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Post by Aherk Fyyar on Sept 29, 2015 17:45:37 GMT -8
"Well, that sounds like fun. Red dude and I going on a shopping trip or something?"
Jef held onto the threshold of the cockpit, his eyes more focused on the city-planet ahead of him than either the ship's pilot or their outfit's leader. There was a definite air of disinterest about him, as if the mission, the circumstances, and the destination itself were as important as what he would have for lunch that day. He barely remembered the last time he'd been on Coruscant, but he remembered that it hadn't been pleasant. But if it meant a little more excitement in his life, all the better.
"I mean, I'm not much good when the bolts start flying."
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Drallinix
Member
Posts: 33 
Affiliation: "those guys. You know, them"
Traffic Light: Blue
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Post by Drallinix on Sept 29, 2015 18:32:44 GMT -8
"Don't worry just keep your head down and let me do the shooting doc" Drall replied in a sarcastic voice. He had his gear on and was standing adjacent the doctor prepping his weapons. His rifle was in perfect condition he had spent the last three hours meticulously setting the sights. He had his blade at the ready on his side and the staff on his back. He had thrown the cloak away for now doubting that he would need it.
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Post by Aherk Fyyar on Sept 29, 2015 19:07:30 GMT -8
Jef took a deep breath in through the nose as he heard the rifle-toting maniac behind him. He turned his head, a bemused expression crossing his face as he gave the gun nut a once-over, noting just how very little had changed in the past few hours. Granted, nobody had done much of anything; the pilot had flown, Jef himself had been setting up their makeshift infirmary, the head guy had been notably absent, and the guy Jef was charged with babysitting had spent the intervening time playing with his rifle. If the initial meeting hadn't sold Jef on the fact that this guy was a few power couplings shy of a hyperdrive - which, to be fair, wasn't everyone? - the silent and focused hours spent in front of his gun did the trick. And with no indication as to just how long this little smash and grab would go, the medic did his best to hide the creeping dread.
"Really? Let you do the shooting? But you seem so underprepared for it...I mean, shooting a guy, that's a biiiiig decision..."
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Galdaart Fel
Retired High Councilor 
...not hiding anymore
Posts: 1,565
Affiliation: The Unfair Advantage
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Galdaart Fel on Sept 30, 2015 7:29:22 GMT -8
Fel listened to Bloodshot lay out the mission parameters -- such as they were. Tactically, there were a thousand holes in this scheme, or at least, a thousand holes based on the information he had, which he assumed was a fraction of the total sum. There was a part of him that was wary of the term 'air support,' but there was also the part that relished the idea of raising merry hell on Coruscant. He entered a code on the console to access the weapons platform, and read off the inventory. Dual dorsal turbolasers, two fore-mounted heavy cannon, single concussion missile tube and a compliment of nine high-ex AP warheads, and a medium ion cannon. I couldn't take on a squadron of well-trained snubbies with this, but if you're quick about your business, I can cover extraction and cause some decent collateral distraction in the process. They were beginning to descend into the Coruscant atmo, passing through one of the planetary defence shields at a marked access point. From there, the ships, which had been moving steadily in line-astern fashion, split into one of several dozen flight paths to access the various levels and locations of the galactic city core. This is the bigger concern. Depending on what you're doing, and just how loud this gets, planetary security aren't just going to let us fly off into the sunset. What's your plan for getting offworld, boss? And as for the doc and his armoured bodyguard here -- after things get loud, we then have to make a courtesy call pick-up? That's slow, and sloppy. Not saying it can't be done, but we open ourselves up to a lot of hurt if things go sideways. I'm sure you don't need to be told this, but Coruscant can bring a lot of firepower, from a lot of sources, very quickly. Fel had laid in the coordinates for their first drop-off point, and was happy to note the Navigational Aid had been mercifully silent during the process. He was multi-tasking now, flying the bird while talking tactics, and setting up the control interfaces for the weapons load-out for ease of control from this central location. Melia appeared from her cabin, most of her gear left behind, only her dual side-arms accompanying her to the cockpit.
She eyed Drallinix up and down before sliding by and into the cockpit. Nice. Subtle. Fel frowned, but inclined his head to the co-pilot's seat, and Melia sat, watching Bloodshot intently. This is Melia. She'll be useful aboard the ship if I'm solo here. Unless you need her help on the ground... No. I'm wherever you are, Fel. That's not open to discussion. Well... great. We're ten minutes out from our first destination, doc. Anything else I need to know?
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Bloodshot
Member
Posts: 311
Affiliation: Chaos and credits, baby.
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Post by Bloodshot on Sept 30, 2015 11:23:48 GMT -8
Yes. There may be sith involved. They attacked the target on Mandalore before we arrived, and if we can track them here they can too. Our intel says they're after the same holocron we are, and it's still on the ship. If not for that, you'd be shadowing Drallinix and the doc instead of me. It's also why we brought captain cheerful back there. He hooked a thumb in the direction of Sev in the hold. If the sith are no-shows or once they're dealt with, you'll need to get back to Drallinix for extraction as needed. He'll give you a pickup location after he has the target. We'll find our own way out after that.
He shifted, turning his gaze on the doctor. You'll need to bring a field kit with sedatives. Your target is a human female in good health, with no known allergies to medications. Drall and our agents already on the ground will subdue the target, then it's your job to keep her alive and sedated until we can get her in the cryo-pod in the hold.
His next words were for Drallinix. This one is by the book. There's a mandalorian agent protecting the target, so you'll have to get him out of the equation before the doc can do his thing. The agents on the ground will have more info and be able to help with that, but he is not to be killed under any circumstances. And for the love of the force, do not engage him hand to hand. Clear?
