Into the Deep | CIS Dominion of Roon (Y,48)

[Fiolette Fortan]

​

Far from their land as they made their stand...

"Forward!" Fiolette commanded as her vibrosword found purchase within one of the dark creatures before her. She had come not for the benefit of the CIS, though it would be to their benefit. No, she came to explore the remnants of the Templars. To bring forth the malice that hid here, for the Lady Raaf wished to study them for her own purposes. Pivot, swing as her sword cut through the hide of the monster, black ichor spewed onto the ground. She recognized such as the memories of Asation still bore fresh in her mind. The sound of slugs let loose from their muzzles, shooting at high velocity screaming toward their targets as the corporate paramilitary forces of Aurora Industries and Primo Victoria were brought to bare here.

"Watch the left!" A commander shouted ahead of her, she turned around to put her back to a wall and saw the new beast, "it's an alpha!"

The same commander moved to grab the bigger munitions. Fiolette side stepped and moved forward. "Tag those ones there, we'll take those back to her Ladyship."

"Right away!"

Smaller creatures would be taken, while this one - this one would not fit in their cargo holds so the beast would be felled here and studied from afar. Forward push, the wretched sound of horrors filled the tunnels and echoed out spilling out onto the surface.

 

[Minerva Vessia]

[SIZE=9pt]Post:[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt] 1[/SIZE]​

[SIZE=9pt]Equipment:[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt] In Signature plus Blackroot potions (10)[/SIZE]​

[SIZE=9pt]Objective:[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt] Capture SithSpawn, company tier development[/SIZE]​

[SIZE=9pt]Nearby:[/SIZE][SIZE=9pt] [/SIZE][member="Kyle Naktis"] / [member="Scherezade deWinter"] / [member="Mavrek Kordalas"] / [member="Dalvas Stone"] / [member="Fawn Alzi"]​

​

[SIZE=9pt] [/SIZE]​

[SIZE=9pt]It was a decent into the deep black. Lead on the whim of a moment Minerva took the fall into the Dark, on a quest to acquire knowable. What type of knowledge you ask? The type you get from capturing Sithspwan and then slowly taking them apart to further your own knowledge. [/SIZE]
[SIZE=9pt] [/SIZE]
[SIZE=9pt]The Roon nexus rippled and pulsed. Flaring to life at the turbulent of activity the CIS was causing. The whispers of such corruption would dance upon the thoughts of all who dared to traverse into its depths. Be careful with your actions for they can reflect upon you times two, they say.[/SIZE]


[SIZE=9pt]It was pain, pain that trickled across and through the flesh. Corruption Of flesh and heart pulsed through Minerva. Time and space shifted around her. Thrust through the either she propelled through the darkness between the material world and the afterlife. This Force skill being of the teleportation classification was actually dark dimensional rifting. Less need to control the power flowing through you and the guess-ta-mation work for landings. But the weakness is that it corrupts. That or it could horribly deform the user.[/SIZE]


[SIZE=9pt]Feeling the power Minerva lick upon her lips. Pain and pleasure intertwined clouding her better judgment. She could feel the madness. The temptations of promised power, it touched upon her deepest desires of lust for spell knowledge. She knew the risks before entering. She dared to risk fate.[/SIZE]


[SIZE=9pt]The poodoo of motion within the caves suddenly changed. A loud pop rang out through the cave system followed with the smell of sulfur. Wafts of steam drifted up off Minerva armored yet lithe form. Moving back into real space was slightly disorienting. It was darker here then where she was. She just closed her eyes, extending with her feelings to sense around her. There was other from the CIS here as well as many creatures she came here to hunt. [/SIZE]

 

[Srina Talon]

Location: Roon [Great Hall]
Tag: [member="Darth Metus"]
Quote: "Close connections are like the stars. You don't always see them, but, they're always there."

​

The white-haired woman was late. She was never late. But, here she was, entering the Great Hall likely long after some of the CIS had lost their sobriety. She had landed the Ferocity not far away and immediately began to reach through the Force for her Master. He was supposed to be here, somewhere, in the former home of the Templar Order. The sable-skinned man had informed her that he had something imperative to teach her and for some reason seemed to be shielding what it was through their connection.

[member="Darth Metus"] was always easy for her to find. There was a Force driven bi-directional line of communication that ran between them as easily as a river. It sent snippets back and forth. Hope, strength, fear, and happiness—never seemed to weaken. She could have found him halfway around the galaxy if she focused hard enough. Discerning his location in the middle of a rather relaxed party was equated to a youngling trying to play hide and seek behind a translucent window.

Her slender form wove through the members of the Confederacy with the grace and fluidity of water tumbling downstream. She greeted some, general, with an impassive nod of her head. Occasionally she spoke but her honeyed tones wouldn’t easily be heard over the music that played in the background. The Exarch didn’t carry herself any differently than she had in the past. She refused, for the most part, to travel with a complement of MagnaGuard unless she knew for certain she might need them.

