Invasion Through the Gates of Hell (Republic Invasion of Empress Teta - Republic vs. One Sith)

[Darth Veles]

Courtyard
[member="Sesab Odai"] [member="Ki'an Karr"]

Veles grinned as his lightsabers found flest and cut through bone. This moment signed his victory. The Selkath's scream of pain only gave the Sith more determination and power to fight, knowing justice had to be served promptly while he had a chance. Without much of his foot and one of his hands unusable, the Jedi wouldn't be much of a fight, especially given his inexperience. It was not hard to guess this invasion was one of his first battles, if not the first. And so it would be his last as well. As he watched the amphibious Jedi fly several meters away, yelling insults and begging for help a second later, Veles was about to charge and deliver the final blow. He did not get the chance though, as he received a stun blast to his left leg. Suddenly he lost all feeling in the hit spot, a strange numbness that spread thorough his entire body. He had experienced this feeling before and quickly analyzed his position. The duration of the effect ranged quite vastly, depending on the weapon. Considering the militias did not have the most up to date equipment and their blasters were primarily meant to shoot lethal blaster bolts unlike weapons meant purely to stun, Veles gave the stun up to ten minutes before it wore off.

The Sith hit the ground in his run, letting the other stun rings fly above his form. He was temporarily paralysed, yet he knew he was victorious. One of the Jedi lied incapacitated and needed medical help, the other still had some strength in him. The Padawan was presented with an interesting choice; save his friend or capture a Sith. The cybernetic eye swiveled to look at the Kel Dor, almost if daring him to make a choice. How would he even transport either of them? War raged thorough the city, it would be nearly impossible for him to get somewhere carrying a dead weight, especially since the Sith seemed to be winning... The bulbous eye gazed up, studying the large building.

 

[Killric Starroy]

(deleted)

 

[Darth Isolda]

Location: Meditation Chamber
Objective: Weaving the tale of Darth Ira, manipulating her memories
Enemies: Jedi, Republic and her allies.
Allies: One Sith, @Darth Ira ( [member="Aaralyn Rekali"] ), The Goddess, The Dark Lord
Music Selection: Everybody wants to rule the World - Lorde

​

Welcome to your life.​

One could not erase the memory of another without feeling the bleed of memories as they were burned away like chaff to the flame. Bits of information would transfer to Isolda as she then began attempting to place Aaralyn in a dreamlike stupor open for suggestion and manipulation.

In this Isolda would attempt to weave and manipulate a background for the Vahla, utilizing the power of the Goddess and the Dark Lord to pen a new tale, a new story of the one before her.

One who would be loyal. Faithful. Who would never falter.

​

There’s no turning back…​

All Vahla were Force-sensitive, and whether aware or not, had ties to the dark side of the Force. Most Vahla were members of the Ember of Vahl, the dark side cult that worshiped Vahl, the Goddess of fire and destruction. Though not all Vahla were members, all were expected to follow the orders of priestess of the Chosen of Vahl.

The Tabula Rosa would be no different.

Or more aptly, Artemisia Vy Kar.

That is when her fingers would twitch against Artemisia’s skull, the tattoos upon Isolda’s fingers pulsing with life within her alabaster skin. Her fingertips barely hovered over the Vahla 's temples, the recoil of the energy of the Dark Side, of the Dark Lord, was like an intoxicating cloud surrounding her.

Dark tendrils of Dark energy went pouring out of those slender digits. Like a thick dark mist, it would envelop them both.

"Ḑa͝r͟th̡ ̡Ir͟a̸..." she said coaxing her, like a sweet beckoning call, gracing ‘Artemesia’ a new name for her rebirth. Those dark tendrils of energy suddenly went pouring into the woman, blessing her skin with the powerful dark mark of the One Sith under her epidermis, in it bringing the stinging pleasure pain of healing the Darkside could only provide.

Behind Isolda, the Devaronian Acolyte would soon find that he was not a lone witness to the transformation. Five silent handmaidens to the Chosen of Vahl would silently, quietly, step forward from the shadows.

They would move in utter unison, perfect step. One lifted a hand to brush a strand of black hair from her face, and all the others followed the movement like puppets, though there was no stray hair on their faces. From the breaths that raised their chests... to the small jerk of a finger, they moved like eerily like one being with five bodies.

The five dusky skinned Vahla would move in a line around behind Isolda, gliding as a unit until they stood in a half-circle behind the new Darth. As one, five pairs of hands would come to reach down and gently pull the woman from Isolda’s grasp.

“Th̶e ҉G̴od́d͢ess͠ ̷śmi͟l҉es͠ upo̸n̕ y̧ou fo̸r ̛yo͏ur̸ ̨u̸nwaver̷in̡ǵ ̧fai͠th̨.” a gentle kiss would brush Isolda’s lips against Artemisia’s right grimy cheek, every sentence she spoke woven with power as if to etch the sentiment of fidelity into the woman.

Isolda would whisper the seed of madness that would consume her...

“W̨e͜ s̀h̕al̨l ̡h͞unt ̨d͞ow͠n̵ t͏he ̷Jed̵i wh͘o ̢da̷red h͜a͜rm ͝Her ̴Chose͞n Sword͜.”

Her voice would whisper the promise in the shell of Artemisia’s ear, attempting to coax her to slumber.

