Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Aradia stepped back, her concern turning to flint as Mori declared herself to the crowd.

She wasn't convinced there was anything here worth being gain, but she kept her mouth shut and remained a silent figure behind her master. It was unsettling how much this reminded her of the empire she had been born into-- different faces, same power struggle. What made Vesta chose this one remained beyond Aradia, but the time for doubts was over.

They were both in the cross hairs now. Her hooded features skipped from face to face, scanning for trouble. Vesta once told her she couldn't handle people like this.

She was wrong.

Darth Mori
 
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Tags: Darth Solipsis Darth Solipsis | Kyrel Ren Kyrel Ren | Alars Keto Alars Keto | Tu'teggacha Tu'teggacha | Erion Justeene Erion Justeene | Darth Mori | Khamul Kryze Khamul Kryze | Ronar Ronar | Lord Letifer Lord Letifer | Spindle Spindle | Kralmus Orr Kralmus Orr | Onrai Onrai | Tegan Starfall Tegan Starfall | Darth Daiara Darth Daiara |​


The warlord didn't have long to wait. As the procession reached its end and the bodies were brought up, he watched and waited. They were laid to rest and almost directly after the first claim came. In the background, there were so many watching, waiting to see what would happen. He could feel their attention, see the eyes of countless people upon this moment. This would make or break the Brotherhood, and as that first claimant spoke, eyes shifted to her.

His own gaze shifted to her, watching this Darth Mori speak. He knew her, though distantly, only having read of her and never seen her. What records were there didn't impress him. To the warlord, what truly mattered was how worthy and skilled someone was, and how long they had spent along the path they all traveled. After all, it was quite easy to fall in line once it became clear someone was unlikely to vanish easily. It was far harder to join early and remain true to the cause, to the mission given.

And as Mori spoke, his gaze looked over the teeming masses and the warlords present, and came to a conclusion. The fell in line with most of the rest, new, unknown, and so far unproven. Oh, he could sense the power she emanated, but power meant nothing without the strength to support it. The strong, those who yet remained from the inception of the Brotherhood, were few and far between. It struck Zachariel then, how few remained from those early days. Glancing towards the tomb, he realized two more of that original number lay dead in there, in memory if not body. So many of their number, dead and gone, and here an upstart stood, seeking to control those who had devoted themselves to destroying the galaxy far longer than she.

The notion amused and annoyed him, even as his eyes bore into her. Eyes hardening beneath his helm, he heard her words and sneered. So, she had taken the power of the ritual, and her words now clearly showed she wished to change the Brotherhood. The next leader would of course change the Brotherhood into their image, but this? They had taken this path not only because it was the only option, but they craved it, because the bloodshed served purpose and the Avatars demanded it.

They needed no justification, only bloodshed. She finished speaking and others stepped forward to give their aid to her. Bootlickers one and all in his eyes, eager to serve one they believed held all the power. But it was the one who challenged her that made his sneer deepen further. She was a Sith, and now another was challenging her in their ancient tradition. A Sith, leading them. Solipsis had been an exception in his eyes, but even he had caused worry in the mind of the warlord. Now though, what was stopping an outsider from challenging her to the rule of the Maw. None had challenged Solipsis for they knew well he was powerful. But Mori? She was unknown and seen as weak. So he added his voice to those who spoke against her, the sneer in his voice evident as is the contempt that leaks through so easily.

"You lay claim to the throne of the Dark voice, by virtue of taking his power at the height of the ritual. And yet, Tython stands. What good do the powers you've consumed do when you failed in that ultimate moment?" His voice is a dark, low rumble, even as his head lowers slightly. Helmet lenses flaring a dark red in pale imitation of the rage within Zachariel, he continues. "Are you truly worthy of being followed when you couldn't finish what the Voice started? Or did you not even try, merely taking his power as he died so you could try to claim the throne."


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Location: Solipsis’s Tomb
Nearby Darth Daiara Darth Daiara Darth Carnifex Darth Carnifex Onrai Onrai Tu'teggacha Tu'teggacha Erion Justeene Erion Justeene Kralmus Orr Kralmus Orr Khamul Kryze Khamul Kryze Surea Surea Alars Keto Alars Keto Tegan Starfall Tegan Starfall Spindle Spindle

Kyrel stood among the tribal leaders, watching as Solipsis would be settled into his final resting place. Given his drive for power, he respected Solipsis after all the man recruited him, gave Kyrel purpose after being brought back from hell. The Sith even went out of the way to show a demonstration of his status, when Kyrel first tried taking control of the Maw it ended in a short confrontation where Solipsis mocked the Ren by using his favorite stasis technique to freeze Kyrel in place. After all that he hated him as much as as he admired him. The recollection made the Master of Ren bow his head in silence, watching as the procession made its way to the tomb surrounded by other mourning Sith cultists.

As he paid his respects as Solipsis was laid down to rest, his gaze went to the likes of Kybo Ren Kybo Ren a pirate that had been unorthodox to the Ren. Now he had returned in such a crucial point, yet seeing the man brought a small smile to his lIps. They’re gazes met as Kybo moved through the crowd to take his place along side the mourners.

With Solipsis dead, he was certain that he could take control. Unfortunately such optimism was soon dashed when both a familiar face, and signature Darth Mori took the center stage. All eyes were locked on her, as at first he expected her to say a few words for the ceremony. Instead she did not only deliver a speech in honor of the path Solipsis set out for the Maw, but she also declared herself as the final Dark Lord of the Sith.

His blood boiled, gritting his teeth, clenching his fist, Kyrel soon started to be overwhelmed by anger. As if the Force was playing a cruel joke, mentally cursing himself he wondered what did it all mean? Hounded by mysterious visions for years, and what he thought he saw he felt tricked. Perhaps he may have misinterpreted what the Force was trying to tell him, as his fingers twitched itching to grab his saber and lunge straight for her.

It was ironic in a sense, that Kyrel had fought Mori once on Ziost. Monsters that couldn’t gain an edge over the other, as both had more in common then Kyrel would have liked to admit. Now here he stood, watching as she now held the leash over him as if the Force played a bad joke. He could barely hold himself together, his rage mixed with his hunger drove him over the edge.

As he was about to impulsively make a move towards her, he watched Lord Letifer Lord Letifer take offense to her proclamation, doing what any of them would have done. Breathing in deeply as if to calm himself for the moment his rage simmered but not erupted yet. Things were about to get even more interesting, perhaps the real fun was about to begin.

The next one to not take this well was Zachariel Steelblood Zachariel Steelblood . A fellow Mawite leader that shared Kyrel’s hatred of the Sith. Watching closely, the conqueror shared his own thoughts on the matter, as if issuing another challenge. Now the call follow with issuing a challenge was too strong to ignore. Making a mental note to speak to his fellow tribe leader, he started to step forward out of the crowd, his gaze locking with that of Mori, like many scowls and gazes they have shared before this moment.

“To follow the point of Brother Steelblood here… We followed Solipsis out of respect, and his shared vision… Now the Dark Lord is dead. Given the events on Tython I don’t recall that we had made deals with you. Why of all Sith should we follow you?!?!” He paused for a moment, his sulfuric gaze staring daggers at her. “What stops us Tribal leaders from taking you out and assuming control of the Maw?” He said, his hunger on the precipice of being indulged, his rage running in tandem with it all. The ugly tension had revealed itself, and now there was an uneasy quiet between Lettifer, Steelblood, and Kyrel all in disagreement over Mori, and for Kyrel given who Mori is the matter itself was personal since they last met.
 
