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OBJECTIVE 1: Survive Location: The Temple of Malachor Called Targets:Darth Maleva | Quintus Varro Allies In Vicinity: Sith Empire | Kalt Bruq
A duplicate of her? Alina watched curiously as Kalt bent imagery and made her before them. She wasn't going to pass up the chance to get a surprise attack on their foe. The enemy seemed to have believed it. Whatever Maleva was doing, she could feel the flow focusing on her apprentice. Not good. Sorcery? It was hard to tell without hearing the incantations.
But with the focus shifted, the Knight used it to her advantage. Her Lightspear came up behind the illusion, the scarlet blade reigniting. In a burst of speed she ripped through it, thrusting the weapon for the Lord's center mass. If they could be quick, they might be able to handle these stronger foes.
"This man is a weasel, my lord. Oh how quickly you turn on your masters for another. Your death, and the reclamation of this academy, will speak volumes more than any story you could tell."
Fear flashed through the Reclamation Service agent's eyes when Darth Vinaze
made his foreboding threat. He carefully maintained a neutral expression. Bargaining with eldritch powers after all was part of his job description. Kascalion Giedfield
in particular reminded him of one or two ancient Sith spirits on Korriban. Netherworld energies stripped away what little remained of their mortal psyche century by century until there was only a creature of pure darkside. Glorious to behold...and extraordinarily dangerous to be at one's mercy.
"And...would you not wish to have your tales spread throughout the lands of our greatest enemy? What better way to sow the seeds of dissension than through their own people?"
"Just so! Cataloguing the history of Sith conquest is more than a passion, my lord. It is-"
A single look from the Devil silenced Vector at once.
"Thou speak with confidence of Sith, yet power doest not runneth within thee! A mortal man, thou art, offensive to standeth within such historic walls! I would smite thee in twain...if I hadst nay useth for thine talents..."
Captain Monk's face slowly brightened as the rebel Sith explained a way he might survive. Perilous ambitions. Something of a requirement for Imperial Reclamation Service work. Since Kyber Dark and the Imperial civil war many acolytes were far less trusting of their subjects. Remaining loyal in such times required a particular type of devotion. For Vector it was hardly a choice at all. Far too late to turn back from unlocking the galaxy's most forbidden secrets now. When the Sith Lord mentioned an ancient place of power he became momentarily transfixed.
"Why, it would by my pleasure to serve," Monk flashed a wide smile once he was certain Kascalion had finished this time, "I am but a single fragment of a living monument to Sith glory. Thou speaketh wisdom, my lords. By what right could a mere neophyte in this holy place deny thee? Matters of loyalty are far above my station, sir."
After nudging Ygor roughly out of his way the Imperial officer retrieved a glowlamp. It produced a crimson light meant for providing illumination in environments sensitive to light damage. Most fortunately for his own sake Vector was surrounded with the equipment necessary for spelunking without the Force.
"I know precisely how to reach the Academy's lowest levels. There are several promising sites marked for...ahem, careful excavation. I am most certain my lord that between my experience with Second Dynasty architecture and thy extraordinary gifts we shall have no trouble locating what thou seek! No trouble at all."
Location: Malachor
Allies: TSE and their allies. Interacting with: Onrai
Enemies: Warlords of the Sith and their allies
Objective: Defend her home
Her question was answered quickly and the cyborg nodded. Bryn was stoic with this whole reunion thing but not hostile to Vanessa.
"You've changed. What happened?"
Since her first question had been answered so easily, she pressed for more information. Balling her fists up from time to time, she felt the approaching opposition and wanted to be released to attack them. Biding her time, it wasn't right yet and so she waited.
Hearing as her former master addressed one of them, she also mirrored her and prepared to fight. To defend that only real home she actually remembered.
Feeling that Vanessa didn't want her to interfere, Bryn just watched and waited. Her time would come and she was ready. Her cyborg body enhanced for these kinds of situations, she was not a weakling and would stand her ground.
Tag: Lady Marrow Location: Temple of Malachor As Drako opened his eyes he saw that the lines of battle were still changing, with the crusading forces still making some headway, though he was still roughly between fronts. The knight's fingers wrapped over the edge of the duracrete block he had been thrown up against and pushed himself over so he was laying on his back. From there he looked around the best he could for where his Uvak had landed. What he saw filled him with rage. The grotesque fungal growths and the broken body of his now deceased companion.
Drako lifted himself from his elbows then to a knee, and then to a slightly hunched stand. His right hand rest on the top of the weapon at his hip while the other was being used for balance as he shuffled towards the crash site. As he neared he could see the mutilated corpse of the once magnificent creature even more clearly "Through Passion, I gain Strength." he muttered as he turned to search for where his adversary had gone. He did not see the witch but he had a instinctual feeling that she had retreated further within the Temple as the forces had pushed.
As he staggered towards the friendly troopers from the Sith Battle Chapters he pushed one away who attempted to help him forward "If you seek to be of use to me, pick up your weapon and fight Trooper." with practiced discipline the trooper threw up a quick, orderly, salute then rejoined his team. Meanwhile Drako was behind them and used the hallway's wall to aid him down the darkened corridor which occasionally flashed with violent brilliance as the two opposing soldieries skirmished. Drako's sabatons found purchase on both stone as well as the sparse armored corpse. His breath was ragged, though one could not be certain to what measure was rage or injury.
Zinn Zinn still carried a crazy look in his eye, as to some he danced around like a fool. But who would be calling whom the fool? The dance that he performed was part of the outcast Gungans for generations, and it was said to drive fear into the hearts of those that dared not stand to a Gungan ready to go berserk. Now the Gungan went about flailing his lightsaber giving the War Cry unknown to him that such creatures had brought forth unwanted company. He kept dancing, even as he heard the growling. Too lost in what he viewed as sacred tradition to preform that or he was just too karking crazy to really care.
Hell, even the plant lady in her own words was telling him to shut up. But unfortunately the Gungan didn't listen and it wasn't until a Tu'kata emerged right in front of him. That caused him to stop right in his tracks. As he looked at the creature within the eye and started to flip out. "CHIT CHIT CHIT.... Crap Crap.... Wesa!! Wesa in trouble!!!! Big scary beasties!!!!" He said as he started to move in a hysterical way. His saber flailing around in a knee jerk reaction as if carried around a torch and spoke to the Sith Hound. "Plasma bad... Laser Sword Bad.... Shoo Shoo!!!!" The only response he got out of waving his saber around wildly like it was a torch was a hiss. To which he outragiously responded with hissing right back. As if he was hissing sternly right back to a loth cat. "Hissssssss" Now such an action had pissed the Tu'kata off where he started to move in a charge tackling the Gungan to the ground.
