Lords of the Sith: Primacy

[Asemir]

@Reyven

The carbine exploded, showering Asemir with razor-edged shrapnel that sliced into this legs and side. (Fortunately, the magazine for both the grenades and bullets were empty; Asemir wasn't stupid enough to discard a live weapon.) His armor held, deflecting most of it, but some of the metal managed to cut through the nano-armor and into his flesh. It wasn't enough to seriously injure him, or slow him, but it was enough for him to notice. But that was it. He shunted away the pain, an automatic reaction from decades of training. Besides, the damage report flashing in his HUD reported minimal injuries. Some soft-tissue damage, lacerations. A minor distraction at best.

The shifting of the Force changed, the battle environment changed. Chaos reigned. Zombies and lightning and Force magic and everything consumed the atmosphere. People died, pain and agony ruptured the very air as the Mandalorian drop assault began. But Asemir ignored that, ignored Reyven Samoth's taunt, knowing it was folly to speak in the middle of battle. He focused only on his foe, noting that the man (he assumed Reyven was a man) was now drawing power from the Force.

The Forgotten acted. The Force imbued his body with inhuman strength, his legs carrying him forward and his songblade poised in a strike to take Reyven's head from his shoulders. He would have preferred to allow Reyven to act first, but the circumstances had changed, and it was now his turn to seize the initiative. In the span of a heartbeat, he had covered the span of the throne room. Night Terror sang, its cerulean-on-obsidian edge flashing towards Reyven's neck.

 

[Soeht]

It seemed to Darth Apparatus that Voracitos took well to the corruptive taste of his endless wrath. Yet, Darth Apparatus found disappointment in how Voracitos was soon only sustained by the power he lent. Knowing that it opened the doors to different possibilities, though, Darth Apparatus found a new way to poke at the new Dark Lord's powers.

"S͏h̷o͏w ́ever̀yt̴h͟ińg, ́D͟e̴sm̨iu̢s̀," uttered the Darth, as if trying to speak the Voracitos.

With a wave of his hand, a gift would have flown toward Voracitos if he willed it - even for a second. From the corpse of a lowly, fallen Sith, another lightsaber would have raced toward the Master of Gluttony. If he wished to fight more like Darth Apparatus, then it would have been something he needed.

 

[Reyven Samoth]

As his opponent approached, the Force flowed through him, his light frame, unhindered by any real armor save for the bit on his chest and hands, twisted with lightning speed. The alchemic armor-plated crushgaunt on his right hand balled into a fist and using the strength granted him by the Force and by the crushgaunt itself, he slammed his fist into the oncoming blade, aiming to shatter it completely, or at the very least leave a nice dent in the blade.

"You serve a false master, one that would open us up to our enemies in order for some pathetic ploy for control. Your shortsightedness sickens me. I will be sure that you're buried in that can you hide in, though, if it makes you feel any sense of consolation." The hand that wasn't busy punching the sword being swung at him was brought up, palm up and open, beneath the attacking arm and guided the Force around his opponent. He drew on the energy of the spirits that dwelt within him, his crimson eyes swirled with the same deep violet glow that now shrouded his body as he clenched his open hand, driving the Force around his opponent inward, aiming to crush his armor in on him like an empty can, aiming specifically at the knees and elbows.

 

[Asemir]

A squeal echoed across the chamber as beskar met sar'tei, as Mandalorian manufacture resisted Xedael metallurgy. The unstoppable force met the immovable object. The brute force of the cruchgaunt smashed into the finesse of the songblade, trying to shatter the sword, but finding that the thousand-year-old weapon was simply far too resilient and crafted to far too high a standard of quality. Night Terror left a single glistening cut, marring the crushgaunt, as it glanced from Reyven's fist.

Asemir sensed the shift in the Force and felt the pressure on his armor even before his suit AI flashed a warning. Intense pressure on his armor. Joints. Structural integrity, seventy percent, and falling. Quickly. It would take a moment before his armor was breached. Unlike other forms of battle armor, the joints on the Specter armor were not specific weak points. The nanomachines were just as resilient along these classic fault lines as they were along the primary strike zones. But against the Force, nothing could out forever. His armor would hold, if only for a few precious moments.

