Silence | CIS Dominion of Haseria

[Dalton Kenway]

Location: The Fountains of the Spire, Haseria
Objective: Clear out the corruption
Allies In Vacinity: [member="Lyla Quinn"] | [member="Jia Darkhold"]

Dalton Kenway stood still, with a Confederacy solider behind either shoulder, and watched the dazzling display made by the Corellian transport. He had a smirk on his lips; first for the efficiency of the pilot wiping out some of these un-dead skeletal types, but also using nothing but Corellian engineering to do the job.

As the debris settled and the trees surrounding the fountains of the Spire finally calmed, Dalton turned to the soldiers.

”Guess that’s our cue.”

Dalton walked with his left hand atop his sword at his hip, and gripped the blaster pistol in his right hand, ready to take out whatever – whoever – was around. He glanced up to the transport hovering there and gave a wave.

This Spire, something he knew little about, was ravaged with corruption from a dark force. The Forcies among the Confederacy probably would understand more about this, but to the average Joe like Dalton Kenway and the soldiers with him, it was life or death, good and evil, live or die. That was it.

”Go around the right, we’ll converge at the entrance up ahead.”

Two soldiers broke right, he and another took left to walk around the semi-circle pillared structure with the ominous fountains bubbling away in the centre of the court. There was bone on the ground and tattered flags hanging from nails in the stone pillars. Dalton glanced around and took little interest in what had resided here before.

The engine of the transport could be heard still as they walked around.

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

"When am I ever tardy?!" Scherezade retorted, bouncing out of the room that had been allotted to her on Kat's ship. She was a lot of things, but rarely to type of person to be late. Or so she had recently learned about herself. There was no point in not keeping appointments. In fact, she had gotten ready for this outing first thing after waking up that day, even before breakfast. And then she spent the rest of her day reading up on Haseria. Or trying to, anyway. She'd become skilled at searching for information on the holonet, but there was little to nothing on the star system they were in just at that moment.

There'd be ghosts, she knew. Not due to something she read, but more like a feeling underneath her skin. She was going to have to ask someone with more knowledge than her about that skin thing, Why did everything she feel through the Force have to be acknowledge by that annoying prickle? Surely there had to be better was to go about it.

She was absentminded though, following Katrine through people, until her eyes landed on him. [member="Darth Metus"] was his name, though she didn't know it.

All notion and feeling of the ghosts vanished entirely as she stared at him, at what he wore, wishing she could bring fire from the sky and strike him down where he stood. That... That... That Mandalorian!

Her cheeks turned a burgundy red, and Scherezade found herself unable to peel her eyes away from him, everything else silencing out. Her rage gurgled in every ounce of her being, uncaring that she was signaling to everyone and everything around them that her blood was boiling.

And slowly, and more importantly, stupidly, her hand began to reach for her Czerka knife.


[member="Katrine Van-Derveld"]

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Double post %*@($#($#$)@

 

[Malok]

Let go.

The battle raging before his eyes left a single desire in his mind. The clash of Light and Dark...the explosions of telekinetics and lightning being hurled about...in seconds, the Sith found his heart thundering away in his chest. The significance of the objective was not lost among this sea of excitement however - his gaze lingered upon the pulsating gem within the Throne One's grasp. This was the key to it all...to the plague, to the rising dead, and to smiting his enemies all the more.

But what Darth Metus really and truly wanted to do was cut loose. Just once. To forget that he was the Vicelord, aligned with nations of the light. To simply...give in to what was now tugging him forward.

Yes...

Darth Metus took a bold step forward, intending on following [member="Muad Dib"] into the madness. He was delayed only by the timely arrival of his Apprentice, [member="Mirvak"] , who bounded over his head and crushed an adversary under his might. He wanted to join the Worgian in the slaughter...but the cry of his Apprentice, [member="Srina Talon"], stalled his advance. Turning, his sulfuric eyes fell upon the Fallen form of his daughter - [member="Anastasia Verd"]. And the spirits were closing in. No. They would not touch her.

I thought you wouldn't, dad.

What?

The words were almost lost upon the Sith as he prepared to dive after his child. He craned his neck, gazing upon...what looked to be a mirror. Was it...was it his clone? Had Ravager broken free from his chains and journeyed here? No. No this man seemed different...younger. No scars. There was no time. "If you are mine, as you say you are, then keep up." came the growl of his response to [member="Darth Nius"]. The Force then fell mightily upon the Sith, seeping into his chest and filling his lungs. He leaned back ever so slightly, sucking in a heavy breath...

His roar of his voice sounded like a cannon.

A ferocious Bellow tore from his lips, carrying with it the might to upheave the spirits that dare approach his fallen daughter. Darth Metus wasted no time in seizing this opening, breaking out into a sprint so that he could join her side.

And when he arrived, his back remained turned to the angry Pebble.

