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Naboo


RaveN
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As Akheron observed the ritual and movements within the Force Wound, he could feel the tension building. He was intrigued somewhat, for many elements of his own ritual remained but it appeared due to the Shard the ritual took a life of it's own, it spoke of his potential. 

 

Even as he felt the emotions dripping from his apprentice, Akheron observed silently until he felt the changes occur. Saw the sphere form and take shape as his apprentice screamed into the nothingness. At the rituals end, he stood proud of the accomplishment and offered a knowing nod to the Spider creature who bore the marks of the Fanged God. When presented with finished product, Akheron took the lightsaber.

 

It was a crude design but reminded him of his own. Traditional in appearance, primal even. He could feel the Envy drip from it's core, threatening to suffocate and snuff all life out. Handing the bladed back, he nodded approvingly before speaking.

 

"Most excellent my apprentice, you have achieved a feat few ever have. You have passed the test and advanced to the next step of your training. You now have the tools but must now learn that which is needed to wield this extension of yourself to it's maximum effect. From here everything gets much harder. 

 

Perhaps now you know the truth of my words and the wisdom spoken. Having witnessed that which cannot be rightly explained to some. In light of this achievement I deem you ready and worthy to shed that which you were in Clan Brasganu having faced the manifestation of Darkness both internal and external.. in my authority as both your master and Lord-Captain of Clan Brasganu I deem it so that you are The Golden Slave no more my apprentice but have been reborn again and ascended through the first fire. You have become The Dragon and as such shall be known as such among those of Clan Brasganu. 

 

You are likewise granted autonomy to recraft your body as you deem fit as necessary to your chosen path. Which seems to favour the Assassin as I previously mentioned. You may give yourself a 'face'  if that is your desire. See Stitch-Mouth about doing this. Once this is done, we shall depart this world for Aeris III where we are expected. Hold your head high my apprentice and savour your success, at least for now, for on the journey we begin your next steps."

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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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Pride practically oozed out of Solus at the high praise and the bestowment of the title. Solus almost shivered with excitement. If he hadn’t been trying so hard to impress his master, he probably would have. 

 

“Thank you master.” Solus bowed as he took the blade back. His fingers grazed over the handle almost lovingly, as if he was still comprehending the fact that he actually had made this. “I will rise to every challenge your training gives me.”

 

Solus made his way back to Stitch-Mouth. When Solus explained his task, the human nodded knowingly and assembled a variety of parts onto a makeshift table before him. Solus was almost happy that some of the parts were from his old chassis. 

 

The crafting was much different then before. In previous times, Stitch-Mouth did things his way, without care about his care’s feelings. But now, the alchemist began to actually present ideas. With no words, Stitch-Mouth conveyed methods of having plates fold and slide over themselves, multiple places for sensors and ventilations, places were wires could connect and shouldn’t connect. 

 

Solus found the word to describe this was Respect. Before, Solus was some child to the alchemist, a pet project to the Sorcerers of Bragsanu. But now, he had proved he was more than just a passing phase of the Lord-Captain’s. Solus, now Dragon of the clan, was on a path to something greater. 

 

Eventually, the modifications to the head was made. Solus sat down on the ground and allowed the alchemist to do what he did best. Sensors  were removed, screws and bolts were loosened, and metal platings were added with new sensors. Instead of opening up to reveal the shard inside, the plates slid over themselves to reveal the piece of living stone. While there were still a full array of sensors all over the head, several spots on the new ‘face’ were actually opened directly to the glowing stone inside. 

 

Spoiler

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Finally, Solus awaited at the ship. Tear sat beside the Shard awaiting as well, holding a large, bleeding piece of Gungan in its teeth. Solus felt his blade's hilt again. The flowing energy from the Impossible Geometries was almost intoxicating. How he longed for the opportunity to sate his blade's, and the Fanged god's, thirst. 

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Tros stood within the main hold of Swift Justice looking at a few others gathered at the holoconfrence with him. Avao Skol, Kami Larkin and Kot’dral Duvul all stood and listened to the general report from Naboo. Tros finished up his own final thoughts to them before opening up the table for discussion. “In short, we need to be prepared for a ori’osik amount of resistance. I’m also going to put credits that Terra will be in the opposition. She’s been spotted working with these people over and over again. We’re going to need a few other things to make a good showing at Nar Shaddaa.” He tilted his head towards Kot’dral to see how he was doing. Kami broke the small gap. 

 

“Formation wise, Clan Larkin would better serve the overall purpose either through ground assault and ship boarding. But I have a feeling that the majority of them are going to attempt to flee. They won’t stay if mass destruction becomes imminent. And if they catch word or a hint that the strike is coming, they’ll evacuate the civilians along with attempting to control the battlefield. Nal Hutta may be the place where they dictate terms…” Behind his buy’ce, Tros let out a sigh. Ship to ship fighting wouldn’t be ideal in any sense if they wished to make a hard hit. Avao cut through finally. “With the huntsman of Clan Larkin, Clan Vuuku will provide our supercommandos to be deployed in any way you see fit Alor. I’m going to keep our weaponsmiths behind to finish up production… speaking of which…”

 

