Populate [SO Populate of Empty Hex] Survival of Ozzuk Thren

[Domina Prime]

If You A Demon Show Your Damn Claws
And She'll Introduce The Blood To Fang
◈
Knew She Was Evil From The Damn Start
She Would Dance On Your Bloody Grave


Diarch Rellik | Diarch Reign | Tova Rachi | Orion Pavond | Itzhal Volkihar | Gavin Vel Neeva Soocha Dena | Lady Falentra

Open​

LOCATION: Orinackra | The Ruined City
OBJECTIVE: A Clash of Coins | OBJ2

The arch of her heel-strike surged with electrical power as she delivered a crushing blow with the rapor-like heel of her foot colliding with the earth and sending fissures through the stone around them as Diarch Rellik rolled out of the attack. She huffed, aiming to lunge towards him again and narrow her claw-like fingers as she threw her claws towards his neck like the primitive beast she was. However, as she aimed the strike of her claws towards his throat to deliver a killing blow all of a sudden Rellik commanded the Primes attention as he barked aloud.

"HEY!" Rellik bellowed again, spitting blood as his voice rose over the chaos of the battlefield. "I am injured from previous fights with these two warriors. Would your gods want you to pick off wounded prey. Give me time to recover and meet me before the end of the event. We will show them a battle worthy of their attention. Would they accept this fight as tribute!? OR ARE YOU SCARED OF FACING ME AT MY PEAK?!"

Domina's claws quivered just shy of Rellik's throat, her breathing ragged and her blood burning as if stoked by molten fire. The thrill of his challenge clung to the air like a storm waiting to break, his words tearing at the primal hunger inside her. This was not a plea born of weakness—it was an invocation, a call to something higher. He was no prey begging for mercy. He was a wounded wolf snarling against the dying light, challenging her to a greater purpose. Her instincts screamed to end him here and now, to strike the killing blow and offer his soul to her gods. And yet, his defiance stirred the ancient song in her blood, a hymn to honor and destiny, and for one terrible moment, Domina hesitated.

The words hit her like a seismic shock, rippling through the core of her being. Her five burning eyes narrowed, her tail swishing wildly, rattling with agitation. "What!? N-nuh uh! D-Dima is beloved by her gods! You—" her voice faltered for the briefest moment, her sharp tongue tripping over itself. "You know nothing of Primes gods! Such divine purpose is beyond your understanding, Warlock!" Her words hissed out, but doubt now laced her tone. To strike him down now, injured and diminished…would it be a true tribute? Or a disgrace?

Her clawed fingers flexed, the tips brushing his throat so lightly it almost mocked the ferocity within her. Her tail scraped at the earth as she hissed through clenched jaws, her mind a battlefield of pride, rage, and the ancient teachings etched into her very soul. The silence between them stretched taut until, finally, Rellik moved.

From his belt, he pulled a coin, its crimson surface shimmering like blood beneath a dying star. With a labored breath, he raised it high, letting it glint under the harsh light of the battlefield. "Meet me at the base of the Obelisk," he commanded, his voice iron despite his injuries. "The fourth day, before the dawn of the fifth. There, your gods will see us both in all our glory. Do not disappoint them champion~"

And then, he sweetened the pot.

Tossing the coin through the air, it landed with a sharp clink in the dirt. The symbolic weight of it was crushing, a contract signed in blood and fire. He dropped to a knee, exhaustion overtaking him, but his voice, raw and jagged, still carried. "Do not leave them wanting."

Domina froze. The coin gleamed at her feet like a shard of fate. The pride of having forced a Force-born godling to his knees burned sweetly, but the gnawing thought that this wasn't his best clawed at her insides. A lesser opponent—no matter how strong—would not honor her gods. And for all her bloodlust and bravado, Domina Prime was no mere killer. She was an executioner under the divine judgment of Kad Ha'rangir, and the fire in her veins demanded a true challenge.

The echoes of her foundling days surged forth in her mind. The sagas told in the darkness of her youth rang loud now: the ironbound destiny of those who lived by the blade. House Prime did not shy from fate—they embraced it with courage, meeting their doom with steel raised high. For them, it was not a question of whether the sword would bring about their end, but how they would wield it on the path to that inevitable fire.

Her five eyes softened, though only for a moment, as she chittered audibly. Slowly, her tail coiled downward, scooping the coin from the ground. With reverence, she held it to her claws, squeezing it tightly as her gaze locked onto Rellik, judging him even as he knelt before her in defeat.

And then, with a booming roar, Domina slammed her fist against her chest in declaration. Her voice was no longer hesitant but commanding, as if the will of her gods flowed through her. "Prime sees you, little god!" she proclaimed, her tone like thunder cracking through the heavens. "An age-old bond. If all is to end in fire, then should we not burn together, oh champion mine?" She cooed to Rellik as he finally collapsed. The last words of The Prime he would likely hear before all faded to black and only the light of her azure glow lingered.

Her tail, sharp and deadly, lingered near The Siths chest, its lethal point scraping across his torso like a whispered threat.

But instead of striking, it coiled gently, almost reverently, around his battered form. Lifting him from the smoldering dirt, she carried him as one might a prize or a relic of divine importance, her azure claws tucking the coin into the folds of her cloak.

They had mad a pact as warriors destined for the same fate. And the galaxy watched as the cameras hovered above them, capturing every moment of this unholy pact. Domina glanced upward, chittering softly. "Let them witness us then, oh bond of mine." she murmured. "We're gonna show them something beautiful~"

And in her mind, the ancient words rang true: the sword is destiny. No man or god can escape the hour of their reckoning. When all suns are snuffed out and the stars grow cold, it is the clash of blades that will light the darkness. And so, Domina carried him from the field, not as prey but as a promise—a promise to write their final song in the blood of gods and mortals alike.