And for a Ghost Commando, a Forgotten, a few moments was all he ever needed. He twisted, using the momentum generated by Reyven's deflection of his sword, and swung in low, a fist with fingers curved like a claw, striking at the Sith's exposed belly. His strike, augmented by the Force and his armor, would rip cleanly through any unprotected flesh, as easily as his songblade would.

 

[Darth Voracitos]

"S͏h̷o͏w ́ever̀yt̴h͟ińg, ́D͟e̴sm̨iu̢s̀," Voracitos spoke, though he hadn't willed himself to, as he rebutted her attack with the entry of a surprise to the fat lord.. He felt his strength again, but the weathering effects of the Drain infuriated the Darth more, as the secret power seeped more into his being, slowly eating at him, but slow enough, and quietly enough that his greed hadn't noticed the absence of his metaphoric possessions. The Empress flew through the air to satisfaction, and with great agility rebounded off of the wall, though it looked uncomfortable as she did so, just before landing before him. He had raised his blade higher in anticipation for her attack, as stone fragments bounded towards him in her explosive reentry. Though it was obvious what she was trying to do with the shockwave in disrupting his balance, it was essentially useless in the long run thanks to his massive weight holding him down. That though in itself was a curse as rubble damaged him, and his concentration, allowing the Empress her chance to take him.

To the fairly incompitant saber duelist of Darth Voracitos, it would very easily appear as if Ashin were to strike at his knees, and thus he reacted as if though that was truly her attack. The immobile behemoth he was, he swung his blade to block the perceived threat to his stability. Though there was a warning to him within his mind either from precognition or otherwise, that his life was utterly in danger, and the only way to stop it was with a second blade. His logical thinking part of his brain that remained uninfected with rage and hate, screamed at him for his inability to realize the position he was truly in, the gifts, the power, the very duel itself. It all felt so... perfect. Almost as if he had become the pawn of another. Though he didn't realize it, this would have generated incredible amounts of natural rage.

From that warning, he knew a second saber was needed. To his surprise, one was granted to him. In an agility that shouldn't be possible for him the Empress's offenses were thwarted. Though for how long that would last was unknown. At this point, Voracitos was not the same person. Seduced through rage, Apparatus had the suspicion he relied wholly upon his gifts to survive in this duel, and he was correct. His greed had found the power, and it was only unlocked through aggression, thus it had suppressed itself to obtain this strange, alien strength. An old dog could apparently learn a new trick, as his already ravaged body began to break down further, despite the strength he felt. His breathing was heavier; his sweat wetting his skin profusely and everything in general was getting uncomfortably hot. His vision was red, and tunneled toward his target, his mouth agape in a continual scream. He didn't know it, but through the sheer unadulterated anger brought through the other, much more powerful Darth, was destroying his body further.

Who was he?

 

[Reyven Samoth]

He swung his right arm back down to cover his exposed side, the armored gauntlet covering his forearm catching the brunt of it with a single finger digging into his arm. He stopped the crush in favor of reaching out with his left hand, pointing it directly towards his opponent's right shoulder. Taking advantage of the closeness and excess energy floating about the room, he focused another spear at his fingertip and launched it with the aim to rip right through the armor and flesh and bone with a concentrated spike of energy.

"This is disgusting, really. No forethought. It makes me wonder if there's a Sith order worth saving in this mass of wasted potential. It might be best to burn it all down and start over." Following the spear a push was sent towards the blade-carrying hand as he lunged forward, aiming to drive the pointed tips of his crushgaunt through the hole hopefully made by the spear.

 

[Ashin Varanin]

Gigantic amounts of tension, rage, perhaps even fear rolled off the man who now stood too close to her, a second blade somehow rebounding from her true strike. She hopped to the side, wary of the two blades. Only a fool went to close quarters against Jar'Kai. And though Voracitos was no master of two-blade combat, or any lightsabre combat at all for that matter-

Belatedly, she realized she could have made a grab for the second hilt and immobilized it, but she had already sidestepped away. Opportunity lost.

