Faction Race Against The Roots - [Dark Court]

[Veyra Kryze]

"Pain and Corruption."

Objective 2: Tags - Iskera Valest , Darth Kharnaz

The stink of scorched sap clung to the air, heavy and cloying—half incense, half rot. Smoke twisted in lazy ribbons across the descent shaft, glowing faintly in the helmet lights. Veyra's visor caught Kharnaz's silhouette through the haze, the crimson blade still humming in his grip, the ruin of the root smoking at his feet. The sound of its death lingered—a wet, trembling noise, like the gasp of something alive trying to understand pain for the first time.

Veyra tilted her head. "Oh, you'll teach it something," she said, her voice a rasp of amusement through the comm. "You'll teach it what fury tastes like." Her vibrosword came free of its sheath with a low, predatory hum—the kind of sound you felt in the sternum more than heard. She ran a thumb along its edge, feeling the vibration through her glove. "But make no mistake. Blood and rage are lessons we deliver, not distractions. Let the thing learn the meaning of suffering, and through it, submission."

The ground responded first. Not a tremor—more a shudder, a tightening. The severed roots twitched, oozing black ichor that steamed as it touched air. Then came the whispering, soft and dry, rising from the walls. A chorus, layered and wrong, like breath scraped through too many throats. The smoke thickened.

Shapes moved within it—first just the shift of vines, then the unmistakable crunch of armor plates. What emerged was almost human: half-grown forms of bark and flesh, their faces traced with Sith insignia burned into the grain. Helmets, ribs, fingers—all reformed from what the Maw had consumed. Their eyes glowed with trapped bioluminescence, and when one opened its mouth, it spoke in Veyra's own voice.

"We will make it sing our names…"

The echo of her words crawled over her like oil. Her stance tightened; the vibrosword flared, its generator spitting sparks.

"Blades up!" she barked, the order snapping across comms as the first corpse lunged, half-rotted armor creaking. Her weapon caught it mid-strike, carving through the chest with a scream of vibrating metal. The thing split—but instead of falling, its halves dragged themselves forward on thorned roots, seeking the warmth of her blood.

 

[Iskera Valest]

Iskera moved like mercury through the smoke. Her visor filtered the spectral noise into clean geometry; every heat source mapped in violet overlays. The split creature was reforming—fast. Its fibers were trying to knit around the vibrofield's residual heat, treating the burn as a template.

"Adaptive replication," she said, voice level even as she snapped a vial against the hilt of her blade. The liquid hissed, coating the durasteel in a thin sheen that shimmered pale blue. "Let's introduce error into its pattern."

She struck—not to kill, but to contaminate. Her blade lanced through the nearest revenant's throat, and as the ichor met her reagent it crystallized, freezing mid-flow into glassy spires that pulsed once, then shattered, scattering flechettes of frozen tissue across the corridor.

"Kharnaz—temperature spike, now," she ordered, pivoting aside. "Ignite the residue. It's catalytic."

Tag: Darth Kharnaz Veyra Kryze

 

[Veradun Sharr]

Objective One

Tags: Kasir Dorran // Seren Gwyn // Darth Virelia // Drio'Vix Bacho // Carisma Rostu // Darth Dreer // Evangel ​

Beyond Veradun and Kasir gathered a group of individuals - their purpose on this jungle planet unknown to the young Sangnir. They were just outside what appeared to be a broken down structure of sorts, a temple by the looks of it. Kasir had brought them both close to the action, or so it seemed. He still wasn’t sure what their purpose was here, but as the various scents of those beyond the two Sangnir drifted into his senses, he began to piece together the puzzle.

His Red Thirst stirred, ever present within his veins - and sharpened his senses further. He could not only sense those beyond him, but the jungle and the planet around him and Kasir. The place was alive, unseen eyes seeming to watch their every move, waiting for someone to slip up and make a mistake.

