Star Wars : Tides of War

Daegon Marr : *I love the smell of rotting flesh in the morning.*
Daegon Marr : *Sounds like something I would do.* *Kills an acolyte and keeps the body hidden somewhere to decompose.*
Luri : ­­-110841675.html Fucking weird!
Luri : "But he was a misogynist." Only if you consume too much soy.
M : Yeah
Luri : The world lost an actual movie star today.
Daegon Marr : *I know.*
Fierrah Doshan : *Y'all are the worst.*
Daegon Marr : *Cackles madly.*
Daegon Marr : *But I am the Tormentor. The Sith sarcophagus is another animal altogether.*
Antor Thade : *That would depend on what Daegon intends to do with said Tormentor. If he intend to continue to supply Korriban with a supply of disciples and soldiers, most certainly Daegon may continue to utilize it.*
Daegon Marr : *We'll just say it found its way back into my hands.*
M : fuck if I know
Luri : Didn't Thade or someone take it?
Fierrah Doshan : *Similar experiences. Yes, something that. Although while he'd been forced to endure that darkness of the sarcophagus with a former Jedi, she'd been in there alone. No one else to share the experience with. She'd let the darkness seep into her like a fine wine, having always been drawn to it from the very beginning. It would fascinate her to know where the Tormentor was now, but more interestingly.. if he was still in possession of that delicious relic. As for her attire, well... there were lesser-clad beings on Korriban, weren't there? She was downright modest with her wardrobe.* Well, brooding doesn't often get things done, does it? I'm more of a... woman of action, Gavin. *Here, she would give the slightest smirk before coming back to him with a glass half-full with some intoxicating elixir or another.*
Fierrah Doshan : ooc: You know. This used to be easier when I didn't have tweens and little assholes making a fuckton of noise in my house.
Luri : Of course.
Pandora : *Probably.*
Shoran Sahrael: *Wait. Do you know me?*
Pandora : *The fucking worst.*
Shoran Sahrael: *Drinks the Tides dry.*
Luri : Trash!
M : No idea. I don't remember watching it.
Luri : Bombshell? Wasn't that a trash movie?
Ruin: .
Ruin: OOC: image.
Ruin: OOC: sigh.
M : I don't remember watching it. Was I drunk?
M : also check swtor
M : I've just moved all mine to pjj
Ruin: OOC: Keeps auto-populating text in the image URL field.
Ruin: OOC: Third time I've fixed this.
Joden Sael: OOC: Goddamn these broken images. -_-'
Joden Sael: OOC: Definitely me.
M : probably
Joden Sael: OOC: Me, maybe?
Ruin: OOC: Thought we watched it?
M : I swear, I rented Bombshell and I didn't watch it.
Fierrah Doshan : ooc: I'ma do a thing. Today. Maybe. Hopefully?
Deianeira : *Pfft.*
Ruin: *It would not be advisable for Deianeira to try. Destiny's hand may yet be in motion.*
Deianeira : *You know. I brought you into this world. Twice. I can take you out.*
Ruin: *The being known as simply as Ruin, as the locals have taken to calling him, aimlessly wanders through the Neo Valleran streets. He has become something of an urban legend. Those that come across him promptly avoid him. The strange effects that come to pass with his proximity can’t be ignored, but are almost unexplainable. Metal pits and warps, wood and fabric rot and decay, the very air goes stale and takes on a cloying taint. Those with an affinity to the Force would sense him in different light; he seems a living wound in the Force. An abomination, a thing that is at odds with itself, but imbued with such sheer power that it exists despite itself. Certainly, once it ceases to be it will release such energy that it will bring about a cataclysm. Though he seems to be completely self-unaware, the occasionaly memory drifts across his psyche. Aurie. Lonliness. Heartbreak. Pain. Rage. Hatred. And then the connection is made; Aurie exists. A connection as fast and sure as an aimed bolt of lightning arcs between the stars to her. She will feel him, whether she wants to or not. His eyes draw upon her, worlds distant as she is, whatever she is doing, he will know. And now that he knows, she may not be able to hide from him. If she does not come to him, he will surely come to her.*
Damian Sitar : *That's right.*
M : Heck.