Then again, her mastery of the solid simplicity of the first form, and her shift toward the dominant power of the fifth, might give her the edge against the single-handed guard postures of Jar'Kai. A man as obese as Voracitos would have the muscle to move his bulk around, but such muscle had little to do with strength and conditioning of wrists and hands. Her blade hammered against his defenses as she sought to drive him back. Without overcommitting, she sent huge diagonal strikes at his shoulders, using a good portion of the power of her arms, shoulders, back and belly. These were simple strikes, Jar'Kai strikes, and she broke their rhythm to stagger and mistime his defenses.

 

[Garza]

Darren could not use that much force power for a long time and would have to let go. He dropped His fathers blade that he was holding with the force. from him not having control over it any more it deactivated with a shhip pop. and clambered onto the floor. When they were sword locked He snarled at the man. Not allowing Shorn to stab him.

Darren's 'borrowed' lightsaber came to his side, but it would be used against him. He Force pushed the hand back away from him potentially throwing the lightsaber hilt away from shorn. lightning was being flashed at his own face as Darren smiled, he stopped using his purple lightning and held his Sith sword in front of is body. His Sith sword was like all other blades made like his, it would absorb the lightning making his next strike have a slight explosion aimed to his foe.

Darren Called His fathers lightsaber to clip onto his belt. That way Shorn couldnt use it against him like he had with the White saber. he then used his only white blade to slash at Shorns head while the Sith Swords blade went for his knees. Darren thought though out the fight about how he was fighting Shorn He called him out. If shorn wanted a fight He would give it to him.

 

[Asemir]

Asemir's sar'kera screamed a warning, a hideous wail that could only be matched by the psychic moan of Sera. He twisted away, spoiling Reyven's aim, but he could only do so much against a master of the Force. The bolt of energy sliced into his deltoid, shattering his armor and rupturing a long gash in his arm. Blood sprayed away in fat cerulean drops, but Asemir clamped down on the wail of agony that would have been ripped from his throat. As it were, his mind automatically shut down the nerves, silencing their alarms, but not quite. Tendrils of pain wrapped themselves around Asemir's chest as the terrible wound bled freely. But his mind refused to let the reaction cloud his thinking.

His twist also carried him away from Reyven's follow-up attack, the man's fist narrowly passing through the space where Asemir was a moment before. The Forgotten's momentum completed his spin, and amidst a fountain of blood, his songblade had left his useless right arm, careening away from the fight.

But its flight was not haphazard or random. It soared up and over the combatants, and with the subtle hum of a molecular-edged blade, it sang its deadly tune into the support pillars far above the combatants, before returning obediently to its owners outstretched hand.

The hundred-ton stones fell in chunks. Large chunks. Chunks the size of hovercars. They fell. Right towards Reyven below.

 

[Reyven Samoth]

Blood coated his attacking hand and arm, but ultimately nothing came as a result. He watched the blade on its path as it cut through supports above. Gravity took hold of the stones in the area, dropping them towards him. Fortunately gravity would only pull them down. He only had to worry about what was overhead. Both arms drew back for a moment as he focused energies to both his hands, before swinging them up and unleashing a wave of concentrated destructive energy straight above him, disintegrating the rock falling down on him.

It drained him quite a bit, but he kept his focus. From below, he began pulling at the reserves he'd stored there ages ago. Slowly he worked to rebuild what was lost, as debris showered down around him, acting as its own shield.

 

[Ashin Varanin]

Four duels occupied the huge chamber before the throne, but there were others present, Sith of one side or another. One among them was Velok, seven and a half feet of old Whiphid, who loomed over everyone -- even over Mandalore. His great three-clawed hands opened and closed in frustration, or excitement.

His stentorian voice boomed out across the assembled Sith; whether the combatants heard him or not was entirely another matter.

"Some of you, no doubt, will have noticed how few portions of the Sith Empire's forces have responded to the invasion of the Mandalorians and the crash of their starship. This is because all of this has been expected, if it was not blindingly obvious already. Expected, and arranged. Many of us who stand behind Darth Desmius have exerted our influence on the planet and the military. Any who hope for a counter-coup will be disappointed, thanks to me and eight thousand Mandalorians.

