Mission Absolution [Dark Empire]

[Corlys Skirata]

DT-1111

PAGE CLAIM​

Objective: I - Infiltration
Location: Coruscant - in-bound shuttle
Tags: Spindle | Darth Saevius | Joseph Torson | Alexander Garrick | [Open]

Corlys led the way through the prison, his carbine in hand as he kept it trained down range. A guard rounded the corner in a rush to move to another part of the prison - undoubtedly to try and contain the quickly deteriorating situation - but was soon interrupted with a three-round burst that impacted square in his chest. They eventually made their way to an observation deck leading up to the command tower, and Corlys paused as he observed the chaos unravel below him. But he did not have time to truly appreciate how akin to finding a needle in a haystack his situation was in. It was just his luck that someone decided to stage a prison break as they tried to infiltrate and find Sahar.

The Death Trooper motioned to the others, and they carried on moving toward the wing Sahar’s cell was in. “Keep your eyes peeled. Remember, to them we’re hostiles.”

He led the way through the corridor again, passing the hall that branched off to the control room and through the passages to Sahar’s prison wing.

 

[Kurineth Cull]

LOCATION: Coruscant Prison, Control Tower
EQUIPMENT: IN BIO
WEAPONS: Phase-knife
TAGS: Onrai Zinn Zinn Bink'sa Thomas Barran Rann Thress Allyson Locke

Onrai's instruction was met with a feeling of affirmation rather than a word. The symphony of sounds making it seem as though the words would be lost among the din.

The gungan stood with speed, grabbing the chair and bringing it to bear against her, which brought the overly serious tone of the blond woman to a skittering halt. Dumbfounded at first, giving way to a wry smile at the sight of a gungan wielding a rolling chair as a makeshift weapon. Not even in the wildest of dreams would she have ever pondered the sight. Now, the mental image was stored away for a laugh later as the knife was lowered, hand waving off her earlier aggression before the comm came to life.

An angry being spitting threats before the gungan met them with a tone that she could only describe as the worst impression a human could muster of the being before her. Rolling her lower lip backwards and firmly planting her teeth into the flesh to silence the growing humor. It threatened to escape as she kept herself from the snorting giggles as best she could before the mood shifted with another joining them.

The Matriarch of the Scar Hounds?

Ah. This was Mercy. The name dredged up memories shared by the Pups on their raid when they had spoken of the Mongrel. Her name entwined with his but only realized as she stood before them. The hand holding the blade put to her chest in respect to the Matriarch if briefly. This wasn't exactly the time for introduction given the growing sounds of interference.

"I am Cull. The cube outside is our escape." Words succinct given the quickly approaching enemies. One of which caused her great concern with their use of the lightside to produce an instrument of violence. So steeped in the dark side as she was, it was hard to miss the glaring light that overlapped the physical world briefly. The lingering sensation of that dangerous brilliance now causing an ache to form in her jaw as she clenched her teeth at the thought of it being used against her.

An idea forming when Mercy produced her rifle. The Phase-knife yet to ignite as she stepped to the door and placed her hands upon it.

She'd exhausted too much energy arriving here, but the last whispers of shadow became visible to those beside her. The stain of the dark side palpable to those approaching as she laced her power through it, attemtping to bar the way. The slithering tendrils forming a dark seal around the edges and denying easy access as Kurineth rested against the metal and felt its hold cement in place.

The swirl of emotions and death only fulfilling a small portion of her expended energy as she stepped out of the way, pushing away from the door and igniting the phase knife once more. Ready to spring at the first to break her dark seal and enter the room.

 

[Isar]

Mercy | Reave

Alone in a cell. Alone yet not alone. Surrounded by a river of tepid minds and desiccating flesh. Crime lords and corsair princes, sober of their excess, side by side with mass murderers and the depraved destitute who thought three meals a day a gift from above. All of them wasting away.

Dal sat apart from the rest. Of an order once. Adherent to a code. Until it failed him. Until they failed him. And now he sat, imprisoned for his crimes. Injected every twenty-four hours with a blocking agent to inhibit his access to the Force. How long had it been since he could feel that energy, that binding web connecting all things? Days bled into months here. Every hour a lifetime. Every week a blink of the eye.

Today felt different.

The world rumbled. The floor quaked. Alarms klaxoned and doors slid open.

A riot, someone screamed.

One way out, bellowed another.

Dal stood from his bunk and looked at the cell that had been his home. He looked down at his hands, fingers curling and uncurling. What violence would he commit on the undeserving to escape this place? To escape this torturous boredom? No… they were not undeserving. None of them were. Dal’s jaw set and his gaze swung toward the exit to his cell.

He left with quick strides, shoulders tensed, ready to inflict suffering, and entered a floor embroiled in chaos. The general population cells had become a sea of bodies as prisoners in jumpsuits struggled with their armored captors.

Dal wove his way through the chaos, grunting as errant fists, elbows, and kicks battered him. He found a nearby guard born down by four prisoners, flailing on the ground. As the prisoners tore at his armor and slammed fists into his riot shield and helmet, Dal brought down a foot on the man’s fingers clenched around a stun baton. Hard. Something cracked beneath his foot and the guard screamed. Dal wrenched the baton from the weakened hand and activated it. Blue energy crackled along the tip.

Dal drew in a breath through the nose as a rush of adrenaline hit him. In the mind’s eye, he saw violence. He saw rage. His arms shuddered and he stalked toward the set of doors that led away from the gen pop.

Another prisoner tried to grab for the baton. Some humanoid. Green. Maybe Miralan. It did not matter. Dal struck the wrist of the incoming fist, making the hand go limp, then he struck the inside of a knee. As the man fell, Dal drove his knee up into the chest - bowling him over onto his back. Dal brought the baton down on his upraised arms, striking for the man’s head. He struck hard, even without the Force. Gritting his teeth at the feel of plastoid on flesh and bone. He struck again. Hate for this place filled him. Again. Hate for the boredom. Again. For the months of his life stolen. Again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Warm liquid ran down his hand. The baton was slippery in his grasp. His vision cleared and he saw what was left of a living being’s pushed in skull. Nausea rose in Dal’s throat. He stumbled away, blood dripping from his hands and baton.

No better. No better than the rest of this filth.

Maybe he should stay.

Maybe he deserved to.

Ahead of him he saw the Devaronian beelining toward an exit.

One way out.

The urge to leave overcome his self-loathing and he stumbled after the Devaronian, following the horns through the undulating crowd.