As it stood she had remained on Naboo to oversee the settling of refugees from the Core while the Knights Obsidian saw to the acquisition of Felacat. There was no danger on the pastoral world. None, at least, that she would have readily encountered. [member="Cardinal Vi'dreya"] had assessed the situation to the best of his ability before his duties pulled him head. So far, she didn’t mind the older man, and found his presence tolerable. Likely, because he reminded her of her Master.

A brief and pale smile broke the eternal calm of her ghostly expression. Srina walked up behind the Vicelord of the Confederacy and let gentle hands fall over his eyes. He was seated alone, for the moment, shuffling thin square objects in his hands. A tanker of dark amber ale that was rather impressive sat to his right while a cup of tea, still hot by the looks of the steam wafting from it, occupied the empty place setting across from him. It was a small table, clearly meant for two, and the Sith Lord would feel a subtle sense of apology roll through her.

She hated that she had left him waiting.

“Guess who?”, she murmured quietly, gray eyes flickering, at her perceived amusement. The wintry woman knew that the man wouldn’t actually need to speculate about who it was that kept him from seeing, as she was one of the few who approached him so easily, but it was a quiet game. It felt like it had been forever since she had last seen him. Their duties since Coruscant had pulled them in different directions. “You only get one try or I win. If you lose—You’re a rotten krykna egg.”

He would recognize her words from the first time they’d stopped on Leritor. She had failed to find a Yoshi to bond with that day, however, she had picked up a rather small one not long after. At first, she hadn’t trusted her abilities and it led to inconsistencies. That had been a long time ago.

 

[Luna Vega]

Post: 3​

Mentions: [member="Rylan Kordel"] | [member="Asher Mossa"] | [member="Alora Fae"]​

"Well..." she gave pause, raising one of her azure brows at Rylan, "doona go gettin' all Forcey on me." What is dead should stay dead. A light shiver ran down her spine and Luna suddenly stood and it was too fast. Were she not so close to the bar, she'd of kissed the floor. Her tattooed fingers grasped the edge and her stark gray eyes marveled at the lights displaying the various liquors before shaking her head. "Ahh, they call me Luna," answered the woman to Alora, the chatter about the cantina feeling like tiny pinpricks over her skin causing her to sway. Blowing out a warm breath, the pirate counted back from fifty.

Roon stones, Luna. Roon stones...twenty-two....twenty-one...

Suddenly and without provocation, she clapped her hands once, turning to the barkeep, "Aye, darlin'. I'll be need'n one of those to go." It was time to get a move on, she knew, and had been procrastinating. Another glass was slid her way and Luna wasted no time, hefting it and letting the liquid burn sweetly all the way down her throat to her stomach. "Mmm..." With that satisfied sound from her customer, the tender slid the half-full bottle of Wren to the pirate with a curt nod, then tossed an empty sack. Perhaps they knew each other. "Many thanks, Lette."

"It's no or nev'r, poppets." Upon sliding the bottle into the bag, Vega slung it about her shoulder, and made way towards the door. She gave herself a once over, patting for her blades and pistol, albeit with a stagger- but a confident one. "Thar sho'be speedars jus'o'round the bend," the words were shot, finger pointing in the direction.

 

[Daxton Bane]

The searing pain that hit him in the gut told him he was getting close, the Dark Side energy getting stronger with each step he took closer to the Source. Part of him wanted to scream, part wanted to lose himself in the pure pleasure of the raw energy, part of him wanted to curl up in a ball and vomit his insides out. But to give in now would to be to lose all control, and Daxton loathed to lose control for any reason.

Gritting his teeth, until he could taste blood, he slowly lifted his foot and took another step forward....

 

[Malok]

It was hard coming back.

For the overwhelming majority of the people wandering about the deserted Halls, the Templar Sanctum was foreign. They looked upon the walls with intrigue, surely, but they had no...understanding of what truly occurred within them. They could only assume. They could only glean an opinion based on the fragments left behind by the Obsidian massacre that had transpired so long ago. But for the Devil, walking along these corridors brought back so many memories. He was a far younger man then. A man with no responsibilities, no cares, no reasons to fret or worry. He was a mercenary, skating from one opportunity to the next. But...Roon changed that. The first Confederacy changed that. The Templar Order changed that.

When his time among them began, he was but a warrior charged with protecting their chief healer. She could not defend herself the way that a Mandalorian could - and so he was her shield and sword across many battlefields. As time moved ever forward, he found himself working alongside more and more of the organization. And eventually, he became one of them. It was among the Templar Order that he first ascended to Master in the Force. It was by their recognition that he stood as equals with their mightiest. And it was upon their own Forge that he began to create his first masterpieces. To say that there would not be a Darth Metus without the Templar Order would be an understatement.

