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Solus recited the mantra slowly after Akheron spoke them, imprinting it into memory. A unique mantra to be sure. Solus couldn’t help but feel the equivalent of a shard chill at the words, the lines in his shard jumping erratically with each syllable. But they were quickly set aside. Solus had a new task ahead of him.

Solus approached the water slowly, not sure what to expect. When the liquid touched his metal chassis it felt strange, but not uncomfortable. A slight pressure, but nothing else. 

Well, time to do something that none of my shardmates would never get the chance to…” Solus stated, and with that, jumped in. 

The feeling of sinking into the liquid slowly, as his own density was heavier than the water, was fascinating. To slowly drift downwards and watch the world above become harder and harder to spot. The sound was so much different down here. It was so much louder. Noises came from every direction as the vibrations from the water struck Solus at every single angle. 

For a moment, Solus was scared. But then he instinctively activated his propellers. 

“Haha! What...movement! What speed! What...haha! Behold!” Solus cried in laughter as his body moved through the water effortlessly. He did a sort of dance with the waves, just appreciating the movement. 

“Never before would I have thought! I...I am flying! But not flying! Water! Oh such a beautiful thing! Haha! You! Linnorms! Is this what your life is like all the time in this liquid?”

Several Linnorms of Quarren and Man Calamari had joined the Shard. They were entirely focused with the mission and not with Solus’ discovery of liquid. One of them, a Quarren, pointed downwards into the dark depths. 

Ah! Yes yes, quite right. We are on a mission! But look at this! Haha!”  

Solus performed a somersault, quickly adjusting to his propellers mode of transport. He received a smack to the head by the Quarren, who was glaring at this point. They needed to focus. Solus was leading this group. There was no time for amusement. 

“Fine, fine. Follow me! I will prove to Lord Akheron my worth!”

With that Solus adjusted himself and began diving  into the darkness below.

Minutes turned into hours.  Solus’ excitement quickly gave way to curiosity, and then boredom as the light from above became dimmer and dimmer. Still, even as he approached pitch blackness being lit up only by the Linnorms lights, he wasn’t frightened. Unlike the darkness of when he wasn’t connected to his chassis, here he could still see and feel things. The pressure especially. As the group swam deeper and deeper, Solus could feel the pressure on his chassis. It was a squeezing feeling, with each plate fighting back against the waters seeking to crush him. 

Still, Solus pressed on. At one point he had to stop and study the surroundings. The aquatic life was almost absent, as if the fish knew what was happening on the surface and went into hiding. No doubt, the gungans had found one of their own hidden cities to escape destruction. 

But when Solus focused on his Force sight, he noted a few things. One was that the ground was going to slope sharply downwards soon. And another was the corpses of a few large fish. 

A quarren explained that the corpses were Opee Sea Killers, killed from the bombardment above. The group was lucky. No doubt, more leviathan creatures awaited further below. 

Solus had a Linnorm contact the sub about the corpses, and continued onwards. Nothing else of importance was here. 

The darkness was now a maw, swallowing those who dared to descend.


Solus lost track of time. Unlike any kind of droid, he had no way to tell how much time had passed without some kind of external giveaway like light. 

The Naboo Abyss lived up to its name. Everywhere was only more water, rock, and inky blackness.

Despite the lack of life the group saw, the noises had grown much louder. Deep in these abysmal waters, Solus could hear and feel the waves of monstrous things moving about. Roars from behemoths echoed across vast distances while monstrous leviathans stalked the nearby casms. The ground they followed shuddered as if the planet could feel the pain from above. 

The noises and the darkness were getting on everyone's nerves, especially Solus. It felt like something would emerge from an unseen passage to devour the group whole. But every time Solus stopped and looked with his newfound sight, he found only empty water.

Solus was visibly getting frustrated. 

"Finally, something up ahead!" Solus exclaimed. A large hole opened up in the ground ahead, like some kind of mouth at the bottom of the sea. Nothing unusual, except...

"I can see, way deeper inside, a heat signature… a very large one! Hoho! But when I look with the force, I see nothing. How odd! I simply must inspect this! Yes, most definitely inspect…"

The Linnorms gave the shard a concerned look. This hole didn't seem all that promising, and the shard hadn't paused like he usually did to sense the force. Was he that bored that he would lie to the others to break the monotony? Still, he was the leader...

"You stay here! Guide the sub to us...I'll be back momentarily!"

With that,  Solus went deeper. The hole would be barely wide enough for the sub. It went for a couple hundred meters, banishing into pure darkness. Solus was now completely relying on his own heat sensors to guide him to the floor, and even then he was essentially blind. The cavern was so hot. Something was down here. 

Eventually, he landed. The ground churned and rolled under his feat. It was a strange feeling. Solus could see the water around him begin to almost boil from the heat.

"What secret are you hiding here? "

Solus unhooked the borrowed lightsaber, and activated it. The red hissing glow revealed nothing more but rock. But the ground was much too soft, and moved as if it was on a liquid…

Following instinct, Solus stabbed the ground and pulled back as a jet of liquid plasma shot up, boiling tons of water instantly before the hole was sealed up by melting rock.

Solus disarmed his weapon. Time to swim back up and give the others the good news. Oh how his master would praise him!

Just as Solus' feet left the ground, the cavern was bathed in a biolumescant glow.


One way gungans find where plasma will be is by finding what they called Claw Hatcheries. The Colo Claw Fish, known for its size and ferocity, lays a clutch of eggs in the warmest spots they can find. These spots tend to be where the ground between the water and Naboo's plasma core is thinnest and where the plasma could erupt soon.

Had Solus actually used the force to see down here, and not rushed in out of boredom, he would've seen there were five very young Colo Claw Fish. Each one big enough to big three beings whole. And each with a monstrous appetite to match.  

The first fish came crashing out of the hole with Solus in its jaws. The shard was barely holding the upper jaw separated from the bottom, trying to avoid a crushing death. The fish was attempting to swallow the robotic being whole.

The other four Colo Claws raced afterwards, hoping to steal a morsel of the food from the lucky one. When they came out and saw the other beings, they changed their minds and went for these fleshy snacks.

 Laser fire opened up as the Linnorms, caught off guard, attempted to kill the monsters.

Solus screeched out as the jaws pushed down tighter and tighter.

"Shoot it! Shoot it no-auuugh "

The Colo Claw's tounge wiggled under the shard. Solus slipped slightly and lost his grip. The jaws came down and Solus was swallowed whole.  Then the beast turned and swam straight for one of the Linnorms, leaving nothing but a sinking lightsaber hilt.


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The men and women of the 432nd were survivors of Chandrila and Veterans of Kuat, born and bred by the holocausts that had plagued their kind in recent months. And like Mythos, who they had placed their trust and lives within, they were tired of losing to the Sith and their ilk. It was no longer about survival. Life held no meaning after the atrocities they had been inflicted by and seen with their own eyes. It was simply vengeance. They fought for their justice and the justice that was demanded for the crimes of war committed in the name of the Spider's reign. And their terror would stop here, the Sith War Machine brought to a sudden halt. It was time for the Alliance to dig in and show the true grit of defiance and rebellion. It was time for the bells of Liberty to ring.


They had come to know the Sith, ruthless remnants of the fallen Jedi who sought greed and power. And not just through history textbooks and holovids, but with their own experiences. And as the Sithling made her advance, fear was the farthest thing from their hearts. They had lost everything, and nothing was more dangerous than a sentient who held nothing to lose. So as she made her move on Andrew, an orphan at the hands of the Mandalorians who held no familia ties to this Galaxy, he smirked in defiance as he brought up the E-11D in an attempt to block her blows, able to deflect one of the blades before the other drove down his right arm and cauterized his form down to his hip. Overcome by pain, he fell into unconsciousness.


Mythos grimaced with anger as he spun behind Pecal, Dogga dropping to his knee as he continued his assault. Two Flechette cartridges fired simultaneously as the Sith turned her sights to Dogga who stood no chance against her attack and was cleaved in half as he accepted his fate with open arms, knowing that his daughter and wife would be safe thanks to his sacrifice as the two cartridges exploded their needled payload, two more shots echoing across the moment of near silence, hope filling the air that their sacrifices would not be in vain. And in Mythos' gaze as it surveyed the landscape before these three, he vowed that it would not as his own blade came unsheathed.


