Dominion Helfrost | Dominion of Helgard | Warlords of the Sith

[Darth Mensis]

Objective 3

Mensis took in the surrounding energies as he walked through the empty streets of Kjaransvik. Each damned soul seemed to cry out louder than the last, coalescing into one cacophonous symphony. It was music to the dark lord's ears. So much to examine, so much to investigate. Mensis was no stranger to the esoteric histories of the Sith, but his thirst for knowledge was ever-unquenchable.

As the group of scholars made their way through the city, Mensis took notice of one scribe in particular. Where the others had been eager, she had shown patience. The hunger for information was a common trait among the scholars of the Sith, but the patience needed to truly learn was something many lacked...

Perhaps this one would be of particular use.

He slowly moved to her side, peering over her shoulder as she jotted down the runes.

"Tell me, young one, what do you make of these runes?"

He didn't expect her to understand, but her response would still be very telling. Mensis simply stood in silence, awaiting her response.

Maja Komnenic​

 

[Kascalion Giedfield]

​

Such a petulant creature to attack the mighty Krokros from the sky, whizzing around in the air like an insect afraid to be smashed down into the floor. This is what the beast thought in its primal brain, which oozed with the memories of a thousand thousand years of frost and waves and the heat of thermal vents on the ocean's floor. What infuriated it most, however, and what pushed such memories into an acidic vat of uncaring, was the fact that the creature in fact rose from the ground after being smashed down.

What worsened this spike of angry emotions was the subsequent attack launched by the creature clad in red. As the Powersnake opened its maw to snatch the morsel like it had many others already, a sharp pain met the roof of its mouth instead.

A directed burst of shrapnel and flame rocked its upper jaw, unlike the wider dispersal of controlled explosions from the carriers it had devoured some minutes prior. Had it been a smaller and weaker creature, it surely would have faced greater injury. Instead, only a moment of pain racked its mouth and as it reared back in surprise, the creature clad in red flew away.

Krokros responded instantly, charging towards its morsel with a greater sense of anger than ever before. Now it was being challenged directly, which could not stand.

---

The descent into the belly of the beast was not a pleasant trip, and it was also not one the Helgardi was conscious for either. When the stranger had pulled him down with him, the would-be king cracked his head once more on some unidentifiable piece of debris lodged in the beast's internal flesh. How he did not die upon completing his downward fall is unknown, but he lived, all the same, thankfully landing on a piece of floating metallic scrap.

However, his luck was not an entirely gracious thing. Where his legs, torso, arms, and head had landed onto safety, his feet did not and were, in fact, submerged in the acidic bile of the Powersnake's stomach. When he awoke, the pain shot through his body immediately just as the voice of the stranger called out in the darkness that was barely illuminated by the vile secretions that surrounded them. The would-be king screamed in his torment and crawled as best he could further onto the scrap that had saved his life. Unfortunately for him, doing so only led to his hands slipping, his right falling into the acidic doom, his left hand barely avoiding the same disaster.

He screamed again and rolled onto his back, crippled and barely conscious, his vision dizzy and painful to even open his eyes. His shouts of pain eventually shifted to an echoing cackle when the realization of his situation truly hit him. He was trapped, with no way out, only a stranger as his company, and slowly being digested alive by his very own god. A story worthy of the bards, at the very least.

Unbeknownst to him, however, somewhat beyond him, lodged in the membrane of the Powersnake's stomach, rested a sword. Salvation for the two of them, perhaps, if one held enough willpower and skill to retrieve it from the pit of death.

Kuric Taumin | Khamul Kryze ​

 

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OBJECTIVE III
Darth Mensis
​

As she tilted her head from side to side, viewing the strange yet captivating ancient runes, a voice from behind startled her,

"Tell me, young one, what do you make of these runes?"

She jumped at the question, turning to see her new interlocutor. His strange eldritch appearance may have once frightened her, but she'd seen enough of the Sith now to be rather comfortable with it, or at least desensitized.

"I.. I'm not sure. I've never seen anything like them. I think I'm correct in assuming they aren't Sith, so they're Helgardi, right?"