But now, he was here. Now, he witnessed the remnant of the happiest days of his life. The Sith could not change the fate of his comrades. He could not change the betrayals that had seen their midst cut to pieces. But...He was here now. And so long as he breathed, some small speck of what they believed would always exist.

Always.

In the here and now, the Devil descended upon the Great Hall. The din of voices and the clattering of tankards was enough to cause the beginnings of a smile to form upon his face - for that was how the Hall always way. It was a place of mirth, not a place of silence. A place to get to know one another, for good company, and for laughs. Darth Metus did not, at least for the time being, dive into the festivities right away. Instead, he reached into his pocket and tapped a brief message to his beloved apprentice [member="Srina Talon"]. His words were brief, imploring that she coming to the Sanctum as quickly as possible for her had another lesson to teach her. What he left out was that this lesson had nothing to do with the Force.

But rather, fun. A deck of simple cards danced within his grasp, shuffling between his deft fingers. The minutes rolled by, so much so that the Devil lost track of time. In fact, the only timepiece that he had was the tankard of ale which sat before him. It was yet cold, judging by the condensation on the steel. Later on, he requested that a fresh cup of tea be set before him; and there it would wait until slender fingers covered up his eyes. Darth Metus felt his Apprentice the second she entered the system. The ethereal bond which tied their souls sighed with relief whenever she was near. And as she drew close, it was as if the chill of winter was finally being beaten back by the fire of Summer.

”One guess huh?” he said, beaming. ”Hmm...Has to be none other than Var Talon[/b]!”

He was a rotten egg. There wasn’t a soul in the Confederacy that wouldn’t think otherwise. Chuckling, he turned in his seat so that his arms might ensnare the woman’s waist. ”I’ve missed you, Srini. Come, sit, I’ve much to teach you.” He gave her a light squeeze before releasing her to sit in front of him. ”There are a few rituals that are universally accepted as pasttimes at any gathering. You could take what I show you today anywhere. So, tell me, have you ever played Go Fish?”

[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

Location: Roon [Great Hall]
Tag: [member="Darth Metus"]
Quote: "Close connections are like the stars. You don't always see them, but, they're always there."

The pale specter waited patiently for [member="Darth Metus"] to make his guess, fully intent, on hiding his eyes until satisfied. When the Sith Lord guessed the name of her brother she laughed out of pure reflex. The sound was beautiful and light, pure, and unburdened. For one who carried eyes that occasionally became a burnished gold she still retained some measure of nigh incorruptibility. Some measure of the tender woman she could have been—versus the harbinger of death that she had turned out to be. “That is a poor guess, my newly crowned, rotten krykna egg.”

The Vicelord was smiling and she found herself returning it. She had expected his mood to be on the dour side considering their location but something seemed to be keeping his hope afloat. He turned around and she felt his arms slide around the small of her waist. Srina returned the embrace fondly. He was strong, as always, and his strength gave her the courage to stand. He was the sun to their little nation, to her, and she had a terrible tendency of orbiting around him. Where he went—Srina Talon was sure to follow. Blindly, if need be. “I have missed you.”

Her returned words were kind, however, filled with a ring of brutal honesty. The soft-spoken Echani rarely said anything she didn’t mean. For her to admit emotion freely, in public, spoke volumes. She was lost without him. The direction their paths had taken made it so that his guiding hand was often too far for her liking. Sometimes, she wondered if he understood. A flash of periwinkle-blue, lined with silver, would catch the eye as she tugged her cloak off slim shoulders when she slipped away. She draped it over the back of her chair thoughtlessly, gracefully, and took a seat as her Master willed.

Already, she was curious. What lesson could he have to teach today? What had he pulled her across the system for?

Srina instinctively reached for the cup of piping hot tea that she knew Darth Metus had ordered for her. It was dark, without sweetener, and just the way she liked it. Bringing it to her lips as he spoke she took a tentative taste as she considered his words. Silver eyes, gray as a winter sky, flickered with momentary confusion. She wasn’t sure she understood the question. “I have gone fishing.”

The snow-kissed Apprentice did not understand what this had to do with the deck of playing cards in his hands. Pale-pink lips pursed together as she tried to see beyond the obvious. Certainly, he wouldn’t have called her to discuss the best method of keeping hooks sharp. She already knew to face the wind. Many fish swam with the current and before a storm often yielded favorable results. The pressure tended to make them bite, whereas when the weather was too pretty, they remained hidden.

“You should know that the transition of Naboo is going smoothly. The Queen was amenable to terms and the refugees from the Core are being settled. Our first temporary out-post has been established, however, we should form a more stable embassy for future endeavors. We have agreed to fair trade and defensive support during times of need. As suspected, they will not participate offensively in aggressive warfare.”