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Drallinix
Member
Posts: 33
Affiliation: "those guys. You know, them"
Traffic Light: Blue
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Post by Drallinix on Oct 1, 2015 8:19:07 GMT -8
"No killing AND no hand to hand, damn boss im going to have to get creative on this one, but yes sir we're clear" Drall said nodding to his mentor. Drall smacked the doc on one shoulder with an armored hand and said "Well doc looks like its about party time lets get your toys and see if she wants to play eh?" after speaking Drall prepared to be dropped at their destination and began to formulate a plan on how to deal with this mando agent.
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Galdaart Fel
Retired High Councilor
...not hiding anymore
Posts: 1,565
Affiliation: The Unfair Advantage
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Galdaart Fel on Oct 1, 2015 8:24:52 GMT -8
Fel nods succinctly at Bloodshot's explanation. There was no need for embellishment. It was as clear as it needed to be. The details... he'd make it up as he went.
Clear. checking the coordinates and doing a nice piece of maneuvering around an arbitrary traffic lane Two minutes to first landing platform. Doc -- you and 'Drall better get prepped for touchdown. I'm not going to hang around. Down and clear the ramp. Cycle your comms to 709.12 mHz if you need to reach me on a secure channel. Make sure you scramble it, 'cause there's enough folks listening -- even passively -- on Coruscant, that we'll have every 'hood within earshot coming down on us if you send anything broadband.
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Post by Aherk Fyyar on Oct 2, 2015 15:06:14 GMT -8
"Solid copy, Mr. Pilot Man."
Jef mocked a salute as he took a jog back to his makeshift infirmary. Once there, he slid off his shirt and chucked it onto the operating table before moving to his small suitcase, pulling a dark brown t-shirt from within. Before sliding it over his shoulders, he glanced downward, making sure his respirator was still working. Much to his relief, it was; there was no easy field fix for it if he began to have problems out there, and while he would survive a few small errors, something requiring more attention than a quick downward glance would throw a spanner into the works. Quickly. Seeing no problems, Jef threw his shirt on and moved to the medicine cabinet he'd set up on the far side of the room, grabbing a sizable zeyd-cloth bag as he did so.
A healthy Human female was easy enough to work with. But even among a species as common and relatively homogeneous as Humans, there were a lot of variables to consider. Metabolism rates could affect how quickly her body overcame the sedatives, and how often they would need to be re-upped. Genetic anomalies and mutations might make her more or less vulnerable to given compounds. Any undocumented health problems - an enlarged heart or a small tumor, for instance - could further complicate the matter. While Jef had all the equipment at his disposal to assess the health of his "client", he couldn't take any of it with him; field operations usually amounted to falling back on the basics and hoping to the Force itself that they worked long enough.
H4b was a hospital-grade sedative that would be good for keeping her unconscious. Eyeballing the vial, Jef placed it into his satchel before taking three more. He wouldn't need the Pharma he had brought with him; that would be much more useful once she was on the ship for her interview. Jef lamented not having any Lecepanine or Conergin, as both would have been tremendously helpful for this little operation. But he had plenty of Dipill on hand. And once that was in her system, divulging information should be fairly easy. That is, of course, if this hardened Mandalorian woman was going to be nice enough to take the easy way.
If not, things could get considerably less pleasant.
"Right," Jef shouted as he made his way back to the group, hoisting his bag over his shoulder, "let's get this bucket landed and move on out, shall we?"
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Post by Oberyon on Oct 12, 2015 21:07:11 GMT -8
Weapons of war knew of only one kind of peace- silence. It was the voiceless ebb and flow of the abyss that preceded the cataclysm. It was the motionless, breathless, shapeless entity that stood dominant only to be destroyed by the maelstrom. It was nothing, and yet, it was necessary. Peace was but an intermission to the natural state of life, which was war and chaos. Yet it was needed. Peace allowed roots to grow, yet it was war that uprooted and sowed change.
Space was the best example of this peaceful silence. The abyss, given form, or rather embodying the lack there of. That was where he was- as still as death itself- preserved by suspended animation. A body, with an age that was seemingly impossible. Life, from another time, and another world. He was an artifact, frozen and packaged, sent to an alien galaxy.
The chill would never kiss raw skin; War and Chaos had given him a second skin, wrought of metal and science. The skin beneath was once that of a living being, but now it was twisted; distorted by science and nature, forced to remain in existence for but one purpose. Fueled by perpetual pain and agony, he was a tool of war- his body was all that connected the soul to it's cold vessel. The organic tissue was a conduit to the creature's true manifestation; his armor. Everything he stood for depended upon his armor; his existence, his purpose, and his mission. That was why he was here after all. After years of traversing the silence of the void, the monotonous abyss of space was broken by a star- or rather a planet which resembled one.
Coruscant- the world of crystal, steel, light and life- was a planet where its true soil had not seen sunlight in aeons. That was where this vessel, a lonely pod, wrought of metal and alien technology, had found itself. And it had but one mission.
To sensors, it gave off little to no energy output, no more than a random probe. It's size made it nearly impossible to detect from scanners, due to a minimal cross reference. The vessel was no larger than a snug escape pod. Perhaps that was what it was. There was no way of knowing until the contents of said pod reached their destination.
Gravity played the largest part at making that happen, as the pod was pulled into Coruscant's outer orbit, and slowly made its way into the planet's gravity well. Unbeknownst to the citizens of the intergalactic capital, this seemingly non-important pod had the potential to shred the very fabric of what they knew to be real.
The silence permeated throughout the inside of the 'pod', regardless of the scorching cry of metal heating upon atmospheric entry. The sole occupant of the pod had been sleeping for longer than he could remember, and it was going to take a little more than noise to rouse him.
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Darth Belial
Member
"The difference between gods and daemons largely depends upon where one is standing at the time."
