Junction The Divide | TSC & TSO & ME Junction of Carratos, Ank Kit'aar, Sarka | IC

[Darth Prazutis]

The God of the Graves didn't arrive so much as appear.

A colossus cut from the deepest nightmares, a legendary figure wrought in the blackest pages of history formed amidst the darkness, and allowed His suffocating shadow to pass over the assembled individuals like a Grave Sovereign presiding over the death knell of a broken world. The scent of blood, ash, fire, and the dissonant, agonized whimpers and agonized screaming of those choked beneath His dominion snaked through the room, caressing its walls and bouncing like a distant echo chamber of warning. The giant wore no vestments fit for war, carried no weapons and yet that made it worse, it forced those in the room to witness the totality of His horror, His hair cut short and facial hair carefully curated framing the visage of a conqueror of stars, a face whose microexpressions were so buried it'd drive a lorrdian insane, trying to decipher intention and predict what flowed.​

​

He wore layered robes of black death-weave and richly patterned brocade, their severe tailoring accentuating the breadth of His shoulders. A high, flared collar framed His jaw, its crimson edging continuing down the front of the outer robe. Intricate embroidery wound along His sleeves and cuffs, while subtler patterns lay almost concealed within the black fabric, emerging wherever the light caught the weave. An ash-white runed stole rested across His shoulders, its twin lengths falling down His chest beneath columns of angular Sith glyphs embroidered in black and blood-red thread. Fine blood-aurodium chains swept between three crimson gemstone settings across His breast, with a slender, pointed pendant suspended beneath them. At His waist, a broad sash of gathered black silk was secured by a circular clasp bearing a scarlet emblem. Heavy rings adorned His bare fingers, their dark stones and rune carved settings completing the austere splendor of His regalia.​

​

The Arch-Butcher was here.​

​

Beside Him stood a horror drawn from the blackest pits that could only be described as destruction given form. A mountainous Graug of such size, his immensity eclipsed everything in the assembled room, a figure more fit for a battlefield than a council with his arm an immense cannon, and his left hand gripping a huge axe. High Warlord Malgrog the God-Splitter, the Cl'ogag-Hai of the Daeux Los'ar. The other side stood a figure smaller smaller in stature but casting an imposing presence of his own, the Bringer of War, the Warmaster of the Kainate. These two were living destroyers who coordinated among the greatest legions of the sith ever assembled, bringing brilliance and different perspectives to their undying master. Fresh off the devastating victories of the Sith at Abregado-rae and Thyferra, it showed the galaxy that the iron curtain of Sith dominion was closing once more.​

​

Next steps must be taken, to ensure it remains so.​

Srina Talon | Aether Verd | Mercy | Quinn Varanin
Arris Windrun | Lirka Ka | Mia Monroe | Lily Rhodes
Adelle Bastiel | Ivalyn Yvarro | Kurayami Bloodborn | Astra Sadow
Leontis Antalis | Zeptepi Zambrano | Gerwald Lechner | Nagual
Varin Mortifer | CT-312 | Darth Carnifex | Siv Kryze
Amelia von Sorenn | Darth Reign | Veyla Krinn | Dral-Kar'ta Saandyr | Adonis Angelis IV​

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Objective: 3
Tag: Tobias Dib

Seren had been content to remain several paces behind the others as they continued deeper into the tomb, allowing their conversation to fade gradually into the strange quiet surrounding them. The farther they traveled, the more difficult it became to reconcile what she saw with what she knew of the complex. There should have been dust beneath their feet, erosion along the stone, some evidence that thousands of years had passed since anyone had walked these corridors. Instead, the tomb seemed less abandoned than waiting, and that difference bothered her considerably more. She slowed whenever they passed another opening branching away from the main passage, amber eyes searching briefly into each before she continued.

Then someone spoke her name.

Seren stopped immediately. She knew the voice, though recognition brought with it an association considerably more complicated than it had been before Thyferra. Her attention shifted toward the adjoining corridor, and the enormous silhouette concealed within the darkness resolved into Tobias as he stepped into view. For a moment, another image occupied the same space in her memory. Blue light instead of crimson. A Jedi standing beside her in a refinery while the battlefield collapsed around them, accepting her surrender and placing himself between her and dangers she could no longer defend herself against. Troigs had kept his word. He had protected her all the way to the prisoner transport, and only afterward had Seren learned that the Jedi she had trusted with her life had been Tobias all along.

That revelation had become tangled with everything else she had carried away from Thyferra.

She had spent years of her life thinking of Jedi as allies almost without conscious consideration. Once, seeing a Jedi lightsaber on a battlefield would have told Seren where she belonged. Then she had stood opposite Aiden Porte with Voidstar burning crimson in her hands and answered his attacks with every intention of hurting him if that was what survival required. She had not regretted leaving the Jedi afterward, nor had she suddenly discovered some desire to return to what she had been. What troubled her was how easily the war had supplied the categories for them. Jedi on one side. Sith on the other. Enemy and ally decided before either person ever raised a weapon.

Tobias made those categories considerably less comfortable.