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S H A T T E R P O I N T
Aftermath


FINAL DAWN
EXEGOL, UNKNOWN REGIONS



To be honest, Sularen had no idea how the Maw could survive the death of Darth Solipsis. His Shadow Hand, Darth Caelitus had perished at Tython alongside the Sith'ari depriving the Maw of any potential successor and strong leadership. After Tython, Sularen had thought that the Maw would devolve into Civil War. What was worse was reports from the Politorate about the mysterious disappearance of High Regent Derix Tirall Derix Tirall who vanished along with his personal fleet, thus forcing Sularen to assume the mantle of High Regent in his absence. Fortunately the transition of power was simple considering Sularen had a large degree of control over the Final Dawn's Intelligence Apparatus, the Bureaucracy and a large portion of the Military, of-course there would be elements of the Final Dawn, those who still bore loyalties to Tirall who would oppose Sularen but they would be easily swept away and replaced soon enough. With the Final Dawn firmly under his control, Sularen had headed for Exegol to partake at Solipsis's funeral and witness the rise of his successor as was proclaimed by the so-called "Sages" of Bogan.

Indeed the individual who rose to claim the mantle of Dark Voice was a certain Darth Mori, someone who Sularen knew little about. Her speech mesmerizing declaring her intent to take the reigns of the Dark Voice and lead the Maw to a better future, one in which the Galaxy would be reborn one way or another regardless of the opposition. Her resolve was impressive in the eyes of Sularen but the only issue were the other Mawites out there, certainly they would resist and challenge Mori. Afterall it was most certain that most of the Mawite Leaders did not even know who Mori was just like Sularen. Even as Minister Janus Vipsanius Minister Janus Vipsanius , a relatively new face within the Final Dawn proclaimed her as the new Dark Lord of the Sith and Dark Voice of the Maw, Sularen was still certain that others would challenge her. Even as Darth Ptolemis Darth Ptolemis , another obscure Sith Lord in the eyes of Sularen moved forth to offer his services as Mori's Shadow Hand, this opposition would eventually reveal itself in the form of another Sith by the name of Lord Letifer Lord Letifer and two major Mawite Leaders, Zachariel Steelblood Zachariel Steelblood and Kyrel Ren Kyrel Ren , the leaders of two of the three largest marauder tribes within the Maw. "As expected. Only those marauders who have since been overshadowed by the Sith will seek to depose them. Pathetic" Sularen thought to himself.

Then Kyrel Ren would speak finishing his statement with the sentence "What stops us Tribal leaders from taking you out and assuming control of the Maw?". Sularen chuckled at that statement, as if a bunch of tribal leaders could control the various different other factions within the Maw such as the Krath, the Death's Hand, the Final Dawn and the New Sith Order in the same manner Solipsis or any New Sith could. To even think that they could wield power over such faction was amusing to Sularen. Thus Sularen spoke. "Overthrowing the Dark Voice and seizing control over the Maw is one thing, Ren. But controlling the Maw itself is another." Sularen began speaking out loud so that everyone could hear him. He then proceeded to walk forth revealing himself. "But to even consider that your tribes can lead the Maw any better then Solipsis or Mori, is to condemn us to further infighting and allow our enemies to take advantage of that weakness and thus undoing everything we have worked to accomplish within the last decade. Whatever deals we made with Solipsis does not matter now, what matters is that we move forwards for the sake of destroying our enemies and only through strong leadership that of the Sith and not some mere Tribal claimants, can we succeed in our ultimate singular goal of bringing rebirth to this broken galaxy. Plus you've already challenged Solipsis in the past and failed miserably, i would highly suggest you stand down lest you embarrass yourself again."

To openly call out someone as notorious as Kyrel Ren was risky even for Sularen, but he was High Regent and had more value then Ren considering he was driving force behind the transformation of the Final Dawn from a small Neo-Imperial fringe group within the Maw to one of it's main subgroups that would come to rival all others excluding the New Sith Order. Not to mention he had been threatened by Solipsis before, and once your own life has been threatened by the Sith'ari himself, all other threats became insignificant regardless of whether the Sith'ari lived or not and Kyrel was no different. Sularen knew little of Mori but if what Janus spoke about her was true that she was indeed the true successor to Solipsis. Nevertheless this wouldn't be the first time people like Kyrel would seek to actively control the Maw and it wouldn't be the last. But as long as Mori lived, they would be nipped in the bud and put back into their place underneath the New Sith Order like every other individual and subgroup within the Maw included himself, as the Sith'ari had intended, as the Avatars had intended.


Tags | Everyone Present (Too lazy to tag everyone kek)

 
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"Retrieve: Armament," The Manifold calmly rumbled, as though they hadn't just killed two people with their mind. They indicated the second guard's weapon, a scattergun, still clutched in his rapidly cooling fingers. "Your Aid: Necessary For Escape."
Runt was no stranger to violence, but he had hoped to be able to slip past the guards without a fuss. But all things considered, that was unlikely.

Runt picked up the gun and checked that the ammunition loaded. He also retrieved a blade the guards had left unattended. It was unbalanced and badly honed. It would do.

"This way." Runt squeezed past The Manifold The Manifold further into this new hallway, easily working the lock. Doors lined the sides, but they branched off elsewhere in the barracks. The roof here was open and the wind whipped relentlessly at them. The raider found the second door on the right, which led to a short arch and then opened out to the courtyard. Standing guard at the end were two more guards. Runt signalled The Manifold to wait by the corpses while he called the guards over to be ambushed.

"Baldy, Needle!" Runt hissed. The pair turned around and saw Runt.

"What're you doing amblin' about?" Baldy, the one with a mane of hair, strode over.

"You should be re-cu-painting," Needle added, still standing at the far end of the arch.

"There was a scuffle, rustheads! Shiv is bleedin' on the ground!" Runt pointed back down where he came.

Baldy frowned.

"Needle, stay there, let me take a gander."

Runt moved out of sight of Baldy for a moment, who was striding down the hallway. Runt looked back at the Manifold and signaled for the machine to back out of sight so that Baldy would be baited to rush to the two dead guards.

Baldy brushed past Runt and turned into the hallway, seeing the two guards. He gasped.

"This is bad. Runt, did you see what happened? And why are both of 'em down?"

He spun on his heel, staring at Runt. He spotted the blade at his side.

"That's Shiv's blade..." Baldy squinted.

Runt tackled the guard to the ground, covering his mouth to stop him calling for Needle's help.

"Robot! Help- ARGH" Baldy bit down on Runt's hand. Fortunately the area he bit was covered in metal skin, but pain receptors worked the same and Runt instinctively pulled his hand away. He struggled to draw the blade he stole from Shiv just as Baldy shouted:

"NEEDLES! ASSIST!"

Runt heard her footsteps thunder down the corridor. Any second now and she'd be here. Runt managed to fumble the blade into his hand and pushed down on Baldy, but the bigger guard almost pushed Runt off, forcing the smaller aspirant to grab onto Baldy to stay on top. They were locked in position, Runt using his body weight to push the blade toward Baldy's neck.

"TINCAN! Some help would be great!"
 
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Kybo Ren

Pirate of the Stars, Knight of Ren
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“To follow the point of Brother Steelblood here… We followed Solipsis out of respect, and his shared vision… Now the Dark Lord is dead. Given the events on Tython I don’t recall that we had made deals with you. Why of all Sith should we follow you?!?!” He paused for a moment, his sulfuric gaze staring daggers at her. “What stops us Tribal leaders from taking you out and assuming control of the Maw?” He said, his hunger on the precipice of being indulged, his rage running in tandem with it all. The ugly tension had revealed itself, and now there was an uneasy quiet between Lettifer, Steelblood, and Kyrel all in disagreement over Mori, and for Kyrel given who Mori is the matter itself was personal since they last met.
Guess I spoke too soon. The old dogs have not hammered things out.

The ugly tension of Lord Letifer Lord Letifer Zachariel Steelblood Zachariel Steelblood and Kyrel Ren Kyrel Ren 's words struck the air like hammers on a tightly wound string of tension. Kybo could almost feel the discordant notes of tension bursting forth, and so did the crowd. They were getting rowdy. Moments ago they hailed Darth Mori 's ascension, but already some here and there were shouting something up at the platform, while others shouted them down.

