Jump to content

Recommended Posts

At each exit, hundreds of stormtroopers anxiously beat their feet against metal in rhythm. Hundreds, if not thousands marched with heavy stomps while they stood in place, banging their bodies into the floors so that the intruders could hear them and fill them with fear. Boom, boom, boom. The uproarious drumming came in threes, echoing from the northern hatch, beaming from the southern hatch, while booming through the ventilation much louder. Lust of the blood sunk into their strange stupor as the Dark Lord raged with power within the confines of this trapped passageway. 

 

Armiena Draygo and Kakuto Ryu were threadbare; blinded and deafened by their own recklessness, repeatedly misfiring munitions, only to the detriment of themselves. Exodus stood invisible among them, armor camouflaged to the shadows that lived here. They were smothered by the smoke, and the blackness, and the loosened shrapnel they had foolishly detonated. Draygo had managed to darken this place further as she cut into the control panel, hindering her vision beyond the point of her natural sight. Their arms were ruined, their bodies bled profusely from the acute pain of their wounds. Their assaults were uncoordinated and conflicted with each other, as the space between them was manipulated to capitalize on their disorientation. Lightning had riddled them, even so far as disabling limbs needed to confront a skilled duelist close-quarters. Hallucinations and shadows only mired their minds beyond the point of hope, forcing them to see the error of their arrival. How was it that they had come for victory? How was it, that in their mounting errors, they could succeed? They came without intention, or purpose, and had stumbled all over the field of battle. Outside intervention smiled upon low-hanging fruit, the weakest of studies that he had faced within the Jedi Order.

 

The King levitated slowly, suspenseful as he leaned into the air above and the force bubbled all around his body. Power, unmitigated and growing in size, hammered the area about him. Unraveling like an angry storm, the telekinetic maelstrom lashed out with nasty licks of electrical crackles, first spilling out in dance ahead of him, but then snapping into the bodies of his opponents. Like spears, the energy crashed around them and threatened to disintegrate them each time they struck. The power was enough to melt their clothing, cook their flesh, and send their carcasses into nervous seizures. The former lead warrior was hit and was sent skidding into the distance. Kakuto foamed at the mouth, powerless to his body entering complete shock, dashing the metal he had collected into pieces all across where he lay.

 

Exodus' eyes went completely white, just as the demon moon did on a clear night sky. His body moved now, ghostly and quick enough to leave a trail of blur in the twisting maelstrom. With vampiric oppression, Dark King Exodus powered forward and immediately closed the distance that remained between the Jedi Master and his ominous form. It took no more than a breath, while the telekinetic force that submerged them all still fluttered with untamed debris. Gauntlet of metal and power latched onto the Jedi’s wrist as she swung wildly within the dangerous kill radius of the assassin. The natural weight of his body continued to drive the two back into the black until they were pushed up against the wall. He snapped the brittle bone immediately, loosening her grip into sudden dysfunction. The sound of her wrist and the higher edges of her forearm caving in on itself was sickly. Her blade deactivated and fell with a hollow chatter against the floors. Exodus pinned her where he wanted, with his other arm cleanly wrapped around the cusp of her throat, lifting her from her feet, bringing her face to his.

 

Her eyes were a pale green, heroism and ignorance swam in them as she choked against the lift and tightness of his grasp. She had a face that was justly meek, unimpressive but rounded proportionately to supplement her prominent cheekbones. Armiena was a Jedi, as they would have molded any other from scratch, lifeless and shackled to a journey of self-abnegation. Exodus was in comparison, a monster before her. Natural brawn fleshed him out, widening the shadows he casted over her body, while hauntingly taller than she ever could be. He let go of the second arm to fail Draygo, and let it fall uselessly to her side. Exodus was now free to pull his helmet from his head to reveal his face for the first time in this battle. It would not mean much, for his identity was loosely covered in this era of the galaxy, much less so in one's before. Still, brighter and more enriched eyes of green locked onto hers, while the color reflected in his own seemed to struggle with a sizzling red flush that wished for nothing more than to take over. Anger, one that was uncoiled under the pretense that this Draygo was the one to rob the galaxy of Master Oblivion, and now attempted to enslave the husk of Ryu. The keeper of my brothers. His hair was darker yet, oily obsidian and much longer. He watched her closely under strife, sensing the oxygen cut from her throat as he squeezed.

 

".. Closer." 

 

He spoke the word with a whisper as the maelstrom behind them curved into nothing beneath his command. His breath fell upon her skin, dourly sweet and enriched from natural Umbaran cloves mixed inside the waters of his recovery chamber. The strange leaf incited mania if eaten raw, but broken down into mixtures, it stirred the body to awaken harder than any unnatural stimulant. His eyes showed this to her, fiery psychostimulant matched with emerging hatred, scarred emeralds writhing and washing with an igneous range of color. Whether it was her, or the sound of the name of her family, he would avenge the soul that never rose again. The smell of her filled his nostrils; bittersweet iron, lathered blood, clammy with sweat. Exodus brought his face closer now, brushing his cold nose against hers, opening his mouth ever-so-slightly. Fangs drew from the split in his lips, porcelain canines exposed as he fixed his mouth for an embracing kiss. Did she know who he was now? Could she identify him? Or did the madness of the Jedi have them running into the dark, blissfully unaware. 

 

He paused motion just as his top lip brushed against her bottom lip, but she was wrestling for air, mouth stretched too wide for romance. Her stifled struggle roused him in ways beyond lust, enticing his fingers to crawl into her flesh. The clamp on her hardened still, revealing long and desperate lines of veins that shot up through her neck, passing her boney chin. Her chest heaved, her torso and legs jerked for freedom. She hung there as a prisoner, strangling slowly and at a pace in which Exodus could watch every emotion pass her by. Then, a smile ran eerily across his face, from ear to ear and he listened to life buck from her heart. He opened his mouth wide now, erasing any hint of pleasure from his face as if there had never been any in the first place, He remained uncomfortably close, as close as she had tried to be before the climax of this battle. Close enough to bite. Inhaling deep, and with a vacuuming echo, Exodus literally drank the life force of the Jedi Master. The longer he pulled his deep inhale, the wider and more open his mouth became— viciously hauling the soul from her bones. The absorption was so intense that her muscles began to dehydrate and shrivel within moments, her eyes would reel and tug into the back of her skull, and her body would open more fiercely to the wounds that plagued her uselessly in this battle. He would take her for everything she had, everything that she had brought to him.

 

_________

 

 

But suddenly, the world shuddered. Viciously, consciousness became a nauseating blur. His mind and his vision shook beyond sight, and the world spun, and spun, until nothingness colored in the spaces that were there just moments before. A dream, perhaps. But then was this hell? This abyss yawned for a great stretch, whispering to him slowly at first, but then hurriedly in what he could only explain as scratches burrowing into eardrums. 

 

 

The dream was interrupted.

 

 

Exodus woke up in an asylum. His eyes were the heaviest they've ever been, his eyelashes were bonded with blood and mucus that seeped from either ducts . His awareness was questionable at best, unrealized whether this was the demon world or present time. After dark on the first day, it was Iyamara who cut the blood-mucked leather ties that fastened Exodus to the medical slab. She slid a butterfly blade between the straps and his torn skin, easily cutting through, covering the blade with a running scarlet moisture. Exodus’ left hand fell free but Iyamara caught it by the forearm, placing his arm against the still intact metal plates on his body, and carefully bending it at the elbow. The matter was slow, and inevitably painful, but she inevitably pressed onward. When all the bindings were cut and trimmed, Iyamari moved to lift the limp body into her arms, trying to somehow leverage the brawny weight of the Dark Lord onto her, to seat him upright. This Sephi, she was strong and cunning beyond her years, but found an uneasy challenge in bearing the physicality of the man before her. 

