The Hand that Mocked them (Abyss and Allies vs. TRE)

[Darth Abyss]

The people of Malachor had done what had been least expected of them after the Resurgent Empire began the occupation of their home: They kept their heads low, relocated their shady dealings in the dark alleys and underground tunnels found all throughout the Free Cities, while avoiding conflict with the local authorities whenever possible. Not that low ranking soldiers once in a while weren't found with a slit throat after a night of drinking in the darker areas of Malachor, or that empire property wasn't victim of random vandalism and graffiti, but overall the populace had kept a low profile, openly respecting the laws placed upon them by their new rulers.

Behind closed doors there where very few good words spoken about the empire, and many missed the old rules of the Prophet, but their idealism was overshadowed by their desire to survive. But a few days ago there had been a shift. Not started randomly as it would seem from the outside, but a deliberate change that foreshadowed what was about to come. Outside of the empire's reach words had been shared, words given power by the mark of the Prophet. These words had spread like a wildfire under the population, and they all awaited a sign, a spark that would start the fire to set them free once again.

The Prophet had plotted in the shadows, gathered allies and resources, analyzed Intel from his former world and worked out a plan. Soon his black flag would rise above Malachor again.

Spoiler

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pz3han5RnP0
"And I’ve risen out the grave on my accord
Still I’m caged by the pain, but I’m due reward
For all the bounties on the heads, that’s what I’m shooting for
I don’t want to win a battle just to lose the war"

Malachor, The Tainted City - Red Light Disrict, Warehouse

Getting back on Malachor was not as much of a challenge as the empire probably thought, at least not if you were nothing else than darkness, twisted magic and unforgiving metal. Over the course of several days the Prophet had smugglers bring parts of his metal body down into the Tainted City, waiting to be reassembled by those still truly faithful to their shadowy leader, their dark guardian and occasional bogyman. No one still openly carried the black flag, or the insignia of the Chorus but many still kept these symbols hidden below the floors and walls of their homes. The Tainted Legion had scattered, but in truth they were still there, undistinguished from the general population.

Eight agents of his Inner Eye had remained covert in the cities since the downfall, with new names, some even with new faces to keep their Prophet informed about any major events happening. At least until now. Since word had spread, they had begun to collect those members of the Legion with the right skills and the right drive to aid in the operation that would bring the power back to the people.

The plan wasn't to invade his own cities, or create an open war. Their goal was to rally the people, but not to start riots or anything else that could prompt an extreme response from the empire. Instead he took an approach inspired by the Free Spirits of the Spheres. Unrest, civil disobedience, protests and street blockades, making sure that the enemy was occupied with struggling but not failing with keeping order, giving Abyss and his allies time to lead small, surgical strikes against military targets and personal. The endgame wasn't the utter annihilation of the empire presence, but to force them into a corner, until they had to chose between leaving his world to keep their loses at the bare minimum or entering negotiations about Malachor's fate.

Cells alike those loyalists gathered in the Tainted City had formed in every of the major cities, waiting for the word of the Prophet to strike. Firewall, The Spheres, The Blessing, they all stood ready for the second day of the Free. Each of the individuals ready to lead this fight alongside him had been given a vinculum series communication ring, allowing for instant mind to mind communication that was impossible to be intercepted. With them they would be able to coordinate theirs strikes in each of the cities, making sure that the focus of empire was diverted between the various structure he had given rise to on Malachor.

The Prophet's Hour had come.

The Allies:
[member="Serenity Loveheart"] [member="Connor Harrison"] [member="Miss Blonde"] [member="Darth Ophidia"] [member="Thraxis"] [member="Blake Morrigan"] [member="Dravis Rosilla"] [member="Avedia Lacroix"] [member="Ariealla Vareldi"]

The Enemy:
[member="Vrak Nashar"]

OOC

 

[Blake Morrigan]

Spoiler

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n0l0YOHO5jg

​

​

"Never tame your demons...but always keep them on a leash."​

Our awareness, so achingly profound, trembled with the presence of one whose unique aura sent tendrils of utmost light and sheer darkness up the trails of our dormant senses. So we sifted, and gently weighed our endless options in a timely manner for it was our kept knowledge of how valued the passing of each second was held by the likes of mortal life. The more we stirred, the closer her chakral force emanated and materialized within the confines of our withered architectural remains like crumbling bricks lain with ever so much care still opulent midst decay.

He speaks calmly into the seemingly restless void of dust, mildew and muteness.

“I have to thank you...though certainly you know this.”

He alludes to intimacy.

“Shame on I..."

We are intrigued.

So intrigued.

More than intrigued, we wish for tears, for sweet release so that we may feel corporeal joy once more having been forsaken by our followers and rediscovered by likely the most reverent of all. How well hidden she has kept himself, his footfall upon our planet deadened and silent as the cosmos in which we dwell. How she must have prepared for this convergence. How she must have had her reasons for remaining furtive. How we longed for her.

But how willingly we forgive.

Our enthusiasm transcends the boundaries of space and time, and we marveled at how sensitive her awareness was, how, without the pinnacle of human sensory, she was not blind in the least. How vast her scope; the sliding slipstream of his scanning cognizance. We marvel. We ache. Our molecules tremble with exuberance; the breath of life so eagerly awakened after dormancy thrust upon us so often throughout the sundial of time.

Her voice would echo gently, reverberation traveling through each vessel of dimensional webbing in the softest, and melodious of ways. In sweet saccharine moroseness she seemed not to pine, not to plea for anything material, merely my proximity. Surely, if one has been so aware of our existence for this long, accepted it, even came to love it...they are worth our ultimate manifestation. They are worth deviating from our strict anonymity. We grow so weary of this shroud anyway.

We then commit to engaging her, first our bones manifesting from clouds of separated atoms destined to become whole as we would reveal ourselves to this gracious creature, she who brought us the rare offering of smell a beautifully primal oblation indicating this being's pure connection to the rawest of sensual knowledge. We then descend with skin, and the eerie, pale features which accompanied. the soft warmth of blood and tissue and visceral nerves becoming one with our omnipotence.

And we are whole.

We have presented ourselves to her, this girl...Bare and unashamed. We are nude and pale, with bright chrome alight in our skin. We are welcoming, and yet we are tired from having spent so long never having so much as lain eye upon one of our children in the flesh. From the beginning we had sensed how attuned she was; her offering and demeanor was that of a loving breed of worship, an adoration of one who had mastered the elements of chaos within her existence. Looking upon her, we knew her. We knew her. We remembered her unequaled, and unusual brew; the tampering involved, the beauty of infinite potential locked away behind her sightless, manic stare.

“You...the wolf and the lamb as one.”

We speak, oh how we speak, our voice cosmic, alien, vocals twisted and churned with the chords of thousands of species.

“You know us...we are you”

We brush away the mortal tears from mortal cheeks of mortal flesh, the infinite brightness of our alabaster astral stare demanding more from her, so much more. We wondered, briefly, when she would refuse, but how quickly doubt is overpowered within our psyche. She would deliver, always. For that was how we engineered her; with love, with care, with cruelty, with ingenuity.

