Annihilation Clash of Destiny

[CT-312]

//: Allies: The Sith Order | Darth Carnifex Scherezade deWinter Dynamis "Dynas" Ultra //:
//: Enemies: Galactic Empire | Dark Forces //:
//: Death Star III //:
//: Attire //:
//: EQUIPMENT: Halcyon Armour| M.I. 'Sunstroke' jetpack| M.I. 'Halo' jump boots | Contact Lenses | Wrist Mounted APG | Ancile Shield | Navi/Barca //:
//: WEAPONS: VW 864 Maser Rifle | LO-18D | M.I. Model 7 shotgun | LO-22S | Sunshot Pistol | M.I. Model 6 hybrid pistol //:
//: 40|40 Active Mag : 2 , 1 Backup Mags x LO-KI/22 Standard Slug Round //:
//: ADDITIONAL EQUIPMENT: 2x Kushute Grenades | Shiva Knife | S.A.N.D. Powder //:
//: 2x Ion Grenade | 2x Flash Grenade | 2x Incendiary Grenade | 2 x Smoke Grenade //:
//: 1 x Arrow head of Absence | Taozin amulet | LK Spider Slicer Droid //:
//: Azure Shard //:
//: Objective III - Clash of Destiny //:
​

Her attention sharpened the instant the guards around the armored figure moved. Their weapons rose in practiced unison. CT-312’s trigger finger and blade were ready to move on reflex. Suddenly— the muzzles dipped. Lowered in perfect discipline.

Processing Jedi Master Dynas’s words, filtered and displayed in her helmet in a cool measured tone. CT-312’s visor tilted toward the armored figure at the center. The voice and presence confirmed the lingering fragment that had itched at the back of her mind. This was the same Sith Lord she had crossed paths with before.

When He spoke the air itself seemed heavier. Charged and oppressive. The atmosphere thickened with an unseen pull as if gravity had quietly multiplied in his presence. It was more intense than the first time they’d met. The sheer destiny of power pressed against the edges of CT-312’s awareness. Whatever power He bore, she’d met it head-on. Unyielding.

The Scout’s brows drew together beneath the helmet. Tension gathered between her eyes as the muscle at the corner of her jaw tightened before settling into a hard silent scowl.

Servant.

The words grated across her nerves. Teeth met with an audible click inside the helmet. The modulator barely masked the growl that threatened to break free. CT-312’s voice came out level, but the quiet threat beneath it was impossible to miss. “I am no one’s servant.” Her fists clenched even tighter. Armored joints creaking as the servos in her gauntlets whined softly under the pressure.

It was made clear the Princess and Daeva had history. Behind the visor, her blue eyes fixed on the Dark Lord burned cold. For a heartbeat she let the hostility hang in the air before forcing it down with a sharp inhale that hissed through her filters. Not this time. “Ally.” CT-312 repeated Daeva’s words outloud. The Princess’s orders came first. Master Dynas’s words reinforced the priority. Joint effort. Critical. United.

CT-312 straighten. Breathing steady once more, eyes tracked motion beyond the Sith Lord’s shoulder. HUD lighting up with another signature. Another familiar voice. The Scout leaned to the side, angling her visor past the armored Sith Lord until the figure came into view. Noticing they were doing the same. Scherezade deWinter . What are the odds? CT-312 blinked once at the wave received. Responding in kind, her right arm lifted. Gauntlet blade extended, hand uncurled and open, making one slow wave in return before bringing her arm down to rest against her thigh. Finishing with a curt nod for greeting.

The tension in her shoulders eased a fraction. CT-312 listened as Scherezade spoke. She too suggested combining forces. Suggestions and plans overlapping with Master Dynas’s words. Her attention snapped to her HUD’s glowing faint blue across her visor. Pulling up the schematics in her HUD, rotating the holographic projection in front of her. As the sphere of the weapon expanded, it showed multiple nodes of power at its core. Not one. Four.

“Agreed. We won’t reach all four cores on foot.” Her helmet shifted slightly as she processed the mention of teleportation. Head tilting a few degrees. The displacement Master Dynas had caused. The flicker that had moved them earlier on, still fresh in her memory. Was this the same technique the Dark Lord used during their encounter? The pattern felt similar. Filing the thought away. “I can handle a core myself. Splitting up might be faster.”

Within the sealed confines of her helmet, her voice lowered to speak privately to Master Dynas. “You’ve got a plan once we reach one of those cores?"

CT-312’s attention flicked back to Scherezade as the woman grinned. Casually suggesting they massacre whoever crossed their path. An eyebrow arched under the helmet. Not surprised. Amused. “Why not both?” Her visor turned back towards the Dark Lord, steady and unflinching as she waited for his answer.

The Death Star shuddered beneath them. Metal groaning deep within its structure. Red emergency lights painted the walls in warning. The air around them felt charged. CT-312's eyes scanned the corridors at the massive amount of carnage and destruction.

Things were about to get more hectic. The corner of her mouth twitched upward, the faintest grin ghosted across her lips.

Perfect.

Spoiler: Others

Quinn Varanin Eira Dyn Riven

 

[Krasskorr the Maw]

FOOD: Darth Avida

​

Krasskorr's felt the weight of the lightclub doubling with every passing second. The combination of his massive frame, the unexpected surge from the Dark Side and the toll of the force lightning were all catching up to him, a harsh price for even his exceptional strength. He was designed for overwhelming short bursts of power, not for this prolonged contest of skill against an opponent of equal caliber.

He had managed to force Darth Avida to back peddle as she grumbled, now providing him confirmation of his earlier assessment. He needed to keep her contained fighting her physical shortcomings and not his own. Avida came back in from the side, her lightsaber striking with renewed force. Krasskorr met the blow, the two crimson blades locking and showering the smoke-filled corridor in sparks.

He felt the burn in his lungs now, the labored exchange of air becoming too slow to feed the engine of his muscles. The long hilt of his weapon, once used for precise leverage, was now gripped and swung with the desperation of a man wielding a massive, glowing baseball bat.

Krasskorr's footwork slowed to a shuffle. He didn't bother with economy of motion; he needed to end this immediately. With a guttural bellow of pure, unadulterated frustration, he yanked his lightclub back and swung it in a devastating, horizontal arc.

The target was no longer Avida's saber or her body, but the corridor itself.

The lightclub screamed as it tore through the reinforced, steel-like panels of the corridor wall to his right, slicing through metal and conduits like they were thin paper. The air filled with the stench of fried electronics and shattered circuitry. The impact reverberated painfully up his arms, but the resulting chaos was exactly what he wanted as a distraction.

He did not wait for Avida's reaction. The Maw pivoted on his heel, using the enormous weight and length of the still-ignited blade to complete a full 360 degree rotational sweep. The arc carried the lightclub back toward Avida, aiming not for a clean cut, but for a brutal, horizontal power-slice that would force her either to vault over the blade or risk being severed at the legs.

 

[Phaelissia]

Location: Chamber - Death Star III
Thread Objective: Clash of Destiny
Mission Objective: Stop the ritual.
SO: Lirka Ka Helix
GE: Da'Razel

Phaelissia’s synthetic gaze lit up, honing in on the Green Warden droid as its light repeating blaster rifle snapped in her direction before laying down a stream of fire. The cyborg immediately surged into motion, her form dissolving into a silvered blur as the acceleration implant hurled her laterally out the arc of incoming fire. The air roared in her wake as she came to an instantaneous halt, now seven meters to the left of her previous position.

While the movement had saved her from the bulk of the automaton’s plasmatic wrath, it was not a total relief. A sharp hiss escaped from plush lips as a pair of blaster bolts struck her stomach and shoulder. Her features tightened into a wince as a brief burning sensation shot up her spine. Her bodysuit flared, charred marks struck across the protective material. Her shoulder went momentarily stiff as the two impacts jolted her back, angry red bruises forming on her flesh. Fortunately, the ostrine-reinforced estrian armorweave in her bodysuit held, scattering the bolts’ energy into embers.