 

She did not shy from her task. Iyamari stroked his lower lip with her thumb and gently parted his mouth. Exodus lay motionless, awake but blank and unreadable even as her finger snuck between his teeth. At least his fangs were in order. The lips were covered with tiny abrasions from dehydration; cracked and covered with dark spots of blood. Simpler men and women had tried their hand at treating the dangerously over-worked leader of the free Sith, but their minds and bodies were devoured by proximity alone, of a sweltering dark side nexus residing inside of the King. Allies, champions of his order, none of them had come to offer their hand. This was the unfortunate truth of an Empire born from grit, a penchance for survival and a relentless conquering. You either stood tall, or you were forgotten. 

 

“Drink,” Iyamara whispered.

 

She lifted the wooden bowl to his lips and poured the brown-tinctured anesthetic down his throat. Smells of deep open wounds, burnt leathers, and raw bark were mixed with the cologne of sour herbs. Iyamara put down the bowl and turned, intending an alternative to call the witches to pretreat the surface wounds, but a clumsy hand fell heavily on her forearm. Exhausted fingers tightened and pulled her back to his makeshift bed. Exodus scanned the room in which he lay from under eyelids that weighed much more than he ever remembered. Iyamara could sense him recover more and more over the days she had spent with him, knowing that as he had awakened at last, times would change yet again.

 

"Alone?" Exodus croaked through hoary lungs. His neck and shoulders held tightly knotted muscles, so he chose to rely on her reconnaissance instead. Iyamara Moon leaned towards him, inhaling his scent. As he slumbered, she operated with such riveting fear of who and what the man was, constantly shoving those thoughts from her mind as she provided care. Yet now that he spoke, and had eyes that searched about wildly, the anxiety began to shudder through her as winter chills. 

 

“Yes,” She managed.
 

 

A surprised understanding flared inside of his deep sunken eyes. His pain and confusion were such that he, apparently, could not remember the exact sequence of events, was not sure if the plan to turn Ryu had been a success or if it was all a pain-induced hallucination. He had been spending time inside of a world that was not this one, in a reality that was much darker than the one he had lived in for years. It was changing him, slowly of course, but in what ways he could not be sure of. His slumbering meditations took him there, and he was invited by a host of creatures that jealously sought to keep him there and tear him to shreds. As black as his soul had turned, they wished to engorge themselves on it and return to a place of the living. The Anzati Elders only spoke of such things in tales to frighten the children from misgivings, but he now walked among them, or he was losing his mind altogether. 

 

His hand gripped her arm softly, compelling the truth from her. It was not the soft touch of a man trying to attract the attention of his prey in seduction. It was an honest grip, like a secret needed passing from one place to another, and her ears would have to come closer to receive what he had to offer. Even though Exodus' imperially poised features revealed nothing, his hungering scent told the Sephi everything she needed to know. “Handmaiden,” the Dark King expressed with great effort. Without hesitation, Iyamara lowered her ear to his face until his whisper brushed down her cheek. The scent of unceremonious death filled her nostrils, mixing inseparably with the scent of excitement. It was Exodus' unshakable will.  “I am going to butcher every last one of them."

 

 

(A few days later..)

P3UXctm.gif

Link to post
Share on other sites

The distant vapour trails of a half dozen squadrons of TIE fighters crisscrossed the skies far overhead as they made their way onto the landing pad. A mass of commandos waited behind them should the event take a nasty turn. Delta stepped up and started to slowly walk towards the Sith Master. 

 

“Look you were accused of hurting the Dark Lord. And to be honest I don’t give two kriffs about that, it's not a great high crime or felony to go pulling a warhammer on the Dark Lord in the old spirit of Sith Lord love and honour.” Delta raised his hands to show he had no intention of killing or subverting the Sith Lord. "In fact it's something I admire." He shrugged. 

 

“I would like to offer you a position in the Sith military if you would have it. We could use someone like you.” He grinned under his helmet. “We saw how you destroyed that Jedi Knight, and we would love you to do it some more...” 

 

deltasmol.png

Commander - Darkhand Brigade - Sith Empire

Blood Prince

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

It had taken a long two weeks for Aziza to arrive at her destination. The voyage necessitated three transport transfers, and stops at twice as many spaceports. There had been nothing she could do about the delays, so she had not let them frustrate her; nevertheless, she was quietly relieved to reach the temperate jungle world. 

 

At least, it's galactic database profile had claimed it was a temperate jungle world. As her final transport approached the surface, all she could see was torn up soil, destroyed jungles, massive chains, and a floating sphere of some sort that defied normal technology. The city of Iziz was ringed in a massive wall; partly defensive, she assumed, casting a critical eye over it, and partly for intimidation factor. The database profile had spoken of a long and bloody history of a strong and proud people; it would therefore necessitate that for this to be the modern seat of the Sith Empire, a heavy hand would be needed. In the center of the city, she spotted an immense palace: her ultimate destination. She doubted not that it would be difficult to gain the audience she had come for, but persistence and patience were not the anathema to her that they were to so many others.

 

Once the ship had landed, she set out, carrying nothing but her small satchel, clothed in a simple black traveling dress, and turned her feet towards her goal: finding the truth behind the rumors of Master Kakuto Ryu's return. 

aziza.png

Link to post
Share on other sites

Ryu ruminated on the words, unsure how to respond.  The Sith he had fought was the Dark Lord? And He had Survived? And now they wanted to make friends because he did such a good job of it? This all seemed like nonsense, deception. His knowledge of the Sith order was still hazy at best, but the idea that he might have earned their respect by surviving a fight with the Dark Lord rang true. Ryu knew that he was once a Sith, and for all anyone else knew, he was still the man he was back then. Perhaps the way to survive this situation was to go along with it, feign memory of his past and let the Sith treat him as a lost brother. At very least, it seemed more possible than bludgeoning a platoon of soldiers to death with a bed rail.

He watched the soldier approach. If Ryu was going to have to fight him, he would have to do it at close range. And so as Delta crossed the roof to approach him, his hands up in a gesture of surrender, Ryu stood still. He still suspected a ruse, but at least at close range he would would be able to counterattack when the situation turned hostile.

"What exactly do you want? Do you really mean to say that you evacuated a hospital and stormed it with a legion of soldiers because you wanted to be my friend?"

krstorm.gif.a46e550419daa19d41d206a1706d1044.gif

Link to post
Share on other sites

The truth about her father was an unexpected revelation that rocked the foundations of her sense of identity. Dark Lords didn’t retire and start families, they either died at the hands of their sworn enemies or their covetous allies. But Dagon had vanished, right before the formation of the Galactic Alliance, believed by the GA to have died at the Death Star battle, but only tagged as missing by the Sith. Dagon had been considered one of the more egalitarian Dark Lords, much to the chagrin of some of the more hawkish Sith under him at the time, but many of the Krath revered him with the sort of devotion normally reserved for divinities. Records suggested that Dagon had been integral in the restoration of the study of Sith sorcery, often referring to him as the father of modern Sith sorcery, and was highly sought after for his craftsmanship. She did the best that she could to gather herself, glad that the weapon that Delta had handed her could function as a walking stick and keep her on her feet.

 

“Oh, Delta is just very shy meeting new friends for the first time, it makes arranging playdates so bothersome sometimes. Can't get him out the front door without promises of candy toys. If attacking you was our intent, we would have done it already, from orbit. You have something of a reputation, Master Ryu. I know that Sith don’t always play nice with each other, but for what it’s worth my father fought beside you, you would have known him as Dagon. I believe that he made at least one of your hammers”

NYRYS.png

Link to post
Share on other sites

 

“Well of course we evacuated the hospital. Just because I want you to fight beside us, doesn’t mean I absolutely trust you. If you decided you didn’t want to join us, or were like a Jedi spy or something we would have had to put you down like a dog. Surely you understand.” 

 

Delta looked sideways at Ailbasí as he finished his sentence. Then looked back to the one time member of the Sith Trinity.

 

“Playdates are boring anyway when we have got a galaxy load of jedi to murder. What do you say, want to pick back up the old warhammer and knock down some Jedi Masters?” 