His saber flying from his grip. Face to face with the snarling beast before him. Zinn Zinn felt fear paralyze him. The hound drooling all over the amphibious being, as if looking to make the Gungan a fine first meal. Zinn Zinn while trapped in that fear for the moment. Proceeded to unlock deep into his rage. For as the Warlords taught him, that rage was key for a dark side to unlock true power. To let that fear turn into anger so that one could win. His arms pinned down by the Tu'kata it seemed utterly hopeless for the Gungan to even break free. Unil he let out a loud beastial cry of his own. Then striking back by biting into the neck of the creature. His teeth sinking into the flesh of the animal letting out a wailing cry. No doubt such a cry would cause the rest to come to him. Zinn Zinn proceeded to push the Sith Hound onto it's back. Spitting out the chunk of flesh out of it's mouth.
Blood and flesh had adorned and trickled down his lips. He then moved swiftly while the creature was down, and with both his hands locked together. Started to bash into the skull of the Tu'kata. The creature growling turning into cries in an instant, while crying out. "YOUSA AIN"T BAD!!! YOUSA AIN'T NUTTHINGS!!" It seemed as if it had lasted an eternity. The way his hands came down with such force. The cracks of bone and the dripping of hound blood. For if one was to survive as long as Zinn Zinn had, one of course had to be a savage.
When the creature finally expired, Zinn Zinn reached to grab the spine of the creature, in such a rage filled state. Pulled the head from the body, and proceeded to use it as if some sort of shield or perhaps even a secondary weapon of sorts. With a hand stretched out called his saber to him once more igniting it with a snap hiss. Looking out the Tu'kata had returned. He would finish with them and then he would take care of his true enemy. The beasts tried to encircle him. Snarling, growling. Zinn Zinn mimicked them while also yelling out with both weapons in hand. s "Yousa karked up beasties!!" The beasts attacked him once more, and while swarmed by claws and teeth. With his own teeth barred and gritting. He sliced those around him, and beat the others creating a scene of absolute carnage for the psychotic Gungan.
Location: Fields of Ash Allies: Warlords of the Sith Enemies: TSE, Laertia Io Equipment: Lightsaber | Nightfall | Duskfall
Kentarch force lightning held. At first, Xiphos tried a type of force suppression, force breach, however, Kentarch had been trained to create a basic mental barrier through the force to ward off such an attempt or other force-based attacks. Her sword provided a more interesting threat, drops of magma which undoubtedly would burn Kentarch to a cinder. His torrent of Sith Lightning suddenly stopped and he strafed quickly to his left to avoid the magma and fiery fate.
"I asked a question," Kentarch said annoyed. "What master do you serve?"
Her insult did not phase him. It was her channeling of the force that caused more concern. Kentarch sensed a distinct use of the Lightside side of the force, yet his opponent fought for the Sith Empire, whose philosophy on the force was very narrow.
Taking a deep breath he unleashed a telekinetic force repulse, however, this was not an assault on Xiphos. Rather it stirred up the ash and dust on the ground and in the air. The visibility in the area became poor, and the repulse managed to kick up the loose ash from the ground. In this cloudy haze of ash Kentarch again vanished. Now he would not leave such telltale signs such as footprints, and it would be nigh impossible to spot him until the ash settled.
"You do not have to stand against me." He voice rang out. "I have no quarrel against those use the Light."
The pounding of ephemeral drums beat against the stretched skins of seemingly infinite dead and dying souls sounded distantly in Lady Marrow's ears, as she cradled herself in one of the dessicated flowing hallways not too distant from the bases entrance. Unknowingly her power had coiled out from her, clutching and crushing at the beast which had been strangled by her mycetic vines, a feast for the saphrophytic to gorge upon. Terror wracked at her body and mind with every tremble of the base, unable to hear or feel the sensation of her Garden as it had been drowned out through the psychic miasma that permeated the skies that surrounded this blasted colourless world.
The first footstep of a creature as it made its entrance into the temple would see the head of Lady Marrow jerk up towards the rear of the opening lane-way. Fraught with fear, whimpers of a frantic nature escaping her lips as her senses could detect the stepping of foreign creatures across the seeds she had scattered throughout the corridors. They were here...! Lurching to her feet in little more than a hypnotized scamper, a dazed Lady Marrow would attempt to lumber hastily deeper into what was quickly turning out to be their tomb, the drab world around her little more than a blur as the defenders would move to meet the tides which stormed the halls reinforced with numbers untold.
They'd needed to win on the fields... the monument in the center their imperious defense against them, capable of empowering them, feeding their energies and raining hell down upon their heads with plasmic rays a plenty. The Marrowborn muttered under her breath, asking others for help, reaching her delicate uninjured hand out for Sith Soldiers as they pushed past, moving the wounded and weak creature aside and out of their way as they bravely bound into the breach to stem the rolling thunder. But another step would sound as her senses attuned to her spores... something was coming, something familiar.
A titanic crash slamming into the side of the Steppe Pyramid would drop stones upon the heads of the Sith defenders before her. There was a rumble and Lady Marrow's world went black. Yelling and cursing awakening her from her blackout as she would look up to see the line of sith attempting to hold back the breech, coughing against the dry dust which plumed in every direction from the cave in. Falling under the weight of the unrelenting numbers as they were renewed in their charge...how had they gotten past her thornfield so quickly!?
Then he stepped into view, Lady Marrow froze as she gained sight of the once mounted soldier pushing forward with crusaders at his back. Terrified, paralyzed with fear the girl attempted to hide behind one of the fallen boulders, waiting for him to pass occupied by those who would die in droves. Lady Marrow saw him as something of an immortal monster, towering and undying. There was no escape behind her either, nothing but a side corridor which stood between them. Praying to keep herself silent and undetected she would begin to crawl around the rock that hid her, keeping to a side of the hallway as on all fours step by step, trembling, she'd hope to reach the T junction unseen.
Every pebble that moved would make her squeak, tearing her gaze up to see if the monster that assaulted their home would notice. As he fought like a behemoth. If she was in her garden she could do something... but she had no power here, not really. Please dont see me, please oh please oh please.