Though struck, the cyborg remained intact.

She caught sight of movement ahead, and extended her left hand in its direction, palm upturned.

A loud, thunderous crack sounded out as the air was torn asunder.

Its source was a powerful wave of overpressure that exploded from the cyborg’s palm with the force of a concussion grenade, intended to destroy the crates and potentially crush the cultist shooting out from behind them in the process. Delivered from 17 meters away, the blast carried enough energy to shatter durasteel barricades. More than enough, she reasoned, to enact her intended effects. Though failing that, she had other plans.

In the same breath, Phaelissia pivoted towards the droid. Her right hand snapped up, fingertips alive with nascent power. A screaming lance of electro-plasma-kinetic force detonated from her hand, unleashing such an extreme quotient of electrical energy that it carried the fury of lightning, the searing heat of plasma, the concussive force of a grenade, and the system-killing kiss of an EMP.

A symphony of ruin for her mechanical assailant.

Spoiler: Loadout

• Frostfire Azalea
  
  • Arms
    
    • FAE/M-02 Energized Forearm Vibroblade Mk. II - R
• Purifying Lash
• Freezing Fates II
• Cybernetics and Augmentations

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Allies | Mykel Dawson
Opposition | Luvaen Malstadt
​

The trio of Jedi glanced between each another. It was a fleeting look, one that spoke of quiet confidence. Numbers did not always win battles, but they felt as though they could manage the single Dark-sider between them.

Then, they were in motion.

The two Jedi closest to Luvaen - a Zabrak male and Chiss female - lunged for him, their sabers arcing in blurs of blue and green plasma. The Zabrak struck from above, swinging his blade down upon the helmeted man while the Chiss went low, aiming for his ankles.

The third Jedi, a Rodian of small stature, lingered behind. He held his saber low as he stretched a hand out towards Luvaen, attempting to slow the flow of the Force around him and create resistance that would hinder his movement.

…​

Cora covered their retreat from the initial docking site. Her movements were methodical, flowing with the rhythm of battle that thrummed beneath her feet, above her head, and all around her. With her saber, she redirected blaster bolts to sizzle against the metallic walls.

Her free hand clenched in the air, ripping a thin durasteel panel from the ceiling, which was shot toward the soldiers. The projectile struck its intended mark, and the troopers were sent hurdling down the hall.

~ Please, then try not to get yourself killed. All right? ~

Cora huffed, but the corners of her lips curled into something faintly reminiscent of a smile. Not necessarily for the sentiment of Voldran's message, but for the soft tone with which it was imparted.

~ So long as you do what you know to be right.~

As her answer drifted off into their telepathic bond, the Force thrummed low, vibrating with a nauseating familiarity. Death was as natural as life was, but this was fresh.

Cora took off down the hall, heading for where the trio of Jedi had disappeared.

 

[Maera Dren]

Location: Hangar - Death Star III
Tags: Renn Vizsla

Maera hit him like a thunderbolt, full momentum, every servo screaming as she drove her shoulder into his center mass. The impact landed solid, but it was like striking a fortress. He didn't break.

He just absorbed her force, shifting his stance with brutal control. Her vision jolted as his arm coiled around her. Before she could recover, the galaxy turned.

Metal roared as he twisted, using her own velocity to hurl her over his hip. The floor came up hard, her armor crashing against durasteel. It rattled her lungs.

She rolled, instincts flaring, but before she could even process the throw, his shadow loomed. His gauntlet was already descending in a crushing arc.

She twisted away, armor grinding sparks. His strike slammed into the deck beside her with a bone-shaking thud. The impact dented the floor where her head had been a heartbeat before. Her HUD flared static. Warmaster indeed.

Using the recoil of her roll, Maera planted a palm, twisted, and kicked out low. Her obsidian boots snapped toward the side of his knee joint, angling for the seam in the beskar plating. It was a move meant to stagger, not break. She struck with precision and vicious intent.

 

[Lirka Ka]

ALLIES - TSO and Affiliates - Helix Phaelissia
ENEMIES - GE and Affiliates - Da'Razel

With the return of both Helix and Phaelissia Lirka could see that it was time for their little gaggle of murderers to push forward - Nefaron had evidently gotten himself engaged outside to be able to join them. Though she could certainly tell this was far from the forte of that withered soul - good. Less glory to be shared, Lirka desired a nice long report she could slide across a desk for what the beast that "could never be Sith" was able to enact in the name of their Empire.

Helix's words garbled into her ear, and she let out a snort of amusement. Certainly, the defender's delaying tactics had been laid bare. But it was never that simple - Helix viewed things from those mechanical lenses. Lirka had no such weakness. She had been granted sight that allowed her to see and understand the cosmic notions of what was transpiring around them.

"Of course it is. I understand it well - but that is not the point. The violence is the point. The destruction. Let them raise their abominations and we will lay them low upon our march. With each swing of the blade, with each soul sent back to the Primordial. The chaos swells. The darkness grows - our fellows will grow mightier, and so will our foes."

There was a certain wicked glee behind her words. An anticipating masochism born from her obsessions.

"And then, we will struggle. And through struggle, we grow mighty."

It was a theological lesson that she was fairly certain would fall on deaf ears. Helix didn't need to agree with her - he only needed to act within her calculus, and not shut her up when she started to ramble. With Phaelisia now taking spear point towards the sound of chanting and the smell of burning meat. In their moments of speech it seemed violence had already begun - and Lirka was not going to allow herself the opportunity to miss out in a brawl against something better than mere crewmen and abominations.

The thump thump thump of her boots upon the floor grew faster and faster as bestial savagery took hold once more. The lull from the chemicals surging through her had been a brief respite from the carnage. But she had broken back down into a full headlong charge once more. She did not bother trying to command helix to keep up - the Mechanoid would do as he pleased, ultimately.

The flurry of firepower sent down way at the Kainite that zipped past her quicksilver form ending up leaving a metallic ring through the hall from where she had come. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Thundering through the hall came Lirka Ka with blade in hand, a metal missile surging forth into the defenders' line without so much as a care. Unlike the rest of them, it wasn't too hard to graft some new bit or bob onto her wretched form to fix what recklessness breaks.

"Meager life, prostrating before man. Vapid existence, unworthy before darkness!"

She leapt to the air, in the animalistic simple-mindedness Lirka threw herself at the largest of them. Gazim's towering defense stood as an affront to all Lirka desired, with great-machete swinging down in a mighty arc with the crackling of it's Electro-Plasma Filament sizzling through the air as the mechanized might of the beast laid into the towering zealot.

 

[Matsu Ike]

OBJECTIVES: Clash of Destiny
ALLIES: Jedi
ENEMIES: Death Star

She walked through the food court as the small map was in her hand... not much information wise just a lot of pictures and tourism spots. She could get a general idea of where she was though while moving. The smells of food being cooked or abandoned was hanging in the air. She was still following the main gun as it went down deeper and deeper into the station. The feeling of others in her senses before she stopped for a moment and listened in the force. She could feel more strong ones coming while she moved. her feet still hovering when she didn't need to make a stride but she was quiet for the time being.

Allowing herself to follow along for a moment when she grabbed a small tray of food and went down the line. Picking up a few things and trying it out. The spoonful of grey brown soupy meat was... interesting as she saw it. "Hmm even the vast knowledge of the force can't answer some mysteries." She looked at it. "Mystery meat though does lead to strong stomachs... I wouldn't be surprised if the soldiers here could survive the poisons and spice of hutt food." She said it with aa nod when she continued forward looking at it. Stopping only when therre was a tram connection going deeper into the station.

