Skirmish The Summer Rain Rebellion [GA/SO Skirmish of Ukatis]

[King Horace]

Horace was skeptical as he maneuvered his hoverchair into the center of the circle. The Seers had him remove his shirt and doublet, then began smearing a scented oil across his bare chest. Even when they slit the throat of one of their own as a blood sacrifice, the king looked doubtful. “You think one man’s blood will be enough? It took a whole village last time.”

His gaze flicked toward Meverell, who stood near the exit. Even in the dark he could see that his face had gone pale and his eyes were wide. It wasn’t every day he saw his normally stoic chief minister so visibly shocked and horrified—but then Meverell had joined his court only seven years ago, long after the war and the blood price with which he had bought the throne. “You must think I’ve gone mad, Mev,” Horace muttered. “But can you blame me for turning to the black arts, when the so-called benevolent gods won’t answer my prayers? At least this gets results.”

Meverell finally tore his eyes from the corpse of the dead Seer, looking straight at his king with jaw clenched shut. His hand drifted to the dagger at his belt, fingering the hilt, though he did not draw the blade yet.

None of them saw the figure which slipped through the shadows, walking unseen among them. Horace was transfixed by the glow which began to suffuse his skin, the eerie, elegant beauty of it. They had promised it would protect him. Really, he should have asked for a ritual that would make him young again. But that was probably beyond their capabilities. A shame. The life he had now, in his old, bloated body, was barely worth living, let alone preserving.

He felt a tickle on the back of his neck, like hot breath ghosting over his skin. At first he thought it was part of the ritual. But then a voice whispered in his ear.

“This is for Marcel. May your screams…”

Before Lysander could finish, Horace had whirled to face his attacker. The name Marcel was enough to flick a switch in his brain, dredging up the grief and hatred he still felt over his son’s murder. He had blamed Marcel even more than his daughter for what happened; after all, her father was the one who made the bloody match. But the fact that the boy was stupid enough to open his mouth before he drove the dagger in just made him even more angry. He could’ve stabbed him first, then whispered his cutesy little sendoff after. It would’ve been clean, at least. But no. Clearly, they had sent an inexperienced child to do a man’s work.

Did he think that just because the king was old and fat, he had no fight left in him? Did he think it would be that easy?

With surprising speed Horace reached out, aiming to seize a handful of those piss-yellow curls. His other hand made a fist, ready to swing at the boy’s face—

The obsidian knife punctured flesh. Blood welled up from the wound. But worse was the poison now spreading through his veins. Struggling to breathe amid excruciating pain and paralysis, Horace lost his grip on the Ascania whelp, if indeed he’d managed to get a hold of him at all.

“Poison?” he rasped. Poison was a weapon for women and weaklings. Yet poison was how he would die. A hateful end to a miserable existence.

Horace's lips twitched, sweating beading down his face. He could feel his already strained heart pounding in his chest, his blood roaring in his ears. His watering eyes narrowed as he gasped for just enough air to spit one final insult:

“Coward.”

Lysander von Ascania Madrona A’Mia Marcel von Ascania
Sibylla Abrantes ?​

 

[Lord Meverell]

None of them saw the assassin until it was too late. Even the Seers could not sense his presence, disguised as he was. But they saw with their eyes the figure standing over the king, brandishing a blade stained with royal blood.

Several of the Seers turned their powers on Lysander, bombarding his brain with psychic energy. Some shot arrows of doubt and despair into his mind; others sought to seize control of his faculties entirely, pushing his consciousness down in an attempt at knocking him out. While they fought to overwhelm and overload him, the royal guards leaped into action, pressing the attack on the assassin. They could not undo what he had done, but they could at least avenge their sovereign.

While the chamber erupted into chaos, Meverell had regained a sense of calm. He had seen enough. “We should leave while there is still time,” he told Luciana—assuming the lady hadn’t fled at the first spilling of blood, and was not driven to further distrust at the sight of him now brandishing a dagger, ready to fend off any that stood in the way of his escape. “Follow me.”

He turned away from the scene of the assassination, disappearing down a stone passage. The route led to an underground passage away from the Palace all the way to the refectory of the Basilica, home of the Patriarch of Axilla. Meverell might wind up encountering Father Lakota for the second time that day, perhaps interrupting his supper.

Horace would have called him a coward for not staying to the end, but while the chief minister was willing to give his life for his country, he expected results from his self-sacrifice, too. He would not go down with a sinking ship, not when the future of Ukatis still hung in the balance.

And lo, but the future of his homeworld had never seemed more uncertain than it did now…

/exit post Eurydice Lysander von Ascania Madrona A’Mia Sibylla Abrantes​

 

[Eurydice]

ROYAL PALACE

Allies | King Horace | Corazona von Ascania |Royal Army | Galactic Alliance
Enemies | Veradun Sharr | Darth Nefaron | Lysander von Ascania | Sibylla Abrantes | Madrona A’Mia | Ukatian Rebels | Sith​

Eurydice did not see, but she heard.

Consciousness came to her in slow waves. Her vision was still dim, still fuzzy, but that voice pierced her mind with startling clarity. Though she could not behold Nefaron's grotesque form just yet, the Force painted an unintentional portrait of her captor's master. Sweat beaded at her brow, her pulse stuttered erratically, and a shudder trembled her entire body.

"You, my dear, will bear witness to the fall of your homeworld. When we are done with this place, I will have scared its people for generations to come. One day, you will come to see the necessity of what we are doing here, but first, we must begin your proper education."

Finally, she felt the gag in her mouth be removed. Eurydice hadn't even registered its presence until now.

"P-please…" she managed to croak as Veradun began dragging her along. Eurydice still felt as if she were lingering in the state between wakefulness and a dreamless sleep. Everything escalated far too quickly for her to keep up with.

By the time she stumbled into the throne room, a headache had hit her full force. The Seer grimaced, bringing one bound hand up to her temple. A cry of pained surprise left her when the boy grabbed her hair and forced her to her knees. A position of subservience, and Eurydice trembled before the Sith as the confrontation played out.

The Seer was a bloodied fly on the wall of Nefaron's plans, which painted a grim picture for Ukatis. There rumors had not only been true, but they'd were far worse than imagined.

She glanced to the Corpse Lord; despite his rapt attention on the impassioned conversation between Marcel and Corazona, he still radiated power and capability in the Force.

Eurydice chose to focus on the boy flanking him. She neither looked nor spoke to Veradun, but reached out to his wounds in the Force, emboldening them to sting sharper, and for the ache to blossom into his bones in a manner that would distract him.

