Invasion Warlords of the Sith vs Th Sith Empire | Invasion of Malachor V |

[Kalt Bruq]

The Temple of Malachor
Survive and Delay​

Kalt had been in contemplation for most of the trip. Imagining different means of torture on captured prisoners for information or different tricks he could employ to get the upper hand in battle. Sleeping or studying was somewhat out of the question, as his mind was largely on the coming situation it didn't leave much room for such things.

There was a mixture of excitement and worry in his mind, largely because he knew this would be a chance to achieve something and prove his loyalty and even his capability to the empire. However, along side that was a concern that he would fail again. Or that he might be captured or killed. While Kalt could pride himself as any other Sith, he was still somewhat of a realist. While a weakness, fear still served a purpose in his mind. Whether Kalt could balance it was the question.

As they approached the battle Kalt attempted to shift his mind away from such thoughts and focus his hatred. Channel it, as a proper Sith should, on his foes. Their opponents, so-called "Warlords of the Sith", were pretenders. They were foolish to seek such an approach for power. Destroying the empire to take it over was a waste of time and resources better spent on the common enemies of the Sith. No, a better strategy was to take it from within with guile and cunning, as the masters of old did. Instead they decide to destroy, like a mindless raging beast, swiping at anything in their way. They aren't true Sith, not really, just Dark Jedi that need to be put in their place. A beast to be put down.

Such were his thoughts when his Master spoke up. "I intend to inflict quite the opposite... but I will follow your lead Alina."

As the ship landed, Kalt focused his efforts on distorting it's location to observers. To most looking up at the ship, it would appear to be several meters to the left or right of where it actually was, depending on their perspective. He hoped the effort would throw off any attempts to shoot it down or gun him and his master as they left it. He dropped the illusion as soon as they were on the ground and had some cover to move through.

[ Alina Tremiru , Darth Maleva, Quintus Varro ]​

 

[Darth Vinaze]

Kascalion Giedfield | Vector Monk

​

Malachor… a world squandered. So much power and history locked beneath grey ash and behind black walls, forgotten by not only the Sith Empire, but Sith for Millenia. The last time an invasion fleet besieged this world was the time of the great Darth Revan.

Vinaze was here in the flesh, not willing to pass up such an opportunity. Such a rare occurrence these days, as he preferred to sequester himself on Tash-Taral with the dark priests of Abeloth. For the first time in months he was showing his face, not sending his apprentice in his stead. He couldn't deny that Kuric was powerful and an effective warrior, but it was simply not his time to witness the power of the Trayus Academy, power that might give him the advantage over his dying master.

His decrepit form was closer to death than ever before. He walked in the shadow of the dread titan Kascalion. The Sith’ari did not physically tower over him, but his presence was infinitely larger. Whereas Kascalion strode, Vinaze hobbled. The dark side kept him far more mobile than he looked, and the dark energy of the temple gave him a virility he had not felt in years. Still, without the dark side he would be nothing but a corpse.

His master had charged him with commanding the crusader army on this glorious day. It was a grand responsibility, and one he did not take lightly even if commanding legions of the bloodthirsty was not in his realm of expertise.

Kascalion gave him the orders to relay, and Vinaze simply nodded. He wouldn’t keep the dread lord waiting any longer. As Kascalion made his way to the temple gates, Vinaze took to his knees in the ash. He pinched some in between his long, skeletal fingers and rubbed it gently before letting it fall back to the ground.

He folded his hand in his lap and closed his eyes and began his sermon to the masses, calling out to his forces through the force. His raspy voice boomed into the minds of the faithful who made up the Convergent Order.

“Warlords of the Sith, and those who serve them! Here me, and rejoice! We have come long and far to strike here, today, this world of holy darkness! Our blades and our blasters are ceaseless, hungering and hateful! We are the true embodiment of the Sith Code, and today our chains are finally broken!”

Cheers rose up from across the battlefield, an ominous war cry in unison.

“The Trayus Academy is a pinnacle of Sith power,” he continued. “Show it no mercy as we assault it! Overcome its obstacles, assert our will, and claim its treasures for ourselves! When we take its relics for ourselves we will be unstoppable!”

After Vinaze delivered the last passionate words of his speech, he spoke the words of the Sith Code quietly to himself.

He stood, and turned to follow his master to their destiny…

 

[Khamul Kryze]

Location A: Field of Ash

Engaging: Ulrich

The Perpetual Horrors​

Khamul took a deep breath as he exited the transport. A lingering stench of death lingered in the air on Malachor V. Thousands of years of violence and destruction had coalesced into a putrid miasma flowing through the Force...

It was delightful.

He waited for the rest of his troops to exit the dropships, taking a moment to survey the fields before him. Minions of the Empire could be seen in the distance. The banners of the false Sith'arii littered the horizon like pock marks on the face of a sickly man, a blight upon the galaxy that needed to be snuffed out. He was looking forward to ripping through every one of them.

As the last of his soldiers left their ships, Khamul took a few steps ahead of them, pacing back and forth as he spoke.

"Do you see, my soldiers? Those banners bear the mark of the false Sith'arii. These pretenders would have you believe that they are the true keepers of the Sith Code. They would have you bend the knee to an absentee emperor who demands blind obedience. Do you know what I see? I see nothing but fear, and dead men. Now come with me, and lets crush these weak fools into the ash beneath our feet. The Dark Side wills it!"

Upon shouting their war cry, Khamul turned back to the field. Crimson plasma ignited as he held his saber in the air, signaling the troopers to move forward. As they began advancing, Khamul smiled. Today would be a glorious one indeed. He had a taste of Sith Imperial blood on Ninn, but he was ready to gorge himself today. He would kill every one of them, if he had to. When this day was done, Malachor V would belong to the Warlords.

 

[Quintus Varro]

Objective: Watch and learn... for the moment
Focus: Alina Tremiru Kalt Bruq
Ally: Darth Maleva

It was foolishness, the moment that curiosity killed the cat, and yet he couldn't help it. Darkness called on Malachor V, it had since it died long ago, the seed planeted with millions of death had grown into a nexus of dark powers simply waiting to be tapped. Quintus had no real intentions of joining the fighting himself, but he wanted to see it, to feel it. He had neither hatred nor real interest in either factions of the Sith, nor did this infighting bother him. It was the way it should be he supposed. Darth Voyance had been of the Empire and rejected it, and if the Empire hadn't been so busy defending itself on multiple fronts he imagined they might have made the first move instead against the Warlords to swallow them back into the Empire. On the other hand the Warlords had no hope of ever truly proving their greatness without taking the legacy of the Sith into their own hands. Eventually one would win and then come for the Eternal, it made simple sense in the Acolyte's head.

He could feel the seething of darkness not only on the planet but in the space above it as Quintus hovered low to the ground in a civilian ship. Hidden as well as he could among the ash and shadows of the world he meditated on the darkness as the fighting began and Sith killed Sith. Perhaps that should have been more unnatural to Quintus then it was, but it wasn't. He wanted to reach deeper into the forming battle, to feel the who and what as the clash began but even he knew that was folly. His place of hiding would found in seconds if his meddling in the force was noticed. Besides he wasn't sure if he felt that comfortable in the middle of a battle with his limited abilities to reach out that far. So instead he merely observed and recorded as best he could. The second was more of an after thought, but perhaps the Eternal would find some use for a direct recording of the conflict had they need for such things. After all eventually one had to win, and then the attention might turn on them. No, he supposed there was no might about it. It was inevitable that eventually the winner of a true war between the two would want to be the only one in the end.