 

[Mercy]

Isar | Reave

Cause enough trouble and you will end up catching the attention of the wrong kind.

She had been pushing her luck in Alliance space. Strolling around their haunts, through their parades, raising hell and more. So Mercy couldn't quite blame them for locking her up the way they did. She considered it a compliment. A cell plated in null-steel, a resident ysalamir next to the cell, every inch of her body strapped down with durasteel and held.

Didn't even leave her mouth free to crunch.

Supermax.

Mercy wasn't worried. There was always an opportunity. Said opportunity came as explosions rocked the prison, the floor shaking beneath her suspended form.

What the hell was that?

Don't care. We have one priority, keep that thing in her cell.

But sir-

But noth-

Another explosion, this one much closer... and then suddenly the Force flood back into her body. Eyes snapped open and stared curiously around her barren cell. Not even a cup or a chair to manipulate.

The ysalamir is down, sir!

How's that possible, cadet? Get a new one, quick-

The durasteel snapped under her strength, rend and torn, as the large bulk of her mass landed with a heavy thud on the floor. Amber eyes, hungry, looked impassively at the door in front of her. Null-steel wouldn't let her use her Force directly against it. But the ysalamir wasn't there anymore and she couldn't go a breath without feeling the Force pulse through her.

"Too late." She sing-songed happily as her fist slammed into the door and caused a large dent.

"I am coooooming..." The ever-shifting tattoo on her right arm began to violently move. The air started to get oppressive as absent fingers began to hook without her input.

That didn't bode well.

 

[Spindle]

Objective 1 | The "Prisoner"
Location: Coruscant, inbound shuttle
Tags: Corlys Skirata | Darth Saevius | Joseph Torson | Alexander Garrick | Open

She hissed as she was grabbed by the collar, tossing a glare in Saevius' direction. Oh yes, she'd definitely be repaying that later, selling the illusion or not. All in due time, though. She trudged along begrudgingly with the escort, letting loose another cackle as the tides shifted.

“You play crazy well, for what’s it's worth...” He tossed her lightsaber to her.

"And you'll still pay for that stunt, for what it's worth," the Nagai rasped, the ghost of a wink and a wicked smile flashing on her countenance before refocusing. The reunited lightsaber in hand became a reunited lightsaber on belt as she moved with a more deliberate pace, plucking an intentionally loose thread from her sleeve. The thread kept pulling, unraveling down the arm, wrapping her hand in crimson. It'd been subtle enough among the sea of grey that made up the sleeves but gathered together, it was a shade lighter than fresh blood, a stark contrast to the grey scale the Nagai existed in.

As she passed the downed guard, Spindle did a quick once-over of their belt, picking out an identification card and datapad, using the guard's hand to unlock the datapad before moving on. Her lips curled in distaste as she briefly glanced at its contents, quick to offer it to her companions before tossing it behind her should none of them find it useful. Technology had its uses, sure, but so did good old-fashioned senses. And while she'd play nice with the initial assignment, she had a different object of focus. Somewhere, in this prison Lord Letifer was waiting, she was certain.

Come out, come out, wherever you are.

 

[Sahar]

Sahar|CLASSIFIED CELL|Lost
Nekana Quane Corlys Skirata Zinn Zinn Bink'sa Thomas Barran

"Aren't you something, Zeltron?"

Sahar scoffed at the Zeltron's remark, almost in what could be passed for some kind of begrudging admiration; wherever they were some low-rate bandit, a mafioso or even a fellow Imperial prisoner, it did not matter to her at this point. Sahar's priority was retrieving her stuff and getting out of there, preferably far away from the Jedi and their snivelling weasels in the SIA department.

Without further delay, she pointed towards the open door and ran for it, shoving aside guards and prisoners embroiled in conflict with little thought. Sahar needed her saber and her battle-worn armour; without it, she was just the same battered little orphan from Kandara and worth nothing without it.

The Emperors gift...

But Fel was dead.

Long live Fel, she muttered to herself bitterly as the Kandaran and Zeltron ran into an open area that had partially set on fire and was now host to a brutal brawl between inmates and riot control officers armed with shields and stun batons.

"Well..."

Sahar glanced at Nekana and shrugged with a slight smile as she pulls out the baton, just as several riot guards turn their attention towards the pair and begin closing in.

"Just one more door, eight of these idiots to deal with, we get my stuff and we leave."

She paused for effect and gestured with her baton.

"After you girl."

 

[Onrai]

Coruscant, Prison Control Tower
Tags: Kurineth Cull Thomas Barran Nekana Quane Sahar Zinn Zinn Bink'sa Allyson Locke Rann Thress

"I would listen to her if I were you." A shadowy wraithlike form that only gave the barest emulation of a humanoid manifested itself in the control tower, spectral steps making nary a sound in the environment as she pointed outside at the window. "Unless you want to be cornered here, I would recommend grabbing on when the cube comes for you. That applies to you all." It motioned to the others in the tower whose goals were, at least for the time being, mutually aligned.

As she pointed, one of the larger tendrils of the cube struck the glass of one of the windowpanes in the control tower with significant force, cracking it. Seeing that its efforts were not forgotte, it struck again, the third time managing to shatter the pane in question. Smaller tentacles entered the room, an avenue for people to make an exit were they to so desire. The wraith looked at Kurineth before dissipating once more, the cube still there. The cube itself had reared back after having assaulted the easiest pathway for prisoners to escape and was now hovering more in front of the control tower. While no longer spraying sparks of electricity at the prison's defenders, it was still seeking to pick off the occasional useless prisoner or guard, snaring them and dragging them up between its scales into the void.

 

[Darth Saevius]

Objective: I - Infiltration
Location: Coruscant - in-bound shuttle
Tags: Corlys Skirata | Spindle | Joseph Torson | Alexander Garrick
Engaging: Allyson Locke | Rann Thress

"And you'll still pay for that stunt, for what it's worth," the Nagai rasped, the ghost of a wink and a wicked smile flashing on her countenance before refocusing.

A slight chill ran down Saevius’ spine at Spindle’s words - a rare phenomenon considering his spine was made of alloy. But he had little time to reflect on the implications of the... sensation, for the group moved through the security corridors of the prison with deft quickness. Corlys and Joseph, for their part, proved adept at cutting down whomever they came across - so much so that Saevius deactivated his lightsaber as he trudged along. The loud ’THUMP’ of his legs and metallic scraping of his feet did much to unravel whatever stealth the group may have had, yet it would seem they were successful in avoiding an inordinate amount of attention. They came to a step at an observation window within the tunnels leading to the control tower.