 

[Katrine Van-Derveld]

(2)​

Her focus had been on the spirits, their lightsabers coming to life and hitting against other blades before she caught the sight of the girl breaking in for a run, her head suddenly turning to look at her. Uncle Isley's daughter, right? That wasn't what was most interesting about her, it was the memory from a party, the flash of the face she had seen over hers that day though the other woman hadn't caught her attention since and until this very moment, Katrine had forgotten about her. Until now, as the Verd girl had made a leap towards the spirits, only to fall to the ground. The leap had still been made, like a mirage of a blonde woman making the rest of the jump without the weapon in hand towards the spirits. Katrine's eyes went wide. The monster isn't aware, Doashim whispered into her mind as she watched, She will. The child is free, Lylek added. "You guys knew?" Katrine understood. We knew. We gave the child the tools to fighter her, Jart explained.

Beside her, [member="Srina Talon"] had called out to Anastasia before she'd gone to her, leaving her side but Katrine's eyes remained on the blonde spirit beginning to engage in a fight...

Katrine noticed [member=Mirvak] come in and dealing with a single skeleton, violently so at that, making her slightly wince as she felt the scream in her mind from the spirit gone, the creature continuing to another, her attention taken by an unfamiliar voice of [member="Darth Nius"] as he spoke, her sapphire gaze finding a man address Uncle Isley, calling him Dad. Alright, yes, looking at him, he did remind her a bit of him but still... she already knew quite a few, some just in name that Uncle Isley told her so long ago or would tell her some day about.

In the mist of it all, the Lupine hadn't noticed what her Ward was up to, realizing the spirits would turn to them. The Jedi would no doubt feel the Sith among them, the Sith would charge upon the lightsiders. Katrine was none of these things, standing on middle ground, rejecting both of their phylosophies. Yet, where she wanted to reason with the dead, the spirits did not agree. Draw on your weapon, demanded of her together and Katrine began to concentrate, drawing on the ichor itself to summon the sword. It materilized in the air in front of her, the green flames around the blade before she grabbed hold of the hilt. If the spirited wanted a piece of her, she would fight them.

[member="Muad Dib"] [member=Rapax] [member=Vulkanus] [member="Darth Metus"] [member="Jia Darkhold"] [member="Daxton Bane"] [member="Darth Nius"] [member="Lyla Quinn"] [member="Rin Talon"] [member="Dalton Kenway"] [member="Scherezade deWinter"]​

 

[Er'in Tenel]

Location: Arcanium
Objective: Knowledge

Where do you find a Tenel? Well, these days you find them nearest the closest source of sorcery and magic.

Er'in had ignored the majority of the others, slipping through the courtyard and up the flight of trapped stairs - Sith traps were trival business to her now. She wondered, absently, how Masters felt about them.

For now she ignored the vault at the back of the room - the claw gouges and the darkness. Dataslate and lighting rig in hand, she carefully moved from one ruined collection of scrolls to the next, painstakingly cataloguing them, her elegant features twisted into a frown of concentration.

There was a shimmer of power. Someone had touched something. Metus.

The lightsaber was drawn from her belt and snapping up, it's black-cored purple blade slicing cleanly through the first of the ancient spirits that assailed her. Then she stood upright, data-slate slipping neatly into her pocket.

"You are disturbing my studies." She calmly told the array of spirits. She had recently reconnected with hatred, and was unsurprised to discover she really hated being disturbed while being studied. A hot, bright heat that resembled... irritation. Yes. She was irritated that these long dead fools - each of them a failure in the Sith Code, stood here to bar her path to ascension.

She reflected she might be getting a little grandiose in her youth.

 

[Darth Nius]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QLTFgo2Z1EE​

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________​

​

Nius was surprised at Metus' reaction. Some guy says he's your son, and you say, then keep up? If someone did that to him, he would've said "Prove it", and challenged them to a duel. Of course, himself and his father were different people, but he would think his father, being a Sith and all, would make him at least as bloodthirsty as himself. Although, he had never met someone as bloodthirsty as himself. Regardless, rambling probably wasn't a good thing while you're being attacked.​

​

Nius noticed all of the allies surrounding his father, and noticed that he was well protected, which must mean he is more important that he thought him to be. He was of course already impressed, as his father was destroying his opponents left and right. He could respect a warrior like that. But, enough with that. Metus had told him to keep up, and that's exactly what he would do. Metus let out this beastly roar, which tore through everyone, no matter there force abilities or affiliations. He then charged towards a girl on the ground. Nius charged after Metus, keeping him guarded from oncoming attackers, if he missed them while in his charge of destruction. Metus arrived next to the woman, inspecting her. Nius decided to guard him as he did this, noticing that several people were looking at Metus, looking for a way to exploit his distraction.​

​

[member="Darth Metus"]
[member="Mirvak"]
[member="Katrine Van-Derveld"]
[member="Scherezade deWinter"]
[member="Rin Talon"]
[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Every fiber of her being screamed as she continued to inch near [member="Darth Metus"]. If anyone took notice, no one had made a move so far to stop her. At least not one with the potential to actually do so. Images scanned in front of her brain. That stupid, disgusting, vile armor. Bes'kar, they called it. Once considered some of the best technology the 'verse had to offer.