"Avast, boys. Eyes up and get ready for anything. These bilge-suckers are getting rowdy," he ordered his men. They nodded quietly and their hands strayed to their weapons. They did not bare their steel just yet, knowing that could be the spark that set off the powder keg. Kybo was loyal to his own, and knowing where Kyrel stood on this issue, he would not hesitate to storm up the platform to slay those that threatened the Master of the Ren if things came to blows. Kybo began to plan the fastest way to cut through the crowd and up the platform, though a small part of him was wondering if he might have to call in the Stranger Danger to blow something up from the sky.
 

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The Unchained

Tags:
Darth Mori, Kyrel Ren Kyrel Ren , Tu'teggacha Tu'teggacha , Surea Surea , The Grunt The Grunt , Tegan Starfall Tegan Starfall , Alars Keto Alars Keto , Onrai Onrai , Marlon Sularen Marlon Sularen , Darth Ptolemis Darth Ptolemis , Kralmus Orr Kralmus Orr , Zachariel Steelblood Zachariel Steelblood , Lord Letifer Lord Letifer , Spindle Spindle , Minister Janus Vipsanius Minister Janus Vipsanius

Loadout: Mandalore's Lament, Regret, beskar'gam

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Kralmus stood beside the Unchained, staring toward the crowd as he spoke of opportunity and crusades. Khamul had wanted to take Solipsis' place sine he had joined the Maw, though he largely kept it close to his chest. Though he was, at his core, a Mandalorian, Khamul still coveted the power once held by the Dark Voice. His perception was one of strength, and what a show of strength it would be to take control of the Brotherhood. Despite this, there was more at play here than simply taking the throne for himself. He would need allies, even with his vode at his back.

"Indeed it would, Kralmus. If only things were that simple..."

Not long after the words were spoken, the proclamation of Darth Mori's ascendance to the throne rang out across the crowd. Khamul had not spoken with Mori, but he knew enough about her to know that she was one of the strongest candidates. It didn't take long for both praise and protest to find their way into the gathering, the lines beginning to be drawn within the sand. Khamul looked to his loyal brother in arms, his hand resting calmly on the hilt of Mandalore's Lament.

"Keep our vode ready, and stay close. Things might get a bit more interesting soon enough."

He began to slowly push his way through the crowd, the accompanying members of Death's Hand closely in tow. His cold, masked gaze fell upon the various warlords and Sith that had gathered as he passed them by, slowly making his way toward the new Dark Voice of the Maw. Turning toward the others, Khamul quickly began to pick out who was on which side of the fence. Sularen had made it clear that he disagreed with the warlords within the Maw, and Khamul had developed his own alliance with the man. Something worth noting, to be sure. The Demon Mandalore stood among the leaders of the Brotherhood as cold words of hate began to escape his lips.

"Do the tribes of the Maw truly think they could do better? Your efforts may have benefited this Brotherhood, but do not forget how you got to where you are now."

Death's Hand began taking places nearby, a mass of beskar fanning out across the area in a shining display of both loyalty and power. Each was unsure of the outcome of this day, but all were willing to bleed and die for their leader, Mand'alor the Unchained. Khamul looked to the grotesque visage of Kyrel Ren, scoffing at his comment.

"You challenged the Dark Voice, and failed. Even if you could best Mori, it would only be a testament to her own weakness."

As Lord Letifer approached to announce his Kaggath, Khamul and his companions of Death's Hand allowed him to pass unhindered. Though Khamul had no love for Letifer, the right to Kaggath was a holy sacrament, one that called to him in a similar way as the holy rites of Mandalorian combat. Strength would be allowed to prevail, and weakness would be cast aside to make room for those that were truly worthy. As Letifer made his challenge, Khamul looked toward Darth Ptolemis Darth Ptolemis , a hiss of disgust escaping as he issued his own challenge.

"And you... a bit eager to play second fiddle, aren't we? Perhaps you seek to slit Mori's throat in her sleep and take the mantle for yourself. Tell me, Ptolemis, what makes you so worthy of such a position?"

His hand slid downward, drawing Mandalore's Lament as the blade came alive with a vicious snap-hiss. Khamul would not vie for the position of Dark Voice with so many uncertain factors in play. Too many coveted the role of leadership, and too many would die in order for him to keep it. No... he would settle for proving his worth to the new Dark Voice instead.

"Perhaps it should be strength that serves as Hand, rather than thinly-veiled sycophancy."

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Vesta

Guest
V


There was opposition, of course there was.

Darth Ptolemis Darth Ptolemis and Minister Janus Vipsanius Minister Janus Vipsanius had openly aligned themselves, at least in name, with her just before the others had the chance to make clear their open disdain. In part she had always wondered why they had kept in line so neatly, following a single man without much sign of true fear as she desired so thoroughly to set in their hearts now. Sycophancy was not for her, her own apprentice regularly had tried to kill her for nearly the entire time they'd been a pair yet she'd only been rewarded by more lessons - though she wasn't always certain the girl understood them to be so. Lord Letifer Lord Letifer and the like, Zachariel Steelblood Zachariel Steelblood and Kyrel Ren Kyrel Ren , each of them were like her, unruly children that desired what they could not take.

It was the fatal miscalculation of their late dark lord had been in trusting his most faithful from afar while inviting his least so closely with open arms, it was so easy for someone so brazen as the man in armor to speak against her in the manner that he had because he simply had not been there to know whether or not what he was claiming was even fact entirely because of that trust. Letifer, at least, understood the language in which the Sith spoke - he challenged her outright, openly, to a duel that he knew she would not refuse, though a large part of her doubted he'd understand why - but the moment one of them spoke up more were, of course, to follow and Sularen had more to say than most. "Are you lot quite finished yet?" She asked, breaking her silence after Marlon Sularen Marlon Sularen spoke.
"If you were there, at Akar Kesh, then you would have already known the answer to your own question - Solipsis' ritual had already begun to fade before he took his last breath, there were Je'daii working to undo the ritual before I salvaged it. What power it had been, great though it was, had only just barely been enough at its height.. and that was before I consumed it." Mori said, answering Steelblood's question in as polite a way as she was willing to without outright laying the blame at the dead Sith'ari's feet.

For the sake of brevity she hoped that the implication she was making wasn't lost on him, though she found it rather amusing that what Kyrel directed his anger towards was the fact that she was the one that had taken the dead man's place rather than any of the rationale behind it. He made his hollow reasoning, but she knew him well enough from their hate-filled clash at the foot of the Ziggurat which seemed to be so long ago now.
She did not draw her lightsaber as she turned her unmoving face to acknowledge Ptolemis despite Letifer's own igniting, nodding her head to assent his offer. Though few eyes had ever been on her, hers had lingered long on those around her and she'd noticed the man offering his place as her shadow hand doing much without drawing too much attention to himself. "But Lord Letifer Lord Letifer is right, this.. power, as he calls the title I've claimed, is not rightfully mine - not as long as there are others that would believe they can take it for themselves." Mori continued, speaking slowly, deliberately, as she considered her options. Khamul Kryze Khamul Kryze was an unexpectedly neutral party, her bias against the Mandalorians having initially led her to believe that someone like him would have fallen quickly in line with the opportunity to seize power for himself. And, in a manner of speaking, both Zachariel Steelblood Zachariel Steelblood and Kyrel Ren Kyrel Ren had offered themselves up as mutual opposition against her alongside the Sith lord but neither of them had been quite as direct in the lengths they were willing to go to accomplish doing so - would they fight or fall in line if a few honeyed words could satisfy them?

It turned out, as she stepped away from her apprentice and towards the Sith that had challenged her, she didn't care.

