A Life-Line in Hard-Times [BK hmu boo/Closed]

[Professor Mors]

OOC: Sincerest apologies for my tardy entrance. You all have my honest guarantee that I won't get wrapped up in the Force-Related chutzpah going on planetside, and I'll have it known this isn't some crazy grab for a gen. I would happily partake in some interstellar conflict, if it comes to that, and only on the agreement of all involved parties. Until we reach that crossroads, I will simply endeavor not to post sporadically or make a nuisance of myself.


***Nilgaard Sector, Outer Rim Territories, Grid Coordinates S-5***
***Imperial Star Destroyer Reverent, in orbit over Quermia***
Captain Vassyl was sound asleep. Normally, his work left him restless, to the point that he was only partially able to achieve true unconsciousness. Border duty was a different matter however, and the longer shifts and countless patrols managed to accomplish what the normal day to day could not. And, just as the comatose Captain began to reminisce on the waters of his homeworld, his dreamscape was suddenly interrupted by storm clouds, and pitch crackle of white lightning. Angrily sliding his eyelids open, Doren looked over to address his cacophonous transponder situated on the neighboring night stand. Blinking from exhaustion, Vassyl just barely made out the coded nature of the transmission. Upon reading the message in full, the Captain rocketed to his feet, before the bed lurched forth and tossed him to the floor.

Groaning after the superficial impact and rising onto his knees, Vassyl double and triple-checked the point of origin before keying into his quarters direct relay line. [Is everything alright Sir?], the concerned hologram of Doren's XO inquired. "Hardly Mister Torbough", the Captain bitterly remarked, "We must advance the time table for Operation Nightarrow". [When shall I reschedule it Sir?], Vincent cautiously asked. "Right now Lieutenant", Vassyl answered nonchalantly, "Wake all necessary personnel, prepare the fighter crews for immediate launch, and have Proudclad refueled post-haste: We haven't a moment to lose". Doren smiled approvingly as the Lieutenant produced the fastest salute to date, before vanishing in thin air.

Hopping about in an attempt to lodge his left leg into his flightsuit, Doren's feelings sharpened on the image of his oldest and most tenacious foe. The Dark Lord of the Sith was a true monstrosity, and one that had wounded the Captain both literally and figuratively on numerous occasions. It had taken a great deal of mental fortitude coupled with a lack of resources and intelligence to prevent Tormentous from becoming Doren's sole fixation and primary military target. For a time, it had seemed that the Defiler of the Outer Reaches had disappeared entirely. That was, of course, until today. Now, a small window of opportunity had appeared, and no matter the slimness of the odds, Vassy would not hesitate to take this chance and milk it for all its worth.

***
The lift ride down to the Reverent's ventral hangar was slow and melancholic. So many had lost their lives in the struggle against this fiend. Was Doren to light the path to beast's undoing, or merely guide more lambs to slaughter? At point, he could not say. Nonetheless, upon arriving at the open onyx landing bay, the gleam of superior engineering restored a measure of the Captain's confidence. The strike force was utterly lethal, and assuredly effective in terms of appearance. Three squadrons in total, comprised of XM-1 Missile Boats, Scimitar Assault Bombers, and the newly reconstituted Black Lances, now sporting the updated TIE Avenger as their primary MO. Several of the bridge craft had arrived separately to profess their earnest wishes for Captain's success.

Some were unsure of his safe return. Vincent, for his part, stopped to discuss the logistics of his own journey, before exchanging a knowing glance with his friend and colleague. In the event that Doren did not successfully secure or destroy the target, Lieutenant Torbough was to comb the periphery around Sith Space aboard Interdictor Cruiser Rapier, escorted by Lancer Frigate IN-316 and the Carrack Cruiser Stormpelt. While the Tormentous Task Force was technically limited to the fighter groups within Sith territory, there was no such stipulation preventing perimeter sweeps. Taking some semblance of contentment in his contingency plan, Doren placed a pilot's helm over his unkempt hair, and climbed into the cockpit of the Proudclad.

There was no time, and indeed, no need for a speech. [All flight groups], Doren called sternly into the onboard transmitter, [Begin launch sequence]. In mere seconds, the chromium hulls of a interceptor swarm flew from their holding racks down into the infinite darkness of space. [Steady out and assume diamond formation], the Captain instructed further, jockeying his Missile Boat in line with its sister ships. One by one, the Avengers and Scimitars followed suit, until the miniature flotilla was properly drawn up in three distinct rhombuses. Vassyl paused for a moment, and inhaled as deeply as he could manage. Exhaling slowly thereafter, his eyes flitted about the sea of stars, until his resolve returned to him, and he eased his vessel towards the initial hyperspace departure vector. It was all or nothing, and there would be no turning back this time.

[Ben Kenobi]

There was no verbal curse harsh enough for what had just happened and no verbal communication fast enough to deliver guidance as the multi-ton beast rampaged forward. Jedi Master Ben Kenobi himself was even taken off guard by the suddenness of the charge though he failed to panic in the face of this monstrosity. Instead he focused his inner-self and centered his mind and body alike to thus wash away the Darkness that surrounded him. It was a simple practice yet one that granted him a solitude of mind and purpose alike that he would see the monster for what it was and how he should proceed.

Knights, Spero and Ei’noa shot off in opposite directions to attempt and split the dragon’s attention. Two heads yet three targets, divide and conquer was the immediate answer and with movement being the obvious attention of most beasts, it would split the beast’s attention aside to give Ben a moment in which to strike out. They flew away at high speed from the claws and talons alike though the maws of the beast were faster still, poisonous fangs snapping and trailing them hard. Asori engaged her lightsaber, sapphire blue tore the shadows apart as her sword flared and blazed a path across the iron-hard scales with little to no effect. Ei’noa similarly engaged his blade of emerald green and struck home at the incoming claws, lacing them with fiery burn marks, perhaps a sting of pain was all he managed and even so it was so insignificant that the dragon’s adrenaline would have denied the immediate pain receptors to acknowledge it.