And still, with her little knife, she knew where she would find the weak spots. Moving armor couldn't keep her out. People could. But the metal can of tuna could not.

Her cheeks reddened as the anger continued to steadily rise on her. Where a moment ago it had been uncontrolled, unspeakable rage, now came the part of her that could scare those who recognized it for what it was; the cold anger, the ice, where the brain began to function and the calculations began.

He had his back to her, but it didn't matter. A man that big, a gentle poke through the Force revealed no strange physical anomalies. Not ones that mattered anyway. And there, she could visualize it, the gap between the back plates and chest plate. It was there, ripe for the exploit.

This was her vengeance. This was her key, her way to show the all. All the family members who dared leave her to deal with the mess her grandmother left her in. Show her grandmother that she was better than her, had bloody earned the right to not be stuck in a stupid pebble, away from her parents, away from her twin, away from everyone and everything that mattered.

Her grandmother had once killed a Mandalorian of importance, but that Mandalorian had not even been a fully grown human. It had been a child in the womb, and her grandmother had delighted on using her hands to rip it out of its mother.

Scherezade would do better. Would level up. This was a fully grown warrior and she was going to kill him.

With the gentle caress of a lover she hugged him from behind, his stench threatening to choke her nostrils. But it didn't matter. Her right hand moved swiftly, finding that weak spot, diving right between his ribs.

She almost said the deWinters send their regards.

Almost.

But this is a different fandom.

Spoiler

[member="Darth Metus"]
[member="Mirvak"]
[member="Katrine Van-Derveld"]
@Scherezade deWinter
[member="Rin Talon"]
[member="Srina Talon"]
[member="Darth Nius"]

 

[Meira]

Currently: Very annoyed at her Captain.
Others Nearby: Her Annoying Captain, [member="Dalton Kenway"], [member="Jia Darkhold"]

"You just try and leave me behind, [member="Lyla Quinn"]. Karkin' self-righteous savior goddess." She muttered under her breath as she climbed out of the Areta's lift shaft and onto the top of the hovering ship. "Always gotta go runnin' off and rescuin' people. Kark' sakes." Reaching back down the shaft, she grabbed a... something, and hauled it up behind her. "At least let me come along and help, yeah? Geez. Ya don't gotta do it all yourself."

The something in question was a large cylindrical object at least a foot longer than she was tall, with a heavy duty power cable running back down the shaft and into the ship. Hoisting the device onto one shoulder, she hauled it to the right leading edge of the ship's "wings", where she stopped to survey the battle below. Her smile grew rapidly at what she saw, and she shifted the cylinder to point down at the chaos below. She tapped a few buttons and flipped a couple switches on the side of the device, and a low hum began building in intensity. This was gonna be fun.

"BWAHAHAHAHA!!!" The hum reached a crescendo and the ship's shields flickered and died as their power was siphoned away, and an iridescent yellow beam blared out of the front end of the cylinder. "EAT IT, MOTHERKRIFFERS!" The over-sized, hyper-powered shatterbeam tore through everything it hit in a display of destruction that made everything before it seem tame by comparison, turning bones to dust and rending spirits from their... well... ok, so she wasn't actually sure what it was doing to the spirits, but they weren't there anymore after it passed.

She wasn't terribly discriminating with the beam, targeting lone skeletons as often as the larger packs that seemed at odds with each other, but she made sure to avoid the living. She knew Queen, err... Quinn, wouldn't be happy if she ended up killing their "allies".

 

[Anastasia Verd]

(2)​

Still not fully aware of her predicament, Naha'va had made her leap into the fight, sliding across the ground to avoid an impending lightsaber headed for her before she'd stood, using the Force on the nearest spirit's lightsaber as she forced it to slam into his face before his weapon had fallen to the ground, rolling closer to her. She grabbed it, the rage still clouding her mind from realizing. Whatever it was that was fueling her was making her unaware of something that in the back of her mind felt extremely important as she activated the blue beamed Jedi weapon, meeting the green blade of another before it had struck her.

The Emperor's Hand had never danced the Sith dance but she despised the Jedi none the less, her free hand coming forward as she pushed the Jedi ghost just a few steps back before she hit into him. Yet, a feeling begun to grow as she did, as something was off. As if... it was hard to put into words exactly but it felt like it hadn't felt in centuries now... as if she was herself.

Yet her thirst was strong and she charged at the Jedi again, his own blade welcoming her before they'd began dueling, moving across the field. The ghost slashed to her, she ducked. Her weapon went towards his abdomen, he jumped back. And on it went before she's caught a moment of distraction and cut into his shoulder, noting the damage. It hadn't cut through, yet the burn had affected him. It made the woman smirk just a little bit as she rolled away to avoid an impending attack from his weapon, distancing herself from the end of the room. It had provided a clarity, sanity rushing through her head as she paused and stood, inspecting her hand. Her light skinned hands, the leather sleeves upon her arms. "Impossible," she spoke, hearing the sound of her voice. And then she had turned.