Sweet dreams are made of this...​

​

“W̛òrry̴ ̸no̧t̕ sist͜e̕r… you ͟sha͝ll b̀e͞ ̸ave̸n͟g̡ed̵.̛”

 

[Marcus Faust]

He didn't move, didn't stagger back, just stood there as the strike landed. Duraplast armor cracked and gave along with most of his ribcage. He coughed once, blood spurting from his lips over pale skin. Then he dropped. The assassin hit his knees, but refused to bend. Vindica stared long and hard into [member="Tracyn Ordo"]'s eyes, defiant. But he'd been beaten. Title meant nothing, Traycn had been fighting longer than he had, had more experience than he did, that was why he'd won.

The world blurred around Vindica, he couldn't keep himself awake, not for long. But the Dark Lord wasn't known to leave men behind, and even if he did, Marcus didn't see why he'd matter so dearly anyway. Then, Marcus fell, face first into the dirt. Unconscious he lay there, desperately trying to breath through a punctured lung.

 

[Darth Rixas]

Location: Senate Building
Allies: One Sith, Darth Nephthys
Enemies: Jedi, Shaw McKeller, Boolon Murr
Objectives: Slay the followers of the Light!


edit: He could feel it, hot and sticky against his hand, dripping, cascading, the essence of several lives running between his fingers as realization, stark an damning, settled upon him. The cruel ex-king of Kabal turned, his crimson eyes filled with a desolation that would never be tainted with words – The turmoil around him breathing a stale, yet invigorating encroachment of second wind. He drew back his hand, pale digits painted crimson with the last moments of the soldiers he'd slain, tripping violently over the other rushed to the fore of his mind – A cacophony of questions that demanded answers and yet, he knew not what that could be. He only knew that he truly did find solace in showers of blood, as he'd allowed his humanity to die long ago, along with any objections of morality as his steel sword went to and fro, cleaving down soldier after soldier as he drew closer to the Senate Building.

Somehow, inexplicably all he could feel was bliss, as the coats of dried blood grew thicker on his arms and face. The notion that all his torment, all those wounded and lost, would find their peace along with his silence and the swift aid of his blade ending their lives. Oron had always known that one day his debts would demand payment, that the blood shed in his name, in the name of the One Sith and the cause he fought for so vehemently would need to be met and now, glistening against long fingers, it was. And with it would come his repose. His acceptance. The Dark Lord, who knew him better than any, who’s will was passed along to Oron, just as everyone else in the One Sith, had made his choice, their choice, and with the Sith's demise would come the fall of the Darkside itself, bringing about the end of a conquest which sought peace through a means that was more long-term than any concept the Jedi could concoct.

Yet, as his onslaught continued he grew distracted.

Beating.

Pulsing.

Echoing.

From where did the sounds come. To whom did it belong? In which chest could he hear the rush, the tattoo of life upon the ribcage, a fluttering bird trapped in a cage tempest wings struggling against marrow.. Or was it all simply fantastical? Oron's hand shot forth, open-palmed to forcefully open the doors to the massive building.

Soldiers in the hall scrambled in dogfights, and froze as Oron strode into the building. Fear gripped their hearts. The sight of the pale Sith Knight turned their blood to ice in their veins. From his unnerving gaze to the posture of his walk, to the incoherent mumbling that danced on his lips infrequently. It was all pure evil. Not like people who were considered evil, but completely pure, devoid of true emotion. Oron felt no happiness, no sadness, not even anger. All he felt was pure maliciousness. He had no grasp of mercy or suffering, and was beyond sadistic. A need to harm others to amuse himself. Sith soldiers and Republic soldiers both turned their gaze to Oron, whom in turn lowered his hands to his waist and retrieved two lightsabers from his belt and rushed forward, slaying everyone in the hallway. Wail upon wail sounded into the air as the smell of seared flesh began to waft around the area, supplied by the small risings of smoke from the bodies that smacked the floor, one by one. The sound itself was sickening, and only grew more repetitious with each death, steadily sounding off one lifeless 'thud' after another. Silence followed, as black booted feet approached the door leading to Nephthys, Shaw, and Boolon.

Extending his right foot, he nudged it with his toe, resulting in the door actually creeping open a bit slower than he intended. Passing through the threshold however, Oron's crimson eyes drifted between the three individuals. Nephthys seemed to be succumbing to a trans of some sort. He watched her from across the room, crimson orbs, similar to his own, were fluttering as if she was attempting to resist a deep sleep. And still he listened. There. Again. Beyond the rustling supplied by the actions of the sentients in the room. The throb of a heart. This, surely, was within his mind – For no man, not even a Sith, could discern the beat of another’s heart, not when they were so far away. Regardless of his mental ailments however, he would become the nightmare in the dark to Shaw and Boolon. The Lord of those whom would oppose the Sith and attempt to bathe them in light and luminescence.

Oron didn't take the time to fully break down the situation. Instead, his still-activated lightsabers spun once in each hand as he gathered a well of Darkside energy to his body and tapped into a technique he'd claimed mastery over for years now, known as Force Rage. A red aura began to slowly appear around his body, giving him a bloody silhouette reminiscent to legends of much older Sith whom used Force Rage and were often mistaken to be Demons by those ignorant of the Force and it's applications.

Energy, stamina, speed, strength, technical accuracy - it all doubled within Oron's being as he yelled, although it was actually a Force Scream sent towards Boolon. As the scream reached it's conclusion, the Sith burst forward seemingly uncontrollably as he zig-zagged in wide turns from left to right before finally choosing to stay towards the right, and use the Force and his state of Rage to burst upwards, ascending surprisingly high thanks to the extremely high ceiling of the room and descended towards the Ithorian, looking to slice into the sentient with both blades intending to cleave Boolon vertically on either side of his head and into his shoulders.