Her report on the pacifistic pastoral world would have given him these details already but they had scarcely spoken since. He could see through her eyes when needed, but she hadn’t felt his presence during negotiations. “She appointed her sibling as their voice. I spoke with her, briefly, and she agreed to become the Viceroy of Naboo. There was a flavor of reluctance during that conversation but she seems to possess sufficient understanding of the role.”, Srina set her tea down as she finished speaking, following his hands, while he shuffled the cards. He made a movement to split the deck in two, before putting it back together, which caused it to bridge and almost shuffle itself. Her brow furrowed. “She was acting as a mechanic when I met her. Repairing a fighter.”

It was clear by this appraisal that Srina thought better of the young [member="Mariya Pyne"] for finding her grease stained and hard at work. She had met many politicians that seemed more concerned with lining their own pockets versus putting in a hard day’s work. Naboo was a strange place. Even the Queen seemed more approachable than she had initially anticipated. It had been a pleasant surprise.

Once again, she watched the man across from her shuffle the cards, and her lips twitched faintly.

“What are you doing? Show me.”

 

[Fawn Alzi]

​

Post: 4
Equipped With: Lightsaber | Knife | Decrepit staff | Sarcasm
Objective: Spelunk
Nearby: [member="Kyle Naktis"] | [member="Scherezade deWinter"] | [member="Mavrek Kordalas"] | [member="Dalvas Stone"] | [member="Minerva Vessia"] | [member="Fiolette Yvarro"]

---

Uncovering her wild hair from beneath her hood, Fawn ignited her saber in a flash of pale pink, banging the bottom of her staff against the hard floor as the crack of lightning erupted out from the dead winged creature that served as the staff's head. The quick strike of it sent a four-legged spawn airborne as she turned to swing her lightsaber only to realize that her loyal, deceased companion, Canker, was using its weight to hold a sithspawn at bay.

"Good on you, friend," she said to it as she easily slid the lightsaber through its back and into the creature on the other side of it. The dead felt no pain, she could assure herself. All she needed to be careful of was severing something important to it.

The light show being put on by Erin was a welcome display of power, one that simultaneously put Fawn at ease and dragged the slightest bit of envy from her. Not to be outdone, Fawn held her staff out in front of her as her shoulders braced themselves. A chant escaped her lips in whisper, but mostly out of superstition, but either way, not a moment later was there a concentrated blast of pure flame, combusting the very air around them to engulf whatever was unlucky enough to be caught in its path. It may not have been as pretty or quick or even as efficient as Erin's own display, but this was what she brought a bodyguard for.

Turning from side to side without breaking her focus was a new kind of challenge for her, but just so long as she could at least appear to have done as much as her current rival, she would be satisfied.

 

[Daxton Bane]

Like foul whispers they came, the shades of the dead and forgotten, chittering softly, whispering perverse carnal pleasures and dark desires all in the same breath. Daxton paid them no heed, he knew that shades possessed no power to manifest, unless you gave it to them.

It was the combination of these along with the orbalisk agitation that caused Daxton to momentarily drop his guard and that is when they struck. Three human shaped tenebrous forms detached themselves from the wall and pummeled with him with blows. The first crack across the jaw caused his head to snap to the side, followed by several shots to the ribs drawing out the air from his lungs before slamming him against the unyeilding surface of the wall with intense force it cracked in several places beneath his weight.

“Did you miss us brother? We certainly missed you.” They hissed maliciously as the beat down continued unabated.

 

[Dhakarta]

Location: The Underdark
Objective: Dive in literally headfirst, woo impaired judgement!
Gear: Kurs Armour

Vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, destroy all that is, salt the Earth, leave nothing to those who would take everything. The dying wish of the Templars beat in her skull and in her heart, because was it not a wish much the same as the one she held in her own soul? What relief must their have been to open their veins and late all that hate, all that pain flow free and know it would be turned upon their enemies a hundredfold. But even a hundredfold would not be enough, and if her blood was to be spent she would spend it more wisely, more effectively. Everything was a lesson. Look at the futility of what the Templars had done, do not repeat it.

Down, the dark heartbeat pounding through her came from down, so down she would go. There were winding stairs and tunnels, after a fashion, though they were crumbled in some places, and it was along these that must of her allies advanced. Too slow, too slow, and they fought only the results, not the disease itself. Too much effort not enough reward. How many creatures could this pit throw at them? Many and more. Better to head directly for the source.

One of the beasts was lunging towards her. Guessing that of the three she saw, the one in the middle was true, for that was the one her own sense of the Web confirmed, she lunged. A foot to the top of its head and she was up and over. With fearlessness born of alcohol, and perhaps not having very much to lose, she flung herself over the edge, down into the pit. As she fell the green mist wrapped around her once more before being pulled back into her skin. Hands reached out to catch the wall as she fell, and in moments, she was crawling like a spider down the wall, much as the creatures had climbed up to attack.