The Sith Lord loomed over her, so she stood up to be a little closer. She had yet to learn of deference to her betters, something that the New Imperial Order had consistently chastised her for. Perhaps this Sith would be one of the many in the academia who couldn't care less. The fact that he hadn't immediately scolded her for falling out of line was telling, in a positive way.

"Why anyone would willingly live on a planet like this I have no idea."

 

[Khamul Kryze]

Objective One

Khamul could hear the beast giving chase as he flew away, crashing into dirt and ice as it made its way toward him. The Mandalorian knew that he couldn't keep up this pace forever. His jetpack could hold out for a considerable amount of time, but sooner or later, he would have to device a new plan. He rushed through the air, searching for anything that could help even the odds for him. As he made his way, Khamul came to a large cliff, towering only slightly above the beast. Perhaps being on higher ground would be enough. At least, it would assist in limiting the Krokros' ability to consume him in a single motion.

Khamul landed on top of the cliff, turning toward the beast. He would normally attempt to keep the beast at bay with a torrent of Force lightning, but the Hellhound of Mandalore knew better. His missile only managed to anger the beast further; he could only imagine what the wrath the lightning would incur. Instead, Khamul reached out to the planet through the Dark Side, feeling out the nearby ice and rock. He began lifting stone after stone, hurling them at the beast time and again, hoping to at least slow its charge. There was no sight of his comrades anywhere...

Had the beast already consumed them?

There was no way of knowing, and in the end, it did not matter. All that Khamul was concerned with in this moment, was to bring the creature down.

 

[Darth Mensis]

Objective Three

Mensis barely noticed her jump at his words, keeping his eyes on the notes she had been writing. They were extensive, well thought out. Promising indeed.

"You are correct in that assumption. Specifically, an older dialect of Helgardi. One that, in truth, we have yet to fully translate."

The Sith lord was amused by her attempt to match his demeanor. Some of the Sith might see it as an act of defiance, or even a threat. Mensis, on the other hand, took it in stride.

"The Helgardi are a harsh people, young one. Harsh people sometimes require a harsh environment. As for others, well... there are benefits to have access to such a people."

He began to walk along the side of the building, almost giving the illusion of floating as he slowly glided down the street.

"Follow me, young one. I have questions I'd wish to ask, both of this planet, and of yourself."

Maja Komnenic​

 

[Molly Armstrong]

Objective I
| Kascalion Giedfield | Khamul Kryze |​

The screams from somewhere in the dark told him that someone was not receiving a warriors death. Whether it was the Helgardi he'd come in with, or another lost soul unfortunate enough to survive, it didn't matter. None of the warrior folk should have to die like this. And to think that they worshiped this creature. Perhaps its rampage would make them see past their primitive notions of the divine, or worse, strengthen them.

The screams continued, filling the darkness with a certain energy, like the dark side was feeding on their pain and fear. Though he could not see far, he could feel a familiar presence. Iod, his sword, given to him by his master. He'd thought it lost, but alas it still called to him through the force. The blade had a strong presence even when the dark side was not all around it, and its siren song was only amplified.

Kuric had to retrieve it. He stood shakily on his metal raft, getting his proper balance. He could feel the sword pulsating not far from him. He carefully manipulated the force around him, moving his raft along in the direction of his sword. It required intense concentration. By the time he reached the sword, dug deep into a wall of flesh, he was sweating even more than he had been in the heat of the creatures stomach.

He yanked the sword from the flesh, but before he could begin to figure out a way to leave, he had to deal with his 'friend'. He didn't know the man, nor did he care to. But as they'd tried to kill each other in the creatures throat, he'd seen a many worthy of a warriors death.

He once again carried his raft through the stomach acid with the force, though the metal beneath his feet was beginning to give way. He would have to make it quick. When he found the man, having followed the screams, which had then quieted into groans of defeated agony, he took to his side.

Kuric raised his sword high, and plunged it through the other warrior's heart. A warriors death. He sat solemnly for a few minutes, letting their twisted rafts of scrap float towards one of the creature's stomach walls.

The death of one warrior began the rebirth of another. With everything available, his sword, the jagged edges of his armour, he began to ascend the wall. He drove hard anything that might stick into the stomach lining to get a hold.