 

The men at the bottom of the stairs relaxed hearing the tone of voice from their commanding officer. His two lieutenants letting long held breaths out in a long sigh. Was it finally time to get back to relaxing? Or at least sleeping? 

deltasmol.png

Commander - Darkhand Brigade - Sith Empire

Blood Prince

Link to post
Share on other sites

Ryu listened to the case they made for rejoining the Sith. The specter of his former self, the sadistic demon that stalked the shattered halls of his mind; that was who they came here looking for.  They wanted a weapon to crush their foes with, but they had found an emaciated drifter with a broken mind. He had little interest in being used in this way, yet he could see little option but to agree to their terms if he'd hoped to leave this place.

Ryu watched as the white armor clad specter walked around between his visitors, unnoticed, unreal. He watched the figure in white lift up the female Sith and toss her off the roof. He watched with a mild sense of terror as body plummeted down the side of the building and splatter on the ground. He blinked and found the specter gone and the Sith still standing where she had been before. The hallucinations were getting worse. Apparently his subconscious was making a suggestion as to how he might escape this situation.

Dagon you say....

The name he heard a face he had seen in the dark recesses of his mind, but the details were still hazy to him. He avoided the subject, certain that saying too much would expose his condition and risk a change of heart followed by an execution. He couldn't avoid his past anymore. He would have to face it.

"You wanna be friends? Fine. Why don't you show me what good friends you are and find me some pants and equipment?"

The wind on the top of the building combined with his hospital gown did not leave him with a great deal of modesty. Ryu tossed the broken bed rail over the edge of the building, then raised his arm as if direct them forward.

"Lead on."

Edited by Kakuto Ryu
  • Like 1

krstorm.gif.a46e550419daa19d41d206a1706d1044.gif

Link to post
Share on other sites

The anything-but sleek TUG-b13 was painted a slick chrome red, the yellow Mid Rim Archeological Exploits logo practically glowed on it’s blunted nose. The ship did not stand out that bad against the myriad of vessels that plowed the lanes about the Sith capital world of Onderon. Still, days spent alone  in the cramped interior of the tug with that crate had left the sole pilot twitchy and paranoid. He was used to days and hours of solitude; but in a tug with that secretive crate strapped to the deck that seemed to radiate darkness was enough to drive anyone to the brink of madness.

 

The sooner the crate was off the ship the better, the young dirty-haired blonde thought as he was hailed by air space control. Truthfully, the barely-a-man was nervous, he did not like the Sith Empire anymore than he liked the rebels. He was content being a ship jockey toting archeological finds back and forth from digs to museums to storehouses. It was grunt work, but for an uneducated bumpkin like himself, the pay was nothing to scoff at. So he pushed through the fear that gnawed at the base of his skull and keyed in his manifest, Corellian Artifacts circa the Corellian Revolt against the Rakata, supposedly. The recipient one Dr. Alibasi Zirtani of the Onderon Museum of History. 
 

 

Once the ship was cleared for approach, the boy breathed a sigh of slight relief. He was not sure why, but visiting such a daunting world he was just sure the codes  had to be fraudulently obtained or worse; maybe they were waiting to kill him and steal his cargo once he landed. Subconciously, the pilot reached down to feel for the light blaster he carried on his thigh. The weight of the straps ought to have been enough to tell him the gun was still there, but right now, staring down at the hulking Sith throne world, he didn’t trust anything, much less himself, to know the truth.

 

The crate in back was suspiciously humanoid in shape. It had been days earlier when the pilot had first considered the idea that there was some sort of mummified Corellian, or worse Rakatan, king inside. The closer he got to landing. The stronger the idea swarmed his mind. The only difference now is he just knew it was no Corellian or Rakatan, it was a Sith; some long dead Sith lord that they would undoubtedly use his blood to resurrect! 
 

By the time the tug settled onto it’s landing pad, the pilot could barely stand as his knees buckled beneath him and his hands twitches uncontrollably. Taking a deep breath, he fumbled with his safety straps for what felt like forever before they clattered to the side of his chair.

 

Pushing himself up, the young man collapsed back into his chair before struggling to his feet. He grasped at the doorframe to keep from falling as he scurried and fell trying to get to the door. The sooner he got rid of the body/coffin/mummy/monster/thing, the better. Of course, he was still pretty sure he was going to die here.

 

As the door hissed open, the boy fell to the deck below. With a gloved hand braced against one of the four hulking motors, the man stood and tried to smooth out his red pilot’s uniform as he surveilled his greeting party. “M.R.A.E. delivery, here with your mommy, er mummy.” He stammered trying in vain to offer what should have been a military salute. And still, the darkness that was inside his ship, whispered to him words of doubt and fear.

yR6GxqK.png

For all your discrete toiletry and shipping needs

Link to post
Share on other sites

"I mean, with bestest friends pants are usually optional, but if you want to be a prude, yeah, we can find some pants for you. As for equipment, there's a full on military base here, or if you want to get creative I'm about to set up a workshop at the new place that I'm working on turning into an evil lair, as one does." Darth Nyrys gestured to Delta's soldiers, "Lets get some clothes for the man so that you crazy kids can finally get some rack time."

 

The troopers quickly found some measure of clothing for the magical angry hobo, no doubt motivated by the mention of a brief reprieve. As they searched, Nyrys felt a familiar presence begin to claw at her mind, a part of herself that she had thought lost. She had commissioned smugglers to retrieve her gear lost on Corellia, expecting it to all be a slagged into useless hunks of scrap with naught but sentimental value, yet the energies were too strong for that to be true.

 

The beast that struck you down did not linger, instead trusting in the lie that the Light is greater than the Dark. Much that could have perished was allowed to persist, and the fire was greatly doused by your own choices and the spirits of our dearly departed kin. There's a way back, if you wish it my dear alley cat, or you can continue on this new path with my guidance.

 

"I wasn't strong enough to defeat her, even at the height of my rage my attacks were cast aside casually. If I want to protect the people I care about I can't hold back, I need to embrace a deeper darkness, even if it will cost me."

 

You were beaten by a master that was using both the light and the dark, with a skill set practically tailored to specifically ruining a warrior's day. I have no reservations about you learning sorcery, but do it for the right reasons. Besides, the galaxy has a tendency to balance out these occasional imbalances in the Force, I've seen it happen time and time again over the years.

 

"There's never going to be peace is there?"

 

You had peace when you died. You don't want peace, you want justice. All of those years growing up on imperial human centric worlds and going through education surrounded by xenophobic little goblins who constantly got away with breaking every rule that you tried to exactingly follow, you raged against the injustice of your plight. Peace is a lie, but the dark side offers many pathways to true and meaningful vengeance. Just focus on what matters, the galaxy will never stop burning, but we can choose who gets used as the kindling that keeps the blaze going.

 

"I've been running from asking this for a long time, but is Mom okay? Something had to have happened to you or else you would have picked up a comm instead of... haunting me, I guess."

 

She misses you, but the disease that once ravaged her is gone, destroyed by my sorcery. I had to die to pull it off, but your mother was worth it, and it also gives me the ability to keep a spectral eye on you and dispense sagely wisdom when you need it. But right now you need to be scampering off and forging your destiny or whatever it is you crazy kids call it these days.

 

Nyrys was sure that the soldiers were used to seeing Sith do weird stuff like talking to people who weren't there, so she didn't worry overly much about what they had just seen. They exited the hospital with haste only to find a woman outside of marked determination and purpose. Her intent came off of her like waves of heat and windborn sand, balanced with the refinement of an educated upbringing. The woman had the potential to be a valuable asset to the order, if her training didn't break her. But there was a name held tightly in her mind, and Nyrys wasn't one to poach apprentices.

 

"Looks like you have a new friend waiting for you. Maybe you should have waited on the pants. We'll be at this location if you decide to join up with us." She pinged the coordinates and contact info to a freshly provided comm.