As Saevius approached, another tremble along his spine alerted him of a new danger before his ocular receptors locked onto them.

Jedi.

Two of them.

He could feel their presence in the force, with the runes etched along his frame flaring a baleful red hue. Most of the guardsmen and prisoners scattered about were of little threat to the party - but those two Jedi... could complicate things. “You shall proceed. There are a few threats that could foil our extraction. I will keep them busy.” Despite the metallic tint of his voice, the air of superiority the former Sith noble was known for still managed to bleed through in its full volume.

He took a few steps back and opened an access hatch through the grating of the security corridor. He dropped through and landed with a heavy thud - not more than twenty meters away from the pair of Jedi. The red energy runes began to fully bleed through the film applied to his body, and his eyes locked onto the pair with a near-robotic precision. Wordlessly, he stepped forward with his right leg and brought his dual-bladed lightsaber forward - activating each beam in turn.

Then, without a moment to spare - he charged forth, lashing out with a wide strike that would be more than capable of cleaving the pair like ripe grain in the fields of Dantooine.

 

[Allyson Locke]

//: Base of Control Tower//:
//: Allies: //: Rann Thress //:
//: Combat: //: Darth Saevius //:
//: Enemies: Onrai //: Kurineth Cull //: Zinn Zinn Bink'sa //: //: Thomas Barran //:

Allyson blinked as the man didn't bother to thank her. She had just murdered some inmate who probably already had dinner plans. Every emotion she felt showed on her face, ending in a fury that only John Locke seemed to be able to pull out of her. How dare this bearded nerf herder talk about her looks. "Excuse me?" It wasn't her best comeback, but she was only getting started. Her footsteps followed him as he continued towards his target, the control tower.

"For your information, I was WORKING, which is now a bust because YOU decided to just waltz in here with whatever decided to follow you and just RUIN it." Allyson kept pace with the man and his determination as she berated him. "ANOTHER THING, RANN - who the hell introduces themselves by going HI IM RANN, and I CAME FROM THE BALLSACK OF SOME SITH LORD. Like seriously, dude, you've HAD to have done something WAY more INTERESTING - then your dad bonking your mom." Shaking her head, she groaned. Isley Verd wasn't someone unknown. The man was just as promiscuous as he was a great military leader. If that was all Rann thought he had as a claim to fame, what worth would he be in combat?

Finally, she came to his comment about her picture and what he thought was something quiet enough for her to not hear. "I look way better now; John was poor back then and HIRED someone CHEAP to do my MAKEUP." As she enunciated the last word, Rann would feel a surge in his cybernetic arm. The Corellian had clocked the device and quickly realized it was a Locke and Key model that didn't have John's now famous Anti-Mechu Deru tech. Not only did the woman know the device inside and out, but she could control it from a distance with Mechu Deru.

The arm suddenly became dead weight as it was now under a new master. Allyson grinned and made the arm rise. Fueled by the Force, it came down, creating a fist and connecting with the Not Jedi, but kind of a Jedi's leg. "Talk shit, get hit."

As she finished, she released the man's arm from her influence. Something else crackled through the Force. It was different. A feeling she recognized but at the same time didn't. As they drew closer, a daunting figure loomed before the two. It didn't speak, and Allyson raised an eyebrow, finally understanding the surge in the Force. The body of the attacker bled electromagnetism through the Force. Which only meant one thing for the Technomancer. Grinning, the Corellian raised a hand and flicked her wrist, focusing on the charging mammoth's cybernetic feet. "That's impolite to not at least introduce yourself while interrupting a conversation."

For a moment, Allyson would attempt to control the cyborg's feet and ankles, hoping to disrupt his stride long enough to allow her and Rann a moment to gather themselves for the inevitable combat.

 

[Nekana Quane]

IN THE CLINK

SuperMax Prison Facility
Galactic City, Coruscant
→ Escaping with: Sahar
→ Other Prisoners: Thomas Barran • Zinn Zinn Bink'sa • Mercy • Reave • Isar
→ Other Allies?: Corlys Skirata • Maestus • Keilara Kala'myr
Darth Saevius • Joseph Torson • Alexander Garrick • Spindle • Kurineth Cull
→ Opposition: Rann Thress • Allyson Locke

There were two notes of an almost-giggle that never left her throat at the Imperial’s rhetorical question, then one after another, they bolted out the door for their collection of cells, spilling out onto the walkway and turning, running and brusquely shoving past guards and prisoners alike to make it as far as they could manage towards their destination, until they encountered a wider area, aflame and otherwise lit up by the roil of a brawl between lesser inmates and the riot control officers that worked to beat them back.

“...I’ve seen worse odds.”

Nekana exchanged a thin smile with Sahara’s slight one, then looked back to the brawl to see a number of riot guards coming along to meet them. The half-zeltron drew in a deep breath for a count of four, then released it in a count of eight. Centering herself, focusing the constant of her embering rage.

“Our stuff.”

She had more than weaponry stripped from her when she was incarcerated here. Items that aided her. Her personal wear. She couldn’t wait to get out of this gaudy prison shit. ‘Kana saw the baton raise out of her peripheral vision. The term Sahar used to refer to her, though…

“Nekana,” the name came with a subtle sharpness, the most delicate of warnings. She’d destroyed the last person to call her that. Like something beneath them, if not property. Her father. Nekana turned her head just enough to glance sidelong at the dark-haired Kandaran, “now watch.”

Unfurling as potent of a dose of pheromones as she could without prior preparation - the nullified prison cells neutralised her Force-given abilities while she was in them - Nekana stepped slowly towards the guards, reaching out to one, then another, and another, until she had pulled each of the eight into this weaker thrall of almost sensual emotion. So helpless; this was only a mild perversion of whatever sensibilities they might have… but it was all the doorway she needed to make them supple and open to her heady suggestive power, then control. Soft touches at one face, then another, as her colouration took on an ethereal quality, shimmering for the amplified effect it would have on their growing enthrallment. The moment they lost themselves entirely, she issued one command:

“Sleep.”

And they buckled, dropping like flies on top of one another into a slumber they would be rather slow to wake from. Gingerly, she stepped out of the pile of riot guards as her colouration reset to the default pink and purple and plucked one, then two deactivated stun batons from where they had fallen and rolled away from their users. She glanced at the pile of riot guards with a faint 'tch', then flicked an almost bright-red look at Sahar; the strong invocation of her power had already begun to slowly bleed off, which would eventually give way to the natural dark pink of her eyes.

"Now if only I had a knife."