It wasn't until he'd met the apex of his descent that he realized the heart he'd heard beating so ferociously in his ear, was his own. War and her battles excited him more than literally anything else he could think of in this galaxy.

 

[Alan]

[member="Darth Vindica"] fell to the ground. Tracyn looked down at him, and then frowned. He wasn't going to leave him there, that was for sure. Punctured lung, or not. He had hurt him, but it would take more than a punctured lung to kill a Sith Lord, especially of his caliber. Tracyn crouched down beside him, rolling the man into a recovery position so that bloodflow and breathing would become much less labored, infact easier. He stabilized his neck, to minimize movement. He placed a beacon on him, for a recovery team to come grab him.

Tracyn placed his hand on his head, doing what his wife had done many times- projected thoughts into his mind. He projected a meeting, a chance to talk without fighting, without conflict around them. And that was it- he was not invasive. At least, he hoped so. Tracyn pulled his lightsaber to his hand, and tucked Marcus' lightsaber under his arm. A warrior should never be without their weapon, without their pride. It was not Tracyn's to take, to keep or to steal. Tracyn stood tall, and flexed his bare chest. Tracyn looked down at the armor, the shoulder and the chest pieces. He gently picked them up, but laid them atop Marcus. He had earned that, at least. Beskar was one of the most valuable metals, and Tracyn felt that the Sith had earned such a prize for fighting so honorably and well.

"Find me when you wake up, Marcus."


Tracyn walked off, and to find another fight. He had to catch his breath, rest for a few moments, to gain back his strength.

 

[Darth Kentarch]

Location: Library
Objective: Top Secret
Allies: [member="Doctor Agnusdei"]
Enemies: One Sith.

Kentarch felt his saber run the Sith lady through completely, however he was knocked to his feet by a force pull. Fortunately it was ill timed, [member="Darth Vornskr"]'s whip went wide due to the fact he had been pulled out of range. It appeared the One Sith's attacks were very uncoordinated. The Sith Lord was quick to return to his feet, just as he communicator hummed to life.

"The time has come, hasn't it." Kentarch said ominously. "I will meet you at the pick up point shortly."

He reached down and tapped a button on his belt. High above in space, the droid in his sith infiltrator came to life, pushing commands into the pilot's terminal. The ship dove down quickly, entering the lower atmosphere and avoiding aerial interceptors from both sides. First it circled above the library, firing upon Sith Soldiers and One Sith combatants alike. Then it stopped high above the ground. Breaking away from the fight Kentarch lunged up into the air, his hand just grabbing the edge of the ship's loading hatch. As the ship flew off, Kentarch pulled himself on board and rushed to the cockpit.

"Doctor. I will be at the pick up location in a minute's time." Kentarch said over the secure comm. The ship made quick time flying across Teta's airspace, landing just outside the guildhouse. Kentarch was out the landing hatch in no more than a moment, red lightsaber drawn in an instant. "Doctor I have arrived. Commence operation." The Sith Lord spoke, and glanced around to ensure no on was coming to stop them. He reached out with the force, letting his sense get a feel for the battle around them. Whatever the doctor had planned, he hoped it was malicious.

 

[Cractius Stretus]

Allies : [member="Darth Veles"]
Enemies Ki'an Karr [member="Sesab Odai"]
Cractius heard the sounds of combat coming from the court yard and immediately raced there . When he arrived he released a burst of crackling lightning at the kel dor followed up with a force push attempting to send him flying into a wall .

He then turned to the other Jedi and slashed at his legs , followed up with an attack towards his midsection , hoping to sever him in two .

 

[The Spark]

Location: Meditation Chamber
Objective: Survive the pain...
Enemies: I don't know anymore?
Allies: One Sith? The Goddess? The Dark Lord? The Jedi???? Who???
Music Selection:

Spoiler

http://youtu.be/lDPn4d651zM

[SIZE=10pt]Who am I?[/SIZE]

[SIZE=22pt]Artemisia….[/SIZE]



[SIZE=10pt]The name felt right to her, a welcoming sense overcoming her before the darkness ensnared her senses. An appearance of fear and anguish came over her bloodied, dirt stained facial features as she recalled events of her life, carefully crafted events by [member="Darth Isolda"]. These memories were perverse and twisted from the darkest mind and meant to inflict the maximum amount of anguish, pain and sorrow to the weakened Aaralyn Rekali. [member="Darth Isolda"] would start with her cherished childhood and twist it into an image of chaos and destruction, just as the Goddess willed it. There was a war that was brought on by Jedi Order and Galactic Republic alike, an unjust war. The slaughtering of her people, and then the pillaging of her home, she watched it burn with her own eyes...didn’t she? The Jedi and the Republic troops mercilessly slaughtering her family when she was but a small child, her home destroyed in a chaotic fire from some weapon. She could remember a playground where she had fond memories with a loved one, and how it was suddenly torn asunder by the very forces she thought were good. She saw a Jedi Master conjure a storm and cut down people with vicious tornadoes and wild lightning, a Jedi Master named [member="Matsu Ike"].[/SIZE]



Somehow, she had escaped the madness, and when she emerged the Jedi discovered her and turned their attention on her. Fear overcame her, she pleaded for mercy and cried but received not a word from the Jedi, only a boot to her face and darkness. She could remember awakening to a cold, dark and dampened cell. She remembered the feeling of near death, the sound of the angels calling to her as she lay in pools of her own blood. Years of beatings, malnourishment and unspeakable horrors in the bowels of the Mobus anti-force prisons had taken a toll on her.