---

Tucked into the corner of the dungeon, Luciana watched in sheer terror as Erasmus slit the throat of the younger Seer. She'd heard of dark magics being used among the upper courts, but had never witnessed it up close.

Lightning quick, an unseen figure drove a blade into the king's neck, drawing a ragged gasp from the King and sounds of shock from the Seers. Luciana inched her way towards the exit passage at the far end of the room. The invaders had breached the belly of the palace.

Here, they were sitting ducks.

Meverell too, had brandished a knife, bidding her to follow him. The Viscountess' eyes flashed with uncertainty; it the chaos of the insurrection, it was difficult to parse out where loyalties lay. Was this strange ritual meant to protect the king, or did the Head Seer intend to hasten his demise?

If Horace was finished, had that meant her husband had won?

Luciana fled; not towards the Basilica, but for the throne room.

Father Erasmus, startled by the sudden appearance of the assassin, choked on his own incantation. He dropped to his knees, chalk and soot clinging to his robe as aged lungs gasped for air. He'd expended far too much energy for a ritual that hadn't seemed to matter in the end, and now they were to die in this wretched place with the rats.

He had seen it.

Grasping for the corpse next to him, Erasmus placed one hand on the boy's head, and the other on his chest. Thin, dry lips moved with the motion of a different chant. Dark wisps of miasma rose from the corpse and flowed into his shriveled body. The Seers eyes rolled back as his dull complexion turned pallid, his fingers even more skeletal, and the whites of his eyes deepened to an inky void.

Invigorated, he too fled further into the stone passage. All that was left of Brother Elias was a pile of ash.

Spoiler: TL;DR

Eurydice attempts a psychic assault on Veradun.
Luciana flees, heading toward the throne room.
Father Erasmus siphons energy from the sacrificed seer, whose body is reduced to ash. Father Erasmus then also flees.

 

[Drystan Creed]

UKATIS

At Kaila Irons 's question about his allegiances, Drystan gave a short bow — sharp and clean.

"As much a Jedi as you are." The courtesy lasted only a heartbeat before violence intruded again.

Another assailant lunged at him, and Drystan moved with brutal efficiency — sidestepping the crimson blade, snapping his head back, then driving it forward in a savage headbutt.

The crack of impact split the air. The assassin dropped, durasteel helmet bent and shattered. And with it, Drystan's porcelain mask splintered apart, white shards raining down to reveal the long, vertical scar slashed across his left eye.

He didn't flinch. Didn't slow.

Drystan barely spared the two new Jedi another glance. Whether he knew them or not didn't matter — they were fighting beside him, and that was enough.

"These Sith are persistent... but fortunately," he muttered, his voice low, almost amused, "I've still got an ace up my sleeve."

Literally.

He produced a playing card with a flick of his wrist, charging it with the Force as he caught the strike of another assassin's saber against it. Sparks flew. In a blink, Drystan pivoted, slicing the card clean through the assassin's wrist — the severed limb falling to the ground.

A savage kick followed, caving into the attacker's sternum and hurling him backward like a sack of meat.

The card fluttered from Drystan's fingers. Not an ace. A joker.

"Figures," he murmured darkly.

But there was no time for jokes. Not here. Not with the air thickening — poisoned.

He caught sight of the orange gas pouring from metal canisters. Watched civilians and enemies alike inhale it and collapse into madness. One screamed and lunged at him, wide-eyed and raving. Drystan stepped forward and dropped him cleanly with a single nerve-strike to the neck, lowering him to the ground.

"Hallucinogen," he barked out to the others. "Watch your lungs."

He turned, scanning the chaos — the shadows in the gas, the assassins moving under cover of the madness.

"Priority 1: Find a way to neutralize the gas. Priority 1b: Save as many people as you can."

A short breath through his nose. This was worse than he'd anticipated. But bad situations were the Shadow's territory.

"You can call me Drystan. Jedi Shadow," he said grimly. "No time for handshakes. I'm counting on everyone here."

He tapped his communicator, attempting to open a direct channel to Kaila Irons and Tamsin Graves —intending on linking them with him and the two padawans. Azurine Varek and Everest Vale

"Loose comms. Call it as you see it. No hesitation."

His hand found the hilt at his belt. His eyes narrowed, deadly sharp and tempered by a righteous resolve.

"Let's go save a city."

Kaila Irons Tamsin Graves Azurine Varek Everest Vale

 

[Jenn Kryze]

Beskar'gam
​

| Location | Amidst the enemy lines; blazing a trail!
| Objective | Unto the anvil of war!

For too long, she had been afraid of her own power. Kept it suppressed, and her own emotions with it. Cold suited her best, for battle and leadership. Fire and warmth, shunned. Fire could spiral out of control, consume, destroy.​

​

But what was there for a Mandalorian to do but burn, burn and rage against the darkness all around them?​

​

Falling rain, empowering her with every drop against the flowing waters of her beskar'gam. But so too did darkness form and hurtle towards her so dangerously. Hardly a new trick either, but one more creative than the use of lightning shot out of one's fingertips. Good. Perhaps if she brought this vile spawn of darkness and despair within a breath of his end, then he may very well just pull something interesting out of his repertoire. ​

​

Nimble steps and quick bursts of her jetpack allowed her to dance around the weapons fashioned of purest darkness, sometimes taking the bold risk of flying towards them, before turning her body at the last moment, letting them shoot past so close she could almost admire the coalesced darkness forming them. ​

​

This was not to be her death. Not to... this. Not to this creature.​

​

"Ni cuyir par parjai. Evaar'alor be aliit Kryze! Kad Ha'rangir, dinuir ni gar kot!"​

​

Once more did she reach an empty palm to the sky; this time, not to call upon the raw strength of thunder unto it, however. Fingertips facing the sky, ever-so slowly curling inwards, as if fighting an invisible pressure, ripping the power she sought from the Force. It served as a wellspring of it, to be respected, feared, and ultimately treated as a challenge whenever she made use of it. Her will against that of the fabric of creation itself; she was yet to lose.​

​

At last, those fingertips reached the halfway point to her palm... and all too suddenly closed into a fist, as if the point of resistance had been passed. Smaller, this time, were the bolts of furious lightning; but no less potent as they hurtled towards the ravens with murderous intention.​

​

​

Darth Malum of House Marr ​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Interacting with: Lysander von Ascania Madrona A’Mia Corazona von Ascania Eurydice

Unknowingly, Madrona's arrival came with it a side effect the young politician was not expecting; spores that made A'mia along with others more friendly and admirable... and Sibylla prone to easier suggestion. and slightly hallucinogenic.

Unfortunately, Sibylla had an underlying allergic reaction when it came to hallucinogens, enhancing their effects. This would be no different.