They landed gracefully and made away, flipping, rolling and dodging from attacks that would undo them instantly with but a scratch. Ben Kenobi had yet to move whilst the tonnage of muscle closed in on him, he stood without concern of a stance nor crouch but instead his mind was sanguine. His aged eyes studied every aspect of the dragon before him, processing and taking in the great speed to count. Even the strikes of his fellows he so studied; slashing bladework was folly while more precise and timed strikes had the potential to cause damage or even openings in armor plating where future aimed strikes could follow. The dragon’s own attention to its prey was superfluous and unlikely to miss even a detail, this would make things difficult.

As the dragon chased the two active moving Jedi, Ben caught a thunderous call that echoed from the clouds like cracks of distant thunder. He could sense danger on its way though he didn’t know precisely what was to come. A short glance to the skies did not deliver unto him an answer and so he returned his attention to the matter at hand; a good thing too as Kraujas Ntima spun with the Knights and its miserable tail lashed about, Ben was forced to finally react though he did so with speed and absolute precision; it was the work of decades of experience and not a single fraction of movement was wasted.

The tail swept at him at high speed and he turned to regard it, placing both hands upon the haft of his staff which he held vertically up and down in front of him. The spines of the tail were pulsating with poisonous barbs that could disintegrate steel, he could not be touched lest he fall to their very touch alone. It came for him with increasing speed, surely the meat of the tail alone could pulverize stone. Without so much as an adjustment of his footing, he fell down horizontally and rolled aside, coming smartly up to his feet as the tail shot by. No sooner did Kenobi come up standing then did he rotate his staff with expert precision to swat no less than six barbs from the air that were sailing in his direction. The smoking hiss of the presence still in the air long after he obliterated them from the skies. In the very movement he’d swept them aside he returned the staff to the stationary vertical position he’d begun in. The haft of his staff in six places was smoldering with the potency of the poison which he calmly brushed off with a shred of his cloak and tossed it aside before it could burn through the material.

His staff, made of hardened phrik alloy, was highly resilient to even the touch of a lightweapon, such poison even acidic could not directly harm it though it could have harmed him if he’d touch it before the poison was set aside.

Wings of leather spread wide for greater dexterity. Asori and Ei’noa couldn’t keep this dance up for long, it was time to find an opening and slay this beast… or retreat entirely and let the Sith have at it themselves. Not one to betray, Ben Kenobi began walking towards Kraujas Ntima… the beast had lived long enough, it was time to put the abomination down once and for all.

[Jacobi Wylcott]

The orb before him was magnificent and the facade he’d created through the deaths of so many and the utterance of so much Dark Side energy made manifest - it was the perfect cover to hide the presence of the orb itself, which honestly, was a blinding beacon of hellish power if only one sought it out for there was no true discretion in this power. Thus, unbeknownst to all arrayed before him save Silas, the orb was prepared as he had not been disturbed and his summoning was complete. Though, why settle for ‘just enough’ or ‘satisfactory’? No - a smile crept onto Tormentous’ face, - if this day was to be the end of all things then why not burn it all down in the process. What was it all anyways? Physical property, basic matter, items of self-worth. None of this was of truthful worth to Tormentous, no, this tangible matter was inconsequential to one such as he.

Manpower, ships, machines of war - none of this mattered. What mattered was the power of the soul and the potency thereof. Darth Tormentous was easily capable of annihilating an entire fleet or a grand army with measured thoughts, having tangible resources to counter said enemy was pointless. Even now, he held the power over eternity - in that, he had become beyond anything that could be described in word and thought alike. His measure of sorcery allowed him to alter reality and bend the physical realm to his will with but the movement of his fingers or the utterance of a sequence of his tongue. But it was this orb that gave him a mark of power. Suddenly he realized that allowing this battle to take place was an insult to his achieved power, such was his elevation above the petty struggles of the flesh and bone.

His disdain grew evermore, vaguely he began to regard the events transpiring and his smile vanished. Gods did not bother with the toils of their lessers. A scoff - he was not a god just yet. Whilst his power had achieved more than any other, godhood was still beyond his grasp. Though only just. With his arrogance barely put in check he returned his gaze to the combat and set his mind to the task.

Blood was delaying his ascension. Anger broiled again and out of sheer spite and a bitter taste in his mouth - he focused further on the completed orb of eternity. “Blood sees himself a Lord of many - I shall accommodate him then. His tomb will be grand befitting a King. So I condemn all - let there be the end given name - I summon the Gate of Eternity!” Power trembled from the orb and the polished, perfect surface of silver began to exude dull devouring red and it began to quiver with barely contained damnation. It once more began to grow in size and tangible power.

It soon became too large to fit within the high of the mezzanine and now as it levitated above, all could gaze upon its splendor and cry out in terror as their eyes would meet the Gate of Eternity - A mere measure of Darth Tormentous - a Thought Bomb.

---Above Moraband

Indeed there would be forces loyal to Lord Blood, surely. Though this was the world branded with Darth Tormentous’ own hand. Loyalties were largely to him, not to the dragon spawn freak. When the Imperial forces entered over the planet the quick reaction forces began to launch. Many a fighter streamed from the embarkation decks of the orbiting space stations and yet, from the shadow of one of Moraband’s many moons came the twin dagger form of the Malevolent - the vile namesake of Darth Tormentous’ flagship. It bore the many scars of void warfare and yet it still exuded the same promise of doom to those that arrayed themselves against it.

Though the grand ship of Tormentous did not hold the Lord of Admirals aboard. Lidmor, the veteran Admiral of the Sith Armada was far from this place and had long since pledged himself to Blood as he knew not the politics of the Sith and supposed Blood still at the heel of his own lord. Thus, the captain of the Malevolent delivered the order and the boarded fighter pilots began racing to their fighters as the warship engaged its drives and tore through space towards the incoming Imperials.

If they were so foolish to place themselves at Tormentous’ doorstep then they would be obliged his courteous welcome. As host, the Darth was not one to disappoint.