[SIZE=10pt]But why? What did she ever do to those people? She never knew them outside of Metalorn, did she? [/SIZE]



[SIZE=10pt]Aaralyn convulsed sharply, her back arching as she cried out in agony. She was there but she wasn’t, so much in a lucid state of mind and body that one wouldn’t be able to tell if she was truly able to function in a normal capacity ever again. The burning emblem of the One Sith etching itself on the back of her neck as her body was being consumed by dark energies. Bones snapping back into place, fractures sealing, open wounds closing. Pain of unspeakable measures. [/SIZE]


[SIZE=22pt]Darth ira….[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10pt]Why did that name sound familiar too, why did these things feel right? Why couldn’t she remember? There were too many questions, too much to take on at once. Her mind was attempting to reject the memories that [member="Darth Isolda"] was implanting. Somewhere within the bowels of her brain, it couldn’t accept such notions without senses and emotions attached. Her eyes would flutter back and forth rapidly, spit and blood flowing freely from her mouth as she convulsed on the floor before the Chosen of Vahl and the Dark Lady herself. [/SIZE]

 

[Ashin Varanin]

Senate Building
[member="Oron Verd"] [member="Darth Nephthys"] [member="Shaw McKeller"]
As the Ithorian priest bore down on the Sith Knight's psyche, he found himself admitting that he had expected more. Oh, the woman was young, to be sure, but her inability to retain consciousness was profound, almost pathological, as if a part of her was missing. When virtually any paranormal practitioner of her quality could have provided at least some resistance to Boolon's influence, Nephthys began drifting her way to fatigue at once. Her mind felt incomplete, her soul even, and Boolon repressed a very powerful desire to fix her -- and the other mind on approach.

To Force-scream was to project one's total loss of self-control into the Force with enough rage to twist reality and oppress thought. To do so on purpose was not unheard-of, but rare enough that Boolon had never encountered it in the field. He having trained with the finest mentalists of the modern age, though, his response was quick, clean, and calm. Force screams were universally omnidirectional; this one would affect Shaw and Nephthys as well.

Especially once Boolon got a handle on his allotted portion of Verd's torrent of scrambling incoherence, and redirected the lion's share of it into the vulnerable mind with which he remained in direct contact. Those who lacked offensive capability had to make do with redirection, circularity, channeling of enemies' energy. True, no sensible being could expect to pass through the fire unscathed and somehow profit from the full might of an opponent's attack, not when facing the competent. But for a soul as incomplete, fatigued, and momentarily compromised as Nephthys, Boolon had little trouble imagining that this would put her down for the count. At the very least, he expected it would keep her from engaging for a time, certainly keep her from taking advantage of Shaw's impediment. That was the best he could do, for two reasons. Not only had the Force scream interrupted his own efforts to put Nephthys into a temporary coma, but a man cloaked in unholy intent was zigzagging his way across the floor behind Boolon. Fast.

The width and duration of the zigzag approach proved Boolon's saving grace, both because it gave him time to turn, and because, when he reacted to Verd's close-range attack, he only had the time to do so at close range. Any opportunity for a ranged counter would have been a false hope; Verd was, indeed, very fast. When Boolon reacted, then, it was in his standard manner, at least standard for when he found himself turning to meet an onrushing threat.

RHOHHHHHHHHHHHHHH-

The near-hemispherical Force Bellow wavefront ripped out, a solid wall of overpressure sufficient to tear up ornamental flagstones beneath Verd's feet, shatter distant ornaments, and liquefy the organs of the unprotected. With Force Rage bolstering his whole body, Verd would certainly enjoy some resilience against internal effects, but the point was not to kill; for Boolon, it never was.

The point was to make the problem go away.

-OHHHHHHHHHHHH-

The shockwave slammed into twin lightsabre hilts, among other things, and the sabretips hissed past Boolon's chest. In a perfect world, Verd would go flying, concussed and bleeding out of his eyeballs, but Boolon was not one for pipe dreams. His sky-blue sabre hissed to life, rose into a Soresu guard that betrayed his absolute worthlessness as a duellist. Two seconds after the Force Bellow began, there wasn't much left of the floor's finished surfce, and the walls a good distance behind Verd had seen better days.

-OHHHHHHHHHHHH-

 

[Kian Karr]

Location: Courtyard
Enemies: One Sith, [member="Darth Veles"]
Allies: [member="Sesab Odai"], [member="Hasjo Hallu"]

The moment Ki'an saw that his stun bolt had hit the Mon Cal Sith, Ki'an ran into action. He didn't charge the Sith to strike a killing blow, nor did he attempt to place him into custody. Ki'an had more important things to worry about. His friend and fellow padawan, [member="Sesab Odai"] was injured and in need of medical treatment and Ki'an knew that it was more important to seek help for his friend then to detain the Mon Cal Sith.

Running to Sesab's side, Ki'an helped him to his feet and moved him towards the exit. He could feel another Sith closing in and Ki'an had no intentions of being there when he arrived. He too was in need of treatment. Ki'an's time on Empress Teta was over. He had done all he could and while he didn't count his battle with the Mon Cal Sith a loss, he couldn't truly count it a victory either. As Ki'an walked by he paused for a moment looking at the downed Sith and realized he had never caught the Sith's name. Funny that he had been locked in a life or death struggle with the warrior and had never learned that.

