Open Ajan Kloss Judicium

[Emryc Thorne]

He could see the Ithorian drawing in for an attack. Darth Malicia sprang to the scene, capturing the Grandmaster into a bubble. It could contain him, but not for long. Emryc was launched backwards from the blow, reeling from the impact. It sent waves of pain through his body as he got but a taste of the Grandmaster’s power. It was the light side of the Force, and it burned him more than the attack normally would. He felt as if he were on fire, and he was left reeling from it.

There was a sick satisfaction from that pain, and he reached into the Force to harness it. He grabbed it by the neck and commanded it, making it obey. He was still on the ground, moving till he was on a knee, his haunting white mask gazing directly at the Grandmaster.

With the others focusing their attacks, there was the tiniest sliver of a window. Emryc did not see through the physical realm of the world, he had tapped into another plane entirely. He did not need his earthly senses, diving into that plane where he saw the white beacon that blinded him. The dark shadows were peripherally around it, but they could not penetrate it.

Emryc was a dagger in the Force, shooting through the stream of this alternate existence. He wove into the tiniest little opening he saw from the Ithorian bellowing his attack and the others working to ground and attack him. This was enough for that dagger to weave into his mind, a mind that would otherwise be impenetrable.

Once there, the Grandmaster would see what was happening outside. He would see the still alive younglings that crawled on the ground as their life bled away. He would see the padawans crying in agony as they clutched at their stumps. He would see that a Sith blade was used, that they did not get the mercy of cauterized wounds. They were slowly bleeding out directly outside of the door.

“There is no death,” Emryc’s voice would echo within the Ithorian’s mind, a mockery of the Jedi creed. There was no death, it was true. They hadn’t died yet. They were simply in agony. They were screaming in the earthly plane and the Force. They were clawing for mercy that did not come. The Force abandoned them and they fell into their basic human flaws. Their human instincts that begged for it to end, “There is no death,” His voice would echo.

The images would then switch to a glimpse into the planet Ithor. The pride and jewel of his people. The planet that they cherished and preserved above all. He would see the flowers being sapped of life. He would see the lives of the creatures decaying away. He would see others of his kind taking up arms. He would see war and despair, fire and chaos.

“There is no death,” Emryc would speak, illustrating that this was a promise. What he saw was an oath. What he saw was a commitment. A commitment to what would befall his people.

“You sing your Kougathu alone,” Emryc spoke in his mind, “Because you stand alone.”

The entire sequence happened in the blink of an eye, but it felt like an eternity in the plane of the Force. In the earthen plane, Emryc raised and released the ancient dagger. It would sail over the shoulders of Asminys and Malicia, aimed directly for the torso of the Grandmaster.

@Mr. Teatime

 

[Asminys]

The fight began quickly, as they always did. Asminys felt the light gathering within the Jedi Grandmaster like a distant star. Correction, a dying star. He stole the moment before the Ithorian unleashed his Kougathu, used the opportunity Demolly gave as she shielded his efforts to close the distance. Renfry went right and Asminys went left as they entered.

His hand rose as the shout broke free of Demolly's bubble, creating his own shield as he pushed through the debris and force of sound, protecting him from the brunt of the remainder as he closed in on the edge of the sonic shout. His eyes blazed with fury as shards of stone cut at his skin. His wounds were minor but they bled freely as he came in on the Grandmaster's right.

He came in on the grandmaster's right, low, blade slashing left to right in a diagonal and slightly upwards sweep, targeting the Grandmaster's lightsaber hand in a Sun Djem strike intended to deprive him of his physical defenses.

He could feel the darkness projected onto the Grandmaster from his companions, the roots that sought to bind the elder Jedi. He would be winded, out of breath from the effort of his Kougathu and possibly stunned by its power reflected back onto him. His mind under assault. That was when Asminys would strike, as the forces of the Darkside arrayed their power against the grand Jedi.

He held his left hand in a knife hand at his side as his blade swung. He drew on the power of his pain and rage and the Darkside that radiated from his companions. The power was as of yet unformed, unwilled into completeness but held in his hand and fingers, ready to be unleashed at his command.

@Mr. Teatime

 

[Dasi Vemm]

Dasi awoke with a start in her room at the temple. Something was wrong in the force. She moved to get dressed once again and investigate, the sense of unease only getting worse for her. The young Padawan made sure to grab her lightsaber, recent events for her had convinced her she should always have it on her regardless of where she was. She yawned as she opened the door to her room and stepped out into the hall. She would visit the kitchen. Some food would hopefully help. Something was wrong, and she wasn't entirely sure what.

The young Togruta stepped into the kitchen smiling at younglings and other Jedi eating. She wondered if they could felt what she was feeling. She chewed on a piece of bantha jerky and fell to the floor suddenly as she felt death itself make its presence known in the force. She looked around to see other Jedi reeling from the same thing that had shocked her. Some younglings looked around in confusion, their ability to reach out with the force not as developed. The young Togruta felt a tear roll down her cheek. One of the knights yelled at them. "Padawans! Get the younglings to the hangar. The Sith are here." She watched as he nodded to another knight who accompanied him as they ran through an exit, off to fight a foe.

Dasi herself started grabbing younglings and grouping them up. She passed them off to another Padawan before following the knights who had left. "I'm going to search for more younglings." She could still feel more death coming from places in the temple. She wanted to avoid heading to those areas but she felt it was required. There could be other padawans or younglings who needed help. As she strolled down a corridor towards where she felt the Padwan was careful to begin moving slowly. Not wanting to alert one of the attackers to her own presence.

 

[Oren Zapan]

Muse
​

Oren had begun the harrowing trek across the gardens where the many classes were being held. He could feel Sada-Nau and Oota engaging the conflict head on, their presence and light flickering and wavering among the chaos and death. Oren could feel the presence of two of the Sith, the strange woman he had met in the auction--though her power seemed far stronger here now. Then there was the Sith he had met at the ancient Jedi Ruins, the ones where a battle had nearly broken out, but they were pushed away by tumbling rocks.

