Time passes, the length you do not know, it feels like hours or even days, but you know it has been just minutes since the blast. You have woven through every side corridor and passage that you’ve been presented, leading you to here, a grimy back alley filled with decaying refuse and needles discarded by addicts. All you can hear is the loud beating of your heart.

Something strikes you from behind with the force of a land speeder. It hits both of your shoulders from above, gripping them, throwing you straight down into the floor. Pain envelopes you, your head slams into the ground, causing your jaw to clamp shut, amputating part of your tongue. Throughout your body, you can feel pain spewing from shattered bones. The weight of the creature crushes you, driving air from your lungs as it stands on top of your broken and limp body.

The beast turns you around to face it, but your world is numb. Your head is swimming in a miasma of pain and haze from the concussion. Two of the creature’s four clawed, prehensile feet hold you down, pinning you underneath the centauriform beast. One of the monster’s two arms is colossal, bulky and oversized, flesh interlaced with the metal of a large blaster, one which looks more akin to a small artillery piece than a personal weapon. The other reaches to its mask, a parody of the one you wore, and removes it, letting out a primal roar into the sky. You barely hear it as blackness encroaches from the edge of your vision. Its face is an ugly, misshapen thing, large yellow, chipped teeth show from the beast’s drooling smile, two flat nostrils in the place of a nose, six yellow eyes dot from the front of its face to the sides. Its progenitor was once human, Mandalorian, but through genetic engineering, it is a sentient, conceived to hunt and kill.

The Ha’rangir points the hulking cannon interwoven with its engorged arm at your head. And fires. And you, the last Mandalorian, covered in the blood and offal of your dead brother, dies.

Your eyes glaze over while you stare into the deep blue depths of hyperspace as your heart aches. You haven’t spoken a word since yesterday, who would you have even talked to? In an instant Master Porro whisked you away from everything you’ve ever known, everyone you’ve ever known. The Evocii has mirrored your silence, rarely giving you the odd command and nothing more. He is a dishevelled-looking being; his brown hair is patchy, leaving most of his scalp naked; unlike the bulk of his species, he is not gaunt. He carries a modest bulge at his stomach, and his face is full and round. Sharp ears point out from his head, and his nose is flat and fat.

Why didn’t Alyla at least warn you beforehand, sneak a quick message to you before the ceremony? Why hasn’t she messaged you still now? She promised to be your master, to show you the universe, and now you are sharing this light freighter with Master Porro, more alone than you’ve ever been. Separated from both her and your friends, the self-confidence and determination that defined you for the past half-decade has evaporated. A slight sigh escapes your lips for the umpteenth time.

The blue tunnel of hyperspace disappears and stretched stars collapse into normal dots of light. Looking across the cockpit, you spy a quick glance at Master Porro sitting in the captain’s chair from your seat, spotting him bored and without energy. Your tongue wets your dry lips, and in a voice much softer and quieter than your usual one asks, “What is our task, Master?”

He turns to you matter-of-factly and replies, “We are…

>mediating a trade deal between the Hutts and the IGBC(InterGalactic Banking Clan) on Sojourn

>stopping treasure hunters on Thule digging up Sith artefacts

>catching a believed force user named Uruk’Krek, who has been pulling off a number of high-profile thefts

Oh and archive, not sure if I'll double post today as im helping younger sister with coursework.

https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Stellar%20Turmoil

>>5674931
>stopping treasure hunters on Thule digging up Sith artefacts

>>5674931
>stopping treasure hunters on Thule digging up Sith artefacts
THEY BELONG IN A MUSEUM! Or a heavily guarded Jedi vault never to see the light of day again. Either way I like that we probably get to check out in old temple in this option, who knows what we'll find?

>>5674931
>stopping treasure hunters on Thule digging up Sith artefacts

>>5674931
>Stopping treasure hunters on thule

Hmm. I ponder. Some Precognative gift that we've not explored?

Might be able to get out a second update if I finish helping my sister within a hour. Surprised there's no votes for everyone's favourite Muun's home

>>5675218

Oh right, Sojourn is Turok's home planet. The call of treasure is so hard to resist though...

>>5675238
Not judging the decision at all, should be interesting.
>Sojourn is Turok's home plane
Ha not quite, it was the residence of Hego Damask.

>>5674931
>stopping treasure hunters on Thule digging up Sith artefacts

>>5674931
>stopping treasure hunters on Thule digging up Sith artefacts

Really don't want an ambitious bounty hunter go all sith warlord on us.

>>5674931
>catching a believed force user named Uruk’Krek, who has been pulling off a number of high-profile thefts

File: SithTempleOnThule.png (418 KB, 820x590)

418 KB PNG

... stopping treasure hunters on Thule digging up Sith artefacts.” Replies your master, as he steers the ship towards the planet. “Recently, some local was excavating, for some reason, and chanced upon what was once a valley. Over the millennia, dirt and life have subsumed the area, burying the valley until today. The place is meant to be similar to The Valley of the Dark Lords on Korriban, housing tombs of supposedly great Sith lords. My thinking is these Sith were of a much lesser quality than the ones entombed on Korriban, as they weren’t allowed to construct their temples there. So far, the workers have found two entrances into the mausoleums, but scans tell of many more trapped below. Oh, and when I say Sith, I mean the extinct species, not the Sith Order.”

“So, what is our plan?” You say, trying to break the poisoned cloud floating above your head. Filling your mind with thoughts of adventuring into Tombs older than any form of the antediluvian Galactic Republic.

“At the moment, I am thinking of large credit bounties for any artefacts turned in, no questions asked. Also, rallying the local city’s police into a search for anyone refusing to turn in the relics. And then guard the location, ensuring no one breaks into any of the tombs. We will have backup coming in a couple of weeks, two Masters and four Knights, who will oversee the full excavation of the valley and explore the tombs fully for Sith artefacts. By that point, we will have likely left.”

Confused, you turn to face him instead of gazing into the blackness of endless space, as your face crumples in uncertainty, “We won’t be entering either of the opened tombs?”

“We were ordered not to,” Porro says very slowly, as if testing a sheet of ice over a river. He gazes into your face, truly studying you for the first time. “… But perhaps we should. The workers could have awakened something, and if we leave it, then whatever it is could grow in power or escape.”

He waits further, watching your reactions to his words, searching for some kind of tell, “If you feel up for it, then yes, we will explore one of the graves, if not both. What do you say?”

“Yes,” You reply emphatically, with a hungry nod of your head. You want to be the first to explore these mausoleums of ancient, powerful Sith, cementing the start of your story and adding your name to this place. “I agree, time could be vital to stopping something primaeval stirring by the digging.”

A small sly smile tugs at the edges of his lips, the first one you’ve seen him wear. Giving you a short nod in affirmation, he then returns his gaze to the rapidly growing planet filling up the cockpit’s canopy. The world appears like many others from the view from space, with large green landmasses intermingling with vast blue oceans. Above the planet, locked in the atmosphere, are large white swirls with a small eye in the centre. Thule is a planet afflicted by harsh tornadoes that rage across the length of the blue sphere.

As the freighter breaks into the atmosphere, the small ship trembles under the force. A tail of plasma grows and extends from the ship as you enter the planet. It is born as a beautiful pink-red trail and then rapidly transforms into a stunning golden yellow. Finally, the plasma sheath dissipates into nothingness. The ship is built from a common freighter hull which is used by every Jedi that travels the stars, and it is Master Porro’s. Gifted by the Jedi Order, as they have similarly done to countless Knights and Masters, it is designed to be highly modular and customisable. Each ship is different to its kin, at least in one small way or another. Based on the popular Santhe Long-haul class, they can blend into any spaceport unnoticed. Porro’s ship, named the Anhinga, is a matt black vessel with a yellow outline traced around the edge of the cockpit’s transparisteel window. Inside, it is a world apart, bright garish colours dance and collide along the ceilings, walls and floors, making the ship appear as if the occupant is trapped in some spice-induced dream.

The Anhinga glides down toward the surface of Thule, and a tiny grey spec in the distance begins to enlarge. Above, the sky is a breathtaking beautiful dark blue, like her, the clouds you’ve passed on your descent are an even darker gloomier shade. Fields of rolling green hills are tinted with the colour of the sky, creating meadows of turquoise grass. The once grey spec is now a hulking polished city of steel, painted a shiny metallic blue by the heavens. It is a man-made peak sprouting from a massive valley between two giant hills, that are not dissimilar to mountains. On top of the sprouting base is a large dome, with struts running up the side. A forked bolt of red lightning splits through the sky and lands on one of the bars. Above it all sits a cube, and as your eyes lock onto it, you feel a swell in the Force, something ancient and primordial, and utterly dark rolls through you in a towering wave. This whole city is bathed in the dark side of the force.

Landing on a pad, Master Porro tells you, “So this is Hurom, capital of Thule. I’m going to talk to the guards, setting up the basics and then I’ll call for you, and we can start our investigation. Until then, you are free to do as you like.”

And with that, he strolls out of the ship, leaving you alone. Without command or thought, your hand reaches into a deep pocket of your robes and withdraws your communicator. Your heart begins to palpitate, and your fingers start to rise to the screen to click on the bar displaying the text UNREAD MESSAGES, praying that you will have a new one. From her explaining, apologising, yearning for you. And you click it, but your eyes aren’t looking, your chest fluttering from anxiety. Finally, after two deep breaths, you lower your eyes from the ceiling to your screen. It reads NO NEW MESSAGES.

You have time to yourself, what do you do?

>Visit a bar and get the lay of the land
>Go to the square structure sitting on top of the city
>Sneak into the ancient Sith valley
>Message who what (write-in)?
>Luke
>Turok
>Claire
>Alyla
>Stroll around the city aimlessly
>Visit the stores(Which stores and for what?)
>Watch some galactic news
>Write in

Huh it eats my Tabs on the names, they should be indented to show it is part of the message choice.

>>5675475
>Visit a bar and get the lay of the land

Wait, we’ll be wearing robes when going to the bar?

First, we need to get some common clothes to blend in.

>Go the the clothes store to buy normie clothes to make you less eye-catching.

>>5675587
>Support

Avoid being seen

>>5675587
Supporting as well. might as well take the opportunity to blend and/or express ourselves a bit

File: T00626_10.jpg (152 KB, 1536x1058)

152 KB JPG

Typing the passcode into a number pad, the wall in front of you splits into two and then lowers to the ground creating a ramp initially designed for the ease of cargo transport. Stepping out from the craft, you are buffeted by an intense gale. The roar of the wind fills your ears and drowns out the surrounding noise of people and engines. Around you, the dock is full of ships of all sizes. Some are giant behemoths of trade, holding a planet’s worth of supplies, others medium-sized personnel carriers bringing workers from around the world, and similarly to the Anhinga, there are countless personal ships sitting on pads or protected in structures.