Down and down and down. It was interesting, the darkness that permeated this place, that surrounded her, that seeped inside. It wanted so much to overwhelm, to take control, but all things had to be balanced. There could not be only dark, though that was a natural part of life. One had only to look at nature, red of tooth and claw to know the dark had its place in the Web. Still, for now the dark waxed supreme, and she let it have its way, flowing through her without giving it the right to control. This was the proper balance. This was how Biding Muskeg had always approached the spectrum.

The bottom approached.

 

[Lirka Ka]

Hard to focus...so hard to focus. The force pulsated here, Lirka's untrained senses couldn't take it all she couldn't pull away the simple background nonsense, the energy given off her her so called "allies" and whatever vile horrors laid within. It was infuriating, and underneath her helmet her teeth clenched while her lips turned into a fine line. She was enraged, purely enraged now. Her "gift" became more and more of a curse with each passing year, each passing decade. For so much of her life she had been able to live content as the only force user in a whole system practically. Nothing to distract her, nothing to pester the back of her mind. And that no longer was the case. She had met more and more force users as she entered into the CIS and it's folds.

She wasn't pleased about it.

Pulsating rage was a fine way to describe the woman and her mighty greatblade. She walked, half focused on both present and past. The force premeditated the "Princess's" past and had played such a mighty role, something she hadn't learned till she had been a young woman...too much. She was getting distracted, she had made it deeper now: not even realizing she had began to walk. By the Force? Isn't that what the cultists used as an contemplative. Bah! Panbocn tah baniouahe lumpa! Huttese was what she used, little welps those Cultists were.

But still...the Force...and quickly she had decided one thing after this great exposition: she hated the Force.

And yet, the Force was the only reason the armored brute of a woman walked among the CIS today. Or maybe even among the living. She hadn't realized it then, but like so many other things Lirka had learned just how much was hidden from the naive and young Princess she had been when Thustra stood on it's own and not engulfed by those Mandalorians and their Empire.

So distracted. She wanted to just scream, she hated the Force, and Lirka was a particularly angry woman just to begin with. This place offered no help to soothe her nerves, the enchantments gifted to her set them off, she hated this place. Maybe one day she would be more than a mere Bounty Hunter who had thrown her lot in with a group that could pay well or the thrill of being "Mandalorian"...maybe she would have a fleet...maybe an army...maybe become a Warlord and retake Thustra from this T-visor wearing welts. Then she could come back here, and burn this rock "Roon" to nothing more than ash and space debris.

She had kept walking, not paying attention save for that she had gone somewhere else. She didn't even know where she was anymore, in fact in her near mindless state she had wandered off from the main group. Maybe that was for that she had some privacy, for with this she let out a roar induced by the very same thing she had come to despise, but the very same thing that had saved her dozens of times: the Force, the Dark Side. A roar, a scream, an echoing cry of anger, twinged with the despair of an alien too ancient to not be among her own kind, and of the thrill-seeker never to be fulfilled by the path she had chosen. The poor wall next to her felt it the most, and her metal gauntlet was quick to crack a solid and brutal punch into it. Sending cracks through it, a testament to the rage coursing through her veins, and the strength the CIS had never seen from her.

This place, it was her exodus. A time for the Sephi to look inwards, if she wanted to or not, to consider the Force. Consider what had been forced upon her, to look to the deep past of what could have been when Thustra was just Thustra. And look to the first taste of blood, the taste of murder:

Time blurred, she was back on Thustra. Younger, a mere child at a ripe age of 8. Far to the 127 year old woman of the present. She had a pure look to her, the child sweetheart of Thustra they could say: she had lived that role for a few years. It put her in the spotlight...made her a target for all the bad parts of the Galaxy, an attempted kidnapping had sparked in her early life. A quick pull to snatch the Sephi Princess and sell her right back to the Monarchy for more money than any one man could ever need.

It was during that attempt that her mind had wandered back to. It had been her first taste of the Force, a small taste of the Dark Side that had lurked and festered in her soul ever since.

Lirka's face was younger, icy blue eyes of malice were blue balls of innocence, her skin was nowhere near as pale as her now Dark Side Degenerate skin, her face unblemished by wounds, scars, and her distinctive tattoo. Only a trickle of blood ran down her face from where the man had struck her while he ran to the nearest landing pad. Tears ran down her face as she made another desperate attempt to wrestle from the strong grasp of the man. She was nothing compared to what she was now, a mere child, a weak and pathetic child. Not the woman with a body of solid and toned muscle, the experience of killing men with her bare hands, wrestling a Slice Hound even. She was a child. The thought of murder, death, the violent parts of the Galaxy were so distant from her then.

She was afraid. She was angry. How hadn't her guards saved her? How hadn't they gotten rid of him? She knew they had guns...why weren't they using them?

And anger, was power. She knew that now, and she learned it then. She made the right move once, she had brought the Sephi artistic mind to her fairly long nails of the time. Each one practically an art piece in it's own right, but this was a fact of survival. What were nails but an improvised weapon? She got the right position and those little art pieces stabbed deep enough into her wrist to draw blood, the large man drew away with a snarl. Enough for her to get herself back and out of that death grip. Staring down at a man with murder in his eyes.