Avao pulled up a schematic for everyone to see. “We have finished at Qat Chrystac with the production of 36 Fang Fighters that can be deployed. They will be a shock to see, as many in the battlefield have not seen them before. If one of our allied ships can bring them, we can man and deploy them. I will also send with them a new batch of Westar Assault Rifles we just finished crafting. They’ll be a new weapon of choice that could give any jetiise fits. But the main reason why I’m holding our smiths back is this…” A new diagram came to life. When Avao spoke, she held a pride and joy within her voice. “ I present to you, the Keldabe-class Battleship. The main outline and fitting has begun on this bad boy. It won’t be ready for any form of deployment for another 6 weeks, longer if I have to keep surrendering personnel to other avenues, but I feel like this will be something you’ll enjoy surprising people with Alor…”

 

Tros knew that his own eyes held the excitement of seeing such a thing, and he wanted his fellow vod to share in his own excitement, so he took off his buy’ce for everyone to see his face. “That is a thing of beauty Avao. Keep working on it. When it’s ready, I want to give it a test run.” Setting his buy’ce aside, he looked now directly at Kot’dral. “I want all of Clan Ardell summoned. Zealots and Pathfinders alike. This is a House Solus objective, and I want the galaxy to know that when it involves House Solus, they get everyone. I’ll be sending everyone the rendezvous point shortly. I just need to connect with a final piece before I lock everything into place. Be ready to move at my word. Dismissed.”

 

As the transmission was cut by Tros, Sutu appeared in the main frame that led to the cockpit. “We’ve cleared any disastrous zones from Theed… awaiting orders.” He looked for a moment at his own buy’ce and then picked it up and placed it under his arm. “Blow it and signal Raven’s Bane. We have request to make of them…”

 

 

ori’osik : Big shit

Buy'ce : Helmet

Alor : Leader

Jetiise : Jedi (Plural) 

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Mishuk gotal'u meshuroke, pako kyore.

 

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As Solus returned Akheron noted his new changes and improvements to his outer shell. A new body. Approving of it he spoke, it was time to depart, him and all the Linnorms here along with the precious cargo that was the plasma they had gathered for study.

 

Making contact with the Linnorm left in charge of the operation, he requested a update and a shuttle immediately. It wasn't long before both arrived.

 

 "Lothal, status update requested. Has all cargo been secured aboard the 'Fang Of Chaos' as instructed and the Linnorms made way to the shuttles. We are departing this world, have Stitch -Mouth depart also." 

 

 "Already done my Lord, we just finished up after the young Shard left. Stitch-Mouth is aboard the shuttle and heading to secure you Lord-Captain. I am too, we should be approaching within moments."

 

 Akheron acknowledged him just as he saw the shuttle come into view, landing just outside the Force Wound. The ramp descended allowing both the Shard, Solus and Akheron to at last depart the hellscape that Naboo had become.

 

 "Very good Lothal, I can see you now. Let us leave this desolate world, our work here is done."

 

 Walking to the shuttle Akheron motioned Solus to follow. He picked up pace as he felt the Darkness, something told him he should hurry.

 

 "I see some great improvements upon you my apprentice. Come our time here is done, Aeris III awaits and your further training."

 

((After your final post we are moving to the space thread.))

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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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Mordecai sat on a bench at the edge of the training pit aboard the Raven's Bane, taking the moment to catch his breath. Sweat soaked his body, coming off of him in rivers, the water beside him empty. Even as a Master, he would need to hone his body. His swords were magnificent and dangerous, but they weren't what made him deadly. He had been a Sith for nearly half a decade now, and every waking moment he had free since then he had spent training. He had been decently built when he had joined the Sith, but years of combat and rigorous practice had left him covered in muscles and brutal battle scars.

 

He wasn't alone in the room- a few of his personal guard were fighting in the training ring, and another was testing their weapons at a built-in firing range. A fourth, a private in the Raven's Bane marine detachment, was resting across the room, staring at the seasoned Sith. When he was caught, he quickly glanced away, and Mordecai laughed.

 

"I'm not going to kill you, boy."

 

The silence hung in the air for a moment before the private spoke. "Where did you get them, my lord?"

 

Mordecai chuckled, shaking his head. "No need for 'My Lord' if we're just sharing war stories. Different scars are from different battles. Each set of scars tells a different story. For example- the burns that scar my face. An Imperial Exorcist left me with those when I was still an apprentice. A caution against arrogance." He pointed at a scar on his shoulder. "A big bastard gave me this at Kuat by throwing my into the twisted remains of a hanger door. A reminder that there are always people who can throw you harder than you can throw them."

 

He pointed at a long-healed gash in his side. "A Jedi padawan gave this to me over Corellia, on board the Scarab. Naïve child didn't understand what it means to be in battle. He never stood a chance."

 

He was quiet for another moment. He had fought so many. He had won many fights, but lost just as many. Bitter reminders of his own shortcomings. Of his failures.

 

"What about your chest?"

The room went silent as his personal guard watched closely. It was a story he kept close, and at being reminded of it, he grimaced. Luckily, he was saved by the loud beeping of his communicator. Picking it up, he waved a hand at the Private.

 

"A story for another time." He pushed a button, answering the call. 

"You have Darth Mavanger, Warmaster of the Dark Lord. I'm told you have a request to make of me."

 

 

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Tros walked into the cockpit just as the otherside came to life. For better clarity, he took his buy'ce off and set it down before speaking. "Darth Mavanger, this is Tros. The forges at Qat Chrystac have finished production of 3 squadrons of Fang class starfighters. I believe that they could provide some extra fun with our upcoming battle. But they will need a ship to host them to travel that far. I am assuming that such a thing could be arranged." As he finished, he sat down within the copilot's chair, despite the fact that it was his own ship. Upon sitting, he realized he wanted one last thing to run by the Sith. 