She could see it and moved with her attention on some parts of it. There were officers and soldiers there as she popped up and stood next to them. "So you guys here for the tram? I am trying to find the crystal chamber but I think I took a wrong turn at Alderaan deck." There was a look from them and the jedi master looked at them offering a hand. "Suravi from section four." She said it and shook the hand as the one offer was looking at her. "I came to make sure the crystals are calibrated.... can't have enough calibration." She made a point of mimicing pulling her pants up with a large grin and the officer spoke to another as the tram was pulling up and they seemed confused more then anything as she got onto the tram for a moment.

Thinking about it as the jedi master waited... and then waited with the doors closing and none of them had felt the urge to get on when she was there as they seemed to figure it out and shock.. then surprise was on their face... then anger before it seemed they had a hard time speaking. Her focus shifting for a moment to seize aand still their vocal cords... their voice gone for now and would be for several hours as she found a place to stand. THey still were not moving as she waved her hand at them goodbye and was continuing deeper and deeper. Her attention going to the front when she reached out to search for the crystals main chamber.

 

[Renn Vizsla]

Tag: Srina Talon | Aether Verd
Opposition: Maera Dren



Renn felt the hit connect, a sharp, jarring crack against the side of his knee joint, but the armor held. The impact forced his stance open just enough for instinct to take over. He slammed his gauntlet against the floor, jets igniting in a violent burst that threw him backward through the haze. The exhaust carved a trail of fire and debris as he skidded across the hangar, landing in a crouch several meters away. His boots scraped sparks on the deck as he steadied himself, smoke rising in thin ribbons around his frame.

He didn’t hesitate. The Warmaster’s wrist flicked once, and a mechanical hiss cut through the air, a grappling line fired from his vambrace, the cable streaking low through the drifting haze toward Maera’s leg. The hook spun end over end, its magnetic tip set to clamp and drag. Renn’s other hand gripped the tether line tight, ready to yank her off balance the moment it found purchase. His visor glared through the rising smoke, locking on her movement with predatory patience.

“Let’s see you stand,” he muttered, voice rough beneath the modulator as the grapple line sang across the deck. Jetpack fumes still burned in the air, the hangar’s glow flickering off his armor as he prepared for her counter, one breath between pull and retaliation, waiting to see if she would cut the line or come to meet him again.

Around them, the larger battle had begun to shift. Blasterfire stuttered and flared as both sides adjusted to the duel’s gravity, troopers finding cover or breaking formation to keep distance from the two commanders. Sparks rained from the rafters above, Keld’s ongoing struggle casting flashes of light that cut through the fog. The air was heavy with ozone, metal, and blood, every sense sharpened to the razor edge of survival.

Renn braced as the line tightened, his jetpack still humming faintly from the burst. The muscles in his arm coiled, ready to reel her in with the force of a charging beast. His stance widened, boots digging into the deck for leverage. Whether the grapple caught or failed, it didn’t matter; he would press the next attack. He was Death Watch’s blade, tempered in fire, and no stormtrooper or Death Trooper alive would keep him from proving it. The hangar wasn’t just a battlefield now; it was an anvil, and one of them would break upon it.

The Hammer Would Fall.​

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Death Star III

Equipment:
Field Gear | Lightsaber

A whine split the air as panels tore loose, ripped from their housing in a storm of metal. Ace barely had time to register it before the first wave came screaming toward him. His lightsaber flared blue, cutting through a blur of debris, sparks fountaining with every deflection.

Each block forced him back a step. The rhythm that had been his was gone now, Ravoch's precision was dictating the tempo again. The last shard sliced past his guard and clipped his arm, cutting through fabric and skin before he could turn it aside. A low grunt tore from his throat.

When the barrage ended, Ace's boots slid to a halt against the grated floor, breath coming through gritted teeth. Above him, the catwalk he'd tried to bring down was left twisted and ruined, sections of the frame hanging at broken angles, cables dangling like torn sinew. It groaned under its own weight, a half-finished act of destruction suspended in failure. It mirrored the feeling knotting inside his chest... that he was always so close to breaking through, and never quite enough.

Now the Sith had descended. The sound of his landing was heavy. His crimson blade ignited again, painting the smoke with its glare. But before the attack came, the hum died. The weapon vanished back into silence, replaced by the slow, measured sound of boots.

"Lesson number one, do as I say."

Ace didn't move. He just watched the man approach, the embodiment of control. Every word was a needle.

"Submit yourself to me. Let me teach you what control really means."

The blue light of Ace's lightsaber threw shadows up his face, deep across the hollows of his eyes. He said nothing. No snarl, no retort. Just his breath, slow, measured, and the tightening of his grip on the hilt until his knuckles whitened. He was done listening.

The world around them was molten noise: hissing pipes, flickering consoles, sparks dancing through the gloom. He could feel the Force flowing through it all - the heat, the metal, the weight of the room itself. Ravoch thought this was control. But to Ace, it was life unbound. Responsive. Waiting.

He shifted, sliding one boot across the scorched grating. Then he moved. A loose chunk of plating wrenched itself up under his will, spinning across the floor toward Ravoch's flank. It was a feint, a distraction.

In the same breath, Ace followed it in, blue light carving through the haze. His attacks came fast: broad Shii-Cho sweeps that filled the air with arcs of energy, followed by brutal Djem So strikes that landed like hammer blows. Each movement carried weight, every step pressing forward, hopefully driving Ravoch back toward the hum of the dead machinery.

It wasn't clean. It wasn't elegant. But it was furious, and heavy with purpose.

Kyrothian Ravoch​

 

[Subject 1503]

ATRISIA, CORE WORLDS
Aboard the Death Star III

Srina Talon
​

He saw her, down the end of a long hallway. Had she been called here by his master? By the presence that guided him and seemingly all of these events? Or had this been merely happenstance, a trick of the force delivering his prey right to him? It mattered little, he supposed, the outcome would be the same regardless of anything. To become Sith, he needed to destroy one, and now one stood before him - not just any Sith, either, but an empress. A worthy challenge.

Fingers tightened around his lightsaber, and where she was struck by recognition, by familiarity, the figure before her displayed nothing of the sort. There wasn't the faintest semblance of anything that might indicate he was who she believed, though perhaps that was simply because he wasn't, for all her deep memory, her senses betrayed her. He had seen her before, in his teachings - the visage of those who would be his greatest enemies, the foes his Emperor would send him to destroy had been burned into his mind's eye long before he had awoken. That was the only reason there was any sense of familiarity in her form, of that, he was sure.

And yet, the station itself seemed to will another brief separation between him and his prey as the security door slammed shut, separating them both. He might have opted to cut the door open, or to tear apart the hydraulics that held it still with the force that roiled in him.

She saved him the trouble when her fist suddenly launched straight through the thick door and her fingers seized him by the throat, pulling him closer until the heavy helmet he wore dented the structure and he was brought face-to-mask with her. He heard her words, the question that spoke of a recognition beyond what she should have had. Was she deluded? Was this the misguided madness that his teachings had told him all those beyond the Blackwall had fallen to?

"I am not whatever you believe me to be, witch." He did not activate his blade yet, nor did he resist or attempt to break free of the grip she had upon him, instead, he focused on the solace of his fury.

In the walls around them, a groaning sound came first, followed by the hiss as hydraulic pipes creaked and groaned under an unseen weight. As they snapped and broke, the seals on the door weakened, and the metallic structure of the door itself shrieked as it began to fold and tear like paper. From where she had struck a hole through the door, the armored remnants of it rolled back like parchment, removing the barrier between them.

It was then, with nothing laid between them again, that his red blade ignited and surged up toward her.

