A massive cataclysm has struck the universe, and destroyed most everything in its wake. The survivors are now trying to pick up the pieces, and figure out exactly what has befallen them. Gather together, lightsiders!! The darkness has shattered the peace and calm of the galaxy...and they will do anything to stop anyone from finding out exactly what has been done! This is our first sitewide RP plotline. Lightsiders, you are looking for the source of this massive event. Clues must be found, lackeys tracked down, and bits of memory discovered. Darksiders, you guys don't want that to happen....because of the one behind the whole thing is furthering his ultimate goal. Mandalorians, and non-force users, you guys can decide where you stand on this line....do you side with the Jedi, and try to discover the reasons behind the ruined universe, or will you side with the darkness, and protect those secrets. Will the secret of the cataclysmic reaping be kept under wraps? Or will the Jedi and their allies find out the truth? Your RP and writing will decide the outcome!
BATTLE ARENA
Welcome to The Saga Continues. We have a section called the Battle Arena. Here you can use your characters to fight other characters. Hone your skills and see what you are made of. Don't worry, anything that happens here, does not effect your characters in posts, so if your character dies, you can still use them over and over. Have fun and check it out!
The Saga Continues is the product of the mind of ADMIN ADI; all contents are copyright their original owners. All characters belong to their original creators, and may not be used or replicated without permission. All images are copyright their original owners. This skin Operation Mindcrime was made by pharaoh leap of Pixel Perfect and put together by ADMIN KRYSTAL
Abadon never broke his leering gaze from the man, continuing to study and measure him. Deem his true worth. Finally, after a moment more he spoke again. "The weak have taken the galaxy and now the galaxy has seen fit to rid itself of this vile disease and I have been left here to see it through. Soon, Order will be restored and the galaxy will return to its intended state. Soon it would will be only the strongest and most powerful that rule with the weak beneath heel for everything they've built has fallen and burned. Their Orders. Their pathetic republics and empires. All of it." The Kissai let out a crude laugh, a smile now revealing a crude set of teeth to match. "From those ashes the galaxy is restored. The galaxy is cleansed. And the galaxy finally becomes as it was meant to be...
A place where the strong survive and the weak perish into nothing for that have no other place in it that to die."
And there it was. The vision - his vision - was poured out. It was not of galaxy run by fear or moral restrictions, but rather as one that reflected what everyone saw in nature. In nature, untainted by the pathetic laws and moral constraints of those who'd seen to rule it for so long, only the strongest and most fit to survive did so. The strongest lead the packs and ruled their respected kingdoms; not the weak. Things were not left to debate in assemblies where the weak could have their voice heard. No! The strongest prevailed and fought their way to the top. The food chain was a hierarchy for a reason and that same philosophy needed to see itself true once more.
I've heard this speech at least a dozen times before. It was the philosophy of every Dark Lord who fancied himself the next Sith'ari- this time would be different, they would tell me. The last Order had been corrupted by weakness, had failed to purge the weak from their ranks, they would say. I smiled faintly, tapping one platinum claw on the stone surface of the table in a steady click, click, click.
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It's funny how I accused the Kissai of aggrandizing in the middle of delivering my own monologue, isn't it? Ah, well. I never denied being a hypocrite, and I'm curious to see how he'll respond to it anyway. Will he take offense? Cast me out of his chambers? Perhaps even seek to destroy me? It would all be rather telling of his character- though it was a gamble for sure, considering I had no estimation of his power in comparison to mine. For all I knew he could disperse me with a wave of his hand.
Yet I doubt I'll have the opportunity to find out. For all of his theatrics, there's something in his eyes that hints at sincerity. It may even be that this Sith is the genuine article.
The darkness swirled within the chamber now, filling every crack and crevice. There was an immensity about it that almost seemed unreal. Abaddon was powerful in the Dark Side of the Force and it could be felt as it radiated from his being. He lifted his fingers from the arm of the crumbling throne allowing them to fall in a waterfall fashion back to wear they had previously rested. They revealed a similar darkening of the hands from the Dark Lord's own dabbling into such ancient Sith magic techniques.