"I have no love for Desmius," he continued plainly, "but this plan, this coup, has not only ended a staggeringly inefficient war but put is in a key position. We no longer have to worry about Mandalorian interference should we expand down the Perlemian or northwest toward the Braxant Run. This will leave us free to take the battle directly to the Jedi and the Republic. Meanwhile, the Mandalorians will do their work elsewhere, once the threat of counter-coup is gone. Not that it matters much at this point. The Empress is enthroned, about to claim victory over a worthy former ruler of this Empire.

"The Empire is in new hands. None can oppose that process, or do more than break themselves against it." His eyes narrowed as he looked around the crowd of Sith. "Now, as Darth Desmius commanded me before this day began, it's time to reclaim our old lands. After Ossus will come Aargonar, an old world of the Sith. Its defenders will be destroyed utterly, by Desmius's command."

 

[Lord Ghoul]

OOC: there is no such thing as a cortosis lightsaber. A lightsaber has a blade made of pure plasma. If it was a cortosis saber, you should have clarified. A lightsaber is something entirely different.

@[member="Darren Shaw"]

The white lightsaber with which Mikhail thrust clashed violently with Darren's blade. He parried the white blade aimed for his head with a crimson saber, while bunching up his knees and jumping over the Sith saber.

A voice began booming across the throne room. Backflipping away from the Dark Jedi, Mikhail grabbed Darren in the Force and flung him toward the wall. He was done with this man. They would fight another time. But for now, more important matters were at hand. Like the fact that Mandalorians were invading.

"We're done here, Shaw." Mikhail turned and deactivated both lightsabers. He tossed the borrowed saber over his shoulder. It fell to the ground with a metallic ping. He walked toward the greater gathering of Sith and moved to stand next to Spencer and Anaya as he listened to the voice of a giant Whipid. Apparently, Ashin had orchestrated the entire coup. And here Mikhail had been thinking she was just a Dark Jedi Master working for money.

 

[Asemir]

@Reyven

The shower of stone and rock and building material gave Asemir a moment to breathe and assess his injuries. His shoulder still bled, slowly, and while the nanomachines were working to staunch the wound, the injury wasn't knitting properly. No doubt some side effect of taking a hit from pure Dark Side energy. He would have to get that checked out; he didn't have the time to properly heal it himself right now. But at least he wasn't going to bleed out. His arm, though, didn't work quite properly. No matter.

Asemir watched the cloud of dust that had gathered at the epicenter. Reyven still lived. His armor told him that much, sensing the man's heart beats. But the debris still falling prevented him from attacking his foe directly. So, instead, Asemir reached up with the Force and pulled more of the temple structure down, this time funneling it on the Dark Jedi.

He hoped it would be enough. He wouldn't be able to keep up this rate of Force use forever.

 

[Reyven Samoth]

He sighed, more of the same. However, he didn't want to use the same draining technique again. At the last minute, he used the Force to leap over the barrier and avoid winding up under the debris, rubbing his back raw at how close he came to being caught in the middle. He growled and shed his tattered cloak, feeling the sting of air on raw flesh. The main source of his irritation was hearing the asinine plan of theirs. "So your plan, if I'm hearing this all correctly, was to have the Mandalorians attack the Sith homeworld, in the middle of a war with the Mandalorians, in order to keep the peace? Do you know how absolutely idiotic that sounds? No, by no means let the Sith military that is informed of the matter keep the others in line. We need to throw in an attack by an outside force on top of the coup they weren't informed about to, what, make things make sense to them? That logic is phenomenally absurd."

He looked at the gathered Sith. "And there are those of you who support this? You deserve the rotting empire you've created with this mess." He turned to his opponent. "Do you feel confident enough in this plan that you are willing to die for it?"

 

[Teynara Jeralyr]

"Fools."

The word rang out across the throne room with considerable disdain projected within, loud enough to be heard by all, yet not merely shouted as might have been expected in order to be heard over the din. The greater question is from where the word had come from: though spoken aloud, it sounded about the same throughout the entire chamber, the acoustics of the room carrying it throughout without any indication of it's origin. That single word carried a universe of contempt, a touch of weary exasperation and just enough disdain to make it clear that it was directed at everyone, and perhaps more specifically at the battles breaking out within the chamber.