If this Sith wanted to bath in blood and live in darkness, he vowed to make it her own, the moment of battle salivating from his maw.




Actions: Andrew managed to deflect one of Kahla's Blades with his weapon, but was mailed by her other. Two Flechette rounds were fired as she approached Dogga and mauled him as well, Dogga accepting his fate as the two rounds exploded and released their slivers, two more rounds being fired at the that very moment. Mythos is preparing himself for battle.

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High in the stars far above, a cluster of fighter squadrons lead by an old freighter powered up their hyperdrives. The journey there had been long and arduous, though it wasn't quite over yet. They still had another few stops to make before they could step down from their battle-heightened senses and allow their weary, aching minds some much-needed and much-deserved rest. One pilot in particular, lagging behind the rest in the Wayfarer, was in some desperate need of recharging.


Jackson's helmet flashed a warning light at him as he bled inside of it. It had begun flashing at him ever since his nose had begun to bleed, probably warning him of the increased blood pressure and heart rate. If he continued to strain himself to such a degree he would likely be liable to have a heart attack or something, but that would be a small price to pay for getting his charges all to safety.

A whole cargo hold full of them.


Stars elongated and the cosmos shifted around the many ships as they began to jump, following one another in clusters as they fled the warring system. They would return, some day, and be stronger for it. But that would take time, and time was one of the many things that they were now running short on.

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First, the good stuff:

-I appreciate how each opponent let each series of attacks do something to them without crippling them. Each side felt like they were respecting the other throughout the duel.

-In the same regard, no side tried to create a “gotcha” moment or make themselves seem impossible to fight, instead playing their characters tactically without trying to control the narrative to their side.


I have a few comments, but it isn’t really bad stuff so much as things I would have liked to have seen expanded.

-Tros takes the first lightsaber blow to his thigh. “The blade cut through the armor plate and flesh.” While we don’t see how damaging this blow is, we do see that he favors it later in the same post. However, the damage is a bit forgotten after this. In the second post he lands, and there’s no mention of the leg injury. This isn’t a big deal as he doesn’t start sprinting or anything, but I would have liked to see it brought up as it seems likely he would have felt it.

-On a similar note, Alcemene takes a blaster shot to the wrist that blows apart the “tendons and muscle,” along with the shield. It’s a pretty harsh injury from the brief description we get, and it’s also forgotten afterwards. Again, like with Tros, it’s not a big deal as we don’t see her trying to fight two-handed or anything, but it seems a serious enough injury that I would have liked to have seen it mentioned again.


Then there are two issues with the duel that I need to bring up before ruling.

-Alcemene, I notice you didn’t call back to the damage you suffered in your previous duel. I 100% get not wanting to mention it, and I would have been fine if it was mitigated a bit in some way, but not ignoring it entirely.

-Tros, I hesitate mentioning this as the class rules are very new, but your arsenal in this duel did violate them by employing a heavily armed minion in addition to your own armor and collection of weaponry. As we saw, that was a big advantage in this duel combining your mobility, multiple firing points, a sacrifice, armor, and a varied arsenal against a melee fighter. All that being said, the new rules did go up on the same day this duel started, so consider this a friendly warning for next time.


Understand that what I said in the beginning still stands. You both fought admirably and with respect for the other person, and the way you handled each other’s attacks and played to the flow of the duel instead of one-upping each other was awesome!


This ruling is a bit tough due to the issues I mentioned above and how they gave each side advantages they should not have had. Both of you also fought very evenly through the fight, taking hits and writing well.


Final Ruling:


Tros wins

Edited by Pheristroch
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As Akheron and the submersible moved forward he could sense the battle raging, above and below as far as his force attuned senses would allow. Ahead he could feel the chaos ensuing as the giant fishes thought to make a meal of them all. Approaching behind the scouting party, upon coming upon the scene...Akheron was not amused as a Quarren Linnorm explained the situation. 


Solus had almost jeopardized the operation....his one saving grace was the fact he had found what they were after. Akheron made a mental note to see he would be punished accordingly once they returned to the surface. He would learn and need his lessons or he would be cast aside. Entering a section near the back of the craft, Akheron put a rebreather in his mouth and had two others join him as the door was shut and water spilled in, adjusting to the pressure the group exited into the ocean and swamp towards the commotion.


Lightsaber ignited, Akheron noted the fish. Colo Claw fish. Young but very hungry and ferocious. 


Sensing Solus inside a fish, he headed towards the offender. As the fish approached, Karys altered his position so that the fish went under him. As it did so, he cut the fish from top to bottom, slicing it in half and hopefully freeing his wayward apprentice. Meanwhile one of the two Linnorms who had joined him retrieved the sinking lightsaber and held onto it for now. Another fish approached and Akherom used the Darkness to rake it across some rocks sticking out and gut it on the spikes jutting out like needles. 




"The universe started in darkness at a time when light didn't exist, and that is how it will end. Chaos and suffering is what brings us together. In chaos a man or woman will show who he or she really is and in suffering they will speak the truth. We are darkness incarnate, we are the evil. This cannot be denied, even by me. But without us there is no redemption, passion or order." - Darth Akheron


I survived the Great JNet Outage of 2012

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Pain and hatred swirled in her head like a tornado, feeding off each other, fueling the inferno that coursed through her mind. The holes torn in her shoulder now burned, embers had found their way into the wound and festered. The pain had become intoxicating. As her nerves were seared under the older flames, there was an odd sense of euphoria. Her left shoulder still burned, but with less intense pain. The fire however still raged across her right shoulder, and had found a balance as it scorched her flesh. She sucked in the pain, internalizing it and enthralling herself in the sick pleasure she felt.


There was an ear drum shattering pop in that moment of indulgence, followed almost instantly by an equal explosion. Her instinct sharp, and the force as her guide, she leapt into a long roll to her immediate left. The metal shavings plunged into the joints of her prosthetic leg. The flame on her back flickered in the roll, but had spread down her back. Her knee and ankle clicked resiliently as she stood. Something had become jarred, it hadn't rendered the leg immobile, but a great degree of force was required to move it as normal.


Kahla sneered as she turned to the flea ridden mongrel. He had made the mistake of putting one of his men in her path to him. She started a maddened sprint towards them, the loose soil almost hardened to stone under the pressure of her force aided tear across the field. Pure agony and fury drove her forward, through the infuriating defiance of her metallic leg. The next two canisters of flechettes were nearly vaporized by the burning crimson plasma of her lightsaber, cut down in a wide flick of her left hand. In her right, the saber blinked away before she stowed it on her belt.


With both hands she gripped her left saber tight, lifting the blade over the smoldering flames before bringing it down with the might of pure rage that had festered inside her, seeking to cleave the soldier from shoulder to hip. Lost in the reverie of the burning that tortured her back, she carried the momentum back up and into an opposite sided slice, from the other shoulder nearer to the lower chest.


Her attention turned quickly to her wolfen foe, who now brandished a blade of his own, her right hand loosing its grip as she brought her saber over her right shoulder. Kahla sprung forward, her robes struggling to keep up with her as they flew in the breeze. She drew her right handed blade from its rest, holding the inert hilt outstretched as she brought her first blade down in a wide, arching slash; the force pulled at her arm like a rope tied it to a speeder. At the apex of the swing her second blade whirred back to life, quickly following the firsts path with equal speed and precision. The scarlet hues danced and blended with the bright oranges and yellows of the fire that roared across her back.


Her mind was almost trapped under the seething and boiling of her exterior, the fire itself became the nourishment of her rage and she embraced the pain like a loving mother would her child.


((Offensive Actions)) ((Defensive Actions/Damage Taken))

((3)) ((This was a great duel, I had an absolute blast writing it!))