​

​

​

 

[Yorunarr Ahan-Yan'Sharlim]

TAGS
Lilianna L'lerim Cesare Demici Kael Varnok

WRATH OF GOD
3

​

ACCESS HALL 4241, ABOARD THE DEATH STAR III,
APPROACHING ATRISIA, CORE WORLD TERRITORIES (903 ABY)

'We haven't the tme for this lot.'
'Then make it quick, Tancred. Show me what else you can do.'​

'Making plans, are we? Care to share with the group?', one of the latest hindrances pondered as a taunt, to the chuckling approval of his contemporaries as they barred the path ahead, the very same route that seemed to be leading to the infirmary. The largest of the hindrances seemed to be quite aware of the intruders' intentions there, stepping out from the throng whilst they were still joking amongst themselves, and all to state,'We know why you're here, Tancred.... You will die, here and now, before you ever see Lilianna's face again. Too late to turn back now, Ashlan. Far too late.', whilst revealing the weapon he brought for the purpose.

'Kill them both, Cap! Kid first, then the old man!'
'Fine by me, though your insubordination will not be forgotten.... You don't dictate my intentions, Corporal.'

​

A Beskar battleaxe, one-handed, crafted to a fine finish, including the Cortosis handlewrap that was woven around the lower handle segment, seemingly designed with the guard's grasping hand in mind. But the grand intentions the guard had retained would never come to fruition, and all that was need was the realisation of his hubris, seen from a perspective of ascendant observation, and considered in the midst of a contrastingly silent approach. It was then that Priestess began to glow with a pale, golden hue, the first makings of Ashlan Force-Imbuement, and though it still paled greatly in comparison to the way it manifested in his mother, there was a hope that this power could become a thing of near-equal mastery.

It was on this matter most of all that Yorunarr worked so diligently to assist, and this was (by no regular stretch of the imagination) easy to instruct from a coaching, fundamental framework, but the results were already beginning to speak for themselves, and Tancred had long-since solved the beating heart of the issue. The youth would kick himself for weeks after the fact, though only on the matter of faith not being an issue at the time, a small snag in progress they were hoping to make sooner; but with readiness and training already advancing quickly by the time Yorunarr dragged him along for the daring endeavour, and becoming a non-issue when push came to shove, such issues of snags and holdups seemed to matter little and less to the old Novanian by then.

The upstart was clearly better off maintaining his trajectory, and without a single need or requirement to rush a wondrous process.

'Before we commence.... Would you consider paying penance, that is - if offered?'
'By the mandate of Sedes Aurea? By the word of the Chanting Mask?! Naaaaaaah! I'd sooner piss on your offer of pen-'

[CLANG]
[Thud]
[Squelch]​

'AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUURRRGH!!!!!'

Slicing through reinforced metal, through armour-plated greaves, through flesh and bone, and all in one downward strike; the young Saint had cut his way through, and in fluid, lightning-fast motion. Severing the arm that chose to grasp a weapon in anger against him, severing the axe on head and handle alike, along with the voice of every witness to this moment. The silence would likely have continued for much longer, but the agonal screaming quickly put their awestruck wonder to rest, and not only for the Guard Troopers who were there to see it, but also for the old Novanian in turn. However, the fact that Tancred was showing restraint would quickly serve to soothe Yorunarr's concerns, as such power was always a terrible tool in the wrong hands, especially warriors of habitual, murderous disposition.

A relief like no other, as the shrill, blood-curdling sound of the screams, stomach-turning though such a thing would be for kinder, more sympathetic ears, would likely have encouraged a feral, wicked mind to indulge in continued acts of violence. The axe-wielding Captain was fortunate that the cut would burn searing-hot, closing the wound almost as quickly as the blade opened it before, but the strike had removed the arm as far as the the fold between bicep and deltoid muscles; giving the hubristic commander no choice but to render himself financially-destitute, sinking all his earned credit-gains into one round of reattachment surgery, a death-sentence for soldiers approaching their last years of active service.

Looking on, still shaking off that state of dumbfounded shock, an amazement of the likes he had not experienced in decades, Yorunarr (and for the first time in far too long already) was left speechless. A wonder had befallen the Priest-King of an entirely different faith system, and with it, all sense of scale and power was being redrawn before his very eyes, with Force-Imbuement being the metric of potency in his mind at the time. Even going on to state,'Makes my mastered imbuement appear like child's play, and to think yours isn't even ready yet.... Its incredible!', though the moment of wonder was soon cut short by the sight of multiple trembling blaster-barrels, pointed toward Tancred in desperation whilst their commander slipped in and out of consciousness at their feet.

'Lads, lads.... I wouldn't do that, if I were you.'
'Its fine, Yorunarr. After all, we often forget that twitching, shaky hands are traumatised hands - REPENTANT HANDS!!!!'

​

Though Yorunarr could hear nothing occurring beneath the helmets of the other Guard Troopers, their minds were erupting with a pressure they had never felt boiling in their heads before, catching nothing but fearful whimpering and groans of exertion at the time, but even the exiled Novanian was observant enough to see that something profound was transpiring behind their tinted visors. Shaken, rumbling all the way down to the very synaptic receptors, rattled to the very nerve-endings on which their minds depended, and before long, barrels began to drop. One by one, and in sporadic succession, each pair of arms, each shoulder that held each rifle-stock in place, all would point muzzles to the durasteel-mesh panels soon enough, though this was certainly conditional.

None had known that the headaches could be countered with pure intentions, that prioritizing their Captain's survival was enough to regain control of their motor-functions - not even Yorunarr was ever aware of this method.

​

'Better put that on ice, at the first opportunity.'

~=Tancred?!=~
~=Hold on, we're not far away now. Inform anyone who needs to know - but quietly!=~
​

As the Guard Troopers carried their Captain to the safety of their substation, fortunately unconscious by then, the old Novanian would carefully keep watch until they were finally out of sight; completely unaware that his young contemporary was communicating telepathically, briefly assuring Lilia's safety whilst their demoralised enemies scurried off, coincidentally in the same direction where the victors were headed. After all, only one specific sector could take their emergency, only one, high-tech wing of the Death Star that could rectify cutting dismemberments of the sort, and in that moment, Tancred could not help but think that this coincidence was something more.

'If I told you they're headed where we're headed, and the exact same place at that - would you believe me?'
'Hmph! Oddly enough, yeah.... Weirder things have happened in this Galaxy, have they not?'

 

[Srina Talon]

Allies: SO + ME
Direct Tag Because I'm Gonna Hit You In The Face: Subject 1503
Tag: Darth Caedes | Revna Marr | Elmindra Xitaar | Madrona A’Mia | Taeli Raaf | Gerwald Lechner [/USER] | Lina Ovmar | Aether Verd Renn Vizsla | Domina Prime | Aselia Verd | Naamino Zuukamano Haro Aven Korda Veydran Siv Kryze | The Lord of Hunger | Onrai
Location: Kitel Phard System (Near Atrisia) - [Death Star III]

____________________________________________________

Srina didn’t retreat.

The corridor had become a crude junction of crushed durasteel, curling away from them as if it had been torn apart by a giant can opener. The Empress of the Sith Order stood on one side of it, the remnants of the door frame still hissing where her hand had gone through. Her gloves had protected her from the worst of it, but she was dimly aware of the wet feeling of bloodied knuckles rubbing against the inside of her gear. Small fractures knitted themselves closed under the hum of the Force—But it was the dead light in her eyes that held the most horror.

There was nothing inside.

Nothing but the drive to put an end to this, to return to the mission, to return to her people. Splitting apart was the intelligent play to cover the most ground, but it also made her less capable of being what they frequently required. Something immovable, a shield and sword, their calm and fury...Their mother. Darth Caedes and Revna Marr would be with the younglings while Gerwald Lechner and Velda Nar-Donna could handle almost anything...But that didn't mean she had to enjoy her hand being forced by this labyrinth.