She acted on nothing more than raw desperation, she had played with weak telekinesis in private. She had something in her, she knew that much, maybe it would save her? She prayed it would save her. With a cry of the raw desperation the half sobbing girl let out a force push built from the anger and fear within her. He didn't stand a chance. Blasted away into a nearby railing Lirka assumed he died on impact, his neck shattered as he was flung over. Down hundreds of feet to to the valley below the pad. What was left of the man when they found him, wasn't worth calling a man...

Panting, lacking any breath to speak of, she could only hear the pound of feet as her father and his guard finally caught up to them...

But she wasn't there, she was here. Deep in Roon, not on that chilly pad. Not an innocent child, not a Princess. She was a warrior now, a harden killing machine and a proper woman of the Underworld. Oh, how times had changed for dear Lirka. Emotion rolled through her veins, and somehow. This ruin, this worthless down-trodden cesspool, where the Dark Side clouded her mind and far too many Force users distracted made Lirka realize: she didn't have a purpose in this Galaxy. For a little over a century she had lived a meaningless existence from what could've been on Thustra. Champion on Choah? Meaningless. She was just a fighting slave for their entertainment. The days of Anzat, those hot days where at any moment she could've been killed? Nothing. It was a kick to drive her deeper down this path. A bounty hunter? Becoming scum, hunting men and women alike for nothing more than the thrill of the kill and her own greed? She was nothing there. One of thousands of faces, known only for a suit of armor...a suit of armor.

She looked down through the lenses of her helmet, it fed her tactical data she could care less about and ignored. She had a fortune at one point, fighting for decades as a gladiator did that, and where was that fortune now? The armor that had become her second skin and the weapon that was her instrument of death. That had become what could've been a laid back retirement on a decent world...now it just dug her deeper into this whole.

Truly, she felt helpless. Not the sort of helpless when first looking down an Acklay in a far too small arena, but a deep helpless. Something that festered in the soul. Maybe it could've consumed her then, maybe that was how this place was going to remove the weak. Like herself, one could say? Wrong. Lirka wasn't weak, she'd never let herself be weak. For while she rolled in the thoughts of her own meaningless existence up until this point, she knew she could be something. She could fight, she had the "backing" of the Mandalorian protectors. Legions of droids could march under her command, worlds just crumble and bend, the enemies of the Confederacy could burn...or she could leave them. Steal their ranks for someone new, do it again, become a bastion of infamy instead of fame...or do none of these things. But what Lirka knew, she was going to become something, one way or another. And she didn't care how many people would bleed, die, or end up in some sad state of dismemberment along the way.

Feeling a roller-coaster of emotions she hadn't experienced since her teenage days on Thustra, Lirka had overcome yet another challenge to her mind. Taking in what was around her, she breathed in. Letting herself listen to the force, letting herself finally listen to it for once. "Guide me..." she thought, in true Dark Side fashion she commanded the force. Taking it in for the biggest cluster of force users she could feel, heaving her massive blade into hand she began to roll her shoulders and pick up speed as she moved.

That soon evolved into a thundering run, each step rumbling through the hall as she let the force increase her pace far beyond what someone not touched by the Force could ever reach. She could feel that beacon the witches gave, just as she could feel the beasts they fought. Never had she opened herself to the force like this...it was...liberating almost. But she still hated it anyway.

And so, she ran, and ran, and ran. Right into the slaughter, the glorious, exalted, joys of raw violence. Maybe that was her calling in this life...

APPROACHING:

[member="Fawn Alzi"] [member="Scherezade deWinter"] [member="Mavrek Kordalas"] [member="Dalvas Stone"] [member="Minerva Vessia"] [member="Fiolette Yvarro"]

 

[Malok]

R I S E​

Rotten Krykna Egg.

The Devil had fought to earn every title under his belt. Sank decades of sweat and blood into cultivating a reputation about the stars. And yet, as the chime of his Apprentice's voice reached his ears, he had never been more happy with a moniker. It was silly. It caused his lips to involuntarily curve into a grin. But above all else, it was a reflection of Home. What Darth Metus never said aloud to the alabaster woman whose hands yet blinded him...was that he was hunting for what he had provided her all along. It was why it was so difficult for him to let Mandalore go. It was why there were hiccups and bumps along the road of their personal life.

He was looking for that place where he truly belonged. And it wasn't in some sand-swept dome on Mandalore. And, though embers of their ways yet burned within...it wasn't in the remains of the Templar Sanctum either. Where he belonged was right there - his Home was the woman whose soul was bound to his own. "You know, most people get three guesses." came his retort, amidst a chuckle. When her arms wrapped around him, the Sith felt himself relax. Actually and truly relax. When he was around her, he could be human. He always felt like any man should when he returned to his refuge - like all the weight of his world had been momentarily lifted.

