽ͫͮ̄̊̎͋͌̓̚l͓͇̮͔͉͓̖̣͌ͪ̉̏ͤͦͨ̓͗̏ͭ̒ͬͬ̊͒̐͋̚ȇ̬̰̞͙͕̠͓̖͎͎͚͖̯̼̻̖̰̱̍͐ͪ̈́̉̂̂ͥͨ̓̇̊́ͥ͗s͓̻̳̻͚͈̪͖̖̟̻͓͕̗̣̩ͩ͗̿̍͆̍̆ͮ̄̂ͧͅs̰̯̹̖̺̻̠̫̤̹̫̤̼͕̬̥͚̔̒͐͂̏

 

 

 

Life began to rush back into her, driving away the darkeness

[Exodus]

"You know so little of me, and yet, you submit.."

 

The idea teased him. There was palpable conviction inside of their voices, a resolve to follow the Spider under the darkest of moons. His will was the march of a million men, and the power that crawled between his clutches guaranteed it, but did they truly fear what they did not understand? Exodus leaned forward and peeled himself from his comfort, shaking the question from his mind. Here and now he had a child of the dark before him, one that swam in the promise of her forefathers, and he would make something of her. He could smell the dense deterioration from her old flesh, the blood that pleaded to heave from her body, the corrosion that ate at her mortality. Her band-aid solution stood hesitantly inside of his hall, a little taller and warily grasping the functionality of her new skin. The ability was not foreign to him, and he had fought against these skin-changers back on Dxun, but such an experience was unknown to the Dark Lord. "Ready yourself, Telperiën. I will prove to you what the spirits say. And you will show me just what you are made of." Exodus stood to his full height and stretched the listlessness from his core, the canvas of his spidersilk collapsing around his blackened rancor-leather boots. Suddenly, Transcendence found itself in his palm, and bloomed a heavy vermilion blade.

[Telperiën Ar-Pharazon]

Apathy is death and to exist in stagnation was to surrender to its degrading entropy.

 

Telperiën lowered her head, her silver eyes slipping to look to the feet of the dark lord. As was his will, so she would be. Her hand twitched and the blade Cocytus flipped to her hand from her belt. Its tarnished silver and gold plating felt warm to her hand as she drew it forth, yellow-red the blade blazed forth from the old emitter. Given to her by the spirits of Korriban in the depths of the valley of the Dark Lords, it hummed and tremoured in her hand as it sang its rueful song of lament. She was no child any longer, her spirit was fierce and her power even more so. It was unlikely that she would find any victory here, but there was no other option before her.

 

Her lips moved and the force stirred heavily in the throneroom, banners lofting in the air drawn taught by the beginnings of a storm of sabres. The spider would see the power of his apprentice, and she would get to know him in the way of her people. Fighting was the way of the Dathomiri, it was how they found mates, how they showed their skills, and how they survived against all the horrors of that desolate planet. Every moment of her existence had been war, first from her birth she had been pursued by the Jedi Council, hidden away by Ca’Aran, abused in the clans and forced to defend her brothers. Only to see them senselessly snatched away by the force. This Dark Lord knew nothing of war, what had he done since Gala but wait for the actions of others. If her father had been in charge they would have already taken Coruscant twice over. Anger blossomed and she embraced it without fear. Her new muscles, yet untested in battle tensed as she answered the Dark Lord. Her voice rumbling through the building wind.

 

“Then show me why I should know you.”

 

She struck, the sabre in its pale yellow red light striking for his heart as the force stirred around her in a mighty gale. For though she was young, she would answer him in turn.

[Exodus]

=======================

// Onderon, Hall of the Mynock

//// Lightsaber Form Training —

=======================

 

 

 

Killer instinct swept over him and tuned out the noise. She spoke, but instead he paid attention to the diction of how the child moved while she wasted her breath. She was oppressively disqualified to maneuver a body that was not her own, the foundation of her physical structure measuring much different than the one she had shed. “Shiak.” Exodus rolled the word off of his tongue without the slightest measure of enthusiasm, then pointed his entire arm towards her charging blade. Where the power of her force rolled forward in reckless abandon, Exodus stemmed an incredible dark force of power through his whole body, dragging his left foot forward against the slight snare of the static friction beneath him and unleashing a raw kinetic force from his open palm. The force push was strong enough to cave her brittle chest in and send her off of her feet, a simple technique but one with range enough to impede a linear opponent. "Shiak is a mark of contact. These marks are areas of an opponent's body which are considered principal targets in order to end the conflict. You attempt to use the tip of your blade to finish me, yet you have only just begun. You are just as sloppy as your Father." Exodus almost spit the words from his mouth, allusions to Dun Möch fragmented in his speech.

