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Topics - Aolani

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Events and Occasions / Irmenu Falls - Gods of the Arena
« on: 05/24/16, 09:23:00 PM »

Warlord Bælfir Yosoth,
Knight Protector of Irmenu and warden of the Yosoth family,
would like to cordially invite you to christen Irmenu's new gladitorial arena...
in blood.

Event Date: 4th June 2016  (5th for Australians)
Event Time: 7pm PDT (12pm AEST)

All Valefor allies, Imperial and Unaffiliated peoples are welcome.
Only combatants need sign up.

Do you have what it takes to prove your strength in the arena?


  • Combatants may only fight weaponless, or with traditional vibroblades. This is to be decided before the match.
  • This is a test of physical strength and ability - use of the Force is not allowed.
  • Combatants are expected to be appropriately dressed down in the traditional simple robes of an arena fighter.
  • For applying combatants - the fight is over once you have knocked out or floored your opponent, or if your opponent surrenders.
  • For slaves - upon winning the fight, a defeated slave may plead surrender, but their final fate is at the decision of Warlord Bælfir or his honoured guests.
  • Combatants may surrender with a two-finger command.


Realtalk: I've been watching Spartacus and thought this would be fun. Plus we'd already made the arena. Might as well use it!

This will take place in one of those nice little temple bits on Yavin - characters there to watch will do so from the above floor balcony, and characters there to fight will remain below. There will be a maximum of six combatants allowed, Thus three rounds. Whoever has the highest 'score' in the first round will be faced by the winner of the second round, to determine the winner.

The winner of the night will receive 1 Million Credits, and have their name etched into the stone walls of the arena as its first Champion.

[OOC PvP rules for this coming soon! :) Please use this thread to express interest in the event.]

Cantina / Hiatus is the new Black
« on: 04/13/16, 03:10:51 AM »
RL is kicking my butt, and I've flaked out on a couple of things and feel terrible about it -.- so probably best to put up a thingy here.
Going dark until the end of April - a lot going on and I can barely concentrate on what I need to do, let alone on keeping up with RP and the forums and my story post and stuff :( (NOT THAT THAT STOPS ME FROM STRESSING ABOUT THEM LOL) Anyway with my interest for playing the game waning a little it will probably be good for me to spend some time away.

Valefor folks and Smuggly folks, stuff I said I would do is in the works, promise. You'll see it coming early May! I love you all, mostly. Except for that fugly Hawking guy. Who invited him anyway?

See you all soon :lightside:

Events and Occasions / Irmenu Falls - The Arena
« on: 04/05/16, 06:43:32 AM »

There'll be no Irmenu evening this week as IRL things will keep me away from the game and most Valefor peeps are busy with work and school and the like.

Next week, however...

The Arena

[Watch this space! More into coming soon.]

Events and Occasions / Irmenu Falls - Opening Night!
« on: 03/28/16, 11:30:44 PM »

"Welcome, denizens and allies of the Empire. Consider this an invitation; The Valefor welcomes you to their planet Irmenu, where we shall socialise, negotiate, entertain and dine in splendor, in celebration of Valefor's 5th Anniversary of allegiance with the Empire.

This being the first of many nights that the Valefor will dedicate to diplomatic relations, we have a formal ball area that will open at the height of the evening on the date listed below. Smart casual or Formal attire is enforced. We will begin the night with a welcoming speech by the organiser of the event and Warlord of the Valefor, Irmenu's Protector, Lord Bælfir Yosoth, then proceed with the rest of the night.
This will be primarily a meet and greet and reunion of Imperial allies, with no formal or war business to be discussed at the present time, until the weekly gathering is in full swing and our guests are comfortable enough with one another to discuss important matters. We must not forget the heart of what it means to uphold modern Sith values and powers, even while at war. The war is the life in our blood, but it must not consume us.

Opening Night will only involve the three front rooms of Irmenu Falls, the official function estate located on the centre of Block Ersei-Four of Northgalis. These rooms are beautifully furnished and cater to modern living and design, with a touch of Sith heritage along with Irmenuan aristocracy. They include the main area - the formal ballroom;

A statue of Darth Arostos in his prime watched over the ballroom from high above...

A VIP cantina and gambling area down the corridor to the right open to all attendees;

And a natural hot-spring to the left, for those after a more relaxed, or perhaps intimate gathering;

Warlord Protector Bælfir and other rulers and members of the Valefor will be present that night to join in on the chatter, discussions, and answer any questions our allies may have.