It seemed the cycle would only continue to grow, the battles would continue to wage and Ajan Kloss would become a distant ruins in the future. Oren, cursed under his breath as he adjusted the crying youngling in his hands. A Jedi's life is sacrifice, temples can be rebuilt. Peace and balance may not last, but if a peace can be brought--even for the shortest of moments, then it itself is a miracle. This is why we fight, why we must bring balance. The Jedi Councilor would attempt to send out a message through the force to his fellow councilors, even if they couldn't hear it, they could feel it.

Your battle is not lost, for you have saved many this day. If any of you survive, I will find you and bring you home. May the Force be with you.

The Jedi's train of thought was cut off by a stranger who quickly began apologizing to the Master (@Gale ). But there was no time for that now, defense was useless in this moment. "Do as the code demands of us, and life itself. We have a duty to defend and protect," he'd say as he kept his way towards the training grounds and the distant hangar, "We're getting everyone out that we can, we're heading to the hangar... A Jedi's life isn't about a false sense of heroism, going in there proves nothing, not when so many need us--but, do as you must."

The Jedi would continue on, with or without the stranger, as he passed the Dorms he could see Felix leading a group out of his own, a small smile came to the Jedi's face. The Master would pop his head into the dorms, making sure there were no stragglers, there he saw a young padawan lingering within the halls.

With little thought, the Master would call out to the force in an attempt to pull the padawan towards the door and the field, "There is nothing that you can do for them now," the sheer thought pained the Councilor to say, but it was true. Holding the youngling in one hand, and the sheer force pull in the other, Oren would try to pull the padawan into the field.

If it worked and she accepted the Councilor's will, he'd take her hand and together the group would head to the hangar bay where groups of survivors, some wounded others fresh, would begin boarding a shuttle for departure. He would hand the child off, and would motion padawans to begin boarding.

Oren himself would be the last to board, waiting to confirm that things were in place and Felix and the other survivors that made it would escape. His eyes took one last look at the hangar before boarding himself and heading to the cockpit, where two servicemen had begun preparing the ship. "Prepare a random lightspeed jump, we'll head to Yavin-IV after." The Jedi Councilor would say quietly, his eyes gazing back to the scared and injured. They need me.

/Exit Thread Attempt

tag: @christhebarker @Aurius @darkrei9n

 

[The Gatekeeper]

Sada-Nau flew out after the window after @Darth Invictus, his grip pulling her with and ahead of himself. The Jedi Councilor twisted her body around to land feet first, the wind following and enhancing her movement almost like it was another part of her body. Slowly her guard rose, right hand near the top of her lightsaber's hilt and the other grasping the bottom, blade angled at a forty-five degree angle upward. Her presence in the Force swirled, danced, and spun along with the air around her, a few stray leaves slowly circling her feet, tumbling over the ground. Kind, sunlit-yellow eyes gazed into the bright gold of the lost man before her. For a moment they looked sad, as if imagining the kind of life one might have to lead to bring them to this point.

"May you find peace in death," she responded kindly in an almost motherly tone. An uncommon saying among the Jedi, but no less sincere for it. Of course she didn't want to kill the man before her, or anyone. All life was sacred, things of the Force. But as a Jedi, she would still take the final option available to her. Perhaps at least then the Sith would be free of the things that tormented him. Then her eyes narrowed slightly, hardening in focus and steeled determination. Sada-Nau knew well what happened next. Such was the life of those who chose to take up swords.

Sada-Nau began to slowly but steadily approach across the training ground, guard up and taking half steps, the lazy spiral of air following along across the ground. A distant breeze whistled through the trees behind her, rolling across the stone tiles and stealing a leaf or two from around her feet. The two stared at each other, poised to fight. A brief calm before the inevitable storm.

The Grandmaster was well outnumbered. The Sith arrayed before him clearly had a mixed collection of skills and talents, and the Force was strong in them. If only they had been shown a better path. Physically, perhaps, Oota Boan was alone. But no Jedi was ever really alone. The Force was with him, a fusion of existence a Sith could never truly understand or experience. Perhaps, before he went, he could show them what that looked like. Maybe it would help.

To the physical eye the Grandmaster was just an ordinary Ithorian. Through the eyes of the Force, however, he was a luminous being, not merely some crude matter. In the moment he inhaled and allowed the Force to flow through him he surrendered himself to the will of the Force. It was his last stand, after all, and he'd have to do his best.

The Force bubble @Darth Malicia formed was strong, her skill and focus impressive. But in defiance of typical logic, the vibrating sound didn't bounce the way she had intended, instead gathering in the walls of the bubble itself even as Oota ceased his bellow. The energy vibrated within the Force-made walls, running through them over and over until the moment it failed. Then timed seem to slow- in a way, at least, for the Grandmaster. The Force paid little attention to the flow of such things.

The apparent youngest of the Sith, @Emryc Thorne, had chosen a mental attack. To overwhelm his mind and concentration, to show him the pain and misery of the Oota's fellow Jedi. It was a sorrowful thing to see. A mind so young, so talented, warped by the Dark Side. He would never know the joy of helping others, of healing the the bodies and spirits of those less fortunate than oneself, of easing their burdens. The young man would never know peace, only a life of pain and anger until his likely violent end. To the Grandmaster, such a thing was unimaginably tragic. Oota Boan had already centered himself, and let go of those who could not be saved. Such was the way of the Jedi, though it brought him no joy.

Oota Boan remembered what it was like to be young, like him, full of the vigor of the age. But he wiser now, and well experienced. The young Sith's mental strike landed true, certainly, but in doing so he may have opened himself up to a similar experience of his own. Perhaps the young man had been expecting an iron fortress in the Grandmaster's mind, but instead his thoughts and feelings were like water, the depths of a vast and sunlit ocean. In striking out, Emryc risked being swallowed by the tide of the Light. Instead of the vision ending the voice of Oota Boan could be heard over the sounds of screams and war, of pain and death. Not loud, or angry, but the voice of a grandfatherly old teacher who wants to see every student of his find their way.

