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RaveN

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There were many assumptions being made this day about Oni as he stood upon the precipice of this new Era, a new Era not only for the Sith Empire under the herald of Darth Nyrys, but a new Era for the seclusive Darth Oni who had for far too long stood amongst the shadows. He knew that he would have to earn his mark amongst these members of the younger generation, but he was beginning to see and notice the disdain for he and his kind. Even as the Mandalorian, Tros Ardell of House Solus, stood amongst the masses and demanding the rank and file of everyone there, he could taste the vile toward him. And yet, he smiled.

 

"Ni cuy' te demon be Nar Shadaa, te adiik be te Chaos God Nurgle, bal birthed be Clan Krell be Nal Hutta, Neo Krell, Third be ner gai." Oni spoke openly with his Concord accent as he removed the open helm to reveal the decaying flesh of his vassel. "Ni cuy' a Hunter be Souls, bending the Spirits be ner Aru'e at Beskar'gam be Agol bal Taakur bid ibac val may isirir ner A'den bal kar'taylir ner Gra'tua." With a prideful gaze, he finished. "I am Darth Oni, Sith Master."

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Delta stayed at the periphery, until he heard the Sith master speak in his language. A language he had not earned. Delta was confused by it, he had not seen a Sith Lord that had come from the Mandalorian worlds in a very long time. His ice blue eyes stared at the Sith Lord for a moment before he offered Mandalore a crisp salute. He did not salute the Sith but merely gave him a slight nod. “Delta seven three at your service. Trained in espionage, assassination, and commando tactics. Wherever you need us, say the word.” 

 

 

 

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Ca'Aran

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There was no hesitation, no warning, no nothing but the pure quick action. Tros pulled his beskad out and within a flash lashed out at the Sith named Oni's face. The single goal, to leave a permanent mark and reminder that when he said he wouldn't allow something, he meant it. He had already told him that he wanted no such words uttered to him, as he had not earned that. Yet this one Sith, one whom had already pissed him off earlier of refusing to acknowledge him personally was now on the the wrong side of the Mandalorian again. But this time, he knew he had the permission to act, as the dark Lady had already said it outloud to him and everyone else. After making the strike, he put his beskad away and turned towards Delta. He didn't bother to address why he did it, or to even give the Oni anymore chances on the matter. To know that he was on thin ice with the Mandalorian was enough. If Oni didn't like it, the two could easily duke it out in a duel. He was lucky Tros didn't go for more, as he needed more bodies alive then dead for the strike at Nar Shaddaa. 

 

He focused in on Delta's eyes, responding directly to his words. "Assassination and commando tactics are two skills sets that are very useful within the main parameters of a strike at Nar Shaddaa. Yet, espionage is an even more deadlier skill set for the aftermath. Doubtful it'll be needed from the overall goal." He narrowed his eyes and looked past him at some of the gathering Sith. After a quick second, he looked back at Delta. "Do you still have any ties with Black Sun? Illegal weapons of sorts? Might be useful."

 

Beskad : A Mandalorian saber

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Akheron did nothing but simply observe as both Mandalorian and Sith exchanged words between each other. Apparently in the language of the Mandalorian, who he observed took offense that the Sith, Darth Oni had elected to do so without earning the right from his perspective to do so.

 

In many ways it reminded him of his own race. They too had strict traditions that would not be ignored easily. As such he continued to play the casual observer, even as Tros Ardell slashed at Darth Oni's face with what appeared to be some type of sword. Stepping back to avoid the spray of long dead blood spraying his face, Darth Akheron watched as events played out.

 

Allowing Delta to speak before him, once he was done Akheron stepped forwards again. Offering a respectful bow and acknowledging the two Mandalorians before him. 

 

"Forgive the interruption. But I couldn't help but overhear, I can vouch for Captain Delta here. He assisted me with the conquest of Falleen, his skills were quite impressive and were of great help to the capture of the planet. As for myself, I am Darth Akheron. My training lies in Advanced Close Quarters Combat including several Martial Arts, Melee Combat, Advanced Sith Training Tactics and Conditioning, including Lightsaber and Force use in the way of the Warrior, Guerilla Tactics, Shock and Awe, Reaving, Raiding and or Purging....and Frontline Assault Tactics.

 

To put it simply, I have trained my entire life as a Warrior for the Sith. I have been taught since I was old enough to crawl to be a soldier, a reaper of souls on the battlefield. War and bloodshed are in my people's blood. In additional I have access to call upon the Linnorms of Clan Brasganu if you need them. Raiders and reavers of a nomad fleet that serve the Dark Lady without question. I do not believe we have met before, it is a pleasure. I respect a man who stands by what he believes and the Warrior ways. I hope you can make use of my unique skillset, and resources in whatever capacity you deem necessary. "

Edited by Karys Narat iv-Adas

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

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

 

I survived the Great JNet Outage of 2012

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Solus listened to everything that he could around the room, but found his attention drawn completely to the armored being. The dropping of the helmet, the shouting for attention, and even the drawing of a weapon to be used on the one Sith who had shown Solus an ounce of kindness: all this demanded attention and respect. 

 

Solus smiled inwardly. He had an idea. 

 

Even as the others spoke, Solus excused himself from the Tsis apprentice nearby and approached the others. Tear followed in suit, whip-like tail dragging behind. Solus heard his own master speak, then eventually spoke up himself afterwards. 

 

“As his apprentice, I can attest to his skills as a warrior, oh great one” Solus started. “I have seen him in battle, and he has trained me in combat and in the force.” 

 

Solus, now hoping to have drawn the armored being’s attention, gave a bow at the waist. He was going to show as much respect as possible. After all, the empress placed her trust in this one, and Akheron placed his own trust in the Empress. So Solus would as well.  

 

“I am Solus, but being that I bear the same name as your house, another thing I've been called in this language of sound is Shard. Just as you are the leader of your house, lead me and grant me a chance to regain some form of respect. While I am not organic like everyone else, I am Sith.”

 

As if to demonstrate this fact, Solus called upon the impossible geometries and focused on the weapon at his side. Slowly, it floated off of his belt, drifted in front of his face, and rested in the air before him. If the other sith focused, they could sense the huge emotional power of envy in the Force around the Shard. A feeling of unfairness, and a desire to make things how they should be. 

 

Just as slowly, the lightsaber handle drifted back and re-hooked onto Solus’ belt. “But unlike the other organics here, I do not share the weaknesses of the flesh. I do not need to breathe nor eat. I was the one who navigated the Naboo Abyss, who located a source of the plasma core, and despite being consumed by one of the sea creatures below, still came out alive. Though I am still learning in this world of worlds, I am a capable being, as I hope I can prove myself to our empress…if you will allow me to” 

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The initial knee jerk reaction that Oni presented in this case was one that was left wanting, the Sith Master vaguely reacting at all as the blade cut against decayed flesh and bone. Coagulated blood barely oozed from muscle and tissue as the Sith Master reached a cold hand up to inspect the wound. "Ori'buyce, kih'kovid." He voiced as his fingers prodded the opened wound. His gaze shifted briefly to Nyrys in disgust, before shifting back to Delta and this Mandalorian Tros Ardell. His care was beginning to wane amongst these youthful gatherers.