He should have considered this location would be a prime one for Darth Voyance to come after her call out into the darkness for others here before. He'd had little worry about the first trip, it was a dead world long left to the side of the Sith Empire for worlds that could be taxed and produced goods. Now though as hostile ships on two sides who'd likely as not kill a follower of the Worm the need for caution was supreme. Still he was running barely any systems up, he should be able to remain hidden for the duration so long as he didn't kick up any ash. There looked like there would be enough of that going on already.

 

[Lesaj]

K N O W L E D G E​

OBJECTIVE: II, Treasures of Trayus.
ARMOR: Battle Robes.
ARMAMENT: The Thorn Bearers (not currently conjured], Duskblades.
TAGS: Aurelion Nova ~ Ihsan ~ Zinn Zinn Bink'sa

A witch had no interest in the petty squabbles of the Sith.

Lesaj, throughout her many years of life, had learnt to appreciate power - to seize it. However, the Green Witch had also realized that power was useless when in unprepared hands. The Darkside unlocked deep secrets, its corrupting whispers gifted knowledge and promised glory - yet it had a will of its own. Few and far between were the Sith that the she had met who were anything other than blinded slaves to a will that they were fooled into thinking was their own. Ironic, almost pitiful, how there could be such weakness hidden behind power.

But some of them had achieved the great feat of truly bending the Darkside to their whim - fueled but not controlled by the primal rages that were required to fan the dark flames. These Sith Lesaj found worthy of respect, even if most of them remained narrow minded to the greater, most arcane aspects of the Force. They were knowledgeable in their time, and now in their death they could be useful.

A thirst for knowledge was the only motive that had lured the sorceress out into the looming shadows of Malachor. Buried secrets drenched in ancient blood. She could feel them, the souls peering through a veil that had been made almost too thin by the atrocities that wreaked this world. But today she was not here to commune with the spirits that called to her. Today, if all went well, she would be nothing but another shadow on a darkness filled land.

So it was that the witch had sneaked her way into the labyrinthine corridors of Trayus Academy, seeking the forsaken secrets of past Sith. Powers that would see a much better use by her sisters and brothers - for the descendants of those who had built these halls did not seem to have much time for anything other than ripping each other to shreds. To each their own, a few more broken souls would make no difference in this world. But it still hungered for them...

And as she silently walked through a pitch black corridor, Lesaj could feel the sinister, dormant forces of the blood drenched world stirring into life to claim the price they were owed.

A price they would all have to pay.
​

 

[Darth Prazutis]

Death.

Malachor V resonated well with the realm beyond. A world forever wrapped in the reapers cloak after a hundred wars, a planet annihilated by the might of the ancient mass shadow generator. Winds howled across the ash choked wasteland filled with the remnants of the long dead, ancients slaughtered like cattle and cast aside, bodies eroding where they fell creating a veritable sea of ashen waste. Nothing lived here. The blackened earth was poisoned by the power of the dark side and it spread like a poison across everything, a corrosive bile that tried desperately to choke all life out. Malachor V wasn't a crownworld Sith Empire, it wasn't valued for its strategic significance or its industrial and economic power. It held cultural significance for the Sith Order however. The world held an academy where prospective students were taught and tested to see if they had what it takes to stand tall, or if they would feed the storm beasts. Everything was bathed in the eternal twilight of darkness whose only light became the effervescent, emerald lightning storms arcing across the dry, sea of black.​

​

All across the ruins came the sweet sounds of violence and war. ​

​

It was an ideological clash between the upstart Warlords of the Sith, apostates led by a false prophet that felt their vision for the future of the Sith was brighter. They stood against the warriors of a storied legacy in the men and women of the single greatest Sith Empire in modern history. For much of their existence they were led by the greatest sith since the coming of Palpatine the Great, a ruler whose accomplishments far surpassed even the likes of even former Empress Desmius ( Ashin Cardé Varanin ), a campaign of conquest and slaughter that set the galaxy on fire, the Twice-Emperor Darth Carnifex . Nations shattered before their might. It was a legacy they held onto to this very day, the passing of a crown from one to two, and then one once more. The true successor of the Twice-Emperor. The former Shadow Hand that stood by him through it all, an architect of death that enforced his will, guided the war machine and planned the most horrifying displays of violence and slaughter.​

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The Dark Lord Prazutis stepped off a low hovering shuttle and out onto the ruinous fields of ash.​

​

Unlike others on the field he wore no shining black suit of armor or other such protections against battle or the elements. He wore an outfit in black right down to his boots and covered in a shawl of ebony icarii leather, flayed fresh from a conscious being and well treated in some unknown alchemical process. A simple long, blackened blade gripped in one hand and at his waist was a weapon in the shape of a fang from some terrible beast, it glowed with a volcanic light. To most it was a large weapon but for him it was merely a dagger. Out on his chest he proudly wore a chain displaying a medallion that held the symbol of the empire upon it. The Dark Lords black hair was cut short and his face was clean shaven. A pair of molten orbs stared out at the raging conflict, many eyes drawn to the attention of the arriving ruler friend and foe alike. Cries of decadent empire, and all manner of roars heaped from the enemy that began to charge towards him. ​

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"You think yourselves superior? Such weakness in you all. Come and face me then." ​

​

What followed was a scene of indescribable horror. Violence on a level beyond even what the Sith could conjure forth as the giant moved into battle. Not once did he use a single ounce of force energy whether it was an attack or to shore up his own defenses, not once and he still butchered them like animals with his supreme skill, startling attributes and incredible penchant for violence. Sparks ignited when lightsabers collided with his sword and due to their weightless nature he easily battered them aside and destroyed them, while those who bore swords didn't fare much better against the tyrant who covered the ground in blood and mutilated corpses. Skill level, species, ability. Nothing mattered. They all died at his feet. It wasn't enough for him to simply kill them with quick strikes no...he destroyed them. There was absolutely no way he should've been able to function on such a high level of effort for that long and yet he seemed entirely unphased and simply continued the killing. ​

​

A senior knight had charged him and he easily sidestepped her and sliced off her sword hand, the blade made no sound as it collided with a dead corpse beside them. The giant lifted her into the air with one hand and charged colliding with the wall of a ruin. It created a disturbing sound of crumbling rock, a sharp scream followed by a sickening crush as he turned her into a pulpy mass and cast the knight aside. Prazutis stepped out from the ruin and back to the killing site then, eyes sweeping across the fields of ash. ​

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[Arctus Silmar]

The Shaper

The Iron Crown|| Whilstone of Prowess|| Whilstone of Acuity || Whilstone of Power||
Acharn|| Urfael|| Mithralian || Empyrean Gland
Voice Sample

Upon the ashen surface of Malachor The Shaper saw to the temple's defenses. As Paragon of Knowledge the world of Malachor was a place of prestigious, unique artifacts, texts and tomes that were all but irreplaceable if damaged or lost to the depths of this broken world. One would think it a rare occurrence to pull the half-digested, ruined remains of an ancient Dark Side artifacts from the guts of a storm beast but no. From The Shaper's understanding the creatures were so attracted to the intoxicating power of the Dark Side they would oft wander into excavation sites and devour what they could to feed their addiction to the corrupting energies.