[Jacobi Wylcott]

Kraujas Ntima, dragon of the Dark One, mighty warrior beast of the Kun - it held the gaze of the Jedi Knights as per the will of its lord and yet while the lord of its will did not tarry, thus the dragon held its instinctive measure still. It went after the Jedi full force, clawing and roaring with unchecked anger. It swept at them, snapped and slashed its deadly tail through the air while even its wings were utilized to entrap its foes - or more accurate - prey. Though these Jedi Knights were fast proving themselves extremely nimble and capable of evasion like no Sith Warrior could rightly establish - their technique was flawless and in that they were spared this torrent of fury.

Regardless of their skill and precision of dodgery, eventually it would catch up to them and it would only take one touch from the great dragon to ensnare its prey in a potent poison capable of such deadly corrosive potential. Kraujas Ntima charged and roared furiously as the Jedi danced a weave of elegance that was limited by time - and their time was running out - no!

A roar blasted from the clouds and the dual heads of the beast regarded the animalistic challenge with an enticed mind. A fraction of a second broke the attention of the beast from that of the Jedi and it became a slow moving tank, turning slowly to orient at the distant clouds. A beast of a millennia worth of war - it was cunning and while not utterly mindless it held a certain wit about it. It was a blind monster that devoured overall, but it knew how and where to fight. Exar Kun did not breed beings of muscle alone but monsters that could think and react. It lived for war. Nothing else. It could not survive without killing - where Blood’s dragons could thrive and grow and live - Kraujas Ntima had but one purpose and but one mindset. To destroy.

Flying up to meet a trio of mighty Arkanian Dragons would have place the much larger Battle Hydra at a vast disadvantage - it unfurled its wings to impose a much larger version of itself while raising its heads to the skies and delivering an earth shattering dual roar to dwarf the intoned challenge with its own ‘bring it on’. The toxin sacks in its mouth instinctively began to secrete the venom to give its fangs a fresh coat as did the poisonous talons and the spines that ran the length of its back down to the extended spines along the tail itself. The smell of putrid acidic decay filled the air and each step left a slight puddle of bubbling rock beneath its deadly tread. It set its four feet for a sturdy base, any charge dealt against it would be met with a brutal counter strike.

Four eyes pinned to the skies, watching for movement - it was about to get real down here. A trio versus one, a battle of titanic behemoths which held the potential capability to annihilate all around them - even their masters. It would be a self-destructive fight in which would certainly claim lives - that of their own and without discrimination -all those in their midst.

In turn, the Jedi were disregarded in favor of meatier prey. For now, the Jedi would be permitted to squirm away like the rats they were.

[Slade Xandir]

The essence of legendary battle was born here, and now. It came with Blood watching this battle unfold not only within the realms of his sight, but within the entirity of his being. There was no peace, but silence reigned as his thoughts unified to figure important priorities from secondary ones. Whether the Imperials were on his mark or not, was not his problem, but theirs. If they were interested in being recorded in halls famed for millenias, then they would either be there or not. So that folder of worry was cast aside for later use. The Jedi were under the sight of the Hydra until his own Arkanians came to battle, from which he could feel much distain leak from the massive monster. The Hydra lashed such a powerful vehmence at the sight of the trio, it was felt in the air, tasted behind closed lips, and confirmed as the world rocked with a record-shattering roar. Blood knew he had staked his claim into Wrath, and from where he and the giant dragon were connected, he knew their similarities. He would not need to oversee and tweak the behaviors of the other two; Wrath would see this abomination seared into non-existence. It intruded on a domain it was not welcome, and the rally was assured as he threw his response into action, both Mercy's dragon following into the fray and Raphael's close behind. The silver and sleek dragon, Raphaels youth, was an untouchable breeze, darting and dipping through snaps and swings, and though it's defense was nothing and it's attack was near the same, what was there to catch if it flys on your right? Your left? A nip here if too slow, and a burn there if not prevented. Mercy's bronze beast was a furious serpent, marking where she could score in a vicious and immeasurable temper only her prior rider matched. She was Mercy incarnate, and her name spoke nothing of the fiery chaos that burned within her. Her speed was average, only fueled by her anger which grew and grew at any missed attempts to crush this Hydra. Wrath was the ringleader, overseeing and throwing his weight and bite force where it was most useful. Where Raphael's dragon's blazes or nips missed, a much more powerful chomp or inferno await on the other side of the Hydra, planned to be where the monstrous peripheral's had just edged off at. He had to stay back as his pawns distacted the Hydra's majority of sight, and calculated carefully where his lower speed and extreme attack would be perfect to offend this dragon the most. High in defense and attack, Wrath watched, waited, and struck where he knew he would be most successful. As Blood was, he was twisted enough to not care of his pawns being expended, but ultimately he knew he had to keep them alive as long as possible in order to clear his own path to success. So the conundrum stalked him, but the Arkanian was prepared to battle as long as it was deemed necessary.Blood felt this resolve in his personal mount, and knew he had no need to oversee this battle between them. Releasing the Force he linked with them, he brought his Senses to the here and now as the Jedi were given their respite. For now.

The Dragon Master conducted himself appropriately at this time and place, knowing Tormentous was going to be busy, as the vocal Silas rattled off to him. It was clear as an expose to the Darth, but Blood's hand's were busy as were Warvanus'. Both held their sabers at the ready as Silas taunted them with his own expertise. Blood recognised the salute; it belonged to Makashi, a form he had only just recently had any experience with, using it only as a feint to confuse Warvanus' guard when the Apprentice was tested for loyalty. But not too long after, Blood had relinquished himself to the perfect concept of Form V, or the Djem So varient of it. He focused well enough into the studies to reach his peak of saber combat in it, as his practice with Jar Kai had becomed compromised by his lack of swift mobility . Despite it, where he could land a swift blow, he threw it in with his uncanny ability to count each strike and memorize where any counter's could lurk. But with his mastery of Form V, his own effort was near nothing as he could defend and counter with so little as a whim of a twisted arm, or an uphanded reversal. He did not need the furious pace of Jar'Kai...power and the ironbound will to dominate this duel was the key to victory. The Form of Perseverance was key to this battle, and even through the art of Makashi, it more often than not could reign supreme. And with Warvanus, who was more comfortable in battle than anyone else he had come to know other than the 'busy' Tormentous, much was destined to be won. This duel was filed as a primary focus, despite his comfort in the deduced situation. However it may be, Valkyr had come to be nearer the scense and with where she sprinted, a cast look in the direction of the Jedi confirmed the bot was there to assist them where it could. Her vocals confirmed it, the Cathar wardroid switching her synthsizer in the last of the sentence from her prior Cathar accent to the regular crisp voice she used present day. "Be wary, Jedi. As run by protocol, assistance to you all is implemted as of now. Take the target which is not under attack by Alpha X, and proceed with haste."