If he did however she would hesitate, locking eyes with him before letting out a shriek and tearing it on all fours at first for the corridor, hoping to escape!
"Why bother? Why fight for a dynasty that is spending its last days, mustering whatever support it can receive?
When it should be standing tall and relying in its own strength as it did in years past."
Thus far within the Acolyte's experience, the first suggestion of the Sith Empire's supposed decline was being aired there and then, from the mouth of the invaders, these Sith who had turned upon their own kind, traitors for all that was evident to Valen. Dromund Kaas has shown him nothing but strength and order, both within the Legion and the Sith Academy; It was difficult for the Acolyte to see Dasam Kal's words as anything but an attempt to justify their treason against the Empire, against the Order of the Sith.
Raising his left hand, his fingers extending to point skyward, palm open facing the opposition. By his signal, Sigma-Five-Delta all moved forward from behind the cover of the higher ground, exposing themselves with their rifles pointed down on the enemy troops, armed and poised for the command to open fire.
"I'll find no pleasure in killing what could have become true weapons among the Empire's elite, but you've made your choice...-And shown me my purpose today. The Empire has no tolerance for traitors and heretics" Valen replied darkly, his hand closing into a balled fist, giving Sigma-Five the command to open fire.
The squad accompanying Dasam Kal
would come under fire, forced to defend themselves while Valen was intent on dealing with the rogue Sith himself, the Acolyte's lightsaber held firmly in his right hand, being lifted and pointed towards Dasam as Valen began to close the distance between them, his pace a mere walk as the blaster fire came down upon the troopers behind the Acolyte's target.
The Force swelled around Valen as he drew power from the influx of emotions that had erupted on both sides now that the battle had started, the Acolyte feeding upon the violence and the fear, a talent that he had discovered during the first battle he had been sent into, the physical and spiritual energies that created life also providing him with the courage and strength to rise above his own fears and limitations.
Perhaps he had misspoken. Perhaps he would still find some enjoyment in facing down an opponent like Dasam, a Sith Knight making Valen the potential underdog in the fight, a challenge that he could not help but revel in.
Objective I, Location A: Breath of Ash in the Fields of Ash; Mystical Consultant. Writing With: Ashin Cardé Varanin
| Ingrid L'lerim
Effortlessly gliding alongside Ashin as she slogged through mud and rain to reach her destination with characteristic determination, Kal was struck by the sheer explicitness of the miscommunication. Ashin was clearly here to aid the raving lunatics that called themselves the Warlords while Ingrid's loyalty to the dogmatic fools of the Sith Empire seemed more force of habit than logical choice.
Really, aiding either without asking something in return was the height of folly.
They both had an interest in stopping whatever ritual Darth Voyance
had planned, certainly, but the similarities ended there. Ashin wanted to show a better path to victory while the Eternal Empress presumably wanted the Dark Saint's head on a silver platter. Or in an unmarked grave.
<Playing along may well be worthwhile, though I would not make any promises you do not intend to keep.> The other sniper was clearly quite violent and a bit unbalanced, much like the Sith with which she mingled, really. Why couldn't they all behave more like the Je'daii?
Thus far I had counted myself among the lucky number of dark siders who have never had to suffer the indignity of being struck by force lightning. One heard tales about how it was used to discipline errant acolytes and those who failed to live up to expectations. Most masters don't have an acolyte that can tear them in half without much in the way of effort. I have therefore been granted a degree of respect beyond most others of my station. So it was my first time experiencing the thoroughly unpleasant process when the arcs of eldritch energy lashed out from Kryze's hand at my face.
The sensation was decidedly painful to say the least. Gritting my fangs I turned my head downwards hoping to deflect the licks from my eyes. It was a pity that the set of armor I had commissioned was taking the Sith artificers longer than expected to forge or I might have been spared the danger of the force power wrecking my sight. So repurposed into literal lightning rods my horns took the brunt of the attack. I was going to have the mother of all headaches when this battle was over.
While I couldn't see the rocket being fired I could hear the woosh of the missile as it was shot from the Mandalorian's back mounted launcher. Missiles were extremely bad news even for a being of my strength and durability. It was going to hurt immensely or even kill me outright if it hit so it was imperative to follow the arc and shoot the thing down before it connected with me. Closing my eyes I pulled my head up through the lightning only opening them again when I could spot the missile. Mouthing the incantation I readied my free hand for a force blast aiming to blast the missile from the sky.
Too late it seemed that I wasn't the intended target after all. The missile struck a cliff face near us doubtlessly intended to drop rubble on me. Not a bad plan of action but my instincts screamed that something was off about this particular move. Time seemed to slow down as the ringing of the explosion echoed across the battlefield. Rubble did rain down with some impacting my side but from the continuous rumble and deep crack that reverberated made me realize that Kryze had miscalculated exactly how volatile the surrounding environment was.
As the warrior seemed to be pressing the attack I sprang from the ground wings beating to raise myself from the igneous landscape that was our battlefield. Bellow the ground trembled as a full blown avalanche had been unleashed by the explosive device. Countless tonnes of rock had begun to crash downwards in an implacable wave of force and mass. Right towards Kryze. Incantation finished my wings beating I turned to the Mandalorian in the air.
"It seems that the only thing you will be wearing is a thousand tonnes of stone!"
My piece said I fired the sorcerous blast from my hand, an orb of pure darkside power ready to knock the Mandalorian back into his own natural disaster should he pursue me with his jetpack.
Armed with: Blade of Falsehoods (Single Bladed Red Lightsaber)
Lyli The Fake Dark Jedi, exuding an aura of intense, but False Corruption stood her ground against a Sith Warrior. Her gold and green skintight catsuit that partly framed around her face reflected the gleam of his equally red Double Bladed Lightsaber.
He leapt, and Lyli met his aggression with her own, sinking into the Juyo Form, meeting strike with strike, She thirsted for a true test of her skills this day.
Lyli did not have the fierce, overt power her other self exuded. If Syd was the Forest Fire, Lyli was the Fusion Cutter.
The trade of combat was intense between her and her true Dark Counterpart. But the Witch hiding in Lyli's flesh played Lyli's aggressive tactics to their fullest, refusing to back down, doubling down on aggression and unpredictability, charging her Lightsaber with incendiary effects as she battered aside a strike due to the enhanced strength her suit provided.
The exchange of blows ended as her Lightsaber buried itself in his head, catching it ablaze.