Rashelle Inuit
Representative of the Irmenuan Ambassador

PS: If a disagreement is to occur on the floor of the event, the involved guests must either stand down upon request, or challenge one another to a duel via the traditional glove-slap method. At this point the event will be paused, and relocate to the Gladitorial Ring for the duel to be carried out until either first blood or death for honour, as well as the entertainment of the other guests. By accepting this invitation, you agree to these terms."


A new event for Imperial RP~! Proudly brought to you by <The Valefor>.

This first night will act as a casual start to what will become a weekly event, but things will heat up very fast; with the promise of Gladitorial arenas, garden parties, tutorials and conferences, war meetings, and much more. We want to see how things will go so the first night is a relatively low-key Imperialish meet-and-greet; though as stated above, if you wish to start a duel, it will be handled as a formal even by the guild officers :P

Date: Wednesday 30th March PDT (Server) / Thursday 31st March ADST (AUS)

Time: 8pm (Server) / 2pm (AUS)

The Valefor Stronghold, Entrance and side rooms only.

The RP area will be located in Valefor's Guild Stronghold, which is listed privately - simply ask for one in the ImperialOOC chat prior to or upon event start, or whisper Bælfir (symbol is Alt 0230) or any other Guild members who will announce themselves in chat.

:darkside:  We hope to see you there!!  :darkside:

Media Gallery / Hunks of the Old Republic 2016 Calendar
« on: 11/20/15, 05:18:30 AM »
So, after @Erakleon and others making countless jokes about me drawing a male-model calendar of peoples characters, I thought - why the hell not? And we're gonna do it for charity.

My idea is this: I'll put up a list of months at some point before January. People can 'reserve' a month for one of their characters. You maybe only apply once per player, which means you get to choose one character and apply with them. Reserving a month for your character means donating a certain amount (undecided as of yet) to the charity in question.
I have not decided on a charity yet - unsure of whether I should contact a particular charity, maybe through the 501st, or just have people donate a certain amount to a charity of their choice and show me the receipt. It will probably be the first option, to be able to keep tabs.

At this point this is just an idea - I'm trying to gauge interest, it's not yet a definite. So any opinions and helpful hints are welcome, and please don't ask to reserve a month yet, or I'll just ignore you.

For instance, this project largely depends on whether I can get up to date with my commission list by the end of the year.

Rules & Other Things

- Yes, I do mean a load of our characters possibly shirtless and in empowered, adorable, or sexy poses. For charity.

- Yes, it's called 'Hunks of the Old Republic', so it will be male characters only. If this idea goes ahead and goes well, and I'm still here or not dead in 2017, I might do a 'Successful Women of the Old Republic 2017 Calendar'. #reversesexism, right?

- That said if you have a character who identifies as male, or agender, you can still apply with them.*

- Yes, Imperial characters are allowed, 'Old Republic' is just referred to the time period.

- These will not be in poor taste. Trust me, I'm a feminist. :halo:

- Yes I will chat to you about preferences for how your character is depicted.

- The 'no genitalia' rule stands. It's a calendar. Plus we wouldn't want anyone getting penis-envy towards Reithan.

- I am not obligated to accept your reservation :halo: . I am the artist, I call the shots. Although if for whatever reason I decline to accept, I will do so politely, privately, and with good reason**. If that does not sit well with you, you are still verymuch welcome to donate money to a charity anytime you like. :aww:

- Oh and yeah, only one character per person. That said, if you're adamant, I am happy to put two characters on one month, for maybe an extra fee towards the charity***

- And yes charity means only real money will be accepted. At the moment I am thinking of having a base amount people can pay, ($30-40), but they are welcome to pay as much extra as they want.

- The charity will likely be an Australian one. Mainly because of the strength (or lack thereof) of the Aussie dollar, meaning what you donate will be significantly more in AUD. I am thinking it will either go to a childrens charity, or mental health charity.

- Might be teaming up with a fellow artist so we can do alternating months. again depends on interest.

*Yes, this is fair.
**'I don't like you' is a good reason. So is 'you're mean'.
***Not sexing each other though.

Enthusiasm, questions, comments and stuff concerning the topic in general is very very welcome :) Gogogo!

Holocrons and Info Nodes / The Skyfallen Legacy: Unsung Aeons
« on: 11/14/15, 08:04:57 AM »
The third and final tome of the Skyfallen Legacy.
Very soon after Reithan's death.
Thanks to @Audaine for giving me two pages when I asked for a paragraph. :aww:


Cold world.