Another scent coiled itself into Veradun’s senses and he lifted his chin ever so slightly as if to smell the air, before his pale blue eyes were drawn towards one of the figures beyond - a woman, her blue-black hair glimmering in whatever light there was. When she looked around, she would find his gaze already settled upon her - sharp and watching. The moment their gazes met and locked - she would find his face lingering there within her mind. There was the subtle tug of allure there within the icy depths of his eyes, a whisper of dark temptation.

Kasir seemed to notice the brief exchange between his fledgling and the woman beyond them, though no words were uttered between the two brothers. Words were not needed, as their shared blood made thought and intention known between the two of them.

The two Sangnir followed behind the group, even as they descended into the depths of the broken temple in search of whatever had called them there. Veradun followed his brother’s guidance, slipping into the shadows as silently as a stalking panther would. The voice of a woman, spoken low, rippled through the space of the chamber. Others moved to carry out various actions, and Veradun watched from the cover of darkness as a scene of death unfolded before his eyes. One of the group reached out to touch a vine, and was instantly snagged and before he could scream, one of the women in the group covered his mouth to silence him. The vine-captured man’s fate was already sealed, and a sick light of amusement danced in Veradun’s eyes as the woman severed both leg and arm in quick and merciless fashion. The predatory plant seemed to drag off the severed limbs, but the shock of the pain must have been too much for the man ensnared, for he slumped and Veradun could feel the ripple of his death through the currents of the Force.

A sensation he always enjoyed.

Kasir saw fit to speak to the group, responding to the actions done by the one woman, whilst speaking to the one that appeared to be the leader of this rag-tag group. The younger Sangnir kept to himself, draped in shadow as he was keen to observe for now.

…though his eyes kept flickering back to the one woman who had caught his gaze earlier. Curiosity burned within him, he wanted to know more, wanted…a taste. But for now he bided his time, and kept a careful watch out on his surroundings. He took in everything the deeper they went into the chamber.

He saw the body of the Jedi, the strange plant that seemed far more sentient than it should have been, which reacted to the presence of the living within the chamber. His pale face angled slightly as he studied a group of vines near to him…they didn’t seem to react to his presence.

But that was probably because he no longer had a beating heart, and his body was cold with undeath. He was exactly like the Jedi corpse beyond the way…except he was animated by his brother’s gift. But just because he and his brother couldn’t be sensed, didn’t mean they were not also being watched along with the rest of the group. He could feel something there watching them all…even if he couldn’t see it with his own eyes.

 

[Drio'Vix Bacho]

Drio'Vix Bacho

⸻
He could still smell the blood where Carisma's blade had done its work. A good reminder that he was in "Good" company and any slip could result in his death. It did not make him like them less. It meant they were strong and decisive. Traits needed in a band of killers. When the Mandalorian pried the saber from the corpse, the vines above shifted again, slow, deliberate, curious. The sound was faint, but Drio heard it clear as a heartbeat.

Drio's breathing slowed, deliberate but steady, every inhale measured against the weight of the air pressing down. Muscles tightened under his armor, not from panic, but from memory. The world blurred into that narrow space between calm and kill, where instinct did the thinking. These vines. The leafs of flesh. They were stalking them.

He shifted his stance, sliding a half step closer to Eira, one hand hovering near the haft of his weapon. The hum in the floor mirrored his own pulse. The vines nearest them had begun to sway, drawn by warmth, by the noise of hearts.

"It's picking who to eat," he whispered to everyone.

He didn't look at the others. He didn't have to. The air was full of their intentions. The coiling of two animals. Virelia's still command and posture, Dreer's scratch of pen against paper, the low hunger in the Sangnir's breath. The whole chamber was one great venom pit. Perhaps as literally as figuratively.

His fingers flexed.
Slow. Controlled.
A gladiator being circled by a hunter. And preparing to be an animal in his fight back.

Veradun Sharr Kasir Dorran Seren Gwyn Evangel Carisma Rostu Darth Dreer Darth Virelia
⸻

 

[Seren Gwyn]

The dead body didn't bother Seren as much as it maybe should have. It lay against a dias, and that did interest the woman. Then again, the body wasn't decomposed, and she changed her mind. The technology didn't interest her either, and the plant was something she wanted to avoid. She didn't even know why, but she felt that would be best. As Virelia spoke, the object shuddered, and she felt confident in her decision to leave it alone.