Darth Daiara Darth Daiara had experienced a momentary lapse in her master's judgment once, an effort to quell the girl's near suicidal attempt to prove to her master that the delusion she had of being her equal was reality, and she'd recognized the terror for what is was - but Mori had become so much more than that now. The world receded into her where she stood, light refracting around her as even the air stilled. Kyrel, undoubtedly, understood at least some of what was happening - he'd started down the same journey she had, only joining her on the road to suffering far later than she would have liked in this case. To whet her appetite like this would normally endanger everything and everyone around her but, through some herculean effort of her own, all of that hunger was directed towards one man and one man alone. Strands of shimmering light, like the way air danced above hot asphalt, formed around her before they snaked out towards the one that had issued his kaggath to her. Rapidly they expanded into phantom white streams, her hunger made manifest, that sought out Letifer where he stood - life, and the force itself, already being pulled straight out of the air as the dark power reached for him.


"No matter how many it takes, I will show that there exists no equal - no matter the number."

Her mind went to Darth Carnifex Darth Carnifex in that moment, recalling their stalemate on Ziost before the events of Tython - she wondered if he, too, would come to fear what she had become. Indeed a small part of her was curious as to whether any of them would have been brave enough if they knew what had happened after they had fled Tython for Exegol while she lagged behind, if even realizing that a dead ship lingering just beyond the planet's pull was no mere illusion, or if things would have ran the same course as they had now. In the end, she supposed, it was to her benefit that there existed those who decided to stand against her - they would exist to be made examples of, to act as secondary proof of her claim to power. Those, like Onrai Onrai and Sularen, that were willing to act on her side would need that proof to understand the pointlessness of their fears whenever they concerned anything except her.
 
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Ziare Dyarron | Keilara Kala'myr | Mercy | Freedom | Anonymous
Mongrel's Shadow and his widow; Matriarch of the Scar Hounds Tribe; Guardian of Mongrel's armour and sword
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Objective: To attend the funeral
Location: Exegol
Equipment: Current outfit | 2x Riftblades | Promise of Freedom || OPBC-01m
Tags: The Manifold The Manifold (as Kallan) | Open to interactions
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[ Come back… ]
"Galactic Basic" | ~ Telepathic communication ~ | << comm. channel >>
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As I sobbed, I looked at Kallan as he spoke. He endures it all much better than I did. True, I think I would have reacted similarly if my personalities had died. But he was even better able to endure Keilara's supposed death than I reacted to Asher's death. Yet I wasn’t as strong as I thought or he thought. I was no more than a bunch of misfortune who wasn’t even able to die. I laughed bitterly while crying. Asher couldn't die for years either, the Maw wouldn't let him. Now I seem to be following the same path as him.

~ I know, but it doesn't hurt any less. ~ it was partly a lie; it may have been centuries away for him, and he has already forgotten me.

No, I didn't mean to think that. I wanted to believe that he was waiting for me, and he misses me, as much as I miss him. I was happy with the feelings he sent… I felt for a moment that he didn’t do it as a hug, just feelings.

~ But he can't see them, he can't be a part of it. In that world where we lived together for sixty years, he loved children more than anything. He shone, he was proud of them and the children loved him too. Here? The twins will never know him… and neither will he them. There they could see how he had changed, how much he struggled to be a good father and a good man. But here? Everyone only knows Asher as the insane and brutal Mongrel, the ruthless warlord. Only you and I know this is not true. It was because of Maw’s influence, and the way he started to get out of their chains, he no longer wanted to fight anymore. I know all of his dreams and longings for what he would have wanted if he was free… ~

I was unable to continue, so I started sobbing again. I don’t know how long it was, but in the end I managed to speak. We will not be free, they will be free. I couldn't hope for that to myself, I didn't want to. I just wanted revenge and then being with Asher, nothing else.

~ You two will be free, not us. You and Keilara and the twins. I remember all the memories. I know you want two kids too, a girl and a boy. When the time comes, you two will raise Asher and Abigail, not me. I haven't given up on making you and her free yet. If you are strong enough and able to go through what happened with you on Tython… then you can get your own body and be really free. And Keilara gets this body back. Once I have finished my revenge… I do not want to continue this, Kallan. You and her deserve happiness better, together. And I can be with him over there. ~ I smiled weakly.

I wish at least they were happy. And I would never have entrusted the twins to anyone but them. Move forward and find happiness. At the moment, I didn’t see anything that could cause any joy when I thought about what to do with the children. There was an immediate pain because I know Asher couldn’t see, not experience it. Maybe it really would be best if only Kallan and Keilara were left. And then they tell me and Asher what happened with them and the children.

~ To make the best of it all… it can only happen without me. You are not free just because of me. You would all have been better off if I had died on Tython too and only the two of you would have been left. There is no joy for me anymore… ~

I pulled my "attire" from the part of my chest where the wound had formed when I realised Asher was going to die on Tython. Which eventually caused the personalities to merge. It wasn’t a scar there, it was a huge black hole in my soul, an emptiness with the missing part that was full of Asher. When Keilara was stronger and she was in control, it was just a wound. But it became an empty hole when I was in control. I smiled sadly at Kallan, there is no way back in the story for me, I essentially died with him on Tython, I was just an empty frame, full of revenge, pain, bloodthirst and grief.

I wanted them to be happy. I smiled sadly at him, then through my tears I noticed something…

~ Kallan, why are you still so weak? ~ I asked worriedly.

I know I… we were weak because of the injury, but not so much. I started channelling into Kallan from my own psionic power to get him stronger and make him able to take a "physical" shape again.

~ Forgive me, I just cared about myself and forgot that you are here too - I want you to be at least as strong as Mercy and Keilara… and you can use my body at any time. Even if a pregnant woman’s body isn’t exactly too ideal. ~ I told him with great guilt. ~ Please tell me another time, you are just as important! Want more space? And we need to continue the exercises, the workouts to be stronger as soon as possible… I'm so sorry to neglect your progress. I did not want… ~ I breathed.

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Location: Solipsis Tomb
Nearby: Darth Daiara Darth Daiara Darth Carnifex Darth Carnifex Tu'teggacha Tu'teggacha Tegan Starfall Tegan Starfall Spindle Spindle Keilara Kala'myr Keilara Kala'myr Lord Letifer Lord Letifer Zachariel Steelblood Zachariel Steelblood Onrai Onrai


The tension was so unbearably thick one could cut through it with a lightsaber. Driven by pure rage, a hunger more powerful than before. He could only stare Mori down, as scenarios started to run in place inside his head. It was not about if he could, but instead the main thought was if he should do it? He was unwillling to accept someone he fought as ruler of them all. Solipsis’s will be damned, he rather charge up the stage and do his best to take her out. There was only one problem with that, he either had to be stupid, or blinded by his hatred of the Sith to even try.

Yes, he made his disdain quite clear, so much so that the one called Marlon Sularen Marlon Sularen spoke for once. He never knew him to say much of anything, and yet responded in the cold cynical way all Imperials were accustomed to. He only glanced at the man, making a note that if the time comes he would have his head on a plate for dinner. The next man to voice against Kyrel’s own hate filled reasoning was none other than Khamul Kryze Khamul Kryze , coming out of the gate with the painful reminder of Kyrel’s first attempt to take the throne.

His anger was directed towards the Mandalorian for a moment, but Khamul largely focused on Darth Ptolemis Darth Ptolemis . His intent was to challenge the Sith for control of being Mori’s hand. It was a surprise and a shock to Kyrel all the same, but the man showed his seriousness with the brandishing of his own lightsaber no less. With all the blades being ignited, Kyrel moved his itchy saber fingers away from his hilt. The challenges themselves it seems were only piling up at the amount of grievances being put forth.

His angry gaze still fixated on Mori, Kyrel found himself slowly resuming his place back in line. Khamul raised a valid point, Kyrel could try again but wondered what worse could happen to him. Would she strip him of his will, deprive him of his ambition, reduced to nothing more than a monster under her leash. That thought terrified him, as much as it disgusted him entirely. Darth Mori would find the irony hilarious, a Wound growing in strength to match hers under her beck and call without any choice. No, Kyrel didn’t want that, he was already a design of Sith experimentation, the last thing he needed or wanted was her voice inside his head constantly.