He would deliver. Always.

"Go forth...child. Deliver them."

The voices would whisper...

Sweet whispers.

Bright golden eyes would drift...the astral being which resided within herself fading into nothingness just as quickly as he had appeared, the multitude of voices ringing endlessly within the confines of her mind as the raven haired woman tapped her nails along her biceps before pushing herself forward off of a wall.

Blake had been suffering this for a while now...the random voices and hallucinations that seemed to haunt her. But now, rather than fear them and reject them, she had learned to simply steadily ignore their presence and focus on what she was sure reality was...sometimes it was easier said than done. Still, Blake was here to assist her master in whatever he deemed necessary. The woman reached upward and touched delicate fingers to her scarf as she breathed lowly, her golden gaze falling upon her cloaked master [member="Darth Abyss"] as she bowed her head...as his Hand, she was almost always by his side unless sent on an assignment...

And as she took a short breath, she spoke deliberately.

"Master...what task do you wish me to fulfill." She would ask, curious as to if he had a specific task for her.

[member="Serenity Loveheart"] | [member="Connor Harrison"] | [member="Miss Blonde"] | [member="Darth Ophidia"] | [member="Thraxis"] | [member="Dravis Rosilla"] | [member="Avedia Lacroix"] | [member="Ariealla Vareldi"]​

 

[Vrak Nashar]

Space
The Tyrant

Vrak sat quietly upon his meditation deck on The Tyran. His expression was neutral, though the way he sat told of a burdened stress hanging about him. His lips were thin, and his face twitched slightly as though in anger. His fingers rested within his lap. His chest steadily rose and fell, calming breath flowing through him.

The Empire, despite it's initial issues, was slowly growing. The path was not as easy as many had assumed it would be, but things were going well enough. Plans for the Invasion of Kaas were well underway, the military was growing, and aside from a few agitations things had gone relatively smoothly. Vrak's plans were moving along, though small pinpricks kept pushing against him whenever they could. Smaller things were beginning to build up, becoming more than a simple annoyance.

It was something the Pureblood was weary of.

He knew that the fall of many Empire did not come from military force, but rather internal strife. Small needles pressing against the skin of the Empire, death by a thousand cuts. That would be the end of them, as it had been with so many before.

Vrak knew this, and he knew it had to be stopped before he could complete his plans. The Pureblood bristled slightly, his eyes opening as he heard the doorway to the chamber slowly crawl open. Footsteps rang through the empty hall. The Pureblood did not move, but simply waited. A moment later a Lieutenant appeared behind him. Her expression was neutral, though a slight hint of fear clung to her. She waited for a Vrak to say something before she began. "Speak."

"My Lord, there seems to be some...rumblings on Malachor."

He frowned for a moment. Malachor, that worthless ball of rock. "Rebellion?"

"No my Lord, just...talk."

The Sith Frowned for just a moment. Resistance was not uncommon. On all worlds across the Caldera small settlements and colonies had attempted to Resist. Most of them had simply been put down of course, but the people had learned quickly. Malachor however had been a continuing issue. He frowned for a moment, and then waved to the Lieutenant.

"Set a course." He would investigate this himself.

 

[Thraxis]

Allies: The cacophony of allies Abyss Brought with him
Enemies: The Resurgent Empire
Loadout:
- Equipped: Cruciatus Blade | Tazi Executioner Armour | Phantasm Cloak | Saber Vambrace | Some Ring he found
- In Duffel bag: Thraxis Pistolas | Jack Knife | Heavy Blaster Pistols
The Spheres. Far from the limelight, a stoic individual stood, his words preached as if glazed in honey as he spoke to the masses as they wandered by. "For thou see! A prophet who bears the mark of a hand shall come forth, the rule of the False Resurgence has succeded in but a single facet! To sow its own demise!" His words spoke true to a few citizens, his words cooing them ever closer to here the tales of grandeur he wove. He danced back and forth on a wooden podium, he was in his element, bombastic attitude, making even the smallest of detail a massive feat. Damn this is good. He thought to himself as he spoke curses and slurs about their oppressive overlords. "For you see, he has not abandoned thee, he is coming! I foretell it in the weave of the force, it calls out to me, and from it, I hear his voice!" He echoed, words starting to mix and spread between the lot. He had spent the last couple of days playing things up. Acting as some sort of visionary, a vigilante in the people's name. Though it was never actual vigilantism. A few soldiers dressed up in the Resurgent Uniform, patchwork and shoddy imitations but why would they ever send the best of the best down to deal with this downtrodden lot.

No, it really was simple on his part to rally the lot. A few informants here or there, getting a feel for the crowd before he even decided to turn the crowd. I might just have to become a Cult Leader in the future. Should be a right old time. He thought to himself as he stepped back and fourth, pacing as he continued his verbal diarrhoea, "And in his name, he says the words that echo like the rays of a thousand suns!" He paused, body dropping down as he fell to his knees, arms raised to the skies as a few spotlights dropped down on him. They got the cue. "Revolt! Rebel in his name, and you can join me in his hellish praise, forever ascended as blessed foot soldiers in his name! Today, we stand, Today we-" His words were cut short, a single large wooden club banged against the back of his head as up straddled two Weequay guards, their uniforms in tatters if compared to the uniform of an actual Resurgent Soldier. But it did its job, their voices cried and yelled, bickered and hollered. The crowd grew violent, though quickly suppressed as spotlights dropped down, the sound of guns cocking at the crowd as they turned from a violent rabble to a discouraged mob. Slowly Thraxis was dragged down, his legs through the mud, the Weequay guards kicking him in the gut, only fanning the flames of war.

The two soldiers turned a corner, then another then a few more as they reached a dead end. A wicked smile drawn across the Zeltrons face as prying eyes no longer watched his plan as it unfolded around him. They propped his body against the wall, smelling salts pressed against his nose as he was quickly awoken from his slumber. He looked back and forth between the duo, their job was done as far as he was concerned. With a splintering headache, he drew himself up from his uncomfortable seat, which was honestly little more than a bin knocked to its side. Only the best for Thraxis after all. Only the best.

He turned to a small bag of rubbish, the smell of rot and carrion licked the air as he dug through the refuse. No one was going to go down this many corners, let alone to go digging their hand into a pile of garbage. The sound of slime and guts rolled around his bare fingertips before the familiar feel, tanned leather strap in the palm of his hand as he gave it a harsh tug, his body tossed to the side as the bag was unlodged from the pile, the yellow coloration of his Duffel bag turned red and pink, the signs of mold securing its place in the zippers while maggots and other bottom feeders crawled and slithered along his fingertips. "Oh goddamnit. I thought with the cold weather I wouldn't have had to deal with this for at least another two hours." He sighed, his wrist flicking back and forth back into the bag pile, the maggots returning to their squalor as he got dressed and prepared for war.