Your robes billow and dance in the potent storm, as does your dark blond hair. You imagine this gives you a remarkably dramatic and striking look, if only you could save it for some climatic event. People scurry across the spaceport, be they mechanics, recent arrivals, or something else, fighting the gale with every step. From just exiting the freighter and taking a brief scan of the surrounding port, you can tell there is a lot of money here. Every bit of machinery looks top of the line, and the buildings dotting the dock are unmarred by the scraping wind, decorative engravings of past events of the planet cover every inch.

As soon as you exit the spaceport into the city proper, you are shielded by large perimeter walls that are only dwarfed by the countless skyscrapers that climb up into the low hanging clouds, not too dissimilar to the ones of Coruscant, except there are subtle design differences, most of the buildings end with a four-faced pyramid instead of the standard Core dome or spire. Statues of ancient humans or humanoids stand vigil, gazing down, perched on these buildings. Woven through the structures are lights that accentuate every edge, yellow and red, in stark contrast to the moody blue sky and the dark buildings they sit on.

This place is truly beautiful, not in a way that is commercialised and cheapened like a tropical beach on a paradise world that is oversubscribed by the rich of the galaxy, but sullen, morose, isolated, and extremely intimate. The gentle patter of rhythmic rain falls around you, filling the air with a freshness that contrasts with the metal city that surrounds you. The streets are empty apart from the odd figure walking around this silent city; occasionally, two forms huddle together for warmth and companionship. You spot a pretty woman, ten years your senior, leaning against her paramour, whispering something special, only for him, into his ear. For the briefest instant, a tinge of melancholy envy sparks through you, quickly erased with happiness that they’ve found such companionship. Rain continues to shower the world, soaking your robes thoroughly as you walk around Hurom.

You notice, that is when you do spot people, the sparse populace is overwhelmingly Human. But you find the lack of people is strange, due to the number of high-rise buildings that surround you. The reported figure of millions of inhabitants could easily be multiplied tenfold and still leave buildings vacant. It is a clean city like no other you’ve seen, not that you’ve ever been to a city that isn’t the planet-spanning Coruscant. No waste or graffiti litters the untarnished city. Nor are there any people living on the streets, or hiding in corners or doorways for shelter.

After some time drifting through the atmospheric city, you stop at a clothes shop, the face of the store is bland and blends into the cityscape like the others. Crossing the threshold, you are greeted with heat which the rain and wind robbed from you. You smile to the assistant as you enter and pick out a heavy navy-blue woollen jumper, a plain red shirt, thick black trousers, and a dark cloak, keeping in style with the people you’ve seen on the street. All of the items are waterproof, speaking to the consistency of the rain that greets you. Thanking the assistant, you pay with the credit chit provided by the Jedi Order and leave for the streets.

Dressed in a way that you now blend in with the inhabitants of the city, you slip into a bar. Similar to the shop, it has a welcomed warmth. Unlike the people from the world outside, these ones cradle bottles and glasses in hand and are loud and expressive. The atmosphere is homely and welcoming. Unlike the dark colours of the outside, the interior is dominated by gentle browns, some light green and white. You spot no women amongst the patrons, only the servers. A group of men huddle around a table playing some kind of game, others crowd a bench telling stories and jokes, and a rare figure sits solitary by themself.

Walking up to the counter, you mirror the gentle smile worn by the young girl not too much older than yourself. “Got anything you would recommend?”

“Well, I would recommend Hrrvan Cider, grown locally, but you look a little young. How old are you?” She continues to smile but now looking somewhat quizzical, but importantly not shutting down the conversation.

“Old enough,” Which is true, for most systems at least. You withdraw the credit chit for the second time today. The older teen hands you the golden drink in a clear glass mug, looking around the room you try to spot the best target to gather information from.

You talk to…

>A group of men you presume to be miners sitting around a table
>A worn and rough man sitting alone, uninterested in the world around him
>To the girl behind the bar
>You sit alone, thinking of whom to approach, but instead, someone sits across from you

Late night post, probably riddled with mistakes. If it is too bad I can redo it. Sleeping now.

>>5676245
>You sit alone, thinking of whom to approach, but instead, someone sits across from you

>>5676245
Plot hook beacons. . . but I'd like a little initative.

>Speak to the girl behind the bar
You know what they say about barkeeps.

>>5676245
>To the girl behind the bar

>>5676245
>A group of men you presume to be miners sitting around a table

Rolled 9 (1d10)

>Speak to the girl behind the bar

File: Pub.jpg (3.89 MB, 6000x4000)

3.89 MB JPG

Reportedly the hunt for Sith artefacts has exploded in the last fifty years, driven by the emergence of a group named Singularity. Singularity preaches a religion, describing a new world they will usher in. The heart of Singularity is named Dark Star, the controlling body of the faith and the founders. They are a group of dark side force users, which many of the Jedi at the temple label them simply as reborn Sith. They have accrued many followers around the galaxy, the number of which seems to be constantly swelling. Despite being outlawed in the Republic, their young illegal religion spreads from world to world amongst the unfortunates of society like a toxic plague. Rejected by the Republic, they hide within the Hutt empire, allowed to base themselves there for the price of their servitude to the Hutts. Still, in its infancy, Dark Star has been hungry to gain any Sith relics to assist them in learning more of the mysteries of the Force, the ones they’ve not yet discovered themselves in their short two-hundred-year existence.

Looking around the room, your eyes jump from one patron to the next. Searching for the best target to glean some information concerning either burgeoning the black market for ancient Sith relics or about the excavation. The men you assume to be miners would be the easy target, but that would likely result in your presence being revealed. So, you turn back around to face the person who you suspect has the greatest knowledge of the entire picture. The bartender, who has no doubt overheard the drunk workers spill their secrets time and time again, likely the same ones repeated at regular intervals.

The bartender is a human girl of, what you estimate to be, sixteen years old. Her medium light brown hair frames her face pretty and turns into a short ponytail. Light freckles dot her cheeks giving her a rather cute girlish appearance. Without a doubt, she was employed due to her looks and pleasant demeanour. She smiles at you questioningly as you sit down in front of her on one of the raised stools. Bringing the cool glass to your lips, you let the sweet liquid spill into your mouth. Not one for alcohol, you find yourself pleasantly surprised by the enjoyment of the flavour.

“Great recommendation,” You tell her in a voice just loud enough to be heard over the loud drunks roaring at some new joke. “My name is Chris by the way.”

“Jaina,” She repeats a few times until you hear her over the din. “So, what is someone as young as you doing here?”

Your mind races for some kind of acceptable lie. You first think of lying about your age, claiming you’ve had cosmetic work to make yourself this youthful; but then that would lead to questions about why you are here rather than at some up-class bar in the city centre, and the wealth they expect you to carry would draw attention. Pretending to be an off-worlder looking for work would cause similar problems, due to the tight immigration laws of the planet. Making up a sob story would also draw too much attention to yourself; you need something easily explained but unremarkable.

“Ah, kind of a right of manhood from my dad,” You smile, taking another large sip of the drink you are quickly falling in love with. She leans in further, now vaguely interested in your story. “So, long story short, my grandfather dumped my dad halfway around the planet with a tiny amount of credits and told him to work his way home. Dad kept up the tradition, and I’m on my pilgrimage. You’ve not heard of any jobs or anything interesting locally?”

“Wow, that’s amazing. Look at you, adventuring around the planet while I’m stuck here behind this bar.” She replies, batting a small lock of hair out of her face. “And yes, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but some of the guys over there have found an ancient structure hidden underground. The company they work for is a small local branch, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they would be happy to take you on. Their branch office is just by the spaceport, and if you are interested, you could head there now and sign up.”

“Ancient underground structures? Never knew we had something like that,” You feign amazement, draining the last of your drink. “I guess there’s a fortune to be made with all the relics.”

“Yeah, Luke over there,” Jaina sidles up next to you and points to one of the old men wearing a long grey beard, and a half bald head. “Has been buying rounds for everyone. Something about meeting some bloke near the spaceport, he’s been selling some of the trinkets he’s found to a gruff-looking off-worlder. Likely a merc.”

The pair of you continue to talk about the local find. Jaina occasionally changes the topic, asking you about your travels so far, which you give sufficient answers to, then steer the conversation back to the discovery. A girl, maybe a year younger than you, huffs through the door, dishevelled, shaken and thoroughly stroppy. Her skin is a light pink colour, as if she hides some Zeltron ancestry. Her clothes speak of an affluence that no one else in the bar comes close to matching. She hurries down into a chair, cradling her head as deep crimson hair spills from her hood. Eyes around the room begin to steal looks at her, and some conversations take on quieter tones, obviously discussing the new guest.

“So, Jaina, where was the guy buying antiques off book? If I do join the excavation team, it might be good to know where he’s based.”

“Sounds like someone is looking for trouble. That would be very illegal and dangerous with the Jedi arriving soon.” She flashes you a conspiratorial smile as she edges even closer. “Apparently, this guy is based in the third-floor sublevel of the spaceport’s east section, in a warehouse owned by ArcHill Storage.”

You thank her and continue awhile with the small talk as you consume a second pint of the alcohol. Your commlink chimes, and you excuse yourself. The device blurts out, “This is Porro. Your free time is over. We are beginning a buyback of Sith items in the next hour, make your way to these coordinates I'm sending you.”

You…

>Walk to the location and work with your Master to appraise the Sith items in the buyback
>Go to the warehouse
>Head to the miners' branch looking for work
>Write-in

>>5676869
>Walk to the location and work with your Master to appraise the Sith items in the buyback

>Walk to the location and work with your Master to appraise the Sith items in the buyback
>Tell your master about what you heard about the Warehouse.

Basically tell him of this new lead, see what he hast to say about it, if he says no to going to it, we just do the buyback stuff.

>>5676869
I support >>5676892

>>5676892
+1

>>5676869
>>5676892
Supporting this as well.

File: dromund-kaas-player-housi(...).jpg (419 KB, 1920x1080)

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To take the message, you withdrew from the room to an empty corridor leading to the toilets. The passageway is darker than the main room of the pub. At the end of the passage, after the doorframe that leads to two separate gendered lavatories, is a locked door labelled STAFF ONLY. Standing by the sealed door, you listened to the message from your master. As you listen to the recording, you can’t help but wonder why he hasn’t spent more time with you, that is despite your time together being such a short period. You expected this initial phase to be an extremely close one to ingratiate the two of you into a coordinated unit.

Calling him in reply, you pull the microphone of your commlink close to your lips after you hear a small chime confirming Porro has joined the call, “I read you, I’ve been doing my own part to investigate Sith items that the excavators have recovered and sold. There is a non-native buyer, possibly a mercenary, likely either working for someone directly or looking to resell them for a markup. A local has told me he is based in a warehouse owned by ArcHill Storage in the spaceport.”