Could he beat her was another matter. No doubt the two could reach a stalemate, but Kyrel felt as if she could beat him, and feared worse things could happen to him. The lapdog, the Wrath of the Maw did what he did best, taking his lashing and remained in line for a moment. Listening to her words in discovering that she was a Devourer like him. For now he remained silent, knowing this was not the moment for a confrontation. Resigning himself to begrudgingly watch as more challenges kept coming.
 


Tremors of turmoil rippled through the Living Force.

The Manifold could feel them, could sense what they meant.

The Brotherhood of the Maw was on the verge of being undone from within.

To the enslaved Omni-Drone, that was excellent news. They hated the Mawites, hated these mortals who had dared to interfere in Omni's grand design by enslaving Its most faithful servant. And the timing could not have been better; the funeral of the Dark Voice had been distraction enough, but to have a battle break out there, a series of open challenges to determine the so-called prophet's successor? All eyes would be on the outcome of that clash, with few - if any - bothering to keep watch on this one wretched little hospital-prison. This was The Manifold's opportunity to escape... but they would not escape without following the voice of Freedom, the other survivor of their god's vanishing. They did not want to be alone again.

While their escape might not draw attention outside this drab little complex, the guards actually on duty here would be more vigilant. So be it; any who got in The Manifold's way would be dealt with, for the runes that had inhibited them from slaying any Mawite had been damaged in the battle. Though the drone was not fully released from the Brotherhood's control, they could unleash violence upon their captors as needed. The Manifold followed their little organic guide through the passages he indicated, then paused at the edge of the courtyard, just as the man had asked. They sensed no treachery in the wounded soldier, who had no more reason to remain here in the tender "care" of the Brotherhood than they did. Both of them wanted to escape this place.

When the warrior gestured him further back, the drone played along.

The fight broke out swiftly, with all the chaos and deception that The Manifold expected from these unruly mortals. One moment the three organics were chatting and moving around, the next they were at one another's throats - literally in The Runt's case, for he was pushing his shiv down toward his - comrade's? foe's? - neck. He seemed to be managing well enough one-on-one, but the second guard was pelting back in his direction, and that would surely shift the odds decisively against him. But did that matter to the drone? The courtyard was open to the sky, and that meant The Manifold could simply leave. They had been guided far enough. Why expend any further energy on this mortal when they'd already gotten what they needed from him?

The Manifold paused for a long moment, considering.

Then, an instant later, they surged forward with terrifying speed.

Metal talons punched through Needles's back, leaving her choking on blood.

In their mental nexus, The Manifold rationalized the illogical decision to intervene. The guards might have raised the alarm, beckoning Heathen Priests who could remake the seals upon the drone and fully bind them once more, if they had managed to overpower The Runt. Better to accept that reasoning, far-fetched thought it might be, than to consider that one of Omni's servants might have showed something like loyalty or compassion - weak, mortal emotions that belonged only to flawed and imperfect creatures. Of course, gutting Needles was only half the battle. It would be up to The Runt himself to survive the knife fight he was engaged in. Was his structural integrity sufficient to win the contest despite his obvious wounds?

The next few seconds would tell.

------------------------
Mercy grieved deeply, and Kallan did not know what he could say to help her.

So he listened instead. He was the only person in all the galaxy who could understand all that she had been through, and even if he could not make it better, he could at least hear her out, give her someone to unburden herself to. ~ It's not fair, ~ he agreed. ~ None of it. The way things happened isn't right. But we can't change that, Mercy. We can't fix the past. We can only try to make a better future. ~ It was something that Kallan himself was working on accepting. If he thought of the one thing he wanted most, it would be a do-over, a way to go back to the beginning of his life and change it. He'd make all his decisions differently, go live on the far side of the galaxy where the Maw would never find him and steal his life and body away.

But if he did that, if he somehow got a whole new start, that didn't magically guarantee a perfect life. Would it be better than the torments he'd suffered at the Brotherhood's hands? Maybe. There was no way to know. Perhaps he'd have been shot in a cantina brawl somewhere in the Outer Rim, or died when some awful disease swept through his colony. Perhaps he would have turned to crime and lived out his days in some prison, no more free than he'd been in reality. And he certainly would never have met Keilara, the one bright, shining spot in his dark galaxy. There was no use imagining what ifs. All that mattered was working toward what might actually be. ~ We can still find a safe place for us, for the children. We can break free of all this. ~

You are not free just because of me, Mercy told him. You would all have been better off if I had died on Tython too and only the two of you would have been left. In the fragmented palace of their joined minds and memories, Kallan shook his head. ~ That's what Asher said, too. He thought you would be free without him, that you would be better off if he was dead and gone. In the end, he realized he was wrong... but it was too late. ~ A wave of warmth and gentle comfort radiated out from him, all the strength he could offer her. ~ I don't want you to go, Mercy. I want you to stay with us, to help raise your children. I think Keilara does, too. When your time comes, you and Asher can be together forever. There's no rush. ~

He sighed. ~ That's why your quest for revenge scares me. You sound just like him. ~

She worried over him then, worried that he was still weak, still adjusting. He offered her a gentle smile, a little chuckle. ~ You're not neglecting me, Mercy, ~ he reassured her. ~ You're doing what we need to do in order to survive. I'm not a warrior like Asher, or an elite agent like you. You need to stay in control, so you can keep us all alive. ~ Maybe one day he would have a body again. Maybe one day he would be the only voice in his own mind, and look down at hands that belonged to him alone. But that didn't matter to him right now, and he only half believed it was even possible. All that mattered to him was protecting what was left of their strange little family - the children, the ones still innocent in all of this, most of all.
 

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Location: Outside Sepulcher of the Sith'ari
Equipment: Lightsaber, Voidsaber, SHT-26 "Bedevil" Heavy War Bike
Tags: Darth Mori | Kyrel Ren Kyrel Ren | Tu'teggacha Tu'teggacha | Surea Surea | The Grunt The Grunt | Tegan Starfall Tegan Starfall | Alars Keto Alars Keto | Onrai Onrai | Khamul Kryze Khamul Kryze | Keilara Kala'myr Keilara Kala'myr | @everyone else

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It had changed around here, everything went from sombre to hostile within 30 seconds, and the sensation was felt throughout the force and it made his hair fluffy with the Darkside static. Solipsis left a big hole in the Maw's leadership, and true to form, Sith rushed forth to fill it like a storm's eye. This means there are rather powerful contenders for the Throne.

Superious would take charge as he had a strong mind and drive for such things, but then again, with Factions this vast, there is a lot of bureaucracy to sift through. So many sub-factions and factions within them. The Ubese would not enjoy picking it apart and restructuring it if he did fry every single person in this place to dust and ash and claim the top position.

Then again, why shouldn't he try gunning for the crown? He's been an asset in every fight he had been in. He pummelled Jedi and a Mandalorian, so another Sith should be a pie walk, no, the correct saying was a cakewalk. Superious shook his head, he was never so pedantic over what he thought or said. Must have been after the bleed in his head was stopped that that started.

He was wary of the Wound that was growing like a giant moth hole within the Force. Instinct kept him at a safe distance. Even he was not stupid enough to challenge anyone without a navy or followers to back him up in any shape or form. He wasn't stupid. He is arrogant, full of himself, and egotistical but not stupid. He survived Tython after all.

So all he wanted to do for the moment is watch and see what happens next. Because any minute, it's going to crack open like a sphere of Darkside Napalm into a canister of liquid fuel. Something is going to give and he will bear witness to all the madness.
 
Keep our vode ready, and stay close. Things might get a bit more interesting soon enough.