"Death, yet the Force," he corrected, the young Sith quoting an old, more orthodox interpretation of the Jedi Code. "Death is a natural part of life, and all life is the Force. A Jedi is never alone, young one. Let me show you," the voice said, and the waters closed in. They weren't going to harm him- they couldn't, even. This wasn't precisely even an attack, it was a lesson. Emryc was still young, and perhaps he could be offered an alternate viewpoint of how things were.

The Grandmaster, open to the Force and the Light side as he was now, allowed that sensation to flow through the connection and into Emryc. All the life on Ajan Kloss was connected Oota Boan at that moment, in the metaphysical sense of things, and that was what he would show him. The little energies of growing things, the ancient and slow memories of tree and stone, the sound of wind through the leaves and the feeling of moss growing over bark. The frantic pace of little forest creatures that ran through the underbrush, the flight of a hawk soaring over the mountains. The steady creepy of flowering vines over temple walls, their scent perfuming the air to join the stone and fresh soil, the tiny insects that sought out their nectar for their hive and the steady buzzing of their wings. All clear, crystal clear, in greater focus and depth than mere eyes could ever see, deeper sound than simple ears. The chaos and order, concepts so frequently mistaken as polar opposites, shown in all its glorious beauty in the way only a Force user could see and experience.

"Chaos, yet harmony." The galaxy itself thrummed with life. It was alive, untold numbers of beings, planets, and stars, all interconnected through the Force. The sheer scale was almost unimaginable, unthinkable, but the Force saw it was. Was all of it, in a way. Oota Boan shared a fraction of his experience, the things the young Sith would never find on his current path. What it was like to reach through the Force to purge another of sickness or injury, or to sooth an illness of the mind. To not fight against fear and anger, but to let them pass through and out of one into the Force, freeing one from its influence. And above all else, the sheer calm, the sense of peace and serenity that the Light brought to the strongest Jedi. For a moment, perhaps, Emryc might even share in that peace.

"Strike me down," Oota Boan transmitted, his voice comforting and kind, but at the same time sorrowful, "and you will never be rid of me."

Then the vision ended, and perhaps that peace would fade. The Grandmaster had merely extended the visions, but it had taken the same amount of time as Emryc had originally intended. How the young man handled the experience was up to him, of course. Master Boan could not open the path to the Light for him. He could only show him the door. Only Emryc could walk through it.

Meanwhile, there were other things to consider. @Renfry used some strange Force techniques, vibrant green, that warped the ground beneath his feet. The Grandmaster did not recognize what it was, nor did he have the time to really consider it. But he did understand that his legs and feet being bound to the floor was not ideal, and he understood the Force connected all things.

The Tendrils, born of Shadow, would wither and weaken within Master Boan's sunlit aura. They grasped and found purchase but they could not move him and could not sustain contact. Though the ground beneath him seemed to become a liquid- frankly he had little idea how, but the Force was a mysterious thing at times- it was like he refused to sink. He was grounded where he stood, grounded in the Force.

@Asminys moved in quickly to take the advantage as the Force bubble burst open, debris causing superficial cuts but his shield defending him from the brief but concentrated wave of booming energy. The young Emryc had launched a dagger seeking to kill. The Grandmaster turned in his lightsaber, bringing it across his torso and twisting at the waist to deflect the thrown weapon off to his left and behind him, avoiding the Marauder's attempt at Sun Djem. He continued the motion, uncoiling his twist back to his right like a wound spring and flicking a swing toward the Marauder's right elbow in a swift, if fairly basic counterstrike.

In the end, however, Oota Boan wasn't really a warrior. He could not bound across every available surface, or wield twin blades like bolts of lightning, or come out on top outnumbered as he was in a straight fight. He had given himself fully up the Force, allowing the Light to shine through him as much as he could muster. The Grandmaster was a luminous being, but he was also a being of crude matter. This was a state even the most powerful Jedi imaginable could not sustain for very long, the strain of it eventually wearing him down. The brightest candles burn for the shortest time, or so the saying goes.

It was only a matter of time. It wasn't very much, not very much at all. But hopefully it would be enough.

@Sreeya @Dread @Arclight @Orbit @Phoenix @TWD26 @christhebarker @Aurius @darkrei9n

 

[Gram Van Alasdaire]

“If you run, they’ve already won. The two of us could even the odds...”

Gale didn’t expect his words to be heeded. The Master seemed... emotional. It was an odd sensation to feel from a Jedi, but he had long since grown desensitized to death. Death wasn’t what upset him, it didn’t affect him quite as drastically as it had this Orin Zapan. But at the same time, Gale was correct as well - the knee jerk reaction should not be defaulted to fleeing. That would prove disastrous.

“Fine. Running it is.”

Tapping his commlink once, Gale tapped into his ship’s frequency. A series of muffled beeps and bloops came as a reply.

“Alright, stowaway, you wanted to help? Get the Mantis ready for takeoff.”

A series of beeps came as what seemed to be agreement. Followed by number of panicked rapid circuits.

“Yes, away from the place! Bring it down into the opening and drop the hatch on my signal - yes you’ll know what it looks like!!”

But as he heard the engine active, racing down the corridors himself to meet the vessel, he felt the fighting that had begun. It was like nothing he had quite experienced through the Force, pure energy being lanced around casually. To say he was outmatched would be correct - but that didn’t mean the Jedi Council was as well. There were supposed to be the best. It was time to find out how true that statement was. The crimson warrior followed the Master until he saw a Togruta he recognized. Removing his helmet, he placed his hand firmly on the Councilor’s shoulder as he did the woman’s, edging him to release her and continue on.

“Come with me or go with him. The Mantis will cover your escape.

Droid! Signal!”

The droid’s metallic eye turned from the copilot’s chair and whirred until it stopped, staring at the panels as it’s metallic hand tapped away. A single, drawn out sentence in droidspeak. ‘Get ready for a bumpy ride!’

