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Post by Elarinya on Sept 11, 2023 17:21:33 GMT -8
Even though their time together thus far had been relatively short, it was not hard to tell that Sirona was still rattled by the Saurians revelation. She gave her friend's shoulder a quick squeeze and whispered to her
:: Stay strong... ::
She returned the glance Sirona had spared her before following across the Valley to the entrance of the Mines where the quadrupedal beasts were pointed out. Her HUD display took a snapshot of the beasts and filed it away for later research. There was much on this world she was already going to want to learn about, adding one more thing would not extend out the already arduous task too severely. But soon her attention was drawn back to Dragus as he then laid out a ground rule before they entered the mines. One that she was also powerless to defy. Perhaps for the best, given she had already been some cause for upset to Sirona, and she did not relish any further agitation of her friends feelings. Thus she held her tongue and tried to be more diplomatic, for her friends sake
:: And what exactly is the matter at hand? You've yet to elaborate on what exactly we're headed into these Mines to find... I trust it is not to examine another pile of rubble you have made another driveway from? Or perhaps turned into an outhouse? ::
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Dragus
The Sith Eternal
In front of the Empire, to all you Vader haters out there. We'll blow your planet up.
Posts: 1,428
Affiliation: Sith Eternal
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Post by Dragus on Sept 11, 2023 21:48:35 GMT -8
Xitan's reminiscing on the sarlacc he'd recently planted on Eriadu brought a slight snicker to the lecherous lizard as he began to lead the party down into the mines. He turned his snout towards his favorite Acolyte and offered his fellow Sith a knowing wink with his bloody right eye, before focusing his attention on the depths ahead of them. The stifling heat of the sun baked badlands soon gave way to a subterranean chill, the darkness swallowing up any fleeting warmth as surely as it devoured the light. The Dark Apothecary's ornate saber-cane, the Gorgon's Eye, lit their path with its glowing meltmassif pommel. Its unnatural blood-shine glow twisted the features of the rat kin and slaves they past on their descent, making them seem more fiendish and foul, though that could just as well be the mine itself. An aura of despair permeated this place, poisoning the soul as the cortosis particles in the stone around them toxified ones blood. Dragus took a heady breath, inhaling deeply through flared nostrils, swearing he could taste the electricity in the air.
Before his arrival this scar in the earth had been a pitiful place. The workers, as they had been called back then, were regularly fed and received monthly medical checkups to determine levels of cortosis contamination. They weren't even subject to beatings when ore quotas fell short. It wasn't until the Supreme One, in his great wisdom, recruited the Dark Apothecary to the Sith Eternal cause that production finally saw an uptake. Applying his considerable experience at managing a slave empire, the twisted terrorsaur transformed this once pitiful pit into an assembly line of precious ore and human misery. But there was more to this than just increasing profit margins and meeting deadlines; the suffering itself served a purpose all its own. As he had already shown them, anguish left a mark of sorts, an emotional residue that could be condensed and drawn out by a skilled claw. His claws, actually. The mine was in truth a lodestone, one of many required for a grand spell the likes of which hadn't been seen since the days of the ancient Sith of Korriban.
"An outhoussse?" Questioned He-Who-Hungers with a look over his shoulder, oblivious to Elarinya's bate. He turned to face her, his beak covered snout stopping short of her bosomy chest, before rising to meet her yellow eyes with his own mismatched stare. "Sssadly, neigh. Unfortunately thessse minez are lacking in sssuitable ventilation. We allow the slavez already rife with sepsiz to cart their collected night sssoil out with the ore, lessst thessse ssstone floorz become unbearably ssslick and treacherouz. But I like where your head iz at. If sssuch thingz interessst you I would be more than happy to give you a tour of the sewerz beneath the port city of Nime. The aqueductz beneath the city are a sssight to behold, and nowhere elssse will you find sssuch a diverssse sssoup of ssscat on all of Roon." So close to the red skinned Sith as he was, Elarinya undoubtedly received a full exposure to the black scaled barabel's rancid breath, likely straining even the limits of the protective mask she wore.
Once more he returned his attention to the way ahead, raising the glowing orb adhered to his cane to dispel that dark and berth wicked shadows on the roughly hewn walls. The floor beneath their feet had grown steep, curling downwards towards the dark heart of the planet, deep enough that one might be forgiven for fearing they were about to fall out the bottom. Somewhat more focused now with fewer distractions, the Hungering One finally offered an explanation.
"Az I have sssaid, Roon iz rich with hissstory, much of which predatez the arrival of the Sssith. Before thiz world belonged to the Brotherhood of Darknesss, it ssserved az the adoptive home of the Taung, precursorz to the Mandalorianz we know today. Thessse warriorz of shadow were driven from their home-world and sssettled here on Roon. But why here, why Roon? Hmmm? What makez thiz world ssspecial? Tiz hidden, true enough, but sssurely it waz not fear that drove them to thessse shorez. Not sssuch a hardy warrior race az they. I have faced two leaderz of their descendantz in combat, thossse holding the title of Mandalore, and I can tell you from firssst claw experience that fear...fear iz not a factor."
His feats of mortal combat in the jungles of Myrkr against the formidable Ashrah and Kaine Australis were not fond memories he wished to relive. He still bore many of those scars.
"They were looking for sssomething, I believe, sssomething ultimately they did not find, leading to their eventual relocation to the world they named Mandalore." He continued. "I'm sssure you can draw your own conclusionz, but I prefer to sssee thingz with mine own eyez. Are you not curiouz?" The question was for no one in particular, but addressed to all three, the drake's skull caped snout bobbing from side to side as they reached an end in the tunnel they were traversing. "Fortunately the foothillz of Roon are littered with their burial cairnz. One can barely rut around in the mud without ssstumbling over their moldering bonez."
Raising his cane, he shone its wicked light on a large boulder leaning against the dead end of the tunnel wall. Taung hieroglyphics had been painstakingly chiseled into the rock, though what they translated to was anyone's guess. A sinister smirk crossed his saurian visage as he spun around with an exaggerated flourish of his feathered cloak.
"Here we are. Behind thiz rock iz one sssuch burial sssite, dissscovered deeper than any other we are currently aware of. The slavez uncovered it while pursssuing a new vein of ore. Once I became aware of itz exissstence I had it sssealed to prevent itz contentz from being disssturbed...until now." Facing the rock, the Great Devourer extended an empty claw towards the boulder, one that looked as though it would take a shockball team of wookiees to move. Focusing his prestigious arcane might, the drake drew from the well of infinite darkness and took hold of the rock with his mind, wrapping invisible telekinetic talons around its rough surface. Slowly, the boulder began to shift to the side, grinding on the stone floor to spit rocks and dust at their feet. After a few moments effort, the massive stone slid out of the way, revealing the tomb beyond. "Sssize matterz not." He muttered to himself, then motioned from his companions to the opened cairn.
Inside were a dozen stone slabs upon which sat the bones of an equal number of taung warriors, replete with ancient sets of rusting armour and weapons, spread evenly in a circle around the empty center of the room like the hours on a antique wrist-chrono. The air was stale and a layer of dust and cobwebs seemed to cover every available surface.
"Pleasse, enter. I would like for each of you to ssselect an object from thiz tomb, sssomething that speakz to the darknesss inssside of you, then meet me in the center of the room and we will begin."
