Armor: X | Lightsaber: X | Lightsaber Shoto: X | Right Arm: X
RP Opponents: Lucien Dooku
Theme: Dragon God
Story Backdrop: X
It had merely been two or so weeks since the Sith Empire had repelled the bulk of the Galactic Alliance’s invasion of Ziost. Since that time, the groundwork for a reinvigorated bout had been laid, and the forces of both sides had begun to mount their defensive and offensive tactics across not only Ziost, but a selection of other worlds such as Tiss’Sharl. The orbits of both primary worlds were likely to be filled with hulks of metal and plasmic energy. Fleets by the dozens. Thousands of souls. Doomed to die in the frozen blackness. RP Opponents: Lucien Dooku
Theme: Dragon God
Story Backdrop: X
But the battles of Tiss’Sharl was not the Devil’s business - really - nor was even the wider war on Ziost as the Empire marched towards those hiding in New Adasta. He would remain outside of their sights. Dealing with his own life as the reinforcements for the Galactic Alliance sped their way through hyperspace towards the dark planet in the hopes of breaking the siege upon their people and resuming their own on the Empire. Indeed, none of that mattered to him. No, what mattered was the chance presented to him.
You see, the Devil - during the duels on Helgard, Brosi, Nyriaan, and his combat against several Jedi on Pillio, along with his dealings on Tash-Taral - had uncovered a series of clues and enigmas. Enticing - nay, luring and beckoning - him to locations across the galaxy far and wide, known and unknown, mundane and eldritch. Planetoids and capitals, moons and municipals, all assortments of things that he had never visited in any life he had lived. No amount of visiting the Archive within his mind could lend him any proof that he had. Nor that his species could have possibly survived their extinction and left the world to flee to these places.
Mysteries, indeed, and related to something he had longed for, for many years now in fact. The uncovering of his true name on Generis at the hands of Paz Koon and Kainan only enhanced this longing. This confusion. This unlocking of power, a power that had no reason yet every reason to exist.
Empty, and full. No place in this narrative that he was writing, yet every place in this narrative. For he was God, though this was something that not even he could truly elucidate in his mind’s eye.
Well, until now that is. Now, now, now, and forever before and after, pieces of information and evidence began to place themselves - puzzle-like - into the empty board. The Warlords of the Sith began to expand outward, razing the world of Ninn and Kamar, engaging the False Idols of the Dark Side and placing themselves above all the others where they belonged. Each clash of crimson on crimson, each breaking of spirit, and each wound dealt and endured placed more of these pieces on the board. Until he was granted a full picturesque view of...Ziost. The Academy on Ziost, full of black and red energy that swirled in catastrophic formations like the beginning of a star. It was as if someone had taken a picture of it and printed it out and shoved it into his brain through the grey matter. He had visited the planet only once before, yes, but nothing to explain this vibrant and visceral image. So he came here, hidden aboard a stealth shuttle and sneaking through the coming chaos as it began to rage and ignite in the forest’s fire of ending.
Within the battered shattered walls of this old place, he stood in a central chamber of some off-to-the-side section with a cadre of ten Knights. They were all brothers and sisters from a long dynasty of Ocsin from Farana, their black pupilless eyes glaring underneath their hoods and helmets. They were all equipped, more or less, and were mainly intended to be fodder, as the Devil’s true soldiers were otherwise engaged with Sith Warlord dealings back home.
As such, these men and women were armed and armored in gear they had made themselves or that they claimed from the battlefield. Blacks, yellows, pinks, reds, blues, and all other sorts for their clothes and metals. Colors were indeed mismatched and several of their lightsabers bore scratches and gouges in the metalwork. Veterans, to be sure, but they would not last the day if anyone of true, true skill was to invade and interrupt the Devil’s goals. Which was inevitably true for many, if not all, of these events.
Still, he stood in that chamber that was lightless and dark and remained silent as the grave, frozen-gaze set upon the stonework as his sight weaved through the shrouds of the Force. Something was here, in this very room, and all he had to do was find it.
Find. It.