His heart skipped a beat. And all at once his composure was gone. Gale’s eyes brimmed with tears he could barely contain. The battle had reached it’s culmination - and all his effort had been in vain. The mystic had failed his entire life in protecting people, and now he would fail here, despite his desire to die trying. Maybe he could guard someone with this vessel. Anyone. As he mounted into the cockpit, the R3 unit gave him a look the Vahla could only describe as concern.

“We’ll... join them... as soon as we can. Redirect the flow from nonessential systems and transfer it to our weapons, then get on those guns.”

The droid whirred to action, seemingly glad that he was there to help. Once the transfer was complete, allowing 50/50 power output from both weapons and shields, Gale nodded.

“Lets go sublight. See what we’re dealing with.”

Spoiler: OOC and Tags

Going along with the Exit thread, with the caveat that if the transports are attacked, the Mantis would turn to engage.

@Sreeya @Phoenix @Dread @Arclight @Orbit @TWD26 @christhebarker @darkrei9n

 

[Emryc Thorne]

Emryc had found that tiny little window to thread his needle, but it was still a thread attached to that needle. The Jedi Grandmaster could hook to that thread and travel down the length of it, back into its origin. Back into the confines of Emryc’s mind. Back beyond that dark space that had spent the length of his short life placing walls and barriers. Right through that hairline crack that allowed that little ray of light into the pitch black shadow that rested behind it.

It was a dark place that didn’t see light in so long. It reeled from it, and it hissed in agony. The images flooded his mind, and he simply didn’t see them. He was there. He was exposed, and without that mask. The Grandmaster would be able to see the beautiful face behind the mask, the silver eyes that widened in genuine surprise. The Jedi was much more powerful than he was, and he could pull Emryc deeper into this world than he could venture himself.

He smelled the earth, he could hear the streams of water. He could see the butterflies that flew around him, could feel the gentle wind on his face. It was poison, and it was sick, and he couldn’t make it stop. He was caught in a silent scream, though no sound came out. He could see the hawk soaring over the mountain. He could feel the wind along the feathers and the way it coasted so high above the earth. And he could feel the liberation. What it meant to be truly free.

The Force guided the Jedi Grandmaster. The Force treasured him and life around him. The Force pulled him into its bosom, embraced him with love. The Force welcomed him, the Force was alive for him. The Force made a promise. The Force waited for him when he would die. The Force would let him know it was okay. The Force would let him know when it was time to let go. The Force would walk with him.

And Emryc understood then why Oota knew no fear. He knew what waited. He had a promise. He had peace.

Emryc was in that grassy plain, near the streams and creeks. He could feel the blades of grass between his fingers. Beside him was someone else. He could only see their hand beside him, and he wanted nothing more than to reach over and grasp it. He slowly began to reach and slowly began to lift his gaze.

“NOOOOOOOO!” Emryc cried out in agony, but it was only in his mind. His back had been a mosaic created from his self inflicted wounds. It had been the testament of every weak emotion and humanity he wanted to stamp out. It anchored him to his reality, the reality that he controlled. That he mastered. That he owned.

The old scars on his back opened up one by one. They began to bleed, even ones that had been healed for many years. His fingers curled into the floor and he was hunched over, seeing only in the Force. Blood trailed down his arms and his back. He had lost his grip, and his body and his principles were reminding him of who he was. This devotion pulled him back from the poison that Oota tried to seep into him. His faith to the Sith clawed him back, raking its nails across his back till blood flowed freely from all his wounds. It jolted him awake from the nightmare.

He was still shaking by the time he rose from the ground. Hate flowed through him in a way it hadn’t before. He used the pain. He used the agony. He had a different relationship with the Force. The Force did not wait for him or embrace him, but he made it obey. The Force did as he commanded. The Force empowered him when he willed it, and he called upon it now.

His eyes glowed yellow through the mask as the power flowed through him. He said nothing aloud, only bringing the Force to heel around the Grandmaster’s throat sack. It was a vice grip that would work to collapse all four throats within. There was malice that poured into the attack. Both from the violation of light in his mind, and enhanced by the tremendous amount of pain from his back. He used it as fuel, his fingers curling together as blood seeped down his wrist and landed in drops on the floor.

It was knowledge that Emryc derived from Oota's attack. It was knowledge that he collected. He was no longer ignorant of the Jedi principles. He understood better than Jedi would ever want a Sith like him to understand.

“You have renewed within me my faith,” Emryc spoke under his breath, but he knew the Jedi would hear, “You have reminded me that the Lords of the past walk with me. You have shown me that my devotion will pull me back from the brink of sin. Your death will be my atonement.”


@Mr. Teatime @Orbit @Arclight @Phoenix @Dread

 

[Felix]

Seeing the jedi that had given him his mission, Felix shook his head what was he doing? how did he think he could help her in the fight?. Standing up he made his way to the hanger and his group of younglings guiding them up into the ship before boarding himself.

He was filled with a strange mixture of emotions, pride with how he helped mixed with a pensive sadness at the loss of the only home he ever had. He looked for a place to sit and think through and process everything.

/Exit Thread

 

[Darth Invictus]

The counselor stared at him and even he could witness the pity that came to her eyes at the sight of him. The Jedi still hadn't realized, this was freedom in its purest form and he would trade nothing for it. When she began to speak of peace, Invictus rolled his eyes and immediately shot his hand forward as the force rippled forth and beckoned to his command. Enough peace, enough talking, there was one end to this. A powerful blast was sent from his palm and aimed directly at the councilor as the precious training ground of the temple suffered as well. Even the stone tiles began to crack and shake before they were lifted up as well and sent in her direction as a small fissure was created in the ground. Some were sharp shards or the entire tile as they were flung toward the Jedi.

Invictus didn't wait and he stormed forward, his grip on the hilt tightening as the Darkside coursed through him and pulsed with every step he took. The force steadily built around him as he expected the councilor would survive his little force attack. There wouldn't be a moment of reprieve however as the moment the debris cleared from her, the Sith Lord would be on top of her. With his lightsaber in his right, he would slash diagonally from her left to her right and across her chest.