As Blood heard her vocals in his earpiece, he tried his hardest to project a single illusion to the Jedi group, but his Senses refused to allow him any leeway of attention from the battle. The Jedi would simply have to connect the dots and follow them as they could.His folders lay against his mind, and with each level varying as they did, he kept tabs on whatever arose. He paid no heed to anything that was too minute for his worry, and gave full effort to what arose on a mandatory scale.

[Silas Karn]

As Silas continued to hold off the pair of Sith Lords it was swiftly clear that neither held any experience against the technique he had employed, as expected. Nevertheless, in his assessments of their capabilities it was obvious that both had reached the level of blade-work expected of a newly minted Jedi Master. Of course merely achieving such proficiency did not elevate an individual to equivalence with the greatest duelists to ever wield a lightsaber. As such, Warvanus was clearly more fluid in his movements than Blood. However, the Sith warrior had elected not to delve into a proper form and seemed to underestimate the lethality of the telekinetic sabers in Silas’s employ. Immediately following a sound attempt to cleave one of the two rapidly gyrating hilts in twain Silas withdrew the saber and used its partner to race across Warvanus’s main-hand following up the Sith’s arm.

The ruby blade would soon leave a trail across the impressive armor of the warrior as it encircled across Warvanus’s back. While any damage would be entirely cosmetic it was a firm reprimand for the attempted overreach. The swift movements and mitigation of the opening Silas had sought to capitalize on revealed to Silas exactly how far along the warrior truly was. ‘I see. His blade-work is comparable to my own only a few years ago. Given time this man might rival even me as I am now.’ As Silas studied Warvanus, Blood pushed back against his own two twirling assailants with a form the Sovereign was all too familiar with. ‘Fortunate it is then that I do not require any earned momentum to re-position or disperse the kinetic burst from that form,’ Silas noted with a pleased expression.

While it was true both Sith had some knowledge of the Makashi form it paled in comparison to the man they now faced. The High Priest Sovereign was the foremost master of Form II in the galaxy, there was no one who held greater skill and knowledge of Makashi. In fact, Silas’s first formal lessons had been at the hand of the Count of Serenno in whose honor the High Priest granted his own keep to serve as the once wayward specter’s tomb. Though the fierce opposition from two master swordsmen held Silas’s focus, their weaker connection to the Force ate away at the Sovereign’s reserve. The High Priest struggled to maintain his calculated observation of the unfolding conflict as his own arrogant pride and vanity seethed just beneath the surface.

This struggle was swiftly dwarfed however, by the almost megalomaniacal ambition of the person just meters behind Silas. Tormentous soon threatened the existence of not just their enemies but the man his self. The sudden pulse of the Dark Lord’s thought bomb expanding once more, even after clearly achieving enough stored potency to vaporize the usurpation attempt. This act went far beyond the brutish mentality of the warrior king and was immediately suspect to the High Priest. ‘If this continues the entirety of Moraband will be placed in jeopardy, let alone the few here to potentially contest Tormentous. What then, you erase everything including yourself? Tormentous must realize that I alone hold the knowledge and necessary strength to contest his actions. Is this a test?’ Silas swiftly contemplated.

‘No, I don’t factor in at all. The Dark Lord has deemed this an end. Everything else,’ Silas reluctantly admitted,’ is details…’ With both attempted usurpers still battling against Silas with no attempt to mediate his compliance it was clear they hadn’t yet sensed what weapon Tormentous sought to employ. This was prior, of course, to the Dark Lord’s booming voice declaring, “I summon the Gates of Eternity!” Just as the Jedi were finally able to break away from the onslaught of the battle hydra it seemed Tormentous was prepared to erase every sentient within fifty miles. Yet, Silas could not simply turn on Tormentous to attempt to wrest control of the thought bomb or deny its activation. If the Sovereign so much as displayed any outward defiance of the Dark Lord now it would mean the immediate extinction of not just Silas but Blood, Warvanus, and the Jedi as well.

The weight of this realization weighed heavily on Silas as his instincts cried out for him to flee. Carefully surveying the players involved as the three Jedi ran toward him Silas made an assessment. ‘With that Jedi Master added to Warvanus I cannot hold the line against all of them. One or the other, but I must allow either Warvanus or the Jedi Master to pass. Warvanus is a strong duelist but his presence in the Force is eclipsed by even that of Blood. I feel we haven’t witness the true depths of that abominations supernatural prowess. So that just leaves the void in my senses, the Jedi Master of my premonitions. And…’ Silas was almost stunned to see Asori Spero as he recognized her from… ‘No, not the time for that, should we survive I will certainly use her knowledge to restore my memories but for now she is just as much fodder as that other knight.

No, it must be the Jedi Master. Surely the pride of a Dark Lord has not been lost even as he holds the ultimate weapon. Tormentous must face this Jedi.’ With everything standing on the edge of a knife Silas felt the tense anxiety of how carefully he had to influence the events that were to follow. Grabbing hold of his off-hand hilt Silas detached it from his belt with his left hand and as he extending his arm out toward the charging Jedi lifted it with his mind (Telekinesis). Normally extending beyond four separate lightsabers was impossible without meditation as it was the limit of even Silas’s capacity for telekinetic combat. However, with perhaps the greatest tool in the Sovereign’s arsenal there was a means to achieve his meditative limits without the need to immobilize his self.

Igniting the cobalt blade of his personalized shoto style curved hilt off-hand lightsaber Silas positioned the weapon in the path of the Jedi Knights that were still a good distance behind the embattled Sith Lords. Using his free hand Silas then accessed his com-link once more to issue a new command to Nil. With that handled Silas extended his left hand toward the ensemble of telekinetically commanded lightsabers (Enhance Skill: Telekinetic Combat). Ready for the final act Silas found his self calculating the best outcome. ‘Tormentous must be challenged by the Jedi Master, but the master must not succeed in defeating him outright. Should the Dark Lord feel like defeat is near the thought bomb will surely become his ace.