"I'm sure we'll meet again," Ki'an said, "may the force be with you." Ki'an said. He had to give his opponent credit where credit was due. He had been an honorable and deadly adversary. Ki'an bowed his head and moved on, quickly sneaking into the shadows where he wouldn't be seen. Ki'an had to get Sesab back to the escape pod he'd come in where they could signal for a transport to pick them up. His friend would need medical attention and Ki'an would need a bacta tank. He wasn't worried about running into too much trouble on the way. The escape pod was on the outskirts of the city, away from the main fighting and Ki'an could deal with any Sith Trooper patrols. As he stealthily made his way from the battlefield, Ki'an looked toward the sky. He didn't know what would become of Empress Teta, but Ki'an was saddened to leave before seeing the people here free. Hopefully others were fairing better.

 

[Darth Armyss]

Location: Library

Objective: Disable the bomb

Allies: One Sith

Enemies: Time


Albrecht was running out of time, having barely a minute remaining on the clock before the explosions went off. It seemed hopeless - there was seemingly nothing he could do to disable it, and not enough time to escape. He sighed in exasperation, nearly resigned to his fate, but something made him stop. Something in his head seemed to finally make the connection regarding the bomb's design: the reason it had so many wires was because all of the triggers that he had to worry about were electrical. All one had to do was just cut them all off, and both the timer and remote detonators would be disabled, thus allowing for time to disarm it at one's leisure. He drew one of the ancient Sith swords from its sheath and raised it high over his head, then, with his eyes clenched shut, brought it crashing down, cleaving clean through the wires, and...


Nothing happened.


Cautiously, he opened his eyes again, and after a moment relaxed his tense muscles. The bomb's timer and remote triggers were disabled, preventing a potentially genocidal explosion and chemical leak. He reached for his comlink and sent a message out on an open channel:


"HQ, this is Tagge, the bomb at the library is clear - send a disposal team at your earliest convenience."


Upon receiving confirmation, he finally left the storage room behind; he had done enough fighting for the moment, and needed a moment to rest before rejoining the fight...but something seemed very, very wrong about this picture, and the Unseelie enhancing his senses in the repulsor sled beside him allowed him to hear a very, very fain beeping sound. His relief reverted to horror, but it was too late to go back and disarm it. All he could do now was escape. Quickly, he overrode the turbolift controls, brought himself to the ground floor, and then practically blew the front door away in front of him with a Force Push as he ran head-long into the war zone, not at all caring if anybody wondered where he was going. If they were wise, they would follow him.

 

[Darth Isolda]

Location: Meditation Chamber
Objective: All about Artemisia!
Enemies: Jedi, Republic and her allies.
Allies: One Sith, @Darth Ira ( Aaralyn Rekali ), The Goddess, The Dark Lord
Music Selection: Silent Hill Lullaby


The five Vahla handmaidens would continue to lift and bring Artemisia's body up from Darth Isolda's grasp, all moving as one conscious entity. Two hands would wipe away at the blood from her mouth, ensuring that she would not choke on it, while others would take off her cloak, slipping it off her. At this distance, [member="Aaralyn Rekali"] would be engulfed in the scent of the oiled perfume the handmaidens wore; Paluruvu. Not only would the scent excite the sense of smell, but it could also have soporific effect on most humanoid species. That is, if they were not used to it.

With luck, that would coax the Sword into the land of the unconscious, where she could dream a little dream of her Destiny. What confusion she would feel would be explained later, the Jedi blamed for her condition.

The Devaronian would step forward, ready and willing to give any aid. It was then that at the edge of their hearing, they would hear a faint thrum, even the ground would tremble slightly. Isolda's pitch black eyes would narrow into thin slits.

A blood stained thumb would kiss a smear across Artemisia's cheek, shaped almost like the petal of a rose resting against her pale skin. This time, whether the perfumed had aided in it's soporific effect or not, the Chosen of Vahl would weave the Force to deliberately attempt to coax the woman into slumber. The pain the Sword would feel would be edged in pleasure, seductive and intoxicating -- the resonating effects of the Dark Lord using his vessel to caress his newest child in approval. Acceptance. Pride.

"Do͘ ͡n̢ot f̀ret,͏ Ira͠... Àl͝l͝ ̸s̶h̛a͏ll ̧beco͟me̢ c̶le͡ar ͠i̷n t͞i̛m̵e.͠ Th͟e J͜edi ̢wi̡ll͜ ͢pa̷y ͏f̢o̢r t̴heir ̡tr͏an͞sg͏res̵si̵o͜n̕s a̢g̀a̵i͟n҉s̀t ̡yo̴u.͢"

​

The five women watched their Chosen, not glancing at Artemisia. Isolda gave a small nod.

The women's faces under the cowls would never change as their combined power would levitate Darth Ira in the air between them. All the while, it was as if their faces were just masks, and what lay underneath was inhuman and held all the emotions that the masks could not show. As if the monstrousness inside was more humanoid than the humanoid shells they wore.

"T͢ak͞e ̡o͟u͜r ̨bel̶o̡v̷ed̕ s͠isteŕ," came Isolda's order to the Devaronian and her handmaidens. "Th̕e͠ Da͘r̛k Lơr̴d d̶e͜s͏ìre̡s ͝h͢e̢r͘ ́pręse̴nc̨e." granted, the Dark Lord was not on Empress Teta, and would require leaving Koros to beheld him.


"As you wish," would come the deep bow of the crimson skinned Devaronian Acolyte. He would rise, straightening to follow the five handmaidens as they would start to take their leave.

They would need to exit along the only exit, but once outside the corridor would allow them to take an alternate route if left undisturbed in the opposite direction the loud bellow came from.

Isolda would stand proud, watching them begin their steady uniformed exit.

Before she too would start to glide forward, moving so smoothly that it would appear as if she were floating on air.