He pulled out his commlink, opening up a channel to all his soldiers, "Today is the day boys!" He said, looking over his cloak before giving it a flourish, snuggly wrapping around him as he took his first few steps, not the steps he had taken for the past few days. Not the steps of some deranged lunatic spouting prophecies. No this was the steps of war, the steps in line with his erratic beating as blood pumped adrenaline, "Today ya can ditch those stuffy life jackets they call clothing! Today, strip down, where what ya want." He said with a chuckle, raising a hand to his face, he could barely see it, the outline faint as his fingers elongated, spreading out into points as he looked over himself. "Get crazy, live a little. But remember." His chuckles and laughter dropped for a few moments, his words almost tangible as he spoke, the air around him cooling at his very words as a sombre tone overtook his otherwise erratic personality. "The citizens are off the list." He paused, letting tension fill the air, he heard on the other communicators the wind breeze past them, their bodies are frozen in terror at his rather machiavellian approach. A solitary minute passed, his panted breath the only noise throughout the commlinks before a deep inhalation was taken, the tension broke as his features morphed and twisted. "But hell. Other than that. Go nuts." He let loose a cheery laugh, slowly the rest following suit as mania kicked in, flicking off the comm mid link as the tangible cry of his men echoed in his mind.

He paused for a minute, looking at this blasted ring Abyss had given to him prior. "How the hell does this blasted thing work?" He looked it over, his hand pulled from beneath the veil of the cloak as he tapped it a few times. He had said something about the force, something about a two-way call. Maybe... Force was a code word? He thought to himself, looking to the wall he pulled the finger off, arm overhead as he rushed to the wall, banging the thing against it with a resounding crack, the weak wooden panels of the wall creating slithers of splinters as he saw the ring was nigh untouched, a single shred of wood hanging haphazardly on the edge before he shrugged. Okay. Not a code. Got it. He said as he rolled it back on, it was a pretty ring given what it was, some sort of city Voodoo enchanted the thing. But with a retired shrug, he sat back down on his metal seat. He had sent a message to Darth Abyss, if anyone was to come join up with his little rally party then here was to do it. Secluded, untouched by the passing of rebellion. Though if anyone was to meet up with him, that was another Question.
[member="Vrak Nashar"] | [member="Blake Morrigan"] | [member="Darth Abyss"] | [member="Serenity Loveheart"] | [member="Connor Harrison"] | [member="Miss Blonde"] | [member="Darth Ophidia"] | [member="Dravis Rosilla"] | [member="Avedia Lacroix"] | [member="Ariealla Vareldi"]

 

[Natalie LaForte]

Allies: [member="Connor Harrison"], [member="Miss Blonde](?), [member="Darth Ophidia"], [member="Thraxis"], [member="Blake Morrigan"], [member="Dravis Rosilla], [member="Avedia Lacroix"], [member="Ariealla Vareldi"]
Enemies: The Resurgent Empire, [member="Vrak Nashar"]
Equipment:
On person: Dreamcrusher 2.0, Dreamcatcher, Lightsaber, Communication Ring
Other: 20 Z2-MCDs, various members of the Sorority for Liberty, each armed with makeshift weapons, some with copious amounts of Vitae Booster, Carina LaForte

It seemed like only a year ago that she had robbed the Pyramid of Prosperity, threw the credits down the metaphoric drain and blew up the largest trading port on planet, but in reality, it was much longer than that. Rallying her own cause, simply because she couldn't bear to stand her old master be weakened, or maybe even they remember the payments received after assisting him in the past, or possibly just to get the authoritarian empire off planet, regardless, they were with her. Countless cells and groups of the communist organisation were banded together by the need to remove the Sith from empire.

They held no direct connection, but wished to see Abyss returned to power. The same was true for Serenity.

The mechs remained in quiet, silently waiting for an order from central command located far away to be moved. Meanwhile, hundreds upon hundreds emerged from the underground where this base was located, dispersing themselves around the city in an effort to spread dissent from the people.

"You know what to do, alright everyone?"

Mumbles from the twenty or so individuals in eerily cryptic outfits made the general consensus of a yes. The fact they had agreed to deliver the deadly chemical in a marketplace showed remarkable devotion to the cause.

They had spread themselves thin for a reason, and openly began having conversations with people regarding Prophet Abyss. This was not to incite rebellion, but to remind them of what life once was before, to give them a reason to fight. Some listened with deep thought, others remember the spark of light that he had provided in comparison to the Empire, and still others made way for guards to inform them of this insurgency.

Serenity stood with her sister and a Lieutenant at the very outskirts of the market, where they could not be recognized. Hopefully something good would come of this.

 

[Darth Abyss]

Malachor, Firewall - Blue Light District, Knights of Firewall Hideout

"[member="Thraxis"], This is Void Control. Do you copy? The Prophet's Hand is en route to your position, ETA fifteen minutes. Void Control out."

The small room looked less than a command center, and more like the home of some college students, only really distinguished by the fact that it was hidden underground in one of the most, if not the most dangerous, places of Malachor. The Knights of Firewall were a ragtag band of anarchistic slicers that had tried there best to oppose the empire, especially during the short lived era of the cripple. They had been the first group Abyss had notified about his plans.

Smoke was hanging in the air, dancing upwards from the cigarette in the hands of girl that looked to young to be part of such an operation, only putting it aside every once in a while to operate the terminal before her. Besides rested a member of the Inner Eye, making sure that the skilled, but undisciplined Knights would do their job as intended. On the ground, sunken deep in mediation rested one of Abyss acolytes, the one that had used his ring to inform the former hutt cartel torturer about the plan, as well as passing that information along to [member="Blake Morrigan"], the Prophet's newly appointed shadow hand.
------------------------

Malachor, The Tainted City - Blight Lounge

The doors locked, once the two cloaked figures entered. One half sith robe, another half One Sith uniform the members of the Inner Eye entered into the small, and quite notorious bar. Once more they carried the mark of the Prophet, a symbol that was about to become the sign of unbreakable will, of freedom and independence for the people a second time. Right behind them followed the Prophet himself, hidden under the darkness like a cloak that kept away curious eyes. The guests were the same as always, the worst and most dangerous scum his world had to offer. Mercenaries, Bounty Hunters and Hitman for hire gathered here, brought drinks, drugs and informations or discussed a job offer.

Today would widely be the same, only that the job offer was not for one, but all of them. The man behind the bar protested for a second as the doors locked, but he fell silent in an instant once the Sith Lord revealed himself from the depths of black emptiness. From the corner of the room a single man muttered, his voice a mix of fear, confusion and most peculiar a hint of hope. By his presence Abyss identified him as a former apprentice of his academy, one that seemingly took up the job of a bounty hunter once his master disappeared.

"So word on the streets is true. The Prophet's Hand really is endless. Forgive me for doubting you, my lord."

The man rose from his chair, pushing of his glass in the process what invoked an annoyed grunt from the barkeeper, and fell to his knees before his former master. Slowly the Mindeater stepped forward, the rest of those around keeping their breath as the sith lord slowly reached inside his robe, all awaiting a quite cruel punishment. Instead of a weapon something else was revealed from the inside of the robe, a small pouch filled with credits. Abyss dropped the money besides his fromer servant, and on his mark his men began to place similar pouches in front of anyone present in the room.

