Crimson Tides: Aftermath (closed)

[Alexia Sturkov]

The dropship lowered through the atmosphere, slowing dropping into what remained of the Sith Order's hangar bay. The hangar had bombed and it's doors were gove and the inside was scorched black and filled with debris, not to mention many half charred bodies. The dropship slipped into a patch of the hangar that had been cleared. It set down on it's landing struts and powered down. The entrance ramp was lowered and the door slid open to reveal Alexia Sturkov. Her appearance had radically changed. She had been sent up to the Morningstar following the invasion because she had been inside the hangar when it was bombed by the escaping sith vessel. Her body had been broken in many places and burnt horribly. She had nearly died. She had been shipped up and taken to the best doctors in the world. When she was stable again she saw her reflected in a mirror. She was scared and ugly, a hag by all means of description. So she had her appearence radically changed. Her red hair was not black, her eyes an orange-pink color, and her skin was paler then before. She was the same size, her body still the same. The only real changes were her hair, eyes, and restoration of her damaged skin. Yet despite those small changes she looked completely different. There was another reason for the change, now the sith would not who she was, once again. They had the image of a fiery red head killing them, not a strangely attractive black haired individual with odd colored eyes.

She stepped down the ramp and into what remained of the hangar. All around here the Force Hunters gathered and saluted, bowing their heads and slamming their fist into it's opposite breast. From the crowd emerged Jurak, the general of this legion of Force Hunters. His body was scared and bruised from his fight with the sith. A livid burn still mutated one side of his face from where a lightsabre blade had come to close and burnt the flesh. He had never been handsome to begin with, but now he was downright ugly. He saluted like the others and then looked down at the floor. He was still dealing with the shame of being defeated by the sith.

Alexia Sturkov had to only look around the room to see that the other Hunters were looking weak, their green-tinted skin turning yellow like a dying flower. They were growing old and their weak molecular structure was falling apart. Zanon had granted her an army, but an army that could only live for a few months before dying. Flash cloning had it's weaknesses, but then again; Zanon already had another batch in creation to replace this one and another legion would step in soon to take over the dying's position here on Korriban.

Purfect...

Without a word she pushed past them and headed through the hangar, which meant climbing over debris to get to the backdoor and into the tunnels of the sith order. She knew these halls like the back of her hand. She had lived in them during her previous life as a sith, a life she did not like to remind herself of. Back then she had been known as Jezreal Darkshard, a blue-haired youth who paid for her naivity with death. It took her only a few scant minutes to walk to the Council Chamber and slip into the so called "Eldar's Vision". The ring of chairs greeted her like old friends turned enemies. Behind her came Jurak and a few Hunters, who only followed her because there were still Sith hiding out in the sith 'castle'. Alexia went over to the chair that was opposite the door, the sith master's chair. It had belonged to Lady Vader during her past life, although the illusive Lady Vader had disapeared, which was evident by the way her hunters found no trace of her within the castle. Next to the chair, leaning against it's arm, was a sword. Of course she knew the sword, it had been displayed in the library...

"Naga Sadow's Sith Tremor Sword," She recited it's name as she hefted it up and tested the weight in her hand. Of course it was heavy, that was the sith way when it came to weapons. The heavier the weapon the more crushing power it possessed. She took the sith master's chair and laid the weapon across her knee, her orange-pink eyes rising to look into Jurak's face, "Send someone to find Zanon," She said, and then added, "He'll be in the morgue messing with the dead bodies."

[Zanon O'hara]

Flick...

Blood hit the wall and splattered across the stone surface, sitting there for a moment until gravity began to tug it down towards the floor, the crimson droplets slipping down the surface.

Flick...

Another shot of blood, another crimson streak. The scalpel flicked again and again over the various veins of various dead bodies. Life was not very amusing when your a mad scientist, so you had to develope means of entertainment. So Zanon O'hara had invented the game "Ultimatum", which respite it's name involved ramping up the bloody pressure of the recently departed via air pumps and then cut a major vein or artery, and watching the liquid fireworks spiral up into the air. The victor of the game was determined by volume of blood, distance, and splatter. Zanon was the champion, but that was because he always played by himself, well, by himself and Anthony. Anthony was not the best at Ultimatum; but he was a wiz at checkers, chess, backgammon and any other game involved black and white pieces. Zanon was contect, though, with his game. It help pass the time and it made dead bodies useful for something other then molestation.

