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
His head turned in Ishmael's direction fully giving the illusion he could see him with just his eyes. In reality he saw the him through the force and it was an interesting thing to view the world this way. Everyone seemed to have their own hue or combination of colors though it was always easy to pick out the fallen and the enlightened as they held a particular color to each of them. The color of his kind clung to the others in the room and moved differently about each of them. He took a moment to contemplate what Ishmael said to him, an amusing paradox in its own right.
"Is it ever wise to reveal yourself to others so infatuated with their own power and so desperate to keep it? The real question to the matter of showing myself is what is my goal, what can I gain from this or what is it I seek to gain. The real fun comes from seeing what answers others give to that question, they reveal things about themselves in the way they answer it."
He was curious what ambitions, what fears, what insights his answer would reveal should he give one. His hand touched the the rough surface of the table and a pulse of the fear, contempt, and a very strong sense of self preservation rippled up his arm spiking his adrenaline again. The slight increase in his breathing and heart rate could be detected should one be looking for them. It was odd that there was even a table in this room then again the ancient sith order wasn't always so small and restricted. What he knew of the sith from before told him as much but being here in the flesh showed him so much more than what any vid or report could detail. There was a care to the construction of this place a desire to instill awe and fear in those who walked these grounds.
His chest slowed as he adapted to the influx of residual emotions a hunger lurking inside him sated for once in a long time. Giving him a much needed and appreciated clarity of mind and a focus he hadn't had in a long while. The images seen through the force sharpening allowing him to clearly see the faces of those he was sizing up. He looked once again upon Ishmael taking in what he could of the man and committing it to memory along with the weight, color, brightness, and the sensation his force presence gave off.
*What rumors may have preceded my arrival, I’m not sure. I haven’t paid any attention to that sort of thing, nor have I had much to do with many other beings as of late; and besides, I’ve far less interest in what people perceive me to be than in my own evaluation of my power. By the same token, I knew little of Abaddon prior to the brief exposition which Tal had given to me. What I’m saying is that the impression he is cultivating in me now hasn’t been dyed by any presuppositions I had about the man, since none existed.
Abaddon is a boulder. He weathers the events taking place around him, responding in appropriate course with a bluntness appropriate to his form. Firmly grounded in his convictions, he does not shift except in the most extreme geological circumstances. All those who come across him are given no recourse but to acknowledge his presence and adjust their course accordingly. Mighty and rigid, ancient and cold, that is the man who sits before me. A monolith of this sort relies on its apparent characteristic mass, and indeed seems at first glance unassailable. Yet, it can be overcome. Not often through sheer might (although certainly that is possible), but more often through circumvention, through avoidance, through exploitation of a single fault line, or through wise application of leverage. Despite all of the impressiveness of its awe-inspiring appearance, when one comes across a boulder one cannot help but imagine all of the different ways by which it could be moved or broken. A powerful symbol is not one that can be ignored. It inspires either awe or defiance. That is the man who sits before me.
I am struck by the forthright request for my aid. It is rare to find among the Sith: that, first, one would openly ignore the Rule of Two so historically embraced by our kind (which I reject). That, second, one would request as opposed to manipulating or maneuvering to secure servitude. That, third, one would be so prompt to incorporate a man he has only just met, when our kind is so well-known for their infighting and deceptiveness. Very rare indeed, to come across a specimen with this degree of bluntness! But that is who Abaddon is, clearly: one who simply is, and merely by whose existence draws those he encounters in, forces them to behold that existence, and thus imposes the burden of reaction on them. A massive boulder stands in your path, he says. What are you going to do about it, he asks.
There is a refreshingness to this which is also rare to be found among Sith. So many are so powerless that one can simply disregard their entire existence. Irrelevance has been the hallmark of many of our kind. Abaddon denies that term in the utmost.
Yes, he asks it of me to help him to vanquish that which opposes his will. And so immediately my own resolve is put to the test. Can I, having lauded Tal so lavishly for the virtuousness of seeking to increase his own power, do anything but give Abaddon the same applause for doing exactly that? Acquiring strength can only come from the admission that you need more strength. Acknowledgment of weakness is itself not a weakness. Rather, it is the first step towards true strength. How could I find fault with anyone, Lapay by name or not, who seeks to increase their overall strength? Even if, by the compounding growth of their power, a man could one day rise to threaten my freedom, how could I be persuaded that that is an outcome to be avoided? No! Instead it means that I, too, must never falter in my steps towards an ever-increasing power.