 

[Jannik Morlandt]

Location: Teta Museum of Fine Art & Antiquities
Objective: Connecting the Dots
Team: Gamma
Allies: [member="Avalore Eden"] | [member="Turin Val Kur"] | [member="Maria Natalja"] | @All Republic Forces
Enemies: [member="Hion the Herglic"] | [member="Darth Shara"] | @All One Sith Forces
Music Selection:

Spoiler

[media]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ym3qVev9-Yc[/media]

The glancing blow of the greatsaber had caused him some mild surprise, but in truth after the encounter with Saki's skullthumper, after being pelted with berries by more than one youngling at a time, having things come at him whether defended by the bubble of protection or not - it did not break his concentration nearly enough. One or two more hard blows and the thing would likely come apart. He looked up at the cetacean, up into that glower, and his mouth set into a hard line. Once again, the creature lifted the blade, Jannik steeled himself, and... wait. Deactivation? The words, once again, made little sense. His ears still rang. The headache was dull and annoying, but could so easily get worse.

It made no sense. Why didn't this one just cut them down? He had felt sort-of ready for the worst, that his bubble would be burst, and he would be skewered, but instead, nothing happened. In fact, the deactivation of that large lightsaber was made to be something of a display, like...

...did tha' mean somethin', or am ah just hallucinating?

His brow knit tightly, and he watched after Orcus as he raised flipper to... well, he didn't know, except from observing, no effect of Force came from the action, but more words, words that once again didn't make sense, and it was frustrating. An errant thought flew across his mind, then -

What if... what if ah ken never 'ear music again?

He let out a shuddering breath. No, he mustn't let his mind go down that road. He tried to think of happy thoughts, of the people in his life that made him smile, of that blonde Lorrdian...

...what if ah never see that lovely lass again?

Sometimes, it didn't take much. Sometimes once one thought flew in, another ran up and took its place. The bubble dissipated. He breathed out in deflation. Well, that bubble couldn't last forever. But what was...

Oh. Well, if they aren't tae kill us, then wha? It doesn't look like we're leaving so easily.

...a pit settled in his stomach, as the pieces came together. The images he could never seem to escape. Months afterwards, and the vision of her broken body remained burned into his mind. And that presence in his mind that he shut out today, that he first experienced on the day these... demons took Coruscant, had seen fit to remind him, all too well.

P'haps they mean tae take us? An'...an'... then...

Though she was still amongst the living, pieces of her had been taken. Pieces of her precious, beautiful person. Was that...

"...d'ye... d'ye mean t'do tae us what your kind did..."

A tears ran anew, not of physical pain, but of something deeper. He tried to take a deep breath, and began to rise to his feet, but the words needed to come out, his tears became hot. Grief and some anger became raw on his visage, framed with the dark of his head, and a couple days' growth at his lip and jaw, as his hands found stability on his knees, only to leave them as he lifted one arm, and extended one finger, to Shara.

"...what your kind did to... to m'master?"

His voice broke. He straightened up to his full height, his eyes wet and burning, as he turned that accusing finger and thumped it on his own chest.

"To m'Kira?" His voice was hoarse, his jaw set, as the volume of his voice rose, crackling. "D'ye mean tae take us apart, too?!"

 

[Shaw McKeller]

Location: Senate Building
Objective: Defeat the Sith and Rescue [member="Aaralyn Rekali"]
Allies: [member="Boolon Murr"], [member="Aaralyn Rekali"]
Enemies: [member="Darth Nephthys"], [member="Darth Isolda"], [member="Oron Verd"]
Music:

Spoiler

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0PNCSRhdtec

Shaw felt the brass and metal warp around him... and then stop. It covered him in parts and pieces, hampering movement, but not stopping it. It was a nuisance to him. A nuisance that would take time to remove. Time he didn't have.

That was, until another fighter entered the area. He saw the man attack and heard, and felt, the Force Scream. His armor kept him from serious physical injury and his helmet's systems dampened the sound to protect his hearing. Instinctively, Shaw pulled in with the Force and let it flow free within once more. It augmented his muscles and bones out of reaction, preventing him from flying or being tossed around. It did not, however, protect his mind.

For that, Shaw took the brunt of it full force. He felt the roaring blast deep within himself and heard it echo within. He didn't have the training or Force ability to repulse or defend against it... but he did have experience.

It wasn't unlike the psychological trauma he'd seen in his lifetime. Seas of blood. Rivers of gore. Mounds of bodies. There was a strange... kinship, in a way, within that scream. A blast of bloodlust and anger. Rage and anguish. To rend and tear and break everything around. It was a battle wrath of the darkest, bloodiest kind. A kind that a younger McKeller had succumbed to in his time with the Deathwatch.

He knew how to deflect it, how to harness it. It was the Mando way to deal with such things, not the Jedi way. Jedi shut down emotions or funneled them away. Sith rode the rage and anger, using it as a power source for combat and wrath. Mandos... did both. They let their anger and wrath and rage rise up inside... and then contained it. They bottled it up within the walls of pure willpower. From there, they tempered it. Condensed it. Channeled it. Not away as the Jedi do, but within. They used it as a... fuel source. Not a raging inferno like the Sith, but perhaps more akin to a plasma torch. Intense, searing, cutting, but controlled.

Shaw felt the resonating beast within his own chest. His own battle rage within. He channeled it inside and formed it into a weapon. Not of destruction and wrath and bloodlust, but of... necessity. A tool to use on his foes lest it consume him as well. Shaw felt the emotions flare and then freeze as he controlled them and honed them upon his soul.