Master Porro listens and thinks for a second before replying, “Hmmm, sounds promising, any further details?”

“Not yet, I could try to work the locals some more, but I don’t think it’ll give us any meaningful results. I have presented myself as a worker from a different city, I don’t want to spook anyone and cause our lead to go cold.”

“Ok, we’ll regroup and think about further plans. As you’ve not rustled the chickens, I don’t think meeting the buyer is time sensitive. I’m at the local police station, I’ve already sent you the coordinates, and we’ll go over the items to see if they are ancient museum pieces or if they hold the taint of the dark side.”

You nod your head, not that he can see you through the audio call, “Making my way there now.”

Taking public transport, you swiftly arrive at the location. Underground roads connect the city, studying your datapad, you read this was a conscious decision to stop air speeders from polluting the skies of the city with emissions and ruining the style of the city. Much like the world above, the public transport is clean and sparingly populated. Three men share the carriage with you of the multisectioned vehicle. All seem to be professionals travelling from work to their homes and families, and none of them care to spare you a glance.

Leaving the network of underground travel lanes, you are greeted by the strengthened ooze of dark side energies spilling out of the old Sith temple sitting atop the city. It was built upon a nexus of the Force that was defiled and raped by ancient Sith, warping the well of energy. Despite the Sith being long dead, the nexus is still corrupted by their foul taint. On the journey, you read that it is now owned and occupied by the Prince of Thule, the monarch of the planet. He belongs to a relatively recently established monarchy, that is recent in the scale of galactic politics. Once the family was a particularly well-off trading group, their influence grew with their money, as did their hand in politics. The citizens are content with the world as it is, they are all rewarded with their share of luxury.

The police station is a large black trapezoidal prism, shorter than the bulk of the city's buildings but fatter and broader. A large dark blue Transparisteel window sits above the entrance displaying a circular symbol cut up by veins of dark metal. The light from within the building gives the glass a faintly luminescent glow. The inside of the building retains the dark rock of the outside structure. Powerful lamps sit on top of spiralling gold helixes, and weak teal lights hang from the ceiling on thin wires of gold.

Your master sits behind a desk joined by an old human, two officers stand five feet to their side and in front is a line of blue-collar workers dressed in what you presume to be their smartest attire, cradling typically golden ornaments. You walk around the desk to join the man and your master. There is a chair for you between the two. The new man introduces himself as an archaeologist specialising in ancient Sith history, he is there to confirm if the items are authentic. Then you are to examine the objects, if they are genuinely ones from the mausoleum, to see if they are tainted with the dark side of the Force. Finally, your master will check any observations you make and sign off on the decisions.

The line of people begins to move as time passes. Sometimes the line swells with an influx of new members, but generally, as time passes, it erodes. Most items are genuine, but a few deceitful men try to pass off things they falsely claim as relics. All the men who give legitimate items are rewarded with a decent number of credits provided by the Galaxy-spanning Republic. Each item passed down the table into your hands from the archaeologist is inert, promising no special qualities. Time passes, and you grow increasingly frustrated and bored, while Master Porro only shares the feeling of boredom with you. All the while the archaeologist is having the time of his life which you first found infectious, but the hours have worn that down into forgotten dust.

Finally, the line dissipates, leaving the only civilians in the room being the ones lining up to talk to officers behind different booths. The archaeologist enthusiastically wishes you well and then summarily exits the building. This buyback was a frustrating dud, you guess that the workers did not make it far into the tombs to pilfer the items truly worthwhile. Master Porro grunts at you, telling you it's time to return to the ship for the night, which surprises you, as you thought it was night when you landed. Arriving at the vessel, you take a long stretch as if to separate yourself from the earlier monotony and irritation. Porro withdraws to his quarters; after some time during the relatively young evening, you knock on his door. He opens it with an unkempt robe and a face covered in impatience, one hand grasping a pen-like device and the smell of alcohol reeks from him.

“I’m sorry master,” You apologise, aghast by his appearance. “I was wondering if you wished to do some training this evening.”

As soon as you finish your sentence, the door shuts in your face without a word, leaving you standing alone in front of a metal panel. Shocked by his dishevelled state and the potent smell of alcohol, you leave and try to process his condition.

What do you do before you sleep?

Three d20s

>Train with your Lightsaber
>Practice with the Force(Sub options below)
>>Try to improve your ability to sense the location of things through the Force
>>Learn to Force Scream
>>Learn Fore Resistance
>Write-in

No update tomorrow. I am feeling pretty ill, so that afflicted this update. I get it wasn't exaclty the most exciting update ever, but I thought some disatifation would contrast to the more interesting events coming. Maybe I should try to make every update interesting? Who knows, not me.

Regarding the choice two updates ago, about who to talk to the ">You sit alone" one would have led you talking to the daughter of the Prince of the world trying to run away from her family. Her skin is slighlty pink because she has a small amount of Sith blood still in the her veins.

Let me know your thoughts on how to improve the quest for you guys.

Rolled 6 (1d20)

>>5677466
>Train with the force [Improve our ability to sense the location of objects]

I assume this is our 3d spacial awareness, rather than locating people across planets [not yet anyway]. If it isn't, I'll swap to practicing with our saber.

As for our master, Dude. What the hell. What? What?!
There's something there, but I'm not gonna touch it.

>>5677469
Recover my dude. As for "every update interesting" that's not really tennable, the update was perfectly fine for the events covered and in keeping with your general style of writing.

Events were progressed, not in a boring manner, so all is fine.

If you've not read these books/listened to these audiobooks I recommend them:
Revenge of the Sith Novelization
https://youtu.be/MHIesTfswBA
Darth Plagueis
https://youtu.be/4i9FqGVE7jw
Darth Bane
https://youtu.be/iX0-bMDuIwk
All are on audiobook bay.

>>5677639
>I assume this is our 3d spacial awareness, rather than locating people across planets
Yeah, but it also does help with tracking in a local area. Example if there are 10 doors you can tell who is behind which one, unless they are skilled at hiding themselves in the force. Probably not explaining very well, I'm a bit addled right now.

Rolled 20 (1d20)

>>5677466
>>Try to improve your ability to sense the location of things through the Force
Could be useful

Rolled 7 (1d20)

>>5677466
>>5677774
Support

>>5677740
that is actually a good explaination.

Also >>5677774
Nice.

>>5677774
You guys have been rolling well so far, out of four rolls you've done 17, 20, 17, 20

Still feeling unwell, unlikely I will get out an update.

>>5678481
Take your time and take care

>>5678481
Stay safe

Thanks guys, I'll get out an update today.

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Confused and staggered by his discomposure, you leave the sealed doorway. You pace around the ship, never able to stop anywhere for more than a second, finding your body demanding action. Your master is a mess, and worse off, you have no doubt that he is an utterly useless Jedi. He has withdrawn from you, he has shown no interest or recognition of duty to train you; he has allowed you to wander off and drive any effective hunt of resold Sith artefacts while he was simply talking with the local police force. Huffing out a stressed breath through your nose, you continue to circle around the ugly interior of the vessel, your feet perpetual motion machines.

Running a hand through your hair, you come to a stop in what was once the craft’s cargo section. With the stock Jedi customisation, it has been turned into an empty meditation room. The floor is constructed from soft pillows that give way under each footfall. Like the rest of the Anhinga, the room is coated in the repulsive paint scheme of primarily a pea green mixed with a rainbow of colours dancing over it, blending into each other and forming balls of unpleasant brown. It seems like a mockery of the ship, as if Porro chose the ugliest design his mind could conjure.

Kicking off your shoes into the far corner, giving them an extra shunt through the Force, you walk to a wall and slide down it as you withdraw your commlink. Rhythmically tapping your thumb on the on button, but not enough to depress the switch, you look up into the ceiling with ribbons of red, blue, purple, and yellow billowing across the green undercoat. Anxious, timid and demure, a part of your mind argues not to check your messages; if you don’t check them, you won’t get confirmation that Alyla has still sent you nothing.

Finally, you compress the button to turn the small device on. Slowly your eyes sink from the roof onto the amazing wonder of technology, and see nothing, no new messages from anyone. Slipping to the floor, black thoughts sweep into your mind, spawned by your solitude. You are stuck with Porro, Alyla has thrown you aside like yesterday's news and not even Luke has reached out to you. No anger springs, but instead, it is a cold knife that pierces your chest, and you deflate like a sliced helium balloon. It steals your vigour and all other lesser emotions.

Your mind travels back to a time when you just arrived at the temple, still coarse and angry at the world, and like now, without friends. Alyla would wait outside your lessons to ambush you, trying to sneak up on you; getting you to jump in shock as she’d attack from behind with pokes and hugs. Now all you have is an aged solitary Evocii. Another deep sigh slips from your lips as you fight your body, stopping it from resuming its endless pacing around the vacant ship.

You tap her name on your commlink, setting up an empty message in text format rather than video or audio. The cursor flashes as the document remains blank. Nothing comes to mind. What can you tell her? What do you want to tell her? Insecurity gnaws at your very core. What would admitting all these feelings even achieve apart from making you look pathetic and broken? Tossing your commlink to the spot where your shoes landed, you sit with your back against the cushioned wall.

Calling the Force, you close your eyes and reach out to the world around you. Your senses reach out like tendrils unfurling, spying every object surrounding you. Reaching even wider, they snake out, touching Porro. Something is wrong with him, the usual pure white shine of a lifeform is replaced with an ill tinge to his glow. A portion of you wants to reach into him further and sense the cause of his malady, but that would alert him to your probing attempts and is likely to incur his ire with the invasion. Still, the net thrown by your expanding senses reaches out further, and you begin to sense the workers on the dock, restless with the constant flow of interstellar traffic eternally coming and going. Crawling through the city, you see thousands of pinpricks of light, each one denoting a life. Then those thousands become millions as you encompass all but the square spire of the city. Finally, you reach up to what once was the Sith Temple, built upon a Force nexus. The nexus is like a star to the lanterns that demarcate the masses of souls; poisoned by the Sith, it is a great sickly yellow-green fissure that sits above all and stares down like a great eye watching its lessers.

And there’s something else, distinct and different compared to the tainted fissure in the Force or the spirits of the living, something black, darker than the empty recess of space. It sits alone, far from the city, in isolation. You ever so gently prod at the aberration, it is malleable and pliant and so very wrong. It is like a primordial ball of black slime in a world where either light or nothingness should exist, nought else. Reaching in further, you invade the source to read and understand the alien object. Pain explodes in your hair like a grav-hammer striking the inner walls of your skull. Your body spasms and falls to the padded floor, unbeknownst to your removed mind. You are trapped by the eldritch thing, it pins you under its gargantuan weight, and invades you. Pure black barbed tendrils pierce your mental barrier, exploring your defenceless mind. It rips and tears through your memories, leaving your figure convulsing in pain as your body screams.