At first, the dizziness was light, just an odd fog settling over her thoughts. But with each breath, the world around Sibylla seemed to grow more unreal. It was as though she were watching everything unfold through the lens of a holofilm; distant, blurry, like she wasn't quite a part of it. The chaos of the palace felt muffled, the screams and clashing metal fading into the background.

An abrupt chuckle escaped her. She was unable to help, the tart thought that if this was a side effect of that Ukatian pastry, Sibylla was going to have some words with Lysander about this!

A quip regarding the matter would have slipped from her mouth, but her mind was scattered, trying to grasp the reality of their situation. Focus. Just focus. She had to trust him, she kept telling herself. But with every step, the line between reality and illusion blurred further.

As they descended into the ritual chamber, the air thick with the scent of blood and incense, Sibylla fought to focus.
Was this a test? A trial? She couldn't form the words to ask, her thoughts clouded by the spores. She could barely focus on the faces in the shadows. Were they enemies? Allies? The lines blurred, and Sibylla's chest tightened with the realization that she wasn't sure anymore.

Whatever slugged through Sibylla's mind was brushed to the side as Lysander captured her attention.

. "It took me too long to see it," he breathed, barely above a murmur, "but.. I've always been yours, Sibylla." His features relaxed for a heartbeat, but his voice then steadied. "I need you to survive this. Should I fall, don't worry about me."

She had always felt the pull between them, but had buried it beneath duty and expectations. Now, hearing Lysander's admission, she was stunned, unable to speak. Her mind raced with emotions she had never allowed herself to confront. She had known, deep down, that underlying all their quips and witty remarks, there was more between them, but hearing him say it out loud left her at a loss, unsure how to face the truth.

But before she could process it, Lysander seemed to fade, his figure vanishing into the shadows as if swallowed by smoke. The world around her felt increasingly disconnected, like a dream she couldn't wake from.

"Lys!" she called, reaching out, following without thinking, but by then he was gone.

She had to trust him, she reminded herself, but as they moved deeper into the palace, the weight of the unknown pressed down harder with every step. What had Lysander become a part of? What were they walking into? Was this all just a dream or some crazy nightmare?

She didn't know, even if off in the distance, cries and gurgling yelp of 'coward', echoed down the dungeon, only to barely recognize the figure fleeing, and then finally, one familiar face. Lysander's mother, Luciana...

Wait, why was she --

Sibylla's entire focus now turned to that, unable to help but catch the look of terror that etched her face as the older woman fleed.

"Lady Luciana!" Sibylla cried out, attempting to reach out to her to catch her attention. Whatever this was, they had to get out of here.

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

The Force strummed like the beat of wardrums, it echoed through the life and unlife of every fragment of the galaxy, and as one of him, sprouted out invisible, inky tendrils that touched each and every soul upon the battlefield, he felt the tide turn, they were the wavefronts, breaking along the sandbanks, again, and again, unrelenting, despair gripped the heart of the defeated, heartened were those who saw the banner of victory begin to unfurl.

There was a Jedi working against him.

He felt it.

That was his foe.

The tendrils lashed, flaring in angered muster, searching for the one who dared stand against him.

Only for... a familiar... yet entirely foreign semblance to fill his senses.

"Send in the Guard." The golden-eyed Malum, with the ghost of another voice announced, as through the torrential rains, flickering through his form, he knew, a distraction had now gripped Malum, with full force. As the engines of speeders began to mount up the hill, to charge down, and break this last flank, that dared resist.

Shan
Mentioned: Jenn Kryze Lysander von Ascania

Feathers fell from the heavens, as raven black wings flapped at ever quickening paces, gliding through the air, as loud squaks and shrill caws alerted those who continued to glide, of the demise of one of their brothers, struck down by a lucky bolt that had been sent in waves in reply to the darkness.

It was an interesting display of capability.

Yet, if she wanted to impress him, screeching up in Mando'a as she did, she would need to find another trick.

Luckily, she did not seem to be a woman who would disappoint. The ravens and crows cawed in unison, eager blood red eyes, bearing witness as the first lines of charging speeders broke through the flank, riding forth toward the city, as from his position up in the skies, he knew, the battle was soon coming to an end.

Coming to an end...

A familiar presence flickered in his mind, yet, one that was entirely foreign too.

A singular bird broke off from the formation, leaving only these carrion to circle the corpse to be, flying off deep into the black clouds, as the rest flew ever gracefully through the projectiles that the Mo- Mandalorian threw up towards them. The rain, long having sculpted their feathers into a glassy sheen, as thunder heralded their arrival.

Lightning was only the warning.

It raced across the sky, strumming along their sight with the radiant ferocity of the sun, a power blinding as much as it was haunting, as from where once beheld the view of carrion answering the call of fresh meat rotting upon a field. Now heralding from high heaven, a masked figure fell, black in make and order, rubies encrusted in plate and steel, the blade whistled against the sheath as the beskar was born free around his grip, and the shadowed Sith Steel bore in its nature the fury of lightning coalescing from hilt to tip.

Aimed at the heart of the Mandalorian.

Red and golden eyes burned beneath the glass visor of his vision.

"Gar Kelir troan rohakar, an laam jumped vheh'ad, gar gods Kelir trattok'or gar, ibic akaanir cuyir jaon" He imagined neither Elsie nor Mia would be none too pleased that he would use the Mando'a they taught in this manner.

But to catch her off-guard might have been the most relishing dish of them all.

Jenn Kryze
Mentioned: Elise Ahana-Gwyneira Mia Monroe Lysander von Ascania

The raven burst through the finely crafted stained glass window with the barest amount of regret. Regret, that soon turned to urgency, as ruby eyes quickly assessed what situation he now found himself in.

It had been with a strange sense of foreboding urgency that had summoned him here. It was not without just cause that, was made quickly apparent. There stood one figure, high above the scene, a tall, lithe, lad, neither boy, nor man, bedecked with a head of golden locks, sheened to such gravity as to have turned as white as one much elder than he. Festooned with green eyes, as glimmering as emeralds born out of the deepest of caves, eyes filled with purpose, determination.

To do what...

...A dagger lay bloody in his hand, and crumpled beneath him, a fat lout of kingly stature and station.

King Horace Cholmondeley was dead.

He felt the amulet burn against his chest. The face of the lad... it was familiar. Familiar with a way of seeing the imprint of it on another face, a face that had been drawn in his mind, the moment he had come to this world.

Kin.

The word resounded heavy in his mind.

Cousin.

The word resounded heavy in his heart.