 

Oni had came here at the behest of the Dark Lady and her rise, slivering from his darkened hole to present his respect and fealty. But now three times he had been disrespected despite the rank of Master and his adjudication. Three times he had let slide for the sake of unity under her banner. Three times that his patience had been tested openly in her Court. Did his value mean nothing to her? For even, Exodus the Spider, had held a semblance of respect for the rank and value of those who were in service. If she couldn't do the same, her reign would be short. 

 

His gaze shifted from the gathering of Warriors toward Darth Inmortos who had remained silent during these past few moments, one also disregarded despite the potential he held to aid in her services. Placing his helm back onto his head, he simply shook it. It seemed those who held their powers were unwelcomed in the Court of Nyrys. "Come. Let us finish our discussions elsewhere. He spoke with disappointment as he turned to shuffle off away from the air of gathered warriors flocking. It seemed their expertise was unwarranted.

 

He would find a corner off to the side, and embrace it's silent shadows, just as he always had.

 

"Ori'buyce, kih'kovid" = All helmet, no head

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Tros focused for a moment upon this Darth Akheron. He voiced quickly the support of Delta, to which he didn't think was necessary, yet he found it welcoming. His focus and pride upon being a warrior was something more along the lines of what he had always thought Sith would be. War hungry. It made the excitement of the upcoming battle seem even more pleasing knowing that such a Sith was both excited and eager to join in the fray without any questions. He went to respond, when the apprentice he assumed of this Akheron joined them, speaking up. The brief pause between the two is when he heard Oni once again utter Mando'a. He wondered what sort of life he must live to assume that others would blindy respect him, or that ignoring what others said, or ignoring them outright was something to be valued. Such actions always reaped negative results, much it did for Oni today. The sword of battle would find him sooner rather than later, he was sure. 

 

He did not have much time to dwell upon Oni, as the apprentice, or rather Shard spoke. His choice of words to him were rather hollow. But there was no way of it knowing such a thing. He decided to address this Shard first over Akheron. "There are a few things you should know moving forward. Everyone has a place in battle- or rather, everything. You will find yourself in combat more often than not. Pride yourself on the victories of what others praise you for, never your own praises. I will call you Shard for now, as you have much to learn and earn still. You're master has trained in combat, but such training is never over. I myself who has lived long enough and fought in many wars will still learn and train within combat. Earn your spot amongst me at Nar Shaddaa and I will be honored to call you Solus."

 

Tros now turned towards Akheron and gave a very slight head bow to him. "From one warrior to another, I have great need for those eager to fight in this upcoming battle. I assume that you know war and a little bit of what to expect. You seem seasoned enough for me." Tros paused for a very slight second before he sat down, inviting for all those present to join him at the table. "Strategy is the name of the game heading in. I have no doubt that the Republic will be prepared for us. Nar Shaddaa is heavily populated and has a strong focus of civilians throughout the planet. They most likely will not want us engaging directly over the planet or even on it. Nal Hutta is so close, it may become the main battle ground. We can not let them dictate terms of this engagement." Another pause as he looked everyone in the eye. "Plus, they will most likely have Jedi there to help defend, along with Terra and her loyal followers.... This will be far from an easy battle."

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Delta watched the Sith Lord turn and walk away from the corner of his eye. It was odd to see this much infighting, even in the Sith order where disputes usually left one choking to death in a mess of blood. He had risen through the ranks of three organizations, and this was the worst he had seen. The republic had the simple rule of ‘you cannot advance in rank as you are a clone and thus not a person.’ Black Sun had the rule of ‘you do not have three million credits to bribe your way into the next position.’ And now the Sith seems to just be in a free for all. This dispute was completely avoidable, and Delta had no clue why the sith had decided to continue to defy his commanding officer in front of his subordinates. 

 

It should have been resolved by Jurisdictions and a firing squad, not a knife to the face. This had left both sides dissatisfied, but Delta did not particularly blame the mandalorian. He would have done worse with such an insult. Especially if he was Mandalore. 

 

He took the complement from Akheron with a bow then answered Mandalore’s question.

 

“I Keep my connections to the old criminal world. Most have been scattered to the wind but I can reach out.” 

 

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Ca'Aran

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Mordecai had to stifle a laugh- From the indignant way that Darth Oni stalked away, it seemed he had been put in his place properly this time, and was unhappy about it. Mordecai moved to Fiochmar, keeping an eye on the other Sith Master. This was a teachable example, and with a new apprentice under his wing, it would be one he'd capitalize on.

 

"Learn from this, Fiochmar. A Sith who demands respect from those around him will find little if he does not return the courtesy. What you see here today is nothing like what you would see in true Sith politics. Oni would have found blades drawn three times over had the Dark Lady not stayed our hands, and they would not have been content with leaving just a scar, as you've just witnessed."

 

It was a strange feeling, mirth. One he had not felt even the briefest touch of since Jarvus had died over Mon Cal. Indeed, the last time he had laughed had been long ago, before he had set out on his campaign, before he had been a lord, even. He pondered what had brought the emotion back to him. Was it merely watching the indignant Sith master going from Sith to Sith with nothing but condescension and insults get his due? No, normally he would be fuming that he couldn't gut the man himself. Perhaps it was that an end to his vengeance was in sight- He would kill Raven, as the Dark Lord wished, and then, hopefully, he would finally feel as though he had truly avenged his allies.

 

 

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Akheron nodded in agreement as he took a seat that was offered. He too thought the same, Nal Hutta was likely to become the main field of battle unless they found a way to divert the Rebels attention to where they wanted them. A potential idea sprang to mind.

 

"Indeed, I am aware of what is expected of me, and as you mentioned what to expect. War is not new to me. On that note of strategy, I may have a idea or two. You are correct, and I also have made the same assumption. Nal Hutta is likely to become the main battleground unless we find a way to dictate the terms. However the Rebels and the Jedi if anything, have become somewhat predictable. I believe in this regard we can exploit their predictable nature...their compassion and need to protect those who claim supposed innocence.

 

If we target the heavy population centres upon Nar Shadda, those loyal to the Rebel regime, with help from the undead and troops to spread fear and paranoia, they will have no choice but to come and defend them. Their own natures will betray them. Their sense of 'justice' and need to protect the unworthy shall force them to act to stop what they consider a slaughter. That will be our moment to act, we draw them in and tighten a noose around them while they are distracted. As you said, it won't be easy but it is possible. 