 

[Lyssara Thrynn]

He finally gives me a machete. By doing so, he's taking a risk this knife gives me a bit of reach, but the machete, it brings me a new energy. I feel much better with this blade in my hands.

"Thank you for the machete; I promise I'll make good use of it."

He then proposes a plan: to split up, with one of us attacking from the front while the other flanks them. It's not a bad idea given the current setup. I just hope there are no more than two enemies; otherwise, we'll quickly find ourselves outnumbered.

I listen closely to his plan, and I don't see much to criticize. I approve it's clear we both need the contents of that crate. Whatever happens, everyone wins in this alliance. The building's size suggests there might be another exit or a second staircase, one that will allow me to sneak around behind the enemies without being spotted.

I can't use lightning or fire; I need to avoid leaving any trace of my use of the Force, or he'll grow suspicious. However, I can rely on telekinesis or other powers that don't obviously reveal what I truly am. If he realizes the truth, I'll become his enemy.

"Alright, I'll get going. If you hear chaos, that'll be your signal to attack."

I set off, circling around the building and leaping over some collapsed lockers. I seem to be moving through what used to be old offices. I quickly move through the floors, crossing a half-collapsed staircase, occasionally jumping over broken steps it's too dangerous to step on them. I'm cautious with every movement, making sure I don't make a sound, as any noise could give away my position at any moment.

When I reach the staircase going down, I descend carefully and arrive on the floor where our targets are. From a cracked mirror, I observe them. There are three of them, each keeping watch in a different direction, and all three are armed with blasters. I need to be careful as I approach one of them silently.

In a swift move, I grab my newly acquired machete and stab the man on my right in the neck, where the armor is most vulnerable.

I have no choice but to go full butcher mode. As soon as the alarm is raised, the other two turn toward me and start firing. I grab their comrade's body and use it as cover to dodge the blaster shots. I snatch the dead man's blaster and start firing at one of the remaining two. The chaos I've just unleashed is the signal for my ally to join the fight. He can now flank them as planned.

With their fire focused on me, I keep shooting back while staying behind their fallen comrade.

Thel Kaan

 

[Gavin Vel]

Tags: Diarch Rellik Itzhal Volkihar Domina Prime



Gavin’s vision blurred as he found himself slammed to the ground, his chest heaving and limbs screaming in protest. His attack had failed, his overconfidence betrayed by the Mandalorian’s calculated precision. The cold weight of reality settled over him as he felt his leg restrained, his body pinned against the cold, dusty floor of the abandoned Imperial office.

The Mandalorian’s words cut through the haze of pain and adrenaline, as sharp as the blade now poised to teach him a lesson in fear. "Do not speak to me of fear," the voice said, chilling and mechanical. Gavin grit his teeth, anger surging through his veins, but he couldn’t deny the truth in the hunter’s words. For all his bravado, for all his desperate need to prove himself, the Mandalorian had turned the tables.

A low growl escaped Gavin’s throat as the ceremonial blade descended, grazing the surface of his boot. He refused to scream, to give his enemy the satisfaction. But as the sharp edge sliced through fabric and pressed against the exposed tendons, he knew he was out of options. His mind raced, grasping for anything, any way out of this.

For a moment, the taunts, the insults, and the bravado faded away, replaced by something deeper—instinct. The Force, elusive and untamed, surged within him. It wasn’t the precise, focused tool the Sith Masters preached about; it was wild, chaotic, and fueled by desperation.

“Fuck you,” Gavin spat through clenched teeth, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. His hand shot out, trembling but resolute, as he unleashed a burst of raw, unrefined Force energy directly at the Mandalorian’s chest.

The burst wasn’t elegant or controlled, but it carried the brute strength of a man who refused to be broken. The shockwave rippled out, aiming to throw Itzhal off balance and loosen his grip on Gavin’s leg. The debris around them stirred violently, scattering like leaves caught in a storm.

Gavin didn’t wait to see the result. With his free leg, he twisted his body and aimed a ferocious kick at the Mandalorian’s side, hoping to capitalize on the Force-driven chaos. Pain wracked his body, but he fed on it, using it to drive himself forward. He leapt up ready to go back into the battle.

The voice of Rellick echoing in his mind was enough to break Gavin’s tunnel vision. His head snapped toward the balcony where he sensed the chaos below. His grip tightened on the knife in his hand, the faint sting of his wounded leg a constant reminder of the cost of this battle. His pride screamed for him to stand and fight, to finish what had started here and now. But then came the voice of Darth Reign, like a cold wind cutting through the flames of his fury.

“Patience.”

The word reverberated through him, as if his master were standing beside him. Memories of their first meeting flashed through his mind. Reign’s lessons had been clear—patience was not weakness, nor was it surrender. It was strategy. It was survival. And it was the path to power. For the first time in the fight, Gavin allowed reason to steady his hand.

He grit his teeth, the bitter taste of retreat settling on his tongue. The realization burned, but the truth was undeniable: this fight wasn’t winnable, not as he was now. His knife was a joke against the Mandalorian’s arsenal, and every second spent here tipped the scales further out of his favor.

"Damn it," he muttered under his breath, the words laced with frustration and reluctant acceptance. "I guess we’ll have to finish this at a later date."