Soon. Nekana then turned and made for the door they sought.

 

[Rann Thress]

Rann Thress, Master Fighter of Robotmen!
Obj1
Tags: Darth Saevius Allyson Locke @All others who still wanna get a bouquet of OOPSIE DAISIES


Rann turned his head, bewildered, and looked Allyson in the eyes "I ruined your work? I? Ru-? What the-who the fu-what, I should kick your karking ass! Ruined your work?" He answered, reaching forward with his robotic arm to point at the carnage above, below, and beside them. "Notice, the RIOT? The escape! Or what about the hundreds of dead? If anyone's waltzing anywhere you're the damn waltzer! I'm STATIONED here! What work are you doing in the prison anyway, while a prison riot is underway? What, Locke and Key not offering premiums for modeling services? Time for a scantily clad prison calendar? You'll never guess what's on Month 10." He said, secretly grateful for the distraction Allyson was providing, shifting his mind from the reality of their situation.

He rolled his eyes at her continued beratement, criticizing his choice of introduction.
"And what would you have preferred? Want me to hit you with the whoooole story while we meander casually into a life and death situation? How about the highlights? 'Hi I'm Rann Thress! I was born on Onderon who knows how long ago, dad was never there so I went off into space, joined the army, lost my ARM HELLO ARMS GONE!'" he waved his arm for emphasis, "'Found dad, dad's evil, made me evil, I made me good, now I'm here!' Is that good enough?" He shook his head, glancing up at the tower as they neared the base, "Sorry 'Pin-up', but this situation didn't exactly call for my Primeday best as far as introductions go."

He was about to address her last comment, the one about John Locke hiring someone cheap, when his arm started glitching. Mid-stride his arm suddenly went dead, and Rann slowed up, looking at his arm, "AAaaaagh-Not now you-" he started before the arm rose byitself, hardened into a fist, and slammed down onto Rann's in-motion leg. "Ack!" he shouted out, clutching his leg with his left arm as his turncoat right fell back under his control, and he crouched to rub his sore leg, shooting a glare at Allyson. "You started it." he said, bitter, before following her eyes into a dark hallway as the sound of metal smashing against the ground echoed throughout the immediate area. The darkness of the tunnel did very little to conceal the metaled creature slowly emerging while it began to glow red and silently approaching the two.

"That's no prisoner I recognize." Rann said, as the creature pulled out a double bladed lightsaber and ignited both emitters, then charged at the two.

Rann leapt sideways down the hall, keeping distance between him and the creature, rolling to his feet from his kneeling position and igniting his purple lightsaber as Allyson tried to work her magic on him.

Feeling a sense of vindication, Rann pointed to the metal being.

"I feel very good that this means it's NOT my fault!" he said, readying himself into the Makashi stance,

"Go ahead and give it up, Shiny. You're not the one I want to kill right now." He said, before looking at Allyson, "Neither are you, don't kid yourself."

 

[Thomas Barran]

6th Post

-A PRELUDE TO TERROR-

THE_BLOODHOUND
GREAT KHAN OF THE SCAR HOUNDS
WARLORD OF RHIGAR & MAR'ZAMBUL
DIVINE CHAMPION OF MOTHER REBIRTH

Tags: Zinn Zinn Bink'sa Sahar Nekana Quane Keilara Kala'myr Maestus
Darth Saevius Onrai Kurineth Cull Rann Thress Allyson Locke

AT THE PRECIPICE I: REDACTED PRISON BLUES - PART 6

BASEMENT LOCKUP-1, [REDACTED] PRISON,
GALACTIC CITY, CORUSCANT (901 ABY)

There you are!
Just as pretty as you were when they snatched you from my face!
​

Commotion had been heard thudding down from Basement-1 above, likely other inmates attacking another lockup in which they knew were keeping their effects, weapons and accessories as Basement-2 hid Barran's own, but the Bloodhound cared little and less by then. Reunited once more with his golden-skull mask, with the sword of his greatest mentor in life, and in short succession, reunited with Mother Rebirth.

The one constant who remained by his side throughout, for twenty-seven years from the moment the Third Avatar snatched the Shriven One from the earthen, gravelly ground on Durace. Giving life to charred, lifeless remains as She replaced those with bones of precious gold, and in Mother Rebirth's endless power, consequently made a lifeless barrow into something altogether more celestial than Goidelic gods ever could. Golden bones of which the Avatar knew Barran's kin would find eventually, but in this prophetic understanding of the journey Her champion had walked thusfar, (from Shriven to Bloodhound) She always knew that Thomas would never waver from his predestined path, not even when he was forced to drive the Mongrel's sword through the chest of his own father.

Ath-bhreith.... If this is your will-
Then I must find a way to chase the old dream again.

Thus we fight, once more, for the Great Cycle.
​

Wiping away tears as he arose, armoured and robed neck-high in all that he wore when the SIA snatched him en route to Mar'Zambul, Thomas would take an extra moment of thankfulness to himself; remembering that he almost believed he would never see the mask again, (along with the very sword that defined the sword-duelling excellence of the previous century) and on more than one occasion feeling the weakening of his will to fight his incarceration, moments of weakness to which the Bloodhound would be loathe to admit in the future. However, without moments such as these, the urge to strengthen that savage will within would never have found it's nexus in the first place, making weakness a vital catalyst in the leaping jump toward the strength of years bygone.

For this, the Mongrel's successor would always be grateful, despite his reluctance to admit such moments of weakness occurred in the first place - not that there would be many people who would understand on the worlds of the free.

'Head in the fethin' game, Barran! CENTER YOURSELF!!!!'

With nothing more than self-chidings and self-applied slaps to his own face in rapid application, the One-Eyed Woad's mind was finally coherent enough to count itself present in the moment, finally lucid enough to consider his mind as worthy to wield the Mongrel's Greatsword again. A feeling that only seemed to intensify in the moments after the Bloodhound strapped the scabbard to his utility-belt, almost as if his heart was skipping with excitement in the long-awaited anticipation itself, though deep down in the darkest depths of Barran's soul, he knew that everything would only truly begin to make sense in the moment the legendary sword was finally unsheathed.

'War.... Death.... REBIIIIIIIIIIRTH!!!!'

Its been too long since we parted, my old friend.
My only hope is that my arms don't fail me now.
​

Such was the arrangement.