Then, in an instant, it disappears into nothingness. No singular dark spot sitting alone. Your mind flees away, all the while watching the area that once held the vanished black hole, and returns back to your body. Clambering to your feet, you hobble out of the room to the kitchen like a shaky young foal as your head throbs. Picking up a glass cup, you consume mug after mug of water, turning to the clock, you see the night has passed and a new day has risen.

>You want to (write-in)
>A few days have passed, and your comm screams in the middle of the night Three D20s

Not in love with this update, if I was better I feel I could do a better job but an update is an update.

Rolled 10 (1d20)

>>5679481
>You want to (write-in)
>Approach your master about what just happened.

Continue the streak, looking for a 17 or 20

Rolled 10 (1d20)

>>5679481
>A few days have passed, and your comm screams in the middle of the night Three D20s

Rolled 19 (1d20)

>>5679481
>Approach Porro about what occured after he leaves his room

May not like him, but that's weird.

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Ok, sorry, no update tonight. The last half of the previous update is due to the 20 you rolled. It has affected the story of the thread and Im trying to figure out the best way to play this out. Also I have work tomorrow and I want to sleep now. I am finding this whole questing thing is quite a bit of effort and time.
>>5679765
Good roll

>>5679495
>>5679765
Support talking to master.

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Beads of sweat trickle down your forehead, which you dab away with the sleeve of your robe. Your head pounds with a throbbing pain that slowly begins to dull. Feelings of profound violation sicken your stomach with bile caused by the invasive alien presence. How long did the thing root around in your mind, was it only a short period at the end of the night, or were you trapped in the prison of shadow for most of the night? Could it read the thoughts in your mind, or was it simply lashing out at the force that disturbed its slumber?

Stumbling around the ship, you make your way to the entry hatch and slap in the code to open the gangplank. The first time you enter in the digits, the speaker gives off a short sharp buzz as the screen flashes a red of defeat, denoting your failure to correctly type in the code. With your head aching and irritation rising, you slam your fingers into the touch screen again with a greater force, only to be rejected with another irritating buzz. You want to try again, continuing to barely look at the keypad, with more force from the jabs of your fingers but knowing it will likely continue your streak of failures; you put one hand on the wall, leaning on it whilst focusing your eyes on the screen, slowly typing the numbers in. The entrance unseals, and fresh air from the planet’s surface leaps into the ship. Taking slow and deep breaths, you allow the chill to nibble at you as the sickness retreats and the migraine subsides.

You stand at the precipice for a while, allowing your body to recover to its natural state, fighting off the nausea. Briefly, you step out into the rain, allowing it to dampen your hair and patter on your upward gazing face. Returning to the ship, you see your master exit his room, wearing what you think to be the same robes he was in last night, and gives you a confused questioning glance. He then walks deeper into the ship, to the kitchen, without a word. Following behind him, you close up the entrance of the vessel.

“Master Porro,” You call out to the figure opening the large communal fridge. He replies with a simple grunt of acknowledgement. “Master Porro, last night… Last night something happened.”

Porro puts a tray of pre-packaged food into the cooker without sparing you a look, with a mild, calm and entirely uncaring voice, he replies, “Yeah, what? Well, I guess we are all here, so whatever it is, it can't be too bad.”

“I was meditating last night and exploring with the Force. Feeling the life in the city and the nexus, and there was something, not like everything else… Like a ball of darkness sitting alone, away from the city, I couldn’t locate it.” You struggle out, trying to find the correct words to adequately explain.

“Huh, probably some corrupted Sith item, I wouldn’t worry about it Chris.” He answers while the machine that cooks his breakfast hums and the timer decreases.

“No,” Your voice raises in volume and deepens in tone due to the developing frustration you are trying to force down. “No, I reached out to it with my mind, trying to sense it, to understand it. Then it, whatever IT is, reached out to me. It penetrated my barrier, my mental ones, and got into my mind. Then disappeared after it withdrew.”

Confusion warps Porro as he watches you more closely, trying to discern whether there is truth to your story or if you are an overimaginative kid, “What? Are you sure?”

“Yes,” You boom out between clenched teeth. “I entered the meditative state after I knocked on your door last night and I don’t know where the time went. Did I spend most my time exploring the city or was it that thing in my mind that stole my night, shutting my brain down until it left. And when it burrowed into my head, it felt like my skull was on fire. When I regained control again, it was morning. And it was gone, it disappeared.”

“Ok…” Master Porro half replies, stuck in thought as his face turns pale and glazes over unfocused, not looking at where his eyes are pointing. Then he repeats, “Ok, and it isn’t there anymore? That’s interesting.”

A hand of the Evocii reaches to the rear of his head stroking a patch of his remaining hair, and he resumes talking, whether it is to you or himself, you aren’t able to tell, “Ok, so it was alone? Then likely, it was positioned in one of the recently excavated tombs. Was it a machine? Did it feel robotic or organic?”

“Machines can’t use the Force, if they could, droids would rule the galaxy,” You snort out, dismissing the idea in totality. “And let’s say they could, how would I even be able to tell? This doesn’t happen a lot to me.”

He mutters, almost out of earshot, as the device cooking his food chimes out in completion but goes unnoticed, “When dealing with ancient Sith, you never know, they managed to distort the rules of reality with their distorted powers. Ok, so, here’s what I’m thinking, we increase security at the valley containing the tombs. Get more locals to make sure nothing gets in. We call Master Ventrue and tell him to get a move on. He is leading the group of two masters and four knights that planned to be here in two weeks, he should be able to accelerate that to the end of the current week. Do you have any suggestions on what else we could do?”

You reply…

>Explore the excavated part of the tombs, none of the workers has reported anything abnormal when they entered
>Set up camp by the entrances of the tombs, so you’ll be able to react to anything faster
> Let's wait for the other Jedi
>Write-in

>>5682051
>Set up camp by the entrances of the tombs, so you’ll be able to react to anything faster

>>5682051
>>Set up camp by the entrances of the tombs, so you’ll be able to react to anything faster
>>Move our position.

While probably unnecessary, the fact of the matter is that we probably tipped something or someone off. The element of surprise is gone and we should treat the situation as a "behind enemy lines" type deal until reinforcement arrive. We may not have the best relationship at the moment, but our master is the guy in charge and we should try to stress the spook factor.

>>5682051
>Set up camp by the entrance of the tombs

This is all a reasonable person needs to do. But we are an angry child with a thirst for adventure.

>Explore the tombs

>>5682051
>Set up camp by the entrances of the tombs, so you’ll be able to react to anything faster
A base camp is always good to have.

>Set up camp by the entrances of the tombs, so you’ll be able to react to anything faster

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You nod your head in agreement, trying to piece together the parts, “I agree that it, whatever it is, is located in the valley. The excavators likely stirred the being from full slumber. Of all the Jedi that have visited this planet over the thousands of years, there is no chance I would have been the first to detect this spot of darkness unless another source has provoked it.”

Leaving your part of the awakening unspoken, out of a growing embarrassment and shame, you continue, “We need to station ourselves outside the entrances of the two partially opened mausoleums. If there is something capable of moving, then we need to be close in case it attacks the guards and then escapes.”

“No, out of the question,” Master Porro snaps out with a vigour you’ve only just now seen him possess. “If there is something there that can be considered dangerous, we’d be putting ourselves into the jaws of the proverbial Rancor. We could have our throats slit in our sleep. And then it would be free to escape without challenge.”

“It would be able to escape without challenge if it killed the local police force guarding the area. There’s no way we could know what happened in time, and if it is something weakened by age and tries stealth, we would do a much better job of catching it. Anyway, Force guides us and would not punish us to a simple death in our sleep. Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

Porro’s face contorts, not seeing any humour in your joke but a challenge; with a firmer and more confident voice, he replies, “What you say makes sense. I will get the locals to construct a small overnight outpost for us and a couple of guards so there will always be an ample presence of support. In an hour, we will leave. Get prepared for the day while I make couple of calls.”

Master Porro picks up the bowl containing his food and slips his hand into his light brown robes to extract his commlink, all the while withdrawing to a more secluded spot of the ship. Your appetite has returned with full force now that the earlier nausea is long gone, you eat a hearty breakfast to make up for the missed dinner. After hungrily devouring the fried meat and stodgy vegetables at a record pace, you cleanse yourself with a long and warm shower, removing all the sweat and grime of yesterday. Finally, you dress yourself in a pair of new robes, it is a cream-white encapsulated in a long dark black cloak.

A speeder-bike roars under you as the engine propels the tiny craft at an incredible speed, trying in a vain attempt to drown out the thunderous echoes from the rumbling storm crashing above. Jagged shards of crimson lightning continually lance down through the sky, spawning a series of delayed loud cracks. Your dark cloak billows wildly under the blue-black sky as you pass continuous waves of rolling hills. Details of the world are robbed from you as they blur from the adrenaline-inducing speed. Just in front of you is Master Porro leading you to the destination. He has informed you that he has made contact with Master Ventrue, who will be arriving with his team post-haste and that the local guard will be sending more men to the dig site as well as setting up a temporary base.

Finally, you follow Master Porro who sends his speeder into a valley located between two large hills spawned from the base of a mountain that reaches up high, piercing the dark blue clouds in the heavens. Two dozen humanoid figures circle a small stationary freighter, unloading some colourless metal sheets from the opened cargo hatch. As you approach, you notice they all are encased in militarised durasteel armour, historic emblems are forged into the torso plates of the dark purple armour. All of the beings cradle rifles in their hands or have them strapped to their backs.

Coming alongside the battle-ready police, Porro greets them and asks for an update. A man you believe to be the commanding officer informs the pair of you that they will be using the metal slabs to construct the camp, the ones they are removing from the ship to construct a shelter. He continues that no one has approached the valley, also that all the men excavating the site will not be returning to resume their work until the other Jedi arrive. As Porro continues the conversation with the man, you help the other men craft the structure. With the Force, you lift the sheets and allow them to snap together with energised grips while the officers achieve it at a slower rate with their hands. Together you make a large featureless metal shack out of the prefab pieces. From the small conversations you make, you get the feel of them, they are a pleasant enough people with a solid adherence to discipline that you would guess stretches to rigorous training.

At first, you missed the two entrances to the half-exposed mausoleums. Sprouting from churned mud, encircled by the turquoise grass, both structures are bone white, blemished by spots of brown dirt that have yet to be entirely removed. The parts that are exposed retreat into the tall grassy hills behind them, which promise of the much grander structure yet to be fully uncovered. What has been revealed is made of large angular blocks of bleached stone.