"Sounds to me like that vacation is sorely needed. Sorely."

He missed her just as much. And in the quietest corners of his own thoughts, he dared to think he missed her more. Whenever his Apprentice was away fulfilling her duties, there was a...chill that befell him. A vicious cold that no other person could ever bat away. Her messages over the HoloNet helped. Her gentle nudges over their Bond helped. But nothing could ever wipe away the winter of her absence. Darth Metus just...didn't feel himself whenever she was away. When she was gone, it was easier to look upon others as if they weren't Human. It was easier to be wrathful. Easier to be vengeful. But just her presence was enough to give the Sith pause.

Her was presence was enough to remind him that he wasn't just the Devil of Maramere.

When at last their embrace ended, the Sith wished it hadn't. He, unlike his Apprentice, didn't give two credit chits about decorum or what others thought about anything. He was a Sith Lord who could have tea with the Silver Grandmaster - what was hugging the most precious part of his life compared to that oxymoron? Alas, where he didn't care, Srina did for the both of them - and so he gladly watched while she settled into her seat. There was a hint of satisfaction which danced within his gaze as she sampled her tea, which had been ordered just the way she preferred. Exactly the opposite to his caf.

It was funny, really. Srina always preferred her beverages plain and devoid of sweetener. While her Master opted to drench his in creamer and sugar until the taste of caf was gone. One would assume the pale woman would have preferred the more sweet concoction. But, nevertheless, the woman was clearly satisfied by one of the little things that defined their relationship. The cups of tea he always had waiting for her. The little messages on his datapad for him to eat while she was away. The little things kept things...normal, even when they were a Galaxy apart.

And speaking of normal, the Echani's tendancy to take things literally reared its head. When he mentioned the card game, she seemed confused and brought up actual fishing. Darth Metus chuckled - by now he found moments like these endearing. There was nothing better than showing her new things, whether they be the ways of the Force or the ways of playing cards. "Go fish is the name of a card game, my dear." He began, parting his lips to say more. Yet, before additional words could escape him, Srina brought him up to speed on the latest assignment.

Naboo.

The name of the vibrant world brought back memories for the Sith - memories of the same sort as being within the Sanctum. That same healer he was hired to protect had dreams and aspirations of wearing the crown of that planet. Well. Darth Metus couldn't actually recall whether or not the woman was joking at this point...But, it was a regular topic of conversation. Yet, here he was decades later, hearing how the planet had willing joined his Confederacy. The irony...for the Naboo of his youth, under the Omega Protectorate, would have died before joining their midst. In fact, if memory served, they were the site of the Protectorate's FLEETCOM in the region.

And it was the site of a major battle between his former home and the Protectorate. Darth Metus' smile wavered ever so slightly towards the conclusion of the report. "I must admit, I grow weary of deals like this." he began, briefly setting the cards upon the table. "Where our ventures of militant nature are not fully supported by the newest worlds. But alas, whatever will you do when dealing with royalty." He did not comment on the status of the Queen's sibling becoming Viceroy. Nor did he have anything to say about her repairing a fighter when first introduced.

But, Srina was very deliberate in her words. Ever syllable had a purpose and was never wasted. She mentioned it for a reason - and the Sith surmised it was to illustrate a point. By his estimation...either the Echani was impressed by her not being a spoiled princess. Or, she felt she may be poorly equipped for the task due to her priorities. One of the two, surely. "What are your thoughts on our newest Viceroy? Will she do well?" he inquired.

With that said, the alabaster woman's attention found the cards shuffling within his grasp. His smile returned. "This is called shuffling, it is how you mix the order of the cards without making a mess. And, Go Fish..." he began, quickly rolling into an abridged explanation of the game and its rules. Once finished, he slid the cards forward so that she could try shuffling herself.

[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Dhakarta]

Location: The Underdark
Objective: Deal with the Chalice
Gear: Kurs Armour

Level floor. For a moment as she rose back to her feet the room continued to sway and she almost lost her footing. Not even she could drink as much as she had and suffer naught for it. Still it was good, the disconnect of the drink, the rush of the force, dark or otherwise. It was a primal force that took her out of herself. Out of her grimness. Out of her weariness. Do or die. Sometimes this was a good way to live. Fully in the moment. Not sustainable of course, but as the occasional reprieve..

Moving forward at a trot, towards the pull of pain and hatred, spirit ichor rose around her once more coalescing into her energy lance. Just in time to deliver a vicious shock to a lunging sith spawn. Better not to kill, many of the spawn from what she could recall had a tendency to implode upon death, and she wasn't familiar with these. Incapacitate and move with speed. That would be the key, before she got outnumbered and overwhelmed.