And in the distance, the Vicelord was approaching the figure facing down. "Impossible," Naha'va repeated before she had realized she was being charged at, jumping high from the ground to avoid being hit by the ghost again.

On the ground, on the other half of the room, Anastasia heard her name being called. Eyes need to open, she willed herself and somehow, eyelids had obeyed, opening up as she had felt them do so many times without her control. Eyes blink, Anastasia reminded herself, and then darkness and light altered a few times. Someone had called her, she remembered. There was movement ahead as she adjusted her vision. Hands, she reminded herself, reaching her mind for memories on how they worked. Anastasia had never, not once in her life, held control of her own body though it seemed to listen to her mind none the less, already taught and learned by the one that had kept her captive for... how long was it? Too long, she decided, not fully aware of the time.

Hands moved, palms slowly finding the cold grown beneath her, pushing her slightly upward. Loud sounds pierced her ears. Was this what it was like to hear by yourself? To feel the chill beneath her, to watch with her own eyes? It felt like the most foreign feeling in the world though Anastasia couldn't begin to grasp how it was that she was doing all this by herself. Where was the monster who kept her captive?

Someone approached her side and on instinct, Anastasia tried to remember what she'd heard in her mind. Get up, she ordered herself suddenly, stand. It sounded so simple, just the thought. "Get up!!" She yelled at herself suddenly, the shout pushing a thought into her own, free mind - legs. Yes, legs, that was what she needed. Anastasia's legs began working at her command, slowly moving as her hands still kept lifting themselves as her hand turned, find a woman coming to her and behind her a man in complete armor.

Her hand moved, flipping her body to sit back, the tips of her fingers touching against something. Anastasia reached for it without realizing what it was before she had looked at it. Ragnos, the thought had come to her from a memory. He gave her this, she remembered, eyes quickly shifting to the woman, fumbling through the hilt of the weapon she knew by a single name, vaguely remembering the monster making use of this. How though?

Her fingers touched the button and lit the blade, startling her slightly before she looked at the woman.

It was all hazy, her mind was still adjusting. The monster had done most of it, she was merely a spectator in her own body for so long that it all felt too new. Yet when her eyes drifted over to the one in the armor, something had clicked. She could remember her childhood, she could remember how safe she had felt as a small child, how that armor could only mean one man and no one else. "Dad?" Anastasia managed and her finger went straight to the button, deactivating as she scrapped herself off the floor.

Her mouth opened again slightly as she tried to tell her Father everything that had happened to her, not fully aware of what was happening around her right now but then, her lips pressed together as she wondered if he would believe her. Seemed hard enough for her head to wrap around herself now.

None of it mattered though as a short figure suddenly appeared, hugging him and struck something through his armor... armor... the thought had flashed through her mind with limited comprehension of armor worn to protect the person wearing it before she felt something she had never felt before. Anastasia Verd was angry. She was furious. Something inside her shifted as she watched the scene play out in painfully slow motion, traumatizing her. No one around her felt familiar even though she knew that somehow, in some way, they were familiar but this man was her father, he had raised her, he had protected her. Not for a moment, the young mind could grasp the confusion in her mind to recall that Naha'va had always known those memories were fake. No, right now, this girl was hurting him, infuriating her. It hit her hard, harder even because she had never felt anger, trapped in her own mind and controlled by someone who felt nothing at all.

Her vision darkened her rage, feeling empowered by something she only knew a word for but hadn't fully understood just what it was - the Force.

And she wanted nothing more but to end the one that had harmed her father. She could imagine these hands of hers she hadn't fully understood how to use wrapping around the girl's neck, squeezing the life out of it. And in her anger, the Force had understood, amplified the feeling that she had reached to, her hands squeezing against thin air as she focused herself, her mind reaching out through the Force. When she felt herself grabbing the [member="Scherezade deWinter"]'s neck, she's squeezed, consumed by her anger.

[member="Darth Metus"] [member="Srina Talon"]​

 

[Daxton Bane]

Daxton inched forward, his steps slow and measured, his guard never lowered as he close the gap to the throne room. No threats presented themselves to challenge his progress that he could not easily deal with should they get in range but for the most part his eyes never seemed to stray from the throne room.

Voices, only he could hear urged him forward, to seek the treasure and claim it for himself. So much of a distraction, he wasn’t paying attention to [member="Darth Metus"] or any of the other nearby so lost in his own thoughts he was.....

 

[Mirvak]

Mirvak slashed a Sith skeleton in half and reached down, gripping its wrist and flinging it over his head to one side and slamming it down into the floor, then lifting it off the floor and flinging it with all his might into a column, nearly disintegrating the bones against it. He snarled, relishing in the violence, but killing the undead was a bit too oxymoronical for him. He readied his saber for another wave of skeletons, when a massive beam of energy instantly evaporated them. He covered his eyes briefly, then watched as the beam jumped from skeleton to skeleton. He turned away, sensing something... The lust of revenge.