One of the two entrances exposed displays a mural of countless broken and defeated bodies etched into the flat stone. Swords and Lightsabers are clenched in death grips, sitting uselessly by their deceased owners, or buried in ruined bodies. There is a large figure standing above the now blasted and cleared entrance, it is a humanoid that dwarfs the dead he stands over. In one hand, he holds an unremarkable Lightsaber that points outwards to you, the viewer.

The other burial chamber is a similar shape, sitting across the valley on the opposite side, but more buried in ancient dirt than its twin. Still, you manage to make out a woman levitating in a sea of diamond stars, with the greatest of all behind her. From her fingertips spill waterfalls of lightning. At the very base of the grave, you see heads of warped reptilian beasts roaring up into the sky in unison. The entrance is moderately blocked by its own partial collapse.

Which tomb catches your eye?

>The man holding a Lightsaber
>The woman with lightning spilling out of her fingers

As the day passes, do you keep guard or do something else?

>Stand guard
>Write-in

Sorry for being shit guys, life is just busy with work and everything else exhausting me

>>5684870
>The man holding a Lightsaber
>Stand guard

>>5684870
>>Stand guard
>The man holding a Lightsaber

While lighting is cool, cutting a bubble in the rain with a lightsaber is cooler.

>>5685282
Bane fan? I like him, but my favourite is Darth Plagueis. If you chose Sojourn at the start of the thread you would have discovered his old facility and possibly a holocron.

>>5684870
Thoguht I posted hours ago

>Man holding lightsaber
Because this is just. . infinitely more interesting character wise than sorcery. Everyone wants sorcery.

>>5685606
And I think. .

>Practice our lightsaber forms

it's a way to keep active and stand guard. Surely nothing will happen if we spend an hour training.

testing [i]if I can still[/i] italicise

>>5685826
testing [i]if I can still[/i] italicise

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Your eyes keep returning to the mausoleum, the one which displays hundreds of defeated and dead foes, as if they are drawn by gravitational forces. Walking closer to the half-buried stone structure as if hypnotised, your eyes drink in even greater detail. Corpses of Near-Humans graffitied the otherwise unblemished sheet of rock. Some have their necks severed with their heads nearby, others have bisecting cuts across their torso or clean holes bored into their body in fatal locations; the only thing they share in common is the ugly pained death masks their faces are contorted into. The tall figure standing directly over the entrance is locked in a pose displaying his strength and power, his face filled with fiery pride and arrogant wrath. A simple and unostentatious crown sits upon his bald head in stark contrast to the grand crypt his body is entombed within, or the gaudy armour that encases his body.

With your index finger, you trace some of the indentations of the mural, feeling the groves under your digit. The storm above goes unheard, and the rain that bombards your head goes unfelt. An entrance of this tomb has been carved by explosives, and the debris has been removed and is piled beside the hole. Gazing into the cavity, you see nothing of the interior, only an unending world of darkness. Creeping closer, you stand at the mouth, trying to spot anything in the gloom. Finally, after a long period of unsuccessful intense staring, you retreat to the camp.

You start practising Form Three in the open valley as the droplets from heaven soak your hair and roll down off your waterproof cloak. The blades hiss like a feral serpent from the rain striking the swords constructed of pure light. Moving from defensive stance to stance, your Lightsabers parry blows from an imagined enemy. Master Porro spends much of the time meditating, then finally he spies you duelling an invisible foe, then joins in. The pair of you share no words but practise techniques alongside each other. Neither of you push yourself to exhaustion, enjoying the slow fluid motions.

Darkness begins to grow, the dim blue sky blackens into shadow with the passing of time. The troops on watch project light from their helmet and guns. Standing solitary in the vale the metal camp, assembled from panels from the long-departed ship, spews an intense beam into the night from a large torch. You retire into the building, consuming one of the packaged meals gifted to you by a member of the security force. Making conversation, you spend your final waking hour of the day telling and listening to stories with the men. Finally, you close your eyes for sleep.

_____

You lost. Your people lost. Sadow lost. Angry gold metallic boots slam against the metal flooring below with scarcely contained inconsolable fury, the clangs that would enunciate your presence go unheard by the uninhabited ship. Through the Transparisteel bridge windows, you see the blue sphere below afflicted with continent-spanning storms. A large holoscreen displays a message that you have been replaying constantly since its arrival. Above the planet of Thule, your hulking battleship sits battle-scarred with countless superficial turbolaser wounds marring her worn hull. Isolated and abandoned in the empty void of space, there are no other vessels in the forgotten system.

The crew of the gargantuan warship, as have the passengers, or are they now refugees, have been safely transported to the surface of the barren planet. This was your final order, to gather all your kin that you could collect and bring them to this haven. Free of the genocide decreed by the Republic, spearheaded by the Jedi, the one currently inflicted on your people throughout your now-dead empire. Your heart screams to return to Korriban, to continue the fight and save your people. But all it would do is allow you to momentarily inflict your hatred and pain onto the Republic soldiers before your ship gets turned into chunks of metal slag, achieving nothing. You are here to deliver your people to safety and construct a sanctuary for your species out of this sterile world; you are now the guardian of your people, you can not throw your life away on your own childish desire.

During the fighting, millions have died under your command in this short war only for this servile defeat. And not just slaves from lesser races, but your people, the ones who you share blood with and call kin, the Sith. Thousands have been felled by your Lightsaber alone, along with hundreds of Jedi that falsely profess true knowledge of the Force. None have come close to matching your expert swordsmanship. Yet it was not enough. They call you monster and barbarian, saying your brain belongs to a savage, yet it was not your kind that initiated the war. The Republic sent those spies to Korriban, then when the spies got uncovered and jailed, the Republic slaughtered all in the way to recover their intelligence assets.

Your hands spasm in impotent rage as if the emotion is trying to burrow out of your body. Stomping through the ship, you return to her, your captive Jedi Master. A naked figure hangs from the ceiling bound in razor wire, each minuscule movement spawns new beads of blood that flow down the body of the human woman. She looks at you meekly from her lidless eyes, the ones you have carved off her face, without making a sound and trying to hide a wince of horror. You are unsure if you plan to reattach them. In these last few months, she has been an excellent stress relief tool; you have been cutting pieces off her and reattaching them. Typically, you skin her with a dagger that has been gifted down the centuries through your family, you remove her face and present it to her skeletal features before forcing her to gaze into a mirror reflecting her ghoulish visage.

She is utterly broken between her life of eternal torture and rape you inflict upon her. You even managed to get her to execute her Padawan and then eat some of the cadaver, which you then quickly broadcasted across the holonet. She was once so strong, so proud, and so powerful, but now she is your slave, tool, your vanquished ever-obedient servant. The medical supplies you’ve been using to regraft the flesh you’ve been slicing from her body are beginning to run low. You will have to decide soon if you wish to permanently maim her or induct her into becoming some sort of enforcer of yours. Toying with the thought, you pick up the knife as you approach the body quaking in terror.

_____

The nightmare ends as you return to your body, a sickness fills you to your very core. You retch over the side of your raised bunk bed, thankfully not spewing the contents of your stomach. Then through the darkness and storm, a howling scream of unbridled pain tears through the night.

Three d20s please

Rolled 1 (1d20)

>>5685858

Rolled 15 (1d20)

>>5685858
Oh my

>>5685874
Oh no

Rolled 10 (1d20)

>>5685858
Damn, that sith is a true edgelord.
Must be really strong in dark side.

Sorry guys no update today, utterly shattered from work.

>>5686126
Tulak Hord, unless I'm mistaken.

The best sith duelist ever recorded and noted rival of Naga Sadow.

>>5686397
I feel that.

>>5686401
>rival of Naga Sadow
Wasn't that Ludo Kressh? I thought Hord died before the Great Hyperspace War?

>>5686397
Sorry going to delay it to tomorrow again, same reason, I'll try to write during work if it is quiet to make up for it.

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The scream rings out again, this time weaker, broken by incredible pain. The overwhelming presence of the dark side surrounds you, clogging up your senses. The awesome murky manifestation clings to your every pore. Like a thick sludge smothering you, you can feel nothing in the Force apart from the miasma and agony from the wounds inflicted on one of your security detail. Inside your steel silver prefabricated metal shack, the world is dim, low powered lights gently illuminate small sections of the building, allowing those in cots to slumber. Bodies fill their beds; none look perturbed by some source of evil, nor is there blood or any other signs of injury.

Without a second’s hesitation, you spring to your feet, both Lightsaber hilts in hand. You do not activate them, doing so in such a tight-knit space with sleeping forms of your allies surrounding you, could spell panic and disaster when you wake them. Seeing your master on one of the bottom bunks, you give him a rough push with one of your Lightsaber-gripped hands. All care for gentleness or respect for the middle-aged fat man has been robbed by the emergency of the screams and the overwhelming tide of the dark side. Like you, he has spent what time he has passed sleeping fully dressed in ceremonial robes, similar to the guard who wear all but their bulky metal armour.

Porro’s once sleeping form rolls over to face you, his face drained with an ancient horror. Either he shared the nightmare with you, or the all-encompassing shroud of dark side essence has injected him with utter dread. His eyes are wide and focus in on your face, his still wears a mask of unrecognising fear. After a brief moment, his lack of recognition subsides as he identifies your face as one of an ally or at least not an enemy. Joining you, he rapidly rises to stand beside you, his Lightsaber remaining off but firmly gripped under white knuckles. His brown furrows as he takes stock of his surroundings.

“Men,” He loudly barks out, assisted by the Force, the ear ringing sound wakes all the men in the building. “To your feet and grab your blasters.”

To the credit of the men, they show no confusion or wariness in taking these new orders from this stranger they have met less than twenty-four hours ago. Almost in unison, they quickly retrieve their weapons and begin to clip on the sturdy durasteel armour, this is allowed by having the segmented pieces link swiftly with grav-clamps. In less than three minutes, you have a squad of eighteen men fully dressed in their fearsome battle regalia, with indicator lights on their weapons glowing a hungry green. All of the twenty-man platoon stand at attention, except two missing officers that were meant to be on watch whilst you slept. No trace of the pair is found within the impromptu barracks, nor can you spot any signs through the frame of the door leading to the outside world. One of the men turns on the large, mounted spotlight that traces along the grassy valley to spot any sign of distress.

Charging into the open, you are buffeted by a mighty gale that tries to rip you off your feet and into its embrace. Continuous crashing spears of blood-red lightning slam down onto the terrain, fleetingly flashing the pitch-black world crimson. In those momentarily periods, the darkness recedes, and the world once again becomes visible. The herculean forks of energy slam into the valley with the regularity of the raindrops that fall in never-ending streams. You can taste the ozone in the air from the barbs of electricity thumping into the ground around you.