The Echani-born woman was a Queen of Kings, often the singular entity that stood between the frequently warring Sith factions. She had been known to bring them to heel with little more than a whisper. This creature, this shadow, of the Commander of Ashes, would not be her undoing now any more than he had been so many years ago on Naboo. He could touch her, no longer. Break her, no longer. Through the ragged hole, glowing aureate orbs hawkishly tore apart the figure on the other side. He looked like a ghost armored in war, yet she was the only monster between the two of them.

The red of his blade flared to life while slender fingers tightened around his throat, painting the hall in arterial light. The sound of it was a snarl, and the moment his crimson blade arced toward her, the air itself seemed to recoil. She didn’t move like prey. She didn’t even step back. The strike came fast, a searing blow meant to carve through her, meat and bone, but her response was quiet.

Her eyes narrowed just slightly, and her free hand rose, palm outward, fingers splayed. The Force gathered there, invisible but immense, a coil of gravity that was wound tight enough to split diamonds. When the red laser sword met her reach, it failed to connect, but would hold itself in place as if they were trying to force magnets with opposing poles together. The plasma hissed, contorting under an unseen weight, with an edge veering inches away from her chest while the noise grew louder. The heat…It was only just bearable. One slip to the left, to the right…

…And he would have his pound of flesh.

“I am no witch.”

The stone expression Srina wore never changed as she turned her wrist slightly, and the scorching blade slid harmlessly past, its energy shunted sideways by a field of pure will. The motion was delicate, beautiful even, as though she were guiding a stream around a stone instead of deflecting a weapon. It appeared to be an art form, rather than a learned skill.

Then—With the faintest stretch of muscle, she pushed.

The redirected energy snapped back toward him in an effort to drag his saber-arm off balance while simultaneously shoving him away just as hard as she had grabbed him in the first place. The flashing emergency lights illuminated her face in fractured gold while glass crunched beneath their feet. Klaxons tried to drown them out, burying the sound of so many people tearing themselves apart to secure domination…For nothing. Slaves, to their ambition. “You were sent to me.”

She paused, head tilting.

“…You came to me.”, she added, rather than corrected, feeling a pull that seemed rather similar to the way the Darkside called to her. The idea of a moth moving toward flame became very visceral and, in that moment, she had the intense desire to pry his helmet from his head, even if she took a layer of skin with it. Even with his voice so off, so distorted, the robotic tenor solidified her initial assessment. She knew the face that lay beneath…

Did he wish to die a second time?

"It is a Force Storm. One of this magnitude will stretch beyond the boundaries of this sector. Even if we were to sacrifice the willing, it would not be enough to stop it. We need to contain it, and quickly.”

She sighed.

Of course, it was…Of course, it was something that could manipulate the Blackwall and leave even larger holes than there already were. The storm seeds there could be utilized to enhance any storms and feed them until entire systems were affected. Worse? They had to be here to have their best chance to deal with it. This was the source of the disturbance. The ritual. This was the place where the madness would need to end. Her mental response would flutter around Lina Ovmar and Madrona A’Mia like the wings of a bird. <<If it is true and not another deception…the willing are not enough, but there are souls aplenty in this sector. Use the fuel of the Faithless... They may have created it…But they do not own it.>>

Death, fear, and anguish were all hallmarks of their strength, Sith, strength. Pressing past limits to do the impossible was something they excelled in, even while the majority of their fighting force was wrapped up in this moon-sized tomb.

Her focus remained on the masked soldier who seemed to barely react to her presence. The ivory-haired woman had an aura that filled every space, every nook and cranny, like the sun and moon hanging low in the same dark sky. “If you have allowed yourself to become this hollowed shell…”, she murmured, beckoning her enemy forward. “Filled with the will of another—"

Some of the shrapnel began to levitate nearest to her.

“You are exactly what I believe you to be.”

Weak. ​

The pointed metal shards launched in his direction.

Spoiler: Equpiment

Armour Saber Ring Ring Terentatek Body Gloves HG-54 "The Vora" Class Hand Cannon Holding Aces

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

ABOARD THE DEATH STAR…
HALLWAY OUTSIDE THE OVERBRIDGE…

"If you had any real idea what you're doing, you'd go for the master controls in the throne room and execute your little stunt from there. But I'm afraid my dear Emperor is there now, and he's not taking any appointments

The hulking Vahlan regarded his younger brother with a contemplative frown. He ran a thumb across the leather, sweat-stained hilt of his Sith sword, then cracked his neck.

“I do not care.”

Gerra glanced at some of the other companions on this raid, Arris the mercenary Mechu Deru expert, Mercy the Sith - perhaps the greatest duelist of her generation, Vestra the rogue Sith and cunning thief. Would it be enough to take on whatever awaited in the throne room?

It scarce mattered.

Glory awaited.

“If it is as you say then lead on - we go to the throne room.”

Meliant Arris Windrun Vestra Tane Mercy

 

[Darth Vinaze]

THEME
​

Fear... it ran red through the streets as the horror of war, and black through the halls of the Death Star as impending dread. It spared neither Imperial nor Alliance, Jedi or Sith. He felt it around him, in the very room where they gathered their strength. There was doubt among those in attendance, fear that they would fail in their grand design. As Sith, Jedi, and Mandalorian alike set aside their differences in attempt to invade the dreadful battlestation, it was a pervasive feeling. Every inch of hallway that they took wavered Imperial loyalty. In the face of death, how much was the Emperor worth to the lowly worker or stormtrooper?

For every Imperial soldier that broke in their final moments, whether they prayed to the Emperor or not for their salvation, those final moments of fear were siphoned by the ritual. For every Alliance soldier that fell in the streets of Jar'Kai, or who lost themselves to the vacuum of space, their final sight, final thought, would be the Death Star, the great void of hope that loomed over Atrisia. It did not matter from whence they came, nor where they believed they would be going... their terror was fuel for the Dark Side. The stronger the enemy, the worse the odds, the less there was hope... and Vinaze only grew stronger.

Lightning crackled between his fingertips as he drew his hands across the air of the room, the dark currents of electricity painting him, the energy swirling his burgundy robes in a frenzy, his eyes still closed in deep focus. Outside of the station itself, the firsts arcs of lightning began to appear, the first sparks of the Force Storm. It would take an immense amount of power yet. The people of Atrisia were resolute, the Jedi were never without their hope, clinging to it even in shreds... and the heretic Sith, the fools, he could feel them through the Force, trying to bend the power of the ritual to their own will, but they would soon find their interloping for naught. The ritual required unity, a choir of voices in harmony with the Dark Side. Even if they slaughtered ever last man in the ritual chamber, could they ever agree amongst themselves enough to make it their own?

The will of the New Sith Order was clear, singular, focused: conquest and dominion of the galaxy. The Old Sith, even if they could manage to break the Church of the Dark Side and co-opt the ritual, would only be able to save their precious isolation from being broken wide open. In the immediate aftermath their allies of necessity would return to hating them, as was the demand of the eternal struggle between Jedi and Sith. This was the Empire's strength. The false unity among the galactic powers at Atrisia would topple with a swift kick to its legs. All parties would stand to lose, but the Empire would stand strong, stoic, and ready to march forward no matter what came.

He focused again on the aura of Ashla's Champion.