Mirvak instantly focused on [member="Scherezade deWinter"] approaching [member="Darth Metus"] from behind with mal intent. His bestial gaze went to her hand fingering a knife, and to Metus, apparently unaware as he went to help his daughter. He furrowed his brows and growled in his throat, raising his right hand and flinging a skeletal Jedi charging at him away with a push from the force.

The master is preoccuppied with his pups. He is weak.

The master is weak.

Mirvak's eyes darted back to deWinter slowly approaching from behind, weighing his options. His muscles tensed like a hound ready to be released to the race track. Had he learned as much as he could from Darth Metus? No, ofcourse not. Then again, Metus hadn't ever focused on him regardless, the true Sith warrior of his Dark Acolytes. Instead he clung to the mewling silverhaired girl, so much so he decided to make more of her. Mirvak was just a slave by another name. Apprentice. The title made him snarl with disgust.

He would never replace the Darth's star acolyte, the dainty [member="Srina Talon"]. Mirvak's expression turned from one of hard thought to a determined scowl. It was at that moment the lithe Scherezade stabbed Metus inbetween his armor chink.

This cycle will be undone.

I will be my own master.

Mirvak immediately extinguished his lightsaber and dropped to all fours, huffing and growling with each stride as he clawed his way towards the wounded [member="Darth Metus"]. While he was just 20 or so meters away he got back up on his two feet and continued sprinting, igniting his large lightsaber again. He saw [member="Anastasia Verd"] choking the backstabbing deWinter through the Force. While he wasn't fond of making friends, he might just need someone of the same mind as he for this fight. He raised his left hand and called on the Force to disrupt [member="Anastasia Verd"] with a rough push, to at the very least loose her grip on deWinter. A wave of dusty, crumbling marble tiles were overturned and jumped up into the air a few feet as the force blast approached Verd.

Now focusing on the wounded Metus, he raised his lightsaber over his head, letting out a guttural roar as he intended with no subtlety whatsoever to try and finish what deWinters had started. His heart pounded in his ears, his pupils beginning to dilate in anticipation for the coming storm of rage he was inducing within himself.

 

[Malok]

A fatal mistake.

Undeath had made the Lord of Dread careless. Having evaded slumber eternal once more, Death had become an after thought. A footnote on the risks associated with every battle. Since his rise, he had thrown caution to the wind, time after time after time. From leading armies on the blighted sands of Tatooine to hunting his adversaries across the stars, Darth Metus demonstrated a single fact with his second life. He did not fear death. And so, when standing in the midst of supposed allies, the Sith did not raise his guard. He felt the approach of the young Pebble, assuming that she was coming to ascertain the state of the fallen [member="Anastasia Verd"]. He felt the viciousness rolling off of her through the Force, but interpreted it solely as how all of them felt during a battle.

He felt her arms snake about his person.

He felt the fighting knife bite into his flesh.

What could only be described as a confused gurgle escaped his lips. His own blood soon flowed up through his person, closing off his throat. Agony splashed over him - so quickly that he barely had time to put together what had transpired. He managed to turn his head before his left leg gave way, placing his gaze upon the Pebble. Descent gripped him thus, reducing the proud Sith to a knee whilst he struggled to breath. His eyes darted about the space - the threat to his life was being viciously extinguished by his own flesh and blood. His daughter had risen and he could feel he retaliation ripping through the air. But there was more. As the spirits continued to battle, Darth Metus saw the Mongrel himself.

He smelled blood on the air.

He acted as only a Sith would. He dared to try and bite the hand that had fed him. To raise a saber to strike down his Master once and for all.

But he was Lord of Dread for a reason. So named and hailed for his mastery over hysteria. The might to send armies spiralling into madness rested at his fingertips - and now, as darkness tinged the edges of his vision, his might exploded forth from his person in all directions. The mammoth shockwave of telekinetic fury was enough to shatter the scattered bones about the room and send the spirits themselves hurtling into the walls. Yet the wrath of Darth Metus did not cease here. Following his indiscriminate assault, his offhand raised - leveling splayed fingers in the direction of the Mongrel. Noxious bands of Amber light began to leap across the space between them, serpents of power poised to latch onto his hide

He aimed to suck the life out of that ungrateful animal.

[member="Mirvak"] would die so that Darth Metus could live.

[member="Srina Talon"], [member="Rin Talon"], [member="Muad Dib"], [member="Katrine Van-Derveld"], [member="Daxton Bane"], @YeahImonthephonesorry

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

That, she had not exactly expected. But then again, this entire outing had not been a carefully planned thing. Or planned. At all. She could feel the weight of him against her body, and she thought that she could feel the life leaving him, but her ability to focus on that was not to last.

An invisible grip was around her neck then, tightening, choking her, forbidding the entrance of air into her lungs. Scherezade gurgled as her hands reached to her neck in instinct, trying to remove whatever it was that was choking her. She could nearly sense the invisible fingers one by one, even if they weren't there. Some people say that when you choke, it feels like an eternity. But it felt like a mere few seconds before her vision clouded.