Through the Force, you can feel the source of the pain, suffering and death. That same tarry black presence that assaulted you before. You and Master Porro run side-by-side, unassisted by the Force, allowing the police to stay on your heels. The darkness beckons to you, calling you closer, and you oblige it, seeking out the source and the injured troopers desperate for your help. Your sibling Lightsabers spring to life, cleaving through the darkness and painting you a deep blue. Your master, Master Porro, ignites his single saber, bathing him in yellow. Leading the troops, the pair of you follow the trail of the foul corrupted energy into the mausoleum of the Sith Lord standing triumphantly over the slew of countless dead he single-handedly slain.

Entering the tunnel, you allow your raised Lightsabers to be used as torches, forcing back the embrace of darkness. As soon as you enter the shrine of the dead Sith, you see a slumped form in royal purple armour, a single neat hole has been cut through his torso where his heart should be. The clean-cut wound is doubtlessly the work of a Lightsaber. Beside him lies a second limp body, the last of your missing troopers, this time, his helmeted head lies feet away from his unmoving body. Without time to take a second look at either cadaver, you focus on the two streams of red killing blaster bolts that have been spawned into exsistance and hurtle at you, your master, and the troopers behind.

The first three ruby red bursts of particle beam you catch on your Lightsabers, they ricochet into the walls and ceiling unguided. By the time the fourth one darts towards you, your shock has evaporated, and you’ve managed to centre yourself. With a practised ease, you direct the round to travel back towards the person firing at you with a blaster. Your master swings his sword with an overhead downward arc, similarly throwing back a blaster round at the second figure in the darkness letting loose with his weapon. Within a second of entering, two more men wearing shabby robes fall to the ground and lay dead, joining your deceased comrades slumped on the floor.

Around you, the walls are the same immaculate white as the exterior, untouched by dust or nor gnawed by time. A shoulder-high strip displays some sprawling scene, a mural of a long forgotten past, it is something you do not focus on as new echoing blaster fire steals your attention. Shots rattle off with an intense, frenzied panic located deeper within the structure. Without hesitation, you drive forwards, leaving the freshly slain men behind, advancing past your master, who has fallen a step behind. Continuing deeper, you pass hundreds of human-sized statues, all wearing death masks consumed in agony or horror, some have their heads by their feet, many have deep, fatal slashes cutting what would be killing blows, and others are crucified, skinned or have been killed in a myriad of other less common ways.

Finally, you reach the heart of the tomb, and the manic firing is now dead. Severed body parts have strewn across the floor, littering it with gore, a dozen men have been butchered by a blade of plasma. In the centre of the great hall is a pair of beings, duelling under a grand statue that would dwarf a freighter. One of the beings is robed in black, no inch of his body exposed, grasping an orange Lightsaber, desperately parrying strikes from his vastly superior opponent, using wild broad sweeps to catch the red blade spearing out at him. His opponent is an etheric being, a light-blue spirit lazily throwing out half-hearted strikes that would hard-press a Master. Cheek tendrils hang off the ghostly face, which was once coloured a potent crimson. Ethereal gold armour adorns the spectral figure as his phantom cloak flutters in a false breeze. The apparition gifts a sickly smile towards you and Master Porro, barely noticing the man he is drawing blade against. With a single downwards swish of his index digit, he points towards the ceiling of the tunnel, which you exited to enter the central burial room, which collapses. Hail of pale boulders fall, crushing and killing a half dozen men following behind you, leaving only you, Master Porro, the spectre, and the man garbed in black remaining in the room.

The man wielding the orange blade hisses with an audible strain in his voice, “They are here, we need to work together. I can save you.”

“No, it is you who needs to work together. Even in my diminished state you and those two Jedi are to me as an ant is to a star.” A cruel and hateful laugh booms around the room as the spirit strikes with an aggressive flurry full of terrible wrath, forcing the man wielding an orange Lightsaber stumbling back as he is forced to retreat, before the apparition effortlessly impales the living man’s left shoulder. The supernatural being calls out to you and Porro in a voice that pierces your skull, while the wounded man cradles his injury, barely supressing an animalistic howl, “Come face me, join this welp, give me some joy before I slay you.”

Looking at Master Porro, whose face is tight and firm, filled with concentration, you…

Roll three d20s please

>Use the Force to shift the rubble behind you in an attempt to escape
>Join the man fighting the spirit of the long dead Sith Lord

Rolled 17 (1d20)

>>5688143
>Join the man fighting the spirit of the long dead Sith Lord

Rolled 2 (1d20)

>>5688143
>Join the man fighting the spirit of the long dead Sith Lord
Time for us to die

Rolled 4 (1d10)

>>5688143
>Join the man fighting the spirit.

We could probably use more than just our saber here.

Rolled 2 (1d20)

>>5688331
dangit

I can't believe you baited us with a qt tomboy waifu/big sister like that Stumbling. All that time building her up and then - boom - we've got some washed up drunk of a Jedi master. If you wanted to make your audience identify with the protagonists shock and disappoitment then you did a good job.

You even built up to our lightsabers coming from the same stalagmite as hers. I mean, damn.

>>5688143
>>5688143
>>Join the man fighting the spirit of the long dead Sith Lord

>>5688377
>Idenfitying with the protagonist of shock and disappointment

Near everyone at the time looked at the whole deal and went "Yep, that's the reasonable and logical thing to do. The grandmaster isn't stupid."

Not too concerned being honest with you, She'll crop up again at some point in the future and we can have those promised adventures when buddy boy here can keep it in his pants.

>>5688379
I was one of those ones, our boy was too attached to her. And I do agree she probably will show up again, maybe after we graduate from padawanhood.
My only disappointment is finding out the Porro is a washed out drunk, but I have a feeling this was a plan of grandmaster to try and have him better himself by giving him new responsabilities.

>>5688403
Porro is a pooro choice of master. I'm not sure how to feel about being used to hogwarts a teacher into shape rather than be aided and advanced by the teacher.

But hey, until now we've only seen that he wants little to do with us beyond prefunctionary duties, is afraid of danger for some reason and a drunk.
Probably traumatised by something, they don't let jedi become knights without passing a trial of bravery. I also don't think he's old enough to have gotten complacent and learned fear through complacency.

We're now faced with two sith, one a ghost and one very much alive if not very attained, And his padawan just jumped right in with a lightsaber to duel the ancient masters of swordplay. This will show his true self or nothing will.

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No update today as usual on Thursdays, if you dont remember on Thursdays I consume free drinks in office, had like five pints of wine which is a lot for me and ive been singing loudly on the train home and hassling people with unwanted conversations. Anyway what Im trying to say is no updates tonight and you guys are great.

>>5688379
I wasn't saying that as a criticism at all, just a good twist.
And yeah, from an in-universe perspective it's absolutely the right call. Assigning a lovestruck padwan to the jedi knight he's been crushing on since his rescue from slavery would be even worse than ordering a lovestruck jedi knight to bodyguard the galactic senator he's been crushing on since his rescue from slavery.

Interested to see what Porro's deal is.

>>5688723
You're great too buddy.

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Flight will not save you; the collapsed entrance will take too long to clear, and your efforts would be crushed by the overwhelming power of the ancient Sith Lord. All you can do is continue forwards into the fight and trust that the Force will guide you, and that the numerical advantage will hopefully even the odds. All any of you would need is just one lucky blow, and you could subdue this living memory from the archaic past. With any luck, Master Porro could hide an impressive secret skill with Lightsabers, the thought almost causes a chuckle to escape your lips.

The room is poorly illuminated, the Lightsabers alone would not have sufficed to bathe the expansive space in light. Bulky industrial but man-portable torches litter the floor by the mutilated cadavers that called the man robed in black an ally. They haphazardly spew light onto the smooth sandstone walls, which then reflect, giving the rest of the room a low illumination level. Low, but enough to see in, especially for one gifted in the Force. More statues of the many defeated foes litter the room. But unlike the rows of them that stand alone on the journey to the Lord's Chamber, they coalesce into a diorama of mortally wounded bronze bodies. Some bow in supplication; in contrast, there are those recoiling in horror, others are hoisted onto long spears, and there is a pair locked in an embrace, hands wrapped around the other's throat.

Empowering yourself with the Force, time slows as you bolt forwards like a projectile flung from a slug thrower. Each enhanced footfall sends you forward towards the battle dozens of meters at a time, and within an instant, you have crossed the great resting place of the prodigious Sith. Your cape comes off cleanly, it flaps in the gale your speed creates and slovenly falls to the ground. Before you, the two Force wielders battle, the revenant is overpowering his much younger kin with uninterested ease. The living dark side practitioner’s wounded shoulder glows an aggressive yellow around the clean hole that travels through both ends of his shoulder joint. Around the wound, his tattered black robes have curled up as if they are some leaf long deprived of moisture. Charred black skin is visible through the ruined portion of his clothes, proving that indeed there is a living being under the midnight black cloth.

Waves of pure dark energy radiate from the ghostly pale figure; it buffets you with rays that gnaw into your flesh and taints your core. Poisoning the fountain of Force within yourself, your connection with the rhythm of the universe is out of tune with your senses, the ones perverted by the outflow of power from the presence of the apparition. Being so close to the soul that rejected death stabs at you with daggers of unease, filling your head with biting thoughts that inflict distraction and distrust in your own ability.

Master Porro follows you a step behind, he mirrors you by similarly using the Force is granting his every movement an incredible speed. He, too, loses his long cloak in the rapid sprint. The wounded living being wielding the orange Lightsaber goes on the offensive, momentarily pushing through the withering blows the ghost throws his way. You and Porro send a torrent of deadly skilful slashes and thrusts towards the venerable being. Outnumbered and receiving an incredible number of blows from his three enemies, the Sith lazily retreats, wholly unfazed by the situation being the subject of this group assault.

The Sith catches one of your Force-empowered blows racing at a speed of a swoop bike and guides your Lightsaber into the path of Master Porro, who has to rapidly cancel the attack he was about to loose on the Sith. “You three are pitiful, during the war, I fought Padawans more fearsome than you. If you aren’t going to entertain me, then I will just start killing you.”

He breaks the barrage of blows with strong Djem So replies, you catch the downward strike that would bisect you between both of your twin blue Lightsabers. When the red bar of anger strikes your blades, you can taste the festering hatred behind the blow. The force behind the attack throws you off your feet, it is a great shock to you, but you manage to centre yourself before you land and leap back into the fray. Porro isn’t as fortunate, the blow the Sith throws at him effortlessly cuts through his defensive guard and slices into his paunch belly, sending the aged Master to the floor screaming in agony as he clenches his gut in pure pain.