The man's words accused him of something, the same something as the he currently showed. Aggrandizing was the term. Words only went so far, it's true, but Abaddon was more than just words. He did not make empty promises or threats. "You think I seek to rule the universe. That much I can see in you. I can feel it. Hear it in your words. The sound of your voice." He let out another short, crude laugh as he had done before. "No! I do not wish to rule. I will see this galaxy cleansed."
He stood from the throne now, revealing the true enormity of his figure. Well over six feet in height, he was well muscled at more than 250 pounds. His hood broke the shadowy veil as it fell from his bald head, reveal the ridged feature of his race. The crimson skin shown in contrast to the rough tattered material that wrapped his frame and the metallic plates that armored his body. The phrik and cortosis-weave plating scarred and beaten from the years of conflict it had endured. More than anything, though, it was revealed - clear as day - that he was a pure-blooded Sith and though he would appear to be of the Massassi caste because of his larger stature, he was of the Kissai. Gifted in the Force, particularly in Dark Side applications.
"Out there in the galaxy there are the weak grasping to reclaim what they've lost. Where the Republic once stood, there are still Jedi scrambling to spread their lies once more. To re-institute the weak into power and preaching of a balance they will never see. The Mandaorians, no doubt, hang feebly on to traditions of war, yet without a physical enemy they are helpless. Go, search them out and see how their numbers now dwindle." He pause, measuring any kind of response from the man. "And even out there still . . . fragments of broken Sith Orders and cults cling to failed promises of power.
They're weak . . . all of them. They showed it when this 'Death' hit. The collapsed and fell. And when the next wave comes, they will wiped from the galaxy in which they've tainted."
He paused as he finished the words, sizing the man up.
"You ask why I would want anything from you. Demand to know how I can give you greater power." He laughed crudely once more, the dark side energies filling the room more and more to the point they would be suffocating to any who were a stranger to their embrace. "I will give you nothing. You've earned nothing. You've proven nothing. You tell me, why would I want nothing? Why should I not do away with you here and now? The Force grew inside him. The anger. The hate. The pain.
It was disconcerting to say the least, what the Sith told him next. That he didn't wish to rule the universe, but to remake it in an image more pleasing to himself. Zealots and fanatics were always more unpredictable than those who simply wanted to call the shots.
I raised an eyebrow as he suddenly surged upright to deliver the rest of his speech; my, but he does have a flair for theatrics, doesn't he? It doesn't matter to me, and he doesn't seem any less sincere for it, either. I imagine he's even considered somewhat charismatic, in other circles. I'm not a good judge of such things, but I think his display of physical dominance is geared towards intimidation.
If so, it failed.
As for the Republic, the Jedi, these 'grasping hordes of weaklings', they don't concern me either. They never have. A true follower of the Way does not sink to the level of the unworthy. He rises above, and renders them irrelevant with the sheer enormity of his power. He does not defeat them; he makes it impossible for them to challenge him. And so what they scramble to accomplish in the sudden power void is of no interest to me.
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I stood, drawing my cloak and the dark side- an abundant resource on this decaying planet- close to me. Fixing the Kissai with my amber gaze, I waited just long enough for him to make his move, whatever it might be. If he failed to do so, I would simply turn and leave the way that I came.
"We're not finished yet, Ishmael Centaris." Abaddon spoke the name with complete clarity as he knew his this man was. He'd been toying with him - trying to play naive and ignorant, but even those who stuck to secrecy and shadows seemed not to be hidden from him. There was no hiding who he was any longer.
In a matter of seconds Dark aura of the room expanded exponentially and the door to for the man's exit slammed shut. The power of the Force was stronger now than it had been yet in the room, the Dark Side seeping through every crack and crevice, struggling to escape the sealed chamber. Its presence - his presence - was overwhelming now, and the Force gathered ever more within him.
His right fist balled and dark energy surged from it. A powerful energy that only those most well versed in the aspects of the Dark Side and ancient Sith applications of it could even fathom. Simultaneously a dark mist almost seemed to grow from nothing as it arose from the floor. The ability was undeniably "Dark Side Tendrils," a ancient and powerful Sith Magic technique that could have purely devastating effects if unleashed. An ability whose existence was known by few, and practiced by even fewer, though Abaddon suspected Ishmael to recognize it and expected him to stop it if he were to prove himself worthy to be made the "Lord of Corruption" within the order. "There is more to you than even you know, if you would only open your mind."