"This is not the day I punish those that doubt me. Today is the day I take back what is mine, the day Malachor rightfully returns into my hand."

The words echoed through the air as the metal figure began a long, slow walk through the room, making sure that even the smallest part of his plan, executed in a dim lite and dirty bar, held the right theatricals for a entity of his power and influence. People like those gathered here were one of the reasons why the Prophet was so deeply obsessed with his world, one key element why Malachor was far stronger than it appeared when looking at the junk that had been reformed into makeshift houses.

"Today our enemies will drown in their fear. Not just their Admirals, their generals and commanders, everyone who volunteered to wear their symbol. Dispose of them quickly, but do it silently. We do not want to inspire the people with these actions. No, we want to inspire horror in the hearts of the Empire. Show them that no one is beyond my retribution."

There was a twisted laugh, while the hunters eagerly began to count their credits. The Prophet was always known to pay well. When the laugh died down the sith lord reached for another pouch, chugging it over to the barkeeper. On a gesture of his hand the two agents returned to his side, and before stepping back into the shadows the strange, otherworldly voice could be heard another time.

"Next round is on me. Have a drink, and then show them what it means to live on malachor."

Piece for piece his plan would fall into place. Yet for the next step he awaited the response from one his most loyal and most skilled agents. With that information soon all would remember that his hand truly was endless.
[SIZE=27.1099px]------------------------[/SIZE]

Malachor, The Spheres of Ash - Brokers

Codename Pale Hand, was a designation given to one of the most infamous members of the Inner Eye. An agent that had been there right from the start, who had gone to hell beyond at the side of Abyss. Known to be the Prophet's most capable conman, at least to other elements loyal to the sith lord. He had changed his face so often that he almost couldn't remember how he had looked before, but that was a sacrifice he was ready to make time and time again. Like in the days of the One Sith the mission always came first.

The lower city had already rallied, both because of Thraxis and the Free Spirits which always had been fond of civil protests. In the upper city the situation was quite different. The rich of Malachor were in agreement that the Prophet's rule had been better for business, but they were also in agreement that chaos abd revolution was even worse for business than the empire. Private security had established some resemblance of order in the city thatr hoovered above another.

Pale hand was shrouded in the cloths of a nobleman, his face in tune with that appreance. Word was that an imperial officer for construction and distribution enjoyed betting secret blueprints a bit to much. As the Resurgent empire was the current ruling force of Malachor these plans were worth a lot, even if they mainly concerned waste disposal and supply routes instead of the high profile military intel most people where on the lookout for.

Yet a smart man could archive much with those plans, and pale hand knew that Abyss was most certainly a smart man. His own bet was a complete plan of the void station, acquired when the Prophet and his men assaulted the space station currently controlled by Galactic emprie.

There was a sigh from several players on the table as the worth of the blueprints was stated by a droid, one by one dropping out after realising that they would have to risk a lot to compete. Only one remained, placing a datastick near the droid. There was a slight beep from the machine, as well as a quick flash of green light as the stakes were locked in. The droid dispensed a deck of cards to the two remaining players, Pale hand looking at the man wearing a military uniform of the Resurgent Empire with a sly grin.

"Shall we?"

The grin danced over his face a last time, before being replaced by pokerface done so well that even Abyss couldn't read it without the use of his wicked abilities. This would be fun.

[member="Vrak Nashar"] [member="Serenity Loveheart"] [member="Darth Ophidia"] [member="Miss Blonde"] [member="Dravis Rosilla"] [member="Avedia Lacroix"] [member="Connor Harrison"] [member="Ariealla Vareldi"]

 

[Caid Centurion]

Korriban

Caid was silent as he walked briskly towards the Phantom in the distance. The young Sith held no love of Korriban regardless of its heritage with the Sith. In Caid's mind it was little more than a pilfered wasteland where the mindless came to seek some sort of insight or fantastic knowledge of the Sith of old. What was the purpose? It was entirely possible to learn of the past actions of Sith through academic means.

While Caid would begrudge no one attempting to learn the various decisions that lead to so many triumphs and failures of any being in the galaxy, he did not subscribe to the thought that opening one's self to spirits of old was a logical path to power, control. The Sith of the past belonged in the past. The present and the future were different, ever shifting. There was no road map to success. It was simple a journey one had to take on their own.

However, Korriban did serve as an excellent location for Caid to train his relatively recently acquired warriors. Maintaining stride on either side of him were the four ranking members of the company-strength forces he had obtained. True to their nature, the Massassi had not been swayed by words or threat...at least not initially. Caid's method had been simple. A small core of Massassi had clearly hoisted themselves above the others, ruling them through superior strength and skill. Caid had shown them, all of them, the folly of complacency. He showed them what happened the second someone thought their superiority was unquestionable.

They fell. Swiftly.

Promoting four Massassi at random. Caid challenged them to succeed. His command was simple...continuously strive to be the best or perish. It was a simple creed. One that he lived his life by. Depending upon how these warriors performed in the coming weeks, Caid would make the final determination to take them to Thule to train under the Warriors of Endelaan that had accompanied their Prince to the realm of the Sith.

A soft beep inside his helmet alerted Caid to an incoming message. "Veritas."

"Major. We have received word from Lord Drakash. He commands your audience."

"Five minutes."

Just over four minutes later, Caid walked up the loading ramp of his personal vessel alone - the Massassi returning to their own nearby transports to tend to their subordinates. Once he'd made his way to his personal quarters, Caid remained standing and opened a holocom channel to Lord Drakash - the Dark Council member that was at the pinnacle of his chain of command. When the blue-hued image of Drakash came to life, Caid bowed politely. "Mi'lord."

Drakash did not bother wasting time. "Veritas. I have a task for you. Word has reached my ears of growing...unease in a system very near to you. Malachor. You will go there and remind them how the Empire responds to any hint of disobedience."

Caid had only spoken to Drakash one other time, and it had been a refreshingly brief affair. However, at that time, he found the man to be very impulsive and unnecessarily narrow-minded in his approach to strategic decision making. It was not yet Caid's place to struggle against the will of others. Not yet... "Immediately, Mi'lord."

No other words were exchanged. The connection terminated.

Depressing another button on the holocom, Caid opened a channel to his subordinates at the flight crew of the Phantom. "We depart for the Malachor system. Now."

In minutes, all vessels had completed their pre-flights and were ascending to the heavens. During the journey, Caid would familiarize himself with the system and look to see what other mobilization orders had been dispatched through the military command network. Perhaps - he might be able to glean what amount of forces already existed in the system and if any others were enroute. Information that should have been provided by Drakash.