 

"Also, none of you Sith had any attachments to Theed right..." Sutu walked in and said rather loudly. "It's blown..." "Because it's gone."

 

 

*** Theed, Naboo ***

 

The charges placed all around the Theed Palace by the Mandalorians of House Solus, a total of 18 charges strategically placed, designed to separate the palace from the cliff side and have it tumble downward off the cliff and become no more from the city of Naboo. As the charges exploded, it took no more than a minute and a half to have the palace leave its once famous spot. The damage done would have parts of the surround cliff side fall off for the next two days, taking with it smaller buildings and anything that remained. 

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Mishuk gotal'u meshuroke, pako kyore.

 

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Darth Mavanger shook his head. Tros had been at the council meeting, and had impressed the Sith Master repeatedly with his conduct and capability. After the battle of Theed, though, his hanger was overfull with troops and supplies. To make room for these fighters, he would need to see the fighters. It would require manpower and time, both of which his armada was beginning to run low on. He rubbed the stubble on his chin for a moment, thinking.

 

"It may be doable, but I need two things from you. First, I need schematics of the ships sent to my secure line for inspection. If I'm making room in my hanger for fighters that are not mine, they need to be up for the task. Second, my forces are running low. The Outer Rim has always been a hard place to conquer, and they have bloodied my nose. From what I understand, you have a large contingent of Mandalorian fighters. If I'm to transport your ships, your men will need to pilot them. On that note, as our ally, I would like to requisition an additional detachment of Mandalorians aboard my flagship for a special assignment in the upcoming battles."
 

His demeanor had shifted. He was no longer off-duty. As he re-equipped his old armor, he hesitated for a moment. 

 

"Perhaps, given the depth of this discussion, you should come aboard. I will meet you personally in Hangar A."

 

 

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Tros pondered upon what was being asked of him, but the topic quickly changed as Mavanger instead requested him join him on ship, to which provided the opportunity to cement more details. With a nod, he responded back. "Hangar A then." He turned to comm unit off and gave a small tap on the shoulder of Sarpo who was piloting the ship. "Take us in." Tros then put his buy'ce back on and walked back into the main hold where Sutu was now at. "Sutu, contact Kami and Gronn. I have an assignment for them." The ship then slowly rocked and yellow lights lit the main hold as Sarpo began to land the ship within the hangar. Upon it fully touching down, the lights went green and Tros opened the hatch and walked down to greet Darth Mavanger with a small head nod. 

 

"I have the specs here for you on this holodisc regarding the Fang starfighters. While they have hyperdrives, the rush to produce them this round did not install them. This is a one time only request for this. As far as your request, I shall need to know what sort of operation you plan to put them through so that I can provide you with the very best and right amount." 

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Mishuk gotal'u meshuroke, pako kyore.

 

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Mordecai returned the nod, motioning for the Mandalorian to follow him through the ship.

 

"If you will follow me, there is much to discuss, and not all of it is suited for outside ears."
 

He plugged the holodisk into a handheld projector, inspecting the designs as they walked. They were smaller than the Mark VIs that filled his hangars, and had access to a torpedo launcher. It did, however, lack the two extra lasers and shield system that had made the Mark VIs an ideal retrofit candidate. it seemed to be a return to the Empire's mass production of cheaply made fighters at a time where every use of resources was critical. He rubbed the stubble on his chin. The benefit was that these were produced by the Mandalorian worlds, not their own.

 

"In future rollouts, it may be worthwhile to include shield generators. Other than that, I see no reason why I cannot retrieve your squadrons after my resupply at Geonosis."

They arrived at the command center shortly after. He had not returned here since Naboo had burned beneath his armada. There was a brief hesitation, and then he entered. It was mostly empty, the few low level officers that were present working on their duties snapping to attention as he entered. He waved them off, letting them return to their work. He took his position at the head of the holographic display, the shattered board not yet repaired from his actions over Trulalis. He sighed as that moment rushed back to him. The grief, the rage, both threatening to once more take hold of him. He pushed them down, bottling them up. Those would serve him well in a fight, but right now, he needed to focus.

 

"As you likely know, Tros, I have been instructed by the Dark Lord to carry out the vital task of slaying the Rebel Empress. She has hidden on her base of Nar Shaadaa since her attempted assassination by Quela Darksong over Borleais, only leaving on her flagship of the Misercordia. That said, my sources do not believe she will flee the system when we attack. Whether she takes to the battle aboard the Misercordia, or remains at the Rebel Headquarters, she will be heavily defended. My power is great, but this is a fight I cannot win alone. I need to strike fast, and strike surgically. While I could take the vessel or headquarters with a legion of our Marines, it would be a long and costly endeavor, with a high likelyhood of her escape. This is unacceptable."

 

He looked up to Tros, his eyes glowing with the faintest traces of rage and a lust for vengeance.

 

"I hear that Mandalorians are the best fighters in the galaxy aside from those who wield the Force. I would like to put that to the test. Give me three squads of your best to assist myself and my personal guard in the attack, and my hangar is yours for your three squadrons."