The absense of sound caused him to turn around and look up at the hunter standing there, "De'Misteress wants ye," The brute said. Zanon smiled at him, a big, warm, friendly waxen smile. But all the Hunter did in return was growl, bare his teeth, and walk away, "How wude," Zanon whispered before pushing himself up on to his feet and whipping a pair of gloves off his hands, ignoring the fact that his pants where speckled with blood as well as the cuffs of his shirt. He simply pushed off and headed for the door, only pausing to whip around and look back into the room, "Practice while I'm gone Anthony. You'll never amount to anything if you can't grasp something was fundamental as Ultimatum," He shook a finger at the empty room and then disapeared up the stairs on the other side of the door.

A half hour later he siddled into the Elder's Vision, despite the fact that the morgue was only a ten minute walk from the Vision. Zanon had a way of getting distracted, and stopping to admire all the portraits on the walls was not a good way to safe time. As he siddled into the room he was met with Alexia's stern glare. There was something different about her, that was sure, but the glare was the same, "Er... Didja do something with your hair?" He asked as he took a seat in one of the council chairs, schooching around on the seat until he was less incomfortable. How could they stand sitting on black marble? Sith had style, that was for sure, but had no idea what comfort was, "Er..." Said Zanon.

[Alexia Sturkov]

Alexia's eyebrowns bend down, her face darkened, and her eyes lit with an internal fire, "You fool!" She screamed as she shot to her feet and stalked over to the deranged doctor, her dress rustling and beat necklaces rattling together. A hand with fingernails like claws gripped the front of Zanon's shirt and hefted him out of his chair, off his feet, and into the air, "My injuries were critical, you bumbling idiot!" She continued to rant, "I have to have my body completely remade, no thanks to you," The doctor was discarded, tossed aside to land on the hard floor which, for a man of his age, should have been lethal. Instead, as if to agrivate her further, he simply rolled over and looked up at her with puppy dog eyes, "And what have you been doing since you got here? Playing with catavers! You should be working on the next wave of Hunters, instead of sitting on your knees slicing open the dead! Your team of scientists are all good and educated, but they have already bumbled up one batch and we don't have time for more delays. So get back up to the Morning Star and oversee the landing craft bringing down the tanks and other equipment. I want the next match being created last week. Rush it, get it done faster, I don't care about the ramifications. Just get it DONE!"

[Zanon O'hara]

Zanon had been twidling his fingers, and making bets with himself over which would win if they battled. The sad part about no possessing two like faced hands was they could never thumb battle each other. If he had two left hands, not only would that be wickedly cool, but it would allow him to best himself at the classic game of "Thumb War," A game he had played in his youth with the other kids, among other games they played; which for the most part took place in the gutter. There was Mad Rat Conkers and Stick Races. Those had been the days. Hours of fun, all in the gutter. Playing with dead rats and sticks in the poor sector of Coruscant. Joy and joy again.

Pressure and constriction on his chest, as well as a shadow falling over him, causing him to glance at the hand gripping his shirt. The white knucklers were a good sign that something bad was going to happen. He had lived with Alexia enough to know that white knuckles were a bad thing. And then things got worse. He nearly threw up as he was suddenly catapulted into the air over the woman's head, by one hand. Someone had been dabbling into the steroids. The naughty girl. He would have to spank her later. Well, maybe not. The last time he had spanked her he ended up with arm broken in three places. That had been a fun day. Now she was screaming at him, so his mind shut the ears off and started daydreaming about whether or not Dead Rat Conkers could be played with a heart in, say, a black marble corridor?

Before he could come to the obvious conclusion he was thrown rather rudely to the floor, which, despite his age, did not hurt that much. Maybe it was because of the very thick carpet he landed on. He had always considered himself spry, but the carpet was very soft and comfortable. Maybe the sith did know how to do comfort, they just put it in the wrong places. God bless their souls. If he had been thrown against the chair he'd have been blundgeoned to death by sheer uncomfortablness.

Now Alexia was screaming more. This time he decided to pay attention, well, some attention anyways. She was ranting about the clones, "Aw, but mommy! I want to have fun too!" He crossed his arms and glared at her like a angry little child throwing a fit on the floor. She sent him another glare, this time icy instead of hot, and he slowly, like a puppet unwinding, got to his feet and shuffled, backwards, out of the room and int othe hallway outside. As soon as he was out of sight he picked up his pace and ran, and ran, and ran, and ran, until he was back in the morgue. He ignored Anthony's questions and crouched down in the corner, with his coat covering his head.