Damian Sitar : *Embracing the darkness is what he’s become proficient at as of late, especially when it comes to training the acolytes of the Ascension to ensure they’re not slaughtered by the Jedi when they’re sent out into the galaxy. He’s put every ounce of energy—every effort into transforming them into a capable army for the Sith Emperor, but more importantly, for Chi’hari. The hierarchy isn’t lost on him, although there is a certain degree of loyalty for Sith Master. Despite the constant distractions, Amani is skintight leather, Chi’hari in skintight synthleather, just about every other female Sith or darksider wearing something provocative, he’s been focused on teaching the acolytes the strength of the dark side, forging them into weapons of hatred and anger. But the loss of even one of those acolytes before they’ve progressed to the next level of their training only causes his own anger to rise to the surface. So, when Thade casually disintegrates one of them, it sends him into a fury, making him question if it’s because of his failings that some of the acolytes have fallen victim to the dangers of Korriban. Not all of them can be star pupils, but he expected each of them to be capable enough to survive until they’ve been dispatched to combat the Jedi. In order to not be viewed as a disappointment in Chi’hari’s eyes, he’s taken to spend more of his time in the training arena, dueling against combat droids, using his rage to fuel him as he decimates every single one of them—with the Force, with his lightsaber. He doesn’t leave any left standing, and the parts are recycled to fabricate new droids. Whether Chi’hari intends on punishing him or not for every dead acolyte Thade slaughtered, he is prepared to accept whatever punishment she deems necessary to purge him of any weakness.*
Luri : We believe you.
M : I will post eventually. I'm sure of it.
D : :o
Treviso Raxius: *With sweet, innocent Rienne on his lap, he reaches for her hair with his right hand and draws her head back slowly, forcing her to nearly look up at the ceiling of the Tides She can wiggle, squirm or fidget all she wants, but she is only going to make it worse for herself, isn’t she? He leans closer to her, while simultaneously beckoning over a server with his free hand. Then he extends his tongue to glide along her cheek before grinning at her with a mischievous flicker in his otherwise dark brown eyes. It’s a reflection of the light, that’s it.* You could have been sold to an actual slave owner that would have treated you like a slave. At least I’m not forcing you to wear a collar… well, not out in public. Or would you prefer to be treated as a slave, kneeling by the booth instead of settling on your on top of me? *Of course the drink tastes disgusting, but that is the point. He raises his free hand to make the server wait on them, then he abruptly releases his grasp of Rienne’s hair and glances over to the server. What he orders is two shots of Corellian whiskey this time, allowing Rienne to place another order for the same Hapan alcoholic beverage she had or try something different. It’s her choice.*
Gavin Lurid : *At least they’ve had similar experiences, though hers was no doubt worse, given the amount of time she was subjected to the ancient Sith sarcophagus. As soon as they step inside the main hallway of their private suite, he removes his Jedi cloak and hangs it up before taking a moment to admire her leather clad form. Very unusual attire for a Jedi, but there has been a couple Jedi to break from tradition in the past. Not that he has any complaints. A shattered fragment of a memory may have suggested that his wife didn’t dress nearly that provocative, but it’s not as if he can piece all of his memories together by himself. Not after everything that’s happened. And he may not even want to at this point. Everything seems fine as far as he’s concerned. Everything is perfectly normal.* No, I don’t think that at all. I know you don’t care what others think of you, but I also know you’re not one to brood in the dark. That’s usually me. *He approaches a black leather conform couch (Hovercouch, hmm?) in the living area and sits down, glancing over to her with a subtle grin.* Things have been chaotic since we first left here to find all of the Force sensitive beings that we’ve discovered.