The air near the throne shimmered for a moment, as though a heat haze had penetrated the darkness of the room, a shadow coalescing near the overlarge chair, the darkness deepening and becoming solid as an illusion faltered and was cast aside, revealing a tall, clean-shaven Human male, dark hair cut short and clad in robes blacker than the shadows that surrounded the room. His hands were folded in front of him, the long, pale, slender fingers laced together, looking casual but for the straightness of his posture and the expression of pure disgust that marred the smooth, angular features of his face.

Stepping forward, making a slow descent down the long stairway leading up to the throne, his deep grey eyes narrowed, watching the events unfolding within the room with clearly undisguised contempt. All foolishness, he thought coldly, even though it was all playing out very much as expected. The only one acting like a true Sith is Moridin, Tirdarius thought. He at least acted in the interests of the Empire, and not merely to satisfy the demands of his own ego. The Sith Lord's eyes turned back briefly to where sat the throne Ashin had gained so easily from it's predecessor, wondering if it was good and right that she should be the one sat there. And to answer such a question, her underlings must now do battle? That merely proves that they can dance to her tune.

"You are all of you fools," he intoned, addressing the entirety, for all the world speaking to the gathered Sith Lords as though they were insubordinate children being told off by their teacher. And perhaps such is an apt description, the Sith Lord thought darkly. For far too long have they been allowed to run wild, serving only their own ambitions, all the while allowing chaos and disorder to creep up and infiltrate their ranks. "This nonsense serves none but our enemies, those that would tear apart our Empire and establish their foolish democracies and give 'power' to the people, all the while allowing that carefully-created order to collapse into nothingness," he continued, his voice stern and colder than a winter on Hoth.

He came to a stop at the bottom of the steps, becoming level with the others, the long folds of his robes gathering around his ankles, motionless, as was he. Still as a statue, but for the eyes. Yes, I'm watching all of you, and noting it all. The childish bickering between them - battles and all - had to stop. The Sith are hardly strengthened by animosity in our own ranks: hard to establish our Empire as a dominant power when we fight amongst ourselves at no benefit to the greater vision. That was the biggest issue here, as far as he was concerned.

"By all means test yourselves against your Empress' claim to power," he remarked, waving a hand towards the woman that would rule. "If you think her unfit to rule, kill her, and place another on that seat," he added, an open invitation, as if one were required. "But otherwise cease this idiocy. What plays out here is all in service to the Empire, and to the greater vision: to establish order and the dominance of our rule across an entire Galaxy," Tirdarius asserted forcefully. "If you think we are served by mindless displays of violence as you all seek to establish your petty dominance over one another, think again," he growled, anger now clearly evident in his voice, brushing against the obvious contempt that was otherwise the clear intent.

He stopped in his tirade for a moment, clearly weary of them all - the childishness of it simply could not be tolerated. On a day when we see a clear successor arise, to establish a new vision and a new plan for the Sith to go forth and rule an entire Galaxy, we have schoolyard battles instead of a new order, he thought seethingly. Yes, the Sith had always had that weakness about them - that sense that battle needed to be fought now, solely for one's own purposes. The larger picture has always escaped the majority. And with that, he turned his eyes once more to Ashin, glaring at her with fierce intent.

"And you, the woman who would rule us: what do you offer as proof of your claim?", the Sith Lord asked, raising an eyebrow as if to provoke an answer. "Moridin's rule was not without issue, but the Empire held itself together. To sit in his seat takes more than simple physical might, more than the ability to crush the nearest challengers," he remarked, his disdainful gaze glancing briefly at Reyvan, he who would no doubt be first to stake a claim, ridiculous as that was. "Why should you rule? Simply because you wish it, or can you offer more?"

"Be warned," he continued, staring at the woman still, "that throne is no-one's to take lightly. If you are not fit to sit upon it, your claim ends here," he warned her, a threat delivered with all the coldness he could offer. "I will not have an unworthy ruler over the Empire: not you, not Reyvan, none of you, no matter how strong you may think yourselves to be," Tirdarius said sharply, taking in the others gathered within the room. "A true Sith must sit there, now that it has been vacated. If that is not you, your audacity in seeking it out will most certainly prove fatal."

 

[Lord Ghoul]

Mikhail yawned.