Gavin raised his free hand, calling on the Force as he focused on the rubble scattered around him. A desk, weathered but intact, rattled before tearing itself free from its surroundings. With a growl, he hurled it toward the Mandalorian, the debris flying through the air like a battering ram. He didn’t wait to see the result. His instincts screamed for him to move.

Pivoting on his good leg, he bolted toward the balcony window. Pain flared in his injured leg with every step, but he pushed through it, using the Force to propel him forward. Gavin leapt into the open air, his body cutting through the wind as he descended. The landing, however, was far from graceful. His wounded leg buckled on impact, sending him crashing to one knee. He groaned, the strain evident in his posture as he pushed himself upright.

The sight before him was one of chaos. Rellick, entangled with the monstrous, tailed Mandalorian, struggled against her grip. Gavin’s heart pounded as he assessed the scene, anger and determination warring within him. He was battered, bloodied, and on the verge of collapse, but retreating now was no longer an option.

"Let. Him. Go."

The words came out as a growl, each syllable heavy with fury and defiance. Gavin forced himself to his feet, standing tall despite the trembling in his legs. His bloodied knife trembled slightly in his hand, but he leveled it toward the tailed woman, his eyes blazing with determination. He was a wreck, but he refused to show weakness.

“I’m not asking twice,” he said coldly, his voice steady despite the chaos swirling around him. It was a bluff, and he knew it. But if he was going down, it wouldn’t be without a fight.

 

[Lady Falentra]

The scream brought the man down to his knees. Covering her ears was an act of instinct but was futile as the sonic pierced the surroundings. Falentra was no longer in his hold. But he would retaliate she felt the familiar feeling of the force around her neck. It wasn’t the first time she was held like this, the last time by none other than the sith empress Srina Talon herself.

The grip was vice, cutting off the precious blood flow to her head. Falentra struggled, clawing at her neck by instinct alone. Her tentacles lost their strength, dropping the the girl in water. She began to feel faint. She had to find a way to get out of this, lest she end up unconscious like her adversary.

The siren was there in his grasp, and then she wasn’t. Falentra had teleported behind him, she leaped, aiming a kick for the area between his shoulder blades, intending for the momentum to throw him off balance and into the water. A tentacle would wrap around his neck, just as he did her, the tentacles would tighten and she would start to choke.

Diarch Reign

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

One hand holding firm against his adversary's struggles, Itzhal Volkihar, stared down upon the pinned Sith as their bravery was slowly drained dry, gutted like the lifeblood of a creature, only realising how close to death it indeed was. Oh, the spark of courage remained, a burning ember and the sheer defiance not to scream as the butcher's blade descended, a confident cut tearing through the edge of the fabric along Gavin Vel's trouser leg just above the boot. Yet, it was not the same boiling sun that would have laughed in the face of danger.

It was a man reminded of morality and the desperate desire not to die, a dangerous combination for a man empowered by his darker emotions, as the blade lingered on the edge of the skin, tilted slightly to enable the twist that would saw through to the bone.

Fear, suffering and the outright rage of a man brought to the edge struck back; their hand struck forward in a telekinetic wave that distorted the air and would have shattered Itzhal's chest plate if he hadn't followed the impact, breaking his grasp upon the ankle as Itzhal's feet came off the ground and he was hurled through the air. Without the casual control of a jetpack to guide his way, his body plummeted, slamming through a nearby divider before the rusted metal tipped inwards, his back aching and bruised as he tried to roll his way off, one arm smoothing the movement as the other swung his rifle back around. Ready to fire if the situation had turned against him.

But, the fight was over, signalled with a call for retreat that snuck in from the window, quiet for how impactful the words were.

For a second, Gavin Vel seemed to debate with himself; a desire to continue the fight and regain some of his previous self-confidence conflicted with his superior's orders. Until something occurred behind his eyes, and the Sith Acolyte rushed to retreat out the window, his leg noticeably slower than before, although the Force continued to keep him moving despite what would have crippled another man.

The table sent his way was almost an afterthought as Itzhal hunkered down. The debris shattered over the divider before his target reached the exit and leapt out onto the ground below, straining the muscles in the way only a foolhardy foe drunk on their own 'resilience' would dare to do so. It was surprising how quickly the young fighter's voice could grow grating as they fired off another threat, the promise of violence so easily exchanged as if he wasn't running on fumes. Whether they denied it or not, The Force could only sustain an individual for so long before their natural weakness became too harsh a burden to carry. Itzhal knew he'd seen it before.

Slinked into the shadows, Itzhal prowled closer to the next set of stairs as he moved up another floor to a new vantage point. His silhouette was hidden by the gaping maw of shattered glass teeth, their reflection of the red-tinted light barely visible as he crouched down along the edge overlooking the position of Domina Prime and her opponent.

The battered form of Rellick was held by claws that remained surprisingly gentle as Gavin Vel arrived, spitting threats with every breath he made. Quietly, Itzhal would have considered his resilience and determination respectable if not for the complete lack of cunning that would more likely end with him dead after insulting a threat he couldn't survive. He was so focused on being brave that he never wondered the question if there was a better way of standing tall. Unfortunately, it was a lesson that Itzhal had no intention of teaching as he watched the confrontation commence.

Injured as his former opponent was and with something of a hidden vantage point, the rifle braced against his knee for support as he took a firing position; the Mandalorian didn't expect the acolyte to dodge for much longer. If he walked away, there would be no need for another shot. However, regardless of his plans, already committed to with the empty weight of his once-filled pouch, Itzhal had made something of a deal with Domina and would not leave her alone to face the two Sith, even if one appeared unwilling to fight further.