A faint smile touched Seren's lips as she regarded him. "Tobias."

She glanced toward the others continuing along the main corridor, their voices already beginning to recede, before stepping toward the passage where he waited. They had their own exploration underway and hardly needed her to continue. Tobias's invitation interested her considerably more, particularly when one of his soldiers returned with news that the sarcophagus concealed stairs leading downward into a portal. Seren's amber gaze shifted immediately toward the chamber beyond him.

A portal into the Netherworld hidden beneath an obsidian sarcophagus was considerably more compelling than another corridor.

Seren stepped into the side passage beside Tobias and allowed the others to continue into the distance. There was no dread attached to the decision. Malachor had been her home long enough that darkness, tombs, and the lingering presence of the dead had ceased to possess much novelty by themselves. The Netherworld was something different, certainly, but difference was precisely what had brought her to Abregado-rae in the first place. A tomb that should not exist had emerged on a world where the barrier between realms had been damaged, and now someone had discovered a direct passage into the very place bleeding through that wound. Walking away from it would have required considerably more restraint than Seren possessed.

"Yes." Her answer came easily as she looked from Tobias toward the uncovered descent. "I think I'd rather see where that leads."

She moved farther into the chamber, studying the pristine stone and the obsidian sarcophagus while keeping her awareness open to the currents moving through the Force. The strange pressure she had felt throughout the tomb seemed worth examining before they crossed whatever threshold waited below, though Seren resisted trying to force meaning from it. Her thoughts returned briefly to Thyferra instead, and to the man standing beside her now. She suspected she would consider the irony for some time. She had fought a Jedi because he had been her enemy, surrendered to another because she refused to continue killing merely for the sake of sides, and then discovered the Jedi who had protected her had never been a Jedi at all.

Perhaps the labels had mattered less than the choices each of them made while wearing them.

Seren rested her hand loosely near Voidstar as she approached the opening beneath the sarcophagus, then looked toward Tobias. "I've been thinking about Thyferra more than I'd like." Her expression grew thoughtful rather than troubled. "I spent part of it fighting someone I would once have considered an ally simply because he was Jedi and I was standing with the Sith. Then I surrendered to a Jedi because continuing that fight felt wrong." A trace of dry amusement returned as her gaze settled on him. "Except, apparently, he wasn't a Jedi either."

She let that sit between them without trying to force an answer from him. Seren was not even certain there was one. The distinction between Jedi and Sith had once seemed fundamental to her understanding of herself, and somewhere along the way it had become considerably less useful than judging what someone actually chose to do. Perhaps that was why discovering Tobias beneath Troigs's identity had bothered her less than it logically should have.

Her attention returned to the stairs descending toward the portal, curiosity steadily winning over introspection. Whatever answers waited beneath Abregado-rae were unlikely to resolve anything she had brought with her from Thyferra, but Seren had never required an ancient mystery to solve only one problem at a time.

"Come on." A small smile returned as she looked down into the descent. "Let's go see what the dead have been hiding."

 

[Ives]

It was dark and damp in the back-alley behind one of the dozens of corporate data-hives where Ives was unloading a truck full of servers. When he'd arrived, it had been raining in droves, and the rainwater was rushing beneath the exposed sewer grates.

He scratched at the patchwork stubble on his chin, flicking away a damp strand of hair that had gotten stuck on his face. This was the third double shift in a row he'd pulled for mouthing off too much to his foreman. Though the foreman's definition of 'mouthing off' was being stretched enough to cover the distance from Abregado-Rae to its star, probably twice over.

The knowledge that his shift would be over in two more hours was just about the only thing still keeping him on his feet at this point, though barely. It was physical labour--a monotony of carrying delicate tech up several flights of stairs. It would typically be menial droid work, but whoever owner this place apparently had a bad streak of paranoia against metal servants. Kept Ives on the payroll though, so he didn't mind.

"You look like a Hutt shat you out," one of the security personnel remarked as Ives unloaded the sixteenth...twentieth server rack?

Ives laughed half-heartedly. He'd caught a glimpse of the gaunt, disheveled figure he'd turned into within the reflections of the data-hive's polished windows. The description was pretty much spot-on.

"Been through worse," Ives grumbled in response, straining to hold up the box of tech in his hands.

"I bet. How much longer you think you'll be unloading these? I'm gettin' tired standing around out here all night," the security officer said.

"Got three more in the back, shouldn't be too long. You wanna help out?" Ives said.

Security gave a grimace, and grumbled.

"Yeah right, you think I'm--" but a blaster bolt to the face interrupted his response.

The lights in the man's eyes flicked out like a candle flame before he unceremoniously collapsed. The alley lit up with another red flash. Ives dropped the server package, and jumped forward on instinct. The blaster bolt nailed his hat, but nothing else. He rolled and desperately scrambled inside the building in a half-crawl, half-sprint. He managed to hit the door-switch locking the entrance just as a few more bolts narrowly missed him.