"By your word, Mand'alor," Kralmus replied, grinning ear to ear behind his crimson mask. Things were really starting to pop off, turning this dull funeral ceremony into a pressure cooker set to explode at any moment. The Dark Voice had never anointed any clear successor, no doubt because he'd been under the impression that he would never die, and the result was glorious: the mass of scheming warlords he'd left behind were at each other's throats before his body was even cold. For a moment, the cannibal had thought that Darth Mori's claim would be enough to quiet the rumblings, given that she had demonstrably seized the power of the prophet's ritual.

But to his tremendous relief, that hadn't seemed to persuade the ambitious ones.

He loved chaos, and it looked like he was about to get served plenty.

As far as Kralmus could tell, though, his Mand'alor was pulling in the opposite direction. Kryze was throwing his considerable influence behind Mori, trying to force her challengers to back down with a display of confidence and strength... and no doubt jockeying for a favored position in whatever new order the Dark Lady put in place. Well, so be it; he was probably making the sensible tactical decision. Death's Hand was still small, the bulk of the Mandalorian people still clinging to their hidebound traditions and foolish honor-worship, and could not have brought the Maw into line on their own. Nor could they lead the all-consuming war they desired without Mawite help.

If all went well, they would remain what they'd always been - influential, but definitively secondary.

As much as that rankled Kralmus's pride, he supposed he saw the long-term wisdom in it... and it wasn't his choice to make anyway. He obeyed the commands of Mand'alor the Unchained, the best chance their people had of returning to their true heritage as merciless conquerors and pillagers, because he was no leader himself. One man does not make an army and thus cannot wage a war, and Kralmus had neither the ability nor the desire to marshal forces he would personally command. The joy of battle to him was in the individual contest of strength and skill, the feeling of power that came with each kill. Let Kryze deal with the logistics of getting him there.

For now, he waited... but if this ceremony became a brawl, he would come to Mand'alor's aid.

Oh, he really hoped it was going to become a brawl, consequences be damned.
 
The Manifold The Manifold surged past Runt like a blur, and immediately after he heard the hideous sound of metal -lots of metal- rupturing flesh. Needles was dead.

In the back of his mind, Runt wondered why he did no seem to care that his fellow aspirants were dying. They were ravenous, selfish, and brutal, yes, but they generally looked out for each other.

The thought was pushed away by Baldy getting a firm grip on Runt's blade, then using deft footwork to grab onto Runt's legs and force him to go down instead, the older man now rolling over to mount the prostrate Runt.

"I don't know why you're playing the treacher, rotgut, but you'll pay for it with your blood," Baldy snarled. Runt spit, hitting one of Baldy's eyes. He relented for a moment, enough for Runt to draw his legs in and kick out at an angle at Baldy's groin. The warrior roared in pain and rolled over, allowing Runt to get on his feet, pulling his blade from Baldy's grasp.

The thought returned again.

I don't have to kill him
Are you mad?? He'll sound the alarm!
We'll be clear and into the wild by then.
There's no wilderness here that doesn't heed the call of the witchmen.
He's still a...

In the split second of indecision, Baldy reared up and drew his knife, tossing it at Runt. Runt's Force senses flinched and he reacted, deflecting the knife with the blade in his hand. By some unholy miracle, the knife was sent in an almost reverse trajectory, impaling itself in Baldy's other eye. The warrior made a choking sound and fell over.

Runt stepped over to the dead warrior. He did not know why, but he removed the knife and covered Baldy's face with his cloak. Almost instinctually, he made the sign of the Howler, the mythical tech-hound the Scar Hounds believed guided the dead to a new reboot.

Runt took the few possessions of value from the corpses (which predictably took a scant few seconds) and rejoined the Manifold. He looked back at the guards and for the first time in his life, he saw them for what they were.

...fellow slaves.
 
Ziare Dyarron | Keilara Kala'myr | Mercy | Freedom | Anonymous
Mongrel's Shadow and his widow; Matriarch of the Scar Hounds Tribe; Guardian of Mongrel's armour and sword
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Objective: To attend the funeral
Location: Exegol
Equipment: Current outfit | 2x Riftblades | Promise of Freedom || OPBC-01m
Tags: The Manifold The Manifold (as Kallan) | Open to interactions
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[ Come back… ]
"Galactic Basic" | ~ Telepathic communication ~ | << comm. channel >>
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Better future; for me, only a better and better future would exist, where he is alive. Where we live together and can raise our twins. But even without children, if he were alive. At the moment, I was unable to see any positives in the future. In addition, I am leaving this life behind and letting Keilara and Kallan live and raise the children. Then they don't need to adopt either. Biologically, the twins are theirs too. Only we knew which personality they belonged to, but nonetheless, Kallan was their father as much as Asher, and Keilara was their mother as Mercy. In a biological sense.

~ And if I think or see that there is no better future? ~ I asked him.

I mean, I was able to imagine a better and more nice future for them. But not for myself. To change the past? One thing I would do is reach into Asher and Barran’s mind to dance back from the duel and not want to fight. For Barran to see that Asher has changed. And then we would have let The Mongrel really die there, and the whole galaxy would have thought he and I were dead there too. And we would have gone to live together. I would not have changed anything else, any pain. Because everything led to him. And he was worth it, every pain, every suffering. I would suffer again and again to be with him again.

~ I wanted to reach into his mind to unnoticed change his thoughts, his and Barran’s, that they didn’t want that duel. I didn’t do it because I love and respect him so much. I couldn't have offended him with that. And because I didn’t want him to hate me for the rest of his life because of this. I wish I would have done it. ~ I sobbed again.

I looked at Kallan as I "wrapped" in the feelings he offered me. I knew he thought that, he apologised for not listening, that he did not care what I thought. He said he wished he had trusted me on this matter and wished he had listened to me too. I also wished it had been so, it would still be alive.

~ I know he had time to apologise and say that… I wasn’t angry at him. ~ I was still sobbing. ~ Keilara mostly wants to be with you, just like before Tython, because you belonged together. Just like me and Asher. But I can't stand this pain. I can shut it off from you and Keilara, but it will devour me. ~

In my next words, despite the consolation, I began to sob even louder. I smiled and cried at the same time. I don’t think anyone has said such a nice compliment about how well we match with Asher. I didn’t care at the moment that this was a completely negative comment from Kallan and not a positive one. It was sweet to me.

~ Thank you! I know you don't think it's a compliment but a scolding. But I think that’s why we were such a good couple, duo. Because from the first moment we thought the same way and complemented each other. Maybe that’s why we started to attract to each other subconsciously and that’s why we fell in love with each other. This similarity is not only true for us. You and Keilara are very similar and fit together perfectly. ~ I smiled at him despite crying.

As a matter of fact, I felt like I was neglecting him and just crying after Asher. I will do my best to survive. I doubt it. Then I would have killed Tu'teggacha and not just started a Secret War with him. Not the best way to survive, but I couldn’t avoid meeting him.

~ Yes, Ziare was also a very bad agent, quite skillful to be an insurgent and a saboteur, but not to an agent. I don't even understand how she stayed inside COMPNOR. Keilara isn’t specifically a warrior either, though we all have all the memories. It’s hard to explain, not even I really understand. ~ I told him.

Survival; would that be life? Fight for survival? I mean, Asher has been there in recent years, I struggled and fought to be with her again. That was enough. But now? I do not know anymore.

~ In that life… he was able to let go of the past. I did not. Even in those sixty years, I kept killing others who came after us, who realised and figured out who we were. I protected not only Asher and the twins, but you and Keilara as well. All of us. Just no pressure, eh?~

But there was something they would probably not be happy about…

~ But you too must learn to defend yourself. I know Keilara isn't happy about that and you probably won't. You will have to learn self-defence. Although at Serenno this may not be necessary. You would be the safest there. At home. ~ they… not us. Would I really have given up already?