Focusing on Carisma seemed to be reacting to the tone; she didn't allow it to bother her. Curling her lip slightly with a distaste she wouldn't place entirely, she let her face go back to normal. Watching as she explored where Seren didn't yet tread, she was fine with that.

Noticing and feeling the death almost as much as Carisma, she did not cherish it as much as others might have. Nor did she regret it. Instead, she filed it away and memorized the course that had taken his life.

Trust wasn't something Seren gave easily, and she didn't trust anybody in here except Drio. Even he could be bought, though. However, she didn't feel he was going to betray her here. When somebody teleported past all of them and came to stand next to their intrepid leader, her hands raised, and she was ready to defend herself. Not Virelia or anybody else present but her own skin.

Turning her attention to Kasir, she couldn't help but notice he was next to the man she had looked at previously. He mentioned appetite, and she had a similar craving for knowledge, but she wasn't stupid. Caution tempered her actions, and for now, she moved with her guardian. Glancing at Evangel as she asked her question, she remained silent. She felt nothing that would help answer it.

Meeting the gaze of Veradun's enchanting eyes, she almost took a step closer to him. Perhaps she swayed a little before she regained control of her body. Lifting an eyebrow, she focused on something else for several moments before she sensed eyes on her again.

Looking up from the dead Jedi, she met his eyes again, and she gave him the smallest of nods. An unfamiliar sensation happened, and she clutched onto it. That would take some getting used to after she analyzed it. Luckily, Drio answered her question, and she could focus on something other than the man she was getting drawn to.

"Taking out the weakest first. You know, that might include me."

She wasn't a fighter; instead, she preferred to take down her enemies with poison, alchemy, or her words. Those were some of her best weapons. Nothing on a physical level. Somehow, she didn't think she would be an easy target if it decided to go after her.

Drio'Vix Bacho Veradun Sharr Kasir Dorran Darth Virelia Carisma Rostu Evangel Darth Dreer

 

[Darth Kharnaz]

Iskera Valest Veyra Kryze

Objective 2
​

Kharnaz fur stood on end as that thing spoke. The unnatural noise it made was something he had not expected to hear. It was sliced in half, but it continued crawling, reforming as no living thing should.

Kharnaz—temperature spike, now," she ordered, pivoting aside. "Ignite the residue. It's catalytic."

Kharnaz did not understand the words the scientist was saying. But he did know one: IGNITE. With a roar he pulled the trigger of his flamethrower and held it. Like a dragons breath, flames as angry and uncontrollable as their owner spewed out of the nozzle engulfing the thing in fire. Whatever Iskera had done to it had clearly worked. The fire and mixture reacted explosively, causing a large explosion of smoking splinters. It made a noise much like air escaping out of torn lungs, before being reduced to ash.

Kharnaz turned off his flamer but kept his lightsaber ignited. He would not be caught off guard again.

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Jungle Fever."

Objective 1: Tags - Seren Gwyn Drio'Vix Bacho Carisma Rostu Veradun Sharr Kasir Dorran Darth Dreer Evangel

The chamber tightened by degrees, the way a throat closes around a scream.

Carisma's silent butchery had been the first note—clean severances, arterial sap recoiling with its prizes. Dreer's arrival snapped the air like a taut wire; his blade's baleful hiss set the fungus lights flickering. Kasir's voice stroked the edges of appetite; Veradun's gaze drew and held, a quiet hook set into curiosity. Evangel's gauntlet on the Jedi's hilt—permission taken, not asked—sent a slow ripple through the ceiling vines. Drio's whisper named the obvious truth as he protected Seren, and the room, as if pleased to be understood, began to listen harder.

Virelia took it in without turning her head. She let the pressure fold over her like a cloak, let it taste her composure and find no purchase. Licentious hunger coiled low in her like a private star—claimed, leashed, weaponized. Around them, the pulse deepened; the obscene bloom's petals flexed, exhaling a sweet-metal stink. The unrotted Jedi's fingers clicked once against his hilt.