And then she was released.

Scherezade fell to the ground, her lungs grasping for air. But even in her fading panic, she saw it. Saw him.

A memory stirred. Endelaan. A warm, sunny, perfect day. She was in her crib with Brayden, and he was holding her big toe. The room smelled like baby powder and a slight of roses. Her mother's voice, apologizing for having to do it with the babies in the room but that things were busy. Was something happening? The bars of the crib framed what her baby eyes had seen. Her mother, her hand reached out, and her... Someone, kneeling in front of her, a smile on their face as the life was draining out of them. Even as a baby, on some instinct level, without words, she had thought her mother was drinking the life out of someone.

That was her memory. Not information from her grandmother. Her own memory. And when she looked again at the Mandalorian in front of her, every inch of her being knew that this was what he was doing. She didn't even look who he was doing it to.

Her vision was still blurry. The shock waves of electricity had flattened her to the dirty ground moments before. Everything was spinning, but him, his shadow, that was still in her field of vision.

She'd lost the knife inside his ribs, leaving her without any other weapons.

Crawling, inching forward on the ground now, she closed the distance, still breathing hard. In retrospect, she would consider just how loud she was in those few moments. But at the moment, it didn't matter.

"Friggin..." she whispered, "die already!"

Lacking other weapons, she'd resorted to her fists, punching him, aiming for the lower back, trying to find a dent, anything, any flaw in that armor that could cause him enough pain or distraction to stop gaining the life of someone else and bloody drop dead and stay dead, like he was supposed to.


[member="Darth Metus"]

Spoiler

[member="Darth Metus"]
[member="Mirvak"]
[member="Katrine Van-Derveld"]
@Scherezade deWinter
[member="Rin Talon"]
[member="Srina Talon"]
[member="Darth Nius"]

 

[Mirvak]

Mirvak was so close. Soon his blade would cleave the master's head from his body. His gaze locked with Metus as the kneeling Darth raised his head to look at him. The beast's mighty arm wielding the lightaber hung in the air poised to drop like a guillotine as he charged hi mdown. Mirvak felt an incomprehensible amount of power gathering within [member="Darth Metus"], and then being sent throughout the whole room. The giant wolf was sent flying into a nearby column, letting out a quick, pained bark as he slammed into it. He pulled himself up slowly, his rage boiling, ready to pour over into the same blind fury Metus had seen from their first encounter.

The Worgian stood up to his full height, reaching out with his right hand, his lightsaber clattering across the floor before finding itself in his palm. He ignited his saber again, snarling in his throat like a street dog as Metus raised his hand towards him. Seeing the amber tendrils leap out erratically towards him, he started to accelerate into a run but was too late. They latched onto him, draining him of his life force. The predator roared in pain, halting as the beams of light ripped his power from him. He dropped to his knees, and then to all fours, convulsing in pain. He had never felt something like this before.

A whirlwind of thoughts swirled within his mind as he roared in agony. Thoughts of death fluttered through his mind, but death was preferable to this pain. His focused was gone, this strange, new pain unbalanced him from his rage. Defeat came to his mind, and still it was no motivation, "I am already beaten, damn him!" Like a bad doctor prescribing an assortment of prescriptions to see what worked, his inner Sith brought on mental images of Srina replacing Darth Metus, of the other Dark Acolytes killing him in his weakened state, of the humiliation of lying here on the ground in pain. Nothing worked. An eternity of silence overtook his mind, that was probably less then a millisecond in reality. Suddenly, he thought,"The cowardly sorcerer will throw me into chains after this."

Before he could even finish the thought, he was gone. His ears rang, as a deafening rage induced tinnitus silenced his world. His upper body shot up at once as if he was shocked with electricity, his hands extending to either side of him. His maw cracked open, a silent roar hanging in his throat as his lungs were frozen from the pain. At once he inhaled and let out a force roar that rivaled that of the previous one Metus had shouted earlier. The tiles shifted, cracked, and rose from the ground around him.

The beast levitated off the ground as he roared, gripping the lightsaber in his hand so hard blood began to drip off his fist from his claws piercing his palm. Finally his legs extended fully from their kneeling position to their full height and his force roar cut off. He stopped levitating, his massive paws planting themselves firmly onto the cracked marble floor. The life force was being drained from him, but the pain he endured was giving him enough strength to stand and move on. How long would the paradoxical event last? Perhaps it was all futile, but for Mirvak that mattered not. His maw hung open, panting hard as his burning eyes focused only on the Darth. He took a step forward, his right leg wanting to collapse just from supporting his own weight. And then came the left, another defiant stride towards Metus. The wolf forced his legs into a rhythm to prevent them from failing; a slow, methodical march. He moved like he was suspended in jelly, like the gravity of a thousand worlds was pulling down on him.

Regardless, Mirvak was no more. What trudged forward was only the raging beast now.