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Darth Xitan
The Sith Eternal
Posts: 237 
Affiliation: The Cult of the Eternal
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Post by Darth Xitan on Oct 6, 2023 21:06:08 GMT -8
Tombs? Xitan had been aware of Sith tombs dating to even before the time of the Brotherhood of Darkness and, in his early classes as an Acolyte, the Sith Masters spoke of the warrior race, the precursors to the Mandalorians, that resided here for a time. The Zhell-Taung War of the prehistoric periods before the rise of the Republic ended in the tens of thousands of years before the Galactic Empire. And yet, the Taung came here and, by historical estimations, called this place for tens of thousands of years before leaving for Mandalore. It did beg the question, as Dragus presented it: why here? Why did they come here? Why reside here for so long? And then, why leave? Roon was self-sufficient and a place proven to be an excellent hiding hole for any as smugglers and Sith had utilized it for such a purpose. The Sith culture had thrived here, even through the turbulations of galactic wars and the Yuuzhan Vong Invasion.
When the Dark Apothecary showed the trio a tomb, it was that of a Taung Warrior. Xitan wasn't much of a historian, although his father had an interest in such trinkets. He had seen a Taung weapon before, one that was passed through his father's hands between two destinations. Came with quite the price considering the seller and buyer. It likely resided in the rich man's home still, somewhere in the Tionese Cluster. They were certainly a strange-looking humanoid race, yet they were a defining species that helped shape the course of history, like that of the Ratakans, the Sith purebloods, and so forth. A civilization steeped in war and reverence for their veteran and skilled warriors, they were once the pinnacle of what it meant to be a species dedicated to the very essence of battle and conflict. Just as the Sith were a manifestation of the same principle.
Xitan moved first among the trio, heading further into the tomb as the Sith looked about. A light was keyed upon his wrist, allowing him to better examine what could be viewed. All manner of armor, weapons, tokens of civilization, littered around the very tomb of the warrior. Perhaps a champion of his people once before? One who strove to be the best of the best, yet... did he die defending Roon? Or die of old age? Hard to say. His wrist light moved about, looking at shelves and port holes where all kinds of items were littered about. 'Pick something that speaks to the darkness within you', that was the mission given by Dragus to the three of them.
His wrist light continued to move before it froze upon a display, holding the helmet of the warrior. Or perhaps one of them. Xitan approached it, dusting it off with his gloved hand before removing it from the place where it was on display. Around it where pieces of armor, laid out as if the warrior had been kept upright. It was angular piece of metal, rusted in various places. Xitan felt something as sounds reached in from beyond... there was the sound of a lightsaber! Blaster fire, voices in an unknown tongue, explosions, and then silence. The Sith then felt a strange presence, a lurking shadow that had been felt before when he fought the banshee creature. Yet, as it came, it vanished.
This warrior... fought in the Great Sith War. Against that of Exar Kun and Ulic Qel-Droma.
Xitan turns back to Dragus now.
He fought against Sith. And yet, he was brought back here. Strange.
Holding the helmet still, Xitan then turns and heads to the center of the tomb, awaiting the others.
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Post by Elarinya on Oct 25, 2023 14:43:13 GMT -8
She rolled her eyes as the Saurian Sith Master spoke, an action concealed by the helmet she wore. Thankfully her mask did manage to filter out most of the stench as Dragus drew up close to her face, but a faint stench did manage to seep through. The worst of it overpowering the filters and singing her nose. But still she remained impassive before the Sith Lord lead them deeper into the mines, finally explaining their purpose here: to go tomb raiding. She wasn't particularly well schooled on Sith History, let alone Taung History. But she was familiar enough with Mandalorians and their culture to get a sense of what the Taung must have been like and the oddity that was their occupation of Roon.
Though, in truth, there was not too great a mystery as far as she was concerned. The very material they were now mining had likely been coveted by the ancient Taung in the same way as they would revere Bes'kar. But perhaps she might be proven wrong. Dragus made mention of performing a ritual to see into the past, which first required them each to choose an item from one of the bodies.
Moving away from Sirona for a moment, Elarinya circled the Room, letting the Force draw her to the item she was to pick. She eventually came to a stop at one of the slabs and picked up an ancient dagger. She picked up the blade and examined it, feeling the Dark Side radiating from it. With her item chosen, she moved to the centre of the room to gather with the others
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Darth Sirona
The Sith Eternal
Posts: 338 
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Post by Darth Sirona on Oct 27, 2023 7:07:34 GMT -8
Sirona followed along in silence, still somewhat reeling from the revelations today had brought. Not sure she could handle any other surprises. But the next one to come from the lizard-like Sith Lord that led them was one that would normally have changed Sirona's entire mood, taking this from a stressful and confusing day, to one of the best. As the rock was removed and the tomb shown. Sirona began dig in her small pack she always carried. Inside were some minor archology tools: a small hammer and chisel, a brush, a magnifying glass, and of course one of her journals that still had space.
But by the time she had retrieved all these things, her face was going whiter than it had been in a long time. She witnessed Xitan remove a historical artifact from its resting place, as if it hadn't sat here for thousands of years. Next she winced visibly as Elarinya picked up a weapon. Sirona was stunned, words failed her as she watched, what to her amounted to sacrilege, taking place before her. Everything here should be being catalogued and documented, and only after would it be removed to be taken to a lab for study. This was too much, even when she took shaky footsteps into the tomb, her anxiety was drowning out any sort of connection there was with the surroundings. These Taung must have been here undisturbed for many thousands of years. The dust in this room could have been older than the Old Republic and these three were just trapsing around like that meant nothing. For something this old to survive this long on a planet this steeped in war and blood was significant. Quickly she was trying to look around and preserve in her own memory where everything lay, before it was further disturbed. Then her eyes fell on the remains of a Taung warrior, in the 3 o'clock position and something broke through the maelstrom of worry and anxiety that had formed around her. I glint coming from around the remains neck. Sirona approached slowly and reverently, steps soft and small, to disturb as little as possible, before finally coming to stand beside the slab of stone. Doing a quick look over, the skeletal structure was female, she had many weapons and pits of amour, but what called out to Sirona was a crystal that hung from a thin metal chain around her neck. Gently she brushed the dust away from the crystal and found that it seemed to sooth her, keeping her near panic attack at bay. Before she knew what her other hand was doing, Sirona had removed the necklace from around the woman's neck. Shocked at what she had just done, the ashamed historian stood silently with this priceless artifact in her hands. Looking up and around, at the others gathered, she herself stumbled back toward the center of the room, having completed Dragus' task, though somewhat unintentionally.
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Dragus
The Sith Eternal
In front of the Empire, to all you Vader haters out there. We'll blow your planet up.