He stood up from his kneeling position on the ground, heedless of the broken and warped brass and metal wrapping around parts of his body. His emotions now funneled into and powered his connection to the Force. His Force connections funneled strength and endurance to his body. His body sang with the Force within and spoke with a single voice.

Defeat was unacceptable.​

​

His master's life was on the line. This new Jedi, this Ithorian. His life was in danger as well, it seemed. To fail was to invite death. To invite death was to bring dishonor. Dishonor meant he would shame himself, his people, the Jedi, and his Master. He would prevail. He had to.

Augmented muscles keened in the Force as he darted, as best he could, forward. Not towards the new Sith. Not yet. Lumbering, thundering boots carried him forward towards the first Sith, the woman. Beskar shield jutted out and level, locked against McKeller's shoulder. He would clip her, hard, in passing with the ornamented beskar and then carry on to the new fighter in the hopes that the blow would knock the woman unconscious. Death was his ally today, but he would not spread it wantonly.

From there, it was but a few paces. And then? To battle with a new enemy once more.

 

[Akanias]

Location: Courtyard
Enemies: [member="Hasjo Hallu"], (I don't receive notifications. )
Allies: Solo

He was hit by the force push, it was only amplified by the disruptor's power and he was sent flying backwards as he crashed against the wall of the courtyard. It hurt, and he felt the pain through his back, but he didn't remain upon the floor, he dived to the side before the Nautolan Jedi Master could attack him, but while he rolled he fired two shots. One towards the Master's chest to try and get his hand to absorb it again with the Force, and a shot to his leg almost immediately after, and then replaced it in it's spot in the small of his back once he performed another backwards somersault to widen the distance even more as he moved along the length of the wall.

The disruptor pistol was his only chance of winning this battle, and so he'd use it as much as he could, but he had to be careful with it he knew. And then he stopped rolling and waited for the Jedi Master to attack him again.

 

[The Spark]

Location: Meditation Chamber
Objective: Bask in the flames of the Dark Lord
Enemies: Jedi, Republic and her allies?!
Allies: One Sith, [member="Darth Isolda"] The Goddess, The Dark Lord
Music Selection: Rise of a God


There was no resisting anymore, the mind accepted what it was presented.



[SIZE=14pt]It was over[/SIZE][SIZE=14pt]…[/SIZE]



[SIZE=14pt]It was time to say goodbye[/SIZE][SIZE=14pt]…[/SIZE]

Her eyes would shut and her body would cease to convulse as the exotic scent of the perfume overcame her. Her nostrils flaring as she took in the wisps of alluring ether into her body. The tendrils of darkness consuming her form, causing her to lightly arch her back and whisper unintelligible words. Ancient tongue as it were, moans of ecstasy escaping her crimson stained lips as the pleasure swarmed her senses. A tingling sensation overcoming her body, an explosion forthcoming deep within her before unconscious came to claim her.


Her body would rise from the ground, surrounded by the Handmaidens of Vahl and the Chosen of Vahl, then the little Devorian who witnessed an unprecedented event. She could sense everything. The overwhelming pleasure that consumed the pain, wherever it manifested. The bursts of energy coursing through her that was fed by darkness. The darkness itself was welcoming, warming and soothing to her inner beast. The fire that raged within her heart cried out for the darkness, begged for it. She could feel the blood coursing through her veins, the very blood pumping from her heart.

She was consumed by the hatred of the Jedi that was being bore into her very core. Her body and mind being repaired by the mark of [member="Darth Isolda"]. The Mark of the One Sith burning into the back of her neck, etching itself deeper into her skin as the waves of darkness continued to wash over her. She was being constructed into something darker, more sinister than the Jedi could have ever imagined.


[SIZE=14pt]A Lost Child of Vahl[/SIZE][SIZE=14pt]…[/SIZE][SIZE=14pt].no more.[/SIZE]



[SIZE=14pt]The Burning Flame of the Dark Lord[/SIZE][SIZE=14pt]…[/SIZE]



[SIZE=14pt]The Sword of the Goddess[/SIZE][SIZE=14pt]…[/SIZE]

 

[J3C0]

Location: Down the Steps of the Museum of Fine Arts
Objective: Convert, Capture, Consume?
Allies: [member="Hion the Herglic"]
Enemies: The Republic, [member="Avalore Eden"] [member="Maria Natalja"] [member="Jannik Morlandt"]

He felt the heat within his eyes, he felt the pain of his skull beginning to burn. He blinked, four eyelids covering his eyes almost at once, each forming a layer to protect black beady organic material before slowly uncovering themselves again. He turned to [member="Turin Val Kur"], his eyes glistening slightly as tears began to fizzle and burn, a steam hissed, though he did not cry out in pain.

Shara simply looked to Turin, and spoke into the young ones mind. “My eyes have been burned from my skull once already today. I would prefer you not do it a second time.”

The Sith Lord regarded the man he still assumed to be a Jedi for a moment, then signaled Hion to watch the man in case he tried anything.

The Massive Maelibus then noticed the young man making an empowered speech to him, passion and emotion rushing through him as surely as it rushed through any Sith. The Demon Lord cocked his head for a moment, staring at the young Jedi. He tried to recall the name the boy said “Kira”. He searched through vast hordes of knowledge and memories, trying to find a trace of such a person within his mind.

He thought for a moment more, then cocked his head to the side, massive horns turning slightly.

“Do you think us all the same little one?” Shara's voice rumbled, clear as the day, he spoke eloquently, but quickly, aware of the pain growing within his eyes, his thoughts still projecting to the padawan, as well as his friends. “Do you think all Sith are one? No. We like the Jedi are fractured, divided. There are many sects, many causes, many factions among those who call themselves Sith. There are those who torture, dismember, mutilate for their own pleasure, and then there are those who simply fight for their ideals.”