 

 

• "Your strikes are desperate for purpose. So feed them!"

[saberforce]

The Swift Justice finally made it to planet fall, yet he would not let himself land upon the main planet of Onderon. For some reason, it was a taint for him, a sickness of some kind. And regardless of such inner notions-he was pulled to Dxun. His own history of his people had fought and died for this moon. There was a copad to be here. And one he couldn't ignore. He needed to walk upon the ground that his ancestors walked. As he stepped off his ship and into the humid air of the jungle near the old abandoned base-other believed to be abandoned, his own nostrils filled with the air of the moon under his buy'ce. Lifeforms were all over the place and seemed to walk and go freely unchecked. The old satellite stood tall, yet broken and rooted to a heavy degree. It's smaller than I thought.

 

Tros kept walking, letting his own weapons just hang, as none of the beasts appeared to be a threat to him as of yet. He was more interested in gathering history. Since the recent war on Mandalore shook him to the core, left him wondering what sort weakness held them down that allowed for such a strong disaster to overtake them-to overtake their culture so easily. It was then he spotted her. The kyramud. The one who had taken Caen's life. Even from this distance, he knew the Beskar'gam. He stood still and stared at her, both fists clenched in rage, yet unmoved towards his weapons. Why? You could easily shoot and take revenge... His own vision became slightly blurry from his own hot white rage that built up, yet somehow, he still didn't move. ... Why hesitate?... Finally, he felt his fists begin to unclench. Movement came to his body now as he was released from the rage. Lifting his hands, he surprised himself as he took off his buy'ce ad put it under his left arm. I don't kill because warriors deserve better. Tros now moved towards her, letting his own movement hesitate with each step. Tension sat within his whole body, but that's because it was a fight between wanting to shoot and wanting to run away. I don't run away. He stopped before her, still unaware if she even knew if he was behind her or not.

 

"I know you... You killed my lover on Mandalore.... You made the fight worthy..."

 

Tros just stood still, now being overtaken by the inability to move again. He was uncertain of why. Under his left arm he held onto his buy'ce tight. His right hand just sat at his side near his blaster pistol, yet not close enough to actually pull it up in time to shoot either. He was frozen until her reaction and movement released him.

[Telperiën Ar-Pharazon]

When Telperiën moved it felt like she did at a glacial speed. Though she commanded the force to move her beautiful new body in the dance of death it was slow and even resistant to her desires. As soon as she made the dash at the dark lord, she knew it would miss, having started a half second too late. The dark lord took her move in stride, uninterested in anything she could put forth and with nearly a flick of his fingers she could feel the force bow to his will and crush her chest in like a hammer. She cartwheeled through the air, twisting her slow body into a roll to absorb the kinetic strike. Though the blow had hurt, and had broken two sets of ribs, the words that followed were far more painful.

 

That bastard.

 

Her fingers and knuckles wrapped around the sabre hilt grew white with strain as she battled the rush of anger as it curled up her spine. The taunts had a familiar style to them, the same that her mother used to often hurt Ca’Aran when they had all been together. If only mom could see her now, fighting and losing to the dark lord.

 

Shiak

 

She picked herself up from the roll and began to slowly approach the Dark Lord, fighting her body to regain its control. Anger rolled her presence like magma.

 

Then what is my purpose? To Learn?

 

She guessed that for now it would be, to learn and grow powerful, powerful enough to leave a legacy. She charged in again with a feint then a counterstroke. While pulling a slaveboy with the force like a human missile at the back of Exodus

[Terra]

...Mandalore the Heartless…

 

Her new name pounded was spoken and in her chest in her heart echoed its agreement. Terra possessed a heart of flesh, but it was devoid of love and kindness, or any emotions that made her weak. Emotions and cares had been driven from her over the years, each in their turn being broken and trampled. She had been a slave to her heart, to her honour, and it had made her weak.

 

The cool caress of jungle air brushed across her face, rousing her mind from its stupor. Nausea burned through her guts, bringing forth bile and blood. The effects of the radiation was getting worse. She would need medical treatment soon, or her guts would be irreversibly harmed.