And so, having considered his words for some time, I finally reply.*
So the barter was struck, and from here time would be the teller as to if Abaddon's faith in this Ryu had been misplaced or not. For now, however, the Order had its Lord of Cleansing and the man who no bore the title certainly had the accolades to fill the position.
With a hand, Abaddon pulled the hood from his head that veiled his facial features. The red skin of his race shown vibrantly now, as the shadow faded from existence. Surrounding the red-orange orbs of his eyes, the skin was darker in appearance - a sign of just how far he was immersed within the Dark Side of the Force. He was a pure blood Sith, full and true, and even though his figure demanded him to be of the Massassi caste, where he truly belonged was with the Kissai.
Raising a hand from the cold stone from which he sat, Abaddon waved a command to the two menacing Irrukiine figures. They bowed and turned from the chamber, exiting it.
Once more, Abaddon's attention turned to Ryu. "The fourth of the five Lords has now entered the ranks of the Order. Soon . . . we will reveal ourselves. Soon we will cleanse this galaxy. You need no coddling - no instruction - in the Order's next step. The two who'd once been behind you are now yours to command. Take them and do with them as you please. Soon the galaxy will be cleansed and the Lord of Cleansing will be at its forefront." With his oration finished, Abaddon turned his attention to the figure the Lord of Corruption presently conversed with. He examined the man. Studied him. Gauged the man through both the Force and outward appearances.
I turned away from Roke's nonsensical babbling in time to catch the tale end of the conversation between Ryu and Abaddon: an unsurprising offer to join the Order had been extended, and Ryu, in typical amiable fashion, had accepted. My, but this is like old times, isn't it? Although the Sith'ari has more of a backbone than Raven ever did, and the landscape has changed radically.
Still, no one has the power to stop us from doing whatever we please, and so we enter the cycle: smiles and nods, with those around us left with no choice but to keep playing the game and hope it keeps them safe. It might've been funny the first time around; now it bordered on tedious, and I gestured for Ryu to accompany me.
Finally. The vassel Abaddon desired to summon most had arrived in this dark and corrupt place and it brought a chilling smile to the dark lord's face. He [Abaddon] would not hide his aura from the man - instead forcing the corrupting aura further and further to the point it seemingly swallowed the ancient academy. Alkor, should he be what Abaddon recalled him to be, would have no hardship in locating its source. At last the council of Ruin would be complete and from there, the Order could strike out and bring the galaxy to its knees. Society would be cleansed, allowing for the weak to perish as they were meant to from the beginning. This was the dawn of a new day in the galaxy. Soon galaxy would be saved. Soon nature would correct itself. And soon this decrepit plague of weakness would be wiped from the galaxy.
However, the time was now to observe this silent character who had since had his conversation with the Lord of Corruption cut. Indeed . . . the awkward silence in the chamber had gone on longer enough.
Abaddon's gaze turned to the figure - a man whose appearance had no familiarity to him. The red-orange orbs flashed with fiery aggressiveness, though their was no act of aggression toward this man. Instead, he simply waited for the man to speak should he choose to. Should he not, the quiet would inevitably be snapped by Abaddon.
It was more than a pinprick that drew Alkor to this place. Abbadon was a festering wound in the Force, hemorrhaging his presence out for anyone with their eyes open to see. That grandiose sort of excess, the blatant disregard for his own secrecy, it smacked of someone who wanted to be found. Alkor, ever the hunter, seized hold of the scent and found the man and his small audience in the heart of this ancient, abandoned Sith Academy.
His eyes traced the floor as he sniffed out the source of the disruption in the Living Force, and at its heart, he sensed the man who called himself Abbadon. His shoulders sagged a bit as he resigned himself.
The hope of something dangerous or exciting had whet his tongue and set him to thirsting, but he found less than a handful of Sith at the source. Where were all those insects who should have crept from the woodwork to bask in the rot? Where were the Sith, who stood ready to climb upon the broken corpse of the Galaxy and call themselves Kings?
Instead of a challenge, he found this.
His lips drew a thin, unamused line, and his eyes remained downcast. There would be no savagery today, no combat worthy of the word. Instead...
"You called me here," he asked quietly, "to frolic in the dust with ghosts?"