He forced his eyes shut again, the pain now burning throughout his face. “Over the Eons of my life I have killed countless Jedi, and yet, I have converted more. Not through torture, not through mutilation or pain, but through reason.”

Shara was lying now. The little Jedi wouldn't be able to tell of course, the Maelibus was an accomplished liar, and his voice never wavered as he spoke.

“We stand for an idea, young one. The idea that the galaxy is filled with Chaos, a chaos that can only be quieted by the guiding hand of the One Sith.” The eyes within his skull now threatened to burst, but he still seemed more than calm. “There have been many who fought against that Ideal, and they have died by my hands, or joined our cause.”

“I remember them all. Each every one that I killed or converted. Every name is within my mind. It is a gift of my people, a long lasting memory.” Again he lied. Maelibus weren't really known for their memory, nor where they really known for anything at all, the greater galaxy had never really seen his species, given that they rarely left Iego. Yet he did not lie when he stated he remembered the Jedi he had killed or converted. That had been an important part of his work. Those Jedi he had killed often had been a key to something, and Shara had never forgotten what each one had been a key for. “Yet within that memory, I find no trace of a Jedi named Kira.”

That was certainly true. He was sure that if he asked [member="Daella Apparine"], or any of the number of Jedi infiltrators that existed within the One Sith they would be able to tell him who she was, but Shara was not keen on that information. Though he knew the One Sith had nothing to do with her, otherwise he would have heard about it.

“You seek another Sith, youngling.” His voice was a low rumble now, still resonating within the padawans mind, he tried to conceal some of the pain his eyes were feeling. The world had long ago gone black, and once again Shara saw nothing, only felt the world around him through his other senses.

Now he took a step forward, a singular, massive footfall that brought him within striking distance of [member="Jannik Morlandt"]. He leaned over towards the young man, his massive horns rising from his demonic head as he rumbled a low whisper towards the Jedi Padawan, an echo within his thoughts. “Come with me, and I will help you find them.”

 

[Gorba the Hutt]

LOCATION: Teta Museum of Fine Arts
ENEMIES: [member="Maria Natalja"], [member="Jannik Morlandt"], [member="Avalore Eden"], [member="Turin Val Kur"]
ALLIES: [member="Darth Shara"]

An ache settled in his heart. Kira? His master, once. A Jedi of great renown. She had helped to kill him upon Coruscant, but even so he held her close, so very close. She was misguided, as he had been. She....she- taken apart? The temperature of the room seemed to drop a hundred degrees. A cold shiver ran down Orcus' spine at the human's words. Strange, he had not known he could feel such a piercing chill when even the darkest depths of the ocean held none for him.

A large, squat head turned slowly toward Shara even as the Maelibus spoke. The Herglic's wide mouth, usually split open in laughter, now thinned and stretched until it seemed to wrap halfway around his face. Glittering black eyes stared with a terrifying lack of emotion in their unreadable depths. The little Jedi might not have been able to feel the lies which Shara spoke, but the Herglic who'd lived, eaten, and fought alongside him could sense them... and it made him tremble.

In that moment, Orcus forgot the room, his opponents, and his purpose here. A single thought spun about his mind with the ferocity of a monsoon.

"Shara," Orcus spoke, deep voice full of barely contained emotion, "Shara what does he mean? What happened to Kira?"

 

[J3C0]

Location: Down the Steps of the Museum of Fine Arts
Objective: Convert, Capture, Consume?
Allies: [member="Hion the Herglic"]
Enemies: The Republic, [member="Avalore Eden"] [member="Maria Natalja"] [member="Jannik Morlandt"]

Shara raised himself, his massive stature reaching upwards into nearly the sky. His burning eyes shifted to Orcus. So the young one had a connection to the Jedi still, this woman, this Kira, perhaps a friend he had once had?

“This one.” Shara said pointing to the young [member="Jannik Morlandt"]. “Implies she was taken.”

His head cocked to the side slightly as he studied Jannik, unsure of the exact implications of the young mans words. “Though it was not by us.”

There was no hint of a lie in Sharas voice this time, since you know, he was telling the truth. His head twisted again as he stared into Jannik's eyes with his own now fully steaming eye sockets. His senses within the force delved into the young man, reading him and gauging his emotion. Had he been shown something? Had he seen his masters torture?

Yes...

He could feel it within him, the pain, the anguish. A slight smile carved on his face. Isolda had shown him, or at least a piece of it. Through the link he shared with Isolda, through the small gaps of the force, he could remember the things she had done. She shared them with him, in times of...leisure. “Isolda showed him. She showed him the chaos that exist within the galaxy. She showed him the truth of the unguided Sith and Jedi. She showed him what the galaxy was like without our hand to force it in line.”

Darth Shara looked up to his little brother again, his mind now connecting the little dots within him.

“This little one saw his Master torn apart by the very same people that would see our Order crumble. By those who flourish about the galaxy as though they owned it. By those who would sow Chaos and Destruction.” His words were clear as day, Kira had been captured and tortured by Sith, ones that stood directly opposite everything they were trying to accomplish. "Those we oppose."

Shara rumbled in disgust. He detested those Sith. The ones that fought for themselves, that hoarded strength and power for their own goals and nothing else. To Shara, those Sith that fought only for themselves, instead of the greater ideal, were less than even the Jedi. He had killed many of them throughout the centuries, and he expected to kill many more in the future.