The next heartbeat broke.

Stone sighed. Roots unlatched from the walls and dropped like hunting eels. The corpse rose as if tugged by invisible strings, head lolling, mouth falling open on a breath he had not earned. Across the chamber, shapes stirred in alcoves—more bodies, more robes, their joints moving with the wrong kind of grace. Vinework sutures threaded their tendons, amber sap-globes pulsing where eyes should be.

The dead were being puppeteered by the malevolent intelligence of Nathema itself.

"Hold." Virelia's voice cut the swell cleanly. "Stand your ground."

The plant's central throat dilated. Subsonic song bored at the base of the skull, a calling to the rest of the biological intelligence for panic. Virelia however, answered with contempt. A flick of her wrist and her visor brightened, filtering the pulse into a pattern—there, the off-beat spike whenever flame flared in memory.

It was leading to the console.

"Use fire," she said, soft as a kiss, cruel as a verdict. "Give me the time I need. Burn. Them. All."

Roots whipped across the floor, tasting for ankles, for heat, for the rhythm of hearts. Virelia did not step back. She moved—to the terminal.

Up close, the console was a hybrid of devotional altar and nervous biology. Glyphs jittered beneath a varnish of resin; black roots had penetrated the seams like greedy fingers. She did not touch the screen. She laid her palm against it instead, feeling the mild convulsion as the system recognized pressure, chemistry, intention. The vines tried to curl around her wrist. Her armor sang a warning. She allowed exactly one loop, then stilled it with a thought sharpened to a needle.

Behind her, bone clicked. Cloaks scraped. The room's temperature climbed as weapons kindled. She didn't look. "Keep the corpses back." she murmured, eyes on the cascade of alien sigils.

The interface was not language so much as rhythm—wound, cleave, bind. Virelia hummed an answer under her breath, a private counterpoint to the sanctum's song: three notes descending, the shape of a lock giving way. The display jittered, then stabilized into a sketch of the temple's underways: arterial tunnels, pressure nodes, a bright lesion where the crystalline signature spiked like a scream held too long.

There. Not under the bloom, but behind it—nested in a pocket the plant guarded reflexively, a second womb. A crystalline engine.

She just needed time.

 

[Veyra Kryze]

"Pain and Corruption."

Objective 2: Tags - Iskera Valest , Darth Kharnaz

The blast rolled through the cavern like thunder trapped beneath stone. Shards of bone-bark rattled against Veyra's armor, their edges still smoking as they struck and slid off into the dark. For a moment, the entire shaft seemed to breathe again—exhaling the stench of cooked sap and scorched air. Then, silence. No more whispers. No more movement. Just the echo of their own ragged breathing.

Veyra rose slowly, vibrosword still thrumming in her grip, its edge spattered with ichor that steamed and hissed in protest. She looked to where the creature had been—a crater of blackened residue, glistening wetly as if the stone itself were sweating. The walls pulsed once, faintly. Learning. Always learning.

"Efficient," she said at last, her tone steady but edged with dark satisfaction. "You both just taught it something new. Pain has a memory."

She turned first to Iskera, visor catching the reflected blue shimmer of the alchemist's reagent. "That was elegant," she admitted, voice low but clear over comms. "Controlled precision amidst chaos. The jungle won't forget that taste." A pause, a faint smirk behind the vocoder. "Nor will I."

Her gaze shifted to Kharnaz. "And you—good." The single word struck like metal on stone. "Your fire spoke the only language it understands: dominance. The Dark Lady herself would approve of the fury you showed." She stepped closer to the scorch mark, the ground still trembling faintly beneath their boots. "Hold that anger. It's how you remind a world like this that it can be broken."

The quiet didn't last. The pulse beneath their feet deepened again, rhythmic, faster this time—like a heart beginning to race. From deeper within the shaft came a low, wet groan, as if something vast had turned its attention toward them.