So the Jedi must be defeated but that victory must arrive by the slightest of margins. Additionally, the usurpers must be quelled such that I can bring to bear the fullness of my sorcery. So much to occur in succession or all will be lost.’ It was then that Silas realized that for his machinations to succeed, for any to survive Tormentous this day, he needed an accord both with Blood and with the Jedi Knights. Blood was the obvious first choice to reach the usurping Sith as Silas had already managed to burn the bridge with Warvanus. Looking over to the abomination Silas spoke aloud once more, “There are some techniques in the Force to which there is no defense…” It was an odd statement that echoed the teachings of Traya that seemed to now linger with Silas. Yet, it was vital that Silas bring attention to how great a threat the thought bomb truly posed to the young Sith. With the need to maintain his defenses it took a great deal of exertion well past the regenerative effects of his sorcery for Silas to reach out to Blood. ‘If I allowed you past now we would all be erased (Telepathy).’ Much needed spoken in silence as Silas was the first to open the proverbial lines of communication.

[Kell Sangros]

Warvanus did not often under-estimate anybody, but this was one of those rare times. This Sith Lord this High Priest was proving to be a most formidable opponent, shame they were on opposite sides of this conflict. While it was in the nature of the Sith to usurp one another, the Order could not afford such schisms.

The floating lightsaber for a lack of a better term was proving to be more wiley then if it were held by a physical hand. Warvanus had not much if any experience at a floating lightsaber which as a result kept him off balance, he was merely reacting, this had to change as trying to remain in balance but only met a burn mark up his back, the armor took the full on assault as he was uninjured but it was more insult than injury which would cause the War Bringer’s anger to rise into white-hot fury. In one fluid motion he spun in an upward swing from knee level he brought his lightsaber up using brute strength, fueled by his anger, and passions. Maybe he was over thinking it. He had to go with his strengths, while he had studied all known forms, he was most proficient in the seventh form, Juyo helped channel his ferocity in his attacks, he would switch to this as he continued to not let the lightsaber leave his sight. Parrying with brute strength and offering strikes of his own, maybe he could get a clean slash through the hilt.

One thing was for certain this was a Master duelist he was facing. A true test of his prowess, facing Silas was more formidable than even the former dreadlord Kroxota with whom he held his own and probably could defeat now. He was deep into the battle lust, this is where he felt most alive, at one with the Dark Side, he was its’ wrath, its enforcer.

The dark side was chaos, and he thrived in it, as battles were a chaotic affair. Silas had begun to earn Warvanus’ respect as he was fighting multiple battles with some degree of Mastery. It reminded Warvanus that despite all his prowess and power that he still had a ways to go.

He did have his hands full as he was sure his Master did too, but what they were doing was not to benefit or elevate each other but for the good of the Sith order as a whole. He did not want to see the Sith order plunge into extinction which would surely happen if the current Dark Lord continued to reign. From Warvanus’ experience, anything Lord Blood set to would prosper under his hand, under his leadership, he was what the Sith needed to not only survive but take their place in the galaxy in the future. As his sole apprentice he shared the vision that the Dragconian had set into motion.

The white hot fury that had been fueling the War-Bringer had almost fizzled when he felt a disturbance in the Force, its source was close as he saw from the corner of his eye the orb that Tormentous had summoned. Being the scholar that he was as well as a warrior he knew what that was, A Thought Bomb. A technique he had thought lost after Darth Bane, something he had read that was connected to Revan whom he revered, and Vitiate himself. This was bad. Tormentous would have only done this if he knew deep down that he was not going to survive this encounter. If that bomb went off nobody would survive this. The Jedi, himself, Silas, Tormentous, Lord Blood, and depending on the power of it might not be localized to this building, it could encompass the entire planet. Either way this was very bad. While he was now aware of this, he did not know a defense as there was none for the thought bomb. However would this desperate act cause the High Priest to turn on the soon to be former Dark Lord? His instinct too was to flee, to preserve the self but that was the act of a coward and coward was one thing the War Bringer was not. He renewed his efforts in his task, he renewed his ferocity and his resolve he had a second wind (battlemind) the Dark Side was generous. Not that he was physically tiring but he had found his own concentration beginning to slip with the thought bomb in the equation.

Each strike and parry he executed against this floating saber was met with even more brutality, ferocity and brute strength. He snarled as if he was a feral animal, yet he fought on.

[Ben Kenobi]

A battle of titanic proportions surged just then as living beings of pure mythical wonder collided. A trio of speeding darts stinging the hide of a leviathan beast, the roars of the four monsters were enough to shatter the constitution of normal men and indeed it likely did, if not for the discipline of the Jedi Knights and the proximity to their Master the tally of collapsed willpower would have been added to. It was the stuff from legend… yet… this entire night was filled to the brim with that. Ben Kenobi led his Knights away from the scene, for the first time he displayed a near urgency to be away thus picking himself up into a brisk run until they made it to the clear; or so what they suspected was far enough away from the unfolding scene of dragons vying for supremacy.

Just down the courtyard and upon the steps of Tormentous’ bastion was displayed a duel of majesty. The two Sith Lords were in sworn combat versus a dual pair of lightsabers with a single wielder residing at the apex of the stairs. The eldest Jedi here knew well what the technique was, though not even his vast experience could afford him a truth in knowledge of the ability known as Telekinetic Lightsaber Combat. It was fascinating to behold and he instantly decided that the ability was of extreme danger to any opponent of any skill. The very implications of drawing blades against such weapons without the physics of a natural wielder permitted strength to be utterly and completely ignored in any such bout. This instance of battle would be tested by the elegance and skill of the combatants, not the efforts of exertion.