 

[Er'in Tenel]

Location: Arcanium rapidly exiting to the Fountains via Window
Objective: Who in their right mind keeps a Terentatek in their library? What is it with Sith?!

Er'in raised her blade in a duellists salute to the spirits, dancing back out of the way of their strikes. She had practiced what the Echani taught her long and hard, and what she could not predict through natural instinct she made up for in natural precognition. Where lightning flew, it met only empty air and she struck with an economy of movement that would have shocked people who knew the young woman merely months ago.

Victory was not assured - indeed, to a degree it had already been lost as priceless relics were shattered, flung aside and otherwised ruined.

Then the ground shifted, then heaved, a crack spreading through the chamber with a deeply ominous noise. The howl of her master as he fought for his life slammed into her senses, disrupting her for a moment with the overwhelming sense of dread. But he'd taught her to rise above that, she shook it off and assessed the situation quickly.

Then the premonition hit.

As Mirvak's howling wave of force shattered the spire with it's strength, battering the crack in the arcanum wider and shattering open the vault, Er'in was already in motion towards a window, heedless of relics or spirits, letting their blows rake her skin.

A deep, resonant growl filled the chamber, sharp claws gripped the edge of an ancient, timeless prison even as the wave of dark side force resonated and sung with the energy of the battle below. It was some small comfort that the monster within would view her merely as a pre-meal snack compared to what it could sense below. But only a small comfort.

As the Terentatek charged from it's prison, bone-spurred head terrible and fanged, poisoned maw gaping wide for the first blood it had drawn in... who knew how long, Er'in threw herself into a clean swan-dive through the nearest window and out into the plaza below. Her graceful exit somewhat overshadowed by the four or so meters and several tons of angry Rancor-bred Sithspawn that took out most of the wall as it followed her out - heedless of the drop - into the The Fountains of the Spire.

Because bad things always come in threes.

 

[Katrine Van-Derveld]

(3)​

Watching from the sideline, the Lupine kept her focus on the spirits for a time, still surprised by the one that had left the Verd woman on the ground. Most definitely a spirit, she could confirm now, watching her fall in with the spirits with such an ease. It was her concern for the one that had been left behind that made her gaze change direction but instead of finding Anastasia on the ground, Srina beside her or even Uncle Isley, she'd caught sight of Scherezade just as she'd released the small weapon in between her Uncle's armor. She stood frozen in the moment from the sight, remembering the words Pebble had told her on the day they had met: The Mandalorians did it to her when she was captured. They tried to turn her into a human puppet. It cost them dearly. And that is Past. Something in the way Pebble had seemed so much clearer now as she'd watched the scene play out, the rage not far from her apperant as Kastrine felt the Force at her.

It was the way Pebble had reached for her neck that clued her in on what exactly was happening, making Katrine move forward without much thinking. She was her Ward, the pebble she had been charged with, the girl who had still so much to learn. And Kat couldn't help but feel protective right now even if another part had been upset with her for what she'd done to her Uncle. None of them were family by blood and yet, they were family despite it.

As Katrine approached, Pebble was already falling to the ground. She wasn't paying too much attention to what had caused the choking to stop though she could see the large wolf charging for Uncle Isley.

Then she'd fallen back, blinking rappidly at the aftershock of the. And yet she could still remember - Pebble, Uncle Isley, trouble. It forced her to move, even when everything felt like it was moving around her while her head scrapped to recover, forcing herself forward though she didn't fully get on her feet as she did. Her eyes could hardly make out Pebble now hitting into Uncle Isley. This was only to get worse, Katrine realized as she moved forward. It felt like it was take way too long though.

Force built up inside her as she concentrated, wanting to get the attentention of the teenager and when she'd called out, her voice released itself into a scream, a Force scream a that: "SCHEREZADE!" The unexpected scream had caused her the wince herself, startled by it, still moving towards the teenager, reaching out for her as she stood, wanting to pull her away.

[member="Scherezade deWinter"]

 

[Anastasia Verd]

(3)​

​

It was all too easy to distract a novice like Anastasia, and all it had taken was a push to make her lose her concentration over the girl who had harmed her father and in the rage still dancing inside her as she shook, her hand moving involuntarily to keep her from falling now. Her head turned to see the large wolf charging towards her Dad and Anastasia panicked. Simply, panic, causing the rage to vanish from her senses, a new emotion enveloping her completely.

Dad was strong though, far stronger than she was and she soon got knocked out by the intensity coming from him. Though if asked, Anastasia couldn't explain how she had known it came from him and she simply did.

Hands, the girl reminded herself yet again, pushing herself up, only to see what Dad was doing to the wolf that had been charging her though she couldn't quite explain what she was feeling in that particular moment. It seemed so far beyond her comprehension that she wasn't sure if she could. And the one that had stabbed him continued to hit him.