If Gavin intended to fight further, a red bolt would be sent from the second floor of the building straight towards his torso and the beating heart hidden beneath the skin. Otherwise, Itzhal faded into the shadows, another threat lurking and awaiting the moment to pounce.

Tag: Gavin Vel Diarch Rellik Domina Prime​

 

[Aiwaz Khath]

Shades of garnet flushed his cheeks when she flung her arms around him. She felt deceptively soft against him, and smelled... lovely. He cleared his throat awkwardly, eyes flitting to the floor before he returned to some semblance of stoicism again.
"This Reclamation you say... I would join you on this," he told her austerely. "Our people have long been oppressed by pretenders, and it is my aim too to bring back the power and presence we rightly claim in this galaxy, and perhaps beyond." His thoughts turned to Vitiate, colloquially known amongst his kin as Greatest Amongst Us in the Sith tongue, and his heart swelled fiercely with the ambition of his people. His fist clenched to soothe the swirling of the Dark Side that cut through him. He breathed deep through his nose and exhaled out his mouth as a fire suddenly burned in his crimson eyes. "Once we're done with all this nonsense, I expect we have much to talk about." Dare he admit it, but he actually cracked a smile to her, breaking the stolid and stern aura he so often carried.

"A Spawn? Like a Massassi? I would be glade to help you with my blade. Two of us stand a greater chance of victory for sure."
"Perhaps not Massassi, they are seldom seen now either. I suppose we will see what we have in store for us." A sense of pain struck him as his mind turned to the stories he was raised on of the Massassi, the poor wretches who had been long warped beyond recognition by the great pretenders. He quickly pushed the thoughts away and pulled out his blade, inspecting it briefly. He stepped through the foyer of the building and towards the outer door where they came in, glancing in all directions and eyeing the top of the building across the block that seemed to resonate with the beast's presence. He glanced back to Karala and nodded. "Let's move, when you're ready."



TAG: Karala Midwan

 

[Thel Kaan]

Blaster fire reverberated through the upper floors, but this time it wasn't aimed at the staircase. A sharp cry of agony pierced the air, cutting through the staccato bursts of bolts. Lyssara had made her move.

Without hesitation, Thel bolted up the stairs, reaching the landing just in time to see the two remaining competitors locked in the chaos. Amid the carnage, they hadn't even noticed his return. That wouldn't last long.

Raising his hold-out blaster, Thel squeezed the trigger. A red bolt sliced through the stale air of the room but missed its mark. Cursing under his breath, he steadied his aim and fired a short burst. Two bolts found their target—the first striking a shoulder, the second the chest. The hostile crumpled to the floor, lifeless.

Thel shifted his aim to the second enemy, who was now scrambling to react. Another flurry of blaster fire erupted from Thel's weapon. The first few shots collided with the enemy's blaster rifle, shattering it into useless scrap but sparing his life—briefly. The final shot struck the man in the leg, dropping him to the floor with a wail of pain. Thel lowered his weapon, his eyes cold. This one would be Lyssara's responsibility.

Ascending the remaining steps, Thel surveyed the aftermath. The sight stopped him momentarily. Lyssara stood over the carnage, blood spattered on her knife and the floor around her. This wasn't the work of an amateur or someone forced into survival for the first time. Lyssara had killed before—and she hadn't hesitated to do it again.

Thel's respect for her skills grew, but so did his wariness. This was no mere civilian. She was dangerous.

"Good work, Lyssara," he said, his tone measured as he approached. His eyes scanned the room, landing on an overturned crate. "Looks like they already looted the stash. Check their bodies. Anything useful is ours now."

Thel kept his blaster at the ready, his instincts urging caution even as he relied on his newly forged ally.

Tags: Lyssara Thrynn OPEN​

​

 

[Lyssara Thrynn]

The arrival of my colleague was marked by repeated blaster shots, instantly taking down the two men who had been troubling us earlier though not entirely, as one of them was still breathing. He approached me at my level, complimenting me on my performance. His words made me smile, but I kept my focus on him and our enemies.

"Thank you for your help. As for him, I think it's too dangerous to let him live."
"P-please, don't kill me. You know, we were in the same mess as you."
"Where's the rest of the crate?"
"Our leader took the rest of the contents. He told us to keep an empty crate as a diversion to waste your time and energy."

Energy… He's right. It's precious in situations like this, and this soldier managed to make us waste both time and energy. In a way, he won but not completely. Annoyed by this revelation, I pointed my newly acquired blaster at him and fired, ending his life to spare him further suffering. I didn't think he had anything else useful to tell us.

Following my teammate's advice, I decided to search the bodies to see if we could salvage anything. With some luck, they might have a bit of gear on them. Whatever little we find will still be helpful.

After searching them, I laid out the following loot in front of us so we could split it fairly. After all, we both worked to get it, so a fifty-fifty split seemed only fair.

We found three blasters, two nutrient tubes, and that was it. The nutrient tubes were especially useful compact items capable of sustaining a person for a few days. A survival ration couldn't have come at a better time. It's always better than nothing.

"I suggest we each take one nutrient tube if that's okay with you. Thanks for the machete it came in really handy. Okay, what is our next target?"

He must have realized by now that I'm also capable of fighting and, consequently, a potentially dangerous adversary. But for now, we're allies, and I have no intention of betraying him. Our collaboration has only just begun.

I also want to keep one of the blasters. It will make me feel more equipped, allowing me to shoot from a distance and assist my ally in this ultra-chaotic battle. What matters to me is surviving the next five days everything else is secondary.