Posts: 220
Affiliation: The One Sith
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Post by Darth Belial on Nov 30, 2015 19:48:05 GMT -8
This was the beginning of yet another chapter in Galactic History. Throughout the ages since the Skywalker Epoch had come to a close, many Empires and Republics had risen to take the mantle of responsibility, yet had failed under its crushing weight. Either by fire or stagnation, they were purged from the face of the universe, forever becoming nothing more than a fading memory in history's pages. What was to come, and what was to transpire, were merely a continuation of the cycle. For this Republic, whose fires have long since petered out, their end was inevitable. Clutching to what remained of their pathetic reign, like a newborn would their blanket, the galaxy was made to suffer whilst they stood idly by. What good was a government that failed to protect those under their care, and neglected their allies in times of need? Yes, they were leaderless. Yes, they were divided. But none should have been made to suffer whilst the Senate dealt with their... politics.
A small measure of hate welled within the Dark Lord's heart as he had watched the city-wide planet appear upon the command deck's hololithic display. It was an uncharacteristic urge, one brought forth by the body he now wore. Varro had once been a son of a man that was enamored by the prowess of the Republic. Of how, even in a galaxy beset by turmoil, had managed to keep many of it's worlds safe from the ever encroaching fires. Yet, as those flames had engulfed the boy's homeworld, it was the Republic had that torched his home; all for the sake of routing the entrenched Sith threat. Entire sections of Safaeyet had burned as the orbiting vessels had ignited the surface, glassing everything in their violent wake. It was justified, they had said. It was tragic, they had said.
However, no matter how many times their words had decried the actions of the military, nothing had been done. The Commander of that Republic Taskforce was seen as a War Hero, someone that was admired among his colleagues and eventually had gone into Politics as the Senator of Rendili. How was this boy, who bore witness to his entire family being vaporized before his very eyes, supposed to react? Was he to thank the Republic for saving his world, by purging it with atomic fire from on high? No. He resented everything they stood for and hated that he was seemingly powerless to act. That was until he had grown into adolescence. Trained by the whispers in the dark, the youthful warrior had cut a swathe through Republic forces upon the Outer Rim. Butchering them, as they had his entire family.
The satisfaction of vengeance had left a sour taste upon his tongue, as he wanted more. He craved more. Thus, now in his early twenties, the Son of Calistarious had struck at the festering heart of the Core worlds. Breaking into the Jedi Temple, slaying several of the stalwart protectors that sought to turn him back from this dark path, the boy had found out who perpetrated the act of annihilation upon his world. From there, things had only spiraled downwards, as the boy continually acted in accordance with his desires for Revenge. That was until he had found himself upon the surface of the cinnamon dusted world of Korriban. Upon that desolate planet, Varro had taken his first tumultuous steps in becoming what stood beside the Queen Mother of the Hapes consortium in the present day.
Clad in his ritually maintained ceremonial armour, the Dark Lord cast his gaze out into the receding sea of azure stars - stretched thin as they soared through the depthless void of hyperspace. It was there in the depthless ocean of infinite possibilities that he had seen the future, and plucked at the chords of fate to ensure it had come to pass. With the Empire having fallen, and the Republic teetering upon the edges of oblivion, Belial would finally be free to carry out his plan without having to skulk about in the shadows. That would be a day worthy of remembrance.
Pulling down the ivory dream silk hood and removing his ornately crafted funerary masque, Varro turned his emerald eyes upon the woman at his side. Though he had ensnared her love with false promises and lies, he had grown accustomed to her presence. She commanded attention but never asked for it. She stood tall and proud, but as Belial could see beneath the veil, Araneya was the very personification of hypocrisy. The Queen Mother was far from proud to be doing a deed such as this, for her mind kept harkening back to the days before they had met - when the Republic was strong and the two states were allies. Though, even as her thoughts had drifted towards the days of yesteryear, she came to the realization of how weak the Consortium had become under the watchful gaze of her eldest sister. There was a sudden flash of determination that coiled within her veins as she matched her husband's gaze. Clearly, she had found some sort of emotional strength in seeing the Dark Lord's dark emerald eyes, and had marshaled her thoughts accordingly. "Lost in thought, again?" Araneya had asked, her tone taking on a playful hue. "I was," He lied. "I was thinking back to the first time you brought me aboard the Star Home for a dinner amongst the stars. Part of me wishes that we were still there, and that time itself had stood still." Oh, the web of lies he had spun. "Yes, that would've been lovely. It's a shame things have changed since then, but in truth, I wouldn't have it any other way." Belial knew better. She wanted a great many things, especially from the man she took into her confidence. Araneya wanted the truth but feasted upon fictional fabrications spun into being, by the thing that stalked the stars in borrowed flesh. She would never know, that the man she claimed as her husband was nothing more than a falsehood given life by carefully laid plans. The Son of Calistarious had been erased from all records by the hands of fate, pushed into motion by the Architect. Thus, when he had made his reckless charge into the Hapes Cluster and was rescued by the Consortium, they had viewed what another wished them to see. Portions of his new persona were drawn together from the combined backgrounds of over several male Jedi Knights and Masters that resided within the Arkanian Temple. The most notable of these doctored records belonged to the former Jedi Master - Arcanus Sunstrider, who had died alone and forgotten when the planet of Arkania had been broken in two.