 

[Ariealla Vareldi]

Allies: [member="Connor Harrison"], [member="Miss Blonde](?), [member="Darth Ophidia"], [member="Thraxis"], [member="Blake Morrigan"], [member="Dravis Rosilla], [member="Avedia Lacroix"], [member="Serenity Loveheart"]
Enemies: The Resurgent Empire, [member="Vrak Nashar"], [member="Veritas"]

Ah... Malachor. If opportunity arose, Ariealla would love to see what remained of the Trayus academy, certainly something of value was left. At the least, closure would be there, and that was something she couldn't help but be tantalized over. The woman licked her lips slowly, holding her purple regalia about her body as she walked through the streets, managing to blend into the backdrop with ease. What had Abyss called this particular city? The Tainted City? She chuckled and shook her head, she preferred its second name of Genesis. Far more symbolic, and fitting. She moved past the very disreputable looking people, flicking her eyes left to right, looking for who best to remove from this realm.

On her finger rested the communication ring, though she was careful not to let too much of her mind slip out in communication. The very last thing she wanted was to let them feel distressed by her mind's weight, after all. Even so, she was periodically giving small updates, as she found a seat beside the popular roads. She struck up conversation with the locals, slowly plotting out her targets. A few officers here, a politician there, slowly her list was growing. She would hit them all, one by one, sew chaos and disorder among the Resurgents. But for now, she would be content to learn.

And of course, to spread the good word of the Prophet. One couldn't go without that of course, though it seemed Abyss himself was doing well to help. How gracious.

 

[Dravis Rosilla]

LOCATION: SPACEPORT, THE TAINTED CITY, MALACHOR​

ALLIES: [member="Ariealla Vareldi"], [member="Darth Abyss"], [member="Serenity Loveheart"], [member="Thraxis"], [member="Blake Morrigan"]​

ENEMIES: Resurgent Empire, [member="Veritas"], [member="Vrak Nashar"]​

​

Dravis had once met Vrak Nashar.

It had been some time ago, on a planet much different than Malachor. They had talked about deals, and trades of goods and products. He had been promised a role in the coming of a new faction, to show the Sith Lords up on their golden thrones that the younger generations could be a threat in their complacency. He awaited for a call that never came.

Dravis Rosilla didn't appreciate being skimped on a deal.

Of course, that little backstory was a small reason he was here. The real reason was because his new master demanded it.

Drav's thoughts drifted to Darth Abyss as he placed a few drinks on a table. The Malachor Spaceport Cantina was always a busy place, so they jumped at the chance of hiring Dravis as a temporary barhand. Considering his experience in the field, he had fit in immediately. The simple clothes he wore, and the apron tied hastily over them, reminded him of the safety and comfort of home.

He was more than glad he had left that life behind.

"Here you are, sirs." The Bith spoke nonchalantly, simply putting forth a conversation. The sparks in his eyes had dulled to mirky black, hiding his Dark-side corruption for the time being. "Seen the news recently? Things are really heating up out there."

"Yeah, about time." One of the men, a thug-looking fellow, pounded the table. "None of my shipments have been getting past Empire security. I've lost tens of thousands of credits to those nerf-herders!"

The second man, seemingly more reserved, ribbed his friend. "Keep your voice down. Do you want to be ran through with a lightsaber? I didn't think so."

Dravis smiled, tightening his connection to the Force. His words suddenly flowed like honey into their ears, as he demonstrated a practiced, subtle application of Dun Moch. "Oh, I agree with you, friend. If you're content with the Empire using you as their footrest, making your lives difficult for the betterment of their stinking boots, then you'd better keep your head down." Dravis shook his head, seeming to pity them. "You've all lost too much due to our new 'rulers'. I still remember the old Prophet days. Do you?" Dravis walked slowly away, smiling savagely as he felt the seed of rebellion begin to grow within them.

He had been doing this for a few weeks, simply sowing seeds, and collecting a peasant's salary. He could tell he was having an impact. Vandalism in the spaceport had spiked since he arrived, but nothing too destructive yet. A broken-apart speeder bike here, hilariously liberal graffiti there...

Lord Abyss would be proud.

Dravis noted the beeping of an ear-comm, and nodded as an invisible voice spoke. Along with being an agitator, Rosilla had also interspersed spies within the spaceport. If any ships dropped into orbit, or a sudden influx of Resurgent forces arrived, he would know about it.

He fingered his ring thoughtfully, almost dreading, and almost looking forward to when he would alert them to the tightening grip of the Empire.

He'd surely have more to talk about with his patrons then.

 

[Vrak Nashar]

Space
The Tyrant

The trip to Malachor was not, and would not be an eventful one.

For Vrak this was a distraction. The Empire was growing steadily, at a smaller pace than many would have hoped, but fast enough for his designs. Malachor was simply another of a dozen little pinpricks that were poking into his side while he tried to press things his way. It was expected, it was something he'd counted on.

Oh he despised it. It was an annoyance that he would inevitably have to deal with no matter what, but he hated it. There was a lingering pit of pile within the back of his throat at the back of the inevitable rebellions that would occur. By an large the Empire left worlds alone, demanding only three things. Loyalty, Credits, and manpower. All three were to fuel the ever growing expansion of their borders, and all three were something most worlds simply did not want to give up.

For now most cooperated, but Vrak knew eventually one would refuse.

He had no idea who would be first, whether Malachor or another world, but he knew they would burn.

 

[Soeht]

As [member="Darth Abyss"] gathered people in the cantina, a [acronym="W҉͟h̡y҉?̴̴̶"]whisper[/acronym] in the air sought to speak to him.

 

[Darth Abyss]

Malachor, The Tainted City - In front of the Blight Lounge

The moment the metal husk that once had been a man stepped out of the bar, he felt a a strange, yet familiar presence, a whisper carried to his ear by the force. Alike himself [member="Soeht"] was not a man anymore, even if his form was vastly different to that of the Mindeater. Both sith had transcended the plane of lesser beings, standing high upon those still imprisoned by their many chains. The last time the two had meet the other had granted him his unique gift, the art of empowerment of which Abyss had made much use since then. A detour to interact with the dark creature certainly hadn't been part of his plan, but it was an opportunity he wouldn't miss. With a press on his come he informed his agents that his return would to the hideout would be delayed a little. After all he was still awaiting Pale Hand to report back to him.

The he opened his mind, his physical form still hidden deep below the shadows and spoke to the being in an unheard voice. They both had become twisted enough to not need something so slow and unpractical as physical communication. Ot at least that was what Abyss expected form a entity like Soeht. The mental message would mirror the Mindeater's voice, a otherworldly whisper followed by the echoes of voices that weren't his own.

"Speak."
-----------------

Malachor, The Spheres of Ash - Brokers

For over an hour the duel of cards raged on, getting more heated with every second that passed. The guest on the other tables had put down their own cards to witness what looked to be the most entrancing game of sabacc ever seen in the Brokers. Staff had placed various chairs around the table for the audience, and then gathered to watch as well. There was barley any sound besides cards being drawn or placed, chips being pushed around and breathing. The air was filled with such intensity that no one of in the audience did as much as cough.

Pale Hand was a master of his game, but the Imperial Officer had shown to be as well. The hours upon hours of gambling away secret documents had forged him into stone faced player that quietly analysed his opponents every move. Until now it had been a constant back and forth, neither of them able to get a clear edge over the other. The last round had changed that, placing Abyss agent in a dire situation. If he wouldn't be really lucky then his mission would be a failure.