Antor Thade : With me. *He tilts his head just slightly, continuing to gaze down on her. Answering her rhetorical question.* Wherever I go. *He feels the heat of her face through her hair. Mm, the warmth of the carnal cravings that she always stirs, the passions of spirit and flesh that she always fans continue to stir. The display of pure, unbridled power around them as the storm takes hold and explodes doesn’t help. He feels the raw power surging through the air, blasting the ground all around them. But not him. Not her. It’s true that he finds comfort in her touch; she’s his anchor point in all of this. His center.*
Aurie : *Having given in to the dark side, there is still part of her that knows that her children are much safer where they are then they would be here, on Korriban. Just because she's fallen doesn't mean that they should share a similar fate. Better that they are raised in the light than in the darkness. She doesn't seem to react to his touch, although let's be honest... if she didn't want him to touch her, he'd be the first, second and third to know.* Where else would I go? *Her eyes would open then, but she wouldn't look back at him. Instead, she would fix upon the storm.*
Antor Thade : A maelstrom, yes. It is past time to sort the wheat for the chaff. *His eyes half close as he looks upon her. He’s curious how she might react to his plans. After all, she and Coruscant have such an interesting past.* I don’t intend to attack Coruscant with an army of infants. *The darkening sky heralds the approach of the stormwall; it will be here soon. He moves closer until he stands directly behind her, touching her hair with his fingertips, running them through the soft strands.* I need to know their mettle. And I need to know that you’re coming with me. *The fate of their children, well. He’s not the most caring father, so it would seem. But were they here, now, he might well have a different focus. Which is likely why they are not.*
Aurie : *Will she, though? She sorts through the mountains upon mountains of pain that fuels her rage these days, discarding her tenuous connection with Pandora - the girl can take care of herself - to focus more firmly on the her and now. While the lives of her children are something that have always been on her mind, she ultimately knows that they are currently being adequately cared for. And so it's with a clear conscience that she can turn her attention to the matter at hand. Or is her conscience clear? No matter. Just one more combustable to add to the fire.* It seems you have created a bit of a maelstrom. *Very few would recognize her voice anymore. It is cold, lacking emotion except for those rare times when she gives in to those emotions that she might normally keep buried. There are quite a few matters that she will need to resolve in the future, but all in good time.*
Antor Thade : *As he makes his way through the wastes and raging storm, her presence in his mind grows until she is palpable... and there she is, kneeling and facing away from him. Her closed eyes gaze inwards...and he cannot help being reminded of her time as a Jedi. Unbidden memories flash before his eyes; he shoves them aside. He has no time for memories just now. He comes to a stop behind her, merely watching her. He enjoys her far too much; her energy, how she in turn feeds off of him. He runs a hand over his shaven head as he looks upon her, not bothering with words just yet. She is quite certain to challenge him momentarily, but at this moment, he is here simply because she has a way of being his center.*
Aurie : ooc: Let me know when the oven is ready
Aurie : ooc: Duh
Aurie : *Where is she? Who knows, these days. There isn't much on Korriban that amuses her. Weren't they on their way to destroy some shit at some point? Guess they did that and came back. She's fully aware of the encroaching storm. She may even be on a high mesa, overlooking the small field where the acolyles were gathered. Not above the storm, of course, but definitely about to be crushed by it. Or is she? She is, perhaps, meditating on the various things in her life that had made her what she is. She finds that dwelling on the pain brings power and focus. Reminds her why it is she's done what she's done. She may or may not be fully aware of Pandora's current location. Knowing that the child is alive and thriving is enough. As for Inara and Antor, well... For some reason, their presence was being blocked for her. Weren't they supposed to go to Coruscant and retrieve them? She does know that Thade approaches. She doesn't immediately acknowledge his arrival, when he does finally show up.*
Antor Thade : OOC: Hongrah snekh
Aurie : ooc: Yerp.
Antor Thade : OOC: Y'sure? 480 seems high.
Fierrah Doshan : *..Obliterates.*
Aurie : ooc: oh. lel. only 2 hours not 3 :/
Gavin Lurid : *All I see is Mil...*
Aurie : ooc: dafuq
Luri : Might be back. Maybe! And it's 10:00. :P
Fierrah Doshan : *I'ma dew eet.*
Aurie : ooc: Big ol' 9pm in AB
Gavin Lurid : *Don't destroy my mind. Or do.*
Aurie : ooc: Cos that's what I heard.