The doors closed with a hiss, the transparent material accumulating several blast marks that had been meant for Ives. The server rack he'd been carrying laid broken into a dozen pieces on the floor. A tall Rodian stepped over the now-trash, locking eyes with Ives, clearly displeased about this turn of events.

 

[Vestra Tane]

Nilira felt something...familiar in the air for a moment.

Static in the air. Tension about to break. Blood between your teeth, and a smile on your face. She was here, all right. Nilira’s could-have-been teacher had a distinct (and, perhaps, obnoxious) energy to her, and it was unmistakable.

Nilira was right.

She was dead.

But Sith didn’t always stay on the other side, and the dead Triumvir had always been good at getting into places she wasn’t welcome.

The sensation would lead the young sorceress down an alley, pocked with blaster-marks and the telltale signs of intense heat. At its end was a corpse, half-melted face peaking out of a fractured beskar’gam helmet. The Covenant’s cleaners had steered clear of this little corner of the city, it seemed.

“Hey, Vornix.”

Same voice. Same confidence, that felt just a bit too easy to be genuine.

The specter of Vestra Tane congealed in front of Nilira, formed out of ambient, transparent nether-stuff wicked like moisture out of the air. She wore the same ragged coat she always did, and propped one leg up on the head of the by-now decaying Mandalorian. Smoke trailed, eternally, from the yawning wound in her skull where pink-red flesh pulled away from blackened bone, and where an eye socket used to be.

She had the biggest, chit-eating-est grin on her face.

“When’d you start smoking?”

Tag: Nilira Vornix​

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

​

Tag: Anet Raine

Distracted and more than a little preoccupied with matters of higher magnitude, both regarding power and personal affairs alike, A'Mia still carved out the time to attend to the next generation of Sith. Her personal project in Anet was crucial to attend to here and now given just how much she'd grown of late.

A good gardener knows when to leave well enough alone, or when to dig in with firm hands.

Anet clearly took naturally to the proverbial sun and soil provided within the framework of the Sith Covenant. Her ambition and social aptitude served her well. Now though? The girl was reaching for power above and beyond, with an appetite that was sure to inspire bite-back if she wasn't cautious.

The neti stood above her apprentice on what remained of crumbled stairs, her many-limbed form able to effortlessly perch upon rough terrain as if she floated there and the uncanniness of it all was somewhat disguised by her robes.

"I'll grant that your pride in work well done is deserved," A'Mia offered in soft, thoughtful tone.

Anet's enjoyment in gloating would have ordinarily earned reproach, but today it merely diminished A'Mia's initial praise.

"Before you claim more, I wonder girl if you can admit that which you are not. Do you know your own weaknesses? Where perhaps you are primed for a fire just waiting for someone to strike the match?" She snapped her long fingers to emphasize the speed at which disaster could strike

A'Mia made a half turn to more properly regard the girl but did not yet give her leave to stand. Let her think on the answer to that question on bended knee.

 

[Anet Raine]

Robes | Mask | Lightsaber
Madrona A’Mia
​

Oh. The Master's response earned a vile retort; how Anet fumed in the Force, emanating all her pent up fury. She was an arrogant woman, who believed her philosophy and understanding of the Dark Side's nature to be superior to all. Even her Master.

She relented to rise from her knees, and instead bunched the cloth of her leg up into her fist, grinding the dark fabric between her hand.

Weakness?!

Anet didn't believe herself absent of weakness. All creatures were fallible. But she could not imagine anything except being diminished by the question. It was irrelevant to her - either she would succeed or she would not. Either she would survive and learn, or she would die ignorant. It was really that simple to her, and so anything else... Even questions such as this... Were pointless to her mind. It hadn't escaped her either that her Master neglected to make a point of the question. It was obvious to her then that the point would be made when answered, or was meant to leave Anet wondering with no proof but speculation as to the Neti's intentions.

Of course, her answer wasn't some quality or fear. No, it came in the form of a person, of her ambition. Kirie.

"I will strike my own match... Master."

She had said it quietly.

"My weaknesses will not be realized... You won't know them... I won't know them... Until the moment they are exploited."

 

[Lily Rhodes]

Mercy Srina Talon Quinn Varanin Aether Verd Ivalyn Yvarro Nagual Aria Talorien Lysander von Ascania Cassilde Vortayn Varin Mortifer Helix Adonis Angelis IV Taeli Raaf Gerwald Lechner Amelia von Sorenn Astra Sadow Leontis Antalis Zeptepi Zambrano CT-312 Darth Carnifex Darth Prazutis Siv Kryze Darth Reign Veyla Krinn Dral-Kar'ta Saandyr Lirka Ka Adelle Bastiel Mia Monroe Lily Rhodes Nephthys Nardithi-Verd

Direct Tags: Arris Windrun Quinn Varanin​

"Arris!"

Lily turned before Arris did, pale brown eyes settling upon the echani whose smile faltered and faded as their eyes met. For a beat, Lily didn’t move, registering all of it, the flicker of embarrassment, the dusting of pink in her cheeks, the calming breath…

Hatred erupted from her. How dare she look so damn pathetic, so fucking innocent. The room around them faded, slipping into memories, ash falling from a sundered sky, the building around her collapsed, the children she couldn’t save buried beneath it.