He looked at his hand, not quite a winning one. Like in many casinos the cards changed their worth at random every now and then to keep the game from losing its element of surprise. Legend said that, despite really uncommon, this switch could lead to a pure sabacc and in very, very rare cases even on an Idiot's Array. Normally Pale Hand wasn't a man to place his luck on chance alone, but it was either that or defeat.

"I go all in."

The man on the other side looked at him, the grin of victory marking his face. He probably had a hand worth more than his by far. Now it was up for fate to decide, at least that was what Abyss always told him and the rest of the Inner Eye. Hopefully the words of the Prophet would become true another time. He kept his eyes closed as the man of the Empire moved his leftover chips into the center of the table as well, waiting for the familiar beep of the droid besides them.

"Pure Sabacc."

The expression of disbelief was shared between the audience, staff, his opponent and Pale Hand himself as he placed the cards in table, which had changed worth only a moment away from his certain defeat. The crowed stayed silent a little longer, than cheers and clapping filled the air. While a member of the staff began collecting the chips of the table, the droid dispensed two datasticks on Pale Hands side of the table. The agent reached for them, as his opponent angry rose from his chair, flipping over the table in the process.

"You cheated me. You cheated the emp..."

Before he was able to finish his rant the officers head was meet by the back of a rifle, carried by a heavily armed security guard. Another followed to drag the unconscious body out of public sight.

"Lock him into the cell in the security office. Give him something against the pain and make him pay for the damages. Then let him go."

The blue Twi'lek butler instructed the two guards before turning to the player who had been victorious, an apologetic, and quite obviously studied smile on his face.

"In the name of the Brokers I want to apologise for this incident. Would you like a drink on the house?"

The agent shook his head while coming closer and closer to the staff member, slowly placing his right hand on the aliens shoulder. His tone was professional but quite.

"No but if you could pass along a message to management I will forget what happened."

Before the Twi'lek could answer he stepped even closer, using both their bodies to obscure the vision of those around them. His left pulled back the heavy blue coat around his chest just a bit, revealing a glimpse of the twisted black pendant hidden below. Then he whisper into the man's ear.

"The Prophet's Hand is endless."

The lower city had already rallied, but now the upper city would follow. The Butler headed into the back of the casino, ignoring any guests or colleagues along the way. With the influence of the Brokers even the rich and corrupt would join the Prophet in the reclamation of Malachor. Soon the empire personal in the upper city would start to quietly dissappear, some mugged by thugs, unofficially paid as casino enforces, others drugged and robbed by those they paid for a bit of easy and quick love. No club, no bar and no casino was safe for those that wore the Empire's insignia any longer.

[member="Ariealla Vareldi"], [member="Serenity Loveheart"], [member="Thraxis"], [member="Blake Morrigan"], [member="Dravis Rosilla"], [member="Veritas"], [member="Vrak Nashar"]

 

[Caid Centurion]

Enroute to Malachor

Caid's personal vessel and the transports carrying the Massassi that had sworn allegiance to him sat idle in the hangar bay of the Hermes. The vessel was a civilian transport that was often utilized to ship goods between worlds within the Empire on a routine basis. Caid knew all too well that logistics would determine the course of a war, and he'd taken it upon himself to make close associates with members of that aspect of the government quite quickly.

The Hermes was already on a scheduled run to Malachor, and it was a simple matter of flight planning to rendezvous with the large vessel at a pre-determined position in order to embark. For the time being, Caid was sequestered in a private room with his Captains, surveying what information they had on Malachor. As it stood, the Sith had no intention to simply brute force his way among the populace. Drakash's directives had been...lacking as always.

The vast majority of the warriors would remain on the ship. There were some Massassi elements garrisoned on the planet, so it wouldn't be far outside the realm for a small amount of them to be transported when the time was appropriate. Besides, Caid's force was neither equipped nor manned for a full planetary assault. In the absence of clear direction, Caid would take whatever time he deemed necessary to get a pulse on the tactical situation.

Then again...from what information they had received, there was little reason to outright expect hostility. It would be much simpler to cut out the heart of the issue.

[member="Vrak Nashar"]

 

[Blake Morrigan]

​

​

Whispers in her ear turned to static warbling as orders were ushered to the girls mind...her golden gaze narrowing tightly as she lifted a hand and pressed it onto the earpiece so she may clearly hear what was needed of her...it seemed as if her assistance was needed elsewhere and her master had things handled here...

[member="Thraxis"] ...it based on what she had heard he had needed a hand. Blake stood from her knelt position and turned to leave the facility in which she had remained. Quickly hailing a shuttle to transport herself to The Spheres. The ride, as expected was terribly dull, but luckily she found herself listening rather closely to all the chatter on their frequency. Seemed Thraxis was giving quite the thrilling speech which made Blake simply chuckle lightly before shaking her head.

"Mmm, amen." She'd murmur, looking out the window to see the shuttle approaching her destination. Giving the driver a nod Blake exited the vehicle. Making her way towards the man who had called for her assistance. And as she moved through the masses and approached the dreaded man Blake looked the man up and down.

He was certainly a character...

"You called for help...you got me. What exactly do you need?" She would ask terribly bluntly, not very amused by anything that they were doing on this planet and frankly only being here because it was her job as Abyss's Hand.

And what a job it was.

[member="Serenity Loveheart"] | [member="Connor Harrison"] | [member="Miss Blonde"] | [member="Darth Ophidia"] | [member="Thraxis"] | [member="Dravis Rosilla"] | [member="Avedia Lacroix"] | [member="Ariealla Vareldi"] | [member="Veritas"] | [member="Soeht"]​

 

[Natalie LaForte]

Allies: [member="Connor Harrison"], [member="Miss Blonde](?), [member="Darth Ophidia"], [member="Thraxis"], [member="Blake Morrigan"], [member="Dravis Rosilla], [member="Avedia Lacroix"], [member="Ariealla Vareldi"]
Enemies: The Resurgent Empire, [member="Vrak Nashar"], [member="Veritas"]
Equipment:
On person: Dreamcrusher 2.0, Dreamcatcher, Lightsaber, Communication Ring
Other: 20 Z2-MCDs, various members of the Sorority for Liberty, each armed with makeshift weapons, some with copious amounts of Vitae Booster, Carina LaForte

If there was a way to unite the people, it would be making them angry. All of them. At the same time. If that needed a little chemical encouragement, then she was more than happy to use Malachor as a tech demo. In preparation for a possible ambush, the droids began to make their way to the market, not by themselves, under the guise of a truck with green tarpol, covering them and thousands upon thousands of needles; 3 of them to be exact. At this point, rain was bashing down on them and was threatening to remove them, but thanks to the cunning rope skills of the freaks who were managing them, it was easy enough to avoid detection, with a little bribery of course.

After sowing the seeds of dissent, Serenity and her accomplices had set up a make-shift stand, a white sign with a pink background saying, "Get ripped today!", and naturally the fragile egos of those wanting to protect their own families brought the attention of many. The concept of getting muscles in just 30 seconds with a simple drug sounded like one of those poor internet marketing campaigns, and, well, this one was true, at least some of it was.