If it connected, the strike would be severe and burn through the simple fabric she wore and right through her flesh. Invictus' left hand remained tight and by his side, ready to be used for defense if the councilor pulled something against him.

@Mr. Teatime

 

[Dasi Vemm]

As Dasi snuck through the once great hallways of the temple she had lived in for years she nearly let out a scream when she felt someone reach out with the force to pull her towards them. Her lightsaber was in her hands and activated as she reached out to resist the pull, putting all of her concentration into it. She managed to resist it just enough. She turned to face her attacker and stood in disbelief, it was Master Zapan. She looked at him in disbelief as he told her there was nothing she could do. Was he a coward? If there was anyone even half alive they had to make an effort at least. Not run away. She could feel her own anger boiling up.

"There are still people here Master. People who need help! You're just going to run!?" She ran off as soon as she let out her outburst. She ran into a room littered with the dead and fell to her knees. She knew most of these Jedi, she could feel tears streaming down her cheek. She felt out with the force trying to find any sense of life, a cough from her left ended up with her dragging herself to the body. "You'll be okay, I'm going to get you of here." She grabbed the Jedi's arm and rolled, lifting up at the same time. By the force he was heavier then he looked. Doing this would probably exacerbate his wounds but now was not the time to be to worried. She ran to the hangar Master Zapan had been headed to. If she was lucky there would still be Jedi there to provide emergency first aid.

She found Master Zapan and the rest of the crew still in the hangar. She dropped the person she was carrying and shouted. "Get him aboard a ship. I think there are still more." She ran off once more, hand against her head. It was hard to concentrate with so much death around, so much fear, anger, and hatred corrupting the once peaceful temple. She could only hope that she could find more to help, and continue to avoid any lingering Sith. She could feel the epicenter, somewhere near the council chambers. She would be sure to avoid that.

 

[Renfry]

The Grandmaster defied possibility. Never before had Renfry witnessed someone manage to defy her magick - or anyone else's - in such a way... but then that was why this was the most powerful of the Jedi.

And he would still die. Even the strongest creatures could be taken down by a well ordered pack.

Even if she couldn't root him in place, she could ruin the rest of his plans. She released her grip on his legs and instead focused on his tools and weapons at his disposal. Her hands coiled in an invisible grip and the Shadow wrapped around the Grandmaster's lightsaber.

Swinging the weapon would be like swinging a sword through water. It would be slow with less power and less speed to reach where the Master wanted it. This would further open a hole for her allies to strike hard and true. The sooner they could end this fight the better.

As the grip tightened around blade and arm it would threaten to crack the very bone itself, twisting it in an unnatural way until the sharpened tip pierced through the alien's skin and a gush of blood and severed nerves. Agony was what Renfry sought in the man. And she would have it one way or another.

 

[Darth Malicia]

The bubble burst, and the sound that came out of it still sent shockwaves throughout the building. Malicia slid back, flinching at the pain it left ringing in her ears and the cuts from the debris it sent about.

She looked up after and surprise colored her face. The grandmaster emerged out of her bubble unharmed. If it wasn't obvious enough that he was the strongest Jedi she'd ever fought, now it was. Perhaps she was a fool to think that a simple method might kill off the strongest of targets. But it was no matter, she felt her desire to kill deepen...

But something struck her.

The life in the temple. It was fading. Leaving.

NO!

Her hunger was always focused on the life around her. Always. It craved it constantly. Yet all those that could feed her were fading.

ANGER. PANIC. NEED overcame her. The emotions gripping her so tightly she could barely breath. The Darth dropped her saber unconsciously, the blade hissing against the ground before it went out. Stepping back without thinking, her hands shook as she raised them in front her face in one last fruitless attempt to gain control. Fruitless.

She extended her arms out, almost all her control evaporating in single, fleeting moment as she gave into her desire once more. The very last scraps of control she had remaining she used to mentally note where her Sith partners were standing, to avoid them with what was inevitably to come. Coldness stirred around her, and those tendrils of the darkside poured out of her, gripping and ripping out the life all around. She knew the grandmaster could defend against it, but it would still be something he'd need adress while everything else around him was happening.

If unchallenged the wave of darkness would crash throughout the temple, seeping into and out of every crack and crevice in the building, clawing its way outside the temple towards the life that waited there. It ripped and drained and destroyed everything living around the temple, as it did around the landing bay, bringing it to Malicia to feed her never ending hunger.

It'd leave the temple and the area around lifeless unless stopped, save for those who weren't targeted or who could defend themselves.

@Arclight @Orbit @Sreeya @Phoenix @darkrei9n

 

[Asminys]

The Grandmaster of the Jedi moved swiftly, avoiding Asminys' strike and blocking Emryc's thrown blade in one movement. He was good, but he was no great swordsman. Asminys was the blade and his moved as an extension of his body. The Grandmaster whipped a strike at his elbow but his blade was there to block it, his wrist rolling with the sweep to bring his blade perpendicular to his arm as he ducked lower under it before driving it upwards with a thrust of his arm to bind on the Grandmaster's blade.

The Grandmaster had turned his back to Asminys, if only partially, to defend against the thrown Sith blade. That would be his undoing. Asminys pushed into the Grandmaster's defensive zone, the tip of his own crimson blade to the left of the humming blue leaving it unable to defend against what would happen next. His left hand, poised for the knife hand strike and channeling all his fury launched as he closed the distance, a hardened spear of hatred that would drive deep as it collided with the Ithorian's back.

He would pierce the Grandmaster's crude flesh with his own, to draw blood in the most primal and uncivilized manner for his body was a weapon as honed and deadly as the blade he held. If he struck true the tips of his fingers would split flesh and crack bone as wickedly as the tip of a Sith blade crackling with darkness. He would feel the lifeblood of a Jedi this day as he spilt it from rent flesh to pour down his arm and sully the ground of the council chambers.