The grueling climb took ages. With each twist and turn of the snake he was threatened with falling back to his doom, but he would not allow it. The dark side fueled him now more than ever. To live, to ascend, to persevere through the pain of near death, to survive. That was pure power.

After countless time, with only the force to guide him upwards through the dark, he saw the light of day.

Bloody beyond belief, with every part of his body covered in bile that burned his flesh, he pulled himself up one final time with his sword before he could stand. He gripped tightly to one of the beasts teeth, as tall as him. It's mouth was burnt, and had turned a sickly purple. As the beast roared and opened its mouth wide, he could see above, on the cliff, the enemy it sought.

Kryze, the Mandalorian. Kuric should've known such an accomplished warrior would be here. And now the Mando would be his saving grace.

The beast, an angry god, rose to a new high, extending past the edge of the cliff to assert its dominance. As it leaned its head down toward Khamul, Kuric charged, running the blade of Iod along the Powersnake's tongue before leaping backwards from its open jaw.

As he free fell towards the ledge below, unsure when he'd hit it or if he'd survive, he let his sword fall again from his hand. Reaching out both his hands into the force, he released the last of the energy he could muster into burst of force-lightning, back into the creatures mouth.

His back struck the hard stone, and the world went black...

 

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OBJECTIVE III
Darth Mensis
​

What a strange man, she though to herself. But he had knowledge. And if she heeded his command to follow, some of it might be hers as well. Knowledge was power, even more so than the raw brute strength of some other Sith she had met. Knowledge meant knowing the secrets of the dark side as well as the secrets of the mundane, and wielding both had given Sith lords of eons past power both political and occult beyond that of any person in the galaxy. Some would be gods, ruling over the entire galaxy. That wasn't Maja's plan, in earnest she was not even a true Sith who might be able to harness such power, but it sure was enticing nonetheless.

"I guess we should catch up with the rest, shouldn't we?" She said following after Mensis.

"If I might ask, what do you mean, benefits? Do these people have a force tradition of their own?" Her question might have seemed rather obtuse, considering she only knew the basics of Force history and religion. The Imperial Force Corps were highly reluctant to share info on either, beyond what knowledge was necessary to kill a Sith or a Jedi.

 

[Kascalion Giedfield]

Khamul Kryze | Kuric Taumin ​

First was the red-clad creature that flew wingless with sputtering flame and enameled metal, whizzing through the air at such angles and speed that they proved impossible to hit with tooth and hide. Infuriating to a horrible degree - such that the very stomach bile of the beast began to churn in rage. It roared after the flying creature, a terrible thunderclap escaping its jaws that gnashed open and closed in blind rage at the sheer vexatiousness of the insect who defied it so.

No, it would not live long enough to celebrate this. It would die. It had to die just like the world of Helgard had to die for suffering such indignities at the hands of foreign invaders, unable to defend themselves for even a week.

Except, once again, it didn't die. Instead, the insect managed to stave off its death, but not by some form of insufferable modern technology. No, it did so with the purity of rock and stone, shunted forth through the air like spears into the head and open maw of the great Powersnake whose head jerked and reared back in shock and bewildered flashes of pain.

This pain only increased in the following moments. Sharp, ungodly pain seized the nerves in its mouth as the Powersnake felt its tongue being sliced in twain by an unseen blade. No roar of deified rage escaped its maw this time. No, instead it was pure agony and hysteria. A primal hysteria, born out of a beast that was only close to the mind of man in the way of knowing its power level and previous dominance of the planet.

And as the bolts of electric judgment shot forward through the air in dazzling crackles that could split open the ocean floor, searing the flesh of its open maw, the Powersnake realized something far too late. Such was its advanced age and its reign as the most powerful yet unchallenged being on Helgard that even the most minutely skillful and resourceful opponent could now eliminate it. It had simply lived far too long without fighting, evolving, adapting. On Helgard in days past, it was king of the oceans, untouchable in every way. But in the face of these people in the days of now, it was no more...than a serpent in the sand.

A wailing cry echoed in the air as the beast reared its head high, smoke belching from its gums as blood spewed from its torn tongue. Open, baring itself unwillingly, for the kill.