"Step right up, step right up! Face Imperial Oppression with a simple chemical designed by the one and only, Intergalactic Monetary Fund!" Naturally, this was beginning to grab notice from a few guards, though they waited for backup before daring to attempt an assault.

Beside her was a wooden chair, makeshift straps and a box of the Vitae booster. It began with a planned subject, one of the Sorority's brothers who was freakishly large to begin with. Serenity tapped him on his shoulder and smiled to the crowd.

"Watch before your very eyes! Oleg, become Omega!"

And an injection was thrust into him. Knowing the destruction about to occur, her group cautiously moved back, not so much to abandon the stall but to allow the crowd to witness him in his full glory. A kick, a smash and a punch later he was freed, though knowing what would happen if he actually caused any harm, restrained himself.

"Who wants some? And the crowds piled in. Taking doses upon doses, little to their knowledge that more than one would make them so strong that it would kill them. The drug itself had little more than manufactured hormones to make them feel just like Oleg, if that even was his real name. Around the market, the effects started to become noticeable, with small street brawls occuring. The streets were cleared and more deliveries arrived, along with the droids that were yet to be unveiled.

 

[Soeht]

A cold [acronym=Ẁh̕y̡?͠]breeze[/acronym] picked up as [member="Darth Abyss"] stood outside the cantina.

 

[Darth Empyrean]

Malachor was ablaze with activity. Between this and that, rebellion spoken in the darkness and whispers on the lips of the young and innocent; all things that broke the sanctity that was authoritarian rule. In what sense did they think they had sovereignty? In whose mind did these welps of beings have the ability to rise against the greater being? They lost their ability to choose with the first battle.

They were nothing.

Conspiracy, collusion, and calculated mistakes all took place where nothing lay but darkness; yet in space there was a calm before the storm. The abyss that it was, space was infinitely long as it was cold, letting nothing travel amongst it but the faintest of hollow whispers in the force, a cruel and unfitting joke for the careless listener. Whispers the likes of which you never could stand when alone, covering it with incessant thoughts that never ceased, dreams that never gave, but all simply white noise to cover what truly lay in wait.

Aboard The Technicolor Beat, the noise was personified. An alabaster stranger that was more ghost than man, but ever bigger than the home that caged him; and he sat with nothing in mind but the emptiness that surrounded him, and there was warmth to his aura. Excitement, assumedly, was all that it must have been, idly running metaphysical fingers across his goosebump ridden skin.

A fist rested against a cheek, hair lay idly to the side, each only a small detail in the acolyte’s position. Yet the ship was something more grand, being as stealthy as it was large, and all the more impressive considering the rampant bass that shook the interior of the vessel. A party had been going on for weeks in the belly of the beast, but the enigmatic figure known as The Slave sat far from it now; only the forgotten and mutilated corpses of twins laying nearby.

He might have gotten carried away.

Putting clothes on, he made his way to the bridge of the vessel where the few better trained of the crew remained, keeping an ever present vigilance on the many systems the ship had; but they were not what was important. With as cheeky of a tone he could muster, he spoke to the only thing he cared for aboard the vessel, a steely and cold tone that held only the faintest hints of robotic warmth responded soon after;

“Why hello Axion, how fares the trip?”

“Wonderfully, love.”

It was the AI that kept the ship afloat, and the men aboard that did repairs. That was the system they set up, but as crew were replaced as often as they got addicted to one of the various substances aboard, there was nothing to truly keeping any of them there. Negligible would be the best way to describe their life aboard the vessel, and there was no reason they should be any different in the eyes of the strong.

“Is he here?”, his voice echoed out over the electronic background noise that was the bridge’s command.

“He is.”, responded the feminine robot.

“Flag his vessel. Tell him…”

He paused, considering just how he would word his message. This man had been his first chance at power in a very long time, and it had been some time since they had last spoken. The Slave had after all disappeared in a vague political mission on nothing more than satisfying his own muse.

After a second of hesitation, he broke free a wide grin and spoke cleanly;

“I’ve come. Hello, Master.”

│ [member="Vrak Nashar"] │

 

[Darth Ophidia]

Malachor V.
The Tainted City:
Blight Lounge.

Shadows over Malachor. Two hands, clad in cruel iron and black, gripped the planet and tore at it with the same profane powers. Bloodshine blades crossed over a sky world resounding the muffled song of angry me. The white serpent coiled between blood and ash, hissing against the fingers that once held a singular torch to the galaxy core.

What is a Sith?​

Ophidia's eyes opened and stared up at the ceiling above her. A black hand ran over the top of her ashen scalp as a breath escaped between her lips. Visions gave her headaches, light-headedness, nothing that would not pass once her focus shifted over to something more important: Malachor V. Once the seat of her old apprentice: Darth Abyss, now held by another faction of Sith. She had not personally held stake in a world since Mindabaal, the prize of a prodigal knight. As her prize went up in flames, so did her attachment to such petty styles. A queen of shadows needed no throne but the fear of her foe.

Yet here she would stand on the precipice of war for the possessions of another. Admittedly, it was a matter of pride still: They had taken what belonged to her apprentice. Pride demanded she gave some attention to its restoration.

The Pale Assassin rose from her place of meditation and slipped the blue robes onto her shoulders while her burning eyes surveyed every little detail of her room. One in her line of specialisation was too careful not to take note of anything amiss. No, she was alone in the room, save for the droid in the corner with its eyes dark. For what trust meant to one like her, he was one she did rely on: A creature of steel, circuits and programming. With a flick of her hand, she allowed him to wake while she tied off the silk belt on her robes.

It was time to move out.

"Darling, fetch my armour."

The droid inclined it's head in silent acknowledgement and scurried off while the Rattataki clasped her hands behind her back in thought. A disk of weathered gold flicked over her knuckles.

Broken gods, crawling in the dust.
Burn it, burn it all!​

[member="Darth Abyss"] [member="Blake Morrigan"]

 

[Thraxis]

Allies: The cacophony of allies Abyss Brought with him
Enemies: The Resurgent Empire
Loadout:
- Equipped: Cruciatus Blade | Tazi Executioner Armour | Phantasm Cloak | Saber Vambrace | Some Ring he found
- In Duffel bag: Thraxis Pistolas | Jack Knife | Heavy Blaster Pistols
As Blake arrived she came in for step two of his who knows how many step plan. A small brush in hand as he looked into a ragged mirror, the sort seen in Broken Down out of Business Brothels as he prettied himself up. By pretty, he, of course, meant he was making himself look like a beaten and bloodied mess. He turned to the classy lass, a smile drawn on his face, so far he had gotten to preemptive makeup, a single blotch scarring his already mangled visage. "Well, hello there matey. Welcome to Party Viva La Revolution." He chuckled, he was not one for natural tension, or artificial tension, or really any sort of tension, opting to tear it asunder and leave in its wake chuckles and joy.