The Sith would train in physical strength as his Marauder friend trained in the mind's power, and yet both knew that their places in the assignment would end up switching at some point of the escape-attempt, and in some strange form or other that neither Thomas nor Zinn Zinn would be able to predict. But history alone had taught Gungan and Goidelic-Human alike of their respective peers' capabilities, leaving neither Barran nor Bink'sa with any qualms on the single-minded devotions to their chosen (and by way of,"Rock-Paper-Scissors", decision) training-roles throughout the plotting/planning process. The unlikely duo would be ready to revert to their pre-existing habits if and when it was required, but despite the ease with which Thomas had returned to base-levels of his former fighting ferality, the One-Eyed Woad couldn't keep himself from thinking about his cellmate's history a little more than usual.

I'll bet this prison's held it's fair share o' Sith-loyalist lifers o'er the years.
An' with that - it's fair share o' trophies.... Ha!

Like lightsabres - perhaps one to replace the one he sold for Spice.
​

'Ah, well.... Into the scabbard she goes. Brother Zinn Zinn takes precedence for the moment.'

Issa hyperlink>> <<Issa hyperlink

AT THE PRECIPICE I: REDACTED PRISON BLUES - PART 7

SUPERMAX ENTRANCE, [REDACTED] PRISON,
GALACTIC CITY, CORUSCANT (901 ABY)

The lightsabre was left at home when the GA caught me, luckily.
Simplifies everything - and I need that if time isn't on my side here.
​

Vaulting over the turn-styles that separated Prisoner-Processing from the entrance-foyer, the nagging, noisy metal detectors would be bypassed without incident, reflexing rioting-prisoner habits which had ultimately proven needless, made all the more obvious in the realisation that the guards at the desk were long gone by the time he first entered the building before. The renewed morale would allow the Bloodhound a chuckle as he neared the entrance doors, but beyond that, there was nought else to laugh at - and certainly not for as long as necessity required Barran's utmost, devoted attention.

~=Relax, Brother Zinn Zinn. Its only me.... I won't be long now.=~
~=Those scavengers outside will scatter soon enough.=~
​

The Mongrel's resurrected mauler would use the time to put his sense to good use, letting the Force (and the very air itself-) do all the hard work in detecting the power-capabilities of the intruders on the yard, understanding all too well that the power-cut would never slip by unnoticed on the GA's capital planet, not for long at least. The very irregularity of the situation would've set alarm bells ringing immediately, and from powerlines snapping to the infiltration and power-suppression that followed, eyes, ears and inner-senses alike would have detected all that was amiss eventually. However, the Jedi warriors on the yard weren't alone, and the presence was unmistakably powerful, filled with a dark, ill-intended aura so strong it could only have belonged to an experienced Darth.

'Go ahead and give it up, Shiny. You're not the one I want to kill right now.'

~=Mercy, I wish to help this Darth outside.=~
~If you wish to join the party - please ready the others.=~​

Already open for all to come and go as they pleased, the magnetic doors were worse-than-useless without power to keep them effectively shut, making Barran's approach all the quieter as he passed beyond the threshold between the Supermax building and the exercise yard outside. However, the Bloodhound would hold to wisdom in a quiet, stealthy approach in the beginning, moving like a shadowy lynx of Lao-Mon's Goshen rainforest, like a denizen of the shade that hid Thomas as he studied the warriors in complete, near-breathless silence. It was then that their Midichlorian patterns began to reveal their forms to the One-Eyed Woad, and of the Jedi, it seemed their auras differed greatly, but it wasn't until Barran's eye turned to the Sith when he realised this was also an intruder, as the Jedi were - but clearly there in countering purpose to their own.

'Neither are you, don't kid yourself.'

~=Heads up, Brother Zinn Zinn.... I come bearing gifts from the Basement.=~
~=Spice or no Spice - Zinn Zinn deserves a lightsabre all the same.=~

[SMASH]​

As if by a flash, the reverie between opposing forces was shattered in an instant, like a pyramid of bottles cast asunder by a stumbling drunk; but the package had reached it's tower-top destination, regardless of the attention it drew directly to the window-breaking culprit, as it was somehow still one of the worthier reasons for compromising his place within the shadows. Thus in the muttered reaction, though loudly enough for all the intruding combatants to hear, Thomas was all too happy to baulk,'That was a wee package for the Gungan, by the way.... Worth it!', defying all challenges in the most-insolent of Goidelic brogues. But then the One-Eyed Woad silently approached, pausing as if wrapped in the midst of his own thoughts, even tilting his head as if something quite uncanny was finally dawning on him at the time, but then his vacant gaze returned to the intruders.

'Now, I know that history is creative enough not to repeat itself completely.... But it sure likes to rhyme every once in a while, eh?'

​

The last time Zinn Zinn was gifted anything for use on Coruscant, Galactic City was thrown into mayhem, orchestrated by Mawite influences, and for the sake of putting their strongest enemies on the back-foot once and for all. Although the full extent of the parallels between that night and the prison-riot wouldn't be known until after the fact, all that had become apparent by then was enough stop the Bloodhound in his tracks, reduced to little more than a mirthful, wheezing mess before he could get himself back on track again.

'Fantastic, truly.'

 

[Lord Letifer]

Lord Letifer | New Sith Order
Maximum Security Ward​

In the dimly lit maximum-security ward, seven cryo capsules stood like silent sentinels, holding dormant occupants in suspended animation. Among them, Lord Letifer of the New Sith Order, lay trapped in the icy embrace of cryo sleep. There he has dreamt for over two decades, since his capture at the tail end of the Second Great Hyperspace War.

As chaos erupted outside his capsule, Letifer's senses slowly stirred, the faint echoes of commotion filtering through the haze of his slumber. Then, abruptly, the power flickered and died, plunging the chamber into darkness. In the ensuing silence, the backup generators roared to life, casting a feeble glow that illuminated the outlines of the cryo capsules. The Sith Lord's consciousness surged back to life, his mind clawing its way out of the depths of oblivion. With a violent shudder, the cryo capsule began to thaw, the icy tendrils that bound him weakening with each passing moment. But as he struggled against the frozen prison, the sounds of violence outside grew louder. Something was happening, but it was all too chaotic, too foggy, to make sense of it all.

All five of his senses roared to life in a blitz. For the first time in over twenty years he could feel the flow of the Force at his finger tips, not a passive movement, but a directed wave. He pressed his cold hand against the perma-glass and focused. With a final exertion of strength, Letifer shattered the last remnants of his confinement, emerging from the capsule like a wrathful specter. His eyes blazed with crimson fury as he surveyed the chaos unfolding around him, his senses honing in to a razor's edge.