If Lily took a second to really look at it, to take a step back from the rage, from the hatred and despair that exploded within her every time she looked at Quinn, she might be able to see the truth of it. That Quinn was just the face she chose to attach to the despair, the first one she could connect with her own absolute failure.

She had gone to Coruscant to save people, and the truth of it all was that she failed, not because of Quinn, but because that was the way of war.

All of it passed in the space of a heartbeat as Lily’s hand snapped towards Arris’s gun.

 

[Nysa Veilwalker]

Objective 3
Brool Koon Sylor
Cc: Seren Gwyn Tobias Dib

Baylor’s ear twitched at the heavy footfalls of the new comer. No growl came from the nether hound’s throat. Moonlit orbs tracked the stranger’s approach.

"What have you found so far?"

“Sometimes I find it more interesting what one is searching for over what is found.” Dark mossy-eyes settled on him. Her look pointed like the tip of a dagger that could pierce down beyond the layers of weapons and clothing he wore and into his soul. Brow furrowed as if she was trying to get a read on something.

Then Baylor growled. The young witch shifted her attention to the mandalore. The beskar did not hide his soul, either. A quiet tut as she smoothed Baylor’s ear. While most would be uncomfortable in a place like this, Nysa felt more at home. Even though the voices were louder than ususual. More insistent.

She stepped toward the pair, pulling out three green-tinted crystals. Small. Pale palm opened as she offered two to them. Another look as if she listened to something else before her lips parted. “We will need something to connect us as we move forward. There will be visions. Illusions. Of the past. Future. These should help us from wandering too far. From being lost. It should tether us so we don’t lose track of each other.”

 

[Arris Windrun]

Mercy Srina Talon Quinn Varanin Aether Verd Ivalyn Yvarro Nagual Aria Talorien Lysander von Ascania Cassilde Vortayn Varin Mortifer Helix Adonis Angelis IV Taeli Raaf Gerwald Lechner Amelia von Sorenn Astra Sadow Leontis Antalis Zeptepi Zambrano CT-312 Darth Carnifex Darth Prazutis Siv Kryze Darth Reign Veyla Krinn Dral-Kar'ta Saandyr Lirka Ka Adelle Bastiel Mia Monroe Lily Rhodes Nephthys Nardithi-Verd

Direct: Lily Rhodes Quinn Varanin​

Arris turned at the mention of her name, but she recognized the voice straight away.

'Quinn.'

The Echani's bashfulness was apparent, and she recognized something when the Queen's attention turned to Lily at her side. Arris was no fool.

Maybe Arris would recognise the hate.

“I don't need stims to be angry enough to kill her.”

She was acutely aware of what Lily said to her, and heightened in turn.

"Quinn," Arris offered a brief, lazy wave. "I'm not surprised to see you here."

The cyborg's weapons were tied to her in the Force - so Arris noticed as soon as Lily reached for one. Her arm wouldn't move more than a twitch before Lily felt the Force bear down on her, an all-compressing weight of Windrun's attention; a change in gravity that only she felt. A warning.

Arris gestured at Lily with her thumb. "This is Lily Rhodes... my apprentice. You briefly met down there, but we had other places to be." There should've been a lightness to her tone, but there wasn't.

Her eyes hadn't left Quinn's.

"Lily, this is Quinn Varanin, the Sith Princess and Queen of Eshan." She finally looked over her shoulder, and the pressure would lift. "A very important friend of mine."

She looked back at Quinn.

"Congratulations on your victory against the Republic," she said, then leaned in a little, voice a touch lower. "I'm jealous."

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

​

Tag: Anet Raine

Suddenly her tone grew disdainful and the woman turned fully to face her apprentice, gazing down hawkishly at her.

"Please Anet, you're too clever a girl to allow hubris to blind you. Surely."

It was strange how quickly venom could enter her voice, expression still mild and serene, only to fade again into philosophical musings. Still, the Force moved about A'Mia now in a way it hadn't just moments before.

Lovely, dark, and deep, her connection to this place went down, down 'neath rock, rubble, and soil. It climbed into the still bitter winds where the occasional flock of flesh reavers soared, looking for the best place to bed down and start their beautifully vicious lifecycle all over again.

As that power crept around her, filling her reserves as they did Anet through her mask, swaddling A'Mia as if in a blanket — the arboreal woman played her next card.

A soft red light began to emanate from the palm of the hand she rested on Anet's wound, growing bright enough to be visible through her closed eyes. Kirie's teeth hurt from clenching, and her muscles were spasmimg, but still she held her focus. She could feel the air around her growing very cold, and a sheen of frost forming on her skin and eyelashes. Anet, though, would feel her hand growing hot, unbearably, painfully hot, a spreading heat that got worse and worse until the pain was more severe than the original wound had ever been. Her blood would bubble and recoil, and then reverse its course, flowing back into the body. Her wound would pull itself agonizingly closed, until it resembled a stitched-together cut a few weeks healed. And inside, her vital organs would settle into their original arrangement, the gashes upon them closing and fading.