 

-----------------------------------

 

The museum staff, quite used to getting shipments of bizarre origin for their mysterious masters, simply hauled the crate off while one of the foremen transferred payment over to the smugglers, double the agreed upon amount as a bonus for the speedy recovery. Darkwatch would take the package to its final destination, for the sake of security.

 

-----------------------------------

 

Crisis averted, the pair headed back out, with some prisoners with jobs and her gear heading out to meet them on site.  Officially, she had tagged Ca'aran as performing special duties, which in a way was true. Unofficially, she had hoped that he could be a distraction from her new... situation. Alas, the sensations and passions of mortality were muted to her now. The memories of those things were there, and she longed to feel them again, but they eluded her like the details of half remembered dreams. She had a decision to make.

 

As they left the safety of the city walls and plunged into the wilds, the compound and the mansion within loomed malevolently at the edge of her senses. The half sunken nature of the mansion appealed to her in her current state, a resonance that at the time was hard to explain. Dead things belonged beneath the surface.

 

 

 

 

NYRYS.png

Link to post
Share on other sites

Ryu slipped on the generic, state issued one-size-fits-all pair of baggy black pants. The legs barely passed his calf, but it was better than nothing, he figured. He dropped the comm into his pocket. He watched the woman Nyrys had indicated with a sense of dread. For a moment it had seemed like they were going to leave without doing anything to make sure he didn't just run, but apparently he had been appointed a minder.

Ryu grudgingly made his way down the stairs from the landing pad, passing by hordes of confused hospital staff bringing patients back into the hospital as he made his way out. As he approached the front door he identified the wandering woman from before, apparently led here in much the same way Nyrys and Delta had. Word of his reappearance was spreading quickly through the Sith Empire. Ryu was unsure why his appearance meant so much to the Sith, but his notoriety was clearly significant.

Ryu emerged from the front doors of the hospital, trying to look anywhere but directly at Aziza, He rubbed his temples, half to hide his face, and half because the feedback from the shoddy mechanical arm he was given was making his skull feel like it was going to split open. He thought maybe if he pretended not to know she was here for him, she wouldn't recognize him and he could pass by undetected.

krstorm.gif.a46e550419daa19d41d206a1706d1044.gif

Link to post
Share on other sites

“Now mistress, that is quite enough. Your father stated that he would be back in 2.0 hours. Though it has been 3.0 hours that is not outside the normal parameters of the Empire’s missions.” 

 

Æthe trembled with anger as she stood in opposition to the now repaired nanny droid. Before striding forward and slamming her hand against its photoreceptors. The droid rebounded against the wall and finally shut up. And the girl was left with a very sore hand for her troubles. 

 

______________

 

“Dismissed. Return to quarters, I will see you all in a few hours no doubt.” He turned to his Lieutenant. “Get some rest, and an extra ration of spirits for the men. We are on stand down for the next week. Let them have their peace and fun. But not too much. We aren’t back in Black Sun.” Lieutenant Hensi smiled under her helmet, then gave him a crisp salute before leading the men back to the shuttles. 

 

Delta walked after the beautiful Sith Lord to their shuttle and saluted the dark skinned Sith lord he saw on the way. A fresh recruit from the labyrinth at Korriban no doubt. But every one of them was welcomed in this long war. He followed Ailbasí into the shuttle and set his helmet into the locker beside his seat.

 

He sat down behind the pilot and motioned her to sit beside him. And when the shuttle was in the air, rocketing towards her new base of operations he broke the silence. 

 

“So how are you doing. Other than being undead and all that.” 

 

deltasmol.png

Commander - Darkhand Brigade - Sith Empire

Blood Prince

Link to post
Share on other sites

As Aziza made her way through the compound of the Sith with ease, surprise mingled with a strange sense of what might be termed derision. Long had she heard of the renown of the Sith, how fierce their fervor in battle, how intricate the webs of their plots. But now she found herself in the heart of their Empire, and she wandered unopposed and unchallenged. What was to stop a foe of the Empire from doing the same? Perhaps the Sith had grown confident in their power and could easily ascertain friend from foe by the merest glance, but even if that were true, she knew the potential of simple security checks and forces, and the power of procedure. 

 

The paved road she was walking was lined with statues, and she found her eyes drawn to one in particular. The being appeared to be the same species as Amadeus, tall and pale, though this Sith Lord boasted a jagged scar running through an empty eye socket. Indeed, the being bore the signs of many battles, including a prosthetic arm that wielded a warhammer of immense size.  

 

She pushed on, stopping only to ask servants and passersby if they could direct her to her quarry. Few were able to give her satisfaction, and she ended up mostly turning down streets on a whim. Eventually, her feet carried her to a hospital. Before she could decide whether to enter or turn aside, several figures emerged. First, a short dark-furred Cathar who moved with the lithe grace of a warrior and gave her a nod as she passed. She was followed by several men, mostly haggard-looking soldiers who nevertheless held themselves proudly. The one who appeared to be their captain gave her a nod of acknowledgement, and she nodded in return. 

 

Following them came another man, tall but haggard, with a strange haunted look. He was actively avoiding her gaze, and it took Aziza a moment before she recognized him as the same man whose statue lined the avenue behind her. Puzzled at his evasion, she took a step toward him. "My lord? Are you unwell?"

  • Like 2

aziza.png

Link to post
Share on other sites

My Lord?
 

His back toward Aziza, Ryu scrunched his face in disappointment. He paused for a long time, unsure what to do next.

She called me, 'My Lord?' what does that even mean? How much influence do I have here? Who the hell am I and what has happened since I was imprisoned?

Ryu eyes caught on a figure in the distance. His pupils dilated and his heart began to pound as he noticed the 20 foot tall man in armor, swinging a hammer downward with an expression of psychotic rage. Exactly as it had appeared in his hallucinations.

He forgot about Aziza for a moment, and wandered closer to the statue. He couldn't be sure that the statue was real, and not just another figment of his imagination. It seemed real, but he had a strong expectation that it would move of attack him at any second. When he finally turned back toward his pursuer, he recalled the question that she had posed.

"How I feel is none of your business..."

Ryu clutched his forehead again, the new arm feeling somewhat like a constant electrical shock dealt directly to his nervous system. Frustrated that his attempt to pass by unnoticed was evidently so useless, he began to bark back questions.

"...Who are you? What do you want? And.... What do you know about this statue?"

 

krstorm.gif.a46e550419daa19d41d206a1706d1044.gif

Link to post
Share on other sites

Panic appeared to set in as the strange man practically stumbled forward to the same statue that had previously caught the attention of Aziza. She observed as he stared at it, then clutched his forehead in apparent pain. He spun back at her and began to pile her with a sudden rash of queries. 

 

"My name is Aziza Kalahari," she replied, her tone gentle but firm. "I was sent here to Onderon by my teacher on a two-fold quest--to verify the rumors of the return of one Sith Lord called Kakuto Ryu, and if they be true, to deliver a message to him." She glanced between the statue and the man. "As for the statue, perhaps the likeness is poor and I am mistaken, but it appears to be you, or at least a relation of yours. Is it not?" The statue lacked a nameplate, and Aziza knew nothing more than what her eyes told her. She was unsure why the man was addressing her in the first place, but she hoped that by speaking with him, she would gain a lead on her quest.

aziza.png

Link to post
Share on other sites

"There is a bit of resemblance isn't there..."

Ryu turned his back on the statue, reassured that he wasn't just imagining it. She was looking for him, but did not recognize him. He considered sending her the wrong direction and bailing, but he didn't like his odds of staying ahead of her. He decided to foster confusion.

"I'm Mudd Thundersun. And I have seen the man you are seeking, Kakuto Ryu you said? But wouldn't you know, he just left the city. Said he was heading to some hidden facility outside of Iziz. I was contracted to install refreshers out there but I don't have a ship, or credits..."
 

Ryu trailed off, glancing at his feet.