He turned back to the mirror, a cloud of dark dust rising up as he pressed and tapped it against his face, his head turning back and forth to make sure he got the right look. He was no makeup artist, hell he had never tried something of this magnitude before but a few videos later and a Culty gimmick and presto ya got a mean with a dream and a will. "I will be your host, Thraxis, Cartel Enforcer and currently, your ally." His words jovial as through the dark cloud he blotted his skin marring it all shades of black and purple to get the right look if the wrong shades.

As he finished up his speech he let loose a sigh, only know focusing on her words as he turned from the smog, a long step taken as he escaped its cloud, two large bruises drew on his face, from a distance it wasn't noticeable, but up close one could tell how shoddy a job he had done. "Well. Your straight to the point isn't ya." He said as he tone became slightly more sombre, it was hard to find help these days with a cheery disposition or even capable of laughter. "Essentially. I needed some support. This whole Resurgent Empire thing. Yeah, not too sure what they got." He said rather frankly, grabbing a small bucket of thick water, a bit of flour condensing it and making it a slightly more viscous ooze. "See, we're gonna go lead a Rebellion, and that means we are going out into the open." He said as he dug a hand into the batch of ooze, scratching it across his face. "And I also, dunno how much these Resurgents want Malachor. So, if they say, send in a Sith lord." He continued, putting the bucket down as he finished up coating himself in a viscous layer of slime. "I will need some help. Becuase no doubt, a Sith Lord works in a group of at least two. A Lord, and an..." He paused, his free fingers snapping as he tried to think the name, a visible look of annoyance warped his features as his lips puckered, fingers running the length of his armour as he struggled for a name. "Man... I wanna say aid but..." He paused, shaking it off, this part wasn't important to the story so he rolled his hands to add emphasis and moved on, "It doesn't matter. Point is, I just need that insurance to keep an Aid off my back while I deal with the Sith Lord." He finished up, grabbing the knife and rolling it between his fingers, the silver edge twisting and turning with narry an inch of silver pressed against his fingers.

He got back to his little makeover, pressing the blade against his scalp, the thinnest drop of blood drawn as it mixed in with the viscous liquid, dying it maroon looking as if it was starting to scab over. "Hey, also ya wanna help get this plan rolling along?" He inquired, the haze long since lifted as he added to the marks of his mangled flesh, pulling the knife back and turning to her, the bruises might have looked fake but the blood was far from it. As was to be expected from an expert in the field, he had done this more times than necessary. "Not that ya need be. No need putting your face out there. But if ya want to help." He paused, pulling the knife next to his eye as he slowly peeled open an old wound, blood slowly dripping down as he spoke, "I got this whole thing with being revived by the Prophets hand. You wanna act as his herald who brought me from death?" He inquired as he finished up drawing blood, tossing the knife into the carrion pit and letting loose a fresh wave of desecrated smells that rose up and perverted the air with their sickened blood. "If ya want, I can pay ya." He paused, moving over to the carrion pit as he dug his hand through, more and more the alleyway grew potent with the sickened stench as he dug his hand through before pulling out a small bag of credits. "How does Twenty Thousand sound?" He inquired, the bag had flies and maggots twisting and turning around the fabric, slabs of rotted meat festering on the leather bag.
[member="Blake Morrigan"] | [member="Darth Abyss"] | [member="Darth Ophidia"]

 

[Darth Abyss]

Malachor, The Tainted City

[member="Soeht"]'s answer was a cryptic and abstract as his request to talk had been. That was no surprise, the entity wasn't known for being awfully clear about his intentions, or anything else in that regard. Probably a meeting face to face, or whatever either of the twisted beings had under their masks currently, was required to figure out what the topic of this discussion was. Abyss made his way to an dark, abandoned backyard, slowly revealing just a hint of himself for Soeht to find. The he followed up with another message, again not spoken but summoned by the force.

"Reveal yourself, my dark brother."

This time he decided not to use the voice of the Prophet, the twisted, distorted Version of his own, but the echo of an echo, voices composed out of memories and thoughts he had devoured, all of them carrying an mark of the past in them. Maybe that was a language the entity was more willing to speak in.

Spoiler

OOC Just assume there is a time frame between this part and the next part of my post so I can have this talk with Soeht and continue the main story of this thread, because I am all out of good npc stories lol.

Malachor, The Tainted City - Red Light District, Warehouse

Pale Hands intel already had made its way back to Inner Eye members operating in Malachors capital when Abyss returned from his unplanned detour. Upon entering the warehouse the Prophet could already see his agents and soldiers standing around a multilayered 3D depiction of the Empire's Headquarter in the Tainted City. The blueprints had no information about possible defensive measures, or other seemingly important intel that would help a normal strike force get inside. Lucky for them neither the Inner Eye nor Abyss himself had much resemblance to a conventional strike force. Once the metal figure made his way to his gathered forces, the two agents lifted their hands in a salute.

"My lord we have already surveyed the intel transmitted by Pale Hand. We discovered two possible points of entry, and Glory claims to have found another, but she refused to talk about it until you arrived."

Abyss caught sight of the digital image detecting the avatar of his A.I. the woman shown smiling like this was her birthday. Whatever she had found was probably the golden ticket into the facility. Still he wouldn't make a decision without taking a look on the intel himself. With a raise of his left hand he signed his agents to propose the plans they had come up with. While they talked Glory made sure to colorfully mark the various points of interest on the map accordingly.

"The power gird reveals the positions that are the least likely to be secured. This includes a small entrance on the back where supplies are brought into the facility. In case of an assault in full force it would be the advised point of entrance."

The metal man nodded to his agent, the words of the man meet by slight cheers from the members of the legion. They all were out for the empire's blood, and Abyss would've liked to give it to them. Then the other agent stepped forward, Glory once again visually aiding the representation of the plan.

"They linked their waste disposal system with that of the city. We could get below the facility without moving openly. Getting in on the other hand will make some noise. These weak points would allow us to blow small holes in the floor and enter at any desired position with a small strike force. At first we could surprise them, but we didn't yet had the chance to test their respomse time."

Again he nodded. Both plans could work, as most plans proposed by his most elite forces. Now it was time for Glory to speak up. He had faith that the digital entity he shared an almost father-daughter like relationship with wouldn't make such a scene if she didn't discovered something that would make their job a lot easier. The legion members as well as the Inner Eye looked at the A.I. awaiting their minds to be blown away.

"Thanks to the power grid I was able to figure out the most likely layout of the ventilation system. A single agent, or rather a single sith lord, should be able to get into it completely unseen. I also used the grid to to determine the most likely position of their communication center. If you get in and disable it, a team can enter through the underground without alerting the remaining forces in the city or their fleet and spread chaos. Once confusion and panic takes over your legion moves to the back entrance, posing as empire reinforcements."

For a short moment there was silence, then two agents started to clap, Abyss and the legion joining in close after. This was the plan that would bring malachor back into his hand.

[member="Thraxis"] [member="Darth Ophidia"] [member="The Slave"] [member="Serenity Loveheart"] [member="Blake Morrigan"] [member="Veritas"] [member="Vrak Nashar"] [member="Dravis Rosilla"] [member="Ariealla Vareldi"]