Facing the man wielding the orange Lightsaber, the Sith grasps his opponent's Lightsaber-wielding wrists in his etheric golden gauntleted hand. A high pitch wail echoes in the hall as the dark-robed man’s knees buckle in pain, and the Lightsaber uselessly falls from his grasp. Mad fingers try in vain to pry the digits of the gauntlet off as you re-join the fight. In a controlled flurry, you send out lightning snaps of blue plasma diving at the vital areas of the unliving relic from a past long gone. None find their mark, he parries all of your blows without sparing you a cursitory glance, focusing on the being that writhes in his grip.

A loud crack of ripping wood echoes around the room as the forearm the Sith was gripping explodes into a paste of crushed gore and bone, “You come here to steal my knowledge, to make me a slave and call me brother? My people were exterminated by the ever-honourable Jedi in the name of peace. I have no kin, they are long dead, and I am their vengeance. You dare to name me family? I am Blademaster of Horuset, Lord Merek, scourge of Jedi. I will not accede to your pathetic order and I shall make you die a slow death in extreme pain.”

Lord Merek sends out a violent kick to the ribs of his downed foe, throwing the wailing creature across the floor, still entirely unfocused on you. With one blade, you aim low, to server an Achilles tendon. Twinned with the speed gifted to you by the Force ability, the Lightsaber strikes out like a viper. The other Lightsaber you grasp lances towards his unprotected head. And in the Force, you see it before it happens. You witness him blocking the blow to his leg whilst desperately trying to halt the stab to his head with a hand. And your vision comes true, he deflects the attack to his legs with his crackling red blade the colour of tainted blood. With pride, you watch as his gauntleted hand goes to futilely block the bar of blue plasma diving toward his head, waiting for the moment your Lightsaber bores a hole through his hand, then his ghostly skull.

The glowing blue blade hits Lord Merek’s opened palm but halts, causing no damage. He grasps the burning blue plasma in his gold gauntlet and then rips it out of your grip with a force you cannot hope to match. With a titanic backhanded swipe, the metal glove powerfully strikes your face. The studded rubies embedded into the knuckles of the fist cut four jagged lines across your face, sending you reeling back under the strength. Porro returns to the battle, interrupting a follow-up attack from Merek that was surely coming. He is as a child to Merek’s mastery. Turning towards the old Evocii, the red Lightsaber dances through his guard, creating scores of superficial wounds on the faltering Master.

“Master Porro,” The Sith booms out with pride as he continues to carve new superficial wounds into Porro’s flesh. “You are a sorry excuse for a Jedi, let alone a Master. Your connection with the Force is lacking to the point where I have met children stronger than you, and your skills with the Lightsaber do not even equal your juvenile apprentice. So consumed in your addictions, you are a shadow of a man, let alone a Jedi. I have no idea why the council would gift someone so pitiful such a promising apprentice.”

A blur of crimson light flashes. Master Porro begins to fall to the rock floor, as does his left leg but it falls freely and unattached to his body. Pushing out with a flat palm, Lord Merek throws the now crippled Jedi Master into the stone wall with an awesome velocity. Porro collides with the wall, his head audibly cracking against the once flawless block. Leaving his limp body to slump and draw a red smear trailing down the rock.

“You are quite a prodigy, boy,” The wizened Sith speaks with an unmistakable joy dripping from his voice as he approaches you, the only one of the trio left combat capable, as the Force returns your dropped Lightsaber to your hand. “But there’s no chance you walk out of this alive Christopher… That is unless you harness your hatred, I feel so much of it in you. I’ve felt the darkness that lies behind your skin, the darkness you hide from yourself, when I scoured your memories. Maybe you can live if you harness that power. But if you don’t, after I defeat you, I might go after Turok, I might skin him like the animal he is and sew you into his flesh. I might find your friend Luke and emasculate him, then stuff his wound with Razor-Worms. And Alyla, such a beautiful young girl, full of life, I might give her a visit. The things I would do to her… And for every second of her torture, you’d be forced to bear witness. But maybe you can stop me by calling on the power of the dark side of the Force.”

His intent is clear and poorly veiled, out of likely a lack of care. Merek wants you to taste the dark side and use it to fuel your battle. And a part of you demands to draw on the rage growing, spawned from his vile words, but that isn’t you, you will not succumb to this hatred, right?

>Dig deep from your well of hatred, this revenant will die a second death
>You are a Jedi, who was saved by a Jedi, and you idolise the Jedi. You will not betray everything you are and everything you love for Merek’s pleasure

>>5690214
>You are a Jedi, who was saved by a Jedi, and you idolise the Jedi. You will not betray everything you are and everything you love for Merek’s pleasure
Giving in to the dark side would be just as harmful to the people we care about. We will not betray them. We can endure and hold strong for their sake to defeat this ghost.

>>5690214
>We are a Jedi. We are of the jedi, love the jedi and saved by the Jedi.

We are a jedi (Like our rescuer before us). Try and centre ourselves, and resume the battle.

Also, holy hell, a blademaster.

>>5690467
Too add onto this, I've no idea if any of the wisdom of Yoda and his sort of teaching have survived this long but we could retort with something along the lines of

"The darkside is quick and easy power. That doesn't make it powerful, only expedient."

>>5690214
>You are a Jedi, who was saved by a Jedi, and you idolise the Jedi. You will not betray everything you are and everything you love for Merek’s pleasure

Only cowards and weaklings take the easy road at the first sign of death. 1 minute of constant restraint and measure is worth 1 year of a Sith's emotional infantile crutch.

>>5690214
>You are a Jedi, who was saved by a Jedi, and you idolise the Jedi. You will not betray everything you are and everything you love for Merek’s pleasure

Having a slew of computer and internet issues, no update tonight

>>5690214
>You are a Jedi, who was saved by a Jedi, and you idolise the Jedi. You will not betray everything you are and everything you love for Merek’s pleasure

Welp we are probably gonna lose an arm but using the Dark Side is the equivalent of putting another collar in our neck

>>5690214
>You are a Jedi, who was saved by a Jedi, and you idolise the Jedi. You will not betray everything you are and everything you love for Merek’s pleasure

Power should never be easy to gain, it is better to work for it, than be seduced by a dark voice demanding it.

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“You think I will bow to your every whim at the threat of death?” You growl out at the hateful apparition. “The dark side is quick and easy power. That doesn't make it powerful, only expedient.”

“Is that so? Show me the folly of my ways, youngling.” The ancient creature replies with mirth in his heavily accented voice.

He throws himself at you with his very real Lightsaber gripped in his ghostly hands, Merek’s leap leads him to a vicious overhead strike that slams into the Lightsabers you could only just raise in time. The immense force throws you to the ground knocking the wind from your lungs. Only through the Force are you able to shield yourself from the pain and shock. As you hit the floor, you roll away, dodging all the blows Merek will doubtless throw at your prone form. At the end of the third roll, you spring yourself off to your feet, raising both blades in a defensive stance. As you recover to a standing position, you see the apparition just watching and smiling.

Bursts of eldritch blue flames are birthed from the darkness at the very end of the expansive burial chamber. Two more spring to life but this time closer, each pyre is contained within hanging lamps of gold shimmering in the gloom. With a following whooshes, the whole room is bathed in the sapphire light as the torches of the dead are crushed within Lord Merek’s invisible grip. Letters from a language you cannot understand are drawn onto the walls by the light escaping the carved holes in the hanging lamps. If not for the battle against a foe that is easily your superior, you would be enthralled by the beauty and mysticism of the room.

“I am glad,” The Sith tells you. “That is, I am glad you do not call upon your hate. A few minor threats and your certain death seem such a small trade for rejecting the worldview you’ve built your life around. Keep that stubbornness, reject others trying to mould you into what they desire.”

A muted shaking whimper exits the lips of the robed man who clutches his bloody stump, the one which was once his forearm, to which Lord Merek just sniggers as he slowly walks to you. Springing forwards again, the Sith holds his blade with both hands above his head, prepared to repeat the powerful downward slash. Your Shoto blade is raised to catch it while your full Lightsaber recoils back like a felinid ready to pounce. But as he falls upon you, his Lightsaber rapidly swings low, aiming at your legs while a paw of his glove knocks away the Lightsaber spearing to his torso. You jump, avoiding the crippling blow and beat down upon him with both your blue blades, which he catches with an overhead guard.

The pair of you trade blows, you avoid all you can. Trying to dodge the attacks rather than suffer under the extreme strength. You pour all your focus and energy into battling the being driven to your death. You cannot feel the beads of sweat at your brow or the ones rolling down your back, all you can do is focus on the flashing red inferno of his blade. He switches from form to form, forcing you into increasingly desperate and poorly constructed defences. Each thunderous blow you are forced to parry eats away at your diminishing strength. And then you notice the worst thing about this private duel, he is getting faster. As you wither under the blows, he begins to remove the playful limit he has restricted himself to.

Then you feel a rising power in the Force, a second lesser dark star of corrupted Force energies. Withdrawing from Merek, you see the figure with a ruined stump of an arm with shards of a crushed purple gem peeking out of his clenched and bloody fist. A torrent of electricity pours out of the fist towards the Sith Lord. Shock evident on his face, Merek instantly raises his blade, catching the deluge of cackling purple on his ruby Lightsaber. After a second of adaptation, tendrils of crimson sparks flow out of his free hand and charge headlong into the flood of attacking purple. The two storms of pure hate wrestle with each other, fighting for dominance. But the lightning produced by the cripple on the floor retreats under the power of the ever-increasing strength of the red bolts, which mirror the ones birthed by the skies of Thule.

Flesh melts as the red webs of electrical energy buries into the meat of the spasming body on the floor. Fire sparks on the dark cloak of the form as the lightning causes the figure to spasm even in death. Taking the distraction with gratitude, you begin to sneak over to your master, making sure to keep your footsteps as quiet as possible while the ghost approaches and studies his dead opponent. Before you manage to reach Master Porro, Lord Merek draws the blue fire from a nearby lantern into a serpent, and has it devour the dead Force wielder, engulfing the body in flames.

“That was interesting,” He muses with an only partially interested voice. “But I do not know where you think you are going young Christopher, I have not finished with you yet.”

The dark lord turns around to face you as you whip into a futile Soresu pose with both sibling Lightsabers raised. “Not quite, you see, I have reached my senses into your future. I see so much death, billions burning in pounding turbolasers streaming from the sky like endless droplets of rain. Debris of a thousand cadavers of once mighty vessels, spilling millions of corpses as they float in the cold depths of space for eternity onwards. I can not tell what role you will take in this grand play, but it is one I will not rob from the galaxy; who knows, you might even be the one to cause it.”