 

[Ashin Varanin]

OOC/ Posting this for @[member="Asemir Lor'kora"], who is at work.
@[member="Reyven Samoth"]
IC/ “Am I willing to die for this plan?” Despite his pain, Asemir laughed a short chuckle of genuine amusement. He allowed himself a moment of respite as his duel with Reyven, and the rest of the battles, seemed to have reached a lull. He jerked his head towards Ashin as she fought with Darth Voracitos. “I was dead before I was even born. I was dead at conception. Death doesn’t concern me at all. As for the plan,” he shrugged, “I don’t even know the plan. I’m here as a favor for Ashin. As a favor for a friend and companion. Her success only concerns me because I am a friend, and I enjoy wishing success upon my friends.”

Asemir paused, as if in thought. “But I suppose you wouldn’t know what that means. Do you even have any friends?” He masterfully allowed his voice to rise in tone, to feed Reyven’s anger, to goad him into responding. “Or are you alone in this universe, without anyone that you can trust implicitly? Is there anyone in your barren circle that would not backstab you for personal gain? How alone you must be, Reyven, without anyone with whom you can share your triumps. Your joys. Your sorrorws. Without anywhere to go if or when you’ve lost your home.

“Would anyone care if you succeeded in life, or if you perished? I suspect not, Reyven. I suspect your pitiful excuse for friends and allies would instantly forget you as they fight over the scraps of your legacy. You have no one. You are alone. When you die, know that it will be a lonely death, with no one to mourn your passing. You will be forgotten.”

 

[Allyson Locke]

@[member="Anaya Fen"] (sorry for the wait!)
Spencer watched and cringed, the emotions that was surging through the place was wearing on her even more. The Twi'lek next to her was somewhat of a help, she was emotionally stable and Spencer was able to feed on that allowing her to control the surge with in her body. Looking up towards the red woman, the distress on her face started to fade. She was sure of Ashin's victory and she should be as well.

When Spencer looked back, she watched as the fat one continued to attack. Biting her lip, she turned her head towards Anaya and nodded.

"Thank you, but I know you're only insuring my safety because of Ashin. I don't know what will happen to me if she doesn't prevail...I trust her though...she's something different."

 

[Garza]

Darren was blocking the Red lighsaber that came for his head. The Sith jumped over his head and threw him with the force towards the wall. Darren's eyes went open as he used the force to slow himself down. he didnt want to crash into the wall! he came with in inches of hitting the wall when he heard over his shoulder. "We're done here, Shaw."

Darren nodded his head and knew that the match was over. for now. He turned to the Man who was questing Ashin about her new Rule. He didnt care about that. Ashin could handle herself. She was a Master, but so was the other man. he talked of power and how people were fighting over it for naught. He thought about what he said. He trusted Ashin somewhat. Well better than most Sith.

 

[Nisha Decrilla]

@ Spencer Jacobs (its ok!!)

Anaya smiled at Spencer's words though her eyes did not leave the fights. "Something different indeed." she replied softly. A few months ago Anaya would have balked at the idea that she would be here today, just standing by as her former masters throne was fought over. Thinking of Moridin stirred something in Anaya, making her think that perhaps she had cared more about him than she had realised.

As Velok stepped forward his speech made her tear her eyes away from the comabatants and truly look to see who had joined the ranks of observers. She inclined her head to the Mandalore by way of greeting before her eyes shifted once more to the girl at her side wondering what she thought about there eventual plans. She was after all a Jedi, whatever relationship she had with Ashin aside.

"You will need to make your choice soon, Spencer," she told her a frown crossing her features as @[member="Tirdarius"] stepped forward berating them all. A low hiss of anger escaped her as she watched him move down the steps. Remembering the empathy next to her she tried to bury her anger deep, not wanting to scare the girl even more. Spencer's hand still in hers she took half a step forward and stopped itching to do something.

"A true sith?" she asked him, her tone mocking "Are there any here that can call themselves such?" She cast a glance around at the onlookers. "I think not. Too many people here are driven by their own personal desires. All to quick to jump against the one person that could actually see us somewhere beyond the chaos that is our own fighting." She cast Spencer an apologetic look, knowing that this was doing very little to help her remain calm.