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Upon the impact of the blast, Tros cut the power to his jetpack and landed on the ground in a very wobbly way. He stood for a moment, observing and taking in the full scene of carnage of the small battlefield. Vulios dead on one end. A knocked out jetii on the other. Letting out a sigh, he walked towards the jetii, picking up her lightsaber as he did. Each step sent pain throughout his leg from the place of where the lightsaber struck on his thigh. The pain now very evident since adrenaline of the fight was wearing off, and since it was the first time since taking the blow that he even put weight upon it. As he got to the jetii, he leaned down on his good knee, activating the lightsaber in his left hand to avoid the potential pain within his right arm where the jetii also struck. He was a bit disappointed that the blast didn't kill her, only knocked her out.


"I would love to kill you today jetii. You killed my mentor. You deserve it." Tros lowered the blade to rest upon the right shoulder of the jetii. Not enough to do anything other than burn through her arm slightly. After he knew that it caused as much damage as he took, he leaned in to whisper into her ear. "And I know that somewhere within your head, you can hear me. So I'm saying this as a warning. You are going to be my messenger for all of the Jetiise." He then moved the blade to rest upon her right thigh where she also struck. Again, only letting the blade sit long enough to burn and cause as much damage as he received from her. "Twice now in the past few days I have had a jetii become a problem to me. Doing damage beyond what they should, and ignorantly thinking that they are gods of some sort. You are no more than a being how bleeds and dies like everyone else. And because of your ignorance, my clans... my House... We are now fully at war with you jetiise. We will burn, destroy and kill your kind everywhere we can." 


Tros now stood up and held the blade over her stomach. She would be the message to the entire jetiise. "Let's see your precious 'force' save you from this." With his final word, Tros slammed the blade into her lower abdomen. He let it sit for a moment before he deactivated the blade. "Congratulations jetii, you are now at war with the Mandalorians." Without taking another look, he began to walk towards the location of where Vulios's body lay. He knew that she would survive her wounds, far better than what Vulios did. As he came to his body, he kneeled down and placed his buy'ce upon his mentor's buy'ce. "Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la." After he spoke his words, he picked up his mentor's beskad and placed it upon his own weapon armament. At that moment, Sutu arrived and looked at the field of carnage. "Alor, most of the city is now burning... did the jeti do this?" He pointed at Vulios's body. Tros simply looked at the sky for a moment, watching it burn. "Yes. From this point on, we are at war with the jetiise. Collect the gear of the fallen. We have much to prepare."

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Mishuk gotal'u meshuroke, pako kyore.


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For those first few moments in the fish’s stomach, Solus felt fear. The adventure of being swallowed whole by another creature was a wholly new and unpleasant experience. 


“Let me out, let me out, let me out!” Solus shouted as he thrashed about. He could see nothing. It was pitch black in the creature’s stomach. And his thermo sensors couldn’t see anything beyond the creature’s hide. 


“Let me OUT! LET ME OUT!” Solus raised in pitch and volume as his panic continued to crescendo. Even his force sight wasn’t helping. His own fear was practically choking.  He had no weapon. No sight. No direction. 


No escape. 




Suddenly a blade of red energy sliced inches from the Shard’s face. The top half of the Colo Claw fell away as Solus burst out into the water. 


“Oh master! Thank you! Thank you so much!”


Solus couldn’t see the look on Lord Akheron’s face. His own was covered with fish slime and digestive liquids. However, once he wiped the obscuring muck off, it became clear.


“Master I...oh um…” Solus instantly silenced. He didn’t need force sight to tell what Akheron was feeling. 


Solus did what he knew best. Sell himself. “I master, I...I found the plasma! Yes, in that hole there, a large storage of plasma from the planet’s core. I was able to pierce it with the blade and then the creatures awoke and...um…”


Solus fell silent again. Without his blade, there wasn’t much he could do. So instead he watched in dread and shame as the others cleaned up his mess, and awaited a response from his master.  


For the first time in his life, Solus knew what shame was. 


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The Eternus slowly began to descend towards the planet’s surface, the dozen crew kobold-esque lizards. Evenly divided between living and undead, worked beneath the mental lash of their god-king. They were honored to serve. 

As the craft began it’s descent towards the battle-ravaged and decimated world, the hunched necromancer in his blackened robes smiled. His white teeth blended against his icy pale lips; as white as his deadened flesh. His tongue snaked across those same parched lips, lapping up the taste he could sense even within the ship in the processed air. Death was everywhere. It was magnificent! 

Coming to rest at a makeshift landing platform within a Sith military camp, the crafts wings settled into their docking  position and the landing ramp descended. There was no pomp or fanfare at the Sith’s arrival. In fact, he had not even been summoned to the battlefield world. Yet the call of darkness had echoed across the cosmos to him, bidding him forward.


Slowly, like the withered and aged elder his body betrayed, twisted and bent by the will of the dark side, Inmortos descended. He was not escorted by soldiers or carried by slaves; his only companion was the deadened latticework of cold air that was the deepest unmoving recesses of the force itself. The pits of hell accompanied the man in breathe, icy and deadly, and spirit, deadened and putrid. Leaning heavily on his cane/walking stick, Inmortos advanced. Each clack of his stick and fall of his foot echoing in eternity.


The machinations of lesser Sith usually were not worthy of Inmortos’ attention; but here, here his interest had been stoked. The actions of those he would look down his nose upon echoed into the expanse. They were worthy of his sight.


Across the encampment, a flurry of soldiers moved beyond the usual activities. Inmortos had gained clearance high above, the inly herald to his arrival. It had given time for a detachment to be assembled to welcome him.


As the commanding officer opened his mouth the speak, Inmortos waved his hand, tendrils of icy air following his motion as he sought the man’s silence. He needed not nor desired a welcome. He was a god. Those he desired worship him would in due time. The man stoped, jaw slack for a moment until the Sith Lord spoke. “Where is he that is called Akheron, I have brought him a gift worthy a warrior of the Sith?” His voice was raspy and cold, deadened of emotion and it’s words carried with it a cool stillness that dared one interrupt at his own peril.


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One braver than most approached the Krath Sith Master. Having dealt with and spoken to Darth Akheron many times he was more aware how to approach such beings. He was human but strong in the force, like many of Clan Brasganu who were a mix of those sensitive to the force and those not so. All were either warriors or sorcerers of many varieties as was known of the clan. 


Cautiously he stepped forwards and knelt with a bow in reverence, as did many others. In this position he spoke, a strong coruscanti accent present.


 "Greetings my lord, the Lord-Captain, Lord Akheron is currently below. He went with his new apprentice Solus upon the orders of the Dark Mistress to retrieve the viscous plasma for study from the Naboo Abyss while another team of Linnorms was sent to divert the gungans. They have yet to return my lord, but if you desire a audience I can arrange a transport and a escort if you desire them to take you to his last known position."


Standing he motioned to one of the remaining submersibles as a group made themselves ready.




Meanwhile below....


Akheron said nothing, for in truth he could not speak even if he wanted too. With a rebreather it was impossible. Although he did hear Solus words, and the groveling attempt to try and placate him, but what was done, was done. And could not be undone. He would suffer for his failure, just as Akheron had several times during his own apprenticeship. A lesson which he hoped he would learn from and grow stronger because of the realization of his error and the potential cost that might have been.



In the meantime he motioned the Linnorm with the loaned lightsaber to return it to Solus. He motioned they should dispose of the remaining fish and continue onwards. They would discuss this incident later. Swimming, Karys shot forwards like a bullet from a gun as the force propelled him to impale another fish which rifled around before he dug a hand into a eye and plucked it out, pulling a large chunk of brain with it. 


Blood now clouded the area obscuring the view in some places but the glow of the plasma lit up below them. While he and most of the Linnorms, and he hoped Solus mopped up. The scientific team came in with crates and started drilling and digging out plasma, placing it into special containers for transport to the surface. 


Further along and a group of 8 gungan warriors observed...for now. Moments later and the attack came, forcing Akheron and most the group to turn and focus upon them. The plasma was to be protected at all costs.



"The universe started in darkness at a time when light didn't exist, and that is how it will end. Chaos and suffering is what brings us together. In chaos a man or woman will show who he or she really is and in suffering they will speak the truth. We are darkness incarnate, we are the evil. This cannot be denied, even by me. But without us there is no redemption, passion or order." - Darth Akheron


I survived the Great JNet Outage of 2012

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Solus received the lightsaber gratefully, and nodded to his master. He hoped that this mistake would be overlooked and he would receive more chances in the future to prove himself. 