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Tros followed Mavanger through the ship, the Mandalorian taking in every turn and detail that he could, both with the ship and with the words being spoken. When the two finally reached the command center. Behind his buy'ce, he eyed the shattered board of the holographic display for a single moment, which the Sith seemed to do as well, and almost at the same time, both looked at each other. He listened in intently to the Sith and what he had to say- and he did indeed come to know the information being revealed to him. As he finished, the rage within his eyes seemed to boil out some rage that was hidden beneath somewhere. Showing him a sign of respect, he removed his buy'ce and placed it under his arm, allowing for his eyes to be seen directly by Mavanger. 

 

"I have a few squads that may be exactly what you need. Two Super Commando squads may exactly what you need for any circumstances. Within my house, they are the ones who like to be outgunned and outmanned. It's a challenge for them. But on top of that, I will also give you a squad of pathfinders. They will be a good support to you to help find a way in no matter where the Rebel Empress may hide." His deadliest force would not be lent out, as they held their own mission that Tros wanted accomplished. Plus, he only had enough men to fill two squads from the reports that Kot'dral gave him. He also had his own intentions of dealing out damage this trip. He understood all too well that the Dark lady gave him control over the majority of her forces this trip, but they were not the end objective for her. What Mavanger was doing was the goal. So it was now up to the Mandalorians to create enough smoke and confusion to really let the Sith before him succeed. 

 

To ensure his victory, organised chaos will be needed both overhead and on the planet side. Terra and others will need to be drawn out, including the Imperial Knights that swore protection of Raven. While he had already criticized the old design of the Fangs, which had not had any time to be updated and upgraded, the designs are apart of his plan, which also let's his Zealots get planetside to obtain what they need. No shields would almost guarantee falling debris, and if they attacked the Rebel headquarters, it meant clearing out opposition. And if that was where Raven settled in, it would also mean that protection of her would be a priority that the zealots could use to their own advantage. 

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Mishuk gotal'u meshuroke, pako kyore.

 

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Mordecai nodded, his mouth pressed into a hard line. The Mandalorian clearly understood the importance of his task, at least from a tactical standpoint. A quick tactical strike in the chaos of battle, severing the head of the false Empire. It would leave the defense floundering, and in the ensuing chaos and fog of war, the Sith would be free to complete any number of other objectives. In truth, however, very little of that mattered to him this time. His mind was razor sharp, focused on one singular concept. Vengeance. It burned in his chest, prickled at the back of his mind, dominated his day. 

 

"They shall suffice. It goes without saying that this is a lethal mission. As powerful as I am, as well trained and equipped as our commandos are, the chance of any of us making it to the end of the battle is low. We will be striking at the heart of the Rebel forces, where their most elite fighters will be waiting."

 

He stepped away as a tone rang out from his communicator. A message had arrived for his. He read it quickly, nodding as he did.

 

"I've been informed that the materials I was waiting for at Geonosis have finally arrived. With our battle right around the corner, I must return immediately to attend to my duties there. My forces shall stop at Qat Chrystac on the way to the baatle to pick up your commandos and your fighters. If you wish to remain on Naboo, I suggest you exit this vessel immediately. Alternatively, you may inspect the rest of my forces at Geonosis when we arrive."

Edited by Mavanger

 

 

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Tros simply gave a nod and then turned to walk back the same way he was lead in. But before leaving the command center, he spoke. "I will see you and your forces at Qat Chrystac." He then left and walked his way back quickly to his own ship. His thoughts moved more rapidly through his own walk, thinking over what sort of damage would be done by his House at the battle, along with what sort of reputation would they gain and how many others would be attracted to the cause. They were fleeting thoughts, and even as he had them knew they held no weight. Glory was something all Mandalorians wished to gain and hold through battle. Fighting against their own kind? Outside of the Death Watch heavy fighting era many years ago, such a thing never truly existed. And even then, majority of Mandalorians don't look back on those days with glee. There was no true honor or glory in the fighting. 

 

But would Terra see such a fight that way? The two were bound to engage and fight at Nar Shaddaa. Leaders on opposing sides, once on the same side. But he walked away from Terra's call, her ways. He didn't believe in the gods anymore. He only believed in himself and the cause he was fighting for. The end of Jetiise and the call to forge a new path, one that would have a Mandalorian banner worth following all the way back to Mandalore. Climbing up the ramp, Sutu greeted him with the same nod he gave Mavanger. "Take us back Qat Chrystac. The meeting of clan leaders is at hand, as is the war." With those words, Tros walked himself past Sutu and towards his own sleeping quarters. He had much to ponder before their arrival. 

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Mishuk gotal'u meshuroke, pako kyore.

 

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  • 1 month later...

Black armoured soldiers stood in still rows that stretched the length of eyesight. Unmoving like ebony carved statues before the smoking ruins of Theed. Arrayed were the legions, the pride of and glory of the Armed Forces of the galactic rim, battalion after battalion arrayed below fluttering red and black banners. All eyes towards the pile of rubble that had once been the royal throne rooms. 

 

They were the Felix Legions. Once the knife that had severed the throat of Onderon, plunged into the forests of Kashyyyk, the fire itself that had ruined Carida. They had their duty to uphold in the coming battle, and their commander was confident that they would play their part well. 

 

For there was only one way to open a tear. To plant a seed of destruction that could carry its fruit through the peace and into the next great war. They needed no great speech, and they expected none from their shadowed commander. 