Those telltale signs of scarring and sorcerous healing had been evident to A'Mia via her sight for some time, but there had been no reason to allude to that knowledge until now. She reached out one spidery hand, energetically brushing against the working there at Anet's core, gently tugging just enough so the other could feel where her influence touched.

"I remember that girl…" She mused softly, voice almost singsong, "Your little pet, Kirie isn't it?"

"Potent workings for such a lamb," A'Mia tugged harder, finding a snag on the girl's liver and causing a thin bleeding rend to open deep inside.

The neti glided nearer and stooped over Anet, looking for all the world like a concerned nurse maid, clawed hand still moving with wicked coercive power.

"You see Anet, chinks in armor — damaged bark of a tree, whatever idiom you favor, these points of weakness make us easy to manipulate. If you're unwilling to so much as acknowledge yours, how will you guard against such intrusion? Grow past such limitations?"

 

[Anet Raine]

Robes | Mask | Lightsaber
Madrona A’Mia​

Anet felt the Force crawl across her skin, but she was ignorant of her Master's intentions... at first. After all, A'Mia struck a jealous chord that rang ugly.

Her reaction was plain - mask or no - at the mention of Kirie's name.

Lamb?

'If only you knew what slaughter awaited this galaxy.'

But then there was a dagger of pain in her gut. Anet lurched forward, yelping as one arm coiled defensively around her abdomen. She recognized what had happened immediately.

Oh, fucking irony.

She looked up as the Neti neared - eyes seared with rage. But all she could do was laugh, even as her stomach felt like it was filled with hot coals. Mind it wasn't an arrogant laugh. She was just insane. She was enjoying this.

The lightsaber at Anet's hip rattled, drawn to her vile pride as if screaming: Hurt her back.

Anet slowly began to rise.

"So I am made of meat, as you've utterly reminded me. I can split and bleed, and even with the Force, I am fragile enough to die a thousand and more ways. But that is not my weakness, Master. The only thing you've found is the way to my heart... or liver, in this case."

Her hand reached for the weapon at her side, but didn't unclasp it. "Would you like me to fight for my pride, My Lord? Or are you just interested in breaking me?"

 

[Nilira Vornix]

Tag: Vestra Tane
​

The Acolyte froze for a moment at the sight of the specter. Dozens of thoughts rushing through her mind in confusion. What was dead had to stay dead. It had to. Otherwise that meant Neriah could come back. Nilira couldn't let that happen. She couldn't let that weaker version of herself come back and ruin things. The version of her that felt.

Even with all of that being said however, the Acolyte couldn't hide the ghost of a smile flick onto her face for a moment. A small amount of joy sprouting up out of nowhere though she tried to bury that feeling far away. Shaking her head for a moment as she shoved a scowl onto her face, folding her arms along her front as she stared down the specter.

"I wanted to see what Windrun enjoyed in them. Like usual, it appears she has no taste."

Another reason why Nilira didn't want Neriah to come back. The pathetic excuse of a Padawan would have felt perhaps sorry for the Cyborg, or had some kind of misguided affection for the woman who was to blame for the situation she was in. Nilira was better. She didn't care whatsoever about Arris. At least, that was the justification she always gave herself.

 

[Helix]

Open
​

For his part, Helix returned Lirka Ka 's brief attention with a barely-perceptible inclination of the head. As ever, it was good to see familiar faces, or in Lirka's case, familiar helms. Lirka was someone he liked and understood, one of a bare handful who could make that claim.

Whatever rewards tonight might reap, there were risks also. He didn't entirely trust the Mandalorians, and from what he could glean, neither did the other members of the Sith states. There was a certain tension in the air, a tension he had long since learned to identify within seconds of entering a new place. If one was around it long enough, one could almost smell potential violence, or feel it in their gut.

For what it was worth, the feelings seemed to be heartily mutual. Helix wasn't up to date on whatever tedious differences of philosophy separated these armored savages from the other armored savages he'd just done battle with on Abregado. In truth, he cared even less. It was outside the sphere of things he considered his problem.

Still, it was curious that so proud a people had so eagerly bartered their souls away in this manner, hobnobbing with a regime who had visited so much horror and death upon them.

Still, they were not his chief concern, and whatever spell the Sith had over them seemed to be holding. Far more valuable was simply being seen to be present, looming over this gathering as though he belonged here.

As ever, Helix's greed and selfishness nearly generated their own gravitational field. He'd fallen into this orbit because Mercy had figured him out on day one, figured out what still seemed to elude many of Helix's own people.

He could not be intimidated or charmed. Only bought. If he wasn't bought, he'd exact his price in other ways, with tolls far steeper than mere money.

Both of them understood that self-interest ran the galaxy, was the cosmic grease that made everything function. Any pretense at anything else was smoke and mirrors.