Thel Kaan

 

[Karala Midwan]

The glee that filled her heart when he said he too wanted The Reclamation, she felt herself well up with a desire to kiss him. That she had found kindred heart in midst of this arena of "Pretenders" as he so appropriately called them. For they were the true Sith, the very race that the Dark Lords stole from. Her head for a moment became dizzy, her Father placing her in the cyro chamber for long slumber had made all of this possible, for she would have otherwise been long dead and never met Aiwaz Khath , someone nine hundred years from her time who held the same beliefs. The Force was truly at work to allow two from across time and space to come together.
"You have no idea how much I have longed to hear these words! To be in presence of someone who believes as I do! That the Shadow of the Pretenders must be caste off, and we Pureblood rise once more!"

She realized as he mentioned how rare Massassi were that he would know, she was new to this time, and much had changed. Though in truth is was much the same, The Dark Lords lording over and vying for power, and certainly those Paladins were still around, the altruistic ones that gave birth to the Dark Jedi who became their masters. That was why Karla hated the Jedi, not because they were devoted to the Light, though she found it puzzling how they adopted such a narrow view of the Force, rather her ire was directed at that their persecution of the dark lords finding Korriban and enslaving her people. A reckoning would one day come to them too, for now the chains needed to break as the Sith Code claimed, the yoke of the overlords first must shatter, then they could see to the Jedi.

"I will differ to your judgement on these matters. I am.. as one who has awoken from a long dream and am still adjusting to the politics and warring of these times."
She was being a little cryptic, she felt if she explained she was nine hundred years old and had slept that long it might scare him off. Best to bring that up later when she had time to figure out how to brooch the subject.
"How do you think we should approach taking down the Beast? We have only these short blades."
He mind drifted as she took in how handsome he was, for in her own time she had not fancied anyone, there was too much at stake and her Father was preparing her for the Long Slumber. Now she felt herself come alive with amorous interest, and she was doing her best not to express it until she had a sense he felt the same. Love was very special among Purebloods, unlike the dark lords who treated it as a tool to gain more power over someone or a means to an end, the Sith Purebloods believed in the family founded on affection, one of the very definition of Passion, which was key to the Code.

TAG: Aiwaz Khath

 

[Domina Prime]

Blinding faith, give me sight
Praise the sun, day or night
◈
Warmth & cold, wrong & right
Bliss & pain, health & blight

We feel disparity preparin' us to die!


Diarch Rellik | Diarch Reign | Tova Rachi | Orion Pavond | Itzhal Volkihar | Gavin Vel Neeva Soocha Dena | Lady Falentra

Open​

LOCATION: Orinackra | The Ruined City
OBJECTIVE: A Clash of Coins | OBJ2

The azure flames licked higher as Domina loomed over the battlefield, her massive frame wreathed in smoke and embers. Her five piercing eyes locked onto the bloodied Sith before her, his demand echoing in the charred silence between them. She could taste his desperation, his anger, his refusal to relinquish his wounded ally. But it only amused her. With Rellik limp in her four arms, her presence exuded a terrifying dominance, an unshakable belief in her divine purpose.

"Let. Him. Go." Gavin Vel commanded, his voice colder, sharper, cutting through the roar of the flames like a blade. "I'm not asking again~"

Domina didn't respond at first, merely tilting her head, her silhouette a towering shadow in the inferno emblazoned around them. Her tail coiled and uncoiled behind her, rattling with menace, her body language oozing a quiet, predatory confidence. Slowly, she shifted, turning just enough for her five eyes to glint like molten gold in the flickering light behind her mask as she regarded the Sith. Her voice, laced with caring mockery, rang out over the crackling flames.

"Hush now, little god. Settle down before you get yourself more hurt~" she purred, her tone lilting yet venomous. "You can barely stand. Do you think you're in any position to tend to him, or to challenge Prime? You can't even keep your own blood off the ground. So relax. Rejoice even! This One will see to it that he remains strong."

Her claws traced delicately over Rellik's face, her touch jarring against her monstrous appearance. Her affection was possessive, reverent—she cradled him not as a warrior to a rival, but as something claimed, something precious. The firelight reflected off her armored tendrils as they began to unfurl from her back, spilling outward like metal serpents, slamming into the earth with a resounding crash. She rose higher, hoisted aloft by her unnatural limbs, her form now towering over the Sith who dared to challenge her.

"We are blood-bonded now, he and This One, yourself as well," she growled, her voice a dangerous harmony of steel and fire. "But he promised himself to Prime." Her words dripped with the weight of cosmic inevitability, a conviction forged in the crucible of ancient traditions. The air around her seemed to vibrate with the will of her gods, as if their visage was manifesting through her towering form.

"This One won't be letting him go." Her lips curled into a grin behind her mask, and her tail whipped dangerously, slicing through the smoke. "He belongs to Ha'rangir now~"

The Sith tensed visibly as he stood defiantly before the beast, his bloodied hands clenching into fists, his face twisted in fury, but before he could speak, Domina slammed one of her tendrils into the ground, the force sending tremors through the scorched earth. The embers swirled around her like a hurricane as she leaned forward, her armored limbs spreading wide in a display of monstrous grandeur. She was no longer just a warrior—she was a living instrument of Ha'rangir's divine will, a force of destruction that dwarfed the Sith's human defiance.

"You can't have him!" she snarled, her voice echoing like a thunderclap. Her claws flexed, her tail rattled like a war drum, and the jagged edges of her tendrils gleamed as they poised to strike. "If you want him, little god, you'll have to rip him from Prime's cold claws!" Her words came as a feral hiss, dripping with venomous amusement and unshakable resolve. Her many eyes glared down at the Sith with an almost maternal protectiveness for the broken warrior in her arms, tempered by a predator's hunger for a challenge.