Posts: 1,428
Affiliation: Sith Eternal
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Post by Dragus on Oct 28, 2023 9:49:48 GMT -8
While the others went rummaging through the mummified remains of the long forgotten dead, the devious drake busied himself preparing a wicked rite in the centre of the tomb. His overlong tail swished around and slashed a circle in the grave-mold dusted dirt with the sinister Sith iron spike capping its end, then manipulated the additional limb to scratch symbols outside its perimeter like some sort of serpentine stylus, carving in the cairn floor several runes written in Pzobian black-script. The iniquitous language was a bastardized version of ancient Sith, lacking the refined elegance of the sorcerous tongue the tentacle chinned children of Korriban had developed many millennia ago. This primitive dialect was more raw, and as a result, was able to tap into the undercurrents of the Force that bound all of existence together. Any who attempted to focus for any length of time on the strange symbols would struggle with the feat, as each evil mark scraped into the stone seemed to bend reality around it, shifting beneath their gaze as constantly changing chimeric characters. When he was done the dastardly draconian turned over the palm of his left claw and pressed the serrated edge of his tail spike to his hand, dragging it across his crocodilian flesh, splitting his scales and spilling his vitae until his cupped claw became a steaming cauldron of bubbling blood. Dragus tightened his hand into a fist, squeezing droplets of his quickly cooling essence over each rotten rune, awakening the power they contained with an offering of his own midi-chlorians.Famine had selected this location for their lesson on no mere whim. The despair and cruelty of the cortosis mines had been carefully cultured to create the right conditions for his sin fueled spell. All those dark emotions left a mark on the physical plane, seeping into the stone to corrupt the very nature of the rock around them. He-Who-Hungers' insidious blood rite served as a sort of ethereal magnet, drawing the psychic resonance from the blighted mines and capturing it within the summoning circle he had drawn, concentrating the suffusion of suffering into one place.Those gifted with the aether-sight might even be able to see the black tendrils of spiritual essence as it was ripped from the rock and swallowed by the artificial maelstrom he had crafted with secret shamanistic practices he had learned from the spirit of Zarrak itself. Those more attached to the physical plane would see nothing save from the disturbing runes the saurian Sith had drawn, which had begun to glow red like a bled shard of kyber, weeping black smoke and filling the stale air of the tomb with a coppery metallic tang. When all three of his present pupils had gathered in the centre of the tomb, Dragus observed their selection carefully, nodding his fang filled snout to express his approval of their choice. "Excellent, excellent!" He growled with an appreciative gurgle, lips spreading into their familiar villainous grin, reminiscent of a hungry carnosaur staring down its next meal. "You have all proven yourselvez grave robbing connoisseurz. Mossst impresssive, indeed. Siss, Siss, Siss!"He fought against Sith. And yet, he was brought back here. Strange.
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Darth Xitan
The Sith Eternal
Posts: 237
Affiliation: The Cult of the Eternal
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Post by Darth Xitan on Nov 9, 2023 0:39:59 GMT -8
Listening to the instructions of Dragus, Xitan looked towards the helmet he held within his hands. Already, there was an aura left by the dead warrior, a footprint of their soul which was attached to likely each item, if not the important ones, from their lifetime before. Seize the hidden history, force itself to be revealed rather than let it tempt and taunt from beyond. Through their rage, they would use the Force to bring the lost history to light and allow them to replay the past life of this warrior that had been buried here. Already, Xitan had felt a flashback, allowing the Sith to determine that this Taung fought Sith at a time, likely during the Great Sith War.
Setting the helmet down, Xitan began to remove his gloves and gauntlets, setting them down on either side of the ancient piece of armor. The echo of the past had already touched the Acolyte, allowing him to sense a presence from before, one that had surfaced at a time when the Sith was in a critical place. It allowed him to draw upon new strength and vaporize a foe of immense insanity, an abomination from Dragus' labs that went rampant. That echo resonated through him, causing Xitan to do one more thing extra and that he felt would bring a fuller potential to what they planned to do.
The Sith reached up, causing his own mask to click and mechanically adjust. Reaching along the sides, he pulled his own mask fully off, allowing a thick cascade of dark hair to be revealed, no longer than the base of his neck. His Tionese features showed a long face, pronounced nose, and lopsided lips. Piercing brown eyes had long been replaced by their Sith evolution, a set of orange opticals that gazed upon the interior of his mask. A rare occurrence for the Acolyte to take his mask off, yet Xitan believed that he needed to wear the helmet to be able to unlock the full potential of what they were to do. His naked hands reached forward, grasping the old piece of war. For a moment, the Sith let what he felt from the item sink in... then brought it up and upon his head, fashioning it firmly.
Sink in a measure of your astral self... muster rage from a fixed point of time... harness the hatred of the deepest misery. Taking some slow breaths, the eyes of Xitan closed as darkness took over his vision and the Sith drew upon the one event that changed everything.
------
'You are not my son.'
He had been raised within a mercehant family of good standing, having rich connections within the Tionese sectors of space. The eldest of his father, and thus destined to take over the commercial business one day, Xitan recalled the times before when his father took him on trips and missions to secure profit at the expense of individual pockets.
'You have betrayed this family.'
This allowed young Xitan to witness and be exposed to much. All manner of cultures, customs, traditions, and even vendors who plied their trade and sold to his father. Tomes, books, paintings, artifacts, technology-... a Sith holocron. It called to him when his eyes gazed upon it. And, the first time ever, he became a thief, stealing the item while the vendor was distracted and taking it back.
'You are someone who I cannot love.'
The holocron unlocked his potential. It allowed Xitan to sense something not noticed before and that was a connection to the Force. A trait inherited from his mother's side of the family and one that his father hoped would skip his children's generation, yet it came to rest upon his eldest and not any others. The philosophy of the Sith fascinated Xitan during his youth and, when he could, the powers were practiced in their most basic sense.
'Look at what you have done!'
His father slapped him when he learned of this... he tried to stifle and force this fascination into nothing. This ardent and hard-handed manner on provoked Xitan to learn more. What was so bad about the Force? What was so bad about wanting to learn of a gift he had? A gift... his father called it a curse. It brought nothing but pain and suffering. A year later, his mother died. Often, Xitan wondered if his powers could have saved her. And so down the tunnel he went. A tunnel which led to a final outcome.
'You are not my son!'
The last words spoken as a red blade slashed through the torso of his father. His siblings dead, his house burning, all that they had cultivated turning to ash and ruin. His brown eyes replaced with orange ones as Xitan suffered long enough under his father's tyranny. He tried to stifle, to force, to abuse, to do whatever was necessary to prevent his son from exploring what interested him. These powers were even used to gain advantages during sales and missions, much to his father dislike and disapproval. Many times, they argued on trips back to their home, with Xitan barking that this was a gift! He should use it! His father reprimanding him and even hitting him to shut up and let it go.
Let it go. Those words caused Xitan to realize what had to be done. Let it go... let it die... let the past die. Kill it if you have to. A crude lightsaber was made, thanks to their connections. Deception was employed to make it seem like he was docile and obedient. In secret, Xitan trained and learned. Then, when the time came, his weapon was given life and it destroyed his past.
------
Like a bubbling cauldron, his rage erupted and exploded. Xitan could still hear his father, begging for mercy before rebuking him. Calling him all manner of names, degrading his gift, degrading his son for what he had become. In the end, Xitan told his father one thing: 'What I have become is become stronger. Stronger than you will ever be.' With the misery captured, the memory empowering him, Xitan allowed that to flow into the mask. Astral energy, fueled by the Dark Side, focusing into the helmet that rested upon his head.
Show me... show me what is hidden! Show me the Sith you fought! Show me who he was!!
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Darth Sirona
The Sith Eternal
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Post by Darth Sirona on Nov 24, 2023 11:05:56 GMT -8
Sirona followed the instructions of the wizened lizard and sat down within the circle. Her anxiety at the vast breach of archeological protocol was temporarily suppressed by her curiosity, looking about at the inscribed circle, and watching her 'uncle' going about the ritual. She'd have started taking notes in her journal, if she thought she wouldn't get admonished for it. Instead what she had to focus on was the crystal necklace, the one she had just pilfered from a corpse without proper documentation or recording. And just like that her anxiety returned.