 

As for Terra, from what I read of her tactics in reports of what few survivors she leaves, she is one to look out for...unpredictable by her very nature, and a top priority threat. To stand a better chance we must find a way to keep her busy."

Edited by Karys Narat iv-Adas

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

Akheron.jpg

 

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

 

I survived the Great JNet Outage of 2012

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The armored being’s words to Solus made the shard nod. “Of course, of course. Wise words from our battle leader”

 

Solus was pleased for a different reason. The being had promised Solus would be involved in some kind of battle. Hopefully this one would allow Solus to prove himself. And from the words that the armored one was speaking to his master, Solus was confident that Nar Shaddaa would be his own battle grounds. 

 

For now, Solus decided to remain silent and let the others talk. Instead he plotted silently. Perhaps this upcoming battle would require his and Tear’s tracking skills. Or since so many people had thought Solus was nothing more than a droid, he could practice an art of sneaking? No, perhaps these beings would recognize the possibility of Solus leading a group of Linnorms into battle.

 

Tear growled next to Solus. Solus nodded to his Sith hound. “Yes yes, probably just a simple massacre like those warriors early. Eh, more food for you” 
 

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Tros observed for a moment Delta's own posture as he explained his ties to the old yet sturdy crime syndicate. Whether the ties he still had were strong or not, they would be useful to fill the needs of weapons on the front lines. But his own head turned towards Akheron as he spoke. His words rang a bit within his mind, as they were both true and heavily deceptive. Although there was no way that the Sith would understand why. His padawan, the Shard spoke in a way that echoed what his own master said. He took a second before he responded to them. 

 

"Terra will indeed be a problem. And you are right in saying that she will need to be drawn into something else to keep her busy and I think I already know how to do that. However, do not get over confident in the idea of battling the Rebellion, Jedi and Imperial Knights. This will not be like any other battle we have ventured onto. Cornering a wild animal and fighting it is one thing. Cornering a few wild animals within their own home and territory requires far more skill and tact. I suspect heavy losses on both sides." The Mandalorian turned towards Shard for a moment, but letting the words hang for everyone else. "There are also secondary objectives. A flat out massacre would be pointless. If we are to be pushed back even the slightest, having a few small victories would still be worth our time. You are all veterans of war... We will be a storm rolling in. To shut down or take things they are not expecting... and believe me, there are things to take from them."

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Telperiën looked her apprentice in the face, her amethyst eyes sizing him up. Looking for what weighed in his heart, for what desires lay open to a prying eye. Her thin hand traced the edges of his eyesocket, leaving a trail of blood. Her mouth moved in a soft incantation, the blood congealing and fading into the skin. A trail of sith runes, traced and etched in blood. Protection and doom written in the same hand.

 

“You have learned all you can from me and my people. But still you have much to learn. Your darkness is untempered, and must be brought to a hone in the forge of experience.” 

 

She let her hand fall and stepped away.

 

“Go and make a name for yourself. That is my command.” 

 

There was a trap in her command. This was a web of choices, and her apprentice would need to find his way through it without her. 

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Delta nodded his blond head, the lines alongside his eyes creasing with his smile. 

 

“I have not known Sith to show restraint when the innocent lay beneath their boots. The Imperials know this well, and they will no doubt fight to the bitterest of ends. Then we will find honour in the welter of their blood. Godspeed.” 

 

He turned and with a crisp salute to both Tros and the Sith Lord. Strode off towards the waiting shuttles. There was much to do.

 

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Ca'Aran

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As Telperiën lifted his head and gazed into his eyes, there was a crave for affection and a want for command. His blackened gaze only reveled in the amethyst of her own as she drew her slender fingers across the crevasses of his eyes, leaving a trail of blood upon his skin, it's warmth turning cold as flesh departed. And as the pain enveloped his form at her incantation, he felt pleasure in the burn of her marking as it etched beneath his skin and outward, like acid burning the skin. And then the moment departed, leaving only a open mouth with no one's to escape as she spoke.

 

So he was to be sent away once again, banished from the sight of her power and command only to beckon his own. He drew his eyes to the ground and grimaced inward, his anger rolling like waves within his soul. Was he truly unworthy? No. He needed to find his own, not leech off of others. He may be a weapon of war to wield, but even a blade must find its own edge, something that cannot be forged by creator nor wielder. That's what it was that he needed to find. That would settle the hunger he gluttoned.

 

"Yes, my Master." Was all he spoke as he rose from his bent knee and placed both the lance and his fist across his bitter heart as he moved to depart. "I will not fail you."

 

Nor would he. As his gaze shifted toward the following Rancor before back to the ship, he felt he knew what he needed to do. As a warrior, he was required to wage a war worthy of honoring his Master. But not simply a war of might and power if he was to truly temper his edge. No. He needed to truly know the path that was put before him. And in order to do so, he would need to reflect upon what led him to this singular moment in time and what had been placed before him. Climbing aboard the transport ship, Shiro and Artor would depart Naboo. There was much to do.

 

Hours would pass as Valhalla orbited the planet of Naboo as Shiro laid within the medical wing within the confines of the bacta tanks. In this time, he held plenty of it to meditate upon his past and the events that led to this moment. Being born an outcast, the murder he committed, his capture, his escape, his time as a slave and then as a Solider. Cathar with Lady Awenyyd and Lady Telperiën, his training. It was a path few walked and recovered from, and now he stood as a Sith Apprentice, rising the ranks not by luck, but by skill. The Spider saw his potential, as did Lady Awenyyd and Lady Telperiën. Now it was time to rise to their expectations.

 

As he and Artor sparred within the confines of Valhalla, man versus beast, Shiro would push his broken form even further than he had the last time. He used the Force to not only enhance his physical abilities, but his mental abilities as well, aiming to tame the beast once and for all. And in truth, just as Shiro enjoyed testing himself against such a creature as the adolescent Rancor, Artor enjoyed their duels as much, evident in his pulling the punches more so than during their original fight. It was almost as if he sought to teach the wild human how to be a Rancor.

 

Exhausted, Shiro raised his hand to end the fight, Artor smirking as he sat upon the unnatural durasteel flooring with a large thump. There was a bond forming between the two, and neither seemed to truly have an urge to kill the other, a bond that most wouldn't understand. It was becoming clear to Shiro of the semi-sentience these creatures truly held and the traditions they held for Lady Telperiën and her fellow Nightsisters. 

 

A full rotation of Naboo had transpired since they left the planet behind when it first called to Shiro, the lance he kept clipped across his back as he pushed himself through the pain. Like whispers of the dead, it echoed within his mind as it caught Artor's attention as well, the three meter Rancor standing upright as Shiro sat upright. One word left Shiro's mouth as the two returned to the bridge and the navigational charts were calculated.