Solus activated the blade and looked at the other monsters. One was starting to flee the scene. Solus’ anger flared up and he gave chase. Within a moment, he caught up, and hacked its tail off, then a fin, and then finally a head. While it didn’t make him feel any better, at least he was doing something productive now. 


Solus stopped and focused himself on the impossible geometries. He had to make sure he wasn’t missing anything. It was slightly different down here. The air had a different tinge and shape then the water around him. It was more organically shaped...it formed different kinds of kaleidoscopic scenes. It felt…


Solus stopped. A tiny splotch of yellow and red rapidly approaching from behind.  Solus barely reacted in time to spin around and block the oncoming plasma ball. 


“Haha! Well timed! We were just running out of targets!” Solus called out and charged forwards. The gungans were after at the same thing the Linnorms were after. It was his duty to prevent that from occurring. 


In the ensuing battle, Solus was surprised at one thing: The gungans were much fiercer down here compared to when they battled above. They were smoother. They had more grace. They fought in all three dimensions.  Still, Solus fought.  The death pleased him. The fighting made him happy. He could feel the presense of the Fanged God along side him, a terrible force of power giving him fuel to kill more and more. 


At one point, Solus grabbed one of the gungans by the throat and pulled him close.  A bragging was in order.


“You really think you can stop us? You are weak! We are so much stronger!”


The gungan did something surprising. He smiled


“Yousa will nebber beat all-n ussa. Wesa'll always combackie. Wesa'll crush yousa whena yousa least spect it puny sith.”


Solus was surprised. Such confidence was not what he expected. Still, it did not prevent him from stabbing the gungan's heart and leaving him for dead. 


“Master! Master!” Solus rushed towards Akheron. “Master, I believe the Gungans have more reinforcements nearby. A city perhaps!”


Perhaps this would give him a chance to redeem himself in his master’s eyes. 


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Inmortos’ cracked lips parted as he let out a singular laugh void of entertainment, but carrying a dark glee. “Heh.” They were in the heart of this world that radiated black across the surface. Inmortos felt a twisted entertainment at the though. The Necromancer knew something about hearts. From his studies of ancient lore beyond the realms of the Sith, he knew the heart. It was a gateway to life. He relished it. Crushing it beneath his will. But the heart could be a wily thing, slippery and pulsating, bound and protected in earnest. ‘An apprentice’, he pondered for a moment ; ‘perhaps more a sacrifice’. The heart was no easy thing to master and while the flesh and skin of the planet had been filleted unrighteously, Inmortos knew of this world. It tended to come back with life renewed each time. The heart needed subdued. No, not subdued, crushed; it’s blood running through the fingers of the Sith’s crushing fingers. Only then could death take a true hold and carve an unholy tear upon the ripples of the force itself, spewing forth the darkest of powers and magics contained within.


“Take us to them,” the necromancer hissed, his soft retched voice carrying with it an air of authority as he waved his hand back towards his ship and a pair of pint-sized lizard beings, one living and swarthed in dark flowing robes and intricate gaudy talismans and one dead, adorned in little more than rags and carrying a jagged spear in one hand and an ornate black case carved from unknown wood native to his world, scrambled down the ramp to his side. They did not bow. They knew their place. Chosen as ones of their god-king to be heralds unto immortality. 

At an annoyingly slow pace, Inmortos made his way to the submersible, his servants trailing in his shadow. The man’s white knuckles bulged as he had to exert himself to climb the stair into the vessel. Inside, he nestled himself into a cushioned seat within the bowels of the craft, his minions standing sentinel on either side of him. Within minutes, the sub departed and began it’s winding descent into the dark cool depths of the planet.

Deeper. Deeper. They pressed onwards into the inky black depths, the lights of the sub not the only spear to pierce the veil of dark crushing pressure. From his seat, Inmortos had but to call upon the dark powers of death and the rituals of the forgotten and doomed, in doing so, he closed his eyes, willing the force to allow him to see beyond, to see not the physical but the spiritual. Opening his eyes, the necromancer’s cold gaze pierced beyond the durasteel confines of the ship. He could see the life force of everyone on board, even the weak glow of the piddly lives of the fishes that parted way before the craft. He watched. He sensed. Reaching out on dark jetties, he probed for Akheron and his apprentice amongst the vileness of this life-filled world. It would be a worthy sacrifice befitting a god.


Shouts of surprise and an urgency surged through the ship as they neared. A battle was underway. On Naboo, one would have expected that the battle take place far from here. This was too close. It did not matter. The lives of monstrous beasts and strong warriors pierced the veil, but dimmed in comparison to that of the Sith that stood to stop them.


Rising from his chair, Inmortos leaned heavily upon his cane for support and balance as the submersible heaved to a stop a safe distance away. Makibg his way to the helm, Inmortos regarded the acolytes there, judging their cowardly stoppage. 

“Take me into the fray.”


“But sir!!” the commanding officer objected in despair knowing their craft to be unarmed. He was cut off by a gargling nose from his throat as the robed Sith crushed the man’s windpipe with a thought.


“Closer.” He commanded, his voice absolute. The fear that rippled across the deck was palpable and no more concerns were voiced as the sub churned into the fray.  

As the submarine neared, Inmortos walking stick clattered to the floor with a bang that made the rest of the crew jump; the dense metal handle denting the smooth deck plating. With one hand, Inmortos held to a handle above. The other, he held in the air before him. With an intentness that radiated a deathly cold stillness on the very force itself, the dark magician turned his concentration to the aquatic world outside. The air in the ship dropped in temperature rapidly, crystals of ice forming on the consoles from the humid air. From the prow of the craft arced an icy spear, growing as it traced a path along the watery medium, it zigged and zagged as the frail wizard’s hand jerked, directing it upon a path of his own devising. It’s angled jagged tracing tore through the sea, cooling the water about it that did not freeze, release bubbles along it’s path. Arcing forward the icy skewer froze small fish in place before it speared through the center of one of the massive colo claw fish, tearing like a frozen demon out the opposite side of the fish, it’s blood pouring into the water as the ice raced onwards until it drove into the neck and spine of a fighting gungan. The warrior instantly went limp. Inmortos smiled, tasting the death as it radiated in the force.


Feeling the Sith, he called out to them on the force, “I am Inmortos.”



Edited by Krath Inmortos


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Crimson flags flapped in the off breeze that streamed in from lake Cothani, their snapping sound a distraction from the words her father was trying to tell her. 


“You will do us proud, Alce.” 


Why did he always call her that? He had given her the name of his grandmother, but now he shortened it when he was filled with emotion. Either rage or sorrow. It was the emotionless father that called her by her actual name and title. It was always for the formal dinner that she got called Princess Alcmène Lelan de Moriès-Outremer. And now she was going to loose the title of princess. Just because he thought it would be better to show the galaxy that their planet was not a useless pile of rocks and explosive ore. So he would send his little daughter off to the core worlds to learn the way of the Jedi. 


How she despised the fact that she had wanted to show off how she could move objects at a distance to her father. What a fool she had been, did he not take everything and use it for his own ends. Uncle Godfrey had said just as much when she had gotten into the shuttle for the long journey-


The pain in her thigh brought her screaming back into consciousness right as she saw her own lightsaber planet itself in her lower abdomen. It’s yellow blade cutting with little remorse in and through her pelvis. The sound of it was intense in her ears as she screamed herself numb. Blood spattered and popped as it turned from liquid to gas, as ovaries, womb, and the base of her spine were burned away beneath the bright yellow blade. 


And just like that the blade shut off and she was alone, lying in a pool of discoloured burning blood and crying like the child of a decade and a half ago. 




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Akheron felt Inmortos long before the ship even rounded into sight. He recalled the same feeling he had felt above Geonosis, where the necromancer and warrior had first met. Cold, not of the ocean but of the death of all life that clung to him. He was intrigued as to how his apprentice would find the feeling.