Even as he moved and struck he could feel the cold wash through the room, the grappling hunger of his Cadre-sister's malady caressing his very soul as it touched him and then moved on. He could feel his life pause, in terror, as the caress tugged at it in passing, taking a small nibble before leaving him mostly whole in its wake. A pang in his chest as he felt a small part of him stolen, sucked away into the vortex that now raged through the temple. And then he knew what sickness had taken her.

He knew the hunger that consumed her.

@Mr. Teatime @Dread @Phoenix @Orbit @Sreeya

 

[Oren Zapan]

Muse
​

"Sublight Engines are warming up, we should be prepared to jump in a minute," the Captain of the shuttle would yell across the bridge of the transport ship. As the sound of running feet along ship's hallways could be heard. Pain and grief seemed to radiate through the force, but the light still lingered.

Oren could feel the Grand Master's presence, his struggle against a darkness that most would have easily succumbed to. He did not feel fear, regret or pain--no the Grand Master radiated a fleeting feeling of calmness within the temple. He was fighting not for himself at that moment, but everyone that still lived, for the Jedi to continue on--that much he knew. A Jedi's life is sacrifice.

"Sir, a padawan is coming with a few others," Knight Lasan yelled from outside of the cockpit. The Jedi Master would rush to see the Padawan had brought a wounded Jedi to the ship. Oren would quickly help the jedi onto the ship, turning around in hopes that the Padawan would have boarded with them, but she was leaving--heading to find more.

Oren cursed under his breath, reaching out with his hand as she went, he could feel it, the darkness rising and slowly a wave began to rumble. "We have to go!" The Captain of the ship called out over the comms, and slowly the bay doors would begin to close as Oren watched the Jedi Padawan wander from the hangar--May the Force be with you.

The ship would begin to lift off into the air, jumping out of the hangar, the shockwave shaking the ship as it took off. The alarms on the ship slowly rang, as Oren made his way to the cockpit. "Come on now...divert shields to the engine--something is trying to pull through this ship and tear us apart!"

The Captain, would grunt and the crew would quickly shift and pull on the different controls, the sound of the shields depleting could not be heard over the rising storm from outside of the ship. "Come on... just a little more," the Captain would say as he began to ramp the ship's thrusters up.

The belly of the ship groaned and buckled before breaking out of the grip of whatever force power had pulled on the ship. The Captain would hit the jump and the ship would blast off from the planet, leaving their home behind--broken, and lost. It's time for the Jedi to reflect.

"That was lucky.." The captain would say with a nervous laugh.

Oren sighed, "There's no such thing as luck," the Jedi Master would depart from the room, the countless Jedi wounded would need his attention. Many had been saved, but Oren couldn't help but feel as if the Jedi had failed. Our Hubris..

/Exited Thread Successful

 

[The Gatekeeper]

@Darth Invictus began his offensive, a wave of energy erupting from his hand. The tiles cracked and flew, razor shrapnel and blunt debris joining the kinetic energy. As if in defiance of the Dark side affects the environment in its presence the swirling air around Sada-Nau suddenly whipped into a swirling frenzy. The whirlwind formed a defensive walls against the push, halting its momentum and that of the projectiles within. Though it mostly blew out in the process it allowed her to focus on the Sith's next move unimpeded and they were already beginning to pick up once again.

He cut toward her left side and her guard rose to meet it. The Councilor stepped slightly back and right, turning her hips to meet the end of the Darth's weapon with the midsection of her own to negate the force of his swing. It was clearly Soresu technique, the most defensive saber form. Only a piece of her strategy, but she hoped it would encourage him into aggression that could be exploited.

Oota Boan had tried his best, imparted what he could on the only Sith he sensed had some chance, even if perhaps it was slim. Not now, perhaps not even in the next decade. But the seeds had been planted. Emryc was angry, defensive, defiant. He rejected what he saw, and Oota could well feel the strength of his conviction- and his pain. A terrible, consuming pain. The poor boy, Oota thought. No one deserved to live a life of misery as the Sith did, even if it was self inflicted. He hoped he would find peace, given time, and turn away from his path.

Meanwhile the Grandmaster was under assault from all sides it seemed. @Renfry reached out with her strange usage of the Force to slow his weapon arm, and though the Light allowed him to prevent it's attempts to twist and break the end result was @Asminys receiving an even more favourable bind than he'd intended with a larger opening. The angry power of Emryc, so sure of its place, tried to grasp and crush Oota's neck but would find it resisted far more than mere flesh, though it certainly kept him in place and it did constrict enough to be a potential problem if it continued for too long.

@Darth Malicia on the other hand seemed distracted. Her presence in the Force was especially wicked, a corrupt and hungering thing, a yawning void of avarice that sought to possess and consume all it could touch. But in her haste, her desperation, she reached too far and too wide. The questing tendrils seeking out Oota- or the pair fighting in the training yard- collapsed and fell apart like paper sheets in a hurricane. It was a shame he had poor warrior's instincts and was instead being guided by the Force, as such a grand display of power required immense, total concentration. There were few techniques he possessed that allowed him to fight- but there was one he could use.

As the knife-hand blow from Asminys came in the Grandmaster's presence in the Force surged and gathered, emerald energy arcing briefly overtop his body. The Sith's attack struck true to his ribs, piercing flesh and cracking bone. A grievous injury without a doubt, but it was far less dramatic than he'd probably wanted and penetrated far less than it should have. The Grandmaster's bones felt like steel bars, his flesh like stone, the Force reinforcing his body to a ridiculous decree for the short time he could maintain the state he was in. Oota reacted little, as if he could feel little or no pain, the petty sensation washed away with the flow of the Force. A moment later the gathered energy struck out, veridian flows of electric power flowing toward the various Sith.