 

I will not die here amongst the plundered graves of the weak.

A voice spoke behind her, unfamiliar but laced with emotion. She concentrated on the words, but she felt as though she was hearing them from across a rushing river, the pounding of her heart driving away her concentration. Terra turned, looking over the man, holding his helmet in a deathgrip. Emotion stained his complexion with a mix of rage and heartbreak. She became acutely aware of her bloodied appearance. Her voice was weak as she spoke

 

“I… Killed many on Mandalore…”

 

She brought an ungloved hand to her face, her trembling, pale fingers brushing the crusty blood into dust, smearing a crimson stain across her youthful face. Her eyes were not as wild as they had been then, she was in more control over her emotions then she had been on Mandalore, but the thoughts of that time stirred her wild spirit. She squinted, her sharp blue eyes changing their shade to glowing vermillion, the irises shaping from humanoid to bestial. She could feel Hades arising

 

“I was the fire for the crucible. I showed what the Mandalorians under Fett would become if they were purified…”

 

She breathed in a gasping breath, fighting against her swollen throat. She spat a mouthful of boiling blood onto the grass beside her, watching the steam rise, the lively grass curling and dying as it touched her corruption. Colour drained to ashen rot, and she looked upon the older mandalorian with a smile.

 

“They became stagnant hypocrites, devoid of their precious honour. I robbed them of that… I exposed their weakness. ”

 

She extended her arms towards him, her bloodied palm upwards. It was a greeting of nonviolence, her weapons discarded. Her bestial eyes flashed in recognition

 

“Your lover fought for a weak king, one that would never bring true strength to us.”

 

Terra emphasized the final word, her tone shifting to show that she did not consider the man an enemy. She considered him an equal. She no longer thought of those that fought under Fett as ones that needed extermination. They needed to be shown that there was an alternative to weakness. She knew not of love, but she knew it could divide or unite. The young assassin raised her head, exposing her throat. Her dark veins were visible, barely buried beneath translucent skin.

 

“I cannot give him back to you, but if you desire a bloodprice, you may take of my flesh.”

 

Static screamed through the jungle and beasts began to scramble, avians taking to flight in fright. The static melded with the uproar of an awakened jungle, becoming a song of horror. The great basilisk ripped through the boughs, landing in a jet of earth and shattered foliage. Its armoured skeleton reflected the horror of the entire war on Dxun, its very spirit that of death unleashed. Its skull was adorned in the symbols of the ancient clans who had sacrificed themselves in its creation. Sunken eyes mimicked those of its mistress, glowing crimson with deadly intent. From static formed the voices of countless dead, the voice of Hades embodied in fear.

 

 

 