In the flickering light of the emergency power, Letifer's eyes scanned the room. Though weakened by his prolonged slumber, the Sith Lord could feel the dark side coursing through his veins, it was intoxicating, invigorating even. With a silent vow, he promised a swift end to those who dared to imprison him. He would become a maelstrom, his thirst for vengeance driving him ever forward to seek his revenge.

That's when he felt it.

" Spindle "

His apprentice.

The Sith assassin-turned-Lord of the Sith clenched his fist, “Come to me.”

 

[Reave]

ALLIANCE SUPERMAX
Isar Mercy Lord Letifer ​

---

Reave barked a cruel laugh before pulverizing a rodian prisoner with his skull. His size was both a blessing and curse in this place. Brute strength could lift anyone up from Nar Shaddaa's gutters. Out here in gen pop carnage still reigned. He bounced off a tide of riot shields. Electric shocks only made the devaronian angrier.

Their little uprising had the advantage of surprise and numbers, but neither would last forever. Reave smashed his way through guard and prisoner alike until he reached a sealed bulkhead leading to the maximum security ward. Beyond reinforced null-steel Alliance watchdogs kept the worst of the worst. Giant hands wedged themselves in the seam and began to pull. Without power the locking mechanism was inert which meant the only thing keeping them closed was dead weight.

"Give me a hand."

He picked Dal because no one else around looked strong enough to help. It wasn't a question.

 

[Darth Ira]

Wearing: Outfit, Lightsaber | Location: Communications Relay Platform XH626-9 Tag: OPEN​

As Darth Ira approached the fortified compound, her heart burned with an unquenchable rage that threatened to consume her from within. The very air seemed to crackle and hiss as she strode forward with purpose, her powerful force energy manifesting as a tempest of darkness swirling around her. Her cloak, made of the finest black fabric, billowed behind her like the wings of a predatory bird, a shroud of darkness to match the shadows that danced in her soul. It was as if the forces of nature themselves were aligning with her fierce determination and lust for power.

The compound loomed before her, a towering fortress of gleaming technology and impenetrable security. It stood defiantly amidst the chaotic urban sprawl of Coruscant, its sleek lines and polished surfaces a stark contrast to the gritty surroundings. To her, it was a symbol of everything she fought against – the oppressive rule and tyranny of the Galactic Alliance. With each step she took towards it, her hatred burned hotter, fueling her determination to dismantle it with ruthless precision. The weight of her rage hung heavy on her shoulders, but she refused to let it slow her down. Every inch of this fortress would fall, piece by agonizing piece, as she sought justice for those who had suffered under its shadow.

Standing sentinel at the edge of the compound, a lone droid loomed before Ira. Its metallic exterior gleamed in the dim light, its sensors trained on her with precision. But Ira was not deterred; with a snarl of contempt, she unleashed the power of the Force upon the droid. The air crackled with energy as it flew backwards, crashing into the duracrete ground with a resounding boom. The sound reverberated through the empty space, creating a symphony of destruction that filled Ira with grim satisfaction. She could feel the raw power coursing through her veins, and for a brief moment, she felt invincible. This was just the first obstacle on her path to victory, and she was ready for whatever lay ahead.

The guard, a hapless soul unaware of the danger that approached, hurried to secure the gate before it was too late. But before he could even reach for his blaster, Ira's powerful grasp pulled him off the ground with the Force. As if in slow motion, the guard's eyes widened in terror as he was flung toward the gate with bone-crushing force. The sound of metal groaning and buckling echoed through the air as the durasteel gate gave way under the relentless assault of the Sith's power. With a deafening screech, the gate collapsed in on itself, its mechanisms no match for Ira's immense strength.

As Ira entered the fortified compound, she was immediately bombarded with a flurry of blaster fire. The remaining guards scrambled in a futile attempt to defend their post against the wrath of the Sith. With a fluid and graceful dance, she wielded her lightsaber with deadly precision, its crimson blade leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. Each strike was fueled by the seething hatred that consumed her, an unrelenting onslaught of fury unleashed upon her enemies. The air crackled with energy as she moved, her movements swift and calculated as she mowed down any obstacle in her path. Blood stained the ground and screams filled the air as the once secure compound fell into chaos under her unstoppable force.

The droids sputtered and sparked violently in their final moments as Ira tore through them with unparalleled ferocity. The security cameras, once beacons of surveillance, crumbled like fragile glass beneath her brutal Force attacks. A palpable tension filled the air as she channeled her immense power into decimating the compound, her fury driving every strike to devastating effect. Each explosion of energy seemed to reverberate through the very walls of the building, a testament to her unyielding rage.

At last, after passing through a maze of corridors and security measures, she arrived at the control panel, the beating heart of the compound's communication network. With a fierce snarl of contempt, Ira drew her lightsaber from its sheath and brought it down in a whirlwind of strikes, each one cutting through the panel with unparalleled speed and precision. The once orderly array of components now lay scattered in all directions as she tore the system to pieces, rendering it useless with each devastating blow. The acrid smell of burning circuits filled the air as sparks flew from the damaged machinery.

With the compound now reduced to rubble beneath her feet, Ira emerged into the open air once more. Her eyes were locked on the towering structure of the nearby communication tower, its sharp angles and metallic surface gleaming in the sunlight. With a confident flick of her wrist, she tapped into the raw power of the Force, commanding it to do her bidding. The ground shook as the tower was ripped from its foundations with a deafening roar, its steel beams twisting and bending under the immense force. As it crashed to the ground below, a thunderous boom echoed through the land, sending shockwaves rippling outwards like ripples on a pond. The once-mighty tower now lay broken and defeated, a testament to Ira's strength and determination.

As the dust settled and the echoes of destruction faded, Ira stood amidst the jagged remnants of what once was a towering structure. Her hooded face gave nothing away, but her eyes burned with an intense fire that matched the devastation she had unleashed upon Coruscant's surface. The ruins of the tower lay before her like a broken puzzle, a twisted testament to her unrivaled power and unquenchable thirst for vengeance. Despite the chaos and carnage she had caused, her heart still yearned for more, a hunger that could only be satisfied by the downfall of the Galactic Alliance, and their Jedi protectors.

 

[Darth Saevius]

Objective: I - Infiltration
Location: Coruscant - in-bound shuttle
Tags: Corlys Skirata | Spindle | Joseph Torson | Alexander Garrick | [OPEN]
Engaging: Allyson Locke | Rann Thress

The Sith Lord known as Darth Saevius, scion of the old Sith nobility, ravager of Noris and the possessor of minds...