Now, however, an even greater threat came to the ancient history of this war-scarred world in the form of traitors, heretics and deceivers. Lost to their own selfish vision of the future and scraping, clawing for power at the expense of the Sith as a whole, at the expense of the galaxy's future. As had those who ruined the Sith throughout time immemorial. There was, after all, a far cry of difference between change for the sake of improvement and prosperity and change simply for the possibility one might not be in as sorry a state as they were before it. It was foolish, short-sighted and worst of all, it reminded The Shaper of even the failures of his colleagues from oh so long ago. A taste more bitter in his mouth than if he were to eat the very ash from Malachor's surface.

Even now, as he meditated within the confines of the temple, The Shaper could feel the Dark Side whisper to him. Swirling about him like a cloak of mist and shadow, showing him multiple potential futures, potential paths spreading out like a web of cracks along the surface of a clear sheet of glass. On and on they went, spreading and fanning out in uncountable possibilities, deaths untold and futures ending despite the bright possibility they burned with a moment prior. Snuffed out and driven into the choking ash of Malachor like untold millions before them. But The Shaper did not focus on these cracks, these splitting fissures, no. His attention was drawn to the origin, the point with which these cracks spread from like the center of a spider's web. His gaze was drawn..... to the pinnacle.

Opening his cold, silver eyes The Shaper rose, head still tilted back and gazing up into the interior of the temple, before he nodded in understanding. Of course they would attempt to exert their influence over the temple, to shout their hollow victory from it's precipice. With a low, smoldering determination to his stride The Shaper resolved that this was something he would not allow. Beyond the meaning of one life or death, this he could not allow, as it would be an affront to what it meant to be Sith. Would bring their ideals low, drive them into the mud, and once again spur the fall of Sith might as surely as when the fortress of Korriban had rained down on his colleagues so many millennia ago.

Ascending the steps of the Malachor temple The Shaper drew Urfael without a moment's hesitation, each step resounding through his ears, through the Force, with deadly intent. His gaze remaining ever skyward as he drank in the empowering darkness of the planet all around him. The bloodlust of the Emperor Darth Prazutis as he cleaved his way through heretics, the determination of Valen and even the joyous curiosity of the Lady Marrow whom he reached out to through the Force. Spurring on her desires, her emotions, encouraging her in a manner akin to a parent urging their child to go and play. To wreak her havoc and spread her garden with glee.

As he mounted the pinnacle of the temple he could see it's core surging with Dark Side energy, all but bursting with raw, untapped emotion as death and darkness ruled around it. Suffusing the Force itself with flaring, burgeoning darkness. His gaze lingered there for only a moment, before once again turning skyward, locked onto where the Dark Side's whispers told him she would come. His cloak billowing in the wind and expulsions of energy as red, blazing runes licked up and down Urfael's length lick a billowing flame, Acharn detaching from his back to drift lazily in the air beside him as he waited for her to come, as he knew she would.

Set to Engage with: Darth Voyance

 

[Ashin Cardé Varanin]

OBJECTIVE 1
LOCATION A: THE FIELDS OF ASH
REPRESENTING: Warlords of the Sith
OTHERS: Ingrid L'lerim , Kal
GEAR: Kotsirluuk, DNK0 spotter droid, anticoncussion shoulder pad, basic light armor, Breshig War Forge SR-2M rifle with a variety of ammunition, and a lot of ash
GOAL: Conduct the rediscovered Breath of Ashes ritual on Malachor after eight or nine centuries forgotten

There - finally. Thank you, Kal. Much appreciated.

Ashin made visual contact with Ingrid just as Ingrid reciprocated. All Ashin could see of her was the vaguest possible silhouette and the business end of a custom sniper rifle. Extremely custom. Ashin owned the best ones on the market, and that beast definitely was not. A chill ran down her spine, but not a premonition that Ingrid was about to shoot. And Ingrid wouldn't feel any such premonition from Ashin's direction either, despite the Breshig SR-2M pointed at her centre of mass.

Hello there, Your Majesty. I've heard the name, of course. A pleasure.

I give you my word that nothing I do today will bring harm to the shades who rest here. My ritual is meant to feel and commemorate their ancient pain, not re-inflict it. If it takes hold of a living soul, they'll feel every wound of every Sith the Jedi killed here. It's a ritual of enlightenment, recommitment, a forgotten rite of passage, a sign of the restoration of lost truths. It will stop Darth Voyance from doing something insane. It will show the Empire's fighters that there are better paths than following the Zambrano dynasty through its fits of hell and boredom.

And it's important for its own sake that such things are resurrected.

Ashin put down the rifle, leaving Ingrid with a clear shot, no mutually assured destruction. The vulnerability was largely symbolic unless Ingrid was packing ammunition as customized as the gun.

Still sitting in the ash drifts, she looked down the slope at the others who'd begun to clash in the area. The ritual's invocation thundered in her skull and resonated beyond it. They'd hear the voice and not know where it came from.

Far above, far below. We don't know where we'll fall. Far above, far below. What once was great is rendered small.

Down there were Laertia Io and Darth Kentarch , Khamul Kryze , Darth Prazutis engaging in his latest massacre, a few dozen others. Ashin's lip curled at Prazutis' presence, but she funnelled that hate into what needed to happen. Much as she'd like to try using her sniper rifle to reduce the galaxy's population of Zambranos in some degree.

No, instead of the rifle, she stood and raised Kotsirluuk high. The ash-smeared mace still gleamed, and she felt a spark of instinctive fear that someone might see. She used the fear just like she used the hate.

Far above, far below. We don't know where we'll fall. Far above, far below. What once was great is rendered small.

She dropped her knee. The too-heavy mace slammed down on the ground with a disproportionate thunk. The force of it resonated in the stonework below the ash, and the bedrock below that.

Far above, far below. We don't know where we'll fall.

Ash exploded up from the earth across a decent chunk of the eponymous Field. Ash-bodies shattered and collapsed and surged up and out with the rest of the gray mass. In theory it was a choking hazard, but this wasn't an attack.

This was an embrace. A beckoning. A call to the closest the Sith tradition came to sacredness.

Far above, far below. What once was great is rendered small.

Anyone who breathed in the ash would know, past a shadow of a doubt, every wound of every Sith killed here by the Jedi in the ancient cataclysm. Ashin had been through the ritual several times, both here and on the Pomojema, but she braced herself for the Force-borne pain regardless.

Some of the fighters down there probably had helmets with filters. She felt unfamiliar pity: they'd miss out.