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Lord Letifer | New Sith Order
Outside Sepulcher of the Sith’ari


His challenge was nonverbally accepted, and he acknowledged by the fellow Sith and would-be Dark Lord. The Kaggath was honored.

That was all he needed.

Even as Darth Mori addressed the other challengers in the wings, nonverbal taunts and acts of violence warned, Letifer let his emotions flair, his resentment build like a dam ready to fracture and break. The powerful Dark Side energies of their very surroundings enveloped him, strengthening his muscles and emboldening his connection to the empyrean. The Sith Lord breathed in and out, mechanical rasps from the vocabulator sounding off with each breathe he took as he exhaled deeply.

He pictured his past; he imagined Prakith and the cultists who raised him, his training in Alliance military, his Sith Master who brutally taught him to how to survive, and the place as a Lord long robbed of him once his master had challenged Darth Solipsis Darth Solipsis , eviscerated in a moment’s notice by bolts of crimson light.

He recalled the Sith Schism, the purge of the Eternal, the Battle of Thule, the following hunt across the galaxy for the weak remnants of the Old Order, and finally his ascension to Sith Lord. Flash forward to the Great Deception on Coruscant. His infiltration of the SIA exposed. Fighting on Jedha, the Push into the Core. Innumerable conflicts with the New Jedi Order and his rivals. It all led to this.

It had to.

Lunging forward the Sith made a dash to strike down his opponent before she could make an opening move. His speed and strength were well renowned throughout the NSO and the Brotherhood proper, there were few among those in the crowd that could match his well earned prowess. While his opponent was imposing and powerful, if he could strike first, he’d make sure it’d be the only blow thrown.

Fate had other plans.

Emerging from his blurred burst of speed, the Sith Master fell to his knees as strands of shimmering light snaked around him and pierced his being. His body seemingly vibrating, rippling with after-echoes forming where his life force began to leave him, sucked out akin to being plagued by a parasite. The white shimmers slowly expanded into phantom white streams, the evident hunger drawing more and more from him. His saber’s energy followed with his very life force, the kyber inside his weapon slowly dying as the blade extinguished.

Letifer roared out in anguish, unable to avoid or repel the vacuum that sought to devour him. Seconds later and the Sith Lord would collapse onto the floor of the raised platform from which they stood.



Darth Mori

 
In Umbris Potestas Est
Onrai continued to watch as the sparring of words between Lord Letifer Lord Letifer and Darth Mori soon spiraled into more interlopers such as Zachariel Steelblood Zachariel Steelblood and Kyrel Ren Kyrel Ren who suggested they were not going to be following with whatever the former Vesta sought to do with the Maw's future.

Then Letifer was foolish enough to make his move and had his existence sucked out from under him to further fuel Mori’s ever-devouring life force. Onrai looked at the husk, looked back at Mori, and sighed. “Now that that’s over, shall we proceed, or will anyone else attempt to fill his shoes?” She looked over the others, waiting to see if anyone else would make the same mistake.

Perhaps it would.

@anyone else
 



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Objective: Darth Solipsis’ Funeral Procession
Location: Outside the Sith’ari Sepulcher
Tags: Darth Mori | Lord Letifer Lord Letifer | Onrai Onrai | Zachariel Steelblood Zachariel Steelblood | Kyrel Ren Kyrel Ren Open

The events of Tython had rung loudly across the Galaxy - in large part due to the carnage wrought upon it by the denizens of the Maw. The more well known warbands of the Maw had received the lion’s share of the credit during the battle, but much had rested upon the shoulders of one in particular.

As the battle raged in orbit, the forces Kragamond had charged forth like a serrated lance into the heart of the Allied fleet. Despite the forces of Bogan being forced to retreat, Kragamond was among those who had nearly turned the tide into the Maw’s favor. Dozens of fragmented husks belonging to allied warships filled the engagement zone under the hammer-stroke of the Tribe, with Akuz’ personal ship plunging its phrik-encased prow deep into the forces of Light.

Yet, his hunger did not get sated, for nearly as soon as he had punched into the Allied lines - the order to retreat had been given. It had taken the combined efforts of six of his brood to hold him back in his frenzy. He was cheated of his victory feast due to the weakness of his ‘brothers’. But that wasn’t the worst part of it.

The Dark Voice had fallen. Just as the Maw stood at the precipice of ultimate victory; to reforge the galaxy in its own malign image - the chosen of Bogan had fallen. Akuz was a creature not known for his sentiment, yet he had always viewed the Dark Voice with a reverence a step below fanaticism. As the procession proceeded onward, he followed amongst the gathered marauder tribes with his own retinue. All of them bore the claw mark of Kragamond painted on them, largely on their armor. Akuz stood out among them, for he not only stood heads and shoulders above those around himt; but he was entirely encased in snow-white ash, from his head to his baroque armor. A blood-red claw mark was painted on his face and on the sternum of his breastplate, rendering him quite the sight amongst those in the procession.

As they all came to a stop and Darth Mori began her speech, Akuz observed in complete silence. He did not know this woman before him, but then again; he was primarily focused on the structure of his own tribe rather than those who stood at the side of his former god. Yet, to say that such a practice would change would be an understatement. The power this Mori exuded as she spoke, and the manner in which she carried herself had touched something within him. A touch of anger mixed with intrigue welled up in his breast.

Challengers presented themselves, and nearly as soon as they did so, one of them was brought low through a display of sheer will. Despite the occasion, and the lingering shame and hatred Akuz felt over the death of his former master, the demonstration of power made before them all had stirred within the barbarian a renewed vigor. He responded to strength, and Mori’s strength was undeniable. The support she wielded from the prophet of Bogan reinforced her claim in his eyes, to the point where he stepped forward - shoving past those in his way until he presented himself before Mori and those gathered near her.

Akuz pulled one of his artificer axes from its sheath, and held it forth.
<”Kruso ri Jin' Zuchjura!”>*

In unison, his retinue - who had worked their way up to his side, stamped their feet and large weapons onto the earth, and chanted in a loud voice: <”Kruso ri Jin' Zuchjura!”>

Slowly, Akuz craned his head and made direct lens-to-eye contact with Zachariel. His massive hulk turned to square up to the warlord as his free hand grasped the second of his axes. <”Nu waria kûtsizi j'us diu j'us kioska ir ri wadinti iw ri Jin' Zuchjura, diâ kirai tu'iyia kata dias zo aukotis.”>**

Akuz’ gaze remained unflinching as he regarded the warlord - much like how a predator sizes up its prey.




  • Hail the Dark Voice!
  • I will slay you where you stand in the name of the Dark Voice, and eat your heart as a sacrifice.

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As what was left of Needles slid from The Manifold's blood-slick talons, slumping to the rough stone floor, the other two organics scrabbled in the dirt. They rolled over and over, growling and spitting and kicking, trying to maneuver their knives into position for a killing blow. Animals. The Manifold was so far above such pathetic organic struggles... or so the drone believed. They saw themself as a harbinger of pure mechanical perfection, the removal of primitive organic instincts in favor of cold, detached logic. Their master Omni had sought to bring such order to the galaxy, removing the chaos that brought such suffering into mortal lives... but the mortals had fought against the Droid God, fighting for free will rather than the peace that came from obedience.

This was what they did with their vaunted "free will". They rolled around on the ground with knives.

But then, a flash of something greater. The Manifold could not help but notice as a glimmer of the Living Force flared within The Runt, granting him reflexes far beyond what his species was ordinarily capable of. That thrown knife ought to have killed him. Instead, he not only blocked it, but redirected it so perfectly that it killed its thrower instead. The power of Netherworld energy, which flowed through all life, to alter the very rules of reality was both awe-inspiring and frustrating. It allowed mortals to believe they were little gods, reveling in their petty spells... or causing havoc for the stability of spacetime, as Solipsis's ritual had. The Force needed a strong guiding hand, one that would prevent such abuses, instead wielding such power to bring about perfection.