 

[Khamul Kryze]

Objective One

Guardians of Helgard​

Khamul couldn't believe his eyes when Kuric Taumin climbed his way out of the maw of the beast. Even in the face of being digested alive, he somehow found a way to prevail. Even such a tenacious warrior couldn't come out of such a situation unscathed, however. As Kuric fell to the ground, Khamul almost considered leaving him there. After all, even for all of his endurance, the beast had still defeated him, and Khamul had no use for the defeated. But no... there was yet potential to be seen within this warrior, and Khamul would give him the chance.

The beast reared in great agony, letting out a cry that echoed across the frozen lands of Helgard. Khamul took this moment to lift Kuric, levitating him off of the ground and further away from the cliffside. It was enough to keep the unconscious man away from the clutches of the beast, at least, for now. Khamul looked back to the hulking creature as it continued to let out its screech, mouth gaping open...

It was now, or never.

Khamul reached out one last time, collecting all of the energy from the planet that he could muster. He began feeling a pulsing in his chest, within the robes where he kept the mysterious tome he had uncovered in the depths of the planet. He could feel the souls of the Helgard's dead flowing from the ground, and into him. With each damned soul, the Dark Side swelled further within him. In one final, brutal act of defiance to this ancient creature, Khamul launched himself through the air, spinning as he flew straight toward the mouth of the beast...

He was the drill, and his lightsaber was the drill bit.

Holding in front of him as he flew, Khamul channeled the darkness through himself and into his lightsaber, sending another torrent of Force lightning through it as he flew straight into the open, gaping maw of the creature. The lightning would be the herald to the beast's demise as Khamul entered its mouth, sending a storm of lightning throughout the beast... but he would not stop there. As he flew toward the back of the beast's throat, Khamul gave one final push with the Force, allowing him to punch right through the back of the beast's head. Skin and muscle exploded from the back of the beast as Khamul came flying through the hole, covering both the Mandalorian and the terrain with viscera thousands of years old.

The Sith lord was barely able to manage to retain enough energy to soften his fall, rolling forward as he hit the ground. As the Hellhound of Mandalore stood, the beast began falling to the ground, taking a chunk of the cliffside with it. Khamul through up a small Force barrier around him as the shockwave from the beast's impact sent ice and stone through the air. Once the dust settled, there was finally silence... and the Mandalorian stood in victory.

Kascalion Giedfield Kuric Taumin​

 

[Darth Mensis]

Objective Three

Mensis led the way, slowly running his hand along the rune-inscribed wall as he walked. A cold, blue light seemed to seep from the wall itself, running it's way up his arm and into his body. The knowledge of the city slowly made its way into the caverns of his mind as he spoke to Maja Komnenic.

"The Helgardi don't have a Force tradition, exactly. They don't have the capacity for it within them. That being said, there are many lessons to be learned. Lessons of strength, power, manipulation, history... there is always something to be learned, if one has the will to seek it out."

As they slowly made their way back toward the other scholars, Mensis stopped for a moment, just out of earshot of the others.

"You know, young one, many hunger for knowledge, and while they are indeed hungry, many lack the ability to savor each morsel consumed. You don't seem to be so gluttonous. Tell me, what brought you here? Surely you sought more than a position as a scribe."

His questions were meant to test her, but his tone would not show it. His voice was a constant, calm and distant hum, and his words as chilled as the frigid air around them. He patiently awaited her response, once again watching the other scholars bustle through the city streets.

 

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Darth Mensis​

She had to think of an answer to the question with some level of concentration. The truth of the matter did not manifest in her mind immediately. She paused for a few moments, though she didn't image the Sith Lord cared much about the time that it took. He exuded patience. A rare quality in the Sith, and one she admired. She knew patience well, whether it was in waiting for her home world's sovereignty, or waiting to escape the watchful eyes of the Imperials so she could slip away and study the dark arts. Perhaps Mensis had sensed this in her, though she wasn't certain such a thing was possible with her limited training.

"Well... there's only so much I can learn from the books, right?" she had a gut-feeling this was the wrong answer. She had a strange feeling the Lord was going to tell her the real answer, as if he could see her thoughts clearer than she could rationalize them to herself. Or perhaps that was wishful thinking from a doubtful acolyte, desperate for a guide through the dark.