​

Spoiler: ritual sources

Darth Maul (2017)

Age of Republic - Darth Maul (2018)

 

[Aurelion Nova]

Aurelion's Lightsaber || Aurelion's Sith Armor

Aurelion drew in a slow, oddly calm breathe. The faceless, dark helmet to his armor clasped uneasily in his hands as he watched Darth Prazutis exit the shuttle they had arrived on. Aurelion himself did not rush off as the Dark Lord did to deliver death unto their enemies, in truth Aurelion felt entirely out of place in this warzone, despite the cold caress of the Dark Side doing it's best to reassure him. Blunting the fiery, choking echoes of war to something closer to a lilting song, the shadows swirling softly about him in an utterly alien fashion to others who drew upon the darkness for strength, for power, instead the shadows seemed to guide his hands like a doting parent to the twin hilts of his Lightsaber, gently telling him it was time for action in it's own way. This made Aurelion blink, not realizing he had been staring out into the warzone in a stupor, before his breathing drew shaky and he gazed down into the darkness of the helmet in his hands, grimacing, before slowly donning it was a small mechanical hiss and whine as the life support systems kicked in. His breathe now echoing lightly in his ears while remaining silent on the outside.

In truth he hated this armor, it felt like a gilded cage, supremely valuable and nice, but as if it stripped him of his individuality, of his humanity. Turning him into a faceless killer instead of the person he was beneath. It sent a cold, churning sensation in his stomach, but there was nothing for it now. Now all that was left to do was do as he was instructed, to delve into the depths of Malachor and see what he could uncover and, hopefully, return alive. Swallowing down the fear gathering in his throat in an immovable lump Aurelion dropped down to the surface below, oddly thankful for the veritable parting of the sea caused by Prazutis' advance, as he drew in a slow breathe and began to conceal himself in the Force. He was no master at this and he relied perhaps a bit too much on the alchemical improvements of that same armor to be passable, but it would suffice to hide him in the clamor of war as he moved with caution through the fields of ash. Careful not to touch anything or what was once anyone on his journey.

As he moved closer and closer to the Trayus Academy his vision began to blur, his ears began to ring, and his heart began to thump wildly in his chest. His singular eye widening within the visor-clad helm as visions swam before his eye, threatening to engulf and overlap his vision of the present. His knees beginning to buckle and shake, his palms sweating within their gloves, and as the comforting shadows pressed in closer he could feel the acidic bile rise in his throat as the tendrils gingerly touched his temples through the armor. Steadying the visions for him as he saw, felt and flinched away from the ancient death this place held down into it's very rotten, profane core. Casting the helmet aside in a hurry Aurelion dropped to his knees and threw up, heaving on the desolate surface and clenching his eye shut while one hand pressed to the patch over the other, his arm bracing him shaking lightly as he coughed and shook his head. Answering the multitude of murmurs the gentle shadows supplied to him.

"You must SEE."

"Look upon us."

"Embrace the dark."

"This is your fate."


The whispers began to spill over one-another into an incoherent mess as the tendrils of shadow that had steadied him a moment prior began to seep past his temples to delve into his mind, numbing him to the carnage, and it was all he could do to murmur in fear. "Please no.... I can't... I don't want to see this. I don't want to be here." A tingling, unknown numbness began to permeate throughout Aurelion's body as the Dark Side embraced him, sparing him these visions as the murmurs lulled to a dull, imperceptible murmur of encouragement. Spurring him onward even as Aurelion numbly reached for the helmet he had cast aside, not quite able to feel his fingers, but he was able to tell when his grasp fell upon it. Giving one more, unsteady cough Aurelion stood, his legs unsteady for a brief moment before the numbing darkness pushed the sensation away. Encouraging him, provoking him and, worst of all, stoking his fear.

While it had spared him the visions the Dark Side had not spared him from the pulse-pounding, heart-wrenching worry that suffused his being. Instead it drank from this wellspring of emotion, the coil of darkness about him growing more powerful as it egged on each and every step he took toward the Trayus Academy. The tendrils of Dark Side energy becoming visible and tangible as they drank from Aurelion's fear and Malachor's suffusion with the Dark Side. A cloud of Dark Side tendrils spreading from about Aurelion like a perverse set of wings, acting of their own volition as they twisted and writhed through the air. Disintegrating and turning to ash even the fallen corpses of the combatants Aurelion passed to further fuel their darkness-bidden power.

Pausing across the narrow approach to the academy Aurelion donned the helmet once more, finding some measure of peace now in the separation it offered from the world, not realizing that such a feeling was what the darkness wanted. As now he was closer to a tool, numb as he was, and as the helmet hissed into place Aurelion paused as he noted two individuals, a woman of exceptional beauty and cruelty that made Aurelion's spine turn to ice ( Ihsan ) and what appeared to be.... some sort of demon? ( Zinn Zinn Bink'sa ) In truth Aurelion would rather fight the demon. As everything about the woman made Aurelion nervous. Perhaps surprisingly least of all was her appearance.

This did, however, present him with an insurmountable problem. He did not know of any other way into the academy and he most certainly would not be able to fight one, let alone both, of the individuals before him. His mission had only begun and now it seemed it had already hit a dead end.

Willing to Fight: The Demon Zinn Zinn Bink'sa

Supremely Scared Of: The Dashing Ihsan

Hoping for a Hero: The Daunting Lesaj

​

 

[Darth Voyance]

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Location: (1) Dogfighting in her starfighter ---> (2) Pyramid Steps, Leading to Pinnacle; Facing off Arctus
Objective: Scourge of Malachor [1B - Temple of Malachor]
Warlord Horde: Horde Scourge
Paired TSE Targets: Arctus Silmar

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Six blinking red dots began to converge on the yellow icon that denoted the flight path of Darth Voyance’s personal starfighter the Fury-Class Empyrean. With every length of the sensor monitors they traverse a proximity lock-on claxon rang in beated alarms. The Crimson Bolt Interceptors which were supposed to act as her escorts had been pulled away by their own desperate dogfights, now the Rutian Sith was by herself, chased by six Sith-Imperial Starfighters. The six took turns with strafing runs and missile lock-ons. Voyance spun and dove the Empyrean to dodge and outrun the locks. But, the hunters drew closer and closer, which pushed Voyance away from her destination.

Her hands clutched at the pilot controls, Voyance snapped them forward and drove her starfighter right down a ravine. Its embankments were tall, steep, and jagged. Just following her abrupt dive caused two of the Imperial starfighters to ricochet off each other and explode in balls of fire. Four left. They were in a line now, zooming through the labyrinthine paths that the ravine bent in. Voyance jerked the controls hard right and burst down a side path before executing a spiralling dive that plummeted again. This time she was below the four as they took the corner she had fled into. Below them, she activated the targeting computers and engaged her concussion missiles. A salvo of three spat out from the missile launchers on each of the wings of the Fury-Class. They caught their targets. One left, and now Voyance was the hunter. She chased the lone Sith-Imperial pilot has he made a break into a clearing that led to a gaping maw where the Sith Malachor Temple was. Voyance blasted the starfighter into burning shrapnel as she flew over the Fields of Ash and towards the temple.