 

"Generis"

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Solus had left the throne area where the rest of the Sith continued to plot, interact and entertain themselves. Word had come that he had been summoned outside, and since his attention was not needed, Solus had been excused. 

 

Striding down the hallways, Tear at his right side, Solus took a few moments to admire the handiwork of the palace. Despite the damage that the building had sustained, it was still rather beautiful. The pillars were smooth and ornate, the floors were extravagantly carved, the partially caved in roof was rich in color and style. Solus wondered if it would be possible for himself to acquire such a building as a place of residence. Perhaps once he proved himself…

 

Tear gave a growl and stopped in its tracks. Solus stopped as well a few steps afterwards, confused. The two had arrived at the palace entrance to the plaza. The surrounding buildings were still heavily damaged and smoking, with rubble scattered throughout the area. A few ships had taken landing in the plaza, but still the place was well kept. 

 

But it was the Linnorms that made Solus pause. They were in a circle surrounding the entrance. Each one were either smiling, laughing, talking, or some combination of the three. 

 

“Warriors, what is going on?” Solus asked, stepping out into the circle, still not realizing Tear had not followed. 

 

One of the warriors caught Solus’ attention and pointed up. Solus faced up and barely jumped out of the way of the descending Sith blade of Stitch-Mouth. 

 

Solus rolled and faced Stitch-Mouth. The human had traded his cloak away and now revealed what his body looked like. His bare chest was riddled with countless scars and stitch marks, while his left leg and right foot were nothing more than robotic framework and wires. And in his right hand was a blade of alchemical Sith steel. 

 

Stitch Mouth didn’t waste a moment and charged. Solus barely activated his blade in time to block the incoming attack. Even so, Stitch-Mouth used his momentum to push forward, reach out with his free hand and touched Solus’ chassis. A force-imbed punch sent Solus flying backwards. The Linnorms caught the student and shoved him back into the ring, jeering all the while. Training was in session. 

 

Solus prepared himself, now aware of what was happening. Blade in hand, Solus rushed the Sith-Alchemist and brought the blade down. Instead of countering it, Stitch-Mouth spun around and smacked Solus’s head sending the shard flying again. 

 

“Stupid little…” Solus began to grumble as he picked himself up. It was obvious that there was a lesson here, but he wasn’t sure what it was yet. At minimum though, he’d have to change his tactics. 

 

This time Solus approached Stitch-Mouth slowly, blade raised into a defensive position. Stitch-Mouth gave a glare, the only sign of some kind of emotion. The alchemist brought his blade up and attempted a stab. Solus deflected and attempted a spin around to strike his foe, only for Stitch-Mouth to block the blow by raising a free hand and catching Solus’ wrist. 

 

The two were pushed back and returned to defensive potions. This time Solus released one hand from his saber and with his right, stabbed forward, only for Stitch-Mouth to deflect each blow like some old fashioned fencer. Solus stepped back and bent slightly, luring Stitch-Mouth to strike downwards. Stitch-Mouth did so, and Solus replied  by blocking the blade, pushing it away with a wrist rotation, and then bringing his free hand, now a fist, into a punch to the alchemists face.

 

“Ah ha! Gotcha!” Solus sniped, a sense of pride filling his shard as Stitch-Mouth stumbled backwards. With a black eye forming, Stitch-Mouth glared at Solus again and reached out. The Shard felt a strong pull and was forcibly brought closer to the Alchemist. Too late in realizing what was happening, Solus screeched in fright as Stitch-Mouth turned and chucked the shard across the plaza into some rubble. 

 

Solus pushed himself out of the rubble as the Linnorms jeered and laughed. Anger filling him, Solus reached into the Impossible Geometries and grabbed the nearest large object. The piece of the rubble from a nearby building slowly raised into the air, and then was thrown towards the alchemist. 

The shard didn’t even see if the rubble hit his target. Instead, his body felt drained immediately from trying to use so much Force at once and collapsed to one knee. He needed a moment to regain his energy. 

 

“I’ve got to get better at that” Solus said aloud to himself, unaware that someone was approaching him. 

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Inmortos’ attention was caught by the crystalized Sith slinking away from the gathering. He decided to follow. This one interested him on a scientific level. To be a crystal presented many opportunities; to carry life, a whole new way with which to store his harvest.

 

Weaving his way through the gathering of Sith, would take the hunched sorcerer several minutes. Each movement of his body a creaking ache of deliberately inflicted pain upon his mortal form. It was a small price to pay in Inmortos’ opinion.

 

Leaning heavily in his cane, the reaper-esque man slowly followed the trail of life that rippled across this deliciously dead and devastated world. He could not match the hurried speeds of the robot. His only hope remained that he would catch the apprentice before he tried to depart this world, a task he worried little about seeings as how they were still bound to this place.

 

Inmortos did not stop to admire the remaining architecture or revel in the destruction. He pressed forward, gaining the clearing ringed by cultists just in time to see the robo-Sith carve a path through the rubble with his flying form. A smile twisted across his face as he watched the Sithling return fire.

 

Shuffling forward the stooped magician’s icy presence was not something to be obscured, not as each padded step seemed to leech warmth from the air. The linworms quieted and parted before the cryomancer’s icy crawl.

 

He stopped a couple meters behind the kneeling crystalline droid Sith. “Yes. You do.”  he responded to Solus’ statement. “To be bested by such a hideous malformation as that,” he pointed to the unmoving, yet breathing form of the alchemist Solus had taken to battling for reasons yet unknown to him. “Would be an embarrassment even the likes of Darth Akheron could not tolerate in a slave.” 
 

Inmortos stood regarding the metallic form before him, a sense of curiosity playing across his deadened glassy eyes. He stared beyond the droid’s chassis, beyond his crystalline nature, and regarded the fiery soul of the stone itself. He would make a warrior a fine lightsaber crystal, Inmortos mused as a smile tugged at his frozen features, creasing his sallowed face with wrinkles and cracking by lips. So much potential if it could be harnessed properly.

 

The necromancer ran a dried sandpapered tongue across the ichorous blood that dribbled from his cracked lips before his voice rasped again, “What happened to your pet? Did you kill it in your rage? What is it that you truly desire oh Sith of stone and steel?”

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“Would be an embarrassment even the likes of Darth Akheron could not tolerate in a slave.”

 

Solus jerked up at the familiar voice and presence of the elderly being. The thing’s presence made the impossible geometries slow and jerk up in the area surrounding it. The sight was not much more pleasant. This Darth Inmortos was a wrinkled monster at best, and a frozen, walking corpse at worst. Despite  his short time in this world of worlds, Solus could identify physical weaknesses

 

Solus almost snapped at the old thing, but he remembered how Akheron was impressed with the gift the old being had offered. His memory flashed at the admiration his Lord showed this old thing, and his own envy grew. 