Slipped and face-planted on the prison floor.

He could feel the tugging through the force; the tendrils surrounding his mechanical feet and causing them to buckle and seize to immobilization. Confusion filled his mind, until sudden realization broke upon him.

Few Jedi knew the technique of Mechu-Deru, but it would appear this one did. Fortunately for Saevius, he was adept at countering such techniques - she would not get such an easy drop on him again.

Which only meant one thing for the Technomancer. Grinning, the Corellian raised a hand and flicked her wrist, focusing on the charging mammoth's cybernetic feet. "That's impolite to not at least introduce yourself while interrupting a conversation."

"Go ahead and give it up, Shiny. You're not the one I want to kill right now." He said, before looking at Allyson, "Neither are you, don't kid yourself."

He rose to his feet, with the runes flashing an angry red across his form. Given his connection with the force, whatever disabling technique the Jedi was attempting to use would be as temporary as a simple force push or pull. His feet would return to their normal function, and his considerable will power would now push against her own consciousness - assailing her with the dread and rage built up inside his emotionless form.

Then, a disembodied voice would echo in both of their minds.

‘Die...’

Then, almost instantly, lightning would pour from the capacitor coils built into the tips of his fingers, and crack the very air in a blue hue between him and them.

The barrage of energy would last for several moments until he decided to renew his assault. This time, his will would be bent on suppressing such an easy misdirection from the woman as he surged to the left and slashed to the right - hoping to cleave her in the torso while his momentum would carry him behind the pair in a tight spin.

He would then separate the dual bladed lightsaber into two distinct parts, with both blades shimmering angrily in either hand.

 

[Zinn Zinn Bink'sa]

Location: Supermax Prison, Control Tower, Coruscant
Tags: Thomas Barran Kurineth Cull Keilara Kala'myr Nekana Quane Sahar Allyson Locke Rann Thress Maestus Darth Saevius Onrai


Zinn Zinn was overwhelmed. He was just trying to bust out of the supermax joint, and all he was met with was prisoners flooding to the tower. Not only that but it seemed a few of the prison guards didn’t take kindly to the Gungan’s first job as the impromptu warden. It seemed that regardless of what he said he wouldn’t be taken seriously. Don’t these Alliance dogs know thy hired him, he had all of his paperwork and everything. Of course at least not everyone wanted to kill him such as the armored warrior before him. Mercy she would call herself, and it would cause the Gungan to scratch his head. “Mesa friends with this Mawin palo. Sounds likin good deals to mesa.” He would say with a shrug of his shoulders.

His eye stalks moved to the group of Jedi out the window. He hoped for what he thought were prison guards to come to him. He started to taunt them from one of the windows, he danced around like a wild drunk. “Yousa cowards. Yousa all distracted by big bombad prisoners, yet Yousa cant get to mesa. All Yousa are fraudies!! Fraudies mesa says!” The coked out Gungan did the unthinkable. He got closer, and would start to stretch out his long tongue against the window. His wide frog like tongue would lick up the window. His whole Mouth pressed against the glass. He started lick the glass widely, before planting several kisses he moved back. The window was covered in thick, slimy saliva. “PIGS.” As if to mock the Alliance he would write into the window for the Alliance to see. He would beat on his chest wildly as if the ripped Gungan was an ape establishing dominance.

He turned back to the rest of the prisoners. They must have stared at him as if the Gungan was an oddity. Surely all of them were eager to get away. He grabbed a hat from the desk. The hat seemed to belong to one of the guards. “Mesa da warden now!” He said as he kept an eye on the monitors. He watched Tommy carve a path of destruction. He was making his way back towards the tower, and what seemed to be gifts from him. When he would see Tommy again, he would see a metallic hilt being tossed to him. “Woah…” He said as the hilt dropped to the floor. Zinn Zinn’s fingers quickly grabbing the hilt only to activate the red blade. The red blade came alight with a snap hiss. “Dis… Dis for mesa??” Zinn Zinn would ask with tears in his eyes. “Yousa best friend… Dis a best life day gift mesa could ask for.” He said as he waved the activated saber around playfully. Looking back to the group, he would look back to the others. “It probably be time to get da hell out huh?” He said widening his insane eyes a little.

 

[Alicia Drey]

Darth Ayra | New Sith Order
​

Location: Maximum Security Ward
Tags: Sahar | Corlys Skirata | Thomas Barran | Zinn Zinn Bink'sa | Keilara Kala'myr | Maestus | Rann Thress | Nekana Quane | Spindle | Darth Saevius | Joseph Torson | Alexander Garrick | Reave | Onrai | Kurineth Cull | Allyson Locke | Mercy | Lord Letifer

~

Through destruction, I breed creation.

As a veteran of the Second Great Hyperspace War stirred from his cryochamber another from the One Sith Purge also found herself on the precipice of freedom. Keilara's explosion rocked the prison's security network, draining power from it's systems. A mad Gungan frantically pressed buttons which deactivated the back up generators inside the maximum security ward. Redundant systems activated in all the cryochambers as they detected that power had been shut off and as a result of an amalgamation of these chaotic, yet interlinked events the chamber that housed Darth Ayra opened up in order to preserve her life. Ironic that the Galactic Alliance and it's bureaucracies for Human rights would benefit such a woman.

After all, do you, the reader, think that if this were a Imperial run facility that there would be systems in place to revive a prisoner in the event that life support had been deactivated due to loss of power?

I didn't think so.

A shaking hand appeared through the canopy of the chamber as steam hissed from the exposed chamber. Frozen in time for twenty long years had resulted in muscle loss, and even back then, Ayra hadn't been that particularly physically able in comparison to most. After two decades of being exposed to sub-temperatures designed to keep her in stasis until the day came that her life expired through natural causes, Ayra's skin was bleached red from head to toe from the frostbite. With no life support to supply a ready made concoction of medication designed to keep her imprisoned until death, now that her chamber was open, the Sith felt every excruciating agonizing feeling that came with finally being exposed to the elements.

As her hand tried to latch onto the outer edges of the chamber, in an attempt to try and stand up inside, Ayra found herself being thrown forward as the hydraulics that controlled and operated the chamber lurched and spat her out towards the unforgiving concrete below as the redundant systems finished it's protocols and then deactivated the chamber. A blood curdling scream escaped the Sith as she laid there in the congealed mixture of coolant that had pooled just beneath the chamber that had been her prison cell for two, long decades spent in perpetual nothingness.

As she laid there in her own filth, shaking from the torment of being freed, Ayra found her life flashing before her eyes.