 

They knew their duty. They would plant the seed and water it deep with the blood of the Rebel Capital world. They would be the sower of the seed that would bring their destruction back to life in the next generation. 

 

For it would be massacre, it would be destruction, It would be Vengeance

Commander Valinor - Sith Lord

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Admiral 3rd Felix Legions

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Fiochmar still aboard the ship has been spending the long days and nights of his time under Mavanger training with his weapons and wandering the ship. Speaking with its crew and staff. Getting to know each person that has anything to do with the ships day to day operations, his focus though has been mostly on the honing of his mind and body. Focusing on his anger and hatred, focusing on his one self loathing for his losses and the death of his family and destruction of his home world. On the humiliation of that defeat he suffered at his masters hands when he first sparred with him. Fiochmar paces back and forth seething and growling in that anger and passion his desire for power and to prove himself worthy of this new life, of his place in the Sith Order giving rise to his cunning and ambitions. Smirking as he meditates on all those darker and deeper feelings along with his desires as he can feel the power in him his connection to it growing with every minute that he meditates and trains.

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A short journey later from Falleen and the full might of the Clan Brasganu nomad fleet arrived above Naboo. Or what remained of it after the previous destruction and purging of the planet. Some of which the Clan played a part in. In the outer atmosphere, high above among the stars staring down at the planet, Akheron could still feel the death below. The wound caused by the Sith advance. Turning away he looked towards a large console at the centre of the room. He had the crew inform the correct authority of just who they were and that Clan Brasganu had arrived to assist in the coming battle. The fleet was a strange mix of modern and older ships, all unique in their own ways. The Lord-Captain's having marked and changed them in their own ways to fit their personality and rituals.

 

Akheron stood in anticipation at just what the meeting with the other Lord-Captain's including the newly minted Krath Inmortos, the latest Lord-Captain to be officially recognised in the House Of Dragons, Clan Brasganu would entail. It was the first time they had met in such a way in months, having not found the time necessary to organise such a feat between them all.

 

The Sith Warrior stood ready as the holographic display lit up with the other Lord-Captain's glowing a bright blue and shimmering. Akheron began, allowing his apprentice to add anything should he wish. For as his second command he had the right to partake in the further politics of the Clan.

 

"We have been asked to assist the task of seeing Darth Mavanger reaches the supposed Empress that sits at the head of the Alliance and their Jedi puppets. To assist with removing and chopping off the head of the viper and feeding her soul to the Fanged God and the Darkness. We shall help clear the path but the Empress herself must be Lord Mavanger's quarry for the Dark Lady has requested it.

 

I am open to suggestions as to how best accomplish this. As for my own, I suggest a few bombing runs on civilian targets, lure her forces out from the protection they are afforded. Let's see if we can push her to make a mistake we can exploit."

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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 was quick to speak up at this meeting. Wanting to show the other Captains his right being there, he aimed to make an impression.

 

“My idea would be to attack full heartidly on the civilians, and not just by bombing.” 

 

Solus stopped and pulled up an image of a captured Gungan. The captain he had captured on Naboo. 

 

“This Gungan captain fought his hardest to protect his civilians. When Master Akheron and I were attacking their underwater city, we were very close to finding multiple civilian hideaways, and because of that, nothing else mattered to the Gungan. I suspect the enemy will be the same.”

 

Solus pulled the image down and faced the other captains fully, his faceplates shifting slightly to make his ‘eyes’ almost glare’

 

“We butcher the civilians. We broadcast their screams. We make the soldiers of the republic hear their people’s cries and force them to abandon key targets, making room for Lord Mavenger. Have each soldier carry an open comm, broadcasting on all channels for other civilians to hear. Let their screams and our songs be unified in chaos and fire and death. ”

 

Solus made a gesture. “Perhaps we can even force the populace to clog up travel ways, making it harder for the enemy to maneuver to face us. We can have the advantage to simply shoot everything we see and burn whatever gets in the way. Their fuel depots and their hospitals would be excellent targets for this. It would limit how many ships they can use to escape, and decrease how many wounded can be left behind. ”   

 

A beeping came from somewhere. A notification. Lord Sheog’s forces, the Court of Madness, had begun their attack. A decision would be needed soon. 
 

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Krath Inmortos stood within sight of his viewfinder, a chilling visage presented in the video comms of the other Clan vessels. A skeletal head swarthed in black with unblinking lifeless eyes. He did not say a word as discussions were had. His men would do their job either in this life or the next. Those who carried the day would live on in service to their dark captain, those who died would be bound for eternity, servants of the god-king himself. Even now his magics had begun to seep into the very souls of his crew and the ship itself. Death had come to live in their midst.

 

Just before ending the comms, Inmortos’ voice rasped gratingly across the speakers, “Drive your ship into the maelstrom. Leave none alive.” His eyes  then seemed to focus squarely Solus with exclusion to all others, “next time, leave their mind intact. It hastens the process by which truth is laid bare.” And with that, his comms deactivated and the ship of the dead began to angle itself for immediate hyperspace departure

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The walk to the bridge of the Raven's Bane was a solemn one. Mordecai was flanked by the remnants of his personal guard, their numbers as damaged as his fleet's forces. Their heavy boots echoed with the heavy thuds of metal on metal, warning any along the way of his arrival long before they saw him. His mind was chaotic- he had found trouble in focusing his emotions on his mission. His anger and rage were dangerously close to boiling over as they had on Naboo. Raven. The figurehead of the rebel movement. The commander of their forces, and the mastermind behind the apparent fall of the Sith Empire. He felt the black poison of fury in his veins even as he thought of her name. In the coming days, either she would die, or he would. It was, ironically, the only thought he could cling to. Either she would join her rebels in a lonely grave, or he would join his allies and friends in his. A surprisingly acceptable outcome.