~Your warnings mean nothing, Eina. You are in the presence of Gods, and soon this world will be fully subject under the thumb of our wrath. This world will fall, for it is willed by the Sith'ari-Emperor. Your Jedi allies fight alongside Sith, the very same you swear to disavow and destroy, the same that your crusade sought to end. There is no greater sign of your weakness. No greater sign that the times are changing. Come and face me, Champion, and it will be your fear that solidifies our mighty ritual. Flee, and it shall be doubly so.~

TAGS
Writing opposite Eina L'lerim-Vandiir
Darth Solipsis / Voldran Molf / Da'Razel / Ibaris Varanin
Kann / Heinrich Faust / Vireth / Deonis Laythar​

 

[Lord Creuat]

Xashe Tistya | Bernard
B L A C K G U A R D​

The air was heavy around them in the shared hallway. Two bodies of waves crashing into each other, a sign of how much they grew with power and how far gone they were from each other. She could see how corrupted he was; the tone of his skin no longer a bright ocean blue, but faded into a blue gray with an ugly texture spreading out from his face. Only his sulfur eyes contrasted his faded skin, and he still bore the wounds Xashe inflicted upon his tendrils.

"How severely did your master scold you when you let me get away last time?"

"Did he think it was purposeful? Or did you admit you were too weak to best the warrior you trained?"

Failure was severely reprimanded among those closest to the Emperor. Creuat had lied and invented excuses to lessen his punishment as to why he could not defeat his former apprentice. He could not conjure the strength to take her life; ironic as he did not have that guilt when it came to the life of others.

“What occurred that day will not repeat itself today,” making an effort to not display weakness before her, to prove her just how powerful he was with the Dark Side.

“I see you have grown stronger and more powerful,” taking a quick glance at the Mirialan’s person. Indeed she had surpassed Rhis Fisto, and could be a threat to Creaut. But it did not need to be that way. “We need not be enemies, Xashe. I have a better alternative to offer you…one you rejected from me.”

“You can still join me, and together we can destroy the Emperor and create the Galaxy we have always idealized. All you need to do is surrender your lightsaber and pledge yourself to me as you once did when I found you as a frail child.” When the two first crossed paths he obliged her to cast away the lightsaber she created with the Silver Jedi, to walk away from that Order and become his Padawan in the New Jedi Order.

Now she needed to renounce the path of the Jedi and become his apprentice in the ways of the Sith.

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

Galactic Core
Near Atrisia
Aboard the Iron Eidolon
Objective: Oversight and Backup
Tags: Darth Caedes | Revna Marr | Srina Talon
Lina Ovmar | Lysander von Ascania | Haro Aven | Taeli Raaf

As warriors shifted and grumbled, while death and destruction smeared itself across the bleak landscape of cold space, A'Mia stood serene. Even as their party prepared to split and surely there were great dangers ahead, the arboreal woman barely seemed to register the chaos.

Strange, pupil-less eyes met with those of Darth Caedes as the King shared a moment of silent understanding before he was off to be followed by all the others of their retinue save for Lina.

Be well, brave warriors— Sith and those who fight 'neath that banner this day, may your obstacles melt away and success be at your fingertips.​

A'Mia's eerie voices echoed through their minds sometime far later than their physical parting. It reached them as they properly boarded and began to cleave into enemies, as Lina's exploration via shadow took its toll upon her.

For her part, the Lord Seer was rooted into place where she'd began their ritual. Her form had loosened and stretched like she was composed of so many flowering tendrils and she spread out in an odd semicircle.

The form itself might appear fell to near human eyes, but for A'Mia it was merely a return to a state more familiar as her senses spread ever outward. Entangled with Lina's mind as she was, the woman guided their search through points of familiarity.

This ritual called upon death, sought to strip away the powerful darkness caused therein and use it to some malignant end.

Well, who knew death better than a botanical?

Plant kind was sustained upon decay, the most beautiful flower bloomed because somewhere back along the line there was putrescence. A’Mia’s innate familiarity with such forces, amplified by the Orchid core and aided by connection to her allies, allowed her to stretch her reach far beyond that which would usually be accessible to her.

Humming low in what might pass for a cradle song were it not for their surroundings, A'Mia began to making flowing motions with what remained of her hands. Thumbs and forefingers weaving over, under, over under, to be punctuated every now and again with a steepling of digits that soon flowed back into the somewhat hypnotic over under.

If anyone partial to fiber-crafting were to see her, they might recognize what looked like a finger knitting tactic— though the strange neti wove something far more grand and metaphysical than yarn.

"It is a Force Storm. One of this magnitude will stretch beyond the boundaries of this sector. Even if we were to sacrifice the willing, it would not be enough to stop it. We need to contain it, and quickly.”

Yesss, a storm. A roaring, lashing and biting thing fueled by agony and death.​

A'Mia agreed into the ether, her mind spread far along spidering lines that traced points of violence throughout the Deathstar. Her sight, aided by provided schematics, overlaid that information to create a strange mental landscape indeed. Spreading out from where she lay in trance, reaching across the war-torn chasm of space, across to where that behemoth dwarfed Eidolon in its shadow, A'Mia's sight painted a picture for all her allies to see should they reach to touch her mind.

It was as a schematic, painted in lines of fire and overlaid again by a grand translucent quilt which thrummed with other points of mysterious purpose. The Weave itself was visible to Lina, and together they watched their allies move through it, saw the way their opposition attempted to wrest yet more control over the dark side— which jumped like a live wire in their grasping hands.

That view might be dizzying for the uninitiated. However, for those such as Lysander who'd become quite adept at transversing the pattern like a mycelial node, or Lina who's own power complimented A'Mia's, this was merely a boon for their strikes to become more decisive. For one such as Darth Caedes, the Weave bent before him as clay gives to the touch of an expert potter— his will shaped it effortlessly where he strode, making way for those in his wake or at his side.

<<If it is true and not another deception…the willing are not enough, but there are souls aplenty in this sector. Use the fuel of the Faithless... They may have created it…But they do not own it.>>

Perhaps we… We seek to reflect points of power back. Contain what we can, and misdirect the storm that slips through— so parts of the tempest might strike their own devices. Better yet, I might create lightning rods at key points along their own machine!​

A'Mia mused brightly, her words picking up energy even as she wove deeper metaphysical roots into the heart of enemy territory. True to her thoughts, energetic points of magnetism began cropping up at a few key places along the vast surface of the Deathstar.

 

[Meliant]

DEATH STAR III
HALLWAY OUTSIDE THE OVERBRIDGE -> HALLWAY OUTSIDE THE THRONE ROOM

Attn: Hasuras Na-Gerra Mercy Vestra Tane Arris Windrun
CC: Dark Forces Darth Solipsis Romi Jade Inosuke Ashina

​

Meliant was incensed, nearly ready to cry havoc and leap into battle, but as quickly as the flame lighted within him it was seemingly snuffed out.​

​

He was not, on reflection, well compensated. Certainly he had the opportunity to gorge on the miasma of power Solipsis so often left in his wake… And he had. But now he was full. The taste was losing its luster. Atrisia was nothing compared to Coruscant. The ritual here lacked a locus as tantalizing as the one beneath the former Jedi Temple...​

​

"You know what? Fine. Go and wrestle the Emperor. What difference is it to me?"​

​

If he stood here and fought these people, he would die and gain nothing. If he sent them up to the Emperor's tower... Well, either Solipsis would slay his brother or his brother would slay Solipsis.​

​

A galaxy of opportunity would be opened for Meliant either way. Meliant rubbed his hands and walked past Gerra, pausing to give some consideration to the others: Arris, Mercy, and Vestra.​

​

"Ugh, this may be the worst harem I've ever seen," Meliant said, scoffing. "What your wife must think... Oh, what am I saying? She's probably relieved."​

​

Yes, they were all very aggrieved by that comment, he was sure. But a member of the Dark Side Elite is rarely concerned with the opinions of others. ​

​

All things considered, the overbridge was not terribly far from the throne room. Both were located in the northern hemisphere of the Death Star III and the hallways and trams which connected them were devoid of security.​

​

Not for any mysterious reason, either. Everyone was dead. The corpses of Imperial personnel were intermingled with dead Jedi and rag-tag looking commandos, along with debris, wreckage, blood, and scorchmarks of various size. ​

​

The advance must have been tedious. Meliant was thankful to have been absent for it. "Looks like you're not the only one with an axe to grind, little miss champion." He said to Mercy, gesturing at the carnage and snickering.​

​

Meliant's presence in the Force grew fainter the closer they drew closer to their destination. By the time they stood before those impressive doors, it was like he wasn't there at all: a coward attempting to conceal his involvement in what would soon transpire.​

 

[Her]

---

---

Had Abbadon, Deep Core;
Galactic Empire Territory.
Tag: Allyson Locke

---

​

OBJECTIVE III.