The Dark Lord smiled, as his mind had drifted towards what remained of his former nemesis and fondly touched the face plate of his funerary masque. Such a moment couldn't last forever, and as the stars had begun to slow their rapid passage, his attention was drawn from the silvered faceplate only to settle upon the picturesque landscape now adorning the forward viewscreen. _____________________________________________________________________________________ Spearing forth into the heart of the Coruscanti system; Sixty-three Hapan Battle Dragons, preceded by several dozen Nova-Class battle Cruisers, burst forth from the unreality of hyperspace with a flicker of pseudo-motion. Their silvered hulls glittered in the light of the nearby star as they silently glided through the bespeckled void towards the ecumenopolis world before them. When they had reached the direct sphere of influence the Orbital Controllers had maintained, their roaring ion engines had reversed in order to bring the gliding warships to an abrupt halt. These were the finest of the Consortium's warships and had composed the entirety of its ceremonial Honour Fleet. Thus, when they had come to a complete stop, they had done so with an orderly precision uncommon outside of Imperial Space. Each vessel was evenly spaced along the fringes of Coruscant's influential sphere and remained on alert should any craft seek to breach their informal blockade. This was a display of power and prowess, yet such a sight paled in comparison to what had come next. A massive taloned star-fortress had clawed its way into realspace from the depths of that azure alternate dimension, falling into formation behind the disciplined ranks of star forged steel. The ostentatiously eccentric flagship of the Hapan Royal Navy, the Star Home, had come to the Heart of the Republic and within it's ancient halls - the winds of change began to blow. _____________________________________________________________________________________ During the transition back into reality, the Dark Lord and his wife, the Queen Mother, had descended into the depths of the massive star-fortress and waited before one of the many hawk-swept shuttles populating the primary hangar bay. It was there that Varro had ushered his beloved aboard the vessel with her armed escort of Chume'Doro, and watched as his two 'children' followed suit. Once they had housed themselves within the passenger compartment, the Sith Lord turned towards several shrouded figures hidden beneath the cargo ramp."You may begin. Ensure that none can trace this back to us, whilst we bring the Republic down. Retrieve what you can from the Temple, then level it soon after. Kill anyone that stands in your way. I expect success, and shall speak to you once the task has been completed. Do not fail me like you failed Ahriman, Sorcerer. I am not so forgiving." The shadow bowed, before taking his charges to another shuttle. One that would return into hyperspace, as soon as this world's attention was focused solely upon the arrival of the Queen Mother. Then, once enough time has elapsed, the vessel would return, bearing new transponder codes and blend into the descending lanes of orbital traffic.With his command given, Belial fixed his metallic masque atop his crown and climbed into the shuttle proper. ________________________________________________________________________________ A single message was pulsed towards the planet, to be received by both the Senate Rotunda and the Orbital Controllers. If a reply was to be made, such words would be found unheard, as the channel was silenced as soon as the transmission was sent. :: Her royal majesty, the Queen Mother of Hapes, has come and desires an audience with the Senator of New Alderaan, Princess Standash Thul. Ensure that our projected vectors are clear, for we will not be held responsible for any perceived threats that may endanger the safety of our beloved Ereneda. ::
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Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
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Post by Deleted on Nov 30, 2015 21:22:38 GMT -8
Shortly before the arrival of the Honour Fleet, in fact, mere seconds before the glimmering Hapan Battle Dragons and Nova-class battle cruisers filled the skies over Coruscant, the Star of Lorelli, along with its two sisters, jumped out of hyperspace and parked themselves before the Core and Heart of the Republic. The fleet had departed from Hapes and made jumps the Rifle Worlds and eventually into the Lorelli Reach where they exited the Consortium's controlled space through the Trellen Trade Route. From there, they eventually navigated towards the Hydian Way, then transferred onto the Perlemian Trade Route for the last leg of the journey.
Remus would return to his command chair, casually rubbing his bearded chin, as his gaze turned upon Coruscant. Yet his mind was interrupted by alarms as the rest of the Honour Fleet, led by the Star Home, joined Remus's ships seconds later. His mind turned to the screen as ships began to call in their arrival to Star Home...
Any reports of note, Senior Communications Officer?
A young woman would return her gaze to the Captain shaking her head before speaking.
None, Captain. It seems everyone made it safely to the Galactic Core, coordinates 0-0-0. Its mostly the usual traffic.
Please hail Star Home, see if we can get in communication with the Lord Consort.
Aye, Captain!
A few hails were performed before one managed to get through all the military and protocol traffic. It sure was one hell of a mess when it came to communications to such a massive fleet. The Captain stands up and walks to the viewport before speaking loudly and affirmatively to the Lord Consort's communication link.
Lord Consort, I come in to report as protocol dictates, given my position as the spearhead of the Honour Fleet. My sensors detect no traffic over Coruscant save the usual trade and passenger ships. No confirmation on military reaction nor any detection of military presence over the Capital of the Republic. What are your orders, Lord Consort?
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Post by The Twin Conquerors on Nov 30, 2015 22:22:03 GMT -8
Something new is rising. The heartbeat, like drums, echoes across the stars. The vast darkness of space burns beneath their march. The Empire. The Republic. One fallen, rendered as dust beneath their might – the other, on the precipice of mortality's conclusion. Weakened from their incessant squabbling, neither will be fit to stand against the might of the Dark Lord’s Empire. Too consumed by the gluttonous sins of their warring peoples – the Republic, the Empire – too preoccupied by their own affairs to feel the ripples of their approach.
And when your armies fall, when your walls start to crumble, you will know that your time has come…
And they were fools, such painfully stupid fools, to think that their father would ever provide them with something even remotely resembling encouragement. For their father this is merely a training exercise – a formality to observe. First, they needed to dismantle the existing governments before they could move on to the rest of the bickering, weakening universe.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his sister trembling behind Mephistion, the Sorcerer. Is it rage? Was she about to lose control? Since the Dark Lord had taken them from their broken world, he had braved his sister’s rages and calmed the onslaught of the following storm. His sister is strong, but she cannot handle their father’s indifference and the cruelty of his words.
Your privilege is the dirt.
Propped up on display for their father, preening and posturing for the Dark Lord’s attention. She is a princess, he is a prince. There is no time for play anymore. Not when their father expects them to become so much more beyond their wildest imaginations, they will be figureheads in the years to come when Hapes will be the center of the universe upon the forging of the Dark Lord’s Empire. She is a princess and he is a prince, there is no time for play.
She has come into her own, more raw power at her disposal than anyone that has come before. It makes her reckless and negligent. He has learned restraint, control over his powers unparalleled. It is what makes him dangerous and ultimately, her saviour. She is nothing, her father tells her. A parasite attached to his side. Still he protects her, offers her his outstretched hand to pick her up off the ground.
Her smiles mean the world to him and her laughter lets him know that he is not alone. They are together, together whispering to one another in the dead of night while they lay side by side in bed; together they stand in the arena, back to back, as they face down their father – and when she struggles, when her temper gets the better of her and she slips up, groping for purchase – he is there to offer her his hand, a stalwart companion to let her know she is not alone.