 

“Tear knows when not to get in the way of training, Lord Inmortos” Solus stated flatly as he stood and faced the being. His vocabulator neither rose or lower in pitch whatsoever, since the Shard was trying to not show how annoyed he really was. 

 

“And what I desire is to impress the Lord of Rage and our Empress. Especially since I know I have more potential than they truly realize.” 

 

Still, Solus was relatively young. Even as he holstered his borrowed lightsaber, his anger got the best of his words. The annoyance that he had done things correctly for his master in the deep and was rewarded with pain. The anger at being told to speak freely and then being tortured before his peers.  

 

His next words, despite being spoken flatly, revealed these emotions easily.

 

“And I don’t want to become weak like you body before my potential is wasted.”  
 

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Telperien could not help but feel a twinge of sadness at seeing the young man walk away. No, he was not walking, she thought to herself as she chewed on her lower lip. He had the stride of a dangerous man. The swagger of a Sith Lord. The stalk of a murderer. Had she done this? The Nightsister could not be sure, most of his brokenness had come from before. During his apprenticeship with Awenyyd. 

 

Was this her legacy then? A legacy of destruction? A legacy akin to her Fathers? What did Ar-Pharazon the Golden leave behind him but a stream of blood and the aftertaste of shattered worlds? She watched each of his heavy footfalls as Oni strode away, the taste of bile rising up in the back of her throat. 

 

Had the Spider not promised that this Empire would have been different? But all around her were the signs that nothing every truly changed. Her father had sunk cloud city with the deaths of millions. But here the scent of death was just as thick. The Dark Lord had led destruction to this regal city, and the Lords who argued bitterly about power in the throne room had slaughtered their own share. 

 

She gasped. As another feeling welled up in the pit of her stomach. Causing her two  sabercats to growl menacingly and coil themselves protectively around her. What was it? Regret? 

 

She let her eyes flutter closed. Her mind seeking an answer and coming up with nothing but a feeling of dread. If she died right now, cut down by one of the Sith looking for leverage, she would have only left behind the legacy of destruction that her own ancestors had brought from the depth of the seven hells. The feeling was so strong, that she found herself reaching for her lightsaber, as if placing the emitter under her chin was a solution to her problems. A feline bite on her wrist stopped that move before she could complete it, and she let the handle fall to the scorched grass. 

 

She needed answers. And her blood knew where she could get them.

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Inmortos’ smile widened to reveal his greyed and rotting teeth. This young stone had spirit. It was a shame that they had sought to crush him; but then again, it wasn’t. It had shown the shard what and where the intentions of the others lay. With time, if he were strong enough, Inmortos hoped the droid-bound slave might even free himself from his shackles.

 

As the apprentice remarked on Inmortos ‘crumbling facade, the necromancer could not help himself. He broke out into a cackle that seemed to echo across the courtyard as rolls of frigid icy fog began to billow forth from beneath the reaper’s robes, cascading from his deep cowl and sleeves. It billowed forth to fill the courtyard, rising like clouds of deathly clenching mist that clawed at every surface it could touch until. As this happened, Inmortos brought his laughter to an end, turning his eyes upon the form of Solus even as the fog and icy mists obscured their sights. “My frailty reveals more of you than it does me young stone. It is your own chain that binds you.”

 

Suddenly, Inmortos’ body convulsed. His eyes rolled back in his head. Falling backwards his body succumbed to the cold, entering a deathly state. All body functions ceased and the sorcerer’s body crumpled to the ground, as dead as one could be without the touch of the force. Even that though, portrayed the man as such.

 

Wrenching from his body, the spirit of Inmortos tore free from his body as it fell. It erupted with an ethereal scream as it vanished into the mists.

 

”Remember the code,” a disembodied voice spoke from the mists, coming from nowhere and everywhere at once. “The chains that hold you down can only be broken through victory.” 
 

“Victory only gained through power and power”

 

“through strength.”

 

The air whirled and swirled as the invisible force spirit raced about tracing trails in the frozen mists for a mere moment before they disappeared.

 

”Your strength is limited by your perceptions.” 

 

“Your power is hindered by your lack of strength,”

 

“of mind and imagination.”
 

“It is because of these that you fail.”

 

Each time the voice spoke, it paused, before continuing from

another direction. As he finished the cold tendrilled hands of Inmortos’ spirit ran passing fingers through  Solus’ chassis, the icy grip of death, the touch of the reaper thinning the veil between this life and the great beyond.

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Tros watched slowly as most of those who gathered around him now slowly faded off into whatever seemed to please them. His own eyes watched from the corner for a moment longer on the one called Shard. The veteran warrior wondered if he was worth marking for the future, but decided against it. Instead, he turned to focus on the sole person remaining before him, Akheron. Without giving any notice, he put his buy'ce back on. 

 

"So, what do you guys do around here to keep sharp?" Tros slowly let his own hand fumble down next to his blasters, letting his own finger run over the weapon as he wondered what sort of skill set he would need to have sharpened for this coming battle. 

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When the Sith’s body fell limp, a murmur went about through the Linnorms who were still watching. They realized that what was happening now was not just a training session, nor a squabble. This was something akin to a duel. Even as the mists spread out from where Inmortos’ body was, the Linnorms did not approach for a better look. 

 

They backed off for their own safety. 

 

Solus was just as surprised at the limp body and the spreading mists. But what the other Linnorms didn’t see as clearly was the spirit exiting the corpse. Instict kicked in, and Solus activated his lightsaber, the red blade illuminating barely in the cloying fog. With a step forward, Solus attempted to slash at the phantasm that was before him. However, the lightsaber met no resistance. Like the fog, the ethereal form of Inmortos passed through the blade harmlessly, now completely hidden from Solus’ sensors. 

 

“If victory is the only thing that will make you respect me…” Solus grumbled as he swung his blade around, as if Inmortos was creeping behind, “then you will lose to me rotting corpse.”

 

Solus looked in all directions. Normally, his head, loaded with sensors at every single angle imaginable, would have benefited here. But the fog and mists were much too thick. And with the temperature dropping, even the shard’s thermal sensors couldn’t detect anything. 

 

Solus screeched in sudden pain as Inmortos’ hand glided through his chassis. His back felt frozen and lifeless momentarily. The energy from his legs gave out slightly, as his life energy was sapped away. Solus frantically swung his blade around again, finding nothing. 

 

“You…you think I am limited?” Solus growled. His anger and his envy began to bubble inside. His very shard began to turn dark as the inner lights formed a perfect circle. 

 

“I perceive more then you know!” Solus shouted. The Impossible geometries opened around him. To the shard, the mists of blue and white were now replaced by shapes of rage and lines of envy constantly expanding and collapsing within themselves. Solus willed his envy to travel between his rage, and threw them out. 

 

Even as the Shard stood still, his envy traveled the cloud and began to circle around a collection of shapes and emotions. Jerking, dying shapes of sickly pale energy. A specter in the fog. 