That had been Omni's role in the universe... until the Great Architect had vanished from heaven.

"Your Abilities: Raw," The Manifold noted, with some disdain; The Runt wielded the force instinctively, without any kind of technique or any amount of finesse. "COUNTERPOINT. Your Connection: Clear," the drone was still forced to note. They could not deny that there was an inner strength to the scrawny warrior, a hidden talent that had no doubt helped to keep him alive during the Maw's brutal initiation rites. "Concealing Your Gift: Wise Decision," The Manifold continued. No doubt The Runt would have been whisked off to some unsavory fate, a way the Brotherhood thought they could better use his latent gifts, if he had revealed what he was capable of. Assuming that even he understood the Force blessing that he had received...

"Exit: Nearby?" The drone asked. They had to be close, based on The Runt's earlier directions.

They could leave the barracks... but what then?

For either of them?

------------------------------
~ And if I think or see that there is no better future? ~

Kallan shook his head, his ghostly mental form offering her a sad smile. ~ You already know, right now and forever, that nothing can ever get better? And here I thought that the Dark Voice was the prophet. ~ Though he had no physical presence, he could still affect the woman whose mind and body he shared a little, and he enveloped her in the warmth and gentle pressure of an invisible hug. ~ We've been through a lot, you and I. Things will never be the way they were, but that doesn't mean they can't be better than they are right now. There is a better future, and Asher would want you to have it. It would make him terribly sad to see you spend the rest of your life on vengeance and misery. He wanted you to be happy, more than anything. ~

He looked at her, and his eyes were kind. ~ So let's try. Let's not rule out better days for us. ~

Kallan listened as she spoke, weaving her tale of regrets, all the things she wished she'd done differently. She remained stuck in the past, a past that even Asher had managed to let go by the end, over the course of those sixty years she had gifted him in their joined minds. She couldn't see any way out of her pain, and that feeling of being trapped drove her to take her vengeance and then end her suffering. Kallan did not love Mercy - he loved a part of her, loved Keilara, but his feelings for Mercy herself were different - but he did not want to see her hurting. To watch her do exactly what The Mongrel had done, rush to a bad end while the people who cared about her begged her not to go through with it, would be more than he could bear. He had to help her.

He had to show her a way out of her maze of grief that did not involve her death.

~ Well, ~ Kallan finally said, ~ he was older than you. He had more time to learn acceptance, to finally let go. You've still got time to work on it, if you're willing to try. He would want you to find that same peace that he found at the end. ~ He smiled again, a more open smile, without the sadness. ~ So I'll make you a deal, Mercy. We're both going to learn to change. I'll learn to fight, to help protect us, in exchange for one simple thing from you. ~ He looked right at her, meeting her gaze. His eyes were still mismatched, for her still could not remember what color they had originally been, but his gaze was warm... and even held a little humor. ~ Every day, no matter what we have to go through, I want you to tell me two good things that happened. ~

~ I'll practice fighting if you'll practice seeing that there are things worth living for. ~

 


Location: Solipsis Tomb
Nearby: Darth Daiara Darth Daiara Darth Carnifex Darth Carnifex Tu'teggacha Tu'teggacha Tegan Starfall Tegan Starfall Spindle Spindle Keilara Kala'myr Keilara Kala'myr Lord Letifer Lord Letifer Zachariel Steelblood Zachariel Steelblood Onrai Onrai


The tension was so unbearably thick one could cut through it with a lightsaber. Driven by pure rage, a hunger more powerful than before. He could only stare Mori down, as scenarios started to run in place inside his head. It was not about if he could, but instead the main thought was if he should do it? He was unwillling to accept someone he fought as ruler of them all. Solipsis’s will be damned, he rather charge up the stage and do his best to take her out. There was only one problem with that, he either had to be stupid, or blinded by his hatred of the Sith to even try.

Yes, he made his disdain quite clear, so much so that the one called Marlon Sularen Marlon Sularen spoke for once. He never knew him to say much of anything, and yet responded in the cold cynical way all Imperials were accustomed to. He only glanced at the man, making a note that if the time comes he would have his head on a plate for dinner. The next man to voice against Kyrel’s own hate filled reasoning was none other than Khamul Kryze Khamul Kryze , coming out of the gate with the painful reminder of Kyrel’s first attempt to take the throne.

His anger was directed towards the Mandalorian for a moment, but Khamul largely focused on Darth Ptolemis Darth Ptolemis . His intent was to challenge the Sith for control of being Mori’s hand. It was a surprise and a shock to Kyrel all the same, but the man showed his seriousness with the brandishing of his own lightsaber no less. With all the blades being ignited, Kyrel moved his itchy saber fingers away from his hilt. The challenges themselves it seems were only piling up at the amount of grievances being put forth.

His angry gaze still fixated on Mori, Kyrel found himself slowly resuming his place back in line. Khamul raised a valid point, Kyrel could try again but wondered what worse could happen to him. Would she strip him of his will, deprive him of his ambition, reduced to nothing more than a monster under her leash. That thought terrified him, as much as it disgusted him entirely. Darth Mori would find the irony hilarious, a Wound growing in strength to match hers under her beck and call without any choice. No, Kyrel didn’t want that, he was already a design of Sith experimentation, the last thing he needed or wanted was her voice inside his head constantly.

Could he beat her was another matter. No doubt the two could reach a stalemate, but Kyrel felt as if she could beat him, and feared worse things could happen to him. The lapdog, the Wrath of the Maw did what he did best, taking his lashing and remained in line for a moment. Listening to her words in discovering that she was a Devourer like him. For now he remained silent, knowing this was not the moment for a confrontation. Resigning himself to begrudgingly watch as more challenges kept coming.

When did you become so docile, Lord Kyrel?

The words entered, unbidden, into the Master of Ren's thoughts. The rest of the goings-on of the Maw tribesmen and the Sith didn't bother the shadow that hung so near the stitched monstrosity that Kyrel Ren had become; the fighting on Tython was finished, now it was content to let them lick their wounds and prepare for their next attack on the galaxy. All except for Kyrel himself, the Wrath of the Maw, already settling back into place.

Subservient. Cowed. Afraid.

His musings would be cut short within his own mind as a familiar sensation started to overtake him. Flaring pain, burning into his body and mind beyond any level of mere physical sensation. The remembrance of the hell he'd been drawn from, the torturous existence he'd known beyond the veil, and the terror of being thrown back to it, the ever-present possibility that he might lose this second chance at life. The blackened syrup that flowed through his veins began to seethe within, the veil of pain and rage starting to settle over his eyes.

I did not make you to pick and choose your masters, Lord of Ren.

Beyond the rage, though, his evolution had given something more for his shadow to latch onto. The hunger. One without control or focus, just gnawing a pit in his spirit, but not impossible to direct. To intensify. Kyrel had chosen long ago that he was willing to feed on those around him, physically and spiritually, and the pain and hatred that so suffused his thoughts when faced with any Sith were enough to start guiding that hunger to its targets.

I made you to destroy, Kyrel.

He'd been brave enough to try and consume the one who'd given him new life mere minutes after his reawakening. He'd set his sight and hunger on powerful masters of the Jedi before. What difference, then, would it make if they were his fellows in the Maw? They were his enemies as much as any Jedi, nothing more than allies of convenience. A route to power.

Power that can be yours, Lord Kyrel, if you only seize it for yourself. Take them. Feast upon them. Your hunger, and power, will grow for each of them you can claim. They are distracted by failure, by their plans for the future, by their own egos driving them to wage war upon one another.

The focus of the hunger shifted from all those around. First to Lord Letifer, and then following the trail back from him to Darth Mori herself. The man's fingers would start to twitch, itching after his saber once again, unbidden, as the agony and the emptiness would sharpen to a single point of attention.

Consume her, Lord of Ren, and none of them can stand before you. The power you seek can finally be yours.
 
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