A frown formed on her face just before Anastasia realized the new feeling she was feeling at the sight of her. Annoyance, she realized but before she'd attempted anything this time, the large scream from the blond had pierced her ears, her hands moving on their own to cover them. It was painful though she could still make out the word in the scream: Scherezade. Was that the one that kept attacking her Dad?

 

[Muad Dib]

He twirled around the room, lashing out with fiery fist and beskar blade to deal death to those who had once tasted it. The bones fell to his wrath and the spirits melted back as their bodies were decimated. A laugh tore from his lips as he did what he did best. Brought chaos.

Spinning through a decapitation of another body he paused as his eyes lit in the scene before him. The Confederates, both Dark Acolytes and Mandragora, were at one another's throats. And not just proverbial throats. The young one skewered Metus like a great beast, the daughter laid on the ground no longer while seeking to join the fray, the beast assaulted his master.

Then Isley lashed out with a wave of power, that even sent Muad sliding across the stone floor, before focusing on the beast. The young one began her attack on the ViceLord anew while Kat screamed a force below.

Sheathing the beskad, the Mad Man looked upon the scene as his mind raced at the opportunities at hand. A cold grin crossed his face as he tapped into the Force, drawing it's power inside of him, and leapt in front of Isley.

"Dar'manda, traitor, coward, liar!!!"

Releasing the force with a powerful blast that sent lightning scattering in all directions and at everyone the Mad Master drove forward into Isley's chestplate with his own as the fingers of his hand drove into the rent in his flesh. Heat erupted from his hand and began burning into the Dark Lord.

"You want an enemy? Here I am!"

On the surface it would appear that Muad was staking his claim on the death of the Verd. And even his words drew those that heard into the illusion. But it all depends on your perspective, a certain point of view. He knew putting himself before the Sith Lord with a declaration would bring focus to himself, connect the two through a rage and anger. And that was what the Mad Master needed. And even as he began he knew that Isley would most likely take advantage of an enemy at his face. But his decision was made, regardless of the consequences.

When Muad had rose from sliding across the stone his mind reached out calculating what he should do. But as he was connected to the Force it opened a whole new experience for him. He saw possible futures, possible realities, that converged on this point. It was his ability with shatterpoint that gifted him with the insight of the Force vision.

Metus dies here and the Confederacy falls apart. Metus dies and the Mandragora and Dark Acolytes battle for control. Metus dies and his lineage becomes lost to the darkness inherent in their progenitor. Or Metus lives .... And kills those who dare betray him. He becomes the new emperor. He becomes unhinged at his inability to trust those allied with him. He destroys those not bound in blood and creates an army of clones, or an army of offspring. He lives and turns away from all to travel a different path that leads him to the Jedi. There were so many possibilities that Muad was overwhelmed. Until he factored himself acting into the equation.

Snarling into Darth Metus' face Muad continued using shatterpoint and the force that was rising from him and to the ViceLord in the lightning. Seeing the specific points in the other man, weaknesses, wounds, fulcrum points, he focused deeper until he saw it.

The wound.

Pouring the force out Muad drove the flesh to reknit and heal while also focusing on the fact that affected, not only Isley but, all of them. The rekindled life and battle was being driven by something. Something that sought to feed on insecurities, beliefs, fears, dogma, and push them into battle that would only feed the thing in question. All this, as well as the plethora of possibilities, Muad was attempting to share with Isley ... Just as once Isley had tried to share alchemy with the Mad Man.

(Heading to bed, your choice if this succeeds or fails miserably)

[member="Anastasia Verd"] [member="Katrine Van-Derveld"] @Er'in Tenel [member="Mirvak"] [member="Scherezade deWinter"] [member="Darth Metus"] [member="Daxton Bane"]

 

[Tyris Hayes]

Tyris had seen many strange things in his lifetime. Some of them pleasant, most of them not, this took the cake however. One moment he was standing guard around a fountain, next moment the dead were rising from their grave to finish the ancient battle that they started millenia ago. Rising from their dusty graves to battle once more, to finish what they had started. He did not think this would stop until they were all dead. This would be harder than he would personally like.

These spirits seemed to mostly ignore him at first, preferring to go after each other rather than the living observers, however he had the feeling "killing" these spirits was the only way they were going to be able to stop the corruption that had been tainting this sickened world. They seemed to completely ignore Tyris, but it seemed that his comrades wanted in on the action. Following in the lead of the Viscount, they started tearing into the spirits, seeing no reason not to do the same, he got to work.

He started firing into the crowds with his SR-284 using his various implants and enhancements to determine friend from foe. However something strange still occurred, nobody bothered to shoot back, at least not as him. It was like he did not even register on their radar. He could just keep firing without being noticed. Well, except for one. One of the jedi looked at him directly, it was not unintentional, no he stared Tyris right in the eye. Almost as if to say that he was aware of his presence.

The Jedi then made a drastic move, charging at Tyris, swinging with the ephemeral blade of light. Tyris quickly ducked below the swing, tackling the man at his legs, but instead of knocking the spirit down, something even more strange happened; he went right through.

This was going to be harder than he thought.