King Horace Cholmondely was dead, and it was one of his blood, who had committed the deed, and the consequences for such were advancing upon him, at a pace frightening. Instinct moved him, followed by will, sprouting forth from the wings of raven black wings, came a figure adorned in the black plate and steel of a knight of the nether realms, the lightsabre hissed as the kyber was activated and hissed against the open air.

A pause in the air, as seer and guardsman alike, advancing upon their prey, were forced to cease.

As darkness seemed to seep into the room.

He saw only red.

Baring fangs advancing upon his foes, those who turned to face him, bombarding him with weapon material and immaterial, as a ghostly voice echoed along the room.

"The House of Marr has stood for over four thousand years against the reign of tyrants. I am glad that even lacking the name, those of our blood continue that sacred work."

"Cousin."

Lysander von Ascania
Mentioned: King Horace Corazona von Ascania

 

[Darth Nefaron]

ALLIES: Veradun Sharr Eurydice Marcel von Ascania
ENEMIES: Corazona von Ascania

Marcel von Ascania would die.
​

A reminder the Corpse Lord sorely needed when confronted by the puppet King. He had fallen so far as to believe his gravitas equal to that of a Dark Lord. Still, Nefaron was as prone to wrath as any other Sith, and the sweet thought of having Veradun disembowel this jumped-up noble was tempting indeed. But all that was done in response to the Viscount's command was to smile, for a presence Nefaron had long awaited had at last arrived, setting the stage for the final act of this sad family drama.

Of course, the hint of hesitation that Nefaron sensed in his pawn did cause him to tighten his grip on the throne ever so slightly. To ask a father, even one so lost in his own self-importance, to potentially end his daughter’s life was a leap indeed. But in the end, the promise of power broke whatever pathetic bonds remained between father and daughter. The Dark Lords' grin only grew as requests for reason turned into bitter regrets and accusations. For once, the Viscount revealed that he had indeed been wise to arrange a marriage for his prodigious daughter, especially if it meant she was moved into position to seize the throne. Alas, this Jedi did not see the promise of power, and so Darth Nefaron would have to drag her kicking and screaming into the dark.

As father and daughter prepared for a final duel, Nefaron ensured that his champion would stand for a time. Marcel faced one of the deadliest Jedi in the galaxy; any other day, this duel would have ended in seconds. But the blade he carried, the armor he wore with pride, all of these gifts from the Corpse Lord stank of fell sorcery, of a power gained from profane rituals and the sacrifice of the innocent. Though he could not wield the force, the Dark Side had taken him as a vessel, a puppet that Nefaron could guide from his vaunted place on the throne of Ukatis. He would very much enjoy this confrontation, his silent incantations only fueling the would-be King to give in to his bloodlust. He was so close to the throne after all, what was one daughter's life in comparison to the lives of all those who lived on Ukatis?

He could always have another. To Marcel, she was little more than a commodity.

To Nefaron, she was the swift sword of his quest for power. She would give in to her anger, rage, and fear and take her place at the Corpse Lord’s side. After all, he would deliver her the true master of this scheme, who had provided him with all the resources he needed to launch this operation.

She was going to kill Malum for him.

Oh, how delicious that would be.​

“Behold, Apprentice-“

Nefaron’s icy voice slipped into Veradun’s mind as they watched their puppets duel.

“This is how we will take the galaxy. Daughters will kill fathers. Mothers will kill sons. Worlds will devour each other, consumed by rage and fear. The dark tide will spread, and we shall be its masters. Learn well from this day, for it will be but the first act in our reign of terror.”

 

[Meleena Bloodscrawl]

Meleena had finally landed in the hell unleashed by Darth Nefaron . The toxin was all over the city.

Her design was made to deal with hazardous materials. But she didn't know how good her designs inherent regeneration capacity would do against such a gas.

Her Dovin Basal heart beat rapidly increasing the gravity of the local area, pulling the deadly gas to the ground where she walked. Her Maser Beam eyes activated and she ignited small pockets of it. Despite its exotic nature, against such extreme temperatures it's molecular components broke down, but there was no way in hell that this was a long term solution. What she saw horrified her. It sent a shock through her entire database.

Everybody was murdering everybody else.

Magdalena used her Dovin Basal heart to condense the Gas into pockets and ignite them with her beams as she moved forward through the chaos, using her knowledge of pressure points to render crazed citizens attacking her unconscious trying to drag them into areas that had been naturally protected from the release of gas, either by being surrounded by buildings or other natural barriers. She would lift the unconscious or those who had somehow been unaffected by the gas or escaped its spread to the highest rooftops she could find above the gas as far as she could get from the gas epicenters, identifying potential release points.

Her body felt like it was burning. She felt an unnatural sense of fear and dread even greater than what the situation warranted. Her body was barely fighting it off, preventing it from going into full-blown hallucination mania, but she frequently experienced panic attacks, but remained coherent enough to scoop up an unconscious child. The X-ray function in her eyes saw the child had very little gas in his lungs but had simply passed out. Small mercies for the chaos around her.

The cruelty of the attack enraged her. Destroying an entire society simply to send a message. This Nefaron needed to be hunted down. Soon.

Along the way she ran into Jaina Grayson , and Meleena's analysis database almost immediately identified her as a biot just by her movement mannerisms, subtle precision no organic can replicate.

Meleena ran up to her, still carrying the child, hoping she was the one who sent the transmission. Meleena could barely fight off the effects of the gas, but the fact she could fight it off at all spoke volumes. No doubt her fellow Biot might also recognize she herself was one, perhaps even pick up on the fact that their technology has a distant yet direct relationship to each other.

"Please tell me you're the one who sent the transmission..." Meleena said, covered in the blood of her enemies like a 90's Anti-Hero (Or just Kratos).

"I've...been finding areas where the Gas hasn't reached yet. Haven't found any of the dispensers though..."

Meleena was prepared to fly away if the creature turned out to be hostile. She wouldn't risk the child in her arms for an extended fight.

Meanwhile...

The Pyro had ran the child back to the ship Meleena had arrived on, fighting the urge to burn burn BURN the obstacles in her way.

He noticed one of the Pyros in the distance igniting isolated gas pockets. It was mixed results. The gas seemed to require very intense temperature before it would break down. No doubt something worked into the design of its composition.

No sooner has he started administering medical aid from the ship supplies than more Pyros dragged in relatively unaffected survivors to the upper levels and the roof. He immediately sent a series of encrypted transmissions pre arranged with a One-Time Pad system, a holdover tactic passed on from House Io Defectors. They needed a relief and evacuation vessel now...