 

He had already summoned his apprentice to the ship, to prepare him for the coming fighting. The last fight he would know for some time. Everything he had worked for had led to this moment, but it didn't ring as his own. Despite everything, he felt robbed of the glory that had been his for the taking. Between the plans the Dark Lord had for the Sith Empire, and the losses of everyone he held dear, there was nothing left for his weary soul to claim in this war but revenge. So he would- His vengeance would be manifested. The rebel leadership would fall, and it would be his blade that would strike down the False Empress, and the crystal he held would ensure that she would never return. A gift from the Dark Lord, before they parted ways. In another life, they could have been good friends. But this war had stripped him of his comradery with every death and every abandonment. He stood alone, now, and in some ways that was worse than anything else the rebels had cursed him with.

 

He entered the bridge, wordless until he arrived at the helm. He had received word that Sheog the Mad, a Hutt who had infiltrated his campaign in the earliest of its days, had begun the assault on Naboo. It was foolish, but they were to lose this battle in any outcome. It was also, considering what little interaction they had shared thusfar, was not outside of the realm of Sheog's character. Regardless, the battle had begun, and he would not hold his forces back any longer.

 

"Make for Nar Shaddaa. All hands at the ready. The fighting will begin as soon as we arrive, and I will need protection from our forces if I am to succeed in my objective."

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A rank, slovenly, overlarge form slithered its way onto the Bridge of the Raven’s Bane, no longer hidden in the form of an mere apprentice Huttling, but a corporeal, rotting form of the Master of all Krath, and Necromancer of them all. His voice was far more jovial than the all-consuming hunger that paled his form and stained the Force with his presence

 

<<Mavie my boy, what brings you to Naboo?>>

 

Multilidded eyes drooped over rotting, pale eyes, that seemed ever out of focus as they passed over the battlemap to drill into the Lord of the Sith before him. A large snuffling, phlegm-ridden sniff came from the Hutt

 

<<My, you smell like revenge.>>

 

Another sniff, a deeper, horrifyingly seductive tone to it.

 

<<My vanguard presses its advantage. I assume, as always I’ve jumped some form of gun.>>

 

The leering mouth twisted into the sweet smile of toddler, absolutely grotesque on the half rotted face.

 

<<Planning on wiping out that sweet Empress all on your onsie, are you?>>

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King Kheldar vos Correlli said:
Sheog, I have to ask, overkill much?
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Akheron spoke out, even as in the Darkness he felt a familiar presence nearby, a old friend if one could call him that. He could feel the Hunger and Gluttony. A smile crept across his lip, it seemed that he would be fighting alongside his old mentor once more. Turning to Solus as he relayed a strategy, Akheron nodded in agreement hoping the other Lord-Captain's agreed too.

 

It had merit, to incite panic and feed upon the destruction. To bait their target out. 

 

"Agreed. My Master Of Iron is correct, perhaps a combination of the two ideas?" 

 

He was about to speak further when he received the news. A advanced Sith fleet had begun the attack upon Nar Shadda, signalling the start of the final fight between the forces of Light and Darkness. At least for now. Speaking he informed the group as he noted upon the map that the fleet around them was departing. 

 

"It appears our time to discuss further is up. The attack upon Nar Shadda has begun, thus we shall have to improvise and use what we have. It appears that Lord Mavanger's ships are also departing, let us join him and honour the Fanged God with many souls. The Alliance and their Jedi puppets shall burn in the flames of our Wrath and Rage."

 

With that the meeting was at a end, turning to Solus he spoke.

 

"Inform the crew to battle positions, ready the shuttles and fighters. We strike the moment we arrive at Nar Shadda. As for yourself, you shall aid me personally in securing the way to the Empress once we board her ship, we will clear a path and wipe out any resistance to allow Lord Mavanger his moment. If I am needed, I shall be in the hangar bays preparing for the moment we arrive, after you have performed your current duties you are to join me. We must be ready for stiff resistance for Nar Shadda is their centre of power. Of Light, we shall strife to topple it."

 

With that he departed for the hangar bays, ready for the Clan Brasganu, the House Of Dragons to follow his lead and begin the largest purge for what was perhaps years. All would soon know the truth of the Fanged God and the Darkness.

 

 

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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Fiochmar had of course indeed heard his Master's summons, finishing up the bit of training he'd been pushing himself through, he gets up and gets on his skins hides and leather armor.  VibroSword and VibroAxe hanging from his hips as he storms out of the training area.  Marching his way from there and navigating through the ship hands upon those weapons. His mind on the task at hand focusing on his rage, his hatred his anger all of the darker things he's felt in his life even his fear of losing what little he'd retained or his people being wiped out. Through it all he feels stronger and more powerful.

 

When he finally enters the bridge he looks around and when he spies Mavanger he approaches and gives a deep low bow. 

 

"You sent for me my Master?"

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  • 9 months later...