Immediately after the initial glance the trio of Jedi began making their way towards the unfolding handicapped duel of two versus one and all the while Ben imparted his wisdom to his Knights that should they become suspect to this, literally, art of combat, they would stand a fighting chance. Ben fought to confound his instinctual analysis of the situation, he needed to remain focused while on the other hand his mind desired to dissect the art form of telekinetic lightsaber combat and discover its intricacies. For surely the difficultly was just as much for the wielder to unlock its potential as it was for the defender to effectively poise themselves; the mind’s natural actions and motions would be a part of the extension lightsabers, it was for the wielder to break the mind’s stereotypical motion and overcome this physical representations to deliver to the defender a display such as what the Black Hand of Tormentous was giving.

Truly, it was masterful. In such a place as Moraband it was a simple thing to feel envy of the blademaster’s proficiency, yet, such emotions held no sway over the attuned minds of the Jedi. In unity they strode through the gore-soaked gardens and unto the final proximity of the blade to blade combat.

In a moment’s notice the attack came and he sensed it before the hilt ever left Silas’ hand. Stepping forth, Ben Kenobi parted between his students and seemingly struck out with a calm grace that almost seemed too slow to be effective; though it was instead precise and exact. His staff flickered out and in the moment the cobalt blade arrived it was intercepted by the tip of the staff, metal on metal. His eyes were welded to the form of Silas Karn several meters away though his staff, no more than a metal rod, was set firmly upon the very edge of the shoto’s emitter outside of the blade’s projection. It had stopped the strike indefinitely and it was also a momentary pause in what otherwise would have been an opening maneuver of another branch of this duel. Silence drowned out the surrounding battle as the suddenness of the strike on both accounts took hold of those present. Likely only Silas could count the significance of what Kenobi had done and while Kenobi was not here to spite or prod the Echani High Lord, it had been a maneuver against that pride.

Measured and weighed, a single motion had been delivered to Silas in silence though with the voice of a raging storm; you shall not set yourself against my own.

Thrumming energy blades moving in to flank the Jedi Master, a trio of the Coalition and a shieldwall that was unbreakable. They three took solace in their proximity to one another and the raging cataclysm of the moment was refused by their very presence. They were the calm of the storm and there was nothing that any of these Darksiders could do about it, such was their serenity. Though for this, Ben felt and saw from the corner of his eye the sparkling orb of power rise above the high mezzanine. Dread was the word to describe the power that dwelt within that orb and it was there with enough power to drown out Moraband entirely.

It was then that Ben realized that this was far more than a mission of moment in that a Dark Lord of the Sith would be arrested or slain. This was an intervention in that a maniac would be denied his destructive tendencies. With a thought bomb of the breath of size that Tormentous now wielded, Ben knew that Moraband itself was not to be the consequence but beyond; if it went off then the Force itself would be torn. Tormentous hadn’t lost his mind, that Ben could feel from here, but he felt broad confidence swell from the mezzanine. Clearly the tyrant thought himself beyond the bomb’s effects and far exceeding this, he supposed himself at the ascension level of a deity. Perhaps this was all but a ritual to enact such plans of utter ascension. The Sith had strange ways of achieving immortality, perhaps this was one of them?

He spun his staff in reverse, bringing the pommel up and around to smack the pommel of the shoto, ascending the weapon out of position though he did not advance and as Silas resumed the stance of the weapon Ben captured the thoughts and intention on the wind and he understood the designs at work here. Silas was as much a snake in the grass as Blood and Tormentous too. He was attempting to weave the greatest possible outcome for himself amid this chaos.

Silas would let the Jedi Master part ways, though he would kill the Knights if given the chance. This put Ben at a difficult crossroads. He could remain and together they would all overcome the Black Hand. Though doing so would take considerable time thus allowing Tormentous to achieve whatever means of apotheosis he so desired. By that time the thought bomb would be so substantially out of even Tormentous’ control that the imminent detonation would be impossible to prevent. It seemed the careful machinations of Silas were clear here, only the Jedi Master would proceed. Ben was unsure if he held the capability to close down such an ability of sheer power, but if Tormentous was permitted continuation then when it did go off, far more would be lost. Either conclusion, this seemed to only end one way.

“Asori, remain with Ei’noa, together you will stand. I must confront Darth Tormentous.” He avoided adding the term ‘alone,’ yet the implication was there. Ben Kenobi was no fool and facing off against a Dark Lord of the Sith on his own home turf was not to be taken lightly. Essentially Darth Tormentous was the most powerful Sith Lord in the Galaxy. To underestimate him was to doom far more than himself.

Together the Knights took on another stance as they stepped forward to cordon Silas’ shoto from the Master. “We’ll hold them from you Master Kenobi.” Assured Asori as the shoto flashed into action and she expertly parried though gave ground as she was daunted by the new technique set against her. Fortunately Ei’noa stepped in and delivered reprieve and likewise they dueled pace by pace with Silas’ mind. The Bothan Knight was far less the duelist than Asori Spero, the protégé of Kenobi himself, so it would largely be up to the Togrutan Knight to see this effort done.

Meanwhile, understanding now fully that sacrifices were to be expected of them just as much as himself, he permitted the duel. He looked lengthways to Silas and while Jedi were devoid of emotion, Kenobi was of the stock that did not ignore nature, with an instantaneous look he warned the High Priest, though without another word he set his staff pommel to the ground and walked into the maelstrom of the duel. Without concern or purpose, he was fully aware of his surroundings and knew that he had nothing to fear or react to lest the Sith that were supposedly his allies took a swing at him out of typical treacherous action.

Thusly unmolested, Ben Kenobi ascended the steps calmly though with purpose until he posed himself facing opposite that of Karn and they stood parallel from one another, shoulder to shoulder. He stopped and gazed into the depth of the dire temple before him. He could feel the impending doom and knew that should he enter, he likely would not be coming back, at least not in the same manner. “His time has come.” The Master announced to the Priest. “Darth Tormentous must not see another dawn. I intend to end this, once and for all.” He wanted Silas to fully understand what was to be done could not be undone.