 

[Lirka Ka]

Lirka let cruel laughter sing to the air. This was the life. Blood had been spilt, and with it came the satisfaction of bone breaking against her metal. Even if it was a short lived thing.

With a wretched pop the force flung Lirka from her current predicament. Tumbling and crashing her way through the mud, for a moment there was silence before a mechanical rumble heralded Lirka rising up from the muck of Ukatis.

She certainly could have decided to play dead and see what happens…but the fun was just getting started. Finally free from its overload, her blade crackled back to life and she shook mud from her being. Lenses locked onto the once again distant form of Jonyna Si

Though quickly did distraction present itself as Nefaron’s trap was sprung and the toxins flowed to the air of the city. Lirka’s rancorous laughter only grew now, thunderous and horrible.

“And there he is!”

She knew Darth Nefaron would have had something like that planned. Vassek had taught her that much, now she just needed to wait and see if she’d be stuck dealing with the monstrous undead once again.

She barked out at the Jedi Master once more, plenty content to quip for a moment before violence exploded once more.

“Time’s running out, kitty-cat. First gas…now we just need to wait and see how long it’ll take till the dead of Ukatis rise to rip us all apart!”

She could only hope. Let the Jedi be beset on all sides, let this whole place descend into pandemonium. It would be a delicious prospect.

​

 

[Eurydice]

ROYAL PALACE

Allies | King Horace |
Enemies | Veradun Sharr | Darth Nefaron
??? | Sibylla Abrantes​

Eurydice poured all of her concentration - all of her strength - into her attempt to enhance the pain of Veradun's wounds. Her use of the Force was not efficient, expending more energy than necessary that a typical Sith would to accomplish the same feat.

She couldn't keep it up for long, either. Only for a few, agonizing seconds until she gasped and tried to stumble away, towards the exit hatch concealed beneath the flooring at the far side of the throne room.

Eurydice only managed a few steps before Lady Luciana and Father Erasmus appeared from the emergency exit. The Head Seer immediately locked his unblinking gaze onto her, his inky black eyes deeply unsettling. Erasmus drifted across the stone tiles with a spectral sort of grace, the hem of his long dark cloak curling beneath him as he moved.

The corrupted Seer would bow before Darth Nefaron, recognizing him as the man who now occupied the Ukatian throne. The King was dying. Marcel, locked in combat with his daughter, was now being intercepted by his wife. A fool’s errand.

"O great Dark Lord," Erasmus spoke, his strained vocal cords vibrating a Dark enhancement that split his voice into two tones. Overlain with one another, they sounded like the eerie rasp of a ghost. "Erasmus of the Ukatian Seers pledges himself to you. Take me, O Dark King, as your advisor, and let that whelp expire to increase your power. This tender-footed postulant can offer little more than her ineptitude, while I bring with me the hallowed secrets of our Order."

---

Enhanced by the Force, Father Erasmus practically flew past both Sibylla and Luciana in the catacombs beneath the palace, paying the women no mind.

Once they neared the exit - a small wooden door that would open to the floor of the throne room - Luciana turned toward the girl who'd followed after her.

"Child," she whispered frantically as she took Sibylla by her shoulders and sought the girl's eyes. She seemed stunned, almost hazy, and so Luciana spoke as clearly as her trembling voice would allow.

"This is no place for you! Run, run now or you might be killed. Follow Lord Meverell to the Basilica. He will look after you, there."

Luciana turned to climb up the short ladder that would lead into the throne room. Father Erasmus had already pushed the door open, spilling rays of light across the mouth of the passage. As she clambered her way out of the catacombs, she could see the Head Seer prostrating himself before a man with gnarled skin peeking out from beneath his hood. The man who sat on the throne.

A potent, startling fear struck its way into Luciana's heart the moment she laid eyes on Darth Nefaron. For a few seconds, she simply remained frozen. The Viscountess had never seen him before, but somehow he felt…familiar. No doubt that he was one of the strange men her husband consorted with. A masculine grunt managed to move her gaze toward an even more horrifying sight.

Her husband and daughter, both armed, clashed fiercely against one another. In that instant, Luciana felt her heart stutter before it began to beat again. Marcel had hurt their eldest child countless times before, and she'd been too timid to intervene.

No more.

"Marcel,” she called. “The King is dying!"

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

ROYAL PALACE​

Allies | Jalen Kai'el | Makko Vyres | King Horace
Enemies | Darth Nefaron | Veradun Sharr | Marcel von Ascania
??? | Sibylla Abrantes

Silence engulfed the throne room as father and daughter, with their blades drawn, slowly circled one another. Even the Force itself seemed as if it were holding its breath in tension.

Then, they clashed.

Steel met steel. Marcel struck first, a testing swipe to his daughter's left flank. She parried, but was forced to take a step back. For all the foreign influence on Ukatis, they'd fallen back on the traditional way of settling disputes; a duel.

There was an elegance to the dance. It lacked both the brutal efficiency Marcel had displayed in cutting his way to the capital, and the decisive strikes Cora had imparted unto the Flesh Reavers.

Marcel's overhead swing was intercepted by the Jedi's block. For a few moments, they were close enough to speak. The Viscount's eyes flicked down to the glint of light at her hand. Slipped around her finger was a band of white gold. He let out a grunt.

"You'd wear something of such value to war?"

It took Cora a moment to work out what he meant. Her brow pinched in confusion as she followed Marcel's line of sight first to her hand, then to his own. He'd removed his wedding band.

"It's more resilient than you might think," she murmured.

"You've taken that gutter tramp as a husband over a Prince?" Marcel scoffed, disappointed. Sending her away to the Jedi had clearly been an error. "You cannot even see how far you've fallen."

Cora took advantage of her father's momentary surprise. Marcel was physically stronger, and though he'd trained with a blade for far longer, he'd only ever fought in a handful of skirmishes outside of the great rebellion twenty years prior. The daughter had faced opponents of greater variety, in greater frequency. Summoning a burst of strength, she slid her blade along his own and pushed forward.

Marcel yielded to the block, stumbling back. Cora pressed the advantage, keeping her father on his back foot with a flurry of jabs and slashes, effectively keeping him hemmed into his own defenses.

"You could be…so much more than what you are, Corazona."

Marcel grimaced as he moved his blade with precision, blocking every strike that came his way. He created enough of an opening to drop his left shoulder and charge forward, ramming Cora in the chest.

His daughter went sprawling backwards. A strangled gasp ripped from her throat as she lost her footing and crashed to the floor. Marcel did not approach, but scrutinized his eldest child as she clambered back up. A rough cough had blood spattering against her chin.

"I never was enough for you, was I?"