"Hey, I made a matchstick!" Lyli cruelly joked as her opponent fell.
Mercenary work rarely offered Lyli such a challenge as this. It was her first major conflict ever and she had already felled multiple opponents...She felt alive in a way she hadn't in months.
The Fake Dark Jedi, secretly the master of Starlin Rand
, falsely believing it was she who had killed Syd Celsius and not the other way around, was amazed at the increase in her personal power. The real Lyli would never have dared challenge such powerful opponents. She wasn't sure where this newfound confidence had come from.
Lyli moved through the fields of ash, mind partly on the cute as hell Black Knight that had flirted with her. There was something about Laertia that was just so...scrumptious...
Syd, not wanting to be herself for a while after the Sarkan aftermath, had retreated into the Persona of the more impulsive and petty Lyli Dragi, the real one having been murdered in a prison by Syd a while back. Lyli had a carefree approach to life. Way less burdens in spite of a malicious, combative persona. Syd wanted that for a little while.
Wrist mounted weapon that fires lethal razor disks that can be steered with telekinesis. They might say they come in peace, but they'll leave in pieces, thanks to this Ad-Hoc Dolph Lundgren reference
Lyli slipped the silvery gauntlet around her right hand, her aura near instantly "Corrupting" it to her own ends.
Lyli then proceeded into the battlefield, eager to further test herself. She loved combat. Loved fighting. Lyli did at least. For the Sorceress hiding in her flesh, it was a pretense to take down future Dark Lords before they became problems and oh wow, were there EVER plenty of candidates in a place like Malachor. Besides, these Sith had their priorities as skewed as The NIO and GA...
Didn't the Warlords understand The Bryn'adul were business killers?
It mattered to Syd after Sarka. It mattered little to Lyli, who was here simply to feth chit up and get a good fight, all the while thinking about how to best flirt with The Black Knight again...
Minutes seemingly felt like hours, and with each corridor and passage, she ventured through the same dark forboding layout, seemingly doomed in a rat race around this labyrinthic complex that reeked of evil and decay. Thoughts and repressed memories came out in painful bursts, the shadows around the Mirialan seemingly jumping and forming shapes that whispered and crept closer. Lingering, reaching out, whispering esoteric phrases in languages long lost, the dark figures dancing in the reddish light illuminated by the Sith's red saber.
Sikti mus lasu
Sikti mus lasu Sikti mus lasu. . .
The dark side galvanized her, and she felt her anxiety mix with resentment against the voices and shadows tormenting her. Bitter hatred for anything that threatened the progress she had worked so hard to obtain made her blood boil and her fingers itch. Teeth gritted, and a face turned to a scowl as she kept pace, the chanting and figures in the growing ever closer as the dull thud in her head grew with agony. Something familiar drew near, something she had buried and forgotten in the throes of pain. Ihsan slowly turned to face the dark, clutching the lightsaber behind her back.
"Make us-... whole."
No.
Her eyes widened in terror.
NO.
Panic beset the Mirialan, and she fled deeper into the subterranean complex, never looking back or thinking to stop. Her only goal to survive this nightmarish mausoleum of the dead that was beholden to a ancient evil that not even many Sith fully grasped.
Tag: Lady Marrow
Location: Interior Corridors, Temple of Malachor The troopers pushed before him and gained more territory for the Warlords as they did so, every yard was earned through battle. A detonation caused an opening where the crusading forces were given a new avenue of assault against the defending garrison. Drako strode out from the opening behind four troopers, and using Force Push, caused several defenders to be thrown off their feet where they were easy prey for the still standing troopers. Using the Force once more to pull a fallen trooper into his now ignited proto-saber's blade, he impaled the trooper then discarded the body in a fluid motion. He was completely oblivious to the hidden location of Lady Marrow
. His head turned slowly as he began to visually scan the area for the witch, and unable to do so he stepped towards a fallen defender and leveled his proto-saber's orange blade so that it hovered above the breastplate of a legionnaire "Where is your commander?" Drako had taken for granted that the Force user had to be the commander of this section of soldiers, it only seemed reasonable to him "Speak." he commanded.
"You'll never win this war." the trooper laughed in defiance, his voice was strained and raspy "This is just one temple in-" Drako pushed the saber into the heart of the defender which silenced him. As the trooper went limp and Drako deactivated his proto-saber one of the Sith Battle Chapter troopers approached him from the side "My lord, the area is secure though we don't know how far these tunnels go. What are your orders?" for a moment Drako found himself in charge of an unknown amount of professional soldiers and his mindset shifted slowly from vengeance to duty "Who is the senior among you?" the trooper who had reported to Drako gave a nod of his head "That would be I, my Lord." the Knight put up a hand briefly then let it fall "Then by my hand you are ordained as the Acting Commander, call whomever you please Commander." the rest of the Troopers looked between one another, it seemed they questioned the validity of such a move. Did this Sith Knight really have the authority to make this promotion, albeit temporary? Drako did not retract his decree and the now Acting Commander gave a slight bow "As you wish, my Lord. Thank you. I will make contact with field command immediately."
Drako moved away from the troopers as the newly appointed Acting Commander withdrew a holocommunicator and began to report the location and status of the troopers. His grip tightened around the hilt of the deactivated proto-saber as he began to despair that he had missed his change to avenge his fallen companion, his mind was awash with emotions. Anger, Sorrow, and Hate. How many battles had him and that single Uvak gone through? Many, very many. He had deigned not to name the creature as to dull the inevitable loss. Now he knew this was a mistake. His Passion would make him stronger, he had been weak to attempt to shield himself "Hask." he spoke aloud as he named the slain Uvak for the Sith word 'Anguish'.
It was at times unsettling with the connection and power that Onrai
had over her. The woman's voice echoed even through her crystalized bones. So much was their inherit connection gained by Dark Rituals from the Netherworld, that the herald was transported through space and time.
Dea wasn't ready for war or battle. She was still getting used to the new form that housed her. And with that form came powers that were not all realized. She relied on instinct to see her through, and to learn.
But battle was where she had found herself. And it was confusing! There was no clear indication of who was on which side. They all looked the same, felt the same, even appeared to fight the same.
Not wanting to attack the wrong people, Dea stood sentry outside of one of the labs. And as she stood there she began to build up a Force Shield, that was more or less going to act like a trigger for the security system.
Darth Kentarch
seemed to be at last taking the threat Xiphos posed more seriously.