So, he'd gone into a war he had no interest in, doing battle with an enemy that he had no gripe with personally. At the time, it had almost been nostalgic, a brief return to his long and inglorious mercenary career. Killing for no reason other than because it was fun, and because it paid. The halcyon days before he'd picked a side and dropped any pretense of neutrality. The days before he'd developed a few ambitions of his own.

For the price offered, he'd have done far worse, would've committed a thousand Abregado-Raes into the fires of the afterlife. It felt good to be fighting for himself for a change. Not for duty, nor for money, not because it was expected of him. Those had been all too common lately.

For himself. The only thing that really mattered in the cosmos.

 

[Ives]

Corpo Datahive, Corpo City, on Planet Corpo (Abregado Rae)

The Rodian gave the door another few blasts. When the transparisteel didn't yield, he moved to the door panel and unfurled some device from his trench-coat.

That was a cue for Ives to start running. He made it into the adjacent corridor right as the door behind him hissed open. Ives turned down the first corner he saw, in time to avoid another red bolt, and ran into a straight hallway ending in a single door. He rushed to it, and hammered the control panel. Behind him, footsteps echoed--the Rodian would be on him any second.

After too many heartbeats, the door finally swished open, and Ives stumbled inside, closing the door behind him. Cleaning supplies, a couple lockers, and some mops were all that greeted him. He'd stumbled into a supply closet of all places, while the bloodthirsty Rodian was still on his heels.

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

​

Tag: Anet Raine

It was good the girl was not so easily cowed, that test at least was past them. A'Mia's bright laughter rang out, lovely and true across the brutalized landscape, her clawed hand smoothed into a stroking touch across Anet's ribcage. That deep pain just as quickly dissipated, the Force moving with A'Mia's will as smoothly as an expert dance partner.

"Neither, dear girl — not unless you'd enjoy a losing battle."

She leaned, smiling down at her, well over a head taller and coiling with raw physical strength as she held Anet near for just a moment longer. The neti was entirely unperturbed by the weapon in her hand, but was ready nonetheless if her charge decided it best to lash out.

"No, Anet. I'm here to help you. I'd be remiss if I sent you out into the wide world, newly knighted, without some show of my favor."

Then she moved away, dreamily as a specter, climbing higher so she could look out at the world they'd destroyed together. A world to be remade in some awesome, dark visage.

"I'd understand of course, if you'd prefer to go without. But I'm willing to provide a boon, some portion of my power — or some working we together weave, to enhance either your mind or flesh."

She looked back, over her shoulder, strange eyes gleaming.

"I think you've earned it."

 

[Anet Raine]

Robes | Mask | Lightsaber
Madrona A’Mia
​

A'Mia's touch erased the pain in a near instant. Anet felt a flash of memory cross her mind when Nilira Vornix cauterized her wound.

Her hand shook; fingers wrapped tightly around the lightsaber.

Anet collapsed when A'Mia moved away, the lightsaber rolling from her hand onto the duracrete step. She seethed in a groaning sort of way. Slowly, she recollected her weapon and walked up the stairs to join her Master in the view.

A gift?

She didn't quite understand.

Together?

Some two-person ritual?

Admittedly, the scholarly Anet was very interested to hear more, but she was also wary because she didn't understand.

"Master..." Anet began to formulate a response. Then, the Neti looked back at her. "I..." She froze. Briefly. "I..."

She thought about it more. "Favor me with training. With challenge." She gestured to the horizon, then the rift beyond, which hovered like a wound against the sky. "That's why this all exists, Master. I. At least. At least that's what I believe."

Anet crossed in front of A'Mia, standing awfully close.

"I don't know how to accept things." She murmured.

 

[Ives]

Corpo Datahive, Corpo City, on Planet Corpo (Abregado Rae)

Ives grabbed ahold of the first thing within reach. He didn't have time to think. He balled a fist around something metal with a good weight, and braced himself on the wall next to the door. He readied himself, mentally going through the swing at the door that would save his life, or get him killed.

The door clicked open. Ives tensed, stepped out, and swung. He hit something. The wet scrunch told him it had been the Rodian. That he'd hit the gunman right in the face registered a moment later.

Ives swung into the Rodian again, and again. Each strike landed, some hitting the Rodian's armour, others his exposed limbs or face.

The Rodian tried to put up a fight, but after that first hit to the dome he'd become too dazed to line up a proper shot, and Ives took full advantage.

The fight quickly became a lesson in why you don't bring a blaster to a close-quarters wrench fight.

 

[Eleanor]

A BUTCHER'S PEACE

Tags: Revna Marr

“And what am I to do?”

“Go down to the streets, explore, see who you meet. And for fuck’s sake, try and have some fun.”​

The instructions given to her were simple, and very Mercy. Eleanor had hardly known the Sith Lord for that long, and yet she had already made a strong impression. While said Lord was to be up in the Tyranny with the other Sith ‘bigwigs’, Eleanor was to try and familiarise herself with individuals across not just the Covenant, but the Sith Order and Mandalorian Empire too. Those that had shed blood, sweat and tears across the battlefield that had once been Abregado-rae.