He exhaled, and ripples of his disappointment shuddered like links of a chain. The darkness around him palpated and turned his flesh cold, even as the blood in his veins began to burn. "Tell me," Alkor felt his voice increase only a margin, enough to sound almost normal.
At last. Alkor had finally arrived. Alkor had finally found him and in due time Alkor would join him or die a most excruciatingly painful death. Yet, this Alkor seemed all too displeased at the audience he had stumbled upon. There were not an inordinate number of figures here nor should there have been. After all, a number of days had now passed since the original message had been delivered and in that time a number of Sith and disciples of the Dark Side of the Force had come and joined the risen order's ranks.
Ishmael. Ryu. Andor. The new lords of Cleansing, Corruption and Deception. It left but a single position of note available and it was a position he thought from the beginning to grant to the man that now stood before him. There was nearly no one left in the galaxy that would be as deserving of the title and position which was in itself unusual for the man who the title was intended for was not even Sith. No. However the man's thirst and hunger for new found power rivaled that of his own and he had a slew of bodies to attest to that.
A cruel smile now broke his otherwise mundane expression as Alkor jested in frustration. "You arrive to the summons with such tardiness and you expect there to be a crowd for you? You expect there to be applause? A brotherhood to embrace you with open arms?" Abaddon scffed in his remark for it had truly been Alkor that had wasted his time. But one would not fault themselves of such, for time was precious. "Perhaps . . . it is I who have wasted my time seeing if the Demon of Corellia would indeed reveal himself given a push."
"You misunderstand," Alkor drawled as he trudged forward, hands moving along the intricately carved stone. Each pillar felt monolithic in the Force, yet ancient and fragile. They held aloft this skeletal testament to the failures of the Sith. Yet her this man stood, mocking.
His gaze moved up a fraction. He saw the world around him choking, gasping, struggling for sense to return as multiple men who by virtue of simply standing there toxified the Force. He saw everything differently from others, and that was why he hated them.
"I want nothing that you have to give, short of your lives." His words were sharper now, laced with venom. "And you have denied me any challenge at all.
What is it you want, Sith?"
His fingers moved up the pillar and traced the cracks. He ran his nails sharly across the stone. Slowly, his gaze rose to meet Abbadon.
Abaddon loosed a hushed, dark laugh upon the little man's retort. Alkor demanded an answer and in this instance, Abaddon would not deny him such for Alkor brought a part set of talents that Order or cause would thirst to have. To kill as effectively and in as quantifiable a fashion as he was capable, was a tool set any strive to stand above others would thirst for. But, there was more and the dark lord hoped to unleash it.
He lifted a hand and looked into the palm before him, before balling it tightly into a fist and then spoke. "To set you free." The voice was deep, dark and cold. There was a malevolence about it that very few who'd ever walked the universe could imitate. It was a deep rooted power, augmented and swallowed in the Dark Side of the Force. The voice seemed to have a power in its own . . . a power separate from the visage of the Dark Lord himself. "The is what I want for you."
There came a moment of pause as Abaddon took the next couple of seconds to gauge a reaction from man.
"You wonder why I have drawn the Sith here to the seat of a millennia of failure and weakness? Why this dead world is the location for the birth of a true power?" The question was rhetorical in nature and as such needed no answer from the man, however it would serve in some capacity for the dark lord to measure the man before him. "The foundation must be built upon something."
The answer was more of an analogy than anything. Truth be told, Abaddon cared not of the ideals of the millennia of fail empires. The millennia of failed orders. The deranged and narrow-minded rule of Darth Bane wasn't worth its weight to him. In fact, Abaddon had a certain disgust for the man and believed Sith'ari. In his eyes, Bane had done nothing more than cripple the Sith in his time. Formulating some structure so that there could only be two sith lords at a given time. No more. No less.
It was the philosophy of a man that lived his life in fear of strength. Of a man that coddled the same weakness the Jedi did. Nurtured it so that none would grow stronger to the point to uproot him. It was pathetic and no man that lived in such fear of strength should ever be considered the Sith'ari. No, Bane - in Abaddon's eyes - had done far more to destroy the Sith than the entirety of the Jedi's efforts since their inception so long ago. Now was the time to move forward. Now was the time for true strength to truly shine. Even if that meant ripping the ruins of the academy and the valley as a whole from its foundations so that none would think to revisit the millennia of failure and weakness.