Equipment:

• PhantomSkin Nullsuit.
• Ufo.
• ABC - Aerosolized Bacta Cannister.
• NZ All-Purpose Viral Suppressant Type II.
• HERA- DSOM/RQ [Direct Central Operating System] A.K.A The Red Queen.
• BN-IV Nerve Agent.
• Lightsaber (curved hilt).

AFTER BROSI
BEFORE ATRISIA
​

Two Sith Lords, marred in conspiracy, myth and subterfuge, traverse a storied tower on the mythical world of Had Abbadon.

Above them, erected by work spread over decades, conspired in the annuals of time by another, built through campaigns meant to deceive their enemies, floated the third incarnation of the dreaded Death Star. Unfinished, but close to perfection. Palpatine's vision, converted and subsequently reimagined as prophecy by the Church, was to come about again. It has been a thousand years since the end of the Clone Wars.

Their predecessor had bellowed mightily back then with a proclamation that a millennia of peace was set to come under the banners of the first Galactic Empire. He had been wrong, but the Dark Side of the Force is a baffling thing. Murky. Illogical. A successor can take the last and prove them right if they were powerful enough in the Force.

The cosmos finds itself woven back into the tapestry of Bane.

His works were set to bring about the next Star War.

"You were disappointed after Brosi," Ayra said coldly. Beneath them a city steeped in mystery buzzles in activity marshalled into service of creation. The cog of the Dark Empire churns here as it had done two years ago. Building the ultimate weapon of terror, and destruction in the shadows, in order to bring the Galaxy to heel.

"Yes..." Her confessed.

Two years of plot, conspiring both with and against the Sith Empire amid the Imperial remnants, had come to fruition. They had called it the Thandon Star Cluster campaign-- an all-out attack upon the Sith fortress worlds concealed within both the Stygian Caldera and Thandon nebulae justified through the annexation of the resource rich worlds of the Corporate Sector, and eradication of the so-called Sith threat connected to the fall of the Imperial Confederation's predecessor state that had been called the Empire of the Lost-- all of which had been conceived under the vision of the Warden Primus' special project named after the Fall of Tion.

The attack had failed. That quadrant still remains under their domain.

They had survived.

"Good. We nevertheless continue on pace," Ayra explained.

They stopped walking to take their places beneath the rim of a window of the tower. It's panels shuddered and moaned as a ship passed them on course to continue the machinations of the one they were calling, 'The Sith'ari'. Both women fell into a quiet vigil of the city below them as they spoke to each other. A plot within plots within plots.

They say the Jedi had started here first before they found Tython, Her recalled. Turning to look up at the Death Star, in admiration of the Galactic Emperor's plot, Darth Ayra continued to reiterate an important lesson. "It was Plagueis who once said that those who are not malleable, or adaptable to transient events, will bring catastrophe and ruination onto themselves. We must remind ourselves that in failure we still secured death. The Sith Order was hurt, and buckled by our work on Brosi."

"Kilran could not topple them. Sularen could not either," Her replied. "The Imperial remnant are not as strong as they once were. I fear the New Imperial Order were the last strong holdout in the Outer Rim systems."

"Korvan took all that with him to Carlac. Remember, my Apprentice, that it is only through strength that I gain power."

Her pondered on that. The story of former Sith-Imperials, who rose up against the Dark Lords of the Sith to take Bastion, in the advent of the Second Great Hyperspace War. Two years of conspiring among them had exposed the fact that the likes of the NIO were no longer among their successors. But as she considered it, Her deduced that Ayra must have known this from the start. Oh, how she longed to be the one in control instead of the Ghost of Kalist.

"What do I do now, my Master?" Her asked the woman haunting the Sith.

"Go to Ossus..." Ayra replied.

---

Ossus, Outer Rim Territories;
Imperial Confederation Space, Ooroo Canyon, Great Jedi Library

---

TODAY
​

Her walked through the library on mission.

At one point in time this place had been the greatest collection of knowledge in the known cosmos. For several millennia the Jedi Order had toiled to collect, archive or record the histories, magic and marvels of the galaxy. They had once traversed the galaxy as peacekeepers, and not as the politicians, soldiers, or war leaders that they were today. Perhaps if they had maintained their core principles then this place would not have suffered the retribution of the Sith, who destroyed what they found to be not of use, in retaliation to the purges wrought upon them by their nemesis, or plundered by those looking to make a score on the black markets, where Her dealt often.

There wasn't much left here now. The Ashlan Crusaders had restored what they could during their time, but the Imperial administration, previously based out on Lianna, who annexed Ossus and other territories at the turn of the new century as they sought to build an Empire, had not been kind. It was hollow. There is nothing here.

It is a place akin to cemetery for a bygone era lost to time, and a ghost traverses it's halls. For what?

Project Tion had granted the likes of Her access to what would otherwise be a quarantined zone. Usually someone from the COMECI would not be allowed in here, particularly without an accompanying guide from the military. Ayra had once told her that for a true Sith Lord there is no door or wall that can prevent him or her from entering. That maxim was holding true for the Warden Primus as she walked these halls passing by Stormtrooper patrols as she continued to serve the machinations of her Sith Master.

Outside a storm brews in the skies, and an unrelenting rain assaults the Great Library.

It's the type of weather that once associates to the end of the world.

---

 

[Darth Carnifex]

Armor

• Taralraiskaz Sith Warplate
• Tsis'tzîkal ûl Xortâs - Visage of Darth Sortis (Unadorned)

Weapons

• Kotsnwûl, To Break Peace
• Tosochkashai, the Dark Seether (Unsummoned)

Companions

• Imperial Crownguard
• Blackblade Guards
• Graug Legionnaires
• Moridinae Golems
• Qabr'azm

"Servitude," rumbled the Eternal Father's velvety voice, "Is the first and final compact. The law that binds all things. The stars serve gravity, the tides serve the moon, and the mind serves desire. Your freedom is an illusion." His eyes watched the young woman like a predator sizing its prey. "Even rebellion is a form of service," He continued softly, standing tall and stoic yet His gaze never wavering, even when turned away. "The slave serves the master, but the master too serves his need to command. The devotee serves faith, the artist serves creation, and the ascetic serves abstinence. All are bound, all are bent toward what they crave or fear."

"Chains are not so easily broken, little one. As you are now, you will never break yours."

His gaze mercifully removed itself from 312, focusing on the other of their nascent company. "Useful tools have useful purposes, Lady deWinter. A cunning craftsman knows what tools to use and where to use them. Only a fool discards the abilities of others when they can otherwise be focused." The shards of Qabr'azm floated around the Eternal Father, fanning out behind His head like a radiant aureole. Those who served the Dark Lord were reverent in their obeisance, kneeling at His passing and rising with solemn prayers on their lips.

Carnifex swept back into the security room, bladed cloak cutting deep grooves into the already battered flooring as He passed the threshold. Typhojem's presence rose to meet the Dark Lord, the hooded spectral form of his digitized code materializing in the empty air. No command was needed, the two had already come to an agreement. An image of coolant vents, maintenance catwalks, and console terminals swam up onto the dozens of security monitors, coalescing into a single image composited across every one.