.̻̖̤͈͓̻̬̐́.̰̮͍̩̫̳͕ͪ̎͆ͯͦ̾.͉̪̂̄̽͛͌H̗̳̑͂̂ͤ̓ͩe̦͚̠ͮͦ̃l͓͚͇̠̣̥̰ͨ̇̓̌̽̃͊li̪̘͈̐͂s̲̺̙h̗̪͚͉͎̝̽̎ͪ̇̾ ̉̒ͪ̽h̲̮̣̤̖̳̱ͬͫa͉̳̙̼͌͋̏ṱ͇͊̒̓e̘̰ ͚̹̻̣͚̫̄c̟̞̮̔͋̉̄̍õ͂ͫn͇̫̝̥̳̏̐̾̚s͛ͪ̔̔̽u̼͎͙ͨ͐̅m̠͎̤̖̞̼̏e̜̙͎͔̲ͥ̾͐̚ͅs͔͖͕̦̉ͩ̋̚ ͇͂̔̎̒o̮̮̦̳̣̭̬ͧ̈̽̒̒ȗ̞̼̼̹͓͍̓̒̚r̜͗̚ ͪͪ̈̊̈́͊p̦̣̄̈̆e͍̝̖̥͔̜͍ͣͫo̻̍͂̒̿̊ͣp̳̜ͣ̀ͭl̗͙̽ȅ̺̗̼̫̝͚̙͒̂̽̋̒.̭̝̦͙ ͚̼͖̦ͤ̔́̄͗ͅẂ̭̟̱͙̞̮͓e̯͕ͣ̋ ̬̭̲̋͐̒d̮̹̱̦͇̽ͥ̎ë̱̔s͎͖̠̫̅ͪ̍ï̝̰̩ͬr̹͖̋ě͓̦̫ͯͧ ͎̯̠͔̫̥͉̾̊̈̏t̺̗͓͔̖̝h͔̹̲̜̪ͫ̌ͯ͋̑͆e͑ ͔̲̺̘̯̹̭̈́̾̓̈́̉̚g̠̯̰̻̪r̜̖͕̦̗ͣa̜ͤͧͬ͒ͯ͆̎c͙̣̭̋ͥ̃e̻͍̖̦ ̭̼ͭͥ̒͗̌̎o̖͇̪͉̤̓̾͒̆́fͤ̋͊̉ͩ͛ ̮͙̥̖̗̙͉͗v̦̫̉̽̔̒͌ͯi͕̞̻͔c̺̭͙̮̖ͨ̒t̼̼ͭͯͨͪͯ̈́o̙̙̟r͓̘̥͆ͦ̎i͈̰̍͊̉ͣ̏o͍͔̠͔͒ͯͅuͭsͮͦ̎ͥ̚ ̱͖̯̒͆̂̾ͪ͂͋w̠͓̣̤̙͕ͅa͈͗̐ͭͤͨr̩͎̖͉̙͉ͮͧ̄̒̔̒,̬̲͎͍͎͍̻̇ͪͮ̑͑ ̦̠͚̓̒a̦̫ͯ̃ ̝ͮ̄͑ͮu̒̀̽́̋ͬn̼͌ͧͪ̚i̱͚͎̮͋ͤͭt̘̼͈̫̺̙̼ͧ͑y͚͙̐ ̥̟̥̻̍̇̏ͅṇ͔̹̺ŏ̩̜͌̊̈́̃̅t̳̝̜̥̹̟͑ͧ͆̐́ͧͅ ̠̗̬̱̯͈ͬ͋̍̽ͪͨͅf̳̃͑o̥ͤ̍u͂n̲͎̦̞̾d̺̺̳͉̜͈̗͆ ̪̩̳͗̓i̳̖̲̔ͨ̋̆n̳̅ͥ̌̏̉ ̫͚̠̻̖̩̼t̖̺͐h͇̲̻ͧe̳̞͚͈̫͂̈́ͥ ̏̓ͯ̈́͋͆̇w͋̒ͥ̂̈́̈ͩe͎̺̹̰̒́ͅa̰͌k̮͈̙̬̫͖̝̊n̜̗͔̦̥̥͉e͙̣̣ͧ̈́͂ͥͫs͓͓̙̲̙͇ͩͤͯ͑ͧ̌̊sͫ͌̿ ͙̝̀̓o̝͉̪̜͙̗̒ͫͦ̇ͫf̱̯̪ͬ̅͊̾ͣ ̮̼̞͍̺̎̃i̗̳̠š̂ͦ̌̐o̗̰̥̤̰ͧ̽̈́̀ͦͪl̦̰̱̟͚̭̪̽͗ǎ̩̀͆̔ṯ̭̥̤͔͚ͬí̦̱͕̯̓̃ͯͨ̅̈́ȍ͉̙̼̜̙͕͇n̼͗͂̓̆…̪̭͔̊̓̈́ ̞͍͓̟̖ͮ̅̏ͭͯ͐ͮ

 

 

A bitter taste was on her tongue, a broiling rage of war.

[Exodus]

The small Onderonian child serviced to the order of the Dark Lord was wrenched from his feet. The tray that his tiny hands had clutched, whizzed into the air, pitching paltry delicacies across the hall. His small frame was snatched without consent and fissured from where he stood. The body of the boy warped violently in shape, and unexpectedly snapped under the whip of immense pressure, folding into a kinetic distraction. His consciousness suffered the memories of his loving parents as he ripped towards the Spider, too panicked to feel fear, and clueless to the commanding draw of the Dathomiri Witch. Exodus moved even faster still, almost nauseating with the speed in which he chose to function at. In fluid motion his lightsaber sprung free, the thick of his crimson blade frothing at the mouth with a feverish heat before a swift pivot and a violent heave separated the boy's head from his body.