It wasn't lethal, of course. It likely wasn't even particularly painful, especially compared to it's Sith counterpart. But it was concentrated streams of stunning energy that could leave an unguarded target flat on their back for hours. Asminys was in direct contact with the flow of power and would have the most difficult time absorbing it, A barrage of twisting bolts cracked through the air, emerald whips seeking out the life-absorbing Darth to render her unconscious from angles and filling the space a around her while her focus was very much elsewhere. Renfry and Emryc were also targets, the number of bolts likely a defense more complex than holding up a lightsaber, though they had neither the disadvantage of direct contact nor sheer scale of attack.

He almost wished he had the capacity for lethal violence that Sada-Nau could bring to bear, or the vicious efficiency of Tedimor Har to take down her opponents with her bare hands. Even now he was a healer, wishing only to defend life even if he lost his own in the process. Perhaps Sada-Nau's plan would work, and the others would escape. He could feel his cells beginning to burn, the amount of Force energy both sustaining and draining him. For now it had no practical effect, but if he wasn't dead before he could no longer keep it up, he would certainly be when it ended. Not even a Grandmaster could survive such strain for long.

@Orbit @Sreeya @Dread @Arclight @Phoenix

 

[Asminys]

A wicked grin split Asminys face as his hand parted flesh, the blood of the Grandmaster of the Jedi coating his hand as he felt bones crack under the weight of the strike. The grin faltered however. The Grandmaster glowed with the light and the Sith's strike seemed to have almost no bearing at all on the elder Ithorian. Asminys felt the surge and crackle of the viridian lightning, tried to brace himself for the hit but failed as the emerald bolt struck him in the chest.

It burned. It burned in a way that not even the hottest of fires could as he flew back from the ethereal glow of the Grandmaster. He was barely aware of his flight, so consumed by the painless fire that scorched at his very soul. The light burned at his soul harsher than even the flames of sinful passion, stripping bare the cages and barriers that he had built over decades of suffering and hatred. He was barely aware as his flying body came to rest in one of the council chairs as a war raged within him, darkness and light.

He gazed up at the ceiling of the chamber through a haze of numbing pain as his consciousness faded. His heart beat slow as it labored to keep beating under the strain.

Ba-dump.

He shriveled from the light, a cowering wretch who's arms and legs were locked in shackles. He did not know how long it had been since the light had burned at his eyes but he had known death. He had died at the blade of a brother and when he awoke he had known darkness and despair. Hours and days ticked by as he tried to count them in his isolation. Time became meaningless in the Pit of Despair.

Despondent, he had suffered in silence as his mind analyzed his mistakes. The duel had been quick and his chest had burned as the toxins struck and he felt what it would feel like for a lightsaber to cleave his heart. He had died, only to awaken alone and naked, chained for retrieval when the master's decided he could live again.

Ba-dump.

The lights burned his eyes in the arena as they switched on, the face of his brother standing opposite him in the crackling cage of combat. The Cadre-brother with whom he had shared a cage, fought against as they competed for their meager meals and trained with since the earliest time he could remember. He loved him and hated him. They had shared their nameless lives knowing only each other's company as they competed against the rest of the Cadre, brothers in arms.

He looked down at the saber in his hand, no longer a training blade of steel coated in toxic burning needles. He thumbed the activation switch and the crimson blade thrummed to life. He looked at his brother, could see the shock in his eyes as he did the same, his own blade snapping to life. The masters gave their signal to begin, no explanation, no words to tell them when to stop but he knew. He knew there was only one outcome to this fight. He readied his blade as he fought back tears, the same tears that streamed down his brothers face. He fought back the tears and let them solidify, into rage.

Ba-dump.

Asminys stood proud as he entered the arena. His back and skull bore the fresh tattoos of a Sith. He had a name, he was the blade. The masters words echoed in his ears and his pride turned to shock as he looked between the surviving Cadre-brothers and Cadre-sisters who stood with him, sharing in their accomplishment of surviving the rigors of their training. They all shared the same look, they had all done this dance before, had killed a brother or a sister to prove themselves before the masters that stood before them.

The masters were old, Asminys could see that now. Their limbs grew weak and their power stretched from years of containing the Cadre that they sought to turn into weapons. They had imparted the breadth of their knowledge to the standing apprentices, forged them into weapons of the darkside for their own wielding. They sought to turn the weapons they had created against each other, for what purpose. Asminys closed his eyes, reaching out with his senses to the masters to divine their intent.

Entertainment.

He fixed his eyes on the masters. They had taught their soldiers the code of the Sith. Told them they would be Sith. Made them kill their brothers and sisters chasing this goal. They had killed and suffered nameless and faceless. They had proven their strength time and time again. The tattoos of a Sith now marked Asminys skin, earned not long ago after his triumph in the arena. The confusion left his eyes as it turned to rage, there was no question now. He was a Sith

He activated the blade of his saber, as did his brothers and sisters around him as they closed on the suddenly fearful masters.

Through victory my chains are broken.

Ba-dump.

His eyes snapped open as he lay there in the council chair, filled with the fury and rage of decades relived. The light had burned him, had burned bare the cage around his bleeding heart, a heart that bled with the pain of a thousand torments. There was no thought, there was no pain.

There was only rage.

 

[Vinry Forge]

Vin had done what she could, helped save as many as she could. But time, it seemed, was against them. She could feel the battle brewing in the heart of the temple. Not the physical center, she didn’t know the temple well enough to know exactly where the battle took place, but it was the heart of the Jedi that fought against the black pit darkness that the Sith represented.

She had always had always had her differences with the Council, but she had also respected them in her own way. And as she sensed them fight she felt that respect growing. She didn’t know if they would win, fighting against foes who had the numerical advantage. But she sensed no fear, no regret, only the Force. They were happily and willingly putting their lives on the line so that everyone else in the Temple wouldn’t have to.

So once she had gathered up as many students as she could and shepherded them towards the hangar she started doing the same. It was then that she ran into another youngling. As she moved towards one of the last remaining ships, she would attempt to grab the padawan by the arm and begin dragging them towards the ship. She could sense the conflict, the same conflict that resonated within many of them, within her. The desire to stay, to fight, to help.