To love, it is a weakness, their father says. Do not beg me to ignore how it weakens you. Their father’s words sting like the barbs of an Arkanian jellyfish. They stand there like two little soldiers, for is that not what they are? Not a son, not a daughter to the Dark Lord that stands over them. They were merely weapons, an extension of the Dark Lord’s will.
A shadow falls across them, they dare not meet his gaze. She is nothing. She will never be anything.
The fact that he has no parting words for them now, did not even bother to acknowledge them – it is almost worse for her. Burning hotter than an O-type star, swirling fiercer than the tempest of a hurricane, and threatening to boil over at the slightest provocation – I could feel a rage building inside of her. A rage I did not share.
Slowly, cautiously he reaches out and grasps her hand in his, unsure as to whether she would be receptive to his advances or lash out in violence; the surging, seething hunger taking control of her. Continuing to watch her, she flinches slightly as his skin comes into contact with hers. In this moment, she is the most beautiful woman in the universe to him.
Looking over to her brother, the amber slowly fades from her eyes as they toss Mephistion to the ravenous hunger of their father’s cruelty and turn away to the shuttle, stealing a few moments alone.
War is coming, and she does not want to allow herself to feel. War is coming, and his control is nonpareil, but he allows himself to steal this one moment. His body an unyielding mass of muscle beneath the combat armour he dons for this occasion, he crowds her up against the bulkhead, placing a hand on either side of her head as he meets her gaze. The amber had all but faded from the silvery harsh stare she shared with him. “Rhaezion…” She says quietly, her voice not much more than a whisper, but a dire warning all the same. She knew what he was doing and through their bond, could feel his emotions surging with untamed fury just beneath the surface of his self-imposed control. For years, they had both played this game – he pursued her and she had allowed it, against her better judgement. “I do not need him. I never needed him...One day I will make him regret it, all of it..” He did not try to deny the weight of what his sister had endured from their father, but still he loved him with an aloof respect.
With a sudden urgency, he crushes his lips into hers. He does not lie to himself, he loves his sister more. Reluctantly, she eventually shoves him off of her and he relents for just a moment, leaving her lips aching and swollen. “Rhaezion….stop..” He lowers his head back down and meets her gaze. She is both his rival and in every way his equal. Looking as if he is going to press his luck again, he stops just short, his breath hovering on her lips. “No…Iztara..” He whispers back before pushing off of the wall and sliding into the co-pilot’s seat.
For a second time, he does not lie to himself and hope that there is something deep down inside them both that might be considered good. Neither of them were ever intended to be good. The Dark Lord saw to that.
War is coming, and it is time…
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Darth Belial
Member
"The difference between gods and daemons largely depends upon where one is standing at the time."
Posts: 220
Affiliation: The One Sith
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Post by Darth Belial on Dec 5, 2015 8:47:52 GMT -8
Mephistion the Undying, Sith Sorcerer and Herald of Belial. I watched in muted silence, as the God ascended the cargo ramp and vanished from sight. There was something oddly familiar about his gait, something that had stirred the ashes of my memory. It was confidence of a sort, personified and given life by the swagger of youth, and then wrapped in the shroud of seemingly limitless power. Ahriman had walked like that, before the end, before... Belial. Arresting my descent into despair, I cleared my mind of such trivial thoughts with a subtle shake of my cowl. There was no need for me, upon the eve of my greatest triumph, to slip into a melancholic trance of reverie. It would've been a disaster! Especially when the twins were at such a critical stage in their development. Years would've been cast down the drain if I had allowed such wistful pursuits to transpire. That could not be allowed to happen. So, as the engines of the Dark Lord's shuttle cycled live, I melted into the shadows once more, allowing the darkness to embrace my every shuffling step. After several moments of pained exertion, my corpse-like figure had finally made it to our own shuttle. If only my soul could handle yet another transfer, perhaps then I might've freed myself from this insignificant form. Alas... I do not think a mortal frame could sustain the breadth of my sins as the body would rot almost instantaneously as it had done several times before. Perhaps, therein lay the solution. Not a mortal body but one meant to house the souls of the damned and the lost. An immortal frame that fed off the energies of the force. The Zhayedan. Yes. I think that if I survive this raid, I shall bless myself with the gift of ascension. Mayhaps a combat frame to sate my lust for action, or maybe something less obvious. So many choices, and sadly too little time.
When I had climbed into the cargo bay of the shuttle, I was greeted by the sight of the Twins passionately embracing one another. To say that I was surprised was an understatement. At first, when I had caught them nearly a year ago, I had believed it to be an experiment of sorts. They didn't see many people outside of myself, their adopted mother, and the Dark Lord. It was a calculated measure to ensure that we had become their world, yet even in the face of such isolation, they had found comfort in one another's arms. Interesting. Well, nothing was wrong with a little incestuous candor between siblings, for it is rumoured that the Skywalker's had... similar circumstances. However, beneath the surface of my guarded thoughts, I fought with everything I had to ensure that I wouldn't cackle. How glorious this was! Their bond was growing, and even if they believed it to be a secret, I would encourage them to chase after one another. For when their end came, it would utterly annihilate the one that rose from the ashes. Such a cruel fate for two such beautiful children. No matter. They were merely a distraction to the Dark Lord's grand scheme, another piece atop his board to be moved at his ever-changing whim.
As the Twins had settled down and moved deeper into the shuttle, which had been taken from Kashyyyk as a trophy by the Consortium and the Lord Belial thereafter, I moved and strapped myself into one of the crash couches behind the Pilot's seat. My rotten flesh had itched then, desiring to be anywhere but here. Not because I was unsettled by the two adopted sires, but because my mind knew what was coming and my body wanted it to happen before its time. Even as ravaged as it was, it still held some measure of youth within it's venerable veins.