There was a profound and esoteric honesty in Abbadon's words that Alkor disliked. The idea that any man could seek freedom in a world where they were inherently bound by their own limitations, the concept of breaking chains was a metaphorical misdemeanor. Alkor had lived in the throes of desperation and survival during his youth, and when finally he seized the strength to stand on his own, he learned that everything had its price.
Sith cheated so many aspects of reality, they had to give up such precious things in return. His eyes moved away from the True Sith at the blasphemous statement. How many promises would darkness make to tempt him, when already it had taken so much?
"My chains are of my own design," the Jen'jidai answered, "and their weight is the burden I bear for their gifts."
It was a blunt answer, and a sour one in comparison to the honey that the Dark Lord offered. "My Brothers have abandoned me," he told the man, "they betrayed and bound me, but here I am. You offer me freedom? I ask you, am I not free?"
As if to answer his own question, the world around Alkor grew frigid. Crystalline flecks of ice gathered at his fingertips as the Force coalesced in the pillar, gushing into it like water through cracks in a dam. His voice reverberated through the room, quieter than a whisper.
"There is freedom in Death," he croaked as the stone shivered. "And for something new to rise, that which stands in the way must fall. This is no fitting place for a rebirth."
Power, unbridled and raw, surged through the foundations of the Sith Academy. Lines of deep ruby light poured out where the Force seeped into the column Alkor's hand rested upon, then outward. The ground trembled, rock cracked, and the world around him screamed.
Alkor made a valid point as he questioned Abaddon's sentiment. Whereas Abaddon had declared his intention of "freeing" Alkor, he'd not broached the subject how how the man was not free already.
There were many ideas of freedom, and depending on how the dark lord levied his next words could lead directly into one of any number of potential outcomes. However, before Abaddon could utter his next words, Alkor had continued with yet another statement. A statement that held a truth that Abaddon had accepted long ago. Even though Korriban was the ancestral home and birth place of his people - the sith people - it was no longer a suitable expanse for a resurrection. No longer to it hold the sway in the eye of the darkness. No . . . so many things were unsuitable about this place, and Abaddon had no intention of keeping the order here. Korriban was but a symbol, and its purpose was no longer anything more than that. The world was dead, just as the millennia of fallen empires and failed Sith before him.
But finally, as Alkor spit forth his final words, Abaddon gathered his response. All the while, he felt deeply through the Force as Alkor bent it to his own will. How it groped and suffocated the crumbling stone around them and how the future may lead to this place being ripped apart in its slumber.
"Tell me, then . . ." Abaddon said as he leaned forward, clasping his hands and letting his elbows rest upon plated knees, "What freedom is there in a galaxy that neither accepts nor values your existence? What freedom is there when society condemns your every action - curses your every breath? Is that what you call free?"
Abaddon leaned back once again, unclasping his hands and letting his palms fall to his knees once more. "As for this world . . ." Abaddon said, his eyes flickering with an inferno of color, ". . . it serves as nothing more than a symbol. Once to be torn apart and left to the wayside. It is an echo of a failed past to be drowned away in the triumphs of a divine future. When the Chroniclers write the histories, they will say that the galaxy's cleansing began here at the root of its failures."
Corec had remained silent for a long while getting a feel for the one who had called them here and was reading his interactions with others that had appeared so far. The orbs were an interesting little thing but he tried not to dwell on them as the two of them kept speaking. Though now he ventured closer enticed by the emotions coming off the new arrival. His hunger was stirring again, something deep down in the very deepest part of him reached out and started to pull in those emotions feeding and bolstering himself.
"All things are cast aside at one point or another. I am curious how you intend to change the beliefs and teachings that have been ingrained into the races of the universe for millennia upon millennia? Judgement for being different will always be present as will the fear and resentment of those seen to be different or more powerful." His voice was low in tone while the volume was enough to carry through the hall they stood within. He passed between the two of them a gesture aggressive and controlling in nature but meant more to test both of their impulse control. Moving over to the pillar that Alkor was trying to shatter placing his own hand on it.
Pulling the force from the pillar and into himself slowing the spread of the shatterpoint's effects. He was being wary though as both Abaddon and Alkor both seemed to be ones that would take his actions as a challenge and act upon it. White orbs looked up at Abaddon as he waited for the sith's reply to the question he posed to him.