He didn't have time to ponder more as a great ice spear jutted by him, missing by inches and impaling the gungan he was about to slice. He then heard the voice upon the force and returned it in kind before continuing the wanton slaughter, slaughter which fed the Dark. 


"Welcome Inmortos. Feel free to join in and reap what dead you desire."


At his apprentice suggestion, he nodded approvingly as the last of the Colo Claw Fish were rended in twain. It appeared he was so far making up for his blunder, not that it would spare him Akheron's wrath. Moving forwards another gungan met his end when Akheron's saber split him from groin to brain after he redirected the spear he held and removed the arm before he grasped another by the skull and crushed it like pulp between his crushgaunt enclosed hand. 


And yet he decided to not have all the fun, allowing two rather foolhardy gungans to approach Inmortos craft, fully knowing it was to their doom. 

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"The universe started in darkness at a time when light didn't exist, and that is how it will end. Chaos and suffering is what brings us together. In chaos a man or woman will show who he or she really is and in suffering they will speak the truth. We are darkness incarnate, we are the evil. This cannot be denied, even by me. But without us there is no redemption, passion or order." - Darth Akheron


I survived the Great JNet Outage of 2012

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To say the ice spear that ran near his master surprised Solus would be an accurate, if under exaggerated, statement.  Solus detected the spear not by force sight but by thermal vision. What could only be described as a cloud of cold consumed an area, and then shot out. 


“Amazing…” Solus exclaimed as if he was looking at a work of art instead of a weapon of destruction. The spear of ice….such a deadly tool. Another power of the Wicked Flame? 


Solus looked at where the spear had come from. Another submersible had arrived, and Solus could tell something was on board. Something powerful, much like Akheron. But different. 


Solus decided to feel how much different. With a quick focus, Solus peered into the Impossible Geometries, and directed his sight towards the submersible and those on board. 


Usually when Solus looked at living things, the shapes, colors, and sounds were in a constant state of flux. Constant churning change, overlapping with growing and shrinking. Emotions would cover each other up as unworkable shapes morphed into other ones.  But on the submersible, it was very different. The geometric shapes did not move as smoothly as they should have. They were constantly jerking and stopping randomly, like broken gears carrying on a purpase past its expected lifetime.  When the thing spoke to him via the Force, Solus saw how the shapes moved wildly into a spin for one moment, then go back into their usual patterns of jerking and stopping. And the colors around them were ashen pallid and drab. There were some colors of emotion, but they were partially greyed out. A state much closer to the dead bodies of the gungans that were nearby then to the Linnorms. 


“Anti-Life” Solus could only describe it as he broke his gaze from the vessel. 


“I will find the city, my Master!”  Solus then proclaimed, and turned his attention away from the battle. The others were handling it well. Now was his time to shine once again. 


Again, the Impossible Geometries came into view. Solus focused on his conglomeration of shapes and the colors that came from them. The anger was there but Solus noted there was more fear than anger around. 


“No no, this won't do. I need anger...more anger...focus on the anger…” Solus called up the memories of his shard mates leaving him all alone in the void. He focused on the images of Tear not obeying his commands.


The idea that your master will not recognize your greatness. Yes, those images. Focus on those images. Let the anger flow out from you. That red cloud of anger...now spread it out. Let it cloud the area…


Good. Now the envy. Supply it. It isn’t too hard. Remember that vision back on Korriban? The feeling when that thing was taking your things?  Or earlier up above with your master? Supply it. Give those feelings to me…


There. The lines of envy...now...throw them out there.


Solus obeyed and intensified his focus further. He could feel the darkness around him and within him, pushing him to grow. With a wave of his hand, the lines of envy traveled with the cloud of anger, making a pattern of solid objects like a lidar radar. 


Mostly rocks and plants, nothing out of the ordinary at first. But as Solus pushed further, stretching his anger as far as possible, he found something.


“There!” Solus pointed westward in the dark abyss, and spoke on all channels so that way he could be heard in the vehicle at this short range. “Large structures! At least, that’s what it looks like. Perhaps I and our, er, new ally, should go to it and destroy them?"



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The Sith before them was unlike anything Mythos had faced before, unrelentless and powerful. Despite everything that had been thrown her way by them, she remained in near almost prestige condition as almost all of his men laid upon the soiled ground in shambles. Sesil had been the first to fall in her initial attack, the sight of him reeling in the pain of her cleaving his legs plaguing the Shistavanen's heart. And Andrew fared no better, his life flowing from his eyes as Mythos' gazed shifted across the field of battle at his own. Dogga had been the last, his form unimaginably grotesque and unfathomably hard to discern flesh from bone before him, Pecal, and Ichi. And yet, she continued her onslaught unhindered.


So this was the true power of the Darkside. This was why the Sith were worshipped as Gods. This was the extent of their Magicks. Were there no bounds? Were there no weaknesses? Mythos had fought Sith before, rogue Jedi even. But this new Order, this rise of a new Imperium, he had never known such chaos and strife, had never known such destruction and power. They seemed almost invisible. Almost as if they could not be slain in the heat of battle. Nyrys. Inmortos. Now Kahla. Could he truly stand against their ilk? It felt hopeless.


All Mythos could do was watch in horror as she turned her sights upon Pecal to get to him, her blade cleaving through the being's form so freely and casually as the stench of burnt flesh sent his smell reeling. And in that moment, Mythos felt a sensation he hadn't felt in ages. Vulnerability. It flowed through him like ice water, his hair standing upright, his heart racing with the unknowing, and his mind chaotic. And for a brief moment, he felt fear freeze him place.


"No." Mythos grimaced under his voice, the aged Shistavanen catching himself as the doubts threatened to consume him. "I will not falter. I will not fail!"


Mythos growled in defiance as he threw his prosthetic arm into the path of the incoming blades, the heat of the blades boiling the metal beneath the weight of their pressure before they began to cut their way through it. Mythos mind had returned to its original state, his resolve growing in strength. It mattered little whether they were Gods or not. If they could be cut, they could be defeated. And even if he wouldn't be the one, at least he could die with the pride of his people intact. Not just as Shistavanen, but as an Alliance Marshall and Colonel of the Rebel Alliance. Reeling back as the blades cleaved his arm in two, Mythos grinned a malicious grin as he swung his blade forward to her gut, Ichi stepping beside his superior with the deafening release of the Flechette shell.


It's target was at point blank range and eye leveled, and even if the Flechette Needles managed to get through Mythos' helm, he didn't care. If they were meant to die this day, then so be it. That was the fated outcome, and neither would live to regret it. All they wanted to prove was the ability to severely wound these Gods and humble them, to show them that they weren't unstoppable. And in this moment, they knew they had 


((3...Great Duel bro.))


Actions: Pecal was slaughtered. Mythos felt helpless and vulnerable for a brief moment. Blocked Kahla's Blades with his prosthetic arm before aiming for her gut with his. Ichi fired a Flechette at point blank range toward her face as he stepped to Mythos' side.

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Fifty thousand meters above Theed, a squadron of A-Wings were blazing downwards through Naboo’s atmosphere at a velocity that some meteors would have envied. In a frightening feat of precision flying, the twelve starfighters were flying so closely together that their overlapping sensor signatures might have caused some sensor relays to misidentify the interceptors as a falling meteor. The superheated gases glinting off of their hulls would have certainly caused any casual observers to dismiss them as a meteorological event. The A-Wings were continually buffeted from side to side by the turbulence from their own airfoil vortices, the tiny interceptors within such a close range that their pilots could have communicated by hand signals rather than the narrow-band line-of-sight comms that they used to avoid detection.


“ No diversions from Theed. Looks like we might make it through undetected.”


“I can’t even see it. All I see is smoke and--”


“That is Theed. Remember, protect your wingman, hit fast, hit hard and do not stick around for a fight. We’re here to give the knuckle-draggers some cover. Esk-war up on my mark. Five, four, three, two, one--mark!.”


At that moment, the pilots simultaneously triggered the jammers on board their equipment, filling the nearby atmosphere with interference that would play havoc with comms and sensor transmissions. Of course, the enemy would instantly realize that something was on its way, but from where--and what--could only be confirmed by the mark one eyeball.