How wonderful."Iztara," I rasped, "I want you to take this shuttle out of the Hangar bay as soon as the Royal Procession has left. Let the Orbital Control focus their scry-locks upon your parents, whilst we slip out the side door and enter hyperspace." A ragged cough slipped past my aged lips, sending small contrails of blood-flecked spittle to the deck. The sensation of seeing my own vital fluid was nothing new, but as the realization took hold, it meant that I was living the twilight hours of my mortal frame. This incursion had to be swift, then, for me to survive."Rhaezion, once we exit the system, I want you to begin swapping out our transponder codes. Ensure it's ready before we drop out of dark space." The Yuuzhan Vong word felt foul upon the tongue, but at least it denied the use of a repetitive term. "And I want you to focus upon the task at hand. Once we have killed the Jedi and retrieved what we've come for, I will ensure that you're justly rewarded." With such words leaving my fanged maw, I turned by gaze towards his sister - letting him believe what he would with such an unsubtle gesture. Oh, how easy it would be to play these two against one another. I might actually have some fun._____________________________________________________________________________________ As the shuttle had dusted off from the obsidian flight deck, Belial had found himself staring off into the be-speckled void. His mind was aflame with the thousand-fold possibilities that the future would bring, and the uncertainty that would follow. He had understood what exactly was going to take place here, and how many of these benighted Senator's would react. They were taking away the only thing they ever knew, and replacing it with... nothing. No security net to hide within. No million-man armies at their beck and call. Nothing but the true laid bare for all to see. That in itself was a terrifying prospect, one the Dark Lord had without a doubt, believed to be the determining factor in how these supposedly honourable men and women would react. They would never lay down their arms, nor give up what they've accrued so easily. Instead, they would most likely fight tooth and claw to ensure that the stagnant comfort of the Republic still trudged on. Hopefully, the Queen Mother would not give into her tempers and start a war - but if her patience had eroded, it wouldn't be too hard to dispatch the Republic with the might of his arms. He did single-handedly kill an entire Academy of Sith, after all. Even going so far as to skin their cloned God-King alive. What challenge would these political dregs provide him?
Nothing more than a waste of precious resources and time, he mused. "Darling," Araneya said, her tone taking on a chiding hue. "You're drifting again. I need you here, in the now. The future can wait." While she was right in many respects, she was also wrong. The events that have yet to pass could never wait, for they were never set. It required him to constantly move the pieces about his metaphysical board to ensure that the desired outcome would come to pass, rather than something wholly unexpected. Shaking his head free of the future's vice as his wife had ordered though it was done more out of the necessity to maintain the illusion of love, rather than to submit to her desire. Submission, what a filthy word for a Craven deed. "Yes, you're right. It can wait for the time being. We have more important things to attend too." He paused for a moment, steepling his fingers before giving life to his next line of thought. "Why did you choose the Alderaanian Princess?" The Queen chuckled lightly, an expected gesture, one that was heavily laden with surprise. Clearly, she had believed that he had already known the reason why, but in asking the question she wasn't sure he did. Nevertheless, she decided to answer his question, after a moment of silence that was used to catch her breath. "I've chosen her, not only because she's a woman of similar royal standing - which admittedly fits with our culture, but because she's one of the newest Senator's to enlist with the corrupted Senate. Therefore, she's free of its taint. For the most part at least. That will give us the edge we need to drive the finishing blow home, breaking the Republic down into something more progressive than what it currently is." This was where things had become blurry for the Dark God. While it was true that the future was fluid, always in motion, it held some measure of foresight into what would take place. Though, with any web filled with dozens of coruscating paths that branched off of one another, it was almost impossible to navigate the strands of fate with any artistry; especially when pressed for time. There was always the chance to be mistaken, something that wasn't seen that would send everything down a chaotic spiral. While the Dark lord had prepared for such eventualities with as much careful planning as possible, it was almost a guarantee that something would go awry.
Tipping points were always the most difficult part of the plan's execution. "And what a future that would be..." _____________________________________________________________________________________ With the diplomatic procession underway, the communique from the Star of Lorell had been routed through the proper and encrypted channels, only to be halted before it had reached the Consort's ears. Instead of the "Lord Consort" answering the Captain's request for direction, it was the Royal High Commander herself that had echoed across the soundless void.:: Captain Olanji, this is High Commander Thalia Livette of the Star Home. The Lord Consort is currently en route with our beloved Ereneda to the planet below. He will not be able to speak with you, nor give you orders as he has no command authority here. You shall differ any further requests to me. In the meantime, if you're so inclined to prove yourself worthy of your command, break formation and move along the planet's northernmost axis. Ensure that our diplomatic convoy is doubly secured from all possible avenues of attack. Until then Captain, I trust that you'll be able to handle this assignment with as much tact as required. I don't want you starting a war between the Consortium and the ailing Republic without my permission. :: |
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Standash Thul
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Post by Standash Thul on Dec 5, 2015 11:49:13 GMT -8
This is Annelise Sitar, Aide-De-camp, of her Highness Princess Standash Thul, Senator of Alderaan. We have been anticipating your arrival. Preparations have been made to receive you. Please take a shuttle to the Embassy's privet landing pads. A perception will await you. The Princess is very eager to formally meet with with the royal couple. We will be sending up Two A-Wings of her personal guard to escort you down. Twp green and blue A-wings make their way up from the planets surface to take formation around the shuttle. In Alderaan tradtion they are unarmed, and serve mostly ceremonial function. The Embassy blasts on all frequencies.The Delagation of The Hapes Consort and the Queen Mother, are Honored guests of Alderaan, please treat them accordingly.
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Post by The Twin Conquerors on Dec 6, 2015 0:05:13 GMT -8
They are born into privilege and told to forget it. He is a prince. She is a princess. It is their birthright. Alas, the life of a Jedi is full of sacrifice. It was imposed upon them from the start, leaving no room for free will or choice.