 

Exodus brandished masterful footwork, and needed no more than a few quiet steps to execute his laterality. He would embrace the feint with his first step, skirt the counterstrike with a gathered second and heavily plant his pivoted third to baseball swing through the neck of the slaveboy. The heap of flesh landed smack against the feet of the apprentice, while the head rolled a few feet behind her, circling back as the nose of the head broke momentum, then finally stopping curiously at the shoulder of it's own body. The eyes of the child were of surprise, or horror rather— but he stared at Telperiën alarmingly, attempting to seize her guilt.

 

Exodus held his executed form for a second more before releasing and easing back into composure, the wicked onyx tinge of his robes falling and following suit. His body was now positioned differently; facing the transparisteel wall while his right shoulder was adjacent to the little apprentice and her new friend. The Dark Lord exhaled slow through his nostrils, venting the convergence of excruciating dark side power manifesting itself throughout the entirety of his muscular composition. The restraint inside of his mind acted as a coolant to the engine of the dark side buried beneath his empty soul, that would no sooner see him accelerate into a besieging onslaught. The small unit of twelve that made their rounds inside the hall were no doubt aware of the confrontation, each of them monstrous in size, which then of course paled in comparison to the larger brute war axes that they palmed. These barbaric creatures claimed audience now, always drunk off of battle and aroused at the sight of death. These were the cold-blooded mongrels of The Horde.

 

 

• “Telperiën. Can you see it?”

 

Her mind would trade her present reality with a few flashes of a small child dancing wildly with a toy sword, spinning wildly in his palm. It was the boy that now laid at her feet. He was unlearned while he lived, but was enthusiastic to learn the techniques that the Sith from all around had tirelessly exercised. His expired corpse shivered into a silent surrender, but released a canal of memories that passed onto the apprentice through his lifeless eyes. The mirrors of his soul reflected such a joyful spirit, exploiting the sheer impulsiveness of Ataru. The child would have made an excellent student of the form, but his destiny was proven wholly unappealing.

 

 

"The saber technique known as Ataru is a demonstrative combat form that relies on power, speed and adaptability. You must manifest pure aggression, and unpredictably attack with powerful strikes. Use the force to feed your body, and unhinge your physical limitations. Free your mind from constraint and allow your anger to fuel your savagery. Those who employ this form, mobilize at higher speeds and can rain down the heaviest blows, jumping and attacking from the most complex maneuvers. Learn quickly now, you have a challenger." The words of the Dark Lord played inside of her head. Exodus defused the spirit of his blade, and stepped slowly out of the way. A gargantuan mongrel from the watch came barreling towards Telperiën, his oppressive magnitude moved surprisingly quick, with a massive double-bladed axe of refined Sith Metal leading his charge.

[saberforce]

Tros looked at her as she spoke. His own emotions went swirling as she talked rather weakly over killing many on Mandalore. Although his own emotions rang like a loud bell nonstop within his own mind, her words cut through the sounds. They held some degree of truth and a lot of misconceptions of who Caen and himself were. She had extended her arm out to him, not of violence, but a simple offering. His own breathes were heavy as he stared down upon her bloodied hand. Her last words seemed to be unable to break his own concentration as he was now very intently focused upon her hand. After a very long pause, his own words seemed to come out like a trickle, yet very strong as opposed to her first words uttered to him.

 

“Fett is not my king.-Nor has then been any honor for our people for a long time.”

 

It was then that he allowed for his own body to finally relax. His own buy’ce dropped onto the grass, making the very faintest sound of a thud. Not once did he lift his head to look her in the eyes yet. His gaze was still transfixed upon her hand.

 

“You did not rob them of honor, as there was none to be gained. Nor did you expose the weakness of those who call themselves Mando'ade. They had long since been exposed for their weakness.”

 

It was now that his own muscles fully gave up trying to fight against the mind of Tros and allowed for him to have full control over everything again. His fists unclenched as he raised his own head to look her in the eyes. There was a burning deep within them-and it was not anger or hatred, but of purpose and strength.

 

“I do not ask for him back, as there is no price to bring back the dead. My own pain is not something that can be bought.”

 

It was now that Tros finally took her hand in his in a very firm embrace style grip.

 

“The only price I would want that you could give is to train me to be that strong. Show me how to gain kote in battle.”

[Sith X]

Darkness....

 

T'was from which all was birthed and in which all would perish. It's symbolism was alpha and omega. Yet, despite its purity, it hid in the cracks and crevices, shadowed by the blinding of the ever so egotistical light that shined so brightly. Only in the depths of Chaos, where fire and brimstone and molten lava existed, naturally did darkness and light become one. Or in the heavens, where light were mere specks upon the horizon, enmbraced by the eternally night, where all began and ended. Such was the truest of philosophy.