"...or shoes, really. So why don't we make a deal, I'll give you coordinates to where you can deliver your message, and you give me a ride out huh? You look like one of them fancy city folk, I bet you got yourself a real nice speeder or something we could use."

krstorm.gif.a46e550419daa19d41d206a1706d1044.gif

Link to post
Share on other sites

Apparently this man was no Sith after all, though Aziza noted his sudden change of subject away from the statue and on to business. His body language read as confused and nervous, though it was unclear why. She decided to take him at his word, for she had not given him any reason to lie to her. "I am on foot as you see, Mr. Thundersun," she returned politely, "however, I am certain that transport will be easy to acquire. I thank you for your assistance in this matter; you have already helped me accomplish half of my mission in the space of a mere few minutes."

 

She glanced down the street. A few blocks away she had passed an airtaxi stand, and now she spied it again. "Come," she invited, and led the way to the stand. Once there, the airtaxi driver took one look at her companion and immediately ushered the two of them in, a carefully neutral expression on his face designed, Aziza could determine, to hide awe and anxiety. Her suspicions were confirmed: her companion was more than a mere refresher contractor. It was likely instead that he was a Sith Lord. Why he was choosing to hide his identity was a mystery, but not truly her concern. His business was his own, and if he felt that involved hiding from Aziza who he was, then she'd oblige him by asking no further questions. 

aziza.png

Link to post
Share on other sites

“I feel like I traded one form of doubt for another. I was having… concerns about what the Sith path was doing to me, and whether I wanted to keep running down it. I thought that I was having a moment of clarity, like waking up from a bad dream, and all I wanted to do was lay my head down and rest. I thought that I was finding some sort of closure or peace with the galaxy, but I now know that I was just losing my way, losing my grip on what I had become.

 

When I came back, disillusioned of the peace that had momentarily seduced me, I was convinced that I had failed because I was too weak by measure of raw power. I started down a new path blindly chasing what I thought would give me the power I needed, but in the end I just felt disconnected from myself, trading away pieces of who I was for phantom promises.”

 

She moved her hand across his forearm, springing the vibroblade into action, the surface distorted by constant motion. With casual curiosity she pressed the blade through the palm of her hand, and noted that she only felt an odd pressure, no pain from its razor kiss. Blood oozed from the wound with languid hesitation.

 

“I feel so very numb, a dispassionate observer of my own existence. I think I know how to find my way back to myself, but I’m going to need your help to do it. You’re an anchor point whose fetters I can climb to reach that place again.”

 

The longer that she inhabited this state of being, the more abhorrent it became to her. It was a hollow shell of porcelain, devoid of passion, and sensation, and thrill. She pulled strands of desire from one of the ghosts that haunted her lover, and in a stolen moment of passion she tore off his helmet and pressed her lips against his. For the sweetest moment some measure of her forgotten vitality was present, but it vanished with damnable brevity. It would take more wraiths and faded echoes than had ever forlornly tread upon the worlds to truly recapture the storm and the fury of her vibrant lust for life, or even just her regular lust. In spite of the pain that he had caused her, Ca’aran had always been her favorite, and nostalgic aches in her still heart told her that it was best that he was the one that was here.

 

“It’s hard for me to show you right now how much I’ve missed you, but I’ll do my damnedest. Especially once we’re alone.”

 

The shuttle landed, with the pilot giving a look to ascertain that they were sure that this was the location. She departed the shuttle with an otherworldly grace that might have been mistaken for gliding with her legs concealed by the dress draped around this cage of frail bone and rotten flesh. Taking her companion by the hand, she led him into the murk and decrepit opulence of her new bed of bones. The grand double doors of the entrance foyer retreated inward at her approach, granting them passage inside. The manor whispered to her, its insides quaking and groaning with anticipation at what it thought was a meal meant for it. Ravenous shades gathered along the periphery of reality, forms coiled to pounce at the new presence.

 

“I’m going to mark you up with blood before we get started, and draw some of your blood. Don’t worry, it won’t be from anywhere arterial. Once the ritual starts, think about me and only me, I’ll be doing my best to hold your attention and keep you focused, both with my feminine wiles and a bit of sorcery. The basic idea of this ritual is to use my power and your desire to have me be alive to force reality to conjure up a living vessel for me to claim. You’d be amazed at what the galaxy will offer you if you spank it hard enough. Oh, and you’ll want to take your armor off, because you will get wet on this ride.”

 

The sorceress began using the coagulated blood from the wound on her hand to mark her lover with runic sigils of power, desire, and obsession. Whispering in his ear she wove a gossamer web of need, desperation, and thirst. It was a potent but fragile spell, she didn’t want to break his mind like the last person that she did this too.

 

“With blood of the hated enemy, taken by blade, I mark the petitioner and make our intentions known. We seek to make whole what was stolen from us, to break and reform the world to what should be rather than what is.”

 

She took Ca’aran’s arm, biting down until crimson joy gushed into her mouth. It was like putting her tongue on a reactor powering a city, and for a brief moment she considered exploring this new path. This was different from her past experiences with cannibalism, more akin to the act of seizing life energies, whereas before it had been about sensual consummation and physicality. She swallowed and felt vital fire sweep down her throat and surge through her limbs. It took every ounce of her willpower to finish the invocation instead of jumping the Ca’aran… the gun and ruining everything.

 

“WIth blood of the petitioner, given in sacrifice, I anoint the vessel and the one that was lost.”

 

She could have handpicked a new vessel to inhabit, stealing another life, but she was done with being other people. She tore off the dress, it was never really her anyway. Calling upon her own hunger, she drew in the wraiths around her like flitmoths to an open flame, consuming their ancient passions like an ashen banquet.

 

“Now we turn that which makes life into that which defies death, and if the natural order protests, well, bite the pillow. Now Ca’aran, do it! Don’t hold back, and think only of me.”

 

They pressed together with manic energy, and while there was no sense of instinct or animal desire to guide her, she pushed herself physically and spiritually to make the moment dominated by her beguilement. Dark figures came out of the blackness, chanting in ancient Sith dialects. She hadn’t expected any spectators, but between the dire necessity of the ritual’s success and the heady cocktail of stripped passions that she had just consumed, she just went with it.

 

She felt the emotions fading, slipping away. She tried harder, desperation and panic now starting to take hold. It didn’t matter. There was no faking it till you make it here. It was soul crushing as the last sands of passion slipped through her fingers. Her body went limp with despair, too depressed to keep up the facade of life, and her face disappeared beneath the turgid waters. She couldn’t actually drown, being undead and all, but wishing she could was an absolute mood that she was having.

 

From somewhere deep in her primal core, a repressed terror broke from its chains and surged through her mind like a wailing banshee. She had no idea where this lost memory had originated from, but it was definitively hers, and in spite of her inability to recall any details, felt foundational to her most dearly held convictions.

 

The fear of drowning struck her like a tidal wave, but she repositioned her lover’s hands to keep her under. This was what she needed, a connection to a formative moment so strong that it had followed her beyond the veil of death. Fortunately for Ca’aran, her current form was too feeble to do anything more than thrash around as he kept her submerged. The universe twisted and cracked a bit, and then a smell like burnt ozone pervaded the room. She kissed her lover long and hard, even if the ritual wasn’t done, he was, in the infuriating way that males were. She felt the same now, but surely there had been something in that moment.

 

“Was it good for you too?”

 

She felt something inside of her, a presence both unrecognizably alien and intimately familiar. It blazed like thermite inside of her and for the first time she was really glad that she couldn’t feel pain. Her abdomen became distressingly swollen as the invader swelled in size and intensity, tearing her apart from the inside. She felt a call from within and she followed her own voice to a new place. Within, both storm and inferno gained wicked strength until an explosion of dark and strange creation and the cage of feeble bones and rotten flesh was broken. The raw intensity of the ritual’s final opus vaporized the murky waters into steam, blanketing the room in obscuring clouds of wet heat.

 

Darth Nyrys rose to her feet atop the ruins of her old body, and for the first time ever, she felt like she was exactly who she was meant to be. Her skin was an angry red, and her hair black silk. Her face felt neither human or cathar, possessing protrusions unfamiliar to her. Most importantly though, her body breathed and felt and sang with vitality.