Aurie : ooc: Wut? You're a pussy?
Luri : I'ma pause. Ah ha ha ha.
M : If you want pizza you should probably preheat the oven at 480 :O
Phoenix: *Pets. From beyond the grave.*
Vianca Star: *You aren't scarred. You're random pieces.*
Daegon Marr : *My whole body's a scar.*
M : Just randomly dead. Log doesn't say what killed me
M : wtf
Shoran Sahrael: *Did someone say 'scars?' Cos...*
Antor Thade : *He seems to enjoy the fury of the storm, allowing it’s rage to buffet his cloak; but it’s true fury doesn’t so much sa touch him. He moves with impunity towards wherever he feels Aurie to be. He ignores the students scrambling for shelter, or the corpses already strewn about the campus. Another cascade of lightning illuminates the scene rather sharply. Could it be that he’s enjoying himself.*
Antor Thade : OOC: Don't think so?
M : >_<
M : Is Voss a shared instance?
Daegon Marr : *Oh, the sarcophagus. Where is that thing?*
Shoran Sahrael: *Sup.*
M : why. the fuck. did my toon die.
Chi'hari : */Crowley.*
Chi'hari : *Etc.*
Chi'hari : *Chicks dig 'em.*
Chi'hari : *Scars are sexy.*
Aurie : *Oh. You're looking for me? Hmm. Where would I be?*
Fierrah Doshan : *She likes them insane. He'll get there. Eventually. >:D If she were at all compassionate, she might feel the slightest bit sorry for him. But you know. A trip into a sarcophogus has a way of ripping the compassion from someone. She moves within the quarters and removes her cloak, letting it drape across the nearest bit of furniture. The place was undoubtedly clean, having been mostly abandoned during their travels. She does close the door quite firmly on the approaching storm and turns toward him.* You think I'm motivated to want to be popular? *She would laugh again, and once more take his hand, leading him toward one of the hovercouches within the quarters. Gesturing for him to sit, she moves away to pour him a drink.*
Damian Sitar : *You want to scar the Moose?*
Chi'hari : *She would narrow her eyes a bit, but doesn't follow him. Instead she turns her eyes toward those acolytes. She, above all, has a very vested interest in them doing well. She seems impervious to the storm, even as she draws upon it to strengthen her. A barrier would form around her, rendering the worst of it weak against her. And she watches. She watches the acolytes so very carefully, watching for the slightest flaw, the slightest misstep. Every death may well lead to a lash (or two.. or five...) for Damian. And death was inevitable, since each acolyte was turning on each other with the intent of destroying the other. What a pleasant and diverting evening....*
Alden Locke : *Just living my best life, honey.*
Gavin Lurid : *His comment was more of a light tease, even though he may actually be going insane. But that will depend on her, won’t it? The squeeze of her hand should serve to reassure her that he places his trust in her, just as he’s always had. Once they enter the residential quarters, he makes his way towards their rather lavish quarters, considering. They aren’t mere Acolytes, so it stands to reason that she would at least be granted such privileges for her services, her loyalty. His memories of his past are still there, fragmented, but she’s had to piece them back together for him. If she wants him to remember something [i]painful[/s], she could just as easily meditate with him or wait until he sleeps to have some fun inside his head. Or has she become bored with those games?* I’m not trying to be popular, I suppose. That’s more suited to you. *That, and the Acolytes are beneath him.*
Antor Thade : *He is not trying to intimidate her. He considers her a trusted ally. Well, as much as he trusts anyone.* We shall see. Whatever survives may well be enough. But at least we will know. *The storm that harrows them now will reveal their natures. Delicious.* And as do I. *But he will not strike at the enemy’s heart until it is time. *He turns to move off into the storm, likely to find Aurie. The blistering wind does not seem to bother him in the slightest. Not because he is immune for one reason or another; because he like all of them must focus on avoiding it’s wrath. He’s just... better at it.*
Zephyr : *He was probably being a dick.*
Zephyr : *Wut!*

Last Post:3:03pm, October 31 (UTC) (3)

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