 

But this night did Darkness emerge from within the light, a wormhole opening to unleash the demonic being known simply as Darth Oni as the humble hue of blurred blue and black erupt forth within the heavens and reveal the vessel that carried the Sith Master in a flash of brief light amidst the darkened backdrop. As beacons of light slowed to a stand still upon the outskirts of the void, a star spangled canvas appeared before him as his gaze fell upon the world known as Onderon and it's bejeweled offspring known as Dxun. Oni merely grinned as he descended from the heavens toward its suspecting surface, mundane protocols transmitted for the sole purpose of identification. Clearance granted, the twisted angel's presence soon was felt across it's entirety.

 

The Master of Darkness, true to his nature, let forth his blackened wings and encompassed the planet with his presence, allowing all to feel his truth. For he had come with but a singular purpose, and his divined was clear. His thoughts ran amuck only for a humbled moment as he reached out, divining his purpose and set forth toward it in strict haste. His stride was afloat, his posture warriors, his gaze hidden behind the blackened mask that bore the tusks of his demonic visage. For now the time of relaxation and humor had past, and the depth of the demon revealed its truest self.

 

"Lord Exodus" Oni snarled from behind the blackened mask as tentacles of latent power ensnaring the door frame let loose its tightened grasp from which the demon arose from mere seconds before, the Sith Master removing his mask to reveal his true face. "It has been quite awhile since Vjun, 'brother'."

 

Such a word was never versed by Oni unless it was deserved, and despite both being former pupils of Nurgle, the two had once been opposition. Yet, in his tone, it's verse found a humbled sincerity as he gave life to it. For this day of days, Oni had came to pay homage toward Exodus.

[Telperiën Ar-Pharazon]

Telperiën could feel her body’s revulsion to the site of the Dark Lord cleaving the child in two. Her stomach heaved as she fought her body's natural tendency to throw up at the site. But Telperiën could not feel more alive. Through her connection with the force and her kinetic hold on the boy she could feel every bit of his pain. The sealing pain the ripped through his stomach and belly, followed by the ice cold dread that clung to the back of his mind as he struggled to live. She planted a polished boot and fell back into a defensive stance as the Dark Lord began to play his tune in the force. There was so much to learn from this child’s mind and as it flooded her she was nearly overwhelmed by it. She could feel his anger, his fear, his memories all washing over her in waves that crashed as life fled his body. Snuffed out like a candle in a winter gale.

 

Ataru was something that she had never seen used before and she rejoiced in its bare aggression. It was impulsive, and it sunk into her with every second that ticked by. Her hands moved close together on the pommel as she concentrated on the fleeting memories of the dead apprentice. There had been a sabre kata that the poor boy had memorized, hours a day practising, she could feel his frustration and his sweat from those days of practise. She pulled the frustration and the memory into herself, absorbing it and solidifying it into herself.

 

I can feel it master.

 

She did not have the spare thought to speak the words out loud, but since the dark lord was already fully in her mind, she figured he would get the message.

 

The orcish thug crashed through her revelry with angry abandon, and Telperiën met it with her own growing rage. She fell fully into the force, throwing herself into the lightsaber form and its recklessness. She jumped forward to meet the onslaught, spinning through the air in a blazing pirouette of yellow-red light.

 

Don’t use the sabre as a weapon, use your body you oaf. Came the scowling form of the child she had seen butchered before her only moments prior. That’s what Lord Kailfni says

Telperiën spun the pirouette in another angle, whipping out her leg as well as the sabre as she crossed paths with the mighty beast. The crack and instant pain that shot up her thigh told her that there was at least one lesson to be learned from that move. She landed limping and brought the sabre up again.