“Go Lead, before they…  pos…” 


“Repeat, Aurek--repeat.” Bryce growled as the Talon rained down semiautomatic blaster fire down the Palace Promenade, spattering sparks against the turret of one of the Sith transports. Static was all that answered her--the turret swiveled around to face her position and she fell prone to the polished floor..


In the next second, her hearing was blown out by the shriek of shattering glass and crumbling walls. Rubble and glass rained down all around her as the laser cannon opened up on her position, causing the entire wall and part of the floor to cave in. For the moment, all she could do was to try and protect her head from the wreckage. Once the impacts stopped landing, she triggered the repulsorlift in her armor, causing the rubble to blast away from her in a miniature explosion as the thrusters tried to push against the obstacles.


Bryce shook her head and tried to collect herself. The roar of laser cannon fire seemed to have died down. Nothing seemed to have been broken, but she had lost her rifle in the collapse and a warm liquid was leaking down her face. Somehow, the cave-in had caused her to fall down to the ground level of the promenade. 


Seizing her vibromachete, the Talon began to rush own the debris-strewn steps of the once-proud Royal Palace, to join in the firefight against a final unseized troop transport. The crew hadn’t seemed to realize that two of the other transports had gone silent and were seized by her soldiers… but as her boots sprinted down towards its landing struts, the whine of its repulsors took on a higher pitch. They were preparing to take off. Cursing under her breath, Bryce redoubled her pace and jumped onto the retracting boarding ramp--a chrome-plated Sith trooper nearly jumped in shock to see the Rebel marine lift her machete in a double-handed grip--a pair of bolts went wide and showered the keel of the transports--she brought the machete down in a hacking blow on the soldier’s shoulder.


The Sith trooper collapsed to the deck, his weapon falling to the deckplates of the transport. His gauntlets rose as though attempting to protect himself from a second crash of the blade--then shock and blood loss set in and his hands fell to the floor. Bryce only took a second while stepping over his body to slam an armored palm against the controls of the boarding ramp.


She charged towards the cockpit. An officer of some description stood from his position at the comms unit to pose some meager resistance with a light blaster pistol--Sophia tucked her head down in imitation of a shockball player’s tackle and felt burning heat against her left shoulder as a blaster bolt found plastoid. Her tackle rammed the officer into the corridor wall--a distinct crack resounded as the officer fell, and the man did not attempt to rise from his supine position.


Finally, the cockpit. It was a simple layout, just two seats surrounded by control boards. Bryce lifted her vibromachete in preparation for another overhand chop and roared from a core of visceral rage that astonished her. “Take this fracking ship down! Take it down or I will fracking chop you two up right now!”


She could not quite hear the response of the pilot, but it appeared to be a terrified squeak. More relevant was the fact that the deckplates sank under boots as the transport returned to the ground, allowing the remainder of her Talons to board and take control of the vessel. A pair of her men dragged the gunners out of their turrets, and another pair held sidearms to the pilots heads and shoved them into the passenger compartment.


“Take us out, Cegt. Any direction…” As the adrenaline began to subside, Bryce began to lean heavily on the co-pilot’s seat. Cold was beginning to creep up her fingers, and blood began to ooze between the gaps of her pauldron.


As the four seized transports lifted from the ruins of Theed and into a hostile airspace, the sensor boards reported that multiple Acklay fighters were vectoring to intercept their escape. At that moment, the A-Wings of Geist Squadron struck, dumb-firing their missiles into the Sith fighters. That fire was largely inaccurate and only two of the missiles found their targets, but the exhaust trails streaking past their cockpits undoubtedly threw them off their quarry. The grey-painted A-Wings then swooped around, spraying fire from their blaster cannons as the other half of the squadron began their own attack run on the grounded Sith forces around Theed.


At that moment, Johanna had collapsed from a mixture of blood loss and exhaustion. A medic fell upon the Rebel Captain, peeling away armor plating and shoving bandages into an ugly blaster wound at her shoulder. It had nearly severed her the subclavian artery, and she was in danger of bleeding out while they made their escape. Bryce would later have no recollection of screaming out of shock and pain as the bandages were packed into the wound. She certainly had no recollection of the hysterical laughter that issued from the copilot as a pair of the grey A-Wings formed up just in front of the cockpit, giving the transport an acknowledging wag of their fuselage before breaking off to embark on another strafing run.


Johanna did, however, distinctly remember the jolting landing as the transports set down in the hangar of Wrecking Machine. It stirred her into attempting to rise despite the firm pressure of the medics who held her supine, and she instead mumbled plaintively: “Men? My men? Where are my men? They make it? Tell me--need a headcount, let me up, gotta--


Those were the last intelligible wounds that she uttered as the marine was lifted onto a gurney and the Rebel fleet made its escape into hyperspace.


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The invitation was granted. Who was he but to accept such a gracious offer. Here amongst the freshly dead, there was, as always, wealth to be harvested. Death was aplenty. Such a field of destruction presented by the core, guarded by but a membrane. It held back the death of an entire world. Such membrane alone held back a tear in the force itself.


A twisted smile of glee cracked the frail sorcerer’s flash-weathered face. The force deadened about him, the temperature dropping even further as he projected this deep eternal stillness outwards. The cold shrouded the viewport of the vessel, crystalizing the seawaters before it encasing the fore of the ship and the approaching gungans in a rapidly expanding field of ice as it spread outwards in all directions. The craft shuddered to a standstill against the ice.

A throbbing of metal echoed through the ship menacingly.  The crewmen exchanged worried glances, but remembering the fate of their brother on the deck, chose to remain silent.


The ice continued to spread, a dull dry chuckle reverberating from his mouth. It grew in cacophony as the ice continued to crystalize the waters reaching outwards with icy tendril-like fingers towards the plasma core, seeking to suck the life and energy from anything it could grasp.


The comms crackled, their transmission scrambled and scratchy beneath the expanding plumes of ice. Still, what did come through gave the demented soul pause. He turned to look towards the speaker as if it made him better to hear. An entire city?


The expanding field of ice ceased it’s crawl as Inmortos turned to the leader of the craft. “Prepare me a pod. There is work yet to be done before this planet is extinguished.” he growled as he signaled his two lizard entourage and stalked slowly back through the ship, cane in hand.


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This was an incredibly close duel. It was incredibly cinematic on both sides. I must say the ‘lighting yourself on fire’ technique is rarely seen but very effective. It cast the whole duel in its firelight. 


Let's start off with the criticism mixed with the positives. 

Mythos, you had a good amount of what I would call specialized weapons in your fireteam. Though they were not used as often as some have used them, they were still very heavily used. Flechettes at least in modern fire teams for the Rebels/Empire are relatively rare. To see them plus a scattergun used is a bit more than one would expect for a non legendary ranked character. However you offset this by taking realistic and heavy losses. I would say you bordered on taking too much damage relative to what your opponent took. 


Zendrin, you did a great job embodying the art of the warrior, however I would have liked you to take a bit more effective damage. Mythos lost a lot in each of his posts, you took some shrapnel that didn't really affect your combat effectiveness at all. This to me is not respecting your opponents attacks. If you are struggling on how to address exceptional weaponry like what Mythos had, I would recommend using your full warrior kit. You could have used armour here. Not having armour is like leaving a whole part of your kit behind. 


Overall while it was very close, we must always have a winner:

Mythos von Howlster 


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Commander - Darkhand Brigade - Sith Empire

Blood Prince

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As blade tore through flesh, Mythos' ear flinched with boiling pain and altered equilibrium as he shifted his weight to keep his stance. But the Flechette he expected to carve he and the girl asunder did not explode it's payload like he expect, instead tearing it's pathway across and into her collar, a byproduct of Mythos' hindered balance. He smirked as best he could, his salivating maw grotesquely unable to capture it's intent behind his mask. So the fates had decided they both were worthy of life despite their wounds. He would respect it's wishes. The Great Moon had decided, even if she was Sith and a non-believer. Holding her up by his blade, his voice echoed from behind his mask.