The power of Xitan's rage loomed over Sirona in this moment, making her feel small and weak. Recalling to her mind his cutting words from earlier when they first met. She was shaking now again, feeling herself turning inwards. Hate wasn't something that came easily for Sirona, that is unless it was toward the person she saw in a mirror. Her self-loathing ran deep and had been the source of her power since abandoning the Jedi Order as a padawan. And since then, every betrayal, every time she turned her back on someone who cared for her, it only grew more. No matter how she rationalized it, or justified it, she knew it made her just as bad as the Sith she herself despised. Those who would kill and fight amongst themselves. All those ideas and new philosophies lost forever. She was just as bad, killing her former Jedi Master, betraying her adopted father, turning her back on Geralt, and now running when the Conclave and her Master disappeared before her eyes. The Echani hadn't even tried to contact Malvus, she had just run. Now she sat among strangers who she knew thought little of her. How could they not? She had flitted from one group to another seemingly at her whim and even lacked the courage or strength to standup for herself.
The rage inside her only grew as she looked down at this artifact she had grabbed. What was she thinking? Had she forgotten all her training? Was she that desperate to fit in to yet another cabal of Sith? This crystal, on a simple and thin silver chain, was now a symbol of yet another failing of hers. And so it was like this that her anger found its way to focusing on the item. It shook and rattled in her hand as she glared down at it. Was it worth it? Was it even worth it? Only the power Dragus wielded could tell.
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Post by Elarinya on Nov 27, 2023 16:40:42 GMT -8
Whilst she was not a fan of the idea, she did as Dragus commanded and removed the armoured gloves of her suit. She slipped them into a storage pouch each before taking a seat in the circle and grasping the dagger as the ritual was begun. It was impossible to not feel the magic and currents of the Force swirling around them, making possible what would have taken years to train them all up to do. But as Ela sat there, staring at the blade she had chosen, nothing happened. The red gem remained dull, she didn't feel any profound out of body experience. Nothing. It was clear from Xitan and Sirona's reactions that they did not struggle in such an arcane art of the Force. Using it to spy into the past, or perhaps be bestowed with some vision of greatness about themselves.
Try as she might, and she had plenty of memories upon which to draw her anger from, all her vision was greeted with was the inside of the Tomb and the group seated in a circle. Her grip tightened upon the hilt, frustration building as she failed. If ever there existed a moment within which she might be able to command the powers of psychometry, this would have been it.
Instead, she sat a failure. Unable to be handed the power upon a silver platter.
She was about ready to thrust the dagger tip into the ground or throw it away in frustration. But she stopped herself. Better to lie about it, than to embarrass herself and prove to everyone she was incapable of this feat. Would Dragus really know she had failed? probably. But would he make clear her failure? she did not know the beast well enough, but it was possible he might not bring any attention to the matter. So she sat, cross legged and waiting. Ready to react when someone else did first
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Dragus
The Sith Eternal
In front of the Empire, to all you Vader haters out there. We'll blow your planet up.
Posts: 1,428
Affiliation: Sith Eternal
Traffic Light: Blue
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Post by Dragus on Nov 28, 2023 7:16:20 GMT -8
Xitan's rage, Sirona's loathing, Elarinya's...frustration? Well, admittedly she wasn't offering him much with which to work, but the breadth of emotion pouring out of the other two more than made up for her lack of enthusiasm. Such sweet suffering, it was a delectable feast upon which to sup and sate his ever-lasting hunger. Nostril slits flaring, the Dark Apothecary drew in a deep breath, drinking of their emotions like a desperately parched moisture farmer beneath the oppressive heat of Tatooine's twin suns baking the Dune Sea. The young acolyte's rage was raw and delicious, setting his blood on fire and stoking the Blood Wyrm's passions. In that blaze he wanted nothing more than to reach out and drag his claws across the flesh of all three of them, to tear into the meat and gristle, make a mess of their innards and bath himself in their entrails. However it was the young archeologist's self hate that he found the most exquisite of flavours. He could dive into those depths and never need come up for air, basking in the guilt, in the shame she felt so keenly. Dragus had initially thought it would be necessary to sacrifice one of the three to empower his act of sorcery, for bending the flow of time even to take but a glance at something that happened many thousands of years ago was no easy feat, requiring a great expenditure of might. He had selected Sirona for just that, as she had seemed the frailest of the three, diminished of spirit. Now he suspected otherwise, that down at the bottom of that turmoil there was a strength unrivaled by either of her companions. Something to be nurtured.As the saurian Sith exhaled, black smoke flecked with orange embers escaped in an expanding cloud from his open maw, enshrouding the circle and taking on nightmarish shapes. For each the form of those hallucinations was different. Xitan might see his father, judging, hating. So despised was he, such delightful rejection by one who was supposed to love him unconditionally. Sirona would no doubt see Geralt, Malvus, the members of her Conclave that she betrayed through her own inaction and cowardice. If only she saw what he did, that betrayal was no sin, but a gift...a promise of opportunity. For Elarinya, the sulphurous apparition would be a most unwelcome presence, a winged red angel that bore a striking familial resemblance. Some might call Valefor a demon, but for one as enlightened as the Great Devourer, there was no difference. They were all manifest beings of light and psychic fire, shackled to these crude mortal shells. The darkness produced by the exhaled smoke eclipsed the circle completely, blinding each one of them inside from each other. Dragus faded away into the shadows he produced, until only his bloody red right eye and the amethyst gem set in the other seem to leer at them all from the dark. A terrible rattle and hiss reverberated all around them, and long coils of black scale encircled the perimeter of the arcane blood rite.<< Clossse your eyez, and open your mindz...Sisssss >> The Famine Lord's words no longer produced genuine sound, but echoed telepathically within their skulls, whispered into their thoughts. The smoke around them began to clear, dissipating into nothingness to reveal the world had changed around them. They were no longer in an ancient crypt beneath the ground, but now found themselves seated on the rain soaked mud flats of the surface, beneath a much different sky than the one they knew. If they turned their attention to the heavens, they would find the stars and constellations were all wrong. A few thousand years time will do that. A baleful orb hung high overhead, a fiery orange sphere in place of Roon's lonely moon, with a slit black pupil glaring down at them in judgement. Each occupant of the circle would feel the cold uncaring wind sweeping across this tidal locked plain, as though they were alive in this moment as well. Next to them stood a collection of grey skinned xenos, bursting with bulging muscle and clothed like the tribal warriors of a barbaric culture that they were. Clad in loin cloths and leather armour, these were the Warriors of Shadow, the Taung. They stood in broken ranks, staring at this unwelcome world with yellow eyes and the vacant expression of the spiritually defeated.<< Thiz waz right after their exoduz from Corussscant, when the humanz drove them from their world and banished them to the starz. Thessse are their firssst stepz upon thrice cursssed Roon. They do not look upon it and sssee a home. For them, thiz iz exile. >>The world swept away with the wind, colours merging and the scenes changing to reveal those same corpse pallor aliens digging deep into the damp crust of the planet, searching ever downwards until their pics and shovels struck something hard. A Taung female pulled her hands from the muck and held an object to the sky as an inhospitable torrent of brackish water washed the mud from her palms and revealed a chunk of metallic blue ore.