[Alexia Sturkov]

"JURAK!" She screamed as she stomped back to her throne and threw herself down on to it hard enough to hurt her rump. She would have to install a more comfortable chair if she ever hoped to be happy here, although she could not see why she would ever be happy here. All this was is a shadow of her former life, a life she did not like to recall, because it made her angry. Her naive life before her death and ressurection. When her hair and eyes had been blue and her name Jezreal Darkshard...

A shudder shook her shoulders. Oh how she despised that foolish name. She was Alexia Sturkov now, ruler of Korriban, Darth Apocalypsis, Empress of the darkside and beyond. The world was her bantha to hunt and harvest. The precious 'meats' of the galaxy would he her's... eventually.

The lack of sound called her attention to the door of the Elder's Vision. There stood tall, impressive Jurak, his features horribly scared, both from his wound and from the ceremonial scarring the hunters had taken up, "Bring my apprentice here, at once," Her voice was calmer now, but not by much. Jurak bowed his head and walked out without a word. He had not uttered a word since he defeat at the hands of the Sith. Good, he deserved it, She thought as she laid her arms across the arms of the chair and tried to look more regal and not so ruffled. Smoothing down bent feathers was not easy when your having a permenant bad hair day.

[Alexander Bane]

Alexander Bane siddled into the room, a bright, waxen, smile on his face. His eyes were so big and bright that they threatened to either pop out, explode, or possibly both; becoming flying projectiles that exploded on contact. He had a way of not only siddling sideways, but forwards and backwards as well. It was okay if you were looking at his face, but if you looked down at his feet you would get a headache watching the complicated shuffling of his feet that allowed him to siddle forward. He was proud of this ability, he called it his "Death Siddle" Because it sounded dramatic and, well, evil. And that's what he is, evil. He is Alexander Bane, Alex or Bane for short, and also known as Darth Vhid. He had come up with the name. He didn't know what Vhid meant, if it even was a word, but he liked the sound. Short, sweet, and to the point, but he had no idea what the point was. He had yet to find a man who knew the meaning of the world, and he had asked hundreds of bystanders. He had considered asking someone higher on the food chain, like a politician, but they always lie and make things hard for the lower classes, so instead he threw a brick through the Bakuran Diplomat's office window on Coruscant and ran for it before anyone could catch him. That had been a lot of fun.

His big eyes darted around the room, taking it in, or trying to. IT was just so dark in this room, and everything was black or, er, shades of black. Eventually his eyes adjusted and the circle of chairs came into view, "Holy Bantha Boogers, Granite Slug Man!" He exclaimed before throwing himself into one of the chairs, only to grimace in pain afterwards, "Do. I. Get. My. Own. Chair?" He said between waves of pain, which were flowing up like a geyser from his buttocks. Oh, goodness! He would have to see Zanon about getting a butt replacement. Clearly his current butt was giving him too much pain to be allowed to remain part of his intricate bodily system. When things go bad, as his motto goes, use a sharp knife.

[Alexia Sturkov]

She glared out at Alexander, her orange-pink eyes burning imaginary holes in his head from where she stood. If her glares truly shot laser beams, then Bane would have swiss-cheese for a face, or worse. Why did she put up with him? Because he was a force user, and insane enough to do whatever she wanted, even if the cost was putting up with him and busting his out of jail at the end of every month. He was a fanatic when it came to her false religion on Corellia, the Cult of the Reborn. He memorized the sudo-sith doctrines she drew up and preached dramatically to the numbers that came into their little dark church. That is why she put up with his antics.

"What progress have you made on Corellia?"

[Alexander Bane]

He continued to fidget and squirm. Oh, it hurt so bad! What was with these crazy sith? Booby-trapping their seats like this? How was he suppose to get comfortable on solid black granite and marble? He was more likely to be comfortable while being raped by a krayt dragon. To hell with the sith and their ideals! Ouch...

"Um, well, er... Things are going well. We're still pulling in more numbers... um... Brother Mathias is now a deacon of the church and Iktaz actually survived the priest trials, and.... er... can I implement human sacrfices into our weekly service? Please?" He even went as far as to cup his hands together in a praying fashion and go all puppy-dog eye'd with his mistress. The Bane charm had never failed once.