The rot crept quickly through its chosen conduit and spread like sickness. While the pillar maintained its integrity, it was little more than the focus for something greater. The other, unknown Sithling moved forward and placed a hand opposite Alkor's own, and was rewarded with an expression of passionless mirth. The energy radiating forth from Alkor was ruination, the sort that contaminated all life and set it on the narrow path toward destruction. Sith often channeled such power, but to amass it, to hold it in- the Jen'jidai had to wonder what effect that might have.
Instead of worrying over the stunted leveling of this place, Alkor's gaze swept across the dusty floor again, and he regarded Abbadon. "The opinions of a society that eats its own and calls it just are of little consequence to me. If you seek to reform them, you will find me less than useless in that pursuit."
When his words turned to cleansing, Alkor let a soft breath out through his nostrils. He had heard many speak on the prospect of Galactic genocide, but few ever managed to live up to their own expectations. Few, that is, until this plague swept swiftly across the masses and brought civilization to its knees. What a fine time for the opportunistic to step forward.
"You want my strength." It was not a question.
"I will have you know, Sith," Alkor spoke, his fingers pressing harder against the column until the tips formed cracks in the stone. More power ruptured through these and sloughed outward like blood from a gaping wound.
Korriban itself howled.
"I have no interest in killing those who are not worth my time. The weak are weak. The strong will decide in time who the strongest among them is."
Some men sought to make themselves stronger in order to rule, and others to be free much as Abbadon described it. Alkor sought to be strong because there was a vast galaxy filled with challenges. When they were gone, there would be nothing left, and yet they were as numerous as grains of sand on a beach.
"If you would not mourn for this place," his eyes slowly closed, "or its failures, then allow it to crumble.
"This world is of little consequence to me." As he spoke, Abaddon's fist balled and the Force ruptured forth. The ceiling cracked and splintered. Threatened to crumbled as its integrity was threatened. Dust and shattered rock swept into the chamber and filled the air. As he balled his fist tighter, the stone loosed itself from the ceiling and fell around the three that remained in the chamber. His eyes flashed with a fire as the debris continued to pile and fill the air. Even the foundation on which they stood seemed to rumble to life with pain and anguish. The planet, itself, crying out in defiance.
"I did not compel you to come here to find absent worth. No." Abaddon smile a cruel smile as the structure's integrity grew weaker and weaker with every passing moment. More and more of the ceiling and walls cracked and crumbled. Fragmented and broke apart. "The time has come for you to find your path. For you to discover the challenge you heart beats for. You will become a power member to this Order. You will ravage the galaxy and culminate strength to the point there is nothing left to challenge you. And then . . . and then you will be free."
Abaddon un-balled his fist now with most of the ceiling collapsed around them, allowing Korriban's hot sun to shine vividly down into the chamber, illuminating it. For the first time, Abaddon's appearance became evident since arrival here. The sun's rays reflected off the dark lord's crimson scalp and plated armor appearance. There was plating along his legs and shoulders. Also along his forearms, chest and back. And all accented by the jumpsuit style fabric and cloak that held it all together. On either hip, a single hilt to a pair of lightsabers hung along a belt that spanned his waistline.
It was always a rush to feed on the force, to drain and store it for his own use later and Alkor seemed to be able to produce it in vast amounts. Using the absorbed force power to fuel his own powers as Abaddon brought down the ceiling above them pushing aside only what might land on him. A somewhat amuse smirk twisted his lips, he did wonder what the force would feel like if he drained it from Abaddon though wasn't crazy enough yet to attempt something that would amount to no more than a suicide attempt.
Casting aside Korriban was wise enough in its own right, shed the misguided beliefs of the old Sith Order and build on newer interpretations of what it means to be sith. Blank orbs turned as did his face toward Alkor for a brief moment at his comment. Let it crumble, an interesting notion and something he wasn't actually opposed to. Taking the force power he had been absorbing up until now and feeding it into the shatterpoint amplifying what Alkor was already doing.
"Let the temples of old crumble to dust in our wake and be swept away as the winds of change whip through this empty valley." It was as close to a declaration of his intent to work with Abaddon as they were going to get from him at this moment. He was itching to be on the move again as his deep seeded need to roam started to claw at him. He had been in one place too long for his liking, for now it was ignored as there may be further need to speak with Abaddon on what he would like for someone like him to do in the name of this new empire he seeks to breathe life into.