 

“Do you think that we could get delivery out here? I feel like I could eat an entire nerf by myself.”

 

NYRYS.png

Link to post
Share on other sites

Ryu looked over his shoulder before he boarded the taxi, taking a last glance at the statue. He grimaced when he realized it had turned to face him.

Nope, still crazy.

He let out a sigh and climbed into the vehicle, providing coordinates for a swampy bit of forest in the middle of nowhere. He glanced at his stoic companion before having his attention drawn to his mechanical arm. He pried open a service panel and was poking around on the inside, trying to see if he could identify whatever was horribly wrong with this cursed thing, spending the ride in silence.

Immediately after they had landed Ryu got out and began to hurry away the driver. Once he disappeared off in the direction of Iziz, Ryu spoke.

"Sorry for landing out in the swamp, Miss. Can't very well take a cab driver straight to a Sith's hidden death fortress can we? Might get us all killed."

Ryu began his barefoot trudge in the direction of the coordinates Nyrys had given him, turning his back to Aziza and leading the way.

"You can never be too careful working with the Sith right? Wouldn't you agree? Say what do you do for the Sith anyway?"

krstorm.gif.a46e550419daa19d41d206a1706d1044.gif

Link to post
Share on other sites

"Learn from them," she replied lightly, her eyebrows lifted as her mouth hinted at a smile. It was partially façade--being out in the middle of a marsh with a man who possibly wasn't all there on a strange world was beyond the boundaries of propriety. But she also knew that nothing was gained without risk, and this appeared to be a risk worth taking. She thought for a moment of what Amadeus had told her: that sometimes the Force would point beings down certain paths, and it was up to them to choose to walk on them or not. She wished she knew if this was one of those times. 

 

She pushed away her musings and continued, her tone graceful and warm. "The Sith are naturally untrustworthy, but not, I hope, unpredictable. There's an old saying where I am from that essentially posits that you can always trust a dishonest man to be dishonest; I would imagine that in an order infamous for violence and power-grabbing, you can generally trust its members to be infamous of the same. Indeed, in my brief experience I have already seen infighting. It's a shame, but I suppose a natural consequence of the desires the Orders' members have."

 

She glanced over at him. "And you? How long have you worked for them? Are you involved otherwise beyond installing refreshers?"

aziza.png

Link to post
Share on other sites

 

It could not be said that Ca’Aran did not enjoy himself. The passion was there, the lust, the pure bestial urges. It was all there, bounding about the room like a danse macabre, a celebration of base desire. Though he would not have called it evil, it left a pale aftertaste. An almost poison, a sickly aura, and deep inside he could feel that small voice crying out in pain. He was bonded again behind the veil of the Sith Lords. A step away from a permanent doom. But it was everything he could want. And when he ignored that voice he could stomach even the most perverse of his desires. Afterall he had already fallen, right? There was no path to redemption for him, and he was so tired of restraining himself. This was no golden dawn of riches and whores like the Black Sun had given him. The Sith were more simple, and this desire far more base. So he let the voice fall away, blocking his internal ear, and surrendered himself fully to Ailbasí Zirtani. 

 

 And their passion stained the room like blood. 

 

For when they emerged from the chrysalis of passion, she was changed as was he. He had not felt the release of desire since the end of the Clone Wars. When he had committed his first life altering Sin. A young red headed Jedi Knight had paid the price of that sin, gasping out her lifeblood on the end of his shimmering vibroknife. A first love. The last pure love he had ever felt. Now he emerged from this Sin changed again. He had shaken off the chains of his past, leaving the conscience beaten like the ruins of Ailbasí’s corpse. Sprawled and bloody, something to be cleaned up by the servants. But she had changed more. Though perhaps he could only see the exterior changes. 

 

He smiled at her new form, the pure red of her skin, the sharp crests of almost keratinous skin. His speaking was slow, almost like he was trying to speak past a tied tongue. And the voice that echoed out had no accent of the Core Worlds. It was the voice of twenty four million men. Of whom only a few remained. 

 

“We can order whatever you would like. Nerfs, Neks, Bothans.” He reached for his comm link and dialed the military outpost, opening the line to the cafe. But his humour felt odd and out of character. So he simply pointed the comm’s speaker towards Ailbasí and let her order what she would want.

deltasmol.png

Commander - Darkhand Brigade - Sith Empire

Blood Prince

Link to post
Share on other sites

Terra’s eye took Kad Ha’Rangir’s maddening glory, the whirling light of hyperspace encompassing her completely, sprawling back in her saddle upon Hades. Her breathing was slow, matched to an invisible rhythm within her mind. She reached out an armored hand and the light played across it like a stone in a river, a small parting of current, but no other effect.

 

Does anyone really believe in these gods?

 

She rolled her head back, her buy’ce scratching on the metallic hide of her basilisk. Was she worthy of her role as Mandalore, that spiritual and war leader of the Kry’tsad.

 

Had it all been a masquerade of psychedelics for the weak-minded men?

 

A small chime ignited inside her helmet and a crimson hue began to overtake the blues of hyperspace. Hades grinding voice, that of a hundred discordant voices mixed to one, erupted into her silence with clipped and broken basic.

 

“Realspace. Dxun. Japrael System. Homeworld of me.”

 

The Mandalorian sighed, slipping her legs back into the bindings that made up the beast’s control-yoke.

 

“Erupting now”

 

Terra’s journey down the Lesser Lantillian Hyperspace Route had been interrupted only once, and that had been to drop her combat squad at the Arradvai’s hanger in the Transitory Mists. She walked this path now alone, a far easier task than to bring a full squadron into the heart of Sith territory.

 

As hyperspace unwound its embrace and dropped her into realspace, her eyes had to blink rapidly to compensate for the sudden darkness. She had been in the light for days now, and now all she could see was small pinpoints of light and the sullen circular shapes of a planet and its moon. Terra had plotted her route to the dark side of that moon, Dxun, to at least reduce her detectability. With the enormous amount of hyperspace traffic into the Sith capital, she hoped it would keep her hidden until she had completed her mission.

 

Terra pressed with her knees, guiding the Basilisk toward Dxun’s foreboding skyline as she considered her own mission parameters. She had told the others that she was to journey here to find a foul and ancient servant of Arasuum, and that it had come to her in a vision with Kad Ha’Rangir’s blessing.

 

Was it true? Not in the least.

 

The Rebellion had scared her, the loss of her men had scarred her. The loss of the only family she possessed had left her as an empty, lost vessel. Again.

 

The Mandalorian had lied as she always had and had come to this sullen and evil jungle for little purpose other than that of any hopeless soul. She had come to find a path, or to die, and Terra could not quite figure out which she preferred. She had little doubt the jungle would claim her as it had so many of her people over the millennia and so, Mandalore pushed the Basilisk into a steeper dive and cut all power, letting the gravity well embrace her, falling slowly from orbit towards the jungle below.

terr4.png.2ae600cabec48a50a70ba2c81013a2a3.png

To the Death...

Link to post
Share on other sites

A lone Basilisk War Droid erupted from hyperspace above Onderon, it's navigational charts directing it to the lone City of Iziz. Atop the mechanical beast sat a lone rider, unprotected from the rigid lack of environment save for the atmospheric Armorweave that snugged to his skin tightly. Opening a comm to the Sith Forces that surrounded the jewel, a voice spoke solemnly.

 

"Permission to land requested."

darmanda.png

Formally Known as Hunter Of Shadows/Dark

Link to post
Share on other sites

“I haven’t really looked at the kitchen setup here, but I doubt that it’s anything close to resembling modern, so if we ordered Bothan we wouldn’t be able to nuke it back to being warm again. We could always hunt something and cook it here, plenty of wildlife in the surrounding area. Or maybe the new apprentice can bring something down, you know, for training.”