The cavern she was led to was.. underwhelming in truth. At least until she noticed the runes carves into every part of the walls. It wasn't Basic, nor any other language she knew. One could easily believe though, that here was the sum collected knowledge of an ancient order, painstakingly record for the future generations. Generations that now would likely never come to be.

Nothing else was contained within the room, except in the centre, where a rough, ancient looking well swirled with some dark miasmic substance that bore only a faint resemblance to water. Floating on its side within it was a tarnished chalice. Already it seemed as if something were coalescing within the well, and she doubted it would be friendly.

Still, it seemed such a lot of fuss over such a little thing. With a mental shrug she moved to it. There didn't seem to be any obvious traps, so with a mental shrug she moved to it, reaching down into the cold, almost slimy feeling liquid to grasp the vessel. Nothing terrible happened, against all expectations. As it seemed the easiest course of action, she dashed it against the lip of the well, intending to crumple it and end the trouble. The dull clang as it struck disappointed her however, the vessel was utterly unmarked. It ought to have at least a visible ding where the tarnish had been removed even if whatever it was made of was too strong. The fact that there was nothing suggested there were other forces at work.

Briefly casting her senses back to see if she was going to be attacked, she settled down to a comfortable kneeling position, chalice on her lap. Turning her attention towards the chalice she cast her spirit out. This was difficult. It wasn't the plane of the Ur-Spirits, the Other between Here and There, it was somewhere else, somewhere that people should not be, and where the self-sacrificing Templars had doomed themselves. Immediately she felt her spirit coming under attack, traversing the careful line between letting her ties cut to her physical body being cut off and holding herself too far apart, losing her grasp on this unnatural realm.

It was the Boon of the Bantha that saw her through, the ability to tolerate the intolerable, to keep going and persist through what ought to stop her. What came was a psychedelic and immeasurable battle. Lifetimes in the place that should not be took place within heartbeats of the Here. First came the physical battle, but what physical defeat could stop those who were already dead, and willingly so? Soon enough Dhakarta realised that all this tactic did was hurt her. Then came reasoning. They had once been the protectors of Roon after all, and it was now those they'd sworn to protect who they harmed. The CIS were present only to placate the planet, they didn't care about the damage that was being inflicted by the darkened chalice. Not really. There was no investment, no personal loss. No plea on behalf of the people or the planet itself moved them however. Much of who they were was lost, stripped away, leaving only their dying impetus. This too she discarded as a waste.

For much time she simply existed, attacked and beset on all sides as she considered what to do.

Eventually, she reached the conclusion that there was nothing she could do. She did not have the power or the tools to deal with these angry remnants, to destroy or purify the Chalice. Even as she reeled from another blow however, she smiled. There was the answer. She could not deal with them. But she could take them to those who could.

Reaching out mentally, she gathered the spirits to her and pulled them from the twisted plane they existed on to the Other where she could commune with the Ur-Spirits.

"Vornskr! Dhakarta of Clan Biding Muskeg calls you!"

"You again, you still have my boon do you not? What now? Shall I go on another hunt with you? This would please me. Hrrr, what is this?"

Releasing the Templars as the Vornskr spirit manifested itself in front of her, she sagged, near spent. "I bring the hunt to you. Prey that I cannot defeat, for I am too weak, but that you could truly destroy. Much more satisfying then the endless Ur hunts yes?"

The Vornskr perked up, muscles moving beneath its hide as it turned it's attention to the slight shift in the air that marked the Templars.

"True prey here? That has never been. Even killing your kind, your body remains, some form of life might last of those who venture here without proper respect. This though. This is new. You have done well to bring this to me and no other predator. This will be my hunt. My kills." The ferocious intensity of the spirit rose, making even Dhakarta feel much more of the hunted than she was accustomed to.

The Templars, limited vestiges though they were seemed to pick up on the change and ceased their barrage on her psyche to scatter. With a snarl the Vornskr leapt over Dhakarta, pursuing its newly gifted prey.

Limits reached, Dhakarta fell to her knees, her impact with the ground in the Other coinciding with her fall back into the Here, the real physical world. Tumbling to her side. She sighed. Eyes closing. It was still dangerous. All the beasts that had been spawned still needed to be cleared out, but likedly her allies were dealing with that. Hopefully swiftly, because she would not be defending herself should one happen upon her. No more would be created however, that threat was negated. Now there were the only other million threats in the galaxy to deal with.

"..I have to pee.." she muttered, before giving in and abandoning herself to an exhausted sleep.

 

[Ascendant Muse]

The chalice was silenced.​

And with it, the threat to the peace of Roon. In time, the superior might of the Confederacy's finest would finish cutting down the remains of the scourge. The monstrosities born of the Templar's malice would fall swiftly to the sword.

As for the Sanctum - the sounds of merriment would bleed far into the night. After this day, the towering walls would no longer be a remnant of an Order long past, but a new Home.

*** The Dominion is being turned in from here, but as always feel free to continue your own stories! ***​