The mist lay dormant for now, not forming into the tendrils of Dark Side energy and striking unforgivably at a foe. This was but a test which was designed to prove Ishmael's worth. To see if he was fit to be a Lord within the Order.
The fact that he knew my name wasn't surprising- I avoided the limelight, it was true, but I never took any specific steps to retain anonymity. I simply wasn't well known, and preferred it that way. What was surprising was the Sith Lord's sudden conjuring. Dark-side tendrils, as they were colloquially known. Whatever specific name they might have once had was long since lost.
"So...a sorcerer in your own right. That explains how you know my name."
I studied the mist surrounding the Kissai, noting how it had yet to congeal into the inky black tentacles that were its namesake. That was smart, on his part: controlling the tendrils took absolute concentration, allowing the sorcerer no lapse in focus. It was either commit totally to the spell, or see it dissolve back into the stream of the dark side.
In other words, it was a terrible technique to use in a duel.
Which makes me wonder at why he would choose to invest his power into performing it. Is this a display of power, I wonder? Another attempt at intimidation? Maybe. Or perhaps...
"I'll give you this one warning, oh mysterious Sith'ari: summoning the mist is one thing; forming the tendrils quite another. Doing so will leave an opening in your defenses. One I won't hesitate to take advantage of. It's still a bit early in the game to be removing pieces from the board, don't you think? Especially when there are so few of them left..."
Silence hung heavily in the wake of my words. My amber gaze never wavered as I drew yet more energy into myself, forming it, fashioning it into a specific weapon. Telekinesis. Not flashy or overly complex, no. But very fast and devastatingly effective in the right circumstances. Should the Sith Lord attempt to carry the spell any further- a feat only achievable by devoting the entirety of ones efforts to the task...well.
And there it was; Ishamel had not disappointed. He knew the ability at hand and that absolute concentration was required to finish the ability. However, finishing the ability would leave it so there was nothing left of Ishmael.
Ishmael was right, though. It was too early to remove pieces from the already barren board. Especially a piece that he hoped to gain.
All in a moment, the black mist disappeared into the nether wince it came, as did the immense dark side energy that emanated from Abaddon's fist. The balled fist became a hand again and the Dark Side aura began to lessen within the chamber. However, there was something foreboding about coming events. There was something that gave that the eerie sense that not everything was resolved yet.
"Good. You do not disappoint, Ishmael Centaris. Now what is it you desire? You serve the Order and I can assure you that your desires will be met. Knowledge your eyes have yet to obtain. Yours. Subjects for your exploits of alchemy. Done. Serve the Order and it serves you for the Galaxy will be cleansed to allow for the new Order to arise." In that moment, the door opened once more and an Irrukiine entered the room. It was a male who'd been twisted and manipulated for years by the Dark Lord and was clad in a cruel looking armor.
He approached Abaddon and knelt, bowing his head, all while ignoring that Ishmael even existed in that instant. "Lord Abaddon," the Irrukiine spoke before returning to a standing position. "the witch blew her ship in the valley and laid waste to many of the tomb faces ad entrances. She ha declared war, M'Lord. Shall I seek her out and destroy her?"
Anger now palpitated from Abaddon and his first clinched once more, knuckles cracking violently as it balled. "Insolent child!" The anger and hatred was apparent in the Kissai's voice as it rose in volume. "No. She will get what she deserves soon enough and she will rue the moment she decided to do this. And I will make sure she suffers greatly."
I shrugged, unsurprised by the way things had turned out. Conflict here and now would have made no sense for either of them; with the galaxy in shambles, now was the time to consolidate power and unite ones allies, not sow more chaos.
Despite what most of the universe thinks, Sith are rational creatures...for the most part.
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I spoke truly: he has nothing that I want. The only things I desire are those capable of propelling me further along the Way. No object, no matter its power, is worth anything to me unless it can push me further towards acquiring true freedom. So for now I will work non gratas.
If he truly succeeds in remaking the universe in his image, though...well I imagine he'll have access to all sorts of nifty trinkets at that point.
With the gesture of a hand, Abaddon dismissed the Irrukiine and the four armed behemoth returned from where he'd come, bowing loyally before his departure. The child's words and demeanor when she'd been here had been one thing, but the foolishness of her actions had been beyond tolerable and for that she would pay in time. She would understand the true meaning of suffering and he would assure her lesson would be well taught.