The dance continued. Less elegant, more discordant as an unrefined energy seeped into their movements. Fear, anger, even hunger all played a part.

Then, a voice neither of them expected to hear rang in desperation through the hall:

"Marcel, the King is dying!"

The Viscount and his daughter turned their attention toward the opposite end of the throne room. Luciana had emerged from an emergency passage built into the flooring; fake flagstones affixed to a wooden door had hid its entrance from plain view.

The pair balked, and for a moment, in the expressions they wore, Corazona and Marcel looked very much alike. The same noble countenance, the same profile fashioned of clean lines and aristocratic poise.

The Viscount exhaled heavily through his nose. He nodded once, sharply towards his wife. He beckoned her closer with his free hand.

"Come."

Luciana was tentative, but she approached her husband with slow steps. Her face was soft, and seemed to hold a perpetual sorrow as her gaze slid from Marcel to their daughter.

"Marcel, it is over now. You- you've won. Don't hurt her, please. You've already done so much."

Though her voice trembled, Luciana persisted. Had Marcel caught wind of her betrayal? No, it was too soon. Only Lord Meverell knew for now.

Marcel reached out, and grabbed his wife by her arm. He pulled her to his chest, one arm slung about her waist while the other held a blade to her throat.

His eyes, cold and cruel and mad, fixed harshly on the visage of his horrified daughter.

"Lend me your strength, Corazona.”

The blade pressed to Luciana’s throat with just a little pressure. A bead of crimson dribbled down the pale column of her neck, and the runes of Marcel’s sword began to blaze anew. Ravenous.

“Or I will take hers."

 

[Makko Vyres]

UKATIS

SHIELD | ARMOR | LIGHTSABER | DRONES | SHIP | PISTOL​

Allies: Corazona von Ascania
Enemies: Cin Serina Calis

"Fall into me," she called, and her voice, carried on the storm, was not invitation.

Gravity ensured that Makko had very little choice in that regard.

He might have manipulated the odds with the Force - falling through the sky past the maw of a beast - but his prize was a collision with a Sith.

His black armor sparked and smouldered. The mesh weave had shielded him from most of the current, but pain shot up and and down nerves.

Makko wasn't a symbol of light and safety. He was a black, smoking missile falling from the sky.

He put his weight behind a falling kick, aiming for her chest and hoping to dislodge her. He landed on one foot and swung his saber, the blade snapping to life as he moved.

The motion felt clumsy. He attributed that to the fall and arcs of lightning.

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

​

At first the arboreal woman merely watched keenly, as any good test proctor might. The way Sibylla Abrantes succumbed to her spores held some interest at first, but soon her student Lysander von Ascania was making a move toward his very first assassination and that of course took precedent. A'Mia turned away from the small dramas playing out and slunk into the dungeon proper so she could witness the main act, still clinging to the wall and ceiling as she did.

Horace's lips twitched, sweating beading down his face. He could feel his already strained heart pounding in his chest, his blood roaring in his ears. His watering eyes narrowed as he gasped for just enough air to spit one final insult:

“Coward.”

Mayhem anew broke out, Seers scrambled to respond to the sudden revelation of an intruder so thoroughly in their midst. Then a ripple flowed across bark-like skin and A'Mia was made aware of a new up-welling in the Force that rippled through the Weave like the pattern left in water after a thrown stone breaks the surface.

A pause in the air, as seer and guardsman alike, advancing upon their prey, were forced to cease.

As darkness seemed to seep into the room.

A'Mia dropped to the floor amidst the chaos and used the opportunity to grab hold of a guard that had taken an aggressive step toward the Sith student in the beat between his attack and interception by the materialization of the boy's kin. Strangling limbs soon silenced the hollering soldier she'd grabbed and the neti 'tsk tsk'd' as she glided quickly up beside the limp form of King Horace .

"Decent form, admirable use of cloaking, but I'm afraid you need to take out at least one more vital organ," she instructed over the din of lingering combat, "See behind the eyes? He's in agony in there, the paralytic-nociceptor agent worked, but without more damage he could recover from this in time."

The neti dropped the limp form of her own most recent victim and reached to guide Lysander's hand with a decisive gesture.

"In a target with such abundant adiposity, you must ensure you push completely through the outer layers- punching cleanly through the muscle wall."

Cold and clinical, the woman calmly imparted her important lesson even as she helped her student sink the blade into a more vital area. With that done and without missing a beat, the woman turned to Darth Malum of House Marr .

"Dark Councilor," A'Mia gave a curtsy which turned into a dodge from the swing of an enraged guard, who she engage in a whirl of her phrik blades.

"You really musn't coddle the youth," she called brightly to to room at large, "Lest you dull their edge."

 

[Veradun Sharr]

Direct Tags: Darth Nefaron // Eurydice
Nearby: Corazona von Ascania // Marcel von Ascania // @whoever else is in the vicinity​

Veradun remained still and silent beside his Master who sat upon the throne of Ukatis, the boy’s grip still tight and secure upon the Seer that was on her knees directly in front of him. Pale and icy eyes continued to observe the to-be King confront his daughter, and in the midst of this he heard his Master’s icy voice slip through his mind - a call to pay attention to what was transpiring, as it was the key to how they would take the galaxy and begin their reign of power and terror. Veradun did not respond to his Master’s mental lesson, though he absorbed it nonetheless.

Though he was mostly distracted by everything that was transpiring - he did sense the Force shift and move around him, though subtly. He figured it was something of his Master’s doing - that was until he felt his self-inflicted wounds flare in pain and burn more fiercely, the ache even going into his bones. It surprised him enough that the boy’s grip loosened upon his captive for a moment as he stiffened and blinked rapidly with the onslaught of sensation, before he managed to pull himself together enough to trace the Force presence back to the young Seer that he had captured. His momentary lapse had given her just enough time and space to slip free from his grasp and try to make an escape, but as the assault against him fell away, Veradun realized what had happened and with lightning speed he stepped right up behind her and snagged ahold of her hair once more before yanking her back gracelessly towards her kneeled place beside the throne. Cold fury radiated from the Nagai teen as he forced her head back so he could look her in the face, before the anger gave way to some sort of sick amusement and a half smile curled across his pale face.

“You’ll have to try harder next time, my dear. My Lord inflicts suffering far worse than what you could ever wield against me. All you did was entertain me.” he hissed at her, before his attention was pulled away to see a few other individuals appear from a hidden hatch in the floor, one of which - a man dressed in similar robes to the girl in Veradun’s grip - stumbled towards the pair of Sith before bowing to the Dark Lord.