Nine years of exile on Sojourn. A place I had traced and followed in the seminal footsteps of my predecessors in pursuit of the Work. Betrayed by those who had worshipped me like a God. Unexpectedly, without warning, they had come to the Fort in the dead of night, and took me prisoner. There I languished, frozen in place, a relic of the war that had led to the destruction of the Galactic Republic, lost to time at the advent of the Omega War. Unbeknownst to me the Galaxy would see another Great Hyperspace War until my...

...resurrection.

In her suffering the snout of the dark side raised itself within Darth Ayra, and there she surrendered herself to become it's property. Fingers curled into fists, and with great strain did the Sith find herself beginning to rise as another scream found itself within her throat, ready to release itself as an announcement to the Force that one of it's daughters had risen from a death sentence to begin again after such a long time in exile.

As Letifer called out to his Apprentice to come find him Ayra released her scream as she felt her powers in the dark side return to her.

 

[Keilara Kala'myr]

Matriarch of the Scar Hounds Tribe

Objective: Find her way to Tommy
Location: Secret Prison Facility, Coruscant
Equipment: FS-18-UP2 Assault Rifle | 2x Sunfury Pistol | Light Armour | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit | 2x Vibrodagger | 2x Riftblades | Promise of Freedom | Ring of Wishes and Dreams || Cloaking Device | 5x ASBF Probe Droid || OPBC-01m
Allies: Thomas Barran | Zinn Zinn Bink'sa | Onrai | Nekana Quane | Kurineth Cull | Maestus | Darth Saevius | Open
Enemies: Rann Thress | Allyson Locke | Open

"Galactic Basic" | ~ Telepathic communication ~ | << comm. channel >>
Keilara Kala'myr | Mercy | Ziare Dyarron | Freedom​

I glanced at the blonde-haired woman when she saluted, as we were currently in a combat situation, only to receive a quick nod in response. There was no time for more in such a situation. I know I was in armour, but that didn't mean I was invincible, nor did it mean I was invulnerable. I was probably far better equipped than the guards, if there were Force Users here I wasn't sure; but regardless, the guards and prisoners still outnumbered me and larger numbers always outweighed better equipment. That's how the Maw and Scar Hounds Tribe won so many times during the war. When she mentioned the cube as a way to get away from here, only then did I stagger and stop for a moment.

I raised my eyebrows under my helmet and looked towards the monitors or window. Until then I hadn't noticed that the something was out there. Was it some kind of drone, shuttle or something like that? I couldn't tell because I've never seen anything like it. However, I was a little wary; I would rather have gone back to the Netherworld, the part that was safe and that I knew. But it seemed that I would not be able to do that. At least not now, if I wanted Tommy to get out of here. And the way my adopted brother was acting, I was sure he wouldn't come without the gungan. And I was even told that I was stubborn…

Even though I wasn't a Force user, I just had a little more midi-chlorian in my blood, but that wasn't enough to be called Force Sensitive, I just had better reflexes and sometimes luck. My Force Sensitive part was gone; Freedom was gone long ago. I saw what the blonde-haired woman was doing. I've been around Sith and Force users long enough to know that she's one of them and doing something with the Force. I saw a fair amount of that with Valkyrja too, though it had nothing to do with the Dark Side. I only understood any of it because I saw them fight and because several members of my family were Sith.

"Is that cube some kind of shuttle or spaceship?" I asked her.

The next moment I heard a voice out of nowhere and saw the shadowy figure, I acted instinctively. All the teaching and training worked in me, as well as the hatred of the Sith and most Force users. As soon as the shadowy figure appeared next to us, I instinctively turned to it, immediately switched to shotgun mode on my blaster and tried to shoot the shadowy figure. Probably because of its visible form, the shrapnel from the shotgun would hit the wall and not this figure, but I tried anyway. The cube moved closer and the glass cracked and the shadowy figure spoke. Under the words, I understood afterwards that it was the cube. An AI with a half solid hologram? I think I've been away from Realspace for too long.

"I'm not leaving without Barran!" I stated firmly, after all it was Tommy who had brought me here in the first place.

That's when I heard his voice in my mind. I much preferred to speak telepathically, or through the biochip in my mind. It's simpler, quicker and easier for people to express themselves, especially if they send pictures and feelings.

~ All right, I'll go and help, and I'll inform the others.. ~ I replied back telepathically.

Meanwhile, the gungan was doing something very strange. I think this is the moment when I should say that the twins were more adult than this fish man from the moment they were born. In any case, the gungan also seemed to have decided to help Tommy. So it was mainly Kull who was left of the team.

"Barran stays and helps a Sith down there, I go and help him. He said if you don't want to come, go with the cube." not literally that was the message, but I think it was appropriate.

Since the window is broken by now, I shot a fixing cable into the ceiling and fixed myself to it. In this way I descended back to the courtyard, or to the appropriate level where Tommy was, and using the open magnetic doors I soon arrived at Thomas' side.

~ You ran away from the rescue more than I ran to Tu'teggacha’s "arms" to kill him, brother! ~ I snarled at Tommy in thought.

 

[Spindle]

Objective 1 | The "Prisoner"
Location: Coruscant, inbound shuttle
Tags: Corlys Skirata | Darth Saevius | Joseph Torson | Alexander Garrick | Open
Focus: Lord Letifer

Spindle had contemplated another quip as Saevius departed from their band of infiltrators, or perhaps an offer of assistance, before ultimately deciding against it. The sith of nuts and bolts was a Darth for a reason, she assumed. If he had bitten off more than his mechanized jaw could chew, that was a problem for him.

The Nagai continued along with the group she'd arrived with for a time, wielding thread and shadow to sew discord and death among their enemies.

All at once she came to a halt, a familiar presence curdled in her senses, leaving an acrid sensation. "Master," the title was little more than a whisper on her chapped lips. There was a brief contemplation to ignore the call. After all, if the lord was out of action, that was simply a position for her to fill, was it not? The thought left just as quickly as it had formed, however. In time, the status of Lord would be hers, by her hand.

She slinked away from her companions, using her master's presence as a wretched beacon to light her path and letting the confusion of the other breakouts clear the way. Over her tutelage, she'd grown adept at tiptoeing into the minds of those around her, drifting by as a shadow of uncanny proportions, leaving dread and paranoia in her wake.

It did not leave her hands completely unstained, however. Fingers already darkened by ichor were further pigmented in blood by the time she reached maximum security, further decorating the once-boring greys of her costume in delightful crimson.

"Did you enjoy your slumber?"