"You are quite the Warrior, little Sith." He spoke, his glance briefly looking down at his destroyed arm and across the field of battle. He wanted to end her life here, but with the dud speaking the will of the Great Moon, it was sacrilege to not follow it. "I expected the Great Moon to call home our souls and cleanse you, but she has decided otherwise. Pity. You are dishonored and tainted. I don't know why she chose to spare you. Perhaps there is something she can see in your soul that I cannot." Mythos grew quiet as his gaze stared deeply into hers, his grip tightening, his rage apparent as he threatened to turn on his blade. "I will leave you to your wounds. Survive, or do not. I can care less."


And with that, he threw her wounded form aside, his blade slipping out of her form as the momentum shifted her form into the air and the lake beside them. As he hit his knee, his blooded blade plunging into the soil of Naboo, he breathed heavy. Ichi turned to ask if he was okay, but Mythos wasn't truly sure. This outcome had been truly unexpected and he simply knelt there as he took in the moment. Instead, Mythos simply halted the Chandrillian with his paw and signaled him to recover the fallen forms as well as Sesil who had survived. Moments later, he would return with a few field medics that had been aboard the ship they had arrived on.


Despite this being a win with the Sithling's defeat, this battle had taken more than its toll on Mythos. And the Shistavanen held alot of unspoken questions within his mind. And as his gaze shifted to Theed, he questioned whether to proceed or to fall back. News had arrived of the ship's flight capabilities, and the outlook was good. But the question remained whether they could escape or not, dependant on the current outlook of the invasion.

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Karys could sense the multitude of lifeforms from where Solus was pointing. He was correct in that it was most likely a city...teeming with life, life ripe for the taking and ready to be plundered for it's riches. Perhaps not in credits but in it's children, adult sympathetic to the Sith and technology. Children that could be easily coerced, kidnapped or otherwise and be indoctrinated into the ranks of the clan. 


More meat for the grinder that was becoming his army and that of Clan Brasganu. One bred for one purpose alone...the complete extermination of the Jedi and their allies and his own enemies. Much how Solus was being moulded into a weapon of war, a task he was taking too with all the joy of a kid in a sweet shop. He was amused at the prospect.


Pointing towards the pod, he bid Solus join him and meet their newest ally. Allowing what remained of the Linnorms with them to escort the precious cargo of plasma to the surface and informing the Dark Mistress of their success at the task she had set the clan. He hoped she approved of them and found the clan a useful tool. 


That done, he swam towards the icey ship, avoiding the jutting spikes that appeared around it. As the temperature dropped, his body shuddered slightly in discomfort, but it was not a unknown feeling. No worse than being upon a ice planet he thought. Giving three taps, code for friend, he hoped the Krath, Inmortos answered.


Instead some undead lizards of some type greeted him. No doubt they were of the Krath's making, which intrigued the Warrior somewhat. Even if it was not his way of doing things. 


Entering, with his apprentice not far behind...or he hoped so he removed the rebreather as water was sucked out and allowed him to breath air again to speak. Nodding with a quick bow of the head, in respect of Inmortos skills he spoke to the master Krath.


"Greetings Krath Inmortos, we meet at last. Or rather a proper introduction....I recall seeing you with Krath Apophos above Geonosis at the start of this campaign. We did not speak then, it is a pleasure to get the chance to now. Even under such conditions. I must say your skills are most impressive. Although the help while not needed was appreciated. This is my newfound apprentice, the Shard who calls himself Solus, so far not a wasted effort...despite my initial doubts. Save once, a lesson soon he will to remember and never forget. To what do I owe this pleasure of your personal attention."


While he waited, he said nothing before everything changed in a instance. Focusing the Darkness, allowing it to take hoold, Akheron tightened his grip upon the strings in the force that connected to his apprentice Solus. Strangling and tightening those that held him to his lifeforce. Suffocating him in the air until he could hardly breath. A lesson of pain and to heed his words in future. He kept his promise, despite what good Solus had done. A lesson needed to be learnt. A lesson wrought from his Wrath.


 "You may wonder why my apprentice? Why invoke my Wrath. Why do this after such success, it is simple. You jeopardized our mission, one given by the Dark Mistress for your own personal glory. You nearly cost the clan everything. You nearly cost me everything. Disregard my lessons, my words at your peril Solus. Consider this your second lesson. There is nothing you do that is not without consequences. Think before you act and heed my words of caution. War is no game, no mere childs play, nor is the life you chose by accepting my tutorlage. I warned you about this...disregard my words again and jeopardize what privilege we were given and you shall be cast aside, I'm sure Krath Inmortos here would just love a new puppet like you. Do I make myself clear. Now get up and act the Sith you wish to become. You are a child no more, you are a Warrior, act like it."


Dropping him, allowing him to recover he turned back to Inmortos.


"Sorry about that...apprentices....sometimes you just want to kill them. As I was saying, to what do I owe the pleasure."

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"The universe started in darkness at a time when light didn't exist, and that is how it will end. Chaos and suffering is what brings us together. In chaos a man or woman will show who he or she really is and in suffering they will speak the truth. We are darkness incarnate, we are the evil. This cannot be denied, even by me. But without us there is no redemption, passion or order." - Darth Akheron


I survived the Great JNet Outage of 2012

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At his master’s point, Solus originally swam alongside the pod and followed it. With no need to breathe and able to stand the underwater pressure, there was no issue with allowing the others to have a bit more free space. Plus, if something happened to the pod, the Shard could help on the outside much quicker. 
However, his guilty mind got the better of him. He would rather be closer to his master. And this newcomer interested him. The force acted so weird here. 


“Perhaps with more looking into the impossible geometries” Solus commented to himself as he came in behind his master into the pod. “I could get an idea of what this...Inmortos is. Its such a strange sight. The shapes of his life are so...not correct. Like broken, but still running. Such an odd thing…”


Solus let the water drip off of himself as his master began talking. His attention was focused on the lizard beings nearby. The appearance they gave looked more like corpses then beings. And a quick glance into the Impossible Geometries revealed that just as so. Much like Inmortos, the shapes around the lizards were much more jittery and paused for much longer periods of time. They were more dead than alive in every sense of the word. 


Then the pain came. 


Solus’ joints tightened instantly as every circuit in his body began to fire off. The world around him was suddenly closing off from him. This world of worlds was disappearing rapidly, as his own connections from the chassis were being severed in unseen ways. His voice broke into a screech. 


"You may wonder why my apprentice? Why invoke my Wrath. Why do this after such success, it is simple. You jeopardized our mission, one given by the Dark Mistress for your own personal glory. You nearly cost the clan everything. You nearly cost me everything”


“Ma-Master I-” Solus screeched in pain as his chassis acted up again. His feet left the floor as every limb franticly tightened and loosened over and over.  His begging could not be heard over his shrieking frequencies. The world was losing sight for his sensors.  No, Solus realized, his sensors were losing connection with his Shard. With the chassis, he was a being, but without it, he was a simple rock. And Akheron’s actions were forcibly separating the two. 


“Disregard my lessons, my words at your peril Solus. Consider this your second lesson. There is nothing you do that is not without consequences. Think before you act and heed my words of caution. War is no game, no mere childs play, nor is the life you chose by accepting my tutorlage. I warned you about this...disregard my words again and jeopardize what privilege we were given and you shall be cast aside, I'm sure Krath Inmortos here would just love a new puppet like you. Do I make myself clear?”


“Ye...yes!” Solus fought, his voice a mixture of blaring of noises and shrieks of static and voice. “I..swear I...will remember! I ...swear!”


Solus fell to the ground with a clang, his body suddenly back under his full possession.


"Now get up and act the Sith you wish to become. You are a child no more, you are a Warrior, act like it."


A sudden fear came from Solus’ shard, followed immediately by a thick cloud of rage. He looked at his master and the new non-alive being. Hadn’t he done well? He had killed so many Gungans. He had found the plasma. He had found the gungan village. He was going to kill so many more! So he made a mistake... Was that worthy of so much pain? 


Was his master just like his shardmates, willing to throw Solus away for simply being himself?