Veyra looked down into the dark, then back at her team. "It knows us now," she murmured. "Knows our heat, our scent, our sound. Every cut, every spark—recorded." Her free hand brushed along the wall's fibrous surface; the material quivered like muscle under her touch. "We've roused it. Good. Now we descend while it still hesitates."

She lifted her sword in salute to them both. "You've proven yourselves. But the heart of this beast still beats."

Then, quietly, almost reverently: "Let's go stop it."

The descent funneled into a cavern vast enough to swallow sound. The walls were slick with translucent roots, each pulsing faintly with golden ichor that coursed toward the chamber's center—toward the Heart.

It hung suspended in the air, enormous and obscene: a bulbous mass of tangled nerves and vines, its surface rippling as though it breathed. Every exhale loosed a fog that glowed faintly red, and within that haze, faint impressions moved—faces, hands, memories devoured. The Heart pulsed once, twice, then began to beat faster at their approach.

Veyra felt the vibration through her armor. The planet itself was reacting. "There," she said softly, awe and revulsion warring beneath her tone. "The brain behind the hunger."

The ground convulsed. From the Heart's lower tendrils, something began to form—coalescing into a colossal frame of vine and armor, bones knitted from the corpses it had consumed. The guardian rose like an idol birthed from nightmare, its head a cluster of skulls, its arms braced with steel and bark. Each movement groaned with the memory of screams.

"Formation!" Veyra snapped, vibrosword flaring to life. "This is its will made flesh."

The creature's many eyes opened at once—violet, mirrored, human.

Burning with violent intent.

 

[Evangel]

Evangel's visor tilted upward slowly as the Jedi's fingers twitched about the hilt in time with her own. Darth Virelia called out for them to stand their ground. Her Captain shouted to be heard clearly by all, "Defensive formation." They didn't understand their enemy. What it could do. What it intended. Who it saw as the greatest threat -- if it bothered to identify such a thing at all. A dangerous situation to walk into. Once they had a grasp then they could fight with abandon, but for the moment Evangel expected the group to ensure they weren't easily isolated and picked off.

It sought to wrest the hilt from Evangel's grasp, but their bodies jerked in unison as she neglected to heed its desire. If the group formed a ring Evangel and her prey would be in its center. She would occupy the creature to the rest could focus on those emerging from the walls. "Move together toward the Dark Lady. Protect her at all cost." They needed to move as a group in her direction to seal off any gaps. Evangel didn't need to see nor understand what Virelia was doing only that she sought to do it, and it was their job to ensure she could see it done.

The saber snapped into being and Evangel shifted her stance as they continued to struggle over the weapon. It had surprising strength as it threw its arm over in an effort to break her grasp. A flurry of steps at a time were accompanied by careful application of torque and movement. It might seem a stumble by an outsider, but discerning eyes would see the footwork involved in taking, maintaining, and recovering balance as they danced upon the stonework. Meanwhile, their free hands engaged in jabs and blocks in an effort to distract, disorient, or disable their opponent. For a dead puppet, Evangel found it surprisingly capable.

After only a few seconds, however, her gaunt aligned and a ball of fire erupted into the side of the Jedi's head. In that moment, Evangel's free hand slammed down on the Jedi's wrist as she wrenched the hilt out of its grasp. Carrying the twist through into a turn with the flames only then clearing from the puppet's vision -- though eyes might not be the only sensory organ it possessed -- Evangel swung back around to plow the lightsaber she'd retrieved from midair through the Jedi's midsection.

With a roar, she strained every muscle to reverse her momentum and swing the ignite blade back for its neck. Evangel stood at her full height with the blade held out before her. It was not her color. Evangel liked red. It felt warm. Passionate. But in battle, a warrior did not cast aside a usable weapon for its lack of aesthetics.

"Report in," Evangel called out as she scanned the area. If someone was injured in a way she could not see, or had noticed something she had not while engaged with an enemy, she wanted to know.