 

Kriff

[Exodus]

The powerful creature embraced the assault and pounded the thick of his hands across the armored plate that loosely draped his chest, braggadocious as he did so. He wanted more. He wanted to feel. There was an itch to battle that he could not scratch over the recent months, and his doltish mind could not fathom more than bloodlust. He was of course the most inferior to his company, the rank of mongrel was what most conscripts were considered, and these were nothing like the berserkers that crowned themselves king of battle. Fat and muscular definition covered the entirety of his seven-foot, four-hundred and fifteen pound frame. He was monstrous and his mannerisms were exceptionally animalistic, similar to the rest of his pack that looked on from the entrance to the hall. The differences in size was outstanding, yet still he stood before the little lady with very cruel intentions running through his thoughts. "Since there is no meat on them, I will grind your bones into soup, young ssithling!" The warrior opened his mouth and showcased the crooked rows of sharpened teeth that lined his black and bleeding gums. His loud words were followed with the grime of his drool splattering forward and the heave of his mighty axe. Whichever direction he swung, it would hit hard enough to shake the rust off of your bones and disturb the body's equilibrium, and so he swung purposefully everywhere. He plummeted his first strike directly in front of him to establish the distance between himself and the apprentice. The entire hall rattled with unreasonable tremors, risking the opulence of the chandeliers above. The rest of his barrage would lean forward now with the intent to crush the young lady, continuing to hammer both vertically and horizontally with surprising swiftness, whether he landed or not. The accuracy and rhythm of his long sweeps were deceptively impressive for his gargantuan size. The footwork he carried was mediocre but definitely practiced enough to push and corner his prey, and so he shuffled to cut off whatever retreat she could find on the floor as he rained down seven hells.

 

The communal Hall became a theater of combat and Exodus was now thoroughly amused. He receded towards the jurisdictional throne, one of few marked throughout the capital, and watched as the environment slowly shifted from peace to dread. The maidens and the labourers scurried to the nearest exits while the members of the Sith Legion remained unflinching at their posts. A golden tray that rested atop the gilded armrest of the throne, carried a mountain of exotic berries imported from Dxun. There was poisonous content to these types of foods, but that had never bothered Exodus ever before. There was an arcane secret to the wash of blood inside of his flesh, and his immunities were far superior to that of the ordinary. Just as he crushed the first batch of the bitter berries, and the lethal extract bled down his throat, the doors of the hall opened wide. A familiar, but expected face swept into the room with an ungodly grace, one he had not seen in quite some time. Exodus knew the second that this man had entered his world, for the forefather of the assassins could not be found unless he wished it so. "..Alcazarin Oni. What brings your kind to my Empire?" The silvery voice of the Dark Lord spelled out a peculiar curiosity, as if it were a mythical Anakkona sizing up small prey.

[Sith X]

Oni simply grinned, his brown eyes flickering an onyx black as he gazed upon his Emperor. He had not been called by what he truly was in a long time: an Alcazarin. And for Exodus to know what he was, though confused by it, found it quite prideful to know that his precedence proceeded him. His gaze briefly shifting toward the young Apprentice and her quarrel, noticing the oversized oaf's general intent, Oni could help but chuckle within.

 

"So this is the life of an Emperor, eh Exodus?" Oni questioned, his tone slightly sarcastic. Such a life would never sit well with the demon, for it seemed too confined, too needy, too lax for his tastes. "I must confess. This would never suit my desires. I would prefer more freedom."

 

Oni approached, his presence echoing of no threat as he did, the twin Darksabers clipped securely upon his hip, the Darkmetal Staff placed tightly within its sheath upon his back, and his hand holding the Darkmetal Mask that had adorned his face when he entered. Finding a humbled perch upon a table near the throne's footing, placing a foot where one would have typically sat, Oni grabbed his flagon and took a sip, the amber ale quenching his thirst if only briefly.

 

"Forgive me, my Lord. I come not today as a Alcazarin, even though in truth, i am curious as to how you knew of our existence. But no. Today I come as a Sith Master only, pure and simple. " Oni unclips one of the Darksabers, his gaze looking upon its simplistic hilt briefly before tossing it toward Exodus still deactivated and guiding it toward the Assassin's palm. "I've come to offer my blade to my brethren, and to swear my fealty to you, our Lord. That is all."

 

Oni thought back to the last time that he and Exodus had saw each other, back to that day upon Vjun at Nurgle's ruined Castle where the Apprentices of the Chaos God had gathered and where loyalty were divided by differences. A fool hardy Lord himself, Oni had acted brash in defence of the former God. Yet so much time had passed. Perhaps Exodus would see him now as an asset rather than the nuisance he once was.

 

Tossing the corked flagon he had just drank from to Exodus as well, Oni smiled, perhaps his most sincere in the longest of time, and spoke. "So what do you say brother? Do you accept my oath of fealty?"