"Does it matter? Truly?" Xiphos asked, not about to disclose truly sensitive information to him as he again asked who trained her. "I've had a few instructors. You wouldn't know them..."
(Cutaway of Laertia meeting Darth Themis
at Atrisia)
(Cutaway of Laertia battling The Amalgam
on Kar Shian)
"But they are 'quite' good at what they do. I'm not really with The Empire. Here on a CIS diplomatic pass. Hell of a way to engage in diplomacy, huh?"
He had gone for immediate obfuscation, kicking up ash to obscure her whole view. She waited, guarding with her blades, trying to sense him out, though when he moved to attack, the ash being displaced through the air would surely give him away more than the sounds of any footsteps he could make. But it was a good stall tactic.
"You cannot hide forever, Sith." Xiphos called out. "Eventually you're going to have to chit or get off the pot..."
He called out to her, saying they didn't have to fight.
"Oh, but we do have to." she called back, bemused. "Y'see, your faction has skewed priorities. The Bryn'adul destroy every civilization they come into contact with. They're killing your business, strangling it off with each civilization destroyed. Our best chance at survival lies in the most powerful factions uniting to stop that threat. To crush it. To wipe out the Bryn'adul completely as a civilization. But here you are, still sticking knives in each other for as long as you can until they are at your doorstep, kicking your asses."
Xiphos's power tore large chunks of ground from around her, orbiting her body as she moved through the dust cloud.
"This whole invasion reeks of skewed priorities to me, as has every other invasion I have fought in the past few months. Its why I turned my back on The Jedi Order. All they wanna do is fight Sith also, even if it costs them a few societies. Out of sight, out of mind for those types..." Xiphos scoffed, moving carefully, sinking into a Soresu guard with dual blades.
"If I'm honest...I may enjoy kicking a Sith's ass, but I derive no ultimate meaning from it any longer. One Red Lightsaber after another...what's the difference? You're in your own way at this point if you're not focusing on The Bryn'adul and how to kill them. Once they're gone, I couldn't care less if you kill each other."
She sensed something, barely. The alchemized signature on one of his swords.
"But I must admit to being surprised to hearing a full on Sith like you say they have no quarrel with Light Side Users, considering you did just try and give me the old Electric Chair special."
She sent a few chunks of what orbited around her to what she sensed. But the thing is, she sensed it so faintly it was rather difficult to say if it would be accurate as a hit or not. She let the rest of the debris orbit her faster, in case he was throwing her off and about to try a backstab or some cool Ezio-style leaping assassination from above. He seemed like he could pull an Ezio, at least. She had to be careful...
Taking a step from the debris the fighting had already begun around him as he shook the ash from him. The sea of dark energies around him were only too clear as he closed in on it, but there was a also something else he felt close by. As much as he wanted to pay attention to it he simply couldn't as a pot shot from out near the temple struck the ground near him. He was in the middle of it now, the last thing he'd wanted but he'd played with fire. Even surviving the battle didn't simply end there, then he had to get back home
Looking around he saw a trooper raising his rifle to try for a better shot, an Empire trooper at that. So they'd noticed he was shot down by an Imperial fighter. He supposed that decided his fate or at least limited his choices. Pulling the rifle to him the Firrerroeon grabbed it up and sent a quick series of bolts towards the interested squad while he moved behind his fighter for coverage.
Taking a quick breath as the capsule took on a series of blaster bolts he considered his options as he felt out the soldiers presence in the force. Setting down the lance he prepared himself with one slow breath as a piece of the capsule went flying off with the stench of carbon scoring. Seems it was now or never. Standing up he loosed a quick series of shots that put down the three man team with shots to the chest. Once upon a time that would have been a feat he would have been proud of. Now that he was able to understand where they were before he even looked it just felt less impressive.
Having a moment to finally survey he felt around him as he tried to think of some way off planet, or at least away from the fighting. The thought of leaving though was muddled in a desire to stay and feel the thick darkness of the fight, and even of the planet itself. Off to the side he watched as a ship settled down and empty out as two Sith began to duel. That right there, that might be his ticket out.
Even as he started to head in that direction something slowed him, there was something here he'd felt before between them. Sith magic unfamiliar to him, and an emptiness or absence? He slowly turned without thinking and took a step towards the pair spreading the chains out to them to get a better feel for it all as he stood on the peripheral of the fight, a blaster in one hand and a lance in the other. The absence though was familiar feeling, but he couldn't place his finger on exactly where he had felt it before.
He supposed it didn't matter though as he looked back at the ship considering again the perhaps wiser path of attempting to leave again. The draw of darkness was too much though as dread curiosity made his feet stick as he waited until the incantation was done. Here was a chance to learn something at least even if just by proxy. He knew if he stayed any longer he'd be far to wrapped up in it all to leave, but there was something to gain by staying now perhaps.
From the corner of his eye he felt as much as saw a soldier rise up a blaster pointed at the Sorcerer and not trusting his one armed aim he simply pulled the trooper's weapon from him again. Now taking his time he lined up a shot before pulling the trigger and putting the blaster rifle aside. Igniting his lance he'd made it clear he supposed where he stood for the moment. Then again lately he'd found himself always standing where there was something to learn.
Cara- Large screens illuminated the empty lab, their light catching the edge of Cara's metal features as she sat in one of the room's more comfortable chairs. Her steepled fingers were a scaffold for her chin as she leaned forward, the snaking strings of data filling the center screen taking her full attention. The quiet moment was disturbed in record time however, and Cara turned in her seat as a quick gust relocated stray papers. Fingers remained beneath her chin as she looked, shook her head, then turned back to the screen.
"Portals are strictly an after-hours affair. And don't tell me the time I've not paid attention."
Shamira- “If you did pay attention to the time... ” A voice, disembodied and coming from a few places around the very busy scientist, echoed around her which was followed small laugh. Perhaps not the best idea to be antagonistic toward Cara, who seemed as buried into her work as ever, yet that wouldn’t stop her now. “You might begin to realize how late it truly is... and that it is technically after-hours.” In all honesty, it was barely after-hours, and they were both splitting hairs at this point. The witch did materialize now, seemingly floating out of the very air, placing a small cup of tea on top of one of the disheveled stacks of paper. Her gaze, one lacking the fire that had been lit behind it the past few days, shifted from the tea to Cara. “You should drink, rest your eyes a moment."