The tendrils shifted, hoisting her higher still, her form a monstrous silhouette against the inferno. Her words a promise of violence etched into the air. "If Prime can't have him..." She paused, tilting her head as her tail coiled tighter, rattling with the finality of a guillotine's blade. "...then no one can."

The battlefield seemed to hold its breath, the smoke and flames framing her as a god of war incarnate. She was poised like a cobra, a deadly amalgamation of poise and power, her entire being a weapon honed to perfection. She dared him to step forward, dared him to test her, her stance and expression leaving no doubt that she would eviscerate him if he so much as twitched.

Domina Prime was not one to be tested—not when the will of her gods burned in her veins and the weight of destiny bound her to this promise. Not when she had already claimed her prize. The moment hung on a knife's edge, the other Sith now facing a question of his own mortality against the unyielding force that was Prime.

 

[Neeva Soocha Dena]

Upon this scene, The Herald came and beheld the scene. There was Domina Prime who had in her power one of those men in dark robes, her tail ready to execute judgement. Neeva walking past debris on ground, her bare feet of light coral shifting the soil as she came to Prime's presence, her gilded eyes focused on Domina, she could see the goddess was heavy with the dew of combat and her strength not used up, though she had spent some no doubt in a fight with this man. Coming closer, she was not afraid of The Prime, she walking right up to the Xeno Queen, and gave a bow of her head, her lekku sliding across her naked nape, her loose black robes blowing in the wind.
"Domina, I see your scythe is poised for this man.. no doubt a justice.. for your judgement is sound."
She looking at this Barbarian ( Diarch Rellik ) with a shaved head that had the temerity to face The Prime in single combat. She came closer and looking at him said,
"Many have had the pleasure of being in the grip of The Prime, though not many live to see another day."
She could see from Domina holding of him, he was a prize she did not want to part with, and she had not been present for any understanding, the fact he was still breathing a blessing that was being bequeathed to him. Looking at the falls of perspiration from her Prime, she drew from her bosom a cloth, it was of finest purple and she came close and began to wipe away the fluids of her fight.
"Sacred rivers of strength.. I shall soak you up from the Divine."
She began to wipe away any dirt from Domina's clawed feet. She bowed her head if in adoration, for she was giving a form of worship to her.

 

[Thel Kaan]

With the final hostile neutralized, the spoils of war lay before Thel and Lyssara. However, disappointment quickly set in. This group had only claimed part of the weapon cache; the remaining supplies had been moved elsewhere. Frustrating, but not entirely fruitless. The blaster rifles they left behind were a significant upgrade from Thel's hold-out blaster, and the nutrient tubes were a welcome resource in a place like this.

"He mentioned a leader," Thel mused in response to Lyssara's question. "Might not be a bad lead to follow. Problem is, no clue where to start looking."

The desolate inner city of Ozzuk Thren provided countless places to hide for those who wished to remain unseen. Tracking down the remnants of this group wouldn't be easy, but it wasn't impossible.

Then, in the distance, the now-familiar sound of chaos echoed once more—blaster fire, explosions, and guttural cries of pain. It was coming from the same direction as before. Whoever—or whatever—was waging war in that part of the city wasn't letting up.

Thel considered the racket, his brow furrowing. "You hear that?" he asked rhetorically, glancing at Lyssara. "It's been going non-stop since I woke up. Could be a good place to start looking for other competitors—or more supplies."

He paused, gauging her reaction. "No question it'll be dangerous, though."

His gaze locked onto hers, firm but willing to defer. "Your call."

Tags: Lyssara Thrynn OPEN​

​

 

[Lyssara Thrynn]

I examine the meager spoils in front of us, my frustration palpable. These weapons and supplies, though useful, are far from what I had hoped for. The real treasures have been moved elsewhere, out of our reach. I clench my teeth, my thoughts already turning to our next move.

When Thel mentions a "leader," I lift my head. His words hold potential but also uncertainty. Finding this person might bring us closer to our goal or drag us into even more trouble.

"A leader, huh?" I mutter, almost to myself, as I slide one of the recovered blasters into my belt. "Might be worth looking into, if we can find a trail."

Before I can continue, the distant clamor reaches my ears: blaster fire, screams, explosions. Still coming from the same direction. That racket hasn't stopped since we arrived. My gaze hardens as I consider the implications.

Thel breaks the silence, confirming my thoughts. He fixes me with a pragmatic stare, waiting for my decision.

"You're right," I finally say, meeting his gaze. "It's dangerous, but if we want to make progress, we don't have another choice. Over there, we'll find either enemies to eliminate or opportunities to seize."

I cast a final glance at the ruins around us, then tighten my grip on my weapon.

"We move so lets go see this chaos," I say firmly. "If that chaos is our best lead, then that's where we're going. But keep your reflexes sharp, Thel. This kind of terrain is a trap waiting at every turn."

My steps already lead me toward the noise, tension rising as the echoes of battle grow clearer. I show no hesitation, but inside, I prepare every fiber of my being for what lies ahead. We need a better stuff and safespot. The blaster we have claimed help us, and same for the nutrient tube, but that's not enough here, that's just a starting loot.

Thel Kaan

 

[Gavin Vel]

Tags: Diarch Rellik Domina Prime Itzhal Volkihar

Gavin stood across from the Mandalorian, her tail still coiled tightly around Rellick like a serpent constricting its prey. His grip on the dagger tightened, his knuckles turning white as every nerve in his body screamed at him to stop, to collapse, to surrender. But Gavin Vel didn’t know surrender. His mind burned with fury and determination, his focus unwavering despite the searing pain coursing through his battered frame.