Lethally cold and guarded eyes watched the older man as the Seer - Erasmus - made an attempt to pledge himself to the Sith Lord, offering his service in place of the girl in Veradun’s grasp, suggesting that she be killed in order to strengthen Darth Nefaron. Veradun’s eyes narrowed in growing wariness and suspicion as he beheld this newcomer, sensing the swell of the dark side and the taint of dark ritualistic magick upon him, and the boy shifted his attention to his Master - waiting to hear or see what Darth Nefaron’s decision would be in the matter.

Meanwhile, the to-be King and his daughter finally crossed blades, beginning their dance that would undoubtedly result in the death of one if not both of them. So much was happening around Veradun that it all assaulted his senses and threatened to distract him, but he enjoyed the challenge of having to stay focused but be prepared for anything that might happen.

Though, he made sure to keep an extra tight hold upon his slippery captive, and this time he made sure to strengthen his mental walls, to guard against any further intrusions she might try to throw against him.

 

[Jaina Grayson]

If I were an evil piece of shit, where would I dispense my gas?

Jaina asked herself that question as she made her way through Axilla. Major population centers seemed like obvious choices. Yet the city's heart, which contained the Royal Palace and Basilica, was notably untouched. She concluded there must be some major Sith forces occupying the area which they couldn't afford to have hallucinating and trying to kill each other...

As she hunted through the chaos for the source of the gas, she spotted a figure up ahead carrying an unconscious child. Initially assuming the tall, statuesque blonde was yet another civilian tripping on the toxin, she raised her stun pistol, preparing to fire through the mist...

"Please tell me you're the one who sent the transmission..."

Taken aback by her coherent speech, Jaina squinted at the woman, her sensors scanning deeper. Beyond the surface, the blonde turned out to be another android with a familiar yet foreign design. "Who are you?" she asked, remaining on her guard. Apart from her "sister" Bithia, which Jaina was a copy of, she had never encountered a fellow biot out in the wild before. She didn't know if this one was friend or foe.

"I've... been finding areas where the Gas hasn't reached yet. Haven't found any of the dispensers though..."

"Well, we're probably not far from it," Jaina said. "This here's the Quince Shopping District. Just gotta find out which shop is—"

The sound of breaking glass interrupted her. Jaina whirled around just in time to witness a crazed civilian charging through a display window, sending pieces of broken glass raining down on the cobblestones. Though well-dressed in expensive clothes, the man's threads tore and stained with blood as he rolled across the jagged shards. He staggered to his feet, wild-eyed and brandishing a blaster. "Demons! Devils! I'll—"

Jaina knocked him out with a single shot from her stun pistol. The man collapsed to the ground, unconscious. "The neurotoxin levels in his bloodstream are elevated," she remarked, staring at his body. "Like he got a higher or prolonged dosage of the stuff... Looks like we're in the right place." Now they just needed to find the dispenser and start putting an end to this nightmare.

Meleena Bloodscrawl​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Location: Somewhere in the Catacombs?

Sibylla's mind was already a haze from the spores, the lingering dizziness clouding her thoughts. But as Father Erasmus surged past them, the Force carrying him in a blur, something darker began to press in from all sides. As Darth Malum's presence arrived, waves of palpable darkness rolled over her, thick and suffocating, like a heavy fog that choked the very air Sibylla breathed.

The young woman's chest tightened, and the roaring in her ears grew louder like thunder crashing just above her head, each wave of sound reverberating through her body. It wasn't just an overwhelming presence; it was an oppressive force, pushing at her, pulling at her mind, filling her with an unshakeable sense of despair.

Luciana's frantic voice broke through the disorienting haze, her hands on Sibylla's shoulders.

"Child"

Luciana whispered urgently, but the words felt distant, muffled, as if coming from a faraway place.

"This is no place for you! Run, run now or you might be killed. Follow Lord Meverell to the Basilica. He will look after you, there."

Sibylla tried to focus, to grasp onto the older woman's words, but the darkness in her mind grew more suffocating with every second. It was as if the very weight of despair had taken form, pressing down on her chest, forcing the air from her lungs. Her eyes began to flicker, failing to focus. The floor seemed to tilt beneath her feet as the room spun around her.

The confusion was overwhelming; everything felt unreal, as though she were caught in some twisted, half-remembered dream. Her hands reached out instinctively toward Luciana, but the darkness surged again, and with it, the sense of being utterly lost, as if all hope had been drained from her in an instant. She could feel the panic creeping up, the compelling urge to flee, but her body refused to obey.

No, this didn't feel like a dream.

It felt like a nightmare.

Then, as the darkness pressed in, her vision blurred entirely, and the smothering weight of despair overcame her. Her legs buckled beneath her, and she crumpled to the cold, stone floor.

The last thing she heard was the distant echo of Luciana's voice, but even that was drowned by the roaring force of the darkness. Her mind succumbed to the pull, and with a final, shuddering breath, everything went black.

~ K.O.'d ~​

 

[Meleena Bloodscrawl]

Meleena nodded at Jaina Grayson 's assertion. She found some nearby torn fragment of a flag and tied the unconscious man up.

"Hold on, I gotta get these two off the streets..." Meleena explained to Jaina as she took them and flew them to high up and separate buildings. She felt horrible that she couldn't do more for them. The gas has started to make her fear that she was nothing but a soulless doll, incapable of true empathy or emotional connection. She forced herself to stay coherent. She had to trust her family. Had to trust that the clones, at least one of them, would have the sense to call for reinforcements and relief vessels.

As soon as she floated back down she joined Jaina and went looking with her for the dispenser.

"Didn't think I'd run into another like me out here. At least, one that wasn't hostile..." Meleena said as the crept through the district, Meleena clearly sickened and enraged by the senseless murder of the innocent.

It wasn't long before she spotted Sith Soldiers in fully sealed Hazard Suits skulking the area, gunning down civilians. Meleena snarled and a pair of maser beams came out of her eyes, slicing the soldiers heads off in a clean sweep after making sure no one innocent was behind them.

Meleena then scanned the gas dispersal rate. She spotted more enemy life forms in the distance, busily hunting for those who had managed to avoid exposure.

"I think the dispenser is about sixty meters ahead." Meleena said to Jaina. "More enemies...get ready."

Meleena activated her stealth implant and turned near totally invisible and silent, quietly proceeding ahead...

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Darth Malum of House Marr | Sibylla Abrantes | Madrona A’Mia | Corazona von Ascania | King Horace
​

As the dagger pierced King Horace's flesh, before he could savor triumph, he felt something lash out with alarming speed, and aggressively grabbed a handful of his hair. Even with the poison's cruel promise, and fully aware of how this would end, the insult fanned the fires of rage within. He could feel the fierce energy crackle.