The sickening perfume of the poor and oppressed cloyed at the Sith Warrior’s nose, clinging and clawing its way into his senses with decomposing, despondent hands. Refugees, the displaced and hopeless, huddled together in masses and each carried with it a new smell. It was beyond simply the spices of a meal, or the sickening stench of unwashed, half-rotted sweat; it was the reek of despondence and depression. It crooked a smile at the corner of his severe features. Wartorn and shellshocked, each migrant carried their trauma openly within the Force. It was a feast of dark emotion that was unmatched for a Sith.

 

Blackmorne leaned his head against the bulkhead wall, listening to the distant hum of the hyperdrives as they began to power down, a subtle announcement of their arrival. With each breath he took of the fetid air, the Sith Warrior’s pulse began to quicken, driven by the thrill of the hunt and the cacophony of dark emotions in which he lay. His sulphoric yellow eyes were darkened to a deep umbar by application of dryhese compound, made for him by Awenydd, his sister and leader of the hunters, from whom this mission had been suggested to him.

 

The lamellar plating made almost no sound as he slowly stood from where he had been huddled amongst the squalid masses, its bindings muted by a heavily torn cloak and the hours he had spent rubbing its edges with the tallow of a dozen Kath hounds. Even stooped and with the appearance of a war-shocked refugee he still towered over those surrounding him, with his haggard and unkempt white hair hanging in ringlets below his sagging shoulders.

 

Iron screamed as rusted and carbonized loading ramps lowered, and the Sith was met with the mixed floral scent of a hundred trees in bloom and a distant, and a stale decay of a world not yet recovered from war. Bright light filtered in, and the Warrior saw the ruins of a once great city, Theed. He had seen its fall, in explosive fire with its shining streets soaked in blood, but now that damage was being slowly rebuilt. Hundreds of scaffolds swarming with loading droids and workers restoring the jewel of naboo to its former glory. It would be a grand achievement for the Sovereign Alliance, rebuilding what the Sith had destroyed and casting hope of a grand rebirth into the hearts of billions.

 

The corner of Vorin’s mouth was tugged unbidden into a smile as the thrill of the hunt began to race ever faster within his blood

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Death is No Escape

 

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  • 2 weeks later...

The Mon Calamari cruiser emerged from hyperspace over the once crown jewel of the Chommell sector. Looking from one of the large, bubble-like space facing viewscreens, Anne could not even tell there had been so much destruction on her planet. In the many months since, seasonal rains had likely restored much of the scorched grasslands back to their original ecology. The forests would take time, and the magnificent granite buildings even more time. Decades even, before the last stains of the Sith could be washed from the planet’s surface. 

 

And what of the Gungans? Those guileless fools, much like the human population of Naboo, had done little to earn the wrath of the Sith Empire. But still they had suffered. Killed by their tens of thousands in their underwater cities. Entire biomes left to fallow tens of kilometers below the surface as decomposing bodies made for rich pools of bacterial growth. At least until the backup generators failed, and the cities were eaten by the oceans en mass. 

 

She blinked away a tear at the thought, sorrow turning to a bright pang of anger as the starship made its descent towards what had used to be the grand city of Theed. Chunks of granite pockmarked the countryside, pieces of facade and walkways embedded into the soft turf from where they had been thrown by whatever evil that had destroyed the city. Hundreds of thousands had died in a single blow by the Sith Empire.

 

People that had only ever desired peace. Never again. 

 

Anne would never let them be at the mercy of the galaxy's whims again. She felt her hands shaking with the strength of her anger as she stepped foot down the long ramp towards where the first few refugee camps were being set up. She gestured to the ruins to both Pandora and Aidan as they walked. 

 

“The result of being lenient. Of relying solely on others for your defense. A lesson harshly learned.”

 

And a lesson that would never be forgotten. 

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Queen Namari of the Naboo

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“We welcome all refugees, please sign up for a work task to help restore your future home!”

 

Vorin stooped low, driving a long-bladed spade into the sandy loam beneath his boots with a powerful blow. The words of a well-meaning Twi’Lek, some NGO bureaucrat for the Sovereignty, would be the doom of its hope. The Sith Warrior had chosen to assist with reforestation. He had always cared for nature, as long as he could bind it to his will. Bind or break. Charcoal ground beneath his boots as he slipped a bare-rooted sapling into the slit in the earth his shovel had made. A droplet of sweat beaded upon his brow as he stepped another hole into the forest soil, before making its run down his severe features to wet the pale hair that hung in long ringlets about his shoulders.

 

The Sith kept one eye on the ground, analyzing the torn soil and scorched earth into which his shovel dug, while the other scanned the roadside before him upon which lines of refugees moved in huddled masses. In the background, the thrill beat on its predatory tone within his veins, driving exhaustion from his muscles with its dark energy. The thrill fed upon and twisted the emotions of those around him. Laboring refugees, toiling in burned soil. Another tree in the dirt and a shadow blurred the ground around the Sith. Sulphoric eyes turned skyward; A Mon Calamari Cruiser had made atmospheric entry

 

The very air seemed to shudder and warp, the heat of the spring sun whipped into a cold wind. The sorrow that had been his feast was interrupted by the unremitting light; much more compelling than the backwash of a cruiser. Jedi were near, and their taste upon the winds was sweet and unmet. The dread that had clung to his fellow treelayers, that which weighed their steps like muddy clay seemed to evaporate into a slight hope. Jedi.

 

Did you think she was just going to be… alone? A single rose ripe for the picking?