<< Though defeated, they were not beaten. The Taung sssought the meanz to end their banishment and reclaim their lossst world. They sssought a weapon, and here beneath the mud and rock of thiz cancerouz sssphere, they found one. >>Again the scene shifted, this time the world around them growing louder and echoing with rage. The Taung were at war, fighting red skinned ogres baring a striking resemblance to the least psychometrically inclined of the group. The Warriors of Shadow battled Brothers of Darkness, Taung against Sith, spear against lightsaber. The self same lord Xitan sought so feverishly in the mask he now wore presented himself, clad in black robes and wielding a bloodshine blade that hissed under a storm wracked sky. Their weapons struck, and much to the surprise of the red skinned demigod, the brilliant blade of hateful plasma he held evaporated before his eyes, which went wide in the moments before a Taung spear punched through his throat and tore out the back of his neck in a spray of bone shards and blood.<< Victory was theirz. Roon provided for the Warriorz of Shadow, but it alssso took az well. Thiz iz not a world that lovez itz people. >> The battle blended together, growing fuzzy and unclear as the sounds of war were replaced with bloody coughs from drowning lungs. These Taung were shadows of the ones that had first arrived, emaciated and sickly, rife with cancer and wracked with all manner of illness. Mothers held stillborn babes in their arms, crying into their little corpses, cursing the gods for their cruelty. Dragus took a moment longer to linger here, imbibing their anguish to replenish himself on this arduous journey that was straining even his magnificent ability.<< The cortosiz had allowed the Taung to win their warz, but it waz alssso killing them, a double edged blade if ever there waz one. They lacked the toolz of refinement we have today. The particlez produced by their minez leached into the sssoil and water wayz, poisssoning them, eating away at their insidez like an adder'z venom. Thiz was Roon'z firssst curssse, but not itz lassst. >>Their journey ended in the same mud it began, with the occupants of the circle watching as the Taung bordered ships bound for the stars, to seek out a new place in the galaxy, one far less detestable than this ill begotten planet. As the last of the shuttles disappeared into the night sky, the world became as black as polished onyx, cracking into a serpents scales that uncoiled and slithered away, returning all of them to the present moment in the cold crypt far beneath the surface of this poisoned planet. As the spell faded and broke apart, Dragus took the last of what was left to complete one final amusing design. There would never be a better moment than this, in such a heightened emotional state as they were, bound within the arcane web of a Pzobian blood circle. With talons of shadow he manipulated the skeins of fate, taking Xitan and Sirona's strands and weaving them together to form a dyad in the Force. Still frozen in time, the unmoving amethyst gem set in his left beheld Elarinya, causing a perverted thought to bulge in his lecherous brain. If he was altering lives and experimenting with fate, why only a dyad, when a tryad would be far more interesting? After all, Elarinya was an artificial being, much like himself. He knew from experience that the fate of such creatures was more easily manipulated, made to serve the whims and wills of others as they were. The Hungering One often wondered if any thought that crept into his scheming sinful mind was even his own, or simply whatever the Eye wished him to believe. He reached out and gripped Elarinya's thread, pulling with all his might only to find it unmoveable. Ah, of course. She was already bound to another. Well, a dyad shall have to suffice.A great thunderclap sounded as the waves of dark sorcery were released, bleeding back into the stone all around them, returning to stain the soil and bind the souls of the damned to this place. Returned to the present moment, Dragus released a ragged breath, filling the now powerless circle with a measure of his sour breath as he gently lay back on the ground, utterly exhausted from his exertions. With the echo of thunder fading, one might have been excused for not immediately noticing the creak of bone or the cloying stench of grave mould on the air. The jaw of the skull in the Famine Lord's lap opened and clacked shut, snapping with hunger. The creaks grew louder and more noticeable, sinewy snaps of desiccated flesh and the scrape of bone on stone. All around the crypt, the skeletal corpses of the long dead Taung rose from their coffins and raised blue tinged blades of varying design. The sockets of their skulls were lit with cobalt flame, the expression of each a rage to match Xitan's, a hate as pure as Sirona's, and a warrior spirit as defiant as Elarinya. The dead had awakened, made to remember their sacred oath by the intrusion of these descendants of their sworn enemy.These Sith needed to die.
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Darth Xitan
The Sith Eternal
Posts: 237
Affiliation: The Cult of the Eternal
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Post by Darth Xitan on Dec 3, 2023 21:08:14 GMT -8
And yet, as Dragus showed them the vision of a time before, something else would happen to Xitan. His consciousness did not flow with the events, yet he heard the words of Dragus. Instead, he remained there, standing just behind the now-victorious Sith Lord. His blade humming with delight at the dead Taung at his fight. All around, the sounds began to dim as the battle became distant. And yet, the Sith remained, standing just ahead of Xitan. Darkness took hold of his sight as a voice spoke to him.
=???=
Hmmm... it's you again.
A figure appeared, a most grotesque and unliving creature. The skin had hardened and cracked in places, greyed and ashened. One eye had turned white, covered by red muscle all around where skin had once been. The one good eye focused upon Xitan. It was like looking at a living corpse.
=???=
Betrayed... pain... hunger... you remind me of those who I once called allies, by mere convenience.
At that moment, two more figures appeared, sensing the consciousness of the one who spoke to Xitan. To the right was an old woman, with long white hair and a hood that covered just above her nose. The other felt like nothing, yet they were there. A mask covered a hooded and cloaked figure, yet the Acolyte could see nothing but darkness. For there was nothing there, nothing but the essence of what was.
=???=
I thought I heard a corpse speaking of me. Even in spirit, you know not when to die.
Xitan could sense the history between these two and, with it, the great hatred and anger between one another. Allies by convenience, sounded like something taught in one of Melabor's long and tedious lectures. A trio of Sith, each an aspect of a dark emotion and element. A female master and two male apprentices, all hell bent on the destruction of the Jedi and the defeat of their weak rivals. A Triumvirate of Evil...
=???=
.....
The masked Sith turned to Xitan, sensing his thoughts. This caused the other two to re-focus upon the Acolyte.
=???=
And he is like others, who are like us, both one person instead. Perhaps, that is what makes them strong. Hunger, pain, betrayal, three is better than one. One makes strength greater. Instead of dividing the three into three or more. You found an interesting one...
The old woman spoke, glancing at the decaying male from before. This one scoffs and waves his hand, causing their apparitions to vanish. In the next second, this dead-looking Sith came right up to Xitan, sensing now what was happening around them. Bound to the daughter of failed Sith'ari through the Force, a sorcerer awakening the dead to perform a final act, and another female who had a strong grudge against someone who was like her. The dead were moving now and so time was limited.
=???=
A parting gift, Acolyte. Let's see if you can truly harness pain.
The apparition vanished and Xitan's conscious returned to reality. The Sith gasped air suddenly as if previously unconscious. His hands felt around his person, feeling that this was reality and whatever before had been another place. A place in the Force, in the well of darkness where so many lurked and watched. But Xitan barely had time to even remotely take in because of what was parted with him. His scars of the past erupted like fresh wounds, but the intensity of before was unlike anything felt. His body surged with pain, his vision in blurred for a moment at the sudden sensation of emotions, a torrent, a raging storm! The unknown Sith had simply turned the key and dialed up the multiplier by ten. All for fun? Likely. But to see if one was worthy? Even more so.