Below the melee had grown. Warlords clashed with Imperial Sith Lords. Troopers exchanged blaster fire. And all around them the Dark Side was unleashed in attacks. The discharges into the fabric of the Force of powers rendered in malice, hatred, rage, desperate violence, and targeted cruelty, all reverberated in the Force. Voyance could feel it all and it made her smile. Like the chain reaction in a reactor, each use of the Dark Side sparked the dormant powers of the Temple, and the lingering wraiths that were witness to its powers. This residual pool of malice, of spent Dark Side energies, was the first ingredient in Voyance’s plans. The battle and the Sith come to spend their energies - would fuel it all. Unknowing sacrifices gathered in one place to spill each other’s quintessences in Voyance’s cauldron.

The Empyrean touched down on a crumbled stump of a platform that leads up to the temple’s steps. Exciting the starfighter Voyance held her double-sided lightsaber in hand. Her crimson plate armor was bathed in the dim lights of Malachor and highlighted by the bright greens of the energy discharges that arched in violent lightning strikes above. Using Force Flight she hovered up and flew onto a cratered edge of the Malchor Temple’s step pyramid level. She turned and looked up the long steps and felt the presence of a great deal of Sith. One burned quietly in a brooding temper. Voyance narrowed her eyes and began to march up the steps. Sith-Imperial Knights congregated ahead of her, with the greater presence behind them.

Voyance stopped and ignited the first of her dual blades. Her free hand shriveled into a clawed gesture and the Dark Side bled to her fingertips - drawn from the chaos around her. She breathed in the airs of battles through her nostrils and hissed them out of her lips. “At last,” she exhaled, and with great speed, sped by the Force, engaged the Knights in rapid bursts. Sped blurred her image and Mikashi landed her incisions with brutal prejudice. For once the doubt before, ushered by Ashin’s lingering questions was smothered by the visceral meditations of battle. ‘I am clear. I am focused,’ Voyance sung to herself in a quiet mantra. ‘I know what must be done. And I shall see it!’ But the curse of Ashin’s prodding lingered. In the battle her stance and flow were not entirely clean. She caught a cut or two as she moved, scorching her armor. She was rushing. Rushing for what? Voyance ignored the unanswered questions and made her way further up the pyramid.

Leaping in a backward jump she traversed the last crowd of Knights to land on the steps that led to the pinnacle of the temple. She turned around, thought Sith-Imperial Knights still swarmed her, to face the greater presence she had felt. A tall, imposing man, of silver adornments and even grayer complexion. Voyance raised her saber and levelled its lava spitting tip at the Sith-Imperial Lord.

“I am Darth Voyance,” she introduced herself to the grey lord ( Arctus Silmar ). “And against who do I oppose?”

​

 

[Dasam Kal]

The Fields of Ash, Malachor V
Allies: Warlords of the Sith
Opposition: Valen | The Sith Empire

[THEME]

​

Amongst the general red hue of alloyed armored Chapter Troopers, a trenchcoated Sith stood amongst the crowd and right next to where the docking ramp resided. The troopers were clearly aware that they were not to the Sith's preference, they kept their distance from the tactically minded warrior. While there was no visual or audible indication that the shuttle entered the atmosphere, Dasam could sense the chilling presence of the many force warriors that died on the field of ashes he will clash in. The soft thumps pounding against the hull as blasters and shrapnel attempt to down the shuttle were felt.

"My lord, approaching the drop vector that you requested." A voice sparking from the passenger bay intercom.

The seasoned one revealed his golden gaze to the metal wall he stood in front of. A soft exhale produced, as the wall split into two halves. One ascending and the other descending. The horizon of the battlefield was shown to Dasam, a trade of blaster bolts zooming over the barren wasteland was somewhat of pleasure for the Tactician to witness. History was to repeat itself on this day perhaps. As the battlefield grew in size from the Sith's point of view, the area to which Dasam would fall became clear. The shuttle was closing in on its landing zone anyways, but the sith intended to dismiss whatever resistance would come to that shuttle and its inhabitants. A step forward, and another. The sith fell to the Ashen Battlefield below.

As gravity aided in his descent to a lonesome enemy composition, a hand clenched for whatever force energies he could grip and focused them onto the palm of his hand. Once the surface was reached, the sith planted his feet and slammed the hammer that was the force onto the ground almost at the center of the unfortunate group he engaged. With some sith-imperials falling from the impact, all were blinded by the dust and ashes they stood on. They were enveloped in an improvised smokescreen, to which Dasam utilized to the best of his ability.

Ignition.
Downward Slash.
Extinguish.
Ignition.
Forward Stab.
Extinguish.

It did not take long for the Sith-Imperials to realize what was going on. Blaster bolts were to be cast but never met their mark. For they were always a second or so off. One by one, a soldier fell to the crimson saber that contrasted from the dark screen till there were none. Eventually, the improvised smokescreen was blown away by the very same shuttle that Dasam fell from and he was exposed to the dead atmosphere of the planet once more. Some of the ashes brushed off from his face.

"My thanks for dealing with the squadron of hostiles my lord, shall we proceed?" A Chapter Trooper queried, to which the Sith Tactician responded with a nod and dismissal of the light emitting from his saber. Keeping the hilt in hand, however.

"Let us move onwards, Sergeant."

 

[Ulrich]

Location A : Field of Ash

Engaging : Khamul Kryze

Xodus
​

Through the tempestuous skies of Malachor V I soar. A devil drawn to the sabbath, a witch to the Brocken as they would say on old Urth. As I rode the night currents spirits flocked in chords around me. Distorted and transfigured by the energies of the darkside barely able to retain their old humanoid shapes. Ectoplasmic skin became scales, turned to fur and cut off into skeletal limbs. Maws distended well beyond the capacity of the living howled with the wind their voices reaching a sinister harmony with the ambient shrieks of the wind. These were my host sure as the other Sith were accompanied by their respective retinue. Their whispers augmenting my vision giving me a picture of the battlefield bellow.

A shade with the proboscis of an insect and gleaming multifaceted eyes points a chitinous talon towards a transport ship that had grounded itself beneath the roiling tempest that was the sky. Vision raptor keen, my gaze espies the target of my retribution. There's no mistaking it , although he hides it partially under a cover of ebony cloth the glint of beskar is present. There was a part of me that didn't believe it. That some fool would have the audacity to claim the title of sith master while being of Mandalorian blood. The ghosts conveyed the traitors words to me their spectral tones reverberating in my mind.

Brash, audacious words that he would be eating soon enough. I bank before descending from the sky, my wingspan dwarfing the small forms bellow. Let the warlord's men know that their death approaches. That something far greater than them descends to cut their silver threads, ending what little time they have on this moral coil. My black arts do not encompass the gift of telepathy as some do but as with many things a bit of ingenuity on my behalf can bypass such restrictions. Bidding my wraiths with a mental command they send a mental message to my adversary.

"Hark Mandalorian filth! I scarcely believed that the apostate Voyance was degenerate enough to employ a Mandalorian. Your appropriation of the title of Sith master is a mockery of all the Sith stand for. I was given missive by my lord Prazutis to take your head for which I am exceedingly grateful , though given time I would have hunted you out anyway.