What an honour it is to be singled out to become one of the chosen, one of the Jedi. What a privilege it is to serve and to have the opportunity to prove that they are worthy of such a birthright. There is no such thing as too young for them to be aware of such a fate. It is a heavy weight for children to bear, but they have known no life without it.
With your birth comes a solemn vow, you will have nothing.
They are born in the midst of the struggle for survival, lacking identity and the direction of a father. At first, this is not something they seek, it is merely instantiation of the vow wrought of their birth. They will have nothing, they are nothing. That is why the Dark Lord took them from her.
Neither of the twins had been aware that Mephistion had been observing them from the very moment Rhaezion had crushed his lips into his sister’s. That is not to say that neither would have cared if only they had known the Sorcerer had been privy to their display of affection. As it remains, both had been too wrapped up in one another to even notice this time or any other time the Sorcerer had stumbled upon them.
They now had anything and everything they could have ever desired at their fingertips, but that did not preclude them from the madness that had set in. When the Dark Lord stole them from their home, isolation was their only consolation. She found solace in him, he was her anchor to this world. He found solace in her, she was the flesh that sated his passion. Both hiding from the painful reality that had become their lives, their solitary confinement. They are careful, for if the Dark Lord ever discovered their secret, they knew not the consequences.
She runs her fingers across her lips, burning with longing under his touch. How long am I going to let him get away with this? Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him smirking before his lips straightened into a thin line. He quickly busies himself with beginning the start-up sequence for the shuttle as a sudden coldness descended upon the shuttle cabin, decimating any remaining desires. With the blatant disregard of one who held himself superior to all and the frame of a starving man, the Sorcerer made himself known. And she is beautiful in her defiance as she stands unmoved, ruthless disregard for protocol.
You can only find your power through others, the Sorcerer told her in his raspy voice, taking pleasure in her discomfort at his gaze. And you are alone, you will always be alone. They are only eighteen. Her brother stands there watching, the list of her failings never-ending and he can slowly feel her control begin to wane. She does not always take to such lectures with the same quiet shame that he does. And he wonders briefly what would happen were she to surrender, to summon a defense and argue in her own favour.
It is a weakness, the Sorcerer whispers to him just loud enough for her to hear, to allow another to rely so heavily on you. He loves her, despite the cost. It is foolish to invest so much in her, to trust…The Sorcerer’s lecherous gaze rests on her, to love… Rhaezion loves his sister, his rival, despite the warnings.
She is groomed to believe that she is nothing, and he is terrified. She is strong, but her patience is short and her frustrations become harder and harder to hide. The silence between the twins and the Sorcerer deepens, lengthens. Panic swells in his breast, desperation. When she wakes, the universe will quake, galaxies will cower, and worlds will cry out in fear. The amber slowly flares to life within the silver confines of her eyes, and she surrenders. I feel it like fire burning through my veins and see the panic in my brother’s eyes as I flex my fist at my side.
He can feel the darkness seeping in, the power his sister succumbs to, luring him with unspoken promises, but he stands firm. He looks upon his sister, and he is terrified. A shadow falls across her face and he finally knows that he cannot heal the rage burning within her. Words barely pierce the fog surrounding her, she knows her brother spoke, but she is dizzy with rage, violently so. When the Sorcerer turns his back on her, unconcerned, she surrenders. It is a relief to release so much pent up power. The concussive force behind the wave that repulses and violently explodes outward from her body shatters all the glass in the room, sending shards flying in every direction. The Sorcerer is knocked to the ground, but faster than she can comprehend – her body is flying across the room as he uses the force to propel her into the wall.
She groans, but otherwise remains silent despite the fact that all of the bones in her right leg shattered on impact. She learned not to cry out the hard way. Quicker than she thought possible, the Sorcerer is on her and her face burns as the thin line of a cut traces perfectly across her cheekbone, backhanded by the skeletal hand of justice. Her nose now shattered, blood drips down her face. I try to reach for the calm and quietness of my power, but all I feel is numb. I can feel the Sorcerer’s hand tightening around my neck, daring me to oppose him again. This is the first time and he has ensured it will be the last.
Rage burns in the depths of his endless eye sockets and I can feel the seething surge of the force around him as he tries to hold back, resisting the urge to annihilate me. You are pathetic, he spits before releasing his hold on my neck. Leg shattered, I instantly collapse to the ground and do not cry, despite my femur protruding from my thigh and my foot appearing as if I lost a fight with an Arkanian dragon. She does not cry, for she has learned not to cry, but her eyes burn all the same. The Sorcerer stands triumphant over my battered body, hands falling to his waist and I sense he is going to do the unthinkable until he stalks off, disappearing from my line of sight.
She is eighteen, and she is terrified. She is not frightened for herself – she is frightened for her brother. His body is sprawled limp on the ground, a large shard of debris extending from his stilled chest. The silence is agonizing. I go to call out to my brother and the Sorcerer’s harsh stare silences me as he stands over Rhaezion's unmoving body. Don’t you dare! Your father will deal with your insolence later, his words lash against her like a whip with their finality as he stalks out with her brother’s body. For the next few years, she is led to believe that her brother is dead at her hand… And she is alive, so painfully, horrifyingly alive.
She remembers what happened the last time she defied the Sorcerer, and she is terrified, but she does not reveal it. I could feel the panic start to take hold in him as my cool gaze flickered to my brother’s face. Smartly, she finally stands aside as the Sorcerer passes her by, unconcerned. She is strong, but her power is still not her own. She does not even react as the Sorcerer orders her around, wisely choosing to remain silent.
Rhaezion, always the more respectful of the twins nods in acknowledgement as the Sorcerer outlines their plan, commanding not only his respect, but also his loyalty. I could see the frown briefly cross his lips as I gathered my equipment from the cargo hold before our sojourn across the stars. Did he suspect? Did father suspect? It had to be coincidence, she reasoned. “Do not doubt the focus of my attention, Sorcerer.” Rhaezion spoke in a warning tone, belying the true subject of his thoughts. “I have no intention of failing. My father’s goals have been made explicitly clear and the way in which I approach them is my own.” He sits there numb and quiet, following the Sorcerer’s gaze to his sister. He is a man of exquisite control and outwardly refuses to take the bait. Outwardly, cold and quiet and efficient. Inwardly, she starts to feel his control slip, sees his hand tremble. He stands firm, walled off from the darkness, but still she is terrified.