C-
Her presence was refreshing, always carrying the scent of fresh leaves and the pleasant respite of shade on a warm day. Cara's eyes focused off the data to peer at Shamira's reflection in the monitor then to read the timepiece one shelf above. Her brow arched. "Technically." The chair creaked as she leaned into it, the screens then shuddering as her hand rose to bid them to shut down.
"None for yourself?" Cara remarked at the sight of the single cup. She was going to tease about the choice of tea over caf but saw Shamira's hand, not yet totally withdrawn, and paused. Same as the old laboratory chair had done Cara also creaked as she moved, managing to push herself up to steady feet despite the scrapes. Ziost had not been kind to neither the doctor nor the witch, but where Cara's nicks and dents weren't an issue to repair Shamira's took time, even then with stingy results. With one hand Cara took the teacup while the other brushed Shamira's arm. "Once this formula is complete those burns will be nothing but an unpleasant memory.”
S- "No...you looked like you needed it much more than I did." Another soft set of laughter, one that hinted at the mirth that filled the witch before the events of Ziost sent a wave through their relationship. Yet before she'd stowed away on the fateful transport their connection seemed...rocky. The burn marks were a memory of that, a painful one, but not exactly one that the redhead was looking to get rid of so easily. Apparently that wasn't the plan of Cara, which upon hearing her words, let loose the smallest of sighs. "Cara...unpleasant memories are still memories. We need those in our lives. Perhaps these burns should...remain."
She slowly drew her arm away from the scientist, hiding it behind her back. The burns were ugly, painful...just like the memories of that day and the few days before. It was a reminder, a permanent one. Shamira was still trying to wrap her mind around why Cara even needed to go in the first place, yet that was not something she was going to bring up now. At least...not yet.
C-
She narrowed her gaze at the suggestion. "Shaw. Take what you can from the hurt. Learn from the past," metal fingers curled around the cup, "but don't let it mar your future just to have a reminder." Looking down she collected a few of the spreadsheets on the desk, suddenly interested in the irrelevant data. The pause had been awkward, and Cara took another sip before continuing.
"Maybe next time you will remain where I tell you."
S-
There it was. There was the little knife that Cara couldn't help but twisting. That everything that had happened on Ziost was her fault. Never mind that she might've very honestly died had Shamira not been able to summon her risen to the battlefield and fight off whatever that thing was. She didn't care, not one bit, that Shamira had been able to help. Well, if one of them was going to act childish, far from it that Shamira shouldn't act respond in turn. "I'm sure I'll listen to you just as much as your government acts like they care about...anything about you." She was angry, having come to do nothing but try and make a little peace, instead being hit with more guilt-tripping, and once again the fire had been fanned within her.
C-
Cara lingered on the last sip of tea she'd taken. Shamira's jaw was set, eyes almost aglow, and Cara realized the mistake. "Shaw, I didn't mean..." Her shoulders whirred soft as her posture straightened, delayed pride engaging. "That was unnecessary. I know my place, where I stand with the Empire. A cog, like everyone else." A sharp clink echoed as she set the teacup aside.
S-
A breathy sigh, one that solely was exhaled through the nose, and one that was fully meant to keep herself from breaking out into tears. Out of anger? Sorrow? Emotion sought to pour forth, but that was not what was needed now. “I do not understand, that. I do not understand this idea that perpetually runs through your mind that you are not important. When are you...” another sigh, another attempt to hold back the emotion, “Going to understand you are not just a cog to people. That somehow, someway, people have learned to care about that brilliant mind of yours, and see you for more than you believe yourself to be.” Her jaw set, this time, out of determination and not anger. The tension in her fists slowly released, and her eyes looked up to meet Cara's.
“Do you believe me to be nothing more than a cog too, then?”
A lone raven flew far above the gore and smoky pillars of the battlefield, circling the theaters visible on Malachor's surface. Cara's eyes strained to view the bird, flecks of violet visible within its plumage.
Keeping an eye on things as always, I expect. The raven then flew from sight, its master pulling it to another area in need of visual. Unlike the raven's creator Cara relied on technology first-- and always. She equipped her faithful helmet then addressed those behind her. "Where are they now?" She asked as she leaned out the door of the in-flight transport, studying the ruins of Trayus academy below them.
Several surveillance operatives piled around a console, watching the events unfold within and around the remnants of the academy while trying to calculate a direct answer. A man in a standard gray uniform looked down to the datapad in his left hand, back to the screen, then to another pad in his right hand. After a deep breath he swiveled in his seat to address the engineer. "Doctor, the readings suggest they are...quite everywhere. Odd bio markers which must be unknown lifeforms."
Unknown lifeforms. Sithspawn.Cara kept her back turned to him as she scoffed, assuming a more amicable demeanor as she pulled her head back inside. "I see. Thank you."
"We suggest all members practice the utmost caution."
"Unnecessary, since all members shall stay aboard this transport." Reflecting off the black dome of her helmet were the faces of one, two, four, and six curious crew and officers who turned to to see if they'd heard Cara correctly. Head tilted Cara approached them with an almost humored step, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she spoke. "If you fellows wish to follow the fates of those teams which crossed Trayus' threshold feel free. But really, you'd be in my way--" she sunk two vibroknives into the sheathes on her armor's breastplate, "and extremist as these Warlords are you wouldn't last long. Inform me of any changes, and relay all data relating to Giedfield's aims here."
- - -
Dust billowed as Cara crashed through dry rotted bookshelves then collided with a marble pillar. At last her body skid to a stop, the engineer groaning as she managed to roll onto her side in an effort to get back to her feet. From the corners of the decrepit library shot fleshly threads, the scarlet strands twirling about Cara's leg and head. They reeled back into the shadow pulling their line taught and suspending Cara in the air, herself grasping at the cords around her neck. The tense ribbons finally snapped, whipping Cara across the room and into the chest of an ancient statue. She remained standing by the statue's open arms under her own, her legs slack and head hung.
The room's silence was broken by the sound of droplets hitting the stone floor, and from the shadows emerged a creature of undefined shape. Its skin was ever shifting, a shuddering blanket of red and white tendons that slid over a skeletal frame. Black eyes were mere voids sitting in a deformed head. Thick globules of drool formed a trail as its jaw hung by a few dying strands of muscle, the work of Cara's rifle. Iron-tipped tendrils slipped through the air as they wove together to form large needles hovering over the engineer. Slowly, the monster's face came close to Cara's helmet to deliver a hiss of victory. Metal palms slammed into both sides of the monster's head as Cara's hands sunk deeper. It let loose a strangled roar as Cara's face snapped upward, all expression hidden by the visor. The beast pulled backward but the vice was closed, Cara's grip unrelenting. Spittle and blood were slung all around as the beast writhed with the engineer still latched. With a large twist it flew upward toward the ceiling but its path was interrupted by a crack. At once it ceased, pausing before its flailing body stilled then began to collapse. Cara fell back to the library floor arms first, pulling herself into a roll.