 

Bloodletter shifted on his armored back, beckoning him to war with an unquenchable thirst. It threatened to break through the loose-fitting refugee’s tunic the Twi’lek girl had given him. It was a distasteful white, barely disguising the lamellar-plating below. Vorin took in a steely breath, calming the rising thrill within him, letting it pass into the breeze. Such passions would do him little good. The mindless rage so befitting his warrior brethren would lead a fool to rush an entire garrison. There were ways to get to a monarch who walked in the presence of Jedi

 

The Sith warrior leaned raggedly upon his shovel, pushing his rising passions into the farthest reaches of his mind. There was no rage within him, no inferno of flame from a maniac berserker. He laid out the realities of his situation like a hand of sabaac upon the table. The Sovereignty had sent Jedi with the girl, and doubtless a whole cruiser’s compliment. Yellow eyes narrowed. Perhaps a ruse to catch her in transport.

 

He smelled blood, and he touched the torn scrap of tunic to his lips, reminding him of her;

 

That weakling that had claimed the title of Grandmaster. Draygo. He could still taste the euphoric interbreeding of her lifeblood and battle-sweat that had stained blood-flecked lips. The bubbles that had streamed from her mouth a tide of crimson froth. She had been given to the Force as a sacrifice upon the dimlight blade, denying him his passions, but she had tasted so sweet in those last emotions. Surprise, disappointment, fear for friends. Bravery. All of those he let into the force.

 

Frost formed on his lips as he breathed, positing her into the Force, but as through a dark mirror. The Force as it acted through him, could not put forth an unadulterated image. An anemic, feeble cry, like a child wounded or a Tooka caught in a Ginntho’s web came forth within the Force.

 

The hook was baited.

Death is No Escape

 

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The hair on Aidan's neck bristled. He'd felt the darkness before, but this was just a slap across the face. Naboo was supposed to be a peaceful world, what about it kept attracting the scum of the galaxy to it like hotchflies to bantha skut? Aidan had hoped they would be able to train in peace, but the whims of the galaxy were always crashing down around him wherever he went. Now, he had to deal with the emotions and mental pain of his mother dying, and somehow his only thoughts as the mental assault began were not this again.

 

His hand found his staff saber hilt instinctively, though for the moment its silver blades remained extinguished. Aidan wasn't sure exactly where the mental attack was coming from, but it did no good to induce a public panic before it was absolutely necessary. Instead, he looked around and located a security officer before responding to Anne.

"Yeah, well, you're going to learn that in this galaxy there are big fish and there are small fish, and sometimes you can't help but be the small fish. You need to have spines to survive, you have that right. And right now, I need you to have spines, okay?"

Through the Force, he barely managed to eke out one strong thought to her, but it was simple enough to break through the emotional static the dark sider was flooding the Force with: Sith nearby. She may have been able to feel it as well, though Aidan knew that Anne's connection to the Force was not as strong as he and his fellow Jedi. It might have instead manifested in her as a sense of extreme unease. The whole ordeal certainly had him queasy, and he kept a hand on his stomach as he tried to ignore the intrusive thoughts. Quickly, he walked to the security guard, flashing his lightsaber hilt as if it were a badge of authority. "Jedi business. I need this area cleared of all civilians, but I want you to claim it's because of a gas leak. No need to start a panic."

 

The security officer simply gave him a "really, buddy?" look before walking away and going about his job. 

Welp. So much for that. Aidan turned back around to the other two and made his way back.

 

 

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The voyage had been a rather uneventful time, but time that Pandora had spent in service. Before departing Ylesia, she had spent most of the predeparture aiding in loading the supplies and leaving Namari with her friend to get reacquainted and focus on her part of the mission, the reformation of the Imperial Mission... or rather the Sovereign Mission as she found out once departing. Naboo was to be it's first trial, one of success and possibly error if not handled correctly. And the higher ups had left this upon her shoulders, one she gladly bore without resentment. The path to peace was through charity, whether or not many agreed with her sentiment. And the work allowed her to focus on the here and now rather than the losses that haunted her after Nar Shadaa. She would not allow her Master's teachings, and death, be in vain.

 

As they arrived at Naboo, the remnants of the Sith's presence could be felt all the way into space, the emotional lingerings of chaos and loss seeping from the planet below like the stench of rotting garbage. As an empath, she could feel the emotions rolling across her own, both lingering and present as the Naboo cried for retribution and help. It took all she had within her not to confused her own with what she felt. And yet, as the cruiser shifted closer, darkness still permeated deeply within the heart of the world, sending her senses into a tense moment of worry. One she could feel in Namari's companion. Nevertheless, she remained in silence and kept close to them as Namari's return to Naboo drew closer.

 

"There is a difference between being kind and being dependent." Pandora spoke, looking over the ruins and responding of her own accord as she noticed the pain and anger within the young Queen. "But no world is left unscathed by the Darkside when the Sith turn their eyes upon it. Naboo and Nar Shadaa hold testament to this truth, mi'lady."

 

Pandora's blinded gaze motioned to Darkfire before turning her attention to the unloading of supplies, many of the crates holding the markings of the Imperial Remnant Insignia. Not that it held any merit now with the new Emperor taking the throne and the last remnants of the Imperial Knights being forged anew. Still, her mission was clear here and politics meant little out in the field. She would continue onward and restore the Sovereign Mission, Naboo being the first of many successful steps.

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