 

Solus smiled inwardly and stretched his hand. The vision from Korriban returned to his memory. The cloaked shadow with tendrils. The burning slaves bound by  chains. 

 

Chains.

 

“Sin ah mi’onos, l' ahuaaah Iiahe li!  A, uaaahnythor, ah'n'ghaor, drrillld chi’ai’n!” Solus’ voice emitted, the sounds echoing with waves of the Force in the open plaza.  

 

Sin is mine, to use as pain.  A tool, a weapon, a deadly chain!

 

To Solus, who was viewing the world through the Impossible Geometries, his lines of Envy that were circling Inmortos became chains of red. To anyone who was actively sensing the force, they could sense that Solus was calling on the Force to do a simple trick. 

 

Solus clutched his hand into a fist, the invisible chains attempting to wrap around their target. With a downward motion, Solus attempted a Force Pull; An attempt to slam the shade into the ground and hold it there. 

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The disembodied spirit cackled with glee at the apprentice’s vain attempts to slash at his ethereal being with his saber. Even in this form, Inmortos could feel, perhaps even greater unbound by  his mortal frame, the other’s raw emotions, his potential power as it bled through his shell on the rising tide of the  stone-Sith’s fury. And so he laughed. Even as the bounds of force-made tethers began to coil, circling to try and ensnare the sorcerer’s spirit, he laughed.

 

As the chains tightened, dragging and clawing with emotion barbed edges at the necromancer’s very presence, he laughed. Like the tales of old, chains forged in life dragging sinners into the abyss, they pulled him downward. But Inmortos was no mere Sith, bound to this world and battle. No, he was a being of power and might, unhindered by such paltry bounds like death and hell. His very existence had become hell itself, a frozen wasteland of nothing that stretched for eternity in all directions; and, he was it’s king.

 

Sliding from the chains, the spirt swirled about and doge back into the billowing mists and fog, dense as the tormenting fire smoke that still now ravaged the wilds of this world and as cold as the touch of the Reaper’s hand itself. Back, into the body of Inmortos where it lie in splendorous riposte, dead on the battlefield.

 

Sitting up in the ensnaring shadows of the fog itself, Inmortos voice carried, echoing against the plaza walls and the choking mists until it seemed to reverberate from everywhere. 
 

“Gooooood” his voice carried his glee, drawn out in it’s echo. “I can feel your passion; but victory is attained through power, and power through strength.” As he spoke, the cryomancer’s hands began to weave a chilling spell in the air. “Many Sith like your master and even the Empire itself see strength only where one is strong. You must become more if you wish to one day rule the Sith young Shard. Find your strength in the shadows, where others would never see strength in you. Where there is strength, there is no weakness. Destroy your weaknesses Solus! Destroy them and within their wreckage find strength you knew not that you possessed! Bind your weaknesses as slaves to your will and work them to their death.”  Inmortos’ words dwindled off into the mists, their power hanging in the thick icy air. 
 

Then suddenly, from within the center of the choking cloud came a spark of unnatural blue energy. It arced from the spirit of Inmortos returned to his frigid form. The cold did not bother him; for he was master of the stillness of death. It spread like crackling electricity in every direction solidifying any liquid it could touch, entombing those within the mists’s grasp in solid ice. It reached for their souls seeking to drain them of energy as Inmortos poured his entire attentions to the task at hand. The clouds of fog and steam began to crack and twist as they began to solidify into an unholy monument of jagged edges, towering walls, leaning towers and encasing ice. Linworm, soldier, Sith, dead and living; it mattered not. All would be ensnared equally as the power lashed out from the depths of Inmortos’ frozen empty soulless heart.
 

Any energy claimed would be lost to the cosmos, violating the very principles of nature. Energy claimed here was destroyed, a step in the endless quest towards absolute stillness and the end of the need for the very Sith Code Inmortos now taught and ascribed to. 

 

In the center of it all, the Krath pushed himself first to his knees and then, with great pain, stood upright to his hunched visage, held up and empowered by the very ice that entombed the world around him. 

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The moment of pleasure of capturing and pinning the shade was short lived for the Shard, as Solus witnessed through the Impossible Geometries how Inmortos escaped his clutches and retreated back to the flesh prison. Lightsaber still activated and in hand, Solus began to move forward, even as the necromancer’s voice came from everywhere. 

 

“I didn’t say I wanted to rule the Sith,” Solus replied softly to Inmortos’ banter. “Is that what you need to have?” 

 

Solus however stopped. The Impossible Geometries were acting strangely. The air was growing colder and colder. The area near Inmortos was similar to his brief time with Lady Sirena and her lighting. But where she made energy, here there was a void of it. 

 

Solus backed up as the ice began to form. The shouts of the Linnorms trying to clear the area barely sounded out over the sounds of vaporous water freezing solid. Solus needed to act fast, or he would be trapped like in the belly of the Claw Fish, and killed for his weakness. And he would not fail again. 

 

Solus began to dash and jump away, barely dodging the freezing lightning that approached him. He witnessed that where the energy was, the air froze.  Solus realized that what he needed was to keep moving. To keep dashing and not give Inmortos a chance to freeze the shard. But the area was becoming limited. Each second that went by, more and more of the environment froze and turned solid, limiting the battlefield. 

 

Solus smiled inwardly. An idea had begun to form. He would show this old man he was more than a worthy foe. 

 

As Solus raced around, he bent down and scooped up a piece of broken stone. No bigger than his fist, Solus clutched it tightly. Then, with a jump, Solus  landed on one of the ice columns and leapt into the air. 

 

“Gotcha” Solus stated and threw the rock down at his vulnerable target. With it, he willed the impossible geometries to aid the stone, using the force to accelerate the stone to a deadly speed.  
 

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Inmortos smiled at the Sithling’s words. Was he even listening to the dread necromancer’s instruction to have gotten caught on such a phrase? But still, one could be taught, lime a dog, to heel. If this one did not desire to rule the Sith, perhaps he desired more. If he did, Inmortos could help shape him and form him. If all he desired was the table scraps of impressing a master, then he was already lost; another cog to be ground to dust in the machinations of more worthy Sith. 
 

The cold had no effect on the sorcerer. It’s encircling embrace did not ensnare him like it did those lessers whose souls it sought to drain. Still, being entombed within the ice itself did restrain the wizard and muffled the outside world, even as it was muffled and slowed by the powers of stillness and cold outside. And within, Inmortos continued to manipulate the ice, casting the energies of the air, water, and souls into the void. The ice continued to twist and crack and expand until it reached the fringes of the foggy battlefield. Even there, it creaked and groaned as it sought to bind more heat, more life, more existence within it’s eternally silent grasp. And still, Inmortos worked, in his silent tomb of cold his hands churned forth the cursed ancient sigils of a time long before the name Sith was even known to the cosmos.