 

The world once again held an overwhelming bouquet of sensations, sights, sounds, smells, tastes, and textures that could once again tantalize her. Her muscles surged with vitality that she had thought lost, and looking at her lover who had stood by her through some of her most pfasked up moments in her recent acid trip of a life made her heart beat faster.

 

“I know that even with all of the sorcery and illusions, what you did for me was a big ask. I’m alive again, and I couldn’t have done it without you. You are my knight in special issue commando armor, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to express to you how much that means to me, but I’ll certainly try. I’d kiss you, but right now I’m pretty sure we’re both covered in corpse sludge.”

 

She still hugged him anyway, he deserved it after what he had just soldiered through. It was supposed to be a brief thing, but she found herself caught up in listening to his heartbeat. It reminded her of her own rhythm in the forge, powerful, yet consistent.

 

“The mansion here is only part of the grounds, the family that once lived here were members of the cult of Freedon Nadd.” Nyrys giggled at the unfortunate surname a bit, because who wouldn’t. “There’s also a large workshop, stables for creatures of unusual size, servants’ quarters, and something that at one point used to be extensive gardens. The slaves can work on clearing everything out and restoring it to working order. Probably there is a temple or maybe a shrine in or near here, on account of the cult, cultists love their temples. I’m going to try and find some running water, utility or natural, and get cleaned up. The master bedroom is on the third floor if you want to stow your gear.

 

Even before you told me who my father was, I had read up on Dagon. It’s said that he had sought out the best and most respected warriors in the Empire to serve as his Darkwatch, a fellowship of soldiers dedicated to loyalty, truth, and the preservation of knowledge. I think that you and I could rebuild them in the name of the Dark King, and solidify our place in his Empire. What do you say Ca’aran, do you want to be my full time hero?”

 

-------------------------------------

 

Slaves and other servants of the Empire began arriving to restore the grounds to something resembling functionality. Just as Darth Nyrys had been reborn, so too was the mansion remade with new purpose and luster. And even more importantly, running water.

NYRYS.png

Link to post
Share on other sites

Lock target. The great bastion turrets of the Golan defense platforms swiveled incrementally in their mighty gaskets to track the single person snub fighter. A snub fighter that had dropped out of hyperspace despite not having a hyperspace drive in its small beskar carcass. But the gunnery team did not much care about the capabilities of a single fighter. They left that to the garrison star watch commander. Who happened to be sitting along the taffrail of the command deck, and walked briskly to his comm station.

 

“Permission denied unknown Mandalorian. Please state your business. You have ten seconds to comply.”

 

He personally hoped the mandalorian wouldn’t answer. They had not killed anything since the abortive attempt of the Galactic Alliance several years before and his teams needed the practise. 

_________________
 

In a few moments Delta had restowed his equipment, and a quick wash brought the luster of life back into his skin. Brushing in the blood and gore before sitting down on one of the mansions overstuffed chairs and looking at his newly redskinned lover.

 

“Of course.” It was not an easy thing to rebuild an old archetype of soldier, he had been so many himself. An ARC, a mercenary, Redhand, then red dawn, then black sun again, a Darkhand officer. He could barely count them all in his head, but he did not have to. They were in the past. And this woman, and the Sith Empire were his future. “I have established a military school at Anaxes after all, and out of this planet and that we could build quite a force. Tell me more about them?” He stood and began a stretching routine as he listened to her reply, 

deltasmol.png

Commander - Darkhand Brigade - Sith Empire

Blood Prince

Link to post
Share on other sites

Ryu continued navigating the forest, never turning back to Aziza. He was soon nearly knee deep in brackish mud, trudging slowly forward.

"Nope." Ryu said, dismissively. He didn't know enough about his own history to comment on it at this point, and so he chose to remain obstinate in the face of he questioning in lue of revealing his loss of memory. It was a weakness, and he would not expose it. He had forgotten much of how the Sith worked, but flashes of memory danced hazily through his head. He could remember many aspiring Sith. If not by their names, then by their faces. And by their sorrowed death masks. He knew that few survived their training.

"You're a bold one, I'll give you that much. Seems like an awfully dangerous path, if the only thing you can have trust in is that you can trust no one. Knowing that the hornets mean to sting you is only so useful when you've angered the swarm."
 

Ryu climbed atop a fallen tree that blocked the path, stopping to examine the leaches that had latched onto his legs. He took a moment to pluck them off one by one, exposing a slightly bleeding bite to the filthy swamp water. He seemed annoyed.

 

"What is it you hope to gain for this risk? What could possibly be worth subjecting yourself to the casual cruelty and constant peril of working with the Sith?"

krstorm.gif.a46e550419daa19d41d206a1706d1044.gif

Link to post
Share on other sites

Bralor laid backwards as he straddled Fenrir, which his writer forget to list the hyperdrive engine modification, and stared blissfully into the stars abroad from his position. No matter what planet he visited, he always enjoyed looking up at the sky and guessing which cluster of stars were which. It was something that he always found interesting and time consuming. But now his comm activated, and with a quick motion, kicked up to see the jewels before him.

 

"This is Canderous Bralor, former Black Sun Lieutenant and Holy Crusader of Kad Ha'rangir." His voice came across sly, boastful and prideful, as his words slithered through the air waves. "The call of battle has lead me here, to the world where it all began, in hopes of finding another war to quench my lust with. Do you have need for warriors?"

 

As his words departed, Canderous couldn't lie about the thrilling combination of fear and excitement that crossed his mind as Fenrir's charts loaded out a list of targeting systems coming online. Part of him wanted to open fire simply to see the outcome. But the other part, the part that drove his mind and heart equally, knew that this wasn't the will of Kad Ha'rangir and only Kad Ha'rangir would determine his set fate.

darmanda.png

Formally Known as Hunter Of Shadows/Dark

Link to post
Share on other sites

“Captain don’t you think we have had enough of the religious Zealots?” 

 

The captain shook his head, a smile brimming on his pale lips. “Now now Corporal, our entire Empire is based off religious zealotry. Don’t you forget it and curse the force or something foolish like that. In fact…” He pulled up his datapad. “There was a unit that took in a large amount of ex mandalorian kad’harangir bullshittists back on Coruscant.” He thumbed through the display. “Yes there we have it. Darkhand. Assigned to base 42. Send him there. And if he doesn’t go, well let the citizens see a micrometeor shower of beskar pieces eh?”

 

“Yes Captain.” 

 

The comms corporal clicked over the transceiver to address the mandalorian. “Yes you are free to descend to platform 42. Its a stone pad  so don’t come in too hard. Copy?”

deltasmol.png

Commander - Darkhand Brigade - Sith Empire

Blood Prince

Link to post
Share on other sites

Bralor smiled as the voice responded. Kad Ha'rangir was indeed full of blessings, the middle aged Miraluka feeling his God's hands upon his life and in it guidance. Squeezing his thighs and shifting his weight, he turned Fenrir toward Onderon and what he hoped would be bountiful glory in the cleansing of Arasuum and Hod Ha'ran. His beloved Deity would be the sole survivor of worship, the only one worthy since he first felt his touch on Tatooine. A shiver went down his spine as he smiled. "Copy.

 

Re-entry was beautiful as it was deadly upon the back of Fenrir, the blaze of the Droid's underbelly lighting up like holy fire as they shot across the sky. It wasn't quite the thrill of invasion, but still a beautiful sight for any to witness upon Fenrir's saddle, only armored plates separating him from the fire as he made his trajectory. And behind them, a singular trail of smoldering smoke like a screen of promised paths crossed. To be in the service of such a God, to be the one whom he weilded so openly with forgiveness despite his heritage and weaknesses, it only made the moment more boastful.

 

"Blessings be to you Lord Kad Ha'rangir." Bralor spoke in a whisper behind his veiled helm, comm off, seeing only the sights his empty eyes allowed through the weakness birthed and cursed to him by Arasuum. "May I be your guiding hand in the wars to come, that my voice reach the battled hearts of the unworthy so that may find the truth you granted them at birth, and that my blade be your righteous flame, burning the false prophets and cleansing the Galaxy. I ask this in your name, my Lord. Grant me my redemption so that I may walk in your Halls upon Death."