I wonder if you know of the planet Basilisk and the crimes your kind have committed towards my people. Have you heard stories of how your people conquered mine? Struck down the mighty dragons of old as you did with the mythosaur, breaking their will and taking them as mounts of war. All through your history you have envied us. You take us as your totems , sacred symbols that are etched into your collective psyche imprinted before birth. In myth your heroes drank our blood to gain the power over chaos. I'm sure the stories you were told are full of embellishments detailing how every warrior that took basilisk was himself a mighty champion who could stand before us.

Let me disabuse you of this notion little solider. Man to man you were no match for my people. Even the Mandallian Giants by far the strongest race among your wretched 'culture' fall short when it comes to matching us. Your technology primitive compared to our contemporaries the Rakartans and you more than eager to augment your stockpiles with our droids. No it was sheer numbers that brought you victory. For every one of us there were a hundred of you.

This problem doesn't plague me. Through my arts I control the dead and believe me Khamul they are many."

All this conveyed in less than a heartbeat. What might have taken seconds for a physical voice to speak was but a moment in the psychic speech of the dead. As I descend like a comet soldiers scream as my form impacts the earth. Nine tonnes of muscle , scale and bone impact crushing humanoid forms as if they were twigs underfoot. The impact on my limbs is a familiar pain one that I welcome. Folding my wings into my form I draw the Kriegertod from where it is strapped to my spine. A combination of mace and necromancers staff nine feet in length. I charge forward on three limbs sweeping the weapon out in a horizontal swing at torso height to deliver a devastating impact the pretender sith and mangle any of his soldiers foolish enough to tarry near him.

 

[Kal]

Objective I, Location A: Breath of Ash in the Fields of Ash; Mystical Consultant.
Writing With: Ashin Cardé Varanin | Ingrid L'lerim

It seemed Ashin had no interest in introducing him - and that suited Kal just fine. As much as he tended to favour a polite introduction in most circumstances, a veil of anonymity was likely a better choice in a situation such as these. He really did not need any but Ashin to know his name.

Drifting around the former Empress, unseen by mortal eyes, he observed the invisible currents of the escalating ritual, plucking at the occasional string of possibility to optimise the process without really doing much. His employer-of-sorts was an experienced ritualist who had taken the time to study in-depth this particular process, after all. She could handle the bulk of it alone, he was here to watch and offer his unique perspective.

As the ash rippled outwards from their position, he felt the tingle of potential, the faintest whisper of past woes - this was a ritual forged for those of flesh and blood, however, which was one of the reasons he had opted to avoid such a form for the occasion.​

Given his lack of relevant experience, such all-too-mortal pain might well have overwhelmed his senses.

<It's working, the pains of yore are stirring. I hope you are right - that these Sith can learn.>

---

OOC: If anyone wants a strange experience to add flavour to their duel, see Ashin's post. The last two paragraphs describe it concisely.

 

[Khamul Kryze]

Engaging: Ulrich

Dovahkiin​

Khamul could feel something invading his mind as he cut down yet another Imperial trooper. He would normally attempt to block such an invasion of thought, but he felt the individual communicating with him. He allowed the strange voice just enough freedom for the message to come through. He had a hard time believing it, could one of the great war dragons actually be here?

That's when he saw the shadowy mass above. With wing and fang and claw hovering above like a looming storm, the dragon began its descent to the field of battle. As it landed with a resounding thud, Khamul took a moment to examine the beast. A magnificent creature indeed, even if it were meant to be his prey. From behind the beskar mask, he smiled.

"Well look at this. I wasn't expecting to see one of your kind here. Tell me, what gives you any right to question my motives, when you yourself have thrown yourself in with a false Sith'ari? You talk of apostates and blasphemy, and yet you willfully follow an megalomaniac who demands the outright subjugation of all. Your hypocrisy disgusts me."

He took a proper defensive stance as he spoke.

"You may control the husks of those previously perished, but I am the right hand of death. I am its will made flesh. And I will not be denied my feast of blood and bone."

Khamul saw the swing coming straight for his midsection. Bringing his lightsaber up, he took a stance to block the blow. Instead of actually blocking the blow, however, Khamul disengaged his lightsaber blade, feinting the block and choosing to roll underneath the weapon. As he jumped back to his feet, Khamul reignited his lightsaber, taking a quick swipe for the leg of the beast, hoping to hinder its mobility.

He wasn't expecting this fight, but something inside him welcomed it. Perhaps today he would take his place among the legends of his people.

 

[Ingrid L'lerim]

Lady Ingrid L’lerim Ragal Terassi Vandiir
Eternal Empress of the Eternal Empire, Lord Commander of the Wardens of the Shroud
The Red Witch, The Night Queen, Lady Stuztala, Head of the House L’lerim, CEO of the HPI Consortium, Archon of the Primyn Group​

Location: The Fields of Ash, Malachor V
Objective I.: Stop the ritual!
Equipment: 2x Sigra vibroblade | 2x Striith vibrosword | Kiss of the Red Witch | Heilagr MK. I ssassin Armour | The Last Gift || Empyrean gland
Writing with: Ashin Cardé Varanin | Kal

[ Just Inside My Head ] ​

The Empress did not believe the woman that she would not hurt souls; it is merely that recalling the past can hurt them. She knew the legends, the myths of what happened in this place. She knew exactly that memories could cause an even bigger wound than physical injury. Also in the living. Did the woman really believe she was better than the Zambrano family? She was not; Ingrid felt Darth Prazutis nearby, it was long ago that the man would have been there on the battlefield.

~ No, you're wrong! You are just another Sith who doesn’t care about anyone but yourself. You are no better than those you hate, only worse because you want to force your own will on thousands of people. It doesn't even give them a chance to say no. What makes you and your way better than the Zambranos?! ~ sent the telepathic message still to both of them. ~ But it also shows that the Sith never learns. If you were to learn, you would know that violence only breeds violence. It will only achieve an even bigger fight. Do you want to show that you are different? Don't do it by force! Break the damn circle! ~

Her voice is still cold and emotionless; Adrian really had a much bigger impact on her than anyone might have thought. She didn’t really want to expose her own to this, they were the most important. And they were on the battlefield too. The Empress didn't know if the armors would protect them or not. She saw the former Empress turn around and the ritual was coming to an end as the statues(?) collapsed and the dust got into the air. From then on, she couldn't do much. Ingrid starts to think quickly, in more strands like she had ever done before.

She managed to narrow the circle to two possibilities; the first of which was not really feasible. Ingrid was too far from the battlefield, which was too big to sweep the ashes out with telekinetics. The other option is to create a storm that sweeps this out of there and rain that knocks the ash to the ground. The problem was that she didn’t really have practice in this. But she had no choice.

Reached into the Force and with Consume Essence she began to absorb the dark energies from the battlefield. While Ashin was doing the ritual across the Field, Ingrid was doing the same here, but the red-haired woman was there to prevent it. She began to concentrate, made various hand gestures, and began to say ur-Kittât words. She uses the absorbed dark energies for the spell, reaching out to the Force to place it all where the ash approached.