 

A flash, a blur of color, emotion, and energy, zipped overhead; a stark contrast to the stillness of absolute zero. Inmortos’ eyes were drawn to it, even as he felt a shift in the force, a movement on the absolute glassiness of the void within the ice. The stone plunged downwards riding the emotionally charged wave downwards crashing through the thick ice in a torpid assault first on Inmortos’ senses, destined for an attempted assault on his very person.

 

Inmortos, stooped as he was, ducked, his spine curling even more with the will of the ice. The stone bullet crashed through the ice overhead coming to rest in the ice across the small tomb that contained the sorcerer. It had been breached, and like the tombs of Sith kings of old, doing so unleashed the cursed and evils contained within.

 

From his stooped position, Inmortos grasped his frigid hilt, ripping it from his sleeve as he activated it in the same motion. A blackened blade erupted from the end, sucking in light and warmth, icy fingers crawi from it’s aura as the temperatures dropped further obscuring the evil lord in mists and thermal blotting cold.

 

Directing his stillblade towards the vaulting mechanical being, a twisting spiral of galeforce winds erupted from Inmortos. It tore through the icy enclosure blasting spikes of razor sharp projectiles along it’s billowing path. He traced the movement of Solus above, carving his tomb open to the heavens as he sought to blast the Sithling from the sky on a explosive wave of tearing wind. 
 

As the blast of supercharged supercooled air struck Solus’ chassis and tore at the edges of his plating, it rocketed the Sith apprentice skyward until he fell from the directed maelstrom, plummeting back towards the ground where he landed in a heap.

 

Climbing from his icy enclosure like a wild cat atop a mountain overlook, Inmortos regarded the mass of droid and force energies. In one hand he clenched his still ignited weapon, cold mists radiating from his form as his edges were blotted from sight and his temperatures equalized with the air. The wind, once pointed and directed now howled about the sorcerer, billowing his robes and swirling the mists as they clung to the area about him.

 

Inmortos stopped across the clearing from Solus. “Do you hear my words apprentice? If you hear them, why do you not heed? Are your loftiest goals so low that you think you can achieve them bound in the mortal coil you now possess?” his voice boomed supernaturally on the wind, weighted with the cold deadness that was the inevitable final fate of the dark side. 

 

“I see now that you are not one to take analogies and lessons to heart, but that I must speak plainly as if to your dog. I care not what your aspirations are. A pawn such as yourself will never become more than a pawn if he has not goals of his own beyond the approval and whims of he that holds your leash. So long as you think only of what this world is, what you can do with this world, you will never be enough. You will fail, bound by your own lack of insight and imagination. You are but a stone. See through the force, not your attached eyes. See the truth. Find your own weakness and cultivate it so that when the time comes, your very weakness may become your strength.”

 

”When your lightsaber failed, you reached out upon the force. That shows me you are capable. Then you resort to throwing stones at me, a god? If that is all you learn by the way of the warrior I know now why we seek to surrender our Infinite Empire to the likes of the Jedaii.”

 

With a waive of his hand, ice materialized about the apprentice’s lightsaber hilt as it rolled on the ground, entombing it and binding it to the earth

 

”You, Solus, are more than that. Find your fears, bind them and make them your slave. Face them so that you might overcome them.”

 

Inmortos reached for his belt line and withdrew a phial. He regarded it for a moment in silence, before tossing the crystalline container into the wind where it crashed and splintered at the base of the heap that was Solus. A heavy vapor rose with the crash, before settling and washing over the Shard and his automaton, working it’s way into every crevice and clinging wherever it might find a microscopic hold. Despair, bottled and purified from the tortured souls held within Inmortos’ care. The Curse of Howling Despair did not care upon whom or what it inflicted it’s touch. Beings were sapped of their emotional energies, struck with immediate severe depression and apathy. Machines reduced to the slightest slimmer of power, only emergency generations holding off the complete sapping away of power. And it spread from the spot where it had erupted, creating a festering pool of thick despair to any that dared come near.


Lowering his hand, Inmortos regarded the Shard.  “I teach this lesson but once Apprentice Solus. If you cannot find your weakness, it will be exploited by those who can.”

 

((Curse of Hollowing Despair: Unsealing a crystal phial, the cryomancer releases a miasma of distilled despair that clings to any living or powered things that it touches, sapping away both emotional and technological energy. Victims of the curse suffer immediate severe depression and apathy, and machines afflicted by it struggle to function on the barest minimum of power. The cone of effect is short but broad, reaching ten feet away from the sorcerer but spreading thirty feet wide.))

 

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Solus felt the air around him grow still for a moment. In the Impossible Geometries, the images and shapes are momentarily stilled. The red cloud of rage around him briefly separated as a burst of pure energy coursed at him with violent intention. But being this high in the air, Solus understood there was nothing he could do. He had left himself vulnerable, and now was going to pay the price. 

 

Never did Solus grow disoriented in the flight. His full vision helped keep him oriented, and the Impossible Geometries were so violent naturally that spinning was pointlessly violanet. Still, the landing did cause a lot of pain. The crashing into the ground broke the stones and ice underneath was loud to say the least. 

Inmortos’ words rang a different form of truth to the Shard. Even as he laid crumpled on the ground, the words were starting to take hold. He was a pawn. He was weak. That’s what was wrong with this situation. Solus was not strong enough.

 

Solus attempted a stand, only to nearly collapse. The vapors from what Inmortos had tossed had taken effect almost immediately. His body’s energy left him violently. His gears felt heavy. His soul felt…

 

“I can’t…I can…no, no…”

 

Solus shook himself. He wouldn’t fall here! Solus tilted his head up towards Inmortos. He needed a moment to recover. But Inmortos wouldn’t grant that. It was hopeless! No, Solus shook his head, still focusing on Inmortos. He would find a way to survive and win. Perhaps…the Impossible Geometries could help with that…

Solus focused on the Geometries again. But this time, he focused his envy and anger to go past Inmortos, towards the Linnorms who were brave enough and lucky enough to still be watching and unfrozen. One of them was fingering his gun nervously, not sure what was going to happen. 

 

Solus focused his envy around this one. He focused his rage at a spot just next to the warrior and then, will the full force of his own willpower, willed all of his envy to crash at the one point. To make a shockwave in the shapes and colors at that one spot. To make his envy be like a stone in the lake of chaos and to make…

 

The noise was sudden and loud. It sounded like the mechanical screech of several gears grinding in one place. This noise became a chain reaction with the beings nearby. The Linnorm, entirely focused on the battle, became startled, and misfired his own slugthrower rifle. Unfortunately, the weapon was pointed towards the palace. 