She had every intention of remaining silent, until the Sorcerer laid eyes upon her and his blood spilled across the pristine deck of the shuttle. “Your host is dying, Sorcerer. Father would be terribly disappointed were you not to witness our triumph.” She said with a taunting smile as she sauntered from the back of the shuttle, her hips swaying just right. This was not for his benefit, but a trap laid for her twin. She is twenty-five now, and she is a princess and a warrior. Rhaezion stands at her side once more, her twin, her lover, her best friend. She would not lose him again, not to the Sorcerer. “I daresay he may even resurrect you, just to send you back to the grave from whence you came.” Iztara said pointedly, her words dripping with venom.
He watched the Sorcerer, his gaze cool and collected, lips curling slightly upwards in one corner. But as his attention focused on his sister – he was worried for her. The effect she had on him took the edge off the rage, off the panic, and he looked at her incredulously as she reached out to lightly brush her hand across his cheek in a reassuring manner. Reaching up, he hesitated as he grasped her hand. His mind briefly entertained thoughts of the myriad ways he would have her upon celebration of their victory. Her mind briefly entertained thoughts of the myriad ways she could ensure the Sorcerer experienced an accident upon celebration of their victory. Flecks of amber spawned in the depths of her eyes and her hand slid from his as she slipped into the pilot’s seat, wordlessly guiding them out into the depths of space and engaging the hyperdrive to exit the system.
War is coming, and she is prepared.
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Renan
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Post by Renan on Dec 9, 2015 23:13:37 GMT -8
K'elvit't, a Chiss craft designed and made after the civil war, was not likely to be recognized by any scanner in orbit. Even so, it was fairly obvious that it brought only its shields up as it entered the Coruscant System. It approached the planet slowly, taking time gather what information it could from the system and it's many inhabitants and travelers. The Captain was a cautious Chiss and he was in no hurry to get to the surface and doing everything he could to prevent undue provocation of the local defenses, without leaving himself or his cargo vulnerable of course.
The ship was simple enough in design, vaguely reminiscent of a Corellian Corvette, but angular like a Star Destroyer. It had a total length of 300 meters, being no more than 125 meters in width at any point and no more than 120 meters in height at any point. Relatively lightly armed for a ship of it's size, it was maneuverable enough to keep pace with ship's a third it's size and it required very little crew. Being very new to the galaxy at large, the Captain decided to let whoever felt the need to do so, hail him, rather than try and decipher which of the channels was supposed to be used for diplomatic envoys. He wasn't fond of the city-world below, but he held no particular grudge against it either, he mostly was not fond of the traffic caused by nearly literal floods of beings coming and going. |
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An Tiarna Dubh
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Is minic a bhris beál duine a shrón ~ It is often that a person's mouth broke his nose
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Post by An Tiarna Dubh on Dec 25, 2015 13:38:39 GMT -8
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Post by Icrarusk on Jan 1, 2016 14:54:38 GMT -8
A G9 Rigger freighter blasts its way free from the stranglehold of the atmosphere of Coruscant. It speeds swiftly away from Coruscant and once having travelled far awyw by sublight drive it vanished in a blink as the craft gets swallowed by its transition into hyperspace.
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charlie
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Post by charlie on Jan 18, 2016 6:28:14 GMT -8
A single light freighter, a tiny speck of light in the expanse of space outside Coruscant's grav-well, appeared and immediately angled toward the Queen of the Core. At the controls, Charlie laid in a course that would bring the small freighter down in Sector AA-85, close to 500 republica and the Senatorial district. She opened comms to the orbital control.
Coruscant approach, this is the 'Sunny,' civilian registration RV-13780. Requestion approach vector, over.
A few seconds later, an automated reply granted permission after ensuring there were no outstanding warrants or fines issued to that registration, and a course was provided, based on the hotel accommodation that had been arranged. The landing pad was private, and in close proximity to the hotel.
Charlie sent an electronic salutation and acknowledgement, and laid in the course.
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Adder
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Alive.
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Post by Adder on Jan 20, 2016 19:14:23 GMT -8
Commercial freighters were common sights on the routes in and out of Coruscant space--as the galaxy's single most urbanized planet, everything its people required was imported, from food and water to fresh minerals to make more city. They were the lifeblood of the city-planet, and as such were given an unusual lack of inspection as they arrived in Coruscant space.
Tsooba Ondariin rather liked such lack when engaging in his travels. In his experience, the fewer opportunities he gave for the masses to mock him and his people, the better. That was why he'd stopped complaining when his assignment was in the Core--city worlds, even the human ones, were perfect places for Rodians to hide. Spaceports, crowded streets, aliens of all sizes and colors mingling together, all breathing the same canned air and all too busy getting out of each other's way to get into his. That was how the Rodian liked it.
He liked it even better today, considering he was attempting to fight off a hangover. For once, he wasn't in the mood for picking a fight yet.
As the pilot keyed in their landing coordinates and got clearance, Tsooba sunk deeper into the copilot's bucket seat and shut his eyes. The pilot didn't need him for this--he was an old hand, and a friend who'd managed the ship by himself more often than not when Tsooba showed up drunk and looking for easy work. It gave the Rodian time for one last attempt at a quick nap, his arms wrapped around him and his hands tucked inside his jacket for warmth.
For once, the work waiting for him once the freighter landed wouldn't be the easy kind. He'd have to be ready...and ready meant rested.
Coruscant approach, this is the 'Brightfell,' freight registration SF-2187. Approaching our usual vector, over. Got new goods for the great and powerful.
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