Strong winds formed in that part, clouds appeared in the sky, and the storm literally began to form from nothing. And the wind generated by Ingrid caught up in the ash that appeared because of the other ritual and began to blow it back, in the direction where there were no fighters…

 

[Bryn Celli Ddu]

Location: Malachor V
Allies: TSE and their allies. Interacting with: Onrai
Enemies: Warlord of the Sith and their allies
Objective: Reunion

While Bryn Celli Ddu had been years apart from her Master, when the woman called to her, she responded. Their reunion might not be as pleasant as she hoped. Yes, she had changed Bryn's life but it had not been a choice that was offered. Instead, her life had been stolen from the teen. Not that Bryn was a teen anymore.

She had grown up with the enhancements given to her by Vanessa Vantai and learned to live with them. At times, she thought they were a curse and at others, a blessing. Today the cyborg felt they would be a blessing. Why was her Master wanting her to come? Time would tell and the woman would have her answers.

Showing up not long before the invaders, she watched as the soldiers, guards and mercenaries scrambled around making preparations for the upcoming battle. Looking up at the sky above her, Bryn walked into one of the only homes she remembered.

Bloodshed was something Bryn was familiar with. There had been many times when she had spilled it. Now she would most likely be doing it again. This time it wasn't going to be because somebody told her to but because she made the choice to. The former Sith Apprentice was on Malachor not to fight for Vanessa but for her home.

Sensing the power change of Vanessa, she knew she would be safe and welcome. Safety was not actually on the cyborg's mind and she knew it was going to be something fleeting. Once their enemies arrived, she would lose that net and have to defend her home.

"What do you want, Vanessa?"

It was the only name Bryn knew to call the Sith Lord. When the apprentice spoke, her tone did not have the respect of old and might seem, at least, a little hostile.

 

[Ulrich]

Location A : Field of Ash

Engaging : Khamul Kryze

Mortals​

Though my opinion of the average Mandalorian intellect is not what anyone could consider high, even I don't think that my opponent is foolish enough to really try and block a weapon that was heavier than himself with a near weightless blade. Even though I saw the next attack coming I was just a hairs breadth slow on reacting. The blade of the lightsaber strikes at the scales of up upper arm before biting down to the muscle and flesh beneath. Painful but I manage to pull away before it does damage to the bone or ligaments. My scales will turn aside blaster bolts readily enough but a lightsaber is a bit too much even for my natural protection.

Pulling back with a swift movement I assume a quadrupedal stance towering above my foe. Focusing my mind I call to the spirits that surround us sending out my will to work its dominance. Around us rocks and chunks of obsidian begin to vibrate and then lift themselves from the ground. Though it might appear to be telekinesis it would be more accurate to refer to this as poltergeist activity. This time I speak to my foe in my own voice.

"That you have the gall to accuse others of hypocrisy is itself a potent irony. My service to the suzerain of the Sith is of my own choice and I am well respected for it . Your people gave no such option. As to you being the incarnation of death I think not. I predict that I will still be around long after your flesh has rotten away and your bones are moldering relics disgracing the very sand with their presence. Your soul I shall present to Prazutis that he may render judgement on your squalid essence."

With that the volcanic dross is launched towards my foe. From each side the pieces of stone and obsidian fly as if Kryze as become magnetic. This isn't all however as I take a deep breath intoning a spell as I do so. While I cannot spew forth flames via biological methods the power of the darkside allows me to call upon such talents if I have need of them. With the incantation on my lips I exhale sending a wave of flame out to pass over Kryze. Beskar is a naturally heat resistant material but should the first part of my attack go well he will be covered in debris that will under the heat of the flames return to being the lava it once was. Lets see how well even beskar can hold up to one of natures most dangerous substances.

 

[Darth Ahriman]

Location: Fields of Ash.
Hostiles: Dasam Kal , Warlords of the Sith.
Acolyte Apparel | Sith Lightsaber | Sigma-Five-Delta

Sigma-Five-Delta had successfully established and secured one of several designated landing zones for the rest of the Empire's Legion to reinforce their position on the ground, the first stage in their mission complete and Valen recalling them to his position so that the Sith-Imperial Troopers could take over while their specialized unit would move on towards the Sith Malachor Temple as reports were coming in of a heavy hostile presence moving toward the key location.

Only moments after they had started to venture through the fields of ash, however, they were signalled to stop and spread out by first lieutenant Taylor Hewitt who had one ear to her the side of her helm listening to the comms' chatter coming in from command. "Sir, suspected enemy squad heading our way" she informed Valen who ignored the command and walked passed the other troops to ascertain the news.

"Let's not disappoint them then" Valen replied confidently, riding upon the high of previous battles experience and deciding he didn't have the patience to await the enemy out; "On me. Arms free" he concluded, calling the squad to rally on him and giving them the freedom to fire at anything they deemed to be hostile.

As the drew closer to the Fields of Ash, fighting could be heard ahead prompting Valen to take his Lightsaber into hand. Looking on ahead, there appeared to be a ridge that separated them from the sight of the battle, thus he signalled to the squad to ascend the high ground while he would move with them and only once they were in position with a fair vantage over the battle below, Valen moved to walk down into open view of @Dasam Ka and his troops, the crimson blade of his crossguard hilt flaring into ignition with a high pitched charge and a vibrant thrum of unstable energy thanks to the compressed crystal within.

"My thanks for dealing with the squadron of hostiles my lord, shall we proceed?"
​

The man who had spoken to Dasam Kal would suddenly make a gasp for air, his hands coming to his throat while his body was raised up off of the ground, feet left to dangle as he struggled to breathe. Stepping forward with his left hand reaching out towards the enemy soldier, Valen soon swept his arm to the side, sending the trooper within his force grip colliding into his fellow soldiers.

"Pray tell, what brings these traitors upon the sacred ground of my Emperor" Valen questioned aloud, rhetorical and sounding as though he were asking himself, voicing his thoughts for all to hear; "Have you come to die?" he soon asked, looking ahead to what he perceived to be the commanding officer.

 

[Ashin Cardé Varanin]

Strong winds formed in that part, clouds appeared in the sky, and the storm literally began to form from nothing. And the wind generated by Ingrid caught up in the ash that appeared because of the other ritual and began to blow it back, in the direction where there were no fighters…

OBJECTIVE 1
LOCATION A: THE FIELDS OF ASH
REPRESENTING: Warlords of the Sith
OTHERS: Ingrid L'lerim , Kal
GEAR: Kotsirluuk, DNK0 spotter droid, anticoncussion shoulder pad, basic light armor, Breshig War Forge SR-2M rifle with a variety of ammunition, and a lot of ash
GOAL: Conduct the rediscovered Breath of Ashes ritual on Malachor after eight or nine centuries forgotten

What once was great-

The ash she'd sent out rushed back in again under Ingrid's control, closed in on Ashin from multiple directions. She yanked her high collar up to cover her mouth and nose, but the ash seeped in the corners of her breath mask and turned to black mud. Kotsirluuk thudded on the ground beside the rifle. She coughed and kept coughing. At least the ashy whirlwind offered concealment.

Disbelief, frustration, grief, fury - emotion crashed against her icy walls. She couldn't find clarity or detachment. Ingrid, this woman much like her, this Empress who might have been her friend and was certainly her peer, had stopped the ritual that meant so much.