"Come on, we've done what we could. We save what we can, including ourselves. They fight so that we live."

She would give the padawan a few moments to follow, but if push came to shove she would attempt to physically drag them into the ship and once onboard get into the air.

/Exit Attempt

@darkrei9n

 

[Renfry]

As soon as she saw Asminys's blow connected, she released her hold on the Jedi. She could sense the swelling in the Force. She could feel it almost before it happened and lunged back to the left, recovering the steps she had taken earlier and stacking in front of the other Sith.

She could see it all. The world seemed to move in slow motion and she could see all the ways the Shadow moved. It was like a spider web before her and she was the spider. A choke, a strike, draining of the life around the temple, transcendence in the Force and its intent to attack.

Her left hand shot up, hardening the power of the grip on the Grandmaster's throat, squeezing hard to strangle the life out of him. No blood to the brain, no oxygen, no nutrients, death would come swiftly, but atop that it would disrupt the coming attack.

And then the attack came.

She released the grip and slammed both her hands into the ground. A wall of green shot up from the floor, like a boulder in a river. The vibrant green bolts rushed toward both she and Emryc, and she knew she couldn't stop them dead, but she could redirect. They struck the shield and flowed around it like water, scorching the wall behind her to either side.

Calabath et nurial! she shouted, calling on the power of the Spirits to strengthen her. She could feel her body strain with the effort, fingertips curling against the floor as she held her grip. But she was firm. The rock in the river. She would not be moved and she would not be broken.

 

[Emryc Thorne]

The Jedi Grandmaster lingered on his mind much longer than Emryc wanted. He kept seeing the glimpses of the grass and skies abruptly cut into his focus. He pushed the Force to obey and it began to crush along the the Jedi’s throat, but he still held on. Blood oozed from his back, seeping out from all the wounds that had torn open. He gave into the pain, drawing from it and pouring his energy into the assault. The Grandmaster tormented him endlessly, the lingering effects still tearing through him.

He saw the scene play out as the other Sith made their advances. The Grandmaster had given himself to the Force, calling upon it to aid him. He was bleeding, and yet the Force heeded his call. Emryc continued his crushing press with the Force, rage flowing through him.

And then the Grandmaster unleashed his attack. Emryc’s eyes flashed to the side just for one moment when he saw Asminys bodily thrown back. It was the only thing that shifted his focus, and it did so in the most twisted way it could. He didn’t see where Asminys went, but he looked forward again, his entire body trembling from pure rage. He seldom hated, but at that moment, the Grandmaster had garnered true hatred from him.

He called to his religion. He called to his anger. He called to the passions that spiked in him from seeing the other Sith be cast aside and burned by the Light. Emryc never lost control. He never stepped off the path. He never did anything without measuring. And yet he was undone, rapidly unraveled as unbridled fury coursed through him. His hot blood pumped out of his back and the Force was poison in his veins.

Time slowed as he suddenly charged forward, almost blinded by fury. His eyes were yellow as he was drunk with the Force in its darkest form. Renfry’s defenses would work to both lower the impacts of the electric attack and also serve to protect him from what ended up getting through.

Emryc did not look elsewhere, charging into a straight line as he dashed towards Renfry in front of him. He didn’t stop his momentum, rushing forth towards Renfry’s crouched form as she slammed the barrier up. He leapt into the air then, continuing his charge as he lightly pressed off Renfry’s back with his foot.

He already had his saber drawn, but his second saber sailed through the air to come to his left hand grip. The Grandmaster would see a phantom rising up from behind Renfry and above the barrier. A whirlwind of sabers came down as Emryc threw himself into the jaws of death without applying a single bit of logic or thought. He was driven by his emotions and sins, everything that the Sith embraced and everything that he fought so hard to temper.

The twin blades slashed inwards first to converge, only to then slide into curves that would then slash back out laterally. There was no mercy as the sabers came in with their flourishing fury, taking Emryc into the Grandmaster’s bosom. He didn’t care where it took him, just that he wanted to feel the Jedi’s hot blood on his hands, and he wanted to see the Force violently yank such a stain from the earthly plane forever into its clutches.

No other thought occupied his mind. The mind that normally worked so hard to keep itself a frozen tundra was now a fully raging inferno. He sought vengeance. Vengeance for what the Grandmaster had done to his mind and vengeance for what he had witnessed.

@Mr. Teatime

 

[Darth Malicia]

"Brother!" Malicia screamed as her eyes filled with the sight of Asminys being struck and sent back. It snapped her quickly out of her stupor. It was a weakness she constantly tried to deny existed in her: pride in the Cadre and the secret desire to see them and only them rule. But only seconds after she follow Asminys fate.

The Darth was struck with a bolt. The power of it and the lightside it contained sent her flying back. She was sent out of the range of the other bolts but hit the wall and fell to the ground. Her eyes shut and she drifted into darkness.

"He does not matter," a voice hissed. Malicia looked around to find the voice. Around was a gray lifeless world... and a mass of darkness. The darkness seemed to be in a vague shape of a lithe woman. It felt very familiar.

She didn't say anything back, but it seemed to speak again,"They do not matter either. All that matters is me."How did it know she was thinking of her cadre-silbings? She wanted to step away, but she wasn't even sure if she was standing or where she was.

It all made her.... afraid, confused.

"Do not worry child, you're safe with me," the voice hissed once more. "I will grant you greater cunning, greater power..." it added.

Though it did not say why it'd offer her such things, she understood why. It was hunger. It would grant, promise, whatever it took to feed. "You're... you will be me, won't you?" she asked, and though she felt strongly attached, drawn to it, it also scared her.

Then it vanished as her eyes opened. Malicia felt the coldness of the chambers floor below her. Her body was weak, and she was confused at first but everything came back to her. The fight. The grandmaster. Her desire. Her hunger. She pushed on the ground and felt the pain but pushed through it, through her tiredness. All to try to get back on her feet.

To kill.