 

Bralor brought up his gaze just in time to see the stone pad marked Forthy Two, and with a quick squeeze of his thighs and a upward knee jerk, Fenrir stopped at a sudden hover as his feet touched upon the aged rock and settled. Dismounting, Bralor gazed around at the complex, taking in the sights. If this was truly Kad Ha'rangir's will, then it would be done. Death Watch had broken into shambles and only the faithful remained. He was one of them, but only in heart. For it was the call of Kad Ha'rangir and battle that drove him forward, and if the rest of Death Watch would not answer the Lord they vowed to followed, at least he would. He would honor his Lord daily. Now to see this welcoming party.

darmanda.png

Formally Known as Hunter Of Shadows/Dark

Link to post
Share on other sites

“You see Æthe?” Lieutenant Hensi painted a gloved hand towards the target, which was now sporting a good sized burn on its upper torso. The black circle now even darker, the edges still glowing a bit from the energy discharge. The young girl beside her, let a sly smile creep across her heavily freckled face as she set the blaster pistol down on the bench in front of her. Hensi drew the silent girl into a quick hug, which left the girl even more speechless. “I knew you could do it. You just needed to press through the frustration.” 

 

The girl hesitated then buried her head into the shoulder of the other woman, basking in the hug and letting the feel of it wash through her. She committed the feeling to her frost-storage memory bank. Undeleteable but still accessible. Alongside the other compliments her dad and friends had given her.  Little nuggets of humanity, and something she would access before bed. It was not as good as being tucked into bed, the nanny droid tried that, and Æthe did not care for it. But still the memories gave her much comfort as she drifted into a recharge cycle. 

 

Her clear blue eyes glanced up from Hensi’s shoulder at the meteor descending towards their landing area. Hensi heard the sonic boom and also felt Æthe stiffen so she let go of her and turned towards the platform as a metallic beast descended from the sky and settled down on the rocky formation that comprised Darkhand’s makeshift platform. She narrowed her eyes against the blinding swarm of rockdust that was kicked up by the microengines on the Basilisk. 

 

“Corporal Liam, Hensi, landing pad. Now!” She called into the mic that was attached to the lapel of her class B uniform. She did not wait for the newest member of the SOG to respond, but pushed Æthe behind her and strode to the edge of the primitive landing pad as Corporal Liam came running to join them, his stern face showing what he thought of this Mandalorian. He spared a glance at his lieutenant then turned his stoic face back towards the landing pad. He had served beside many of these kinds of mandalorians. And many of their corpses still lay unburied in the ruins of Coruscant. He stepped forward and joined Æthe and Hensi, his blonde hair blowing about his face as the engines shut down.
 

He raised a hand in greeting. 

 

“Vode’an brother. Tell me what is your purpose? You come here to join the military?”

deltasmol.png

Commander - Darkhand Brigade - Sith Empire

Blood Prince

Link to post
Share on other sites

“When I was growing up I used to think that they were just security experts, my Dad always engaged their services whenever things were getting rough or we were gathering with high profile people, but what I’ve been reading since I’ve had an actual security clearance is that they were retrieval specialists who relied on martial excellence and top tier gear to act as first responders and evaluators of Force anomalies, and retrieval experts for unique items and individuals. Lots of covert ops shenanigans. Sheeenaaaanigaaaans. Such a fun word to say.”

 

Nyrys was giddy with her newfound fount of vitality, and emotion, and energy. She still felt the blackened patches in her soul where the abomination had torched her, but they were starting to fill in again. Her relationship with hunger had changed, and while she could develop an appetite or know when her body needed sustenance, there wasn’t the insatiable undercurrent of desperate desire that was once her near constant companion.

 

Instead, there was a wonderful clarity of focus on the people and things that mattered most to her. She had thwarted death through her power and knowledge, and was certain that she could do the same for the people that she cared about. She had friends before she became a Sith, only a handful admittedly, and she had kept them at arm’s length to protect them from herself. At least, only a handful if you didn’t count the rather long list of associates with benefits that she had ended up with over the years. No amount of wealth or family status could change that she had been the alien at the imperial academy, okay for guys to sleep with but not to ever bring home to their families, or even openly act as a couple.

 

She had reacted as exactly as immaturely as one might have expected her to back then, using her own feelings of rejection and lack of self worth to fuel a raging storm of bad behavior that torpedoed any relationship caught in its path. She had been unable to find her own happiness, and anyone who had was somehow to blame. Amazingly, sleeping with bigots didn’t actually cure bigotry, no matter how often and hard she tried. Through it all though, she had a small circle of friends that had been there for her through her various stages of pfaskery. People who were there for her at her worst, well pre-Sith worst anyway. 

 

She wanted to see them again, and it was easy enough to make the arrangements to have them brought to her. Sith ordered people the same way that normal people ordered food delivery. There were times during her dry spells that she had considered taking advantage of that for her own satisfaction, but she wanted romance as much as she wanted to get laid. Romance promised fulfillment of her need to be needed, her desire to be desired. She felt like she had that now with Ca’aran. In the past she would have obsessed over the uncertainty until it bred paranoia, but she was growing up now.

 

“I want us to be a thing beyond just the pfasking and the dark rituals, is that something you want too? Think it over and come find me in the workshop when you have an answer, I need to get started on repairing my kit.” 

 

No manipulation, no sorcery, and no seduction. Just genuine honesty and trust. This was the best thing she’d ever had and she would kill anyone that got in the way of it. She gave Ca’aran a kiss and left the room, grinning and humming a tune.

 

----------------------------------------

 

The original workshop tools were mostly an eroded mess of poor aging and obsolescence, but Nyrys had expected as much and requested replacements be brought in with the first wave of supplies. She just needed some alchemical staples to get started.

 

She spotted an idle slave and gestured for him to come over. He was a physical laborer, they had started designating roles on the slaves so that the least valuable, most easily replaceable ones were sacrificed first should sacrifices be necessary. She had actually been raised pretty anti slavery despite her father’s Imperial past, both parents had taught her that all sentient life was to be valued. 

 

Not everyone found their worth however. The slaves knew better than anyone why their roles were marked, yet this one had failed to improve himself or increase his value to the empire, even for the sake of his own survival.

 

“Did you know that inside of you is a measure of greatness and power? Not that same spark that lets me break the laws of reality, but certainly an echo of it. A raging inferno can be started with a simple naked flame, and I have a lot of fires to start.”

 

Darth Nyrys led the slave over to a runed copper basin and handed him a knife. Even armed, the slave didn’t register in her mind as a threat. He knew what would happen if he raised a hand against her.

 

“I could just slit your throat and take your blood by force, but I wanted to give you the opportunity to give it to me instead. Pretend this is like the ancient days and I am a goddess, and there is nothing more important in your existence than appeasing me. I would be so very happy if you did that for me.”

 

The slave cast panicked glances to the left and the right. She had heard that she had a reputation as one of the nice Sith. The label didn’t bother her, and it certainly could have its advantages, but compassion offered nothing but phantom comfort without greatness. So this man would die so that Nyrys could nourish and protect the ones that had risen above their destinies. She grabbed his chin and locked eyes with him, forcing her will upon his. She let this grand love that she had subsume and replace his cowardice and unwillingness to contribute to greatness, until his eyes and veins bulged, and blood trickled from his nose. A rictus grin overtook his face and he drug the blade across his throat in a rough, deep gash. It felt good to be treated like a goddess. This new form, this new legacy that she would build, deserved nothing less.

 

Out of idle curiosity she stuck her finger in the bowl and tasted his blood. Nothing. That part of her was definitely gone. A new chapter then. She ignited the forge. The words would be written in fire, blood, steel, and sorcery. A smile crept onto her face.   

  • Like 1

NYRYS.png

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