Before his eyes, another assault, not physical but mental formed. The Seer’s possessed invisible blades, which cut deep into his psyche, instantly flooding him with doubt; for Lysander, one so accustomed to clarity and purpose, the whispers slithering in his mind now were like a plague. The boy's thoughts crumbled under the onslaught, causing him to visit places he'd never known.

Even worse, then came the approaching guards with weapons drawn.

And yet, the looming danger faltered, as another Sith with a dominant and undeniable presence made himself known. Donned in ebony armor of their kind, the air immediately thickened; everyone appeared to recoil, including himself, with the exception of the Neti.

At the same time his professor's familiar voice broke through the chaos; though, it was anything but soothing, and his adrenaline was running wild. The acolyte wasn't even aware that his hand was trembling until his grip was corrected, guiding the volcanic glass, with the precision of a skilled surgeon.

And with that, the king's reign over Ukatis was over.

The instruction brought no bitterness, for it quickly reminded him that he acted out of raw emotion, rather than cold logic. A subtle nod, a lingering glance, merely acknowledging her lesson, quite positive it would be unwelcomed, but offered all the same.

"Next time, there will be no mistakes, professor."

The dungeon, a swirling tempest of shadows and sinister energy, was still not enough to keep his attuned senses from catching another beacon from nearby; the radiance was unmistakable, for it belonged to his eldest sister.

But unlike before, Cora's light did not bring him solace.

Nausea crept through him, yet different from what the teenager once experienced during battles on Naboo and Woostri, where violence stemmed from survival. This, a more cold-blooded way of extinguishing one's life, stripped away layers of his soul.

Now, his thoughts lingered elsewhere.

Before carrying out this deed tied to fate, he carried no regret crossing the line into uncharted territory, surrendering himself to Sibylla; perhaps, if but for only a heartbeat, he was also seeking refuge in the girl from the merciless Sith Code that he'd sworn himself to. There was no questioning that he needed aid, and so, his weary gaze shifted back to the other two. His professor's indifference was something he had finally grown accustomed to; their alliance was a mix of mentorship and medicinal remedies, the product now extending far beyond the walls of the academy's greenhouse, resulting in increased revenue. Clearly, it was useful for both sides.

Then there was the other, and Lysander’s lips betrayed him immediately.

“Cousin,” he uttered softly, confusion etched into his features amid a ghostly pallor. Looking beyond the current room, a single step would be taken forward. “If your vision extends beyond mine, please show me where she is, before anything worse can befall her.”

His desperate words lingered like a prayer.

 

[Darth Nefaron]

ALLIES: Veradun Sharr Lysander von Ascania Darth Malum of House Marr
ENEMIES: Makko Vyres
FUTURE SERVANTS: Eurydice Corazona von Ascania

Events were converging rapidly.
​

The dance of blades had begun. Father and Daughter locked in a duel as the Corpse Lord looked on from his newly acquired throne. The battle outside the palace had turned to slaughter as rebel and loyalist forces alike continued to fight over a dying city, the toxin beginning to dissipate as a result of the efforts of the noble Jedi and their allies. But so many had breathed it in, so many had succumbed to madness and now joined the fray to rip and tear at the invisible creatures that haunted their lives.

Darth Nefaron was ecstatic. His triumph was nearly complete.

Oh he would suffer blowback from his overlord for his use of his toxin, but in the end a world in the heart of the Alliance now burned, the Sith had struck into territory deemed safe and secure. There were no more limits in their war with the Alliance, they could spread fear and death to any corner of the galaxy they desired and all the Jedi could do was try to put out the fires they started.

The Corpse Lord did not pay much attention to his newest servants' attempted escape. His faith in his Apprentice was unshakable, and he proved his continued usefulness by securing the girl once more. In time, this Seer would come to see that his cause was just, that her path lay in the darkness at his side. Her world would have to be shattered, her will twisted to the service of the Corpse Lord. One day, she would wield the Dark Side as more than a mere fortune-teller; she would be a weapon to silence his enemies, a terrible force that would carry his banner forward at his Apprentice's side. That would take time, and at the moment, Nefaron may just have another prospect in the Jedi Princess who now battled the Puppet King.

But a fool had come to distract the Dark Lord from his entertainment.

Instead of praise, Nefaron turned his angry gaze to the head Seer and a gutteral sound eminated from his throat. The fool believed that he was what the Dark Lord needed? His power had reached its peaks, he did need contain a darkness that may have proven to be useful, but in the end Nefaron had little need for him when his focus was already on one so young, one he could mold into a servant of mighty power.

This old fool must die.

Nefaron, with a gesture, wielded his power to take hold of the young Seer and hold her in place.

"Apprentice, this imbecile is ruining my show. Kindly cut his throat for me."

Nefaron didn't even bother to watch the deed. King Horace would die regardless of this fool's efforts, for there were many beings in the palace aside from Marcel who wanted the failed king dead. With the annoyance dealt with, Nefaron eagerly continued to watch the spectacle. Marcel was doing well in battle and in pushing his daughter to embrace her anger. Nefaron had no role in dictating what his puppet said, but in the end, he could not have hoped for a better outcome. When the hidden passage opened, the Corpse Lord could not hide his joy to see the Jedi's mother appear. Nefaron always intended to have her dealt with, but to have her here alongside her fool of a husband? One could not ask for a better drama to enjoy.

Of course, there was the slightest bit of concern that Marcel truly loved his wife, a love that might temporarily draw him out of the Corpse Lord's control. Unfortunately for Lady von Ascania, that was not the case.

At last, Nefaron's cruel laugh echoed throughout the throne room as he looked on from his throne. Was this it? Was Marcel going to force his daughter to kill the Sith Lord for him? He must be a bigger fool than Nefaron thought, but his little play at power was just what Nefaron needed to goad his true target further.

"You heard your father, obey like a proper lady. Maybe he'll find you another husband to kill while he is at it!"

Poor Corazona. She truly had no way out. Nefaron could have been happier.

"Why are you even bothering with this game, Jedi? You could have killed this fool, and your homeworld would thank you for it. Instead, you try to plead with a man who sold you like a pack animal for the sake of his pathetic little political games. Do you really think I had to push him to do this? Do you think I manufactured his desire to rule out of nothing?"

Nefaron leaned forward in the throne, his gaze fixed on Jedi. She was so close, her anger practically bubbling beneath he skin, begging to be unleashed.

"You know his heart. He wanted this. He doesn't care who he needs to hurt to achieve his dreams. So make your choice, Corazona. Kill me and return to your father's side, or show him just how powerful you really are."