Listening as the man spoke, Abaddon couldn't deny any of the words that had escaped his lips for they were all the truth. There really wasn't anything he could truly off Ishmael right now and he couldn't cut down a potential ally in the trying times to come with as few fitting candidates among the stars as there were right now.
Turning back to Ishmael, the Dark Lord spoke. "You will be my Lord of Corruption, my mind behind our behemoths and augmentations that will soon strike among the stars. You will be the fabricator of the cure used to cleanse this galaxy of its innate weakness and finish what has already begun." The words were vague, yet for one such as Ishmael, they should take meaning. He was versed in alchemy and the creation and augmentation of the great war machines of the Sith. Leviathans, among other perversions of the Force, were key to seeing the weakness innate in the galaxy cleansed and this Ishmael Centaris would have full reign to create whatever his heart desired. Should specimens be needed in order to deliver such things, they would be found and delivered. Ishmael's talents were known to Abaddon and now it stood to be seen just how truthful such titles and tags were. "Such things, I would imagine, should not be difficult for you."
I listened in silence, face expressionless, as Abaddon outlined the role I would play in the Order of Ruin. I wasn't surprised; my particular talents have often been sought by ambitious emperors and warlords who wished to tap the arcane to give them an edge over their competitors. The only difference this time around was that Abaddon seemed to possess at least some knowledge of Sith Magic himself. Then, I wonder, why does he need me? There were only two possibilities, as I could see it. Either he knew only a few spells, and nothing of alchemy; the second- and more likely, by my reckoning- possibility was that he simply had more important matters to attend to.
Regardless, the offer suited me well. It put me in a position to be indispensable to the future Dark Lord, free from reprisal and with the leverage to demand whatever reward might suit me. Fleets and legions held no luster for me, but eventually Abaddon would stumble across something that could propel me along my path to freedom, and when that day came, he would have no choice but to relinquish it to me.
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I fell silent, lips pursed as I began to run calculations. Without thinking I returned to my seat at the stone table, and my claws resumed their rhythmic tapping across its ruined surface.
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I fell silent once more, confident I didn't need to spell it out to the Sith. He would accept or reject the proposal, and it would be his right. Honestly, I don't care either way. Using the dead left behind by the plague to rapidly create a standing army that could be deployed while the rest of the galaxy reeled back on its heels was the best strategy for winning a war, but I don't care about that either.
Still, I am a perfectionist, and there's something oh so satisfying about a job well done.
And with that display finished, the Sith Lord Darth Vastator stepped into the room. A small, slight man who appeared diminutive in comparison to Abbadon and Nexus, the Blademaster carried himself with and easy grace, a simple swaying movement that suggested he was possibly the more dangerous of the three.
His cowl was up over his head, the long robe still worn, but even still the end of a beard could be seen. He watched patiently, hands hidden on the sleeves, while he waited for them to speak.
I listened in silence, face expressionless, as Abaddon outlined the role I would play in the Order of Ruin. I wasn't surprised; my particular talents have often been sought by ambitious emperors and warlords who wished to tap the arcane to give them an edge over their competitors. The only difference this time around was that Abaddon seemed to possess at least some knowledge of Sith Magic himself. Then, I wonder, why does he need me? There were only two possibilities, as I could see it. Either he knew only a few spells, and nothing of alchemy; the second- and more likely, by my reckoning- possibility was that he simply had more important matters to attend to.
Regardless, the offer suited me well. It put me in a position to be indispensable to the future Dark Lord, free from reprisal and with the leverage to demand whatever reward might suit me. Fleets and legions held no luster for me, but eventually Abaddon would stumble across something that could propel me along my path to freedom, and when that day came, he would have no choice but to relinquish it to me.
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I fell silent, lips pursed as I began to run calculations. Without thinking I returned to my seat at the stone table, and my claws resumed their rhythmic tapping across its ruined surface.
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I fell silent once more, confident I didn't need to spell it out to the Sith. He would accept or reject the proposal, and it would be his right. Honestly, I don't care either way. Using the dead left behind by the plague to rapidly create a standing army that could be deployed while the rest of the galaxy reeled back on its heels was the best strategy for winning a war, but I don't care about that either.