Xitan grabbed his head as his memories flashed about like death was coming. Stronger moments, than others, sending fierce shocks through his limbs and torso. There was nothing else that could be done. The Acolyte couldn't contain it! His hands grabbed the helmet and began to pull it apart, cutting into the flesh of his fingers and palm. When it was broken, his mouth opened and a scream, from within the Force, roared.
RRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!
Lightsaber flared to life, the crossguard hissing loudly as Xitan bolted forward. With a good swing, one of the dead's head rolled. And yet, he didn't stop there as Xitan cut through another and then another. The rage was making his bones ache, his muscles hurt, but it focused him. It made him feel power. It made him feel... alive! The Acolyte raised a gloved hand, bringing forth lightning that surged along the floor and burned a pair of dead with ease before his buzz-sawing frenzy continued.
Yet, for how long could he handle this? How long till his body gave way? Likely... seconds or minutes. But enough to prove a point to the spirit from beyond.
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Darth Sirona
The Sith Eternal
Posts: 338
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Darth Sirona on Dec 4, 2023 20:01:56 GMT -8
As the visions of the past began to play out before her, Darth Sirona felt her anger seeping away. She still hung onto the power it had charged her with, but now her curiosity was piqued. It was everything she wished she could accomplish. To actually see the history of the Sith play out before them... it was intoxicating. Never before had she wanted something so desperately. Even her desire for knowledge of the Dark, that led her down the path of the Sith, paled in comparison with this desire. The words of the wizardly lizard faded, and so too did the vision. Hungrily she looked around the chamber for a lingering apparition. From the corner of her eye, wherever she turned, it seemed there was someone there. She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again. It was still there. Shaking her head she turned to the others, to Dragus, for some sign of what was happening. But the saurian had collapsed. Turning next to Elarinya, she was about to speak when suddenly it hit her. A scream escaped her lips as she stumbled forward and caught herself on Elarinya's shoulders. The Echani gripped tightly, as if attempting to crush the armor her companion wore. She was fighting not to yell out in pain, but she lacked the fortitude. Where Xitan's scream was a manifestation of this new power he wielded, Sirona's was pained, like a wounded animal. She looked up at the red face of Ela, tears rolling down her cheeks. Her breaths were fast, sharp, and uneven. Sirona found her footing and seemed to gain enough composure to turn and see what was happening. The Dead. Wincing still, she let go of Elarinya and focused on lessons long past. Focus! She hissed through gritted teeth. It was a reminder of her lessons long past, focus the pain, and wield it like a weapon. Keep- argh- keep them off me. Sirona commanded the Pureblood. Straightening out further, Sirona stood in the remains of the ritual circle and began to channel her power. Her hands were held in front of her chest, palms open and facing each other with fingers splayed out but bent inwards as purple lightning began to crackle between the tips. She would finish these monsters, or what would be left after the berserk Acolyte was done, with one powerful blast. But her legs were shaking and it was taking all of her focus to channel, any attack on her by one of the dead had the chance to interrupt her with potentially disastrous effects.
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Post by Elarinya on Dec 5, 2023 17:57:12 GMT -8
Although her earlier attempt to peer into the past with the blade alone had proven fruitless, Dragus' magic worked at a whole other level and she could indeed see the visions he conjured. She glimpsed the blade she now held within the hands of its original owner, the gem ablaze with life and energy, where now it was dead and dull. She listened to the story Dragus had to tell, though if she was honest, she was certain this was all intended for Sirona and she was just along for the ride.
As the vision faded, she felt her attention pulled upwards for a moment, feeling a tug upon her mind through the Force. Its origin remained a mystery to her for she saw nothing as she looked up. However, she saw plenty as she settled her gaze and attention back around the room. A great many things were happening all at once, most notably Dragus' loss of consciousness and Xitan going on a screaming rampage. But her focus was instead pulled to Sirona, as the Witch stumbled into her in pain. She reached a hand up, feeling powerless to help but wipe away some of the tears as her friend managed to compose herself.
But when Sirona did compose herself, Ela was ready to act. It was the one thing she knew how to do and be helpful
:: Understood... ::
In one hand she wielded the Cortosis Dagger and in the other she drew one of her twin sabers, the black and red blade crackling to life. She took a moment to register where Xitan and Dragus were, before she started to swing her own weapons. Where the openings were large enough, her saber passed through the rotting corpses, whilst the more heavily armoured foes found the Cortosis Dagger passing through the tighter joints to sever flesh and bone apart. She kept moving in a tight circle around Sirona, keeping the undead Taung warriors from attacking the chanting witch and, by coincidence, the unconscious lizard. What had seemed like would only be a handful of foes, had in fact merely been those set out in places of honour, the walls seemed covered in caskets all creaking open. Hopefully what ever magic Sirona was conjuring would be ready quickly. For although Ela was a skilled fighter and Xitan was on a blood rage, each of them had their limits
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Dragus
The Sith Eternal
In front of the Empire, to all you Vader haters out there. We'll blow your planet up.
Posts: 1,428
Affiliation: Sith Eternal
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Post by Dragus on Dec 6, 2023 7:45:10 GMT -8
The ranks of the undead were no base prey to be discounted out of hand. This was a burial chamber of some import, concealed in the hidden depths of Roon's accursed dark soil, imprisoned in the same poison that had leached the life from their veins when still amongst the living. These were warrior kings. A layer of corpse dust and cortosis particles in the air obscured much of the time tarnished blue metallic plate that many of the risen taung were sheathed in. Even those in rotten leather armour wielded toxic blades of archaic artistry. They held gleaming blue greatswords, thrust with metallic tinged spears attached to solid petrified wooden hafts, and raised reflective bulwark shields as tall as themselves. As cobalt flame soul fire blazed in the empty sockets of their sloped skulls, they fought with the same martial mastery they had possessed in life, a malevolent mimicry of the Mandalorians of the modern age. There were so many, the walls were stacked high with jewel lined coffins, creaking open to spill their contents on the floor as skeletal champions rose and marched in orderly rows at the Sith interlopers that had desecrated this sacred space. Whatever will drove them and animated their ancient bones, it filled them with an unbridled hate the match for any servant of darkness arrayed against them.
Dragus awoke to find himself on the floor. His mind a fog of confusion, his memory still scattered across the aegis of time from his sorcerous feat, slowly returning one drip at a time. He smacked his lips as he rolled over from his backside onto his stomach, his ears rattling with the strange sounds of battle all around him, tasting a familiar flavour on his dry tongue. Suffering, and rage. A savoury combination that caused the fangs set in his monstrous jaws to elongate until they bit into blackened gums, stabbing into his flesh and filling his mouth with blood. His nostril slits flared, seeking the source of the delightful aroma, even as his head throbbed with a grating ache that addled his wits and disrupted his senses. Pressing scaly palms to the dusty floor he rose to a knee, snout still bowed as he shook it from side to side, attempting to dispel the mental fug that had set upon him. Without looking he extended his left claw to summon his trusty saber-cane, the Gorgon's Eye, from across the room where he had left it. The length of charcoal stained Pzobian oak flew across the room and slapped into his outstretched palm, gripped in his telekinetic kine as he brought its raw cortosis tip down on the floor, causing a resonating crack to echo across the chamber. Exposed by this was the hollow chasm upon which the surprisingly thin floor of the crypt was precariously perched upon, ending in a lengthy drop into a subterranean lake far below that served as home to unearthly horrors from a forgotten age. Fissures in the floor spiderwebbed out from the point of contact, creeping into growing spirals that creaked like the bones of the undead, concealing a possible impending fall.