Darth Virelia | Seren Gwyn | Drio'Vix Bacho | Carisma Rostu | Veradun Sharr | Kasir Dorran | Darth Dreer​

 

[Darth Dreer]

Equipment: Sword-
Lightsaber
Tags: Darth Virelia / Eira Dyn / Carisma Rostu / Drio'Vix Bacho / Veradun Sharr / Kasir Dorran / Evangel ​

"It's picking who to eat," he whispered to everyone.

Dreer let out a soft, quiet little laugh at the Zabrak's theory. That sound from so utterly joyless a man was jarringly unnatural.

"I suspect you're on the right track. If so, then it has picked dangerous prey. Bitten off more than it can chew. Not a mistake one usually gets the chance to repeat." It was easy to be confident in numbers; it was even easier to do so when one could flee at an instant's notice. Dreer was reminded of an age-old maxim when it came to escaping danger: one didn't have to outrun the danger; just one's own compatriots.

"What's the plan, boss?" He grunted, running a gloved finger along the edge of his blade and watching as she moved toward the console. Right then, the room came alive. Or rather, came undead. Decomposing husks shuffled from their hiding places. Dreer focused his power on his weapon, causing the blade's constant hissing to resume.

Dreer's blade came down in a decapitating arc, slicing the neck of a rotting golem as it scuttled from the viny mass. While such creatures were unlikely to be bothered by the blade's intense dehydrative properties, sharp metal was sharp metal all the same.

His other hand pulled a hazy green javelin from the air. Emerald fires seethed and crackled down the length of the conjured weapon before it left his hand again at high speed, spearing another risen wanderer to the wall.

"Give me the time I need. Burn. Them. All."

The plan was short, simple, and to the point, when it came a heartbeat later. The Dark Lady had demanded time, and Dreer didn't ask for elaboration. Another wave of his hand, another construction of ghostly force. A wave of living viridian fire seethed outward from his clenched hand, scouring the wriggling, questing vines from the walls and floors in a wide arc. The blast-furnace roar of the flames quenched all other noise for a few instants.

So distracted was the Conjurer that he failed to notice the vine until its thorns seized his lower leg, eager for his blood. Unfortunately for the plant, Dreer's blood was already occupied real estate, and it did not appreciate interlopers.

The vine reared back as if burned, and was shortly thereafter sliced into two rapidly-disintegrating segments by the ragged Sith. He glanced down to see a series of puncture wounds. Nothing serious, and nothing the serum wouldn't repair soon enough. He'd lost that entire leg once before, only for the poison in his meat and marrow to rebuild it, cell by cell.

The memory prompted a shudder. He wasn't looking to relive that experience again. Regrowing splintered bone and torn muscle over a few weeks or months wasn't his idea of a good time.

"Report in," Evangel called out as she scanned the area.

"A scratch." He murmured when the status check came. It occurred to him that the thorns might be toxic, but that had never stopped him either. Would that he were so lucky. No, if anything were ever to put him out of his ever-present misery, it would have to do a very thorough job. Until then, here he was, backed into an ever-shrinking circle in a lightless tomb with people he barely knew. All in a day's work.

 

[Iskera Valest]

Its structure fascinated her—sinew and steel interlaced like a nervous system wrapped around a cathedral's skeleton. The glow of the eyes pulsed in rhythm with the Heart behind it, every beat translating into muscle contractions. "Autonomous extension," she murmured, half to herself. "But tethered. Cut the current, and the body dies with it."

Her hand moved to her belt in one smooth motion. Two vials came free—one clear, one the deep blue of storm glass. She held them together until the barrier between them cracked. The instant the liquids met, they began to spark and coil, forming a translucent sphere that hummed with restrained volatility.

"Kharnaz," she said, her tone precise and cold. "When I mark the target, controlled burn. Be precise, lest it adapt to our methods."

She stepped forward, ignoring the tremors, boots sinking into the wet soil. The air stank of rot and ozone. The creature loomed overhead, its skulls grinding as it reached for her. She raised her palm—the orb floating above it, now alive with tendrils of lightning.

"Time to kneel." she told the monster, her voice a whisper through the comms.