A rumble of rock scraping against stone echoes through the now quiet chamber. At the far end of the hall, you see the raised plinth holding a simple stone sarcophagus. It is decorated with crude etchings of the story of Lord Merek, but the distance robs the details from your sight. Slowly the lid slides off, all the while dust spewing from the action. Three objects float from the box to the Sith Lord; one, the golden ruby-encrusted gauntlets that his revenant forms a simulacrum of. There also hangs an ancient, black-bound book that has existed before the modern incarnation of the Republic. The last of the archaic objects is a tiny golden oval the size of the tip of your thumb.

“You may leave, with your master. You have shown yourself skilled, and as I’ve said, I will not steal the galaxy of such a future. I offer you generous gifts of your choosing, treasures of mine from when I was still living, all are invaluable in different ways.” Says the ghost with a wolf-like smile; from just Merek’s face, you can tell that there is an answer he is hungry for you to give.

You choose…

>The gauntlets
>The book
>The golden pebble
>To reject his offer
>Write-in

>>5691863
>To reject his offer
>"We both already know the answer I'll give."

>>5691863
>>5691877
Support.

Screw poisoned gifts, Christopher doesn't need that

>>5691877
>Support

Terrifying. Simply terrifying.

Oh if you chose the force user here >>5684870 there would have been a living Sith mutated with alchemy, I was thinking maybe a snake like tail similar to a lamia, suspended in torpor sustained in a well or sarcophagus of blood. But as you didn't so she is long dead.

>>5692066
thanks for letting us know.

I'll be honest, the blademasters have always been better to me than alchemists and sorcerers. The others are more directly powerful, no doubt but there's something special about being THAT GOOD at such a widely used skill that's enchanting.

It also mirrors with Chris and his proclivity.

Just so you know, because you would in character, while probably a wise move, Merek won't be particularly happy with you rejecting his most treasured tools.

>>5692359
I imagined that he would, and also that he wants us to reject it so he can justify to himself to hurt us.
But the right answer is not always the easy one.

>>5691863
>>5691877
Based anon, supporting.

>>5692394
Ok, cool just checking.

>>5692359
Well. as an easy reply

>"I'm not going to be moulded by you and your legacy"
Throw his words back in his face. He either draws his blade again or he lets us leave or he cuts out a few more pieces of our master for the defiance.

I'm partly- Actually.

Changing >>5691973
>For my Boon, I'll ask for the Sith's life.

If he isn't dead yet, then we can put him into custody.

>>5692489
While I'm here, I may as well speculate.

The book holds his knowledge of either alchemy or blade techniques. It's the repository of his knowledge.

The gauntlets are obviously weapons, alchemically enhanced to better suit a warrior and probably with their own enhancements that could damage us.

The golden pebble is. . . something I'm unsure of, but I'd put my money on a talismen of some description. A talismen of a container.

>>5691863
>The book

Phoneposting, I got banned for some stupid reason. I'll try to appeal appeal the ban and get out the update tomorrow, it'll be the last update of the thread.

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"We both already know the answer I'll give." Your firm, deep voice booms out, echoing down the vacuous hall as you give the ancient Sith a cold glare of disgust.

The ghost's face warps from the predatory grin to an emotionless blank slate. “You would reject my greatest treasures? You would insult me when I give you your life. You are a brave young Jedi.”

Slowly the glowing items, painted blue by the hanging lanterns, that float in front of Lord Merek rise above his head and retreat into the coffin. He stares at you all the while, never adverting his eyes that bore into yours as the objects glide back. You fight not to rip your vision away, to watch Lord Merek’s belongings retreat from whence they came. The ancient Sith studies you, deep in thought, about something you cannot divine. As the objects gracefully fall into the coffin, there is no sound of scraping rock from a closing casket, instead, it continues to sit wide open.

“When I went through your mind, I noticed you know nothing of my peoples’ language. I shall gift you with some knowledge of it.” Sneers the Sith Lord, his face contorted in unveiled hatred.

“I want nothing from you.” You reply simply, without allowing any external factors to upset your placid state or at least your appearance of it.

“This is something I insist upon,” Hisses out Lord Merek, his eyes viper’s slits. Then his voice grows quiet, and his eyes shut as he begins to monologue of his past, recalling it with every word, speaking more to himself than to you. “The walls are painted in the light of the lamps displaying my long story. My rise to power, the way I slew my brother in an honour duel to take his wife, my wife, Lacata. I conquered world after world of primitives and lesser creatures. For my service, I was gifted five moons and a planet. I was going to gift my infant sons each their own moon, allowing them to grow to become great men like myself.”

“Then the virtuous Jedi attacked.” Merek breaks from his solemn remembrance back into the hateful glare, his voice dripping with venom. “I led my raiding fleet through the outer worlds of the Republic, subjugating them under my banner as Sadow drove his knife to the heart of the Republic. I hunted down Jedi enclaves and butchered the Jedi with my blade, hundreds of them and dozens of Masters. Then Sadow lost, fleeing back to Korriban, I received the signal late and was far from any major hyperlane. It took me time to return, and just as I was about to arrive at a Korriban, hopelessly under siege, I received my final order to base myself on this once-hidden world and keep the Sith alive as its caretaker and king. What do you think happened to my family on Korriban? My sons and daughters? To my Lacata? What did the Jedi do to them as they burnt the planet with laser fire? I dutifully did my service as my body rotted and withered with age, I watched with lethargy as my people mixed with the humans, thinning our precious Force-sensitive blood, losing what made us special, degrading us into half-breed mutts.”

After the silent pause at the end of his brief story, Merek continues, “The word in my language you will learn is my name, for your mockery of my gifts, you shall carry it with you.”

“I will not carry your name in my memory or learn any part of your language, at the very least not from you.” An ironclad voice replies from your mouth.

“That wasn’t a choice.” Lord Merek snarls.

Lord Merek launches himself at you with a speed you’ve never seen before in either your earlier battle or the half-decade you lived in the Jedi Temple of Coruscant. A single vicious swipe of his Lightsaber collides with your twin blades in the same way an airspeed collides with a pedestrian. The mammoth strength of the blow rips both blades out of your steel grip, throwing them aside. He lands upon you, and the force of his leap throws you to the floor, trapped under the apparition. With a curled, gauntleted fist, he strikes you on your nose, breaking it, causing an explosion of blood to leak from your nostrils as the blow causes the world to become engulfed in haze.

A silent sentinel explodes in a shower of dust and shards of razor-sharp copper, the statue’s wavy dagger immediately appears in Merek's empty outstretched hand on command. You struggle under the Sith Lord, but Lord Merek pins you with a single ghostly arm, clamping your shoulder against the hard rock floor. Through the Force, you call to your weapons, but they do not budge, not even a centimetre. Lord Merek keeps them where they lie under his mighty invisible hand. He, too, entraps you in a weighted net of his ancient power, stealing any slightest movement from your body. Merek’s face is warped between a spiteful smile and utter contempt as the blade that he grips glints with an evil light.

“When you tell the council of me, locked in this tomb, make sure to get them to send their best. I will give them no short death. Now let me see that face again.”

The primaeval Sith grips your chin with a harsh crushing strength as the dagger he holds carves into the flesh of your face, drawing a long crimson line that spews blood. With a sculpture’s hand, he cuts into skin and meat, drawing long symbols of the Sith alphabet into your face. Pain consumes your world, but no scream comes from your mouth, Merek doesn’t allow in. He has made you a prisoner in your own body. Lengthy vertical cuts cleave into your face, once promising of a handsome future, now sickening rags of butchered pale flesh stained with slick blood and marred with grotesque swellings.

You don’t see it, you can’t see anything, your own blood pooling on your face steals your sight, but a grey and ancient thigh bone rises from the sarcophagus into Merek’s hand. With a squeeze of his grip, the bone vaporises into a cloud of fine dust that falls into the countless deep cuts in your ruined excuse for a face, burning it like acid to your wounds. Through the pools of blood submersing your eyes, you see the glow of a brilliant red light as your head explodes into an even greater depth of pain. Finally, he allows you to scream.

Your animalistic wails deafen you to all sound. Lord Merek speaks again audibly, which you overpower and drown with your shrieks, and into your mind. “You will wear my name on your face as long as you take breath, and through it, I curse you. With every good intention, may it grant suffering to those you assist. With your every victory, may it bring you a truer defeat. With every ounce of love you feel, may it bring you sorrow and regret.”

And the world becomes black.

Thats the thread. Let me know what you liked, what didn't you like, what you would like to see.

His gifts were:
Gaunlets that increases your strenght manyfold, and were ressitance to lighstabers
A book of Sith magic and to a lesser extend lightsaber techniques, and he used it as diary
The golden pebble is the controller chit for the ancient battleship that brough him here, hiding in the asteroid belt around the star

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>>5693376
Oh and next thread will likely be next month. If I ghost, I'm on the /qtg/ discord so you can hassle me there.

>>5693369
Time to wear a mask I guess.
>>5693379
See you then
So it was you that was asking about disfiguring the mc on qtg

>>5693376
Oh, and for the feedback, it was alright.
There was the lightsaber thing, but you explained why and apologized for the mistake.
I'm only really worried about the "curse". If it's a real thing instead of him only being edgy, then the quest would probably become kinda boring, since our actions wouldn't matter anymore.
It's probably just him being an edgy sith, but he is powerful, so it doesn't hurt to be careful. I imagine that he did some force thing to make sure that nothing can heal the scar, right?

>>5693396
I forgot to delete one to the phrases when I was rewriting this and ended up repeating myself.

>>5693376
I'm interested to see why the council paired Chris with such an inept master, also to know why he's so inept. If he's still alive I guess. It was our own decisions that led us here but masters are meant to protect and guide padawans both of which Porro is clearly unable to do.

Also I think we all assumed that any one of those gifts would have had some dark side flavored downside if we took one, is that the case?

>>5693396
The bit with the ground up bone going into the wounds gave me major sith alchemy vibes so the curse is likely legitimate. A plotline where we try to reverse the curse while wearing the name of the sith that we inexplicably and suspiciously survived contact with while our master was grievously injured sounds fun to me.

>>5693386
A mask is dope.


>>5693411
The curse is likely legit in some manner, but the bone I think is actually more like salt. He did it so the marks scar, so that our face is damaged as he intended.

I'm actually very satisfied with how this went QM. we as an acolyte faced an old master of the age of masters, saved our master and escaped maimed but not fallen.

On reflection, I'd probably have tried to put my suggestion on first, or went with the golden pebble, since it's the one least likely to be trapped to touch.

>>5693411
Reversing the curse would be an interesting plotline

>>5693655
Jedi healing has always been powerful, just more costly on a personal level

>>5693396
Wait I'm an idiot, the lightsaber thing was last thread.

>>5693974
Wow it was almost two months ago >>5650448 doesnt feel the quest has been going that long.

>>5693984
>doesnt feel the quest has been going that long.
That's true, I keep thinking it was just around a week ago.