Solus picked himself up, slowly. His chassis felt a bit foreign at first, as if he needed to resettle in it all over again. His body parts shook slightly at first, but worked into place. The shard however still kept his gaze focused on Akheron and Inmortos, saying nothing. He needed to let his anger cool off. No doubt Akheron could sense it. 

Solus briefly took a glimpse into the Impossible Geometries and called the red cloud away from the others. Perhaps he could hide it for now. It wasn’t like he couldn’t use it later on those stupid Gungans.  Just needed to call it back for now. Store it away, like a battery, and use it later. 

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The air tasted bitter and ashen, suffocating in the smoke left behind by the fires of rage and bile. The blazing intensity of the moment was everything until it… wasn’t. These latent moments were the nature of the beast that they had all unleashed inside of themselves, but she did not relish them like the other times. They made her feel spent, used up, and hungry for the next rush, although that was an addiction that she did not feed lightly. Too many Sith burned themselves away too quickly by being dominated by the cycle of passion and burn out. The Dark Side was a part of her, but not all of her. 


She took the communicator from Darth Mavanger, losses were never easy for the Sith, but they were the crucible that either reforged a warrior into something stronger or broke them. This was the nature of the eternal war, ever pursuing greater strength and power.  


She took captures of the inside of the palace, a place of architectural beauty, and made her way into the city proper. The terrorists and dissidents were already melting away into the shadows, as they always did. She felt the half extinguished light of a solitary remaining Jedi in the city, and went in search of it out of curiosity. 


At the river that split the city, the Jedi lay paralyzed near a shattered bridge, with the kind of wound that would have been permanently crippling before the advancement of medical technology. Preternatural intuition told her that this was the Jedi that had defeated Darth Mavanger.


“I’m not here to kill you, Jedi. You struck down Darth Mavanger, but that makes you the stone that sharpens my blade. It’s why conflict is such an integral part of the galaxy. If you ever grow disillusioned with the lie of peace that the Jedi and the Alliance continue to pander with, you have earned your place amongst our ranks through your skill and courage. Think it over.”


Darth Nyrys took out her commlink and contacted command. Anyone with the courage to take up arms would be given medical aid and evac, regardless of colors. The civilians though, they belonged to the Sith now.


“Medevac is on the way, Jedi. May you find ever greater glory in your journey.”

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\\ Medical Relief Corridor Opened Per Her Majesties Request \\


“Copy, Command.”


Pilot Echo Three Delta, dove her TIE Defender through the darkening clouds around the burning capital city of Theed.  She was squadron commander of the medical relief wing, and the three Lambda Class Shuttles that followed her squadron had the red cross emblazoned all over their three wings. Even the TIE defenders had thick bright white stripes on their wings, their IFF signals broadcasting the 777 frequency of neutral all service military medical. 


One of the Lambdas broke from formation to head to the Dark Lord’s location where they would evacuate a Jedi Knight, while the other two headed for the lake district the Downed Sith Lord and Wounded rebel Infantry company. 


Their crews did not look forward to making the jump to Nar Shaddaa, but they knew it was unlikely that they would be taken captive. They were to rescue any Rebel Uniformed Soldiers of Jedi and return them home. The Sith Empire had left its legacy of Onderon behind. There would be no rivers of captive’s blood this time.


((Surviving Rebel/Jedi are cleared to use this escape route and vehicles to return home))

"Na-hah ur su ka-haat.

Su ka haru aat"

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Aboard the aubmarine, the venerable Sith Lord moved with purpose towards the aft of the craft and the escape pods therein. Such a thing would be of most use to Inmortos. He did not fancy a swim. As the duo of other Sith boarded, the Necromancer regarded them with a silent icy stare. Where his eyes passed, heat vanished, dissipated into lost energies in the cosmos.


As Akheron spoke, Inmortos nodded briefly, but as the Sith warrior fell silent, the sorcerer allowed the still air to hold it’s place amongst the silence of the sea. He could feel the force move, subtle yet absolute. The tightening of the bands that seemed to bind the warrior to his robot-like apprentice.


The sorcerer’s eyes followed the trail of the force, felt the life force twinge and grieve beneath the crushing power of darkness. The droid-being reeked of pain and suffering, his soul bound by the agony of Akheron’s dark will.


A smile played across Inmortos’ lifeless pale face; a sparkle of glee shining against his shadowed yellowed eyes. So this droid had a spark of life, a soul. His body though . . . his body was mechanized, an urn for a life; of little use resurrected as a servant for his cause.


He felt the fear and rage welling up in the apprentice. He could taste it, a dark cacophony of swirling emotions, hot and raw even as the stone sought to conceal it. Turning his eyes on the Shard, he spoke. His voice was raspy and dry, cold and biting. “I brought you a gift, but if you would like, I could just kill him instead. I find death to be a great teacher and a gift greater than any other. After that, we can accomplish what I came for, to reach the darkest depths of the force itself.” Leaning heavily on his cane, Inmortos’ stared into the eyes of the apprentice, icy tendrils of invisible cold reaching on his sight to sap the heat and life from that which filled his vision. “The Force shall free me,” he spoke the final line of the Sith code, spitting it with a glimmer of lustful desire.


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Akheron shook his head, signalling there was no need for such a extreme measure. The lesson had been learnt, hopefully Solus would grow stronger for it. As he had during his own apprenticeship, when he made similar mistakes. 


"It is true in some instances, but I don't think death is needed here. I believe he gets my point...despite this mistake he has done good elsewhere and so is not a lost cause yet. There is still potential in the Shard, Solus. For have we all not made similar mistakes. But where were we. Ah yes, you say you bring a gift? I would graciously accept it...for I am intrigued. And would repay such a gift, I am not accustomed to accepting something without equal repayment."



"The universe started in darkness at a time when light didn't exist, and that is how it will end. Chaos and suffering is what brings us together. In chaos a man or woman will show who he or she really is and in suffering they will speak the truth. We are darkness incarnate, we are the evil. This cannot be denied, even by me. But without us there is no redemption, passion or order." - Darth Akheron


I survived the Great JNet Outage of 2012

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The dark magicians eyes stared unblinkingly into the receptors of the Solus-bot as if staring beyond the seen and into the very soul of their owner; but just as suddenly, they shifted. Inmortos’ eyes turned towards the apprentice’s master, he that had began the training of Apothos. Training that Inmortos had brought to fruition.

His eyes flickered with glee at the mention of his gift, and while it was not death itself, it was still a gift that would bring such to bear. Motioning, Inmortos’ necromancic disciple came forward, an elongated case of blackened polished wood held reverently in his arms and hands as he presented it to his dark master.


”It is quite simple Darth Ahkeron. I shall bestow upon you this weapon, for you are one of few that might wield it properly. With it, you will help me carve a gateway. A gateway through the very force itself, deep beyond where mere mortal cowardly powermongers and Jedi dare swim. A gateway built upon a cursed altar. A gateway beyond the frail bonds of life and death.”


Inmortos turned to fully face the Sith warrior, stepping aside as he did. With a flick of his hand, the locks that held the case closed opened and the case opened upwards in silence. Within, upon a bed of inky black velvet lay a weapon, a blade, instricate and ornate, gilded with crystalized bone and jade. The blade seemed to shimmer with a vorpal blackness as if it did not quite exist or belong entirely unto the reality and realm upon which the trio of Sith stood. It’s edges were honed to an atom’s width and it’s hunger palpable in the air itself. 

As the case opened, the lighting in the room dropped, drawing shadows out of nothingness. The temperature dropped several degrees, sending a pale chill beckoning through the air.


“A limnal blade, hewn by the darkness of my own hand and crafted from the utter hopelessness that makes up my very own necropoliptic tomb. This blade has yet to taste flesh or be carried into battle by a worthy possessor. I present it unto you, you have but to name it and take it in your hand.” The sorcerer beckoned Karys forward with a skeletal white bony finger, budding him to take the blade as the stillness of the room pressed in, almost suffocating within the weapon’s aura. “But be warned,” he added hastily, his dry voice cracking, “such a weapon is not possessed by spirits, but will still destroy he that is unworthy. Strengthen yourself. Steel your soul against the call of timeless eternity.”


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