He could feel the Force slipping away from him, like sand through his fingers. The raw power that had kept him standing through this brutal encounter was now fading, leaving him to wrestle with his own limitations. His muscles trembled, his vision blurred, and yet he refused to fall. Not yet.

Her thunderous voice rang out, daring him to pry Rellick from her cold, dead hands. Gavin's lip curled into a defiant snarl, his exhaustion momentarily eclipsed by sheer willpower.

"Well," he growled, his voice rough and ragged but steady, "I guess I'll have to kill you then."

With those words, Gavin took a step forward, forcing his body to obey despite the overwhelming pain. Every movement was an act of rebellion against the forces trying to drag him down. His gaze locked onto the Mandalorian, her masked face a symbol of the impossible challenge before him. He knew he was outmatched, his dagger a pitiful weapon against her fully armed and armored form, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was saving Rellick.

He surged forward, the Force lending him one last burst of speed as he raised the dagger in a final act of defiance. The battlefield around him faded away; there was only the Mandalorian, Rellick, and his unwavering need to prove himself. His heart pounded in his chest, every beat feeling like it might be his last.

But as he closed the distance, his body betrayed him. His knees buckled mid-step, and he stumbled, the adrenaline no longer enough to sustain him. His vision darkened at the edges, and the deafening roar of the battle became a distant hum.

Gavin’s momentum carried him a few more steps before his body finally gave out. He collapsed forward, the dagger slipping from his grasp as he fell face-first into the rubble. His last conscious thought was one of frustration—he had failed.

The hulking acolyte lay motionless, his once imposing frame now crumpled on the battlefield. His ragged breathing was the only sign of life, the pain and exhaustion finally overtaking him. The fight continued around him, but Gavin Vel had given everything he had.

For now, he was done.

 

[Diarch Reign]

​

Location: Ozzuk Thren | Arena
Tags: Lady Falentra

---

She was in his grasp, and then she wasn’t.. the next thing the Diarch knew, he had a foot firmly between his shoulder blades, knocking him towards the water.

As he fell, he did note his daughter was free of his adversary’s grasp.

But his relief was short lived when he felt the tentacle loop around his own neck.

Reign fought to keep his head about him, as it became more and more difficult to breathe.. he thought of his lightsaber but relented, thinking quickly that he’d most likely already earned the ire of his friend Darth Caedes .

Thinking quickly, his mind worked a sort of devious mirror to his daughter.

Calling her dagger to his hand, he cut the tentacle an arms length from his neck. Hoping to free himself to fight upright.

 

[Lady Falentra]

Falentra saw the sliver of light, the reflection against the scorching sun as the blade was called upon. But she was too late to release her grasp.

Dark blue blood sloughed the water as the tentacle was slew. Falentra cried out, more in frustration of losing part of another tendril than the pain from the laceration.

The apprentice couldn’t risk anymore injury. No cache was worth having to face the next four days weak. Cowardice was not always foolish.

She faced the man with a deep scowl on her face. “Have this victory. The girl is fortunate to have you.” she nearly spat the words. Surely it was unfair, but things were rarely fair in the world of the sith.

She would not give him an opportunity to unleash another attack, she wouldn’t risk it. The siren leapt of the building, scaling another.

Diarch Reign

 

[Aiwaz Khath]

"I will differ to your judgement on these matters... How do you think we should approach taking down the Beast? We have only these short blades." Despite his own lack of experience in the field, her trust in him gave him an unexpected surge of strength and confidence. He suddenly felt as if he could conquer the entire planet with his bare hands. He stretched his neck and shoulders and peered down the street.
"We have these blades... and the Dark Side," he assured her with a grin.
They walked together down towards the derelict tower that thrummed with the anguish of a beast whose will and soul had long since been destroyed. The Dark Side shrieked about it like a banshee about its haunt. The barren entranceway to the tower opened to a set a stairs that wound symmetrically upward, flanked by blown out windows and covered in the dried grime of who-knows-how-old refuse and dirt. Aiwaz could hear above the heaving, phlegmy snarls of a beastly thing echoing down the dead stone. He started to formulate a plan.
"In my clan," he said, turning to his new companion. "We have learned to master the beasts of Korriban's wilds." As he spoke, he began to rummage through the refuse of the ground floor's shelves and storage. "It takes cunning, connection with the Dark Side, and a fearless approach to taking dominance." His voice grew firmer and more confident as he continued to search. "It's challenging, for sure, but with the right basic tools..." At long last, he found something he could use, and from a broken cargo container that sat in dust. Rope. He pulled it out and examined its integrity. It was long, most likely long enough, and only fraying at the edges. "...you can dominate even the greatest of beasts." His eyes were enflamed with the passion and power that swelled within him, and with the fierceness of the Dark Side about him, shared that passion with Karala. "Can you cause a distraction for me?"




TAG: Karala Midwan

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

Observing the confrontation from his vantage point above, Itzhal lined up the shot that would end hostilities in a moment. The frame of his rifle cradled against his knee, one finger on the trigger. Itzhal's posture was calm and relaxed despite the very charged situation ahead of him as Gavin Vel demanded the release of his fellow Sith—a pointless gesture, though not one that surprised the experienced hunter as he continued to wait for the necessary moment to strike.