While he listened, he did not necessarily wait for Silas to respond. With a tap of his staff he proceeded into the depths of the Fortress of Torment…

[Jacobi Wylcott]

Thunderous clashes of scales as hard as iron ravaged the courtyard as Kraujas Ntima spat, sneered and clawed at the pesky Arkanian types. They were swift and worked in near unison though their combat was limited as the Battle Hydra had remained on the ground. The Arkanians did not hold the ability to strike from any angle and instead were forced to strike from above. A limited attacking arch made for limited flight space, Kraujas Ntima managed to negate their numeric superiority slightly in this manner. With only two able to strike it at once, both the Hydra’s head became more than sufficient to spy the oncoming attackers. Indeed - if they wanted to score more than a scrape or burning annoyance on Kraujas Ntima’s hardened armor plating then they would be forced to engage in a much more brutal and costly melee. Otherwise, the defensive element belonged to the Hydra and eventually a bite here or a snag there would spell doom for the Arkanians.

A tail of lashing spines swept in, flicking dozens of poisonous spines towards the bronze dragon during one of its assaults. Most of the razored spines harmlessly pricked off of the Arkanian’s own scaled armor though perhaps a few or even one made it through. Corrosive elements would engage the blood stream and target muscle tissue and dissolve what it touched. If enough poison got through into the blood of the dragon then even its heart would seize and its suffering would be great.

Even as the bronze dragon swept in and drew and harsh set of claws across Kraujas’ back, gouging armor plating and scoring several deep incisions between them, the Hydra spun about and snapped out with both heads at the fleeing Arkanian with a maw filled with toxins. Meanwhile the spines on the muscular tail were swiftly and very rapidly growing to replace the barrage previously shot, such was Kraujas Ntima’s own metabolism and ability of regrowth. Of course more savage wounds such as what the bronze beast did to its back wouldn’t heal nearly as fast, but in time the flesh would knit and the scar tissue would harden.

A true dragon of decay was just as potent in endurance.

Darth Tormentous, Lord of the vast reaches of the Dark Side of the Force, delivered unto his subjects the mastery of his form - a thought bomb worthy of any which the galaxies’ history could remember. It shimmered silver and glowing red. His concentration upon it was supreme and where others may have lost their hold, Tormentous contained the dreadful weapon with the ease of a father holding his babe. His time in study and experiment had taught him everything he needed to know about the technique and now it was time for all who had deigned to oppose him to suffer.

He could taste their fear. As each spied the mighty bomb, Tormentous nearly laughed at them all as they each fell right into his trap. Even Silas, his own Black Hand who chose to weave fate as if it were his own. The Dark One suspected treachery, though not so soon. It mattered little now. The battle was commencing though the outcome had already been decided. He took his gaze from the lesser ilk down below and he gazed upon the magnificence of his creation and sneered into the eyes of irony and fate. With but a thought he could ignite this fierce world shattering bomb - all present would perish in an instant. For all eternity they would suffer the bomb’s torture. Forever unable to escape the bomb’s hold as millennia would give welcome and call them brothers all. Torment - it would be their ever-host and it was a selfish entity for it would never set them free.

He alone understood this.

He alone saw fate for what it was.

He alone had achieved what none other could.

He alone could mold an essence that was the weaver of life.

Fate. He held fate in his hands and he chose when and where it would speak and what it would speak. Silas Karn, Blood, Warvanus, Ei’noa, Asori Spero, Ben Kenobi and the untold millions upon this world were now sitting in his hands. With but a thought, not so much as a clap of the hand or even a snap of the finger - he could end them all. That - was the power of a god. The power of decision, of choice. Immortality was frail in meaning, there was no immortal life beyond the physical. Those Sith Lords who’d foolishly pursued it and supposedly achieved it - where were they now? Vitiate? A ghost overpowered by a child. Sidious? No longer even a specter that had been chastised by a pair of Echani. Bane? But a memory of only the most scholarly. Exar Kun? A prisoner to his own greed and machincations. None of them were able to manifest themselves in the physical and they each required the living breathing among the physical realm to interact.

Was that godhood? Was that truly what immortality had to offer?

Tormentous knew the truth. His wisdom earned through the blood of billions during his campaigns across the stars. No, immortality was mundane and pithy to the whims of his desire. Choice! It was choice that he pursued. This was power, this was true immortality. To live among the living whilst wielding power immeasurable all the while surrounded with the risk of loss for even he had something to lose. This was godhood.

He alone.

Tearing his eye from the Gate of Eternity, he gazed down upon his guests and witnessed Silas permit the Jedi Master. So the betrayal was complete. The High Priest had displayed his colors and had chosen his lot. How predictable. A crooked grin manifested at the edge of Tormentous’ mouth within his iron mask. So it seemed that he would have the last laugh. Unfortunate though that he had never thought to betray the Black Hand - of course he’d prepared for it and anticipated the possibility though it was more contingency then intent to betray. If Silas Karn had not diverted his hand from the path of Tormentous, there was to be no back stabbing or deceit.

The true betrayal was not so much in the act of allowing someone to pass by. But it was the moment in time where he took it upon himself to know more than his liege lord. Silas Karn had sworn his word and devotion to Tormentous - now, here he was turning a venomous tongue onto the outstretched hand that fed him. Such a conniving wretch! Sowing trickery and deceit for his own gains and worse yet, the singular most powerful and successful Jedi Master in history, far beyond the superior of fabled legends such as the Skywalkers and Yoda himself, Ben Kenobi - he just let him walk right on by. Surely in the idealism of self preservation this made sense and while Tormentous didn’t expect Silas to leapt in front of a speeding grav-train, he could have delayed the Master. Instead, he permitted the one being here that could potentially contest the Dark Lord in single…….. combat……..

Something spiked in the icy void of his heart. A fire. First came the sparking ignition and then came the seething inferno of a blaze fed by raw fuel. It burned as hot as a star’s core and in this the Dark Lord of the Sith could not ignore it for beyond his cloak and mask was held a furious humanity. The thought of single combat had spurned it to life. Crossing blades with a living legend. The best of the best. An unparalleled master of swordsmanship to surpass Silas’ own save for the Form II Makashi - the master of the Force of which there literally was no rival among the living - a mind as sharp as a monofilament blade honed over a century. This was a test of a lifetime and an opportunity to reveal within his heart of hearts if he truly was worthy. An opportunity to sing the song of battle once more.