As she rode the shuttle down, Eleanor couldn’t help but take in the sheer magnitude of the destruction. They hadn’t been kidding when they said the only surviving bit of civilisation was being rebuilt around the spaceport. From above you could see the clear distinction where ram-shackled buildings crossed into pure destruction, as the people continued to gradually build further outwards.

Seeing it however, was nothing compared to feeling the destruction. It was far from Eleanor’s first rodeo experiencing such devastation. She had been a Sith Valkyrie during the latter years of the eleventh Sith Empire’s reign. Dedicated to sweeping across the aftermath of battles, scouring the land for Jedi and other Force users that could be captured and converted.

Beneath the din of conversation, music, and just general street chatter, Eleanor could feel it. Death. Like scars etched into the very ground she walked on. Stretching out to the greater expanse of Abregado, which was now nothing more than a mired bog. Echoes of death, fear and anger haunting across it.

Eleanor didn’t hesitate as she manoeuvred through the crowds. Dressed in non-distinct clothing, the hood of her jacket kept most of her face hidden. She had no desire to draw any attention if she could help it, especially given she suspected crime was rampant throughout the makeshift town. Eventually though, Eleanor found an establishment where its roof didn’t look as though it might collapse in on itself.

Before she could even set a full stride inside however, Eleanor saw someone approaching, sensed his intent to grab her. Within a flash, the young Sith reached into her jacket and unsheathed a dagger, not missing a beat as she pointed it down. Within that same moment, the establishment’s lighting gleaned against the weapon, illuminating the Vahla runes etched into the blade.

“Don’t even think about it.” She growled quietly, enough to deter the would-be grabber, who quickly scuttled off.

With a sigh, Eleanor sheathed the dagger, stepping further into the establishment in search for an available table.

 

[Srina Talon]

OBJECTIVE 1: THE WAR COUNCIL
IMMEDIATE TAG: Mercy - Lysander von Ascania - Cassilde Vortayn - Aria Talorien
LOCATION: The Tyranny

White was perhaps an inappropriate color for a gathering of conquerors and warriors that primarily spoke in shades of red. The Blackwall Empress wore it anyway with full awareness of the irony, a devil clad in pure ivory, with a nearly invisible bacta patch fixed against the side of her throat. Pale armorweave fabric, light as air, fell from slender shoulders with a sort of refined elegance that lacked the ostentation that often came from those in power.

It did not make her less, than.

There was a metallic pauldron on her left shoulder that led down to a scaled glove, but otherwise, she did not wear a full complement of gear. There was no visible weapon near the curve of her hip, only moon-pale skin, with long silver-white hair and eyes of molten gold that moved through the gathering with patient, unsettling attention.

Against the darkness of the Tyranny, she almost seemed spectral, something ethereal wandering among the masses. She slipped past varying Sith and Mandalorian guests as if she were made of water while the scent of night jasmine and rain cut through in her wake. She did not completely hide the truth of her being in a place such as this, though; the inherent feeling of night falling when she neared might be disorienting.

The wound on her neck was mostly healed, enough that many wouldn't notice the patch through waves of flaxen hair. But…Thyferra was not so far removed from her mind that she had forgotten.

Srina could still remember choking on her own blood.

The sensation of Iron Covenant steel digging in between her ribs. A crushgaunt around her waist—Breaking her bones. Trying to snap her spine.

Memory did not alter the infuriatingly serene expression she wore, empty of all things, when the Lord of the Covenant stepped aside to reveal the much smaller woman. She had been content to let eyes remain on her battle-sister, but when eyes met, she realized she should have known better. Mercy was never one to let her stay in the shadows.

"The last time we met like this…Your people called me a hag."

Anyone else might have thought that the Echani was annoyed…But here was quiet amusement to be found, spawned by her inability to accept a compliment. Her people all looked similar, with incredibly unoriginal genetics because a few Arkanian scientists decided to play the role of life-giver. If one daughter of the Six Sisters was beautiful or special, they all were.

Which meant none of them were.

Still…Srina accepted the offered hand without hesitation, fingers curling around larger digits, returning the imperceptible squeeze. "So…I'm afraid your standards are suspiciously low, sestra.", the deadpan quip was met with a phantom curve of the kiss of her mouth, but she wasn't unaware of how Mercy watched her. As if she might disappear at any moment, or the patch at her throat would suddenly bloom red.

Golden eyes stayed with the Titan for a moment, perhaps a moment too long…Before they shifted toward the three faces that Mercy had brought with her. She reached for Lysander von Ascania , and the back of cold fingers brushed against his cheek before immediately retreating. He would have found during his stay on Jutrand that the Echani was generally more adept at expressing herself through touch. It was, 'Hello', 'How are you', 'I have missed you', and a litany of other questions. For the other two ( Cassilde Vortayn and Aria Talorien ) that she knew not, her head inclined.

Not quite a bow, because Srina Talon bowed for no one, but it was neither dismissive nor excessively formal. She was curious about those whom her battle-sister pulled under her wing but did not question the curious little constellation. "It is good to meet you both."