Then she hurled the sphere. It struck the guardian's chest and detonated. The vines beneath its armor turned rigid, then brittle, crystallizing from within.

"Now!" she hissed.

Tag: Darth Kharnaz Veyra Kryze

 

[Drio'Vix Bacho]

Drio'Vix Bacho

⸻
The chamber burned like a furnace, Dreer's green fire painting the walls in molten shadows. Roots hissed and curled away from the heat, but new ones kept sliding down to take their place. The smell was thick, blood, sap, smoke. Familiar. Drio liked it. Reveled in it. Used it as refined fuel in his engine.

Something moved through the haze ahead of him.
A puppet, half-burned, staggering toward him and Seren with its jaw hanging loose.

Drio stepped forward and caught it by the throat. The brittle vertebrae creaked under his grip. He lifted it until its feet dangled, grabbed its ankles and held it like a bar across his chest. Then drove its spine down across his knee. The snap echoed through the chamber between the rest of the noise. Bone, no matter how brittle kept its distinct noise when shattered.

The corpse tried to rise again, twitching, so he twisted its head until it came loose with a wet crack. The Zabrak lifted the skull, holding the eyes of the puppet to his own and let out a blood curdling yell before throwing the damned with both hands back into the pit of vines. They welcomed the offering, folding around it like hungry fingers. Flesh and vine merged, starting to rebuild what he'd ruined.

If they needed time, he would give it.

He'd just ruin every puppet again and again. Until whatever "god" of this pit was dead also.

His saber came free with a hiss. limbs and tendons parted at his cut, heads fell, vines recoiled. He struck for joints and muscle, ensuring that if the vines would rebuild these puppets that it would take at least some time.

The hum underfoot changed again. The music of survival.

He turned, half-glance toward Seren, just long enough to make sure she still stood untouched. Then he faced the fire again.

A monster surrounded by dead men.


⸻

Darth Dreer Darth Virelia Seren Gwyn Carisma Rostu Veradun Sharr Kasir Dorran Evangel

 

[Kasir Dorran]

Darth Virelia Darth Dreer Veradun Sharr Evangel Drio'Vix Bacho Carisma Rostu Seren Gwyn​

A low, subsonic hum thrashed at the base of the Sangnir’s skull, a song meant to unravel discipline, perhaps even drive less beings into panic. The roots flexed against stone, beneath an ancient creature, dragging bone across the floor, and now the air became thick with both sap and smoke, sweet in the only way that rot would be. Conjured fire roared almost too loud, so much that it drowned the chamber’s haunting chorus. Kasir listened to the way the sanctum recoiled; it was like a beast flinching, as though being branded with a searing hot iron.

Stillness followed, rooted in his own position, and then everything came to life with a symphony of sounds.. the scrape of corpses rising, the clash of metal as another's blade danced and wrestled with the Ashla-worshipping puppet; though it would be noted, this one's loyalty to Darth Virelia was absolute. The appetite of another, laughter from indulgence. It became obvious that most of them bent toward the Dark Lady’s influence. Whether that meant slaves to her power, or the promise of power was true, he could not say.

For a moment, his gaze fell over to the Zabrak: a brute, guard dog, could’ve been of many labels, truly.

Without another glance, and a single step forward, he was certain his brother would feel the weight shift, a decision made with nothing hidden, nothing veiled, the truth of their twisted bond unapologetic, clear as blood on fresh snow.

A pale hand found the hilt of his ceremonial blade, drawn slowly, the cold steel whispering free of its sheath. Kasir neared the Zabrak’s flank, not close enough to crowd, but near enough that their arcs of violence could’ve overlapped, had he wanted to. To the mortal eye, it was positioning, and nothing more.

Vines came for him, and the blade sang through them, severing tendrils. Sap sprayed hot after the hisses, spattering his armor. Then, a corpse lunged too close; he caught it by the shoulder, and drove the blade through its chest, impaling it against the wall like a morbid trophy. Each strike after was darkly precise, turning the target in a grotesque pincushion.

The chamber continued to burn and scream around him.