The ritual that might have stopped Voyance's. The ritual that might have reawoken the Sith of both sides to a deeper reality than their shallow little spats over pride and supremacy.

Clutching the fabric snugly over her mouth and nose, squinting against the ash blizzard, Ashin fumbled in her pack for her breath mask. She fitted it on and reclaimed her weapons, more to keep her options open than because they had anything to do with restarting the ritual.

Well, that wasn't exactly true, was it. Killing Empress Ingrid L'lerim-Vandiir or otherwise neutralizing her would certainly help. With the ritual, and with the unexpected sting of having her word doubted, being accused of selfishness at a moment of altruism. Fury rose and she ran with it.

"Position?" she said quietly into her comm, and the DNK0 whispered back in ur-Kittat. Though Ashin couldn't see Ingrid through the ash-storm, Ingrid hadn't moved. The telemetry still stood.

A Breshig SR-2M - she blessed the name of Shuklaar Kyrdol - could fire a variety of Breshig ammunition, and she'd packed for options. A magazine of high explosive rounds clicked into the rifle. She ejected the chambered round and whispered a curse to make the high-explosive bullet fly true through the storm. She'd need outstanding precision. The bullet had a lethal blast radius of only half a meter.

Since lethal intent was a major component of any given Force-user's danger-sense, however, she didn't aim to kill. She aimed to help, in a way: to thunk the explosive bullet as close to Ingrid as possible, where it would send up a ridiculous amount of ash in a small area and maybe compromise Ingrid's suit integrity.

Ingrid's plan was working, controlling the ash, forestalling Ashin's ritual. The fastest way to stop her was to include her in the ritual. Get her to breathe some ash too. Get her feeling the ancient pain.

It was, in every sense of the term, a long shot.

By advanced telemetry and longstanding instinct, Ashin fired.

​

 

[Kascalion Giedfield]

EQUIPMENT: Armor - X | Main-Hand Lightsaber - X | Off-Hand Lightsaber - X | Right Arm - X
OBJECTIVE 2: Treasures of Trayus
Primary RP Partner: Darth Vinaze
Overarching Opponents: TSE
Who Else Is At Trayus: Ihsan | Zinn Zinn Bink'sa | Vector Monk | Onrai | Laertia Io | Aurelion Nova | Lesaj
What is Inside Trayus Academy (NPCS): Sith Statues | Sithspawn
Overarching Allies: WotS | Respective Allies
NPC Allies: The Convergent Order
Crusade War Chant: Warlord

​

Darth Vinaze was an impeccable Darksider in every facet of what it meant to be one. There was confidence within his aura as the war outside the Academy raged onward with such destruction. His strength was on a scale of improvement unseen by the Devil since the rise of the Sith Empire - the very same whom they fought this day together as one. As the Devil stood before the monolithic gates of the construct, he silently wondered what this journey today would bring for the Corrupted One. Would he find his own increase in strength to pose a noticeable challenge to the Devil? Or would this prodigious rise cap off and leave him as he was already?

The questions swam in his cortexes as the Force reached forth from his sole organic hand, gripping the multiple latches that kept the gates shut to all trespassers. The effort was nominal for the ancient Entity of the Dark who unlocked each singular latch with ease. Before long, as bolts of crimson and blue skewered the ground around the two Sith - either missed shots or stray shots - the gates unlocked in their entirety and were pulled open with a harsh tug of the Devil's ethereal hand. With Vinaze in tow, Kascalion entered the Halls of Trayus, the vast canyons of Malachor's depths and wastelands left behind in the darkness.

Sometime later, several other Sith Warlords had entered the halls of the ancient construct after Kascalion and his follower, their purposes their own in this great temple of ancient history. Presences in the Force such as Ihsan and Zinn Zinn Bink'sa , the latter of whom Kascalion was worried would do more damage to the relics within than any of the collateral destruction or years of deterioration. But there were several others as well, none of whom were related to the warlords in the allied sense. They were enemies and third parties, some holding a presence in the Force and others not, although their identities were lost upon a man who fancied himself God.

Of course, he would excuse this lack of Divine Omniscience as merely a choice of his own to ensure there were surprises in his ever-expanding Narrative. Why know everything when the journey to the pre-determined end could be so much more fun and unexpected? This was his excuse for every situation that he walked into without knowing what was to come and his excuse whenever he found himself nearing critical injury due to his sadomasochistic, self-martyring megalomania. In case you had not figured it out by now, reliving a thousand and one lives in a thousand and one bodies over the past ten-thousand plus years had severely addled to the mind of this Force Entity - whose strength was only comparable Demi-God at its peak levels, which he hoped to achieve this day.

The path to the sanctum where the power was being held - this font of energy that promised such treasures - was distant but stationary, unlike the other fonts that seemed to whisk around the Galaxy like fairies of legend. The passages, however, were as winding as can be and strangely absent of much in the way of the threats present out in the Depths. Out there roamed such monstrosities as the Voreclaw and the Tuk'ata, but in here, there was only dust and more passages that led to far-off rooms where relics such as crowns, wristbands, and even ancient weapons and armors lay undiscovered - at least visibly.

Their energies were both Dark and Light individually, the latter somehow maintaining its purpose and truth of the False Holiness even in this damned place where such a thing was thought impossible to exist. Or mayhaps, and more likely, this was merely a false signal given out by some sect of shrouded demons, waiting to snatch their prey into a curse. Kascalion cared not to figure out such things at the present moment and instead proceeded forth with his companion.

It was not until he was further in the halls that his wondering of the lack of apparent threat, despite the looming doom and assured certainty of its existence in the Academy, were silenced. Cutting through the air like knives came horrific screams. The dust itself of the darkened hallways, which the Devil refused to have lit up by any form of light beyond natural vision, vibrated and dispersed to avoid the agony of the sounds. The Devil resumed his walk with revitalized vigor and, curiously, came upon something he did not expect to find so deep in the temple. Another twist in his Narrative.

Standing in an archway, the Devil's searing gaze fell upon a Sith-Imperial Dig Site, heralded by a scarred man with white hair and an assistant who looked pleasantly distressed. Before themselves was a hole that itself led to a swarming horde of scarabs, likely released by some mishap with the digging. Each of the thousands crawled over and effortlessly devouring the bodies of several Sith-Imperials. Turning to his hobbling follower, the Devil whispered: "Take care of the insects, Vinaze. Care not for the researchers who may be alive. I will inquire as to the Imperial's presence."

The Devil then turned back to the white-haired man and his own follower and inhaled deeply. Acknowledging to himself that the gates of the Academy were likely opened before to set this dig site up and that he merely opened a safety measure put in place when the Warlords came knocking on Malachor's door, the Devil extended his organic index at the man with white hair. "Thou hast disturbed and defiled our holiest of grounds, Imperial swine!" he shouted through the Force with a facade of piety. In truth, he could not have cared less at the presence of these people, but he had a developing persona to uphold for the Narrative. "Name thyself and thy purpose within this temple and I will grant thee a chance to depart. Do this and thou mayst yet live."

What the hell are you doing, Kas? Certainly, this is what his brother - long-dead Lorale - would have said had he heard this archaic speech, summoned today at this moment for absolutely no reason other than carabast and laughs.