Her attention turned to the wider chamber after that to observe all who had arrived. It had been quite some time since this many Sith and Mandalorian warriors shared the same space without coming to blows. So..She simply watched. Silence had served her since childhood, and her people learned what others said with their bodies long before words complicated the matter. Her eyes fell on Aether Verd for a moment, though she did not crowd him.

His people would be full of distrust…But she had his faith. It was a tenuous connection of checks and balances that kept that intact, mostly because she was also the bridge between the past and the future with regard to Darth Carnifex and the Kainite. She was of one mind with the Butcher King, and regardless of political positioning, neither sought to deliberately undercut the other. Where most saw a monster, fearing his shadow, it was a comfortable home to her. The past was the past…It was time to let it die, where, and when they could.

<<Ensure that your people are not going hungry, Aether. No expense has been spared. I have left…Extra supplies, for Adelle Bastiel .>>

Not to mention that the woman might not like the Sith Empress trying to force-feed her. But she would, if needed. The Mandalorian woman always seemed…Hungry, to her. It had been relayed to her that agriculture on the once-scarred planet was occasionally imperfect. Perhaps the food on Mandalore was just not enough to satisfy the caloric intake of a warrior?

This gathering was not unity.

She would not insult anyone present by pretending…But it was something.

Her eyes swept over members of her Dark Council, landing finally on Quinn Varanin and Arris Windrun . There was a flicker of pride in her chest that always passed through when her eldest daughter was involved, but in the moment, it was more like a parent watching their child on the playground. Pleased to see that she found someone to adventure with.

Cautious…That she might fall from the high bars.

That someone might push her from the high bars.

For the first time in a long time…Srina settled. Having most of her children in one place at the same time was a luxury. A flicker of something moved behind her eyes while Acier Moonbound was…Elsewhere. Standing on the other side of the chasm, so far away, so far out of reach that she could not imagine his face here. Thyferra had been won, and so had Abregado-Rae… But winning battles was comparatively simple against the metaphorical hole in her heart. It pained her more than the hole in her neck.

She had been fighting for most of her life…But pain was not something Srina knew how to fight. She compartmentalized, set it aside, because she had no choice. She would fight while her heart was bleeding, fight harder while it broke, because that was her duty. She refused to sacrifice her children for each other, regardless of how it made some of them hate her.

It was not her job to be liked. Just, to rule.

"I think…We did well, sestra."

Mercy Arris Windrun Quinn Varanin Aether Verd Ivalyn Yvarro Nagual Aria Talorien Lysander von Ascania [ Cassilde Vortayn Varin Mortifer Helix Adonis Angelis IV Taeli Raaf Gerwald Lechner Amelia von Sorenn Astra Sadow Leontis Antalis Zeptepi Zambrano CT-312 Darth Carnifex Darth Prazutis Siv Kryze Darth Reign Veyla Krinn Dral-Kar'ta Saandyr Lirka Ka Adelle Bastiel Mia Monroe Lily Rhodes Nephthys Nardithi-Verd I am so sorry if I missed anyone needed, tag list BIG CHONK.​

 

[Revna Marr]

Wearing:
Ring || Lightsaber || Necklace

​

The cantina was lively, once the patrons had settled back into their rhythm. Music echoed through the establishment and a myriad of colorful lights flickered and pulsed in time with the tune. The little Darth heard various conversations, some interesting, most not worth her focus, and one or two were intriguing enough for her to pay closer attention.

Another Imperial government was rising up in a section of the Galaxy called The Slice - the Mahporeem Imperial Remnant - if she heard the name correctly. She filed that information away to look into it again when she was back aboard her ship.

Revna was taking another sip of her beverage when a newcomer stepped through the doors of the Cantina. The Sith woman’s eyes settled upon the figure - who appeared to be feminine, though her hood was tossed up over her head in an attempt to not attract unwanted attention to herself. Attention inevitably came, however, and Darth X’aviera watched the scene unfold from her seat at her table near the back.

The newcomer shifted and seemed to pull something from the shadows of her outfit, and in the light of Cantina, Revna’s gaze caught a glimpse of etchings along what appeared to be a short blade. No blood was drawn, no one was killed, but the would-be troublemaker slipped back into the shadows and left the newcomer alone. Revna’s fiery gaze never truly drifted away from her even then, and perhaps the newcomer would feel the presence of someone watching her. It wasn’t hostile, more curious than anything.

Other patrons quickly went back to their own business and the newcomer, who was indeed a woman, pushed deeper into the crowd, eyes scanning from the shadows of her hood as she appeared to be looking for an available table. Nearly all seats were taken - except for Revna’s table, and one other where a drunken man lay partially sprawled across his table. No one had dared to sit with Revna thus far, likely put off by the chilly aura that seemed to faintly radiate around her, or perhaps it was because her eyes seemed to stare straight through someone’s soul, searching every dark and shadowy place most tried to keep hidden away.

Whatever the reason was, it didn’t bother the little Sith woman - though the thought of having some company to quiet her roaming thoughts did seem appealing at the moment.
​

Tag: Eleanor ​