Behind the visor, his face twisted in displeasure as the other Mandalorian declared their views for all to hear, a battle cry to all that would defy her position as an avatar of destruction. For a fleeting moment, he found himself pondering the idea of stifling the voice that decreed such outrageous claims, its tone bright and gleeful, echoing in his mind like a relentless drumbeat that rattled against the side of his head and could only be silenced with a rightful execution. If a few of his fellows had heard her, he doubted there would be any option but the path of Akkan. Yet, once again, Itzhal was alone, and a promise had been made to his fellow Mandalorian.

He would not be the one to break their alliance.

Tolerating her claims would be just another duty to bear until such a point it was unnecessary, or he could think of a way to bring up the matter in a sensitive way. It wouldn't be the first time he'd had to deal with such claims, rare as they were amongst his people; occasionally, a clan claimed a religious duty that defied the usual hierarchy of their people. Back then, a few of them had possessed the fanatic zeal to push beyond the reach of their Mand'alor; though they'd been dealt with before they could declare their own view of the Galaxy, it had probably been another step in that path towards the Excision.

There had been a reason why Clan Ha'rangir hadn't been seen after the Republic's first strike. None had tolerated their actions afterwards.

Itzhal took another steady breath as he discarded the thoughts that clogged his mind; his focus shifted towards the shattered body of the defiant acolyte, ready to fight despite all matters to the contrary. The air dripped with tension, bathed in the metallic edge of blood-covered ash that swayed with a subtle wind. The situation screamed for action; suspended on a knife edge; Itzhal held his ground, finger ghosting over the trigger. He waited, his pulse quiet against the veins of his neck, the soft beat of his heart, ever waiting for the call to tip the balance between life and death.

The acolyte's blade shimmered red in the shade of the sun, his arm raised in a final desperate strike.

Red light flared.

Then he fell, untouched, as his body finally collapsed to the ground under the glare of a red sun.

And once again, Itzhal found himself with the duty of overwatch.

Tag: Gavin Vel Domina Prime Diarch Rellik​

 

[Lucette]

Viers Connory | Taeli Raaf [Makin' Grandma Proud]​

Lucette's tense shoulders relaxed the moment Viers flickered back into view, her hands raised in mock surrender. A soft smile tugged at Lucy's lips as she tilted her head slightly. "You know, if you're going to keep vanishing like that, you should really warn me first. I almost told my new friend here to start sniffing you out."

Her tone was warm, teasing, but her gaze softened as she took in the state of her companion. Blood and dirt smeared Viers's uniform, and the quick swipe of water across her face did little to mask the exhaustion in her eyes. Concern flickered across Lucy's features, and she stepped closer, her hand still resting lightly on the Sithspawn's muzzle.

"Are you alright?" she asked gently, watching as Viers tried to clean herself up. "You look like you've had a rough time of it. And for the record, I don't think 'decorative bloodstains' are going to catch on as a fashion trend."

The Sithspawn let out a low growl, its glowing eyes fixed on Viers with wary curiosity. Lucette gave its muzzle a reassuring pat and whispered, "Easy now. She's with me." She glanced at Viers with a soft chuckle. "Don't worry—it's not going to eat us. Well, probably not. As long as you don't give it a reason to."

Viers huffed, attempting what could only be described as a show of dominance, and Lucette couldn't suppress a giggle. "Oh, darling, you're adorable, but I don't think huffing at it is going to help your case."

Her gaze softened further as she stepped closer, her voice low and comforting. "It's alright, really. I think it recognizes something in me—my connection to my grandmother. She created it, after all. I suppose you could say we're family, in a very strange, Sithspawn sort of way."

Lucette's hand lingered on the beast's muzzle, her confidence radiating as she soothed it. She looked back at Viers, her smile bright but kind. "You don't need to be scared. It's not going to hurt you. If anything, I think it's just as curious about you as I am." She hesitated, then added with a soft laugh, "Though if you keep acting like a startled womp rat, it might decide you look like dessert."

She reached out, brushing a bit of dirt from Viers's sleeve with a tenderness that belied her teasing tone. "Come on, let's figure this out together. I have a feeling this big guy might actually help us if we let him."

​

 

[Karala Midwan]

Karla could not believe how entering this arena to impress a Dark Lord had lead to destiny.. what other word could there be for it? She had come from nine centuries in the past and happened to meet in this place another Pureblood, a male, and one who held her convictions? While she did not ascribe to the Jedi faith that the Will of the Force dominated ones life, she did believe that there was something at work, that the dark side had connived to bring them together. This she put her trust in, as she did in Him. As he explained the idea of Beast Mastery, she gave a nod,
"My Father once took on Terentaktak in same way, I recall some of the ritual.."
When he mentioned her being bait, she did not feel offended, they had to work together, and she responded,
"I will do something to draw its attention. You make sure to get the bit and bridle on it."
She made a sprint for some cover near where the mighty monster was lurking, it snarled and made those terrible shrieks. It was then that she concentrated in the Force, using her Third Eye Talisman, and she caused a piece of metal, a box like shape to levitate and she threw it at the back of the Creature. When it hit the back of the Beast, it let out another horrifying shriek and turned she waving her arms, her red skin making her all the more visible. The Monster began to bound after her, the ground shaking, as it came after her.

Karla began to weave and move around debris, broken pieces of the skyscrapers and buildings, as well as vessels. The Creature's breath she could feel behind her, she did not look back, she concentrated her power on sprinting, trying to keep pace just enough ahead. She prayed in her heart that Aiwaz Khath could lasso this monster and they together tame it. It would give them an edge if they could make it comply against any other threats and opponents in the arena. This was the way of Purebloods, to not shirk from danger, but to saddle it and ride into the shadows with a great battlecry!