 

Tear, who had been waiting patiently, was not amused when the slug hit the wall next to him. The Sith hound roared and charged the soldier. Claws were bared, teeth were shown  and saliva fell  in torrents.  The other Linnorms observed and stood back as their comrade was torn apart. No one willed to get in the way of the beast their master Akheron believed to be sacred. 

 

Solus seized the moment. With what little strength remained and with everyone distracted, Solus moved his legs into motion and made his way sideways. With all of the ice and rubble that Inmortos had created, he had unknowingly created a literal maze. 

 

Once behind a wall, Solus focused again. He had to. Desperation was clinging at his emotions. But he had to do this. He had to focus. They were his emotions! They would obey him! Not the other way around! They would be his slaves! 

 

Solus closed himself from the Impossible Geometries. He focused only on two things. Keeping himself disconnected from the Force, and listening for what Inmortos would do next. Hopefully, Solus could hide long enough to gain his strength back. 

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Darth Nyrys found no joy in the celebrations or the banter. Naboo had been the resultant blaze of the buildup of too much aimless corruption and rage within the order. While such things were tools of the Sith, they needed to be handled properly, the way the sorcerers conducted their strange alchemies with volatile and strange humours. The taste of ashes and pungent sickly sweet rot pervaded the air and the food, offering no joy from the spoils of victory. A more intact Naboo would have been quite the crowning jewel in the Empire’s journey of conquest, a place of art, culture, and beauty, but there was something cursed about this place that brought out the worst in the Sith. It was Emperor Palpatine’s birthplace, perhaps he had scarred it in some way, or it had scarred him until he was the madman that the galaxy would eventually cower before.

 

    She left the banquet hall in a pensive state, having nothing else to say to the assembled Sith. The coming storm would measure each of them in ways that they never had to contend with under Exodus’s rule, such was the nature of the slow moving poison that is success. The shortsighted among them would think less of her for it, but the wise would see the strength gained from tribulation and struggle. She had once wondered what great monument or temple she would leave behind upon reaching her time of greatness, but now it seemed more important to carve and shape the Sith themselves more so than any stone or metal.

 

    Upon reaching the shuttle pad she saw that she was not the only one ready to leave Naboo. Ca’aran was the anchor that kept her from fully falling into the abyss during her darker moments, the flickering candle that made her a conqueror rather than a reaver. Without him she might have convinced herself that she enjoyed the taste of ash and blight, that the galaxy deserved such things as a consequence for the wrongs that had been done to her. Instead, she was a righteous devil.

 

    “Headed my way, soldier?” she asked, the question attempting to bring some levity to her overcast heart, but only partially succeeding. “I am told that we have taken Lehon, and I wish to see what state it is in, whether or not we have enough left of it to proceed with the plan.”

 

    The shuttle departed, leaving behind the festering wound that was Naboo. As the ship reached orbit she could still see the dust and smoke from her own dramatic entrance into the battle. Her hands were by no means unsoiled by the conflict, the rage of the Sith being a wildfire that spread like a spiritual sickness from one Sith to another. That wasn’t fair though, that was shifting the blame. No matter what darkness plagued her, it was still her hand that cast the spear…

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Cold blue eyes looked from behind an iron visor to the eyes of his lover. Was she just one in a long trail of failed romances? Or would she prove to be something else? She was his stability in the constantly shifting sands of the galactic war. Without her, he knew that he would be yet another mindless soldier marching under a flag that did not care about him. Like he had been all of his life. But was such consciousness worth the price of entry? What were these feelings and failings when compared the embrace of honour and duty? There was something to be said about the faceless visor which he had spent the majority of his life hiding behind. It allowed him to bury his consciousness a mile behind durasteel. Without it, his heart hurt from a million wounds. Most self inflicted. 

 

So he bowed low to the Dark Lord, and placing his grey helm upon his blonde head, he walked into the troop transport bound to Onderon. From there it would join the Dark Lord at the Empire’s newest conquest.

 

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Inmortos blinked. The chaos that unfolded was the mark of darkness in motion. Had the apprentice listened? The next moments would tell. The cacophony of antiquated slug throwers echoed on the air. The powdered stillness that followed, broken by the cries of the luckiest linworm as his life was ended in a tearing and rending of flesh. The cold dark sorcerer licked his lips. The taste of death like a sweet garnish to his nose. He knew the moment the sickly servant’s life drew to a close.

 

With a swift gesture upwards, Inmortos tore the soul free from it’s shackled existence; still warm to the touch. A shade of the now-dead servant arched upwards with an otherworldly scream, a translucent ghost with his face contorted in the agony of death and the pain of undying. His existence now held in the controlling grasp of Inmortos’ skeletal hand.

 

Turning his attention back to the glacially shorn and torn training field, the wizard’s weak eyes surveilled the mists. The Sithling was gone from the pool of positive-sapping potion. He reached out on the darkness, feeling the shifting waves of dark emotions. His presence was one of deathly calm. He could not feel the apprentice either. A smile played across his face. The stone had not died. No, he would have felt it. Yet, Solus was gone. He had listened after all.

 

Twisting his elevated hand, Inmortos commanded the restless spirit. It’s emotional state twisted and screamed in agony. He cast the spirit forward towards the nearest outcropping of ice. The spirit followed his command arching and charging forward with an otherworldly cry. Crashing into the ice, the spirit detonated, creating an implosion that shattered ice and drew it inward unto a singular point with deadly needled points.

 

Bringing his second hand up to his waist, Inmortos began to mumble ancient words of power, of decay and entropy. He called forth inky black orbs of ethereal nothingness. They swirled in a vortex about Inmortos carving furrows in the ground as the stoney surface of the ground disintegrated at their touch. Sulphuric plumes of choking smoke clouded the air about the sorcerer as the orbs spun violently and chaotically. Anything they touched would degrade at frightening speeds, their lives accelerated beyond death to a point of unmaking. The power of absolute destruction, pure offense, would serve as  his shield and protection until he could cast it onto the shell that contained the shard; until he could see Solus again. He would learn or be destroyed.
 

And if he fled? Inmortos did not even entertain the idea. The stone wanted to be a Sith. Cowardice was not in his frame.

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Akheron had remained silent as Inmortos attacked his wayward apprentice, who appeared to want to impart a lesson or two. Lessons of which he held no objections too, afterall to become stronger one had to learn what they could from who they could. What could not be learnt from his own master would be learnt either in battle or from those who imparted such lessons.

 

He observed but kept his distance, had he need he would intervene. In the meantime , he listened to Tros speak and couldn't help but illicit a chuckle.

 

"Usually train, if you have a desire for such I am happy to oblige you. What better way to learn about each other, for it is true what people say. You do not truly know someone until you fight them, in the chaos of battle the true measure and character of a man or woman becomes known. I believe we have much to learn of each other. Looks like my apprentice is learning the truth of this."

Edited by Karys Narat iv-Adas

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

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

 

I survived the Great JNet Outage of 2012

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