The moment the Gorgon's Eye found the Dark Apothecary's grip, the meltmassif orb capping its top shone like a bright ball of solar light, contained within the ruby red sphere that served as a powerful psychic transmitter. Even as far as they were beneath the planet's crust, the Eye found its most defiant slave through that connection. Dragus felt its eclipsing presence pulse in his mind, reminding him of the dark promise he had made and the duty he still owed, dominating his will completely. As the saurian Sith finally opened his eyes and observed the battle raging in the tomb around him, his bloody right eye came to linger on an enraged Xitan slaughtering his way through the undead with wanton disregard for his own physical well being, flesh a mire of cuts and split open scars. Only it wasn't Xitan that the Famine Lord saw, but the Avatar of Chaos himself, Lord Kaan. Dragus' brother was hacking his way through the army of the unliving. Looking up at Sirona who was standing in the centre of an odd circle in front of him, he saw another Dathomori Witch from his past, the unequaled enchanting beauty of his sister. Witch, Night Sister, one and the same so far as he was concerned. He made no distinction. Dark Lady Trace appeared to be in the midst of some spell-craft, fingers splayed with purple lightning leaping between her expertly manicured fingers. Finally he turned his head to the right, spying Elarinya with his slit saurian pupil, seeing not a slender waif of red but a gargantuan cyclopean nightmare given physical form. The Warmaster, Lord Bacca, laid about the tomb with a lightsaber mace in one hand and a greatsword wielded like a dagger in the other as he fought to protect his Witch-Lover. Dragus was among his family.
And the undead? That had to be the work of his brother Mortale, the Greatest Necromancer of the modern age. Oh brother, what trouble have you gotten us into this time? Famine felt weary, unsure why, but exhausted all the same. He had not the strength in his limbs to bare arms, but perhaps there was something useful he could do with the residual magics he felt searing in his veins. Rising to stand behind Sirona, Dragus leaned his snout over her left shoulder and spoke in his reprehensible reptilian way. "Here, sweet Sssi..." No, not Sirona. "...ster." Boiling blood spilled from his lips and poured over his chin, running down the front of the Witch's chest. "Take sssome of mine." He reached around her back and placed his right claw on her shoulder, gripping it tightly until his talons threatened to bite into the flesh beneath her attire. Through the physical connection, he poured the remainder of what he had left in him, a tidal wave of emotion and arcane power. Avarice, jealousy, hate. Why had she chosen his brother to love? Why had He chose Her? What made Dragus so unworthy of love? Hmmm? Why did he have to feel this way, so empty on the inside? It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. He offered her the full brunt of his emotion, to let her feel a measure of how he suffered, alone in the dark.
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Darth Xitan
The Sith Eternal
Posts: 237
Affiliation: The Cult of the Eternal
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Post by Darth Xitan on Dec 13, 2023 21:52:44 GMT -8
All the while, Xitan continued to surge through the room, his lightsaber flying left and right. It slammed against cortosis warriors, slashed into heavy armor, hewned limbs and slashed heads off from their rotting walking corpses. The Acolyte was still under the heavy influence of what the unknown spirit had unlocked. The Force Scream had created a high within his body as emotions exploded from amplified memories that only fueled the rage and hatred within the Sith. Everything was almost swimming in terms of his conscious. Even his own eyes couldn't truly understand how he was able to perform the actions that cut through a number of the risen dead.
Xitan flew across the room, twirling in the air as he reflected a pair of blaster bolts from antique rifles. He cut the muzzle off of one before slashing the head off of the warrior utilizing it. A gloved hand was raised, unleashing a great torrent of Force Lightning which charred the skin of two warriors, hurling them into the wall. Xitan then parried with a warrior's cortosis weapon before cutting its limb off and then slashing through the neck. And yet, through this all, even the Acolyte received his own wounds. Blood was dripping from a handful of cuts and stabs. For even though the risen dead were slowly, they were unpredictable in their movements. But it didn't seem to slow down the Sith, whose unleashed rage didn't seem to die even for a second-
His lightsaber clashed with a cortosis weapon and, suddenly, Xitan felt it. An exhaustion begin to creep upon his body. Deeply, he breathed, feeling the room begin to swim now. In a frustrated growl, Xitan dueled with the warrior before slashing off yet another head. But as he tried to move, the Sith felt his muscles scream in agony and his grip loosen. The high was wearing off and his body was getting the effects of the aftermath. His limbs felt stunned. His motions slowed. His reactions weren't quick all of a sudden.
And, from the beyond, the unknown Sith merely laughed at what had occurred. Before fading into nothing.
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Darth Sirona
The Sith Eternal
Posts: 338
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Darth Sirona on Dec 14, 2023 12:26:56 GMT -8
She was in the eye of the storm.
Around her it was like the days of old, Sith Warriors fighting an army of natives simply trying to defend their home. But in this case the home was a tomb and the natives had been dead for centuries. For as outlandish of a situation most others would have found it, the archeologist was actually quite at home in this situation; apart from the crippling pain from a source she could not identify. But with this pain, she continued to channel her magick and her energy. Her breaths were starting to even out as the pain filled her and she grew to accept it as a fact of the situation. As her concentration sharpened, the amount and intensity of the lighting leaping between her fingers increased. She could feel it, she knew that if given enough time she would have enough power to wipe out all of these Taung warriors. It was risky right now though, if she launched it prematurely it may not put down all of their opponents and then it would be up to Xitan and Elarinya to defend two exhausted sorcerers. Not good.
But then, she felt it, as Xitan did. Like she hit a wall. An exhaustion she knew from pulling multiple all-nighters in a row while researching or working. The energy she was storing began to wane, but then help unlooked for. She had missed the old wizened lizard rise once more and come to stand behind her. The pinch of his talons helped to steady Sirona and keep her alert. Then his blood, hot and viscus rolled out and down from his mouth, and the close it got to the electricity charging between her splayed fingers, the more it and that energy burned. But what held her attention was not the surge of power that came, but the feelings that it was channeled through. The jealousy, and hate for someone for such reasons. Was this the price for seeking such relationships? To feel this burning hatred for brothers and sisters in the Sith. She leaned her head over and let it rest on his scale covered skull. She pitied him. It had always been her choice to be alone, it made sense to her, everything was simpler like that. The closest she had ever come was a brief courtship with Geralt during her time with the Blackguard. Uncle, you needn't be alone again. Your new family is here. And taking the power from herself, from Dragus, and unknowingly from Xitan, Sirona through her hands up above her head and let it all loose on their enemies. The purple lighting erupted, striking the ceiling of the crypt and then raining down upon the Taung. And not a moment too soon, as with Xitan out of the picture, Elarinya would have surly been overwhelmed or had to leave the other three to their fates. But now an foe that the Pureblood did not see coming at her flank, there was a bolt of lightning for them. Sirona reveled in this power, a exhausted smile on her face as she looked up at her work, raining purple death down upon all who sought them harm.
She was the eye of the storm.