She watched as the monster coiled into a twitching pile while getting to her feet, giving a heavy breath as she then took inventory of her new damages. Dents, mainly, and a loss of ammunition. Helmet HUD faded in and out of view as she watched for the newest intel from those above. If the Warlords had brought these beasts she was incredibly displeased with the gift, and intended to tell at least one of them personally.
The Imperial's words were...almost too correct of a response, each one chosen so carefully that the Devil would have considered it rehearsed had he not possessed the intelligence of a million populations collectively. No, this Imperial was merely astounding at worming his way to survival and maintaining his status as this archaeologist for the Empire. And for that reason alone, the Devil granted him life and moved with his new charge immediately, finding no reason to stay any longer in this defiled room of the temple.
Each step, some thunderous and quick and others silent and slow, through the old temple was done so out of careful consideration depending on the age and visible treachery of the stone. Behind them, around them, and before them, the sounds of battle raged on as the Warlords clashed with the Imperials, and others unaligned with either fought to survive the chaos and escape with their own treasures.
Such brutality pervaded this temple that, without this "Monk," the Devil and his compatriot surely would have taken much longer to explore the winding halls covered in greenish moss and black mold. The four themselves remained silent and kept to their thoughts aside from the directions given by the Imperial archaeologist. Stepping on or over the countless insects with black carapaces and a six to eight pincer-legs skittering throughout the holes in the floors and walls, which had thin strings of smoke exhaling from their centers. The tiniest of signs of this place's horrible evil.
And what evil followed these intrepid explorers. Whispers beckoning them to traipse off into lightless chambers and crypts where certain doom awaited them in the form of death or possession. Even the academy itself seemed...aware to a point, as each hall was longer or shorter, wider or narrower than the last, winding more and more in such obtuse and acute angles most would think it a maze attempting to entrap those wandering it. At times, the Devil was certain that he sensed - or rather, directly saw - a terrible ghostly thing following them, hot on their heels yet far in the distance, snarling and drooling to pierce their flesh with putrid fingers and cracked fangs.
Frustration and fatal curiosity were abated only by persistence and the occasional reading of faded scripture that spoke of tales that roamed these halls. Some were even as old as King Adas himself, for whose empire this sanctum was built. The history alone could be studied by the Galaxy's foremost researchers could be logged into some book for years on end. Perhaps even centuries if enough manuscripts and tablets could be recovered.
At times, this boggling venture of dead and barely legible lore was halted by the appearance of creatures largerthan those insects crawling underfoot. Some appeared even human, to a degree, but horribly rotted and kept mobile by some sickening green-smoke stasis as they crawled forward like spiders. With cackling roars and clawing motions, they would charge with the intent of malicious maiming, spongey ooze running down from their orifices as they would then screech in obvious pain and rage. Almost all were quelled by the sheer might of the Dark Side radiating from the two corrupted Sith, driving them off in fear, despite their savagery and insanity. Only those truly lost in the evil fell to the Devil's blades and Vinaze's powers, bisected or melted in flame. Mercy, truly, for those who held the line until the very end.
And through it all, the Devil noticed that the Imperial knew his way well through the halls, marking each chamber and passage based on some inscription, identifiable age, or discarded relic of the Ancient Sith. Oddities of a time lost to memory. Weapons and armor, thick and thin, once aureate, ebony, and bronze, now reduced to ocherous decay and white dust, undeserving of any recognition. Forsaken in their own muck, covered in insect dung, to be forgotten once more and to wither away like spirits of destroyed worlds. The Devil would have felt sadness for them if he cared - perhaps even grief and mourning. But alas...he did not care enough to give them more than a passing thought. Really, he did not care for any of these things in this temple aside from that which was promised - the scent of it now becoming clearer and clearer. The rest could be claimed by his allies for all he cared, or even the enemy if it was innocuous enough to be ignored by even the lessers.
The true God needed only that which was truer than him: power. None of these things granted the power he needed. Only that which was promised.
A sudden turn down one last red-illuminated corridor brought the four to attention before a grand onyx archway, crushed under its own weight and that of the ages. Stone debris - and skeletons of unknown humanoid and bestial origin - filling in what could have once been gated. The Devil sighed - more a hissing sound - and looked to his compatriots, blue eyes scrutinizing and thinking. Would they survive the ritual? Would they live to see another day? A question not even God could answer to himself.
He turned back to the debris and, with a wave of his hand, sent enough of it tumbling down the stairs on the other side. With the other hand, he held the archway's remains aloft, allowing his compatriots to move forward before walking in himself. A quick wave of both hands placed several stacks of the green-mossed rock and stone in such a way as to hold the remains in place for the time needed and allow whoever returned up the stairs to slip through. Likely only the Devil himself by the end of it, but such things were a given anyways for one like him.
The self-proclaimed God inhaled through his ethereal nostrils, taking in the scent of the font which lay at the bottom of this seemingly endless descent that bottomed out with only void and the distinct taste of cruelty. Some horrible thing awaited them, and not just the font of power. The Devil descended the steps, a slip here and there on the untrustworthy stone making him only just barely aware that each side of the staircase was bordered by chasms that fell perhaps the very center of Malachor V itself. He cursed in his foul language, but only loud enough to be heard by himself, and the jolt of fear that he would fall faded just as quickly as it formed.
Before long, the Devil and his charges stood within that thinly red-illuminated void, now before a truly gated entrance. If the Devil could have salivated, he would have, for beyond these doors pure black marble - which were as thick as two men and covered in inscriptions of warnings and curses - lay the font of power he so greatly needed. But there was some initial hesitation before he attempted the advance, for the Devil was unsure of where in the academy this was, as it seemed far deeper than previous blueprints had displayed, particularly of the Trayus Core - the so-called innermost sanctum. Was that the Core? Or was it merely the deepest the previous explorers could go before succumbing to the darkness of the world?
Did it matter?