"Stand beside me, the journey shall not be without discomfort."

As they did, the Dark Lord focused His mind upon the location divined by Typhojem. Within the span of a heartbeat, the walls around them shifted and melted away. Disorientating, new colors bled back into the periphery, taking on shape and form as they solidified into recognition. They'd left the torn apart security station behind, instead finding themselves amidst an energy control room miles into station's interior. Guards and technicians rose to their feet at the sudden intrusion, only to be cut down as Qabr'azm unfolded and spun through the room like a whirlwind; cutting them to bloody swaths.

"Do what you do best, kill anyone or anything that moves."

CT-312 | Scherezade deWinter | Dynamis "Dynas" Ultra
Dark Forces ​

 

[Kurayami Bloodborn]

Objective: Takodana – Sacred Claim

Location: Nymeve Lake

Ship: Here

Equipment: Ceremonial Special Forces TIE Pilot armor, Modified SE-44C blaster pistols(x2 thigh holsters), Lightsaber

A few hours later, and Kurayami returned from the cockpit of his fighter, holding his helmet in one hand and a standard datacard in the other. "In here you will find all relevant data, Governor including sensor scans and comms logs." The Sith Governor stared at the Corellian across his polished desk annoyed at the intrusion. "And what, pray tell, took you so long, Captain?" Kurayami stared at the Governor for a few moments just sizing him up, features expressionless. A beat later his face broke in to a wide smirk. He grabbed his flask from his utility belt pocket and took a sip. "Governor, for one in your position you really don't get it do you? The Commonwealth, while a vassal of the Sith Order, is autonomous. We have our own encryption algorithms, and as I am sure you are aware, I had to make sure there were no traces of any such things on any information contained therein. Much as you would have done if you were submitting a report to higher up in our governmental structures." The answer seemed to mollify the the Governor, though the stare said otherwise. "Very well Captain. You are dismissed. Should anything else be required of you I will send for you." Kurayami nodded and tipped his flask, as if saluting the Sith before exiting the office.

He took a long swig as he looked out over the landing pad as he exited the office. "Uptight, self important, schutta..." he mumbled to himself. Even from here he could feel the ripples of death from the annihilation of the GA fleet over Atrisia. It was this momentary distraction that kept him from noticing the sound nearby. Or had it been that the sound was almost masked by the siren's wail of the TIE/wi flying in formation nearby. A crate nearby exploded. The source of the shot was unknown, but the force of the blast sent him flying through the air and into another nearby crate of supplies, his helmet skittering away, cracked and useless as he slammed from the crate into the railing of the landing pad with a dull thud. His head was swimming as he struggled to see through quickly dimming vision. Squeezing his eyes closed he swore that it would not be today. Forcing his eyes open, he slowly pushed himself to his feet and grabbed the backup comm unit from his belt. [[::R6! Get airborne, ID, track and eliminate the threat. Notify Two and Three. Bloodborn out.::]] The little astro droid made a few very rude sounds and blew a simulated rasberry as it lifted off and began pursuit.

Meanwhile, Kurayami reached down and pulled the lightsaber from his hip and one of the SE-44-C's into his off hand. The saber sprang to life and deflected the fire that was incoming at his head, the armor could tank a good few hits until the haze cleared. Sith blaster bolts whizzed past him while the others slowly, were more and more confidently being deflected into nearby scenery or the ground. Soon the modified SE-44C was leveled with lethal efficiency at one target after another. Sith Soldiers watched as this seemingly normal pilot transformed before their eyes into something entirely different. The man who a minute ago had been slammed into a crate and laid out by a railing, was now carving through their ranks with seeming impunity.

The shot in reality had come from far above, an assassin hired by the Governor, a disposable asset, to prove to the Commonwealth that they were fated to submit. Though the assassin had slipped away for the moment the Drunken Savant had a singular goal in mind. Find and eliminate the threat. Each step brought him closer to the Governor's office. That much closer to his ultimate goal. Holstering the pistol once more, Kurayami turned his attention to fully defending against incoming fire, redirecting what he could back to the source. Soon he stood at the sealed door of the office. Plunging his saber blade into the door, he began the task of cutting through.

A minute later he stood back and slammed the door with a powerful burst of telekinesis, shattering what was left of the door. As he walked into the room the Governor stood before him, still defiant. Kurayami stood there with the shards of the door held up, stopped just short of impacting the Governor and skewering the man. "I see the assassin has failed in their attempt. Most unfortunate. It seems the Commonwealth did manage to produce something worthwhile." Kurayami shook his head, a smirk playing on his features. "No Governor, I may serve those in the Commonwealth. but I was around long before it existed. I was around before Empyrean took the throne of this Sith Empire, and I will be alive long after. No matter the outcome of today." For the first time there was a palpable look of fear etched on the Governor's face. Whether it came from the man who stood before him, carbon scored armor, and bloodied face, or the sharp clang of metal attaching to metal was open to debate. As the sound reverberated, so too did the increasingly urgent trill of an explosive planted nearby. The assassin had made another play, this time deciding the Governor was worthwhile collateral damage. And yet they wouldn't live to see their ill-gotten gains, yanked back into the room by a powerful Force pull as their hasty retreat gave away their position. The trill quickened furiously then stopped suddenly and the room was ablaze in brilliant hues of blue as the sonic charge detonated.

Moments stretched into an eternity as Kurayami hastily erected a defensive barrier of Force energy around himself. He could feel the shockwave as he turned to flee, but time was up as everything went black. The armor's built in emergency beacon activated after flooding his system with bacta. His eyes fluttered open, as he glanced around realizing he was no longer on Takodana. "Ah chit, another visit? Listen Amara, now is not the time. I gotta get this whole deal settled on Takodana with an attempted assassination. I can't afford to be charged for something I didn't do. I mean I can get out of it, yea, but I don't want to deal with the paperwork." In front of him in the endless expanse of the Nether stood his old wingman, and adoptive sister Amara. "You never do change do you, Ami? You'll be back in your body soon, well mostly. Come, let me show you." She led him over to a fountain and sat with him on the edge. "Look down and see what has changed." As he gazed into the mirror still waters he could see that by all rights this should have been his final stop here. Medical droids were rushing and there were oddly two obvious Force users present. "Those two you see, they are making sure every single component of what is being installed is imbued with the same energies as your most often worn armor. In other words your barrier held decently well, excepting the scarring and loss of an eye. You should be staying here here, but again, you dodged fate. See you around, Olys Turhaya." For a moment there was a flash of the Lake Country on Naboo, and star gazing...

With the conversation over, his body jolted back to consciousness. The surgery had been completed successfully, Kurayami sat up. Had he not seen what happened he would have been unaware until looking in a mirror, the implant functioned without sound or any other distraction. Given the intricacy of it however, he knew there had to be more than just basic sight to it. After having seen the construction and installation of the cybernetics, he was struck by the fact that there was absolutely no sound from them as his eyes fluttered open. Within the core of the cybernetic eye were shards of Nether-infused kyber crystal. The rest of the composition was Nether and Force imbued haysian smelt, chromium, electrum, dallorian alloy, and pyronium. The list of functions was immense, thankfully he had more than enough time to figure that all out. Turning to the others in the room he nodded. "Thank you for your quick intervention in this matter. I have matters to attend to on Takodana. A few loose ends need tying up still."

With that he walked back out, unsure how long he had been out, but knowing that it hadn't been too terribly long. In a nearby hangar sat the Olys Turhaya, which he quickly boarded donning his XC-86 assault armor this time as he departed once more to Takodana's surface.

Ivalyn Yvarro | Merryn Sellek | Davorin Orsava | Emilia Locke | Bella