His eye glanced to the thought bomb, he could end it all now and destroy this legend. He looked back down - or he could set the leather and wire bound hilt of the Jidai Maras to his grip and engage in a duel the likes which had never been seen. His thoughts raced, though suddenly they focused as the bloodlust whispered his name. Kill him. Looking down he was confused - his sword was in his hand and the blade pulsing deep red. He swallowed, he couldn’t recall drawing it from the scabbard on his back, though here it was - the leather hilt creaking under a flexing grip.

Arrogance and pride were befuddling his mind. He shook them off and narrowed his gaze at Silas, he had orchestrated this very moment and this very passionate response. This was per his design. Again he was disappointed in how Silas was trying to play him - did he suppose Tormentous was so easily fooled? Did he suppose that Tormentous had not prepared for every instance? Did he suppose he could contain the thought bomb with his own potent abilities of sorcery? His eye narrowed and death stared upon him. He would pay for this insolence. When your lord delivers you from the gutter and grants you service without so much as a leash, your loyalty is expected and owed. Anger swelled. He had tired of Silas’ meddling.

For the last time - Silas would know despair.

Extending a hand outward as a Lord would advise his subjects, reaching up to the thought bomb he presented his judgment to all. With a simple snap of his finger - the world changed.

The Gate of Eternity compressed and searing light blew from its central nexus. So bright was this light that none could see, even those who looked away or cowed themselves in the shade or the lee of a stone as the pesantry they were. The light encompassed all. The entirety of the Fortress of Tormentous was swallowed, inside and out. The Valley of the Dark Lords, the Star Port, the Sith Military Base - all were drown by the light of Tormentous’ wrath. He had chosen, he had judged, he had delivered sentence.

Even from orbit the light’s intensity was not lost on the combat above though it was but a bright flash of ethereal light and just as fast as it had come, it was gone.

Above the mezzanine now, churning with menace - the thought bomb was gone and now replaced with a smaller core with smaller-yet six man-sized orbs. Indeed - the thought bomb had not detonated at all but rather Tormentous had severed the singular bomb into seven portions. By now Silas would surely know his folly. Tormentous had full control and he’d never intended to betray. Silas had been perfectly secured under the veil of Tormentous’ grace. But now, there was an orb that reflected his visage. Though it was spherical and perfect to a mirror, it stared down upon him with hate. This had never been a play to destroy everything in some chaotic scorched earth attack.

Infuriated, he looked upon Blood, Warvanus, Asori, Ei’noa and Silas with disdain. Then he lowered his hand and unleashed his fury. As one the six orbs fell from the sky and began falling towards each individual combatant previously listed. These smaller bombs were a contact based form - instead of detonation and encompassing a wide field of unconfined area, whatever these orbs touched would be discreetly consumed. Of course, Tormentous still held the power to detonate each one - though this was not his design. With great speed these bombs vied for the souls of the five. Fools. They would pay for their weaknesses.

The sixth and final remained in orbit of the parent orb, obviously the orb created to house the soul of Kenobi for all eternity. It did not come however, not yet. And so, Darth Tormentous turned away from the ledge of the mezzanine and he slowly departed forth into the depths of his Fortress.

If Kenobi was going to stop him, he would do so on Tormentous’ terms.

[Professor Mors]

OOC: I had initially meant to spend a round or two bouncing around in hyperspace: however, in light of GD's dispatching of local forces, I shall not tarry in transit long

***Edge of the Kursid System, Esstran Sector, Grid Coordinates Q-5***
[So this 'Tormentous' is your qwadassh then?], a particularly chatty Major Frass inquired over the intercom. Much to Doren's mild irritation, his ever-loyal Anzat pilot had absorbed much of the gossip surrounding the Captain's encounters with the Sith, and had taken to waxing eloquent on the various skirmishes via his own cultural lenses. And, as there was little else to do between long-term travel and microjumps, Vassyl had little to do but listen on with muted contempt. [Basic please, Major, Anzat vocabulary is not one of my strong suits]. [Ah, yes, in your language, it would be something like a-], Frass paused a moment to collect himself, before concluding, [large foe]. [An archenemy perhaps], Doren elaborated, entertaining his subordinate's inquiries to a small degree, [It would not be unfitting to call him such].

That last comment was a misstep, as such affirmation only fueled the intrigue of the overtly-social vampire, [So you are fated to defeat him then? Or die in the attempt?]. [My experience has been the latter more so than the former Major], Vassyl hissed, kicking himself in light of the continued dialogue. Thankfully, it would not be much longer before the task force reached their target. The jump cycle had been dreary, and made further unbearable by the comm chatter. To that end, a swift death might have almost seemed a blessing. [Captain!], Frass called out with uncharacteristic decorum, [Will the two of you will have a stand-off? Like the ones in your holodramas?]. [Goodness sakes Major], Vassyl attempted to interject, but the Anzat's imagination had run loose.

[You shall have one final meeting, at dawn], the excitable ace narrated. [Major], Doren irascibly croaked to no avail, as his comrade concluded, [And this time, it is- personal!]. In a true act of cosmic providence, the sensor relays sprang to life, indicating it was time for the final hyperspace jump. [Radio silence until we reach the target system], Vassyl commanded with a mildly elated tone, [There's no telling what stage the conflict has assumed]. Soundly defeated, the Major glumly shut off his channel, as the three squadrons were soon absorbed into the cerulean sleeve of hyperspace once more. Left alone with his thoughts, apprehension crept upon Doren yet again, as he considered the possibility for victory, and the wavering specter of a trap.

Emerging some minutes later on Korriban's periphery, Vassyl was subsequently comforted by the conspicuous absence of a full armada. However, his focus immediately leapt on the all-too familiar frame of a Sith Dreadnaught. [All fighters, vector in on that flagship, and prepare to break through the enemy screen], the Captain announced, gunning the Proudclad toward the faint metallic mist of Sith interceptors off in the distant. He knew not whether the Dark Lord in question was aboard the vessel at this time, and he cared little to know. Either way, Doren would see it disabled if not destroyed outright. First came the smaller ships, those could not be overlooked. At least, at the time, Vassyl saw them as little more than an irritant, which would inevitably give way to a far worthier, and ultimately damning prize.