 

[Carisma Rostu]

Objective: The Shattered Sanctum
Gear: Basics
Tag: Darth Virelia / Evangel / Drio'Vix Bacho / Darth Dreer / Kasir Dorran

One by one, corpses began to emerge from the shadows; some half rotted with clingy strings of flesh dangling to attached sinew, while others seemed to be in a state of preservation. Thier movements seemed joined to those rhythmic tones, a shambling dance chorus of undead, moving almost hive minded toward the interlopers; angered by the disruption of their eternal sleep. And it wasn't just the bloated corpses that sought the flesh of the living, but more tendrils of vines operating in serpentine gesticulations slithered across the floor in search for entertainment.

Thumbing the activation stud on the hilt of her weapon for the second time, she sprung into the air guided by the Force, landing atop of a cluster of flat, broken debris to better survey the situation, while avoiding those creeping vines. Master Virelia had bellowed to use fire, and to give her time; only one Carisma could provide: time.

In comparison to the others gathered in defense, she was by far the weakest in terms of swordsmanship, a subject she was working slowly to rectify. However, what she lacked in the skills of lightsaber combat, her knowledge and command of the Force was by far her strong suit, a superiority complex she believed she held over other Apprentices and Acolytes. Locking eyes to another pile of debris, consisting of rocks and other planet-based hard materials with sharp and jagged edges, held promise.

Stretching out her free hand, gripping invisible fingers around one object after the other, she began to hurl the stony projectiles toward the massing dead; staggering a few backwards, forcing others to alter their courses, and still for some, simply went down in splattering wet sounds, rotting bodies crushed under the weight of the debris. It only temporarily halted the advancing tide, but it bought time for her and the others; and more importantly, for her Master.

Not eager to become overly acquainted with the vines, Carisma leapt from one cluster to the other, striking those dead she passed by, severing limbs and the occasional head in the process, and still, more and more dead appeared as if they were being churned out by design from a ghastly manufacturing facility. To an outside observer, the situation could appear dire: however, Carisma was Sith, and she only begun to spread her dark and black wings.

​

 

[Vharra Theskar]

"Exile didn't break me. It burned away what was weak."

Tags - Darth Kharnaz Veyra Kryze Iskera Valest

Jungle. Nature. Growth. Yet at the same time sense of decay. Rot. Death. This land, for all of it's greenery and plants, was similar to her home. It required strength to survive amongst the roots. Lest one wished to fall into the unfortunate fate of being food for the worms beneath their feet. In a way, she could admire the world for its value of strength. The weak were necessary of course, but only to be fuel for those stronger than them. Fuel to add to the pyre.

And so she followed the source of the scorched scent that lingered in the air, descending further on down. Of course, she could have kept up with the group from the get-go, but one does make a Lady rush. She went at her own pace, as every step echoed with purpose. Her arm rested atop the hilt of the Emberfang as she delved deeper and deeper into this hell, a small flame flickering in the palm of her hand to light her way. A small lazy sigh escaped her lips as she made her way down. If she had it her way, this entire place would have been reborn amongst the flames. Burn down the heart of this Maw and watch what grows from the ashes. But alas, it was not her operation. She was merely going with the flow one may say.

The sound of a commotion peaked her interest however as she arrived to see the trio confronting the monster, her ears picking up on the last order given. She may not have been Kharnaz, but burning was something she excelled in as the flame burning in the palm of her hand flickered with life before Vharra flickered her wrist in the direction of the limbs of the creature. A controlled burst of flames erupting from her palm as the Zabrak gave her own lesson to the Maw. As the bark caught fire, it hissed and cracked, curling and blackening almost instantly on itself, sending up thick plumes of acrid smoke. The metal beneath groaned under the heat, melting in slow, jagged streams that dripped with a high-pitched whine, spitting tiny molten sparks as they hit the ground. Vharra's flames danced over it, consuming every twisted limb in a blaze of orange and red, before she used the Force to flick the molten metal at the core of the creature.

What lesson did she intend it to learn? That even metal could burn, that it could be reduced to molten ruin and reforged into something entirely her own