The Devil quickly dispatched the wonderments and, with the assistance of his fragile yet undaunted assistant, wrenched opened the doors with great heaving effort that left deep gouges in the old flooring. Instantly did blinding white light along with an entire ocean's worth of dust exploded from beyond this now open doorway, nearly sending the Devil stumbling back and over the edge of the stairs. But sturdy and still did he remain against his instincts and waited for his eyes to adjust to the light. When they did, his gaze fell upon what lay within this chamber and his heart - cold and black - skipped a thousand beats as haste and frantic desire overcame all that he had taught himself. It was a beautiful thing that laid on that hooked shrine, coated in a millennium of blood and darkness and sin. Without waiting for the others, he marched forth into the chamber, barely acknowledging the layout of this grand hall that was filled with things beyond reckoning, things that could have surely aided the Warlords in their cause to control the galaxy. He reached that shrine, eyes burning with passion and longings of what awaited him.
Passions and longings that turned into confusion and fear when the massive, scarred, bleeding, clawed hand of this chamber's guardian swung at him from the front and knocked him far off to the right into the old pillars. His vision was blurred, blood seeping from the wounds where the claws had ripped open his armor and flesh. Through dizziness and pain, he barely perceived what had struck him.
A great leviathan of muscle and bone. A beast of the Dark Side the likes of which he had never seen before, even among his own creations. He was certain that it was a Terentatek - at least when it was first created - but something had obviously gone horribly awry over the eons that it had been locked down here by its former masters. It radiated nothing but rage so pure and natural that for the first time since his rebirth of name and memory - perhaps in his entire life - Kascalion Giedfield - Kavar Lok Kas'Oni - felt the deepest fear. It was a rage he - God himself - could never even hope to match. It was an old hatred of all things in existence, one that could never be quelled by anything in the known Galaxy. And it had just been unleashed by the Devil's own greed.
Kascalion turned his healing gaze to his allies, who he hoped had passed through the doorway as well, and cried out with as much command as he could muster through the wall of fear that perverted his soul: "Slay this damned thing! NOW!"
The Force lightning was more effective than Khamul had expected it to be. His opponent averted it's gaze as the blue streaks of energy connected with his head. It looked like the beast had some weak spots in his scaled mass of a body. Khamul felt as if the tides of battle were beginning to finally shift in his favor...
Until the cliff began coming down.
Khamul hadn't realized just how broken this planet was. The volatile landscape had only been made worse by ages of conflict, battered time and again in countless acts of violence. It had taken a much deeper toll on the terrain than even he could have imagined. More and more of the cliff began to fall, developing into a full blown avalanche. If that hadn't been enough of a problem, the creature had also launched an attack from above, sending an orb of dark energy at him.
There was no time to lose.
Khamul quickly gathered his wits. He only had moments to act before the whole cliff came down. Assessing his options, he could only see one option. He had to make the avalanche take his opponent with it. He quickly ignited his jetpack once again, flying straight up into the air, avoiding the crashing boulders as he ascended. Once he reached his target height, Khamul turned his jetpack straight toward the orb. As he began to descend back down, he unclasped the jetpack from his back, freefalling as the jetpack continued flying for the orb of energy. Khamul found a boulder to push himself from as he fell, landing far enough away to not be effected by the landslide.
As he landed, Khamul immediately unleashed the Force lightning once again, but this time targeting his jetpack. The intention was to cause it to overload, triggering a massive explosion that would start a chain reaction with the orb, sending out a shockwave of Force, rock, and shrapnel. With any luck, the beast would get caught in the chaos. His wings may be an advantage, but there was no way a creature that large could avoid it all.
Khamul cursed his enemy under his breath for making him have to seek out a new jetpack. Despite the inconvenience of losing it, he was willing to pay that price. He would bring the beast down, one way or another.
The words, the voices of those down the hallway echoed to her ears as she would approach closer and closer, stalking in the dust dulled shadows of the temple, keeping low and to the right hand side of the hallway in as small a frame as the Marrowborn could manage, profile minimized though should a single one of them turn her way... She couldn't even hazard a guess, it took her everything in her power to bring her hand to her lips and seize herself from letting out a gasp as one of their soldiers were pulled into the armoured behemoth's lightsaber. Eyes wide with terror as she would look to the gap of the corridor before her...
Only meters away, avoiding the discarded fallen stones and lose rock nimbly, pressure on the tips of her fingers and toes, claws retracted and moving on padded feat silent as a beast in the wild. The blast seemed to have cracked much of what held this place together rocks seemed to be trying to slip from the ceiling still. All while more and more of the enemy seemed to filter through the open gates, her opponents seemed to have a conversation about command as she sleuthing in the shadows, inch by inch with no sudden movements. ~Almost there... so close... just a little bit further.~
The monsters that stood at the end of the hallways she could swear she saw in the force, metal clad behemoths who warmed the natural world around them, set stone aflame to mold it into their armour, tore the crystald hearts out of the world to forge their weapons of death and destruction. They didn't fertalize the earth like the mando's or like her. There was no life to cultivate with their blood and bone here. These beasts of the apocalypse these... therion were destroyers of worlds, she was sure of it. Each of them towering over her in height and amassed with auras as black and red as bloodstained night.
Her hand would reach out, shaking tentative digits edging forward to grip the edge of the uneven stone, slowly putting her weight on it as she would begin to slowly rise up to a crouching position... then there was a shift. The sound of grinding stone as what she had her hand on shifted. The shift destabilized the wall, which was enough to drop a head sized chunk of rock from the roof into the middle of the hallway. Lady Marrow's body seized up, eyes blaring as every part of her body stood on end, deer in the headlights as no doubt they would wheel on her, if not just out of reaction. ~RUN!~
Before they had a chance to raise their rifles or chase her down, she would tear forward, legs attempting to run as she would slip, falling on all fours and scampering for the cover of the hallway beginning to run as fast as she was able. Flying with the speed she would gain from her claws plunging into the stone for extra leverage as she would hope to outrun the invaders... but the blast wound to her hip was slowing her, causing her to favor one leg after her initial burst.
And she could feel him on her heels as her mind cried out to him to anyone for help... The girl needed to focus, to center, her mind was scattered and overwhelmed with fear and pain with nothing to train it on other than what remained of her survival instincts. To experienced sith, it may seem sad, but she was overwhelmed with the emotional senses in such volumes many Sith held dear. Her passionate will to live fueling this panic as it ran wild... uncontrolled.
Kalt Bruq