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Post by Elarinya on Dec 16, 2023 22:02:52 GMT -8
Whereas Xitan was a chaotic force of pain and recklessness cutting through the undead that assaulted them, Elarinya was not being driven to madness. Her whole life had been spent training to fight and kill and wield the darkness with one purpose. To kill one person and all those that got in her way. Right now, these long dead Taung were in her way but were also threatening the first person that had proved dear to her in much of her life. Sirona had no oath sworn need to be nice or kind to her, but the Dark Librarian had chosen to still offer Ela aide upon Dathomir. A world upon which she would have likely died upon otherwise. So she would repay that debt.
Between parries and thrusts of her blades through necrotic flesh, her gaze would glance across to where Sirona was, making sure she was still nearby and safe. It was only due to these checks, that she noticed the fallen Saurian Sith Lord had pulled himself to his feet once more. The combined might of their dark power was alluring. It was like setting out a full roast dinner upon a table. But Ela had to tear her gaze away as she kept moving about the pair of magicians as they pooled their power together, especially as she noticed the exhaustion finally washing over Xitan. She cursed under her breath in the ancient Sith tongue, using one of a few words her former Master had allowed her to learn.
She deactivated her saber and clipped it away quickly as she pushed out from the tight circle pattern she'd been keeping. Her Cortosis Dagger flying up and parrying a strike aimed at the Masked man's back while her now free hand shot out and grabbed his clothing and pulled him away. She sent him stumbling toward Sirona and Dragus, while she spun the blade she had parried away and sliced the dagger across the zombies neck. As she turned around, she jumped back just as the bolts of lightning started erupting through the air and took out the attacker she'd missed.
She dodged back toward the group, using the Force to speed up her movements as she sliced here and there, before taking a stand between the group and the last Taung warrior. She grit her teeth and struck hard and fast, slicing at joints and limbs, before thrusting the dagger through the warriors mouth and out the back of his skull. She extracted the blade just as the finally body collapsed upon the floor. Allowing Ela a moment to turn toward everyone in their exhaustion, feeling her own creeping up at the edge of her being
:: Well... It seems safe now... ::
But as with most things in life, there was a sudden loud rumbling that felt like it shook their very beings and the air within the cave. Something within the Force sharply struck at her senses
:: What now... ::
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Dragus
The Sith Eternal
In front of the Empire, to all you Vader haters out there. We'll blow your planet up.
Posts: 1,428
Affiliation: Sith Eternal
Traffic Light: Blue
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Post by Dragus on Dec 17, 2023 6:17:39 GMT -8
Sirona's telepathically delivered words cut through the memory fog enshrouding the black scaled barabel's mind like a lightsaber through blue butter, dispelling his confusion while simultaneously diminishing the malevolent presence with claws sunk deep in his enslaved psyche. The vision of Dark Lady Trace melted away, replaced by the niece he had so recently been united with. His bloody right eye blinked, clearing away the last lingering remnants of blurred illusion as he once more became aware of his surroundings and the events that had led up to them. Xitan seemed worse for wear, exhausted and bleeding, his myriad of flesh wounds exciting the Dark Apothecary's predatory senses and causing his jaws to flood with fresh salivation, sluicing past his teeth and spilling from his lips in long scalding ropes of steaming drool. Dragus felt a bit exhausted himself as his own stores of magical might were drawn into the web of the Witch's spell to fuel hateful bolts of purple lightning that ripped through walking corpses and caused their desiccated forms to erupt into pillars of fire like oil soaked kindling. Turning his head, he no longer beheld the Cyclopean Nightmare of his older brother, but instead saw a whirling dervish of red flesh with a glinting blue lethal edge. It seemed Elarinya was at her best when surrounded by an assortment of foes, allowing her to ply her raw martial talent and considerable skill. In that moment, he briefly allowed the amethyst gem of arcane origin set in his left eye to focus its multi-faceted gaze on the deadly crimson ballerina.There was no concealing Elarinya's shared genetic origins with Valefor from the Hungering One. His hyper-sensitive olfactory senses allowed him to pick apart the chemical composition of a million different particles in the air, stripping down the hormones and pheromones in her sweat to their most basic level, like some sort of super-computing blood hound. That, and he could smell the blood coursing through her veins, even beneath her smooth red skin. She and winged red sage were linked in some way, and more than just genetically. He suspected that was the cause of his inability to weave her thread of fate as easily as he had Xitan and Sirona's. There was also the matter of her soul, which the arcane gem set in his eye was able to observe, piercing the false husk of flesh that kept it shackled inside. At first observation of Elarinya, he had simply thought her spirit diminished, in the way that some beings with low ethereal potential were. Under reinspection, however, he saw what he had missed at first glance, the frayed fabric and torn edges. It wasn't diminished at all, it was...incomplete. The spiritual shard inside of her appeared as though it had been split in half.But as with most things in life, there was a sudden loud rumbling that felt like it shook their very beings and the air within the cave. Something within the Force sharply struck at her senses:: What now... :: Slowly, imperceptibly, the creep of tentacles slithered up through the depths from the mighty Dianoga-Leviathan as it probed its domain for food...
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Darth Xitan
The Sith Eternal
Posts: 237
Affiliation: The Cult of the Eternal
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Post by Darth Xitan on Dec 31, 2023 13:27:54 GMT -8
For a moment, Xitan lost sensation of gravity. For a moment, his vision was free falling through darkness and chasm before his form landed, torso forward, upon the rubble. The Sith was in an utter state of disarray in terms of his body's emotions, stability, and so forth. The rage that had consumed him had drained his body to the point of exhaustion and he could not feel anything now. The damn specter had laughed at him, departing from his presence once more and leaving Xitan to endure the consequences of such power being unleashed within him. The helmet was quickly removed, tossed to the side, seconds before Xitan threw up a bit of blood. His body was at its limits it seemed... damn... an Acolyte that was still understanding and trying to harness power. Dragus had assisted in many cases, but this time, it seemed the Acolyte had pushed too far.
When the sound of a creature was heard. Xitan's vision turned slowly to see a tentacled creature from the dark depths. All he could do was mutter.
Frakk... me...
Oh joy.
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Darth Sirona
The Sith Eternal
Posts: 338
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Darth Sirona on Dec 31, 2023 20:29:59 GMT -8
Sirona for a time was too wrapped up in the power she had expelled and felt herself channeling. It had truly been intoxicating. As the last of the undead erupted into flame, Sirona lowered her hands, shaking in excitement. She was about to eagerly turn to face Dragus and thank him for his help, but then she felt it. The rumbling, and then the cracking. The floor slowly giving way beneath them. The woman locked eyes with Elarinya for the brief moment before the floor dropped from under her. No words had time to escape her lips, just a look both pleading and apologetic. Then she fell. Her adrenaline hit new levels, previously unknown to her. But it let her brain work in over time and so she reacted faster than usual. The first clue was the splashing of the first chunks of floor hitting the water, so Sirona angled herself feet first, and made herself as thin as possible. Much of the surface tension was already disrupted by the rocks falling, but it was still a painful ordeal. First from the impact of the water, second the water going up her nose causing her to launch into a coughing fit the moment she surfaced, and third was the cold. Unbearably cold. She watched as each of her companions landed and resurfaced. She was prepared to swim to and assist any of them that needed it. But as her eyes adjusted to this even darker cavern, she say Xitan looking downward into the water. Were they not alone? Treading water, she then turned to see what Dragus was doing. If anyone would have a way out of this situation it was the Wizard Lizard himself. Right?
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