Still, I am a perfectionist, and there's something oh so satisfying about a job well done.[/quote]
The man's words held confidence in his abilities - a common trait for one so inclined to reaching the pinnacle of power itself. Good. It certainly was a good thing and should he not be a man to uphold his word, it would matter little. Disposing of men who could not stand behind their own words, was something of a specialty for the Dark Lord. Nevertheless, such subtleties served no purpose for now. "Titles and positions are often not something we chose for ourselves, but they are ours nonetheless. You are the Lord of Corruption now and that title has been bestowed upon you alone."
In a quick motion, Abaddon's hand waved in a dismissive faction - an indication to Ishmael that their session was now complete. He spoke but a few more words after the motion. "I leave those decisions to you, Ishmael. Build that army you believe can deliver this galaxy from the weakness that plagues it now. I trust you will not fail in this."
Darth Abaddon's gaze shot toward the other presence within the chamber. Not so much a new presence at this point, but one that had stood by the wayside and waited to be acknowledged - no doubt, studying the other men that had since let themselves be known within the ancient room so far. He was a small man in comparison to Abaddon, yet his feeble stature did not take away from his confidence in his abilities. Perhaps there was something to this man that would be of use, but for now only time would tell.
"And who are you? If you were hoping to remain unseen, your luck is not with you." Abaddon stood by vigilant of even the slightest motion from the figure - studying the small man as well.
Vastator had no real interest in hiding. He gently removed his hood, and looped his thumbs into his belt as he stepped into the centre of the floor. The easy, natural elegance and grace with which he moved, coupled with the curved hilt on his belt, left no doubt that he was a swordsman, and very likely a master at that.
He cocked his head, feeling the ebbs and flows in the Force. This giant creature was confident and conceited to such a level as to be notable even to Sith. Regardless, Vastator had little to fear, his specialities went towards the realm of killing those who wielded the Force, and size had never made a difference to that.
"I am Darth Vastator. I would know who had the gall to summon me."
There definitely was a confidence in this man - if not an ego. Abaddon had been around the block for a long time now, and this was the first body he'd been in. The Dark Side of the Force billowed from his figure once more as his brow furrowed slightly. This Darth Vastator, as he called himself, spoke as though his name was supposed to demand some kind of respect and the deliberate movements he made almost seemed as though he was trying prove himself as capable. Curved hilt were nothing but a design aspect to Abaddon - a simple touch of flair that really didn't subject the wielder to any true enhancement in combat. He would know, he'd used them before, as had he fought against them before. None had been able to defeat him ever in his entire existence, neither by the blade or by application of the Force, not since before he'd executed his Master so many years ago.
The hilts of both of his lightsabers hung clear as daylight from the belt that wrapped around his waist. His hood still veiled the majority of the Kissai's facial features, those his eyes shown through the darkness as fiery red-orange orbs. "There was but a simple message cast out into the stars. You chose to follow it to its source. So . . ." Dark Side energy pulsed outward and filled the chamber. It would be suffocating to most, but it was the immense pressure of his presence and how the Dark Side resonated within him. ". . . before you continue on thinking that you are owed anything, know it was your own thirst that led you here. Nothing more. Nothing less. Your hunger for power and you thirst to test yourself against those of greater power."
He paused now. He owed this man nothing and if he was not able to discern his signature by now, then perhaps the man was sheltered and ignorant. His name was no secret to the galaxy - he didn't hide it. It was a name that was whispered from the tip of many tongues, though more as a myth than anything else. "You come to a call without considering anything then demand to know the name of the man who issued it. Tell me, what was your thinking in this?"
Humming quietly, Vastator moved over to one of the walls, where he layed his hand flat upon it. The very air crackled with Force power, but it was tainted. It went far beyond the Darkside, this whole planet was corrupted and rank.
He opened himself to the Force, absorbing but the tiniest drop of the roiling sea, a miniscule amount compared to the waves rolling off Abaddon.
"You instructed us to join or die, essentially, which is a summons in my book." He said with a laugh, turning back to face the massive character attempting to look terrifying, in reality it looked as if he was simply overcompensating. "As for believing I'm owed something, well I have yet to ask for anything. Besides, I am well aware of your name, Abaddon, what I wish to know is who you thought you were to do demand what you demand."