Whispering echoes on the wind.

Why am I here? What did I just ask?

Cold world.

Who’s footsteps are these behind me?

Why am I here?

Cold world.

I’m lost.

The lone miraluka stirred, waking on cool iron criss-crosses. A metal grate, the quiet hum of life support against her ears. Her hand smoothed lightly across the depressions in her face, failing to find a veil across her features.
Her brows furrowed as the headache settled in. A quick hand set to her belly to ensure everything was right where it needed to be.

“Cursed Ashla, what…” momentary confusion took root.

Where was she? She reached out with the Force—No, this was her ship. The deep echo of her familiar dark side Force tainted these walls.

The miraluka concentrated, stretching her attention inward. Why was she here?

Cold world.

Seeking something prophetic.

Wake up. Snap out of it.

Cold world.

“Cold,” she whispered as she prepared a hot brew of tea; poisoned with far too much sugar, and milk to properly taste the tea itself. The woman stepped back through the airy halls of the Fury-class interceptor, to the bridge. She gazed out the durasteel hull to the empty, infinite drift that was space.

It was turbulent; what traces of Force existed in the great empty expanse whirling in nebulous patterns to the Miraluka’s vision.

“Figured out where we’re going, Overseer?” asked the woman.


“For Bogan’s sake; I’m at the beck and call of my own kriffing starship.”

Take this.

Distorted artefact; difficult to clutch.

Intoxicating to watch.

Don’t look too long—it will consume you.

Ravage you with no mercy for your plea to cease.

Wake up.

Now donning her Inquisitorius attire, she stood powerfully at the helm of her ship. The Memor Facio punched through the hyperspace tunnel into realspace, right outside the orbit of Telos IV. With a quick course alignment, the vessel narrowly avoided colliding with some of the fleet remnants of what seemed to be Imperial carnage—plenty of damaged or destroyed Imperial warships.

The woman paid the wreckages (and salvage tugs) little mind, staring with intent to the world beyond her. Her hands clutched a nebulous holocron of warped design.

“I didn’t say you could die,” croaked Audaine.

“But it’s alright. I’ll remake you.”


It jerked. Wheezed. The jaw dropped and the body shuddered up out of control, straining, a haggard and desperate gasp sucked in through dry lips. Chest tightened, then released, and it fell back with a clatter against the table with hands at it's throat. The room was a blur of bright lights and blue and it hurt, and he couldn't breathe - no, no, now, yes. His throat unclenched and air flooding in, expanding his lungs. Life breathed through a body that had been dead moments ago.

The corpse breathed.

The Trading Floor / LF Sith Recluse Chestpiece, can art
« on: 10/25/15, 04:19:42 AM »
I know, I know, it's hella expensive on the GTN. But I want it - I can't pay the GTN ask, but there are other things I can offer!

- Drawing Commission. Any character you want, doing whatever you want (yes even a nudie if you swing that way). A full-colour, full-character commission from me is usually worth around anywhere between $40 to $75 AUD depending on the contents of the request. Here's an example of my artwork.

- Item swap. I've not got much, but I'm sure i have a few things that are worth something to you, and I can throw in some creds as well (just obv not as much as the GTN is asking).

So, let me know if we can do business :)

Holocrons and Info Nodes / He Ain't Heavy
« on: 10/10/15, 10:21:47 AM »
"Are they what you'd hoped, Lord?"

The woman's snow-white eyes stared into his defiantly. He watched the muscles by her jaw clench with pride at his casual insult of the Echani; she had spirit, and she was strong in the Force, though she was a little more angular and hardened in look than what usually drew the dark lord's fancy. Beautiful, definitely, but not to his tastes. The only sign of ant wavering were the hands by her sides, while-knuckled and trembling just a touch as they grasped at the tiny, pudgy fingers of her two boys.

"Very much so..." Darth Arostos grinned lightly to himself, his yellow gaze falling to the younglings huddled against their mothers legs. Twins, though even if they had been born separately the Echani always closely resembled each other, the children near carbon copies of one parent or the other. Even at their tender age – nearly three, he guessed – their jaws were angular and their eyes fierce and intelligent, just like their mother, with one a bit more shy than the other, more-completely hiding behind the woman's lean and muscular form. The tall, willowy Darth knelt and his head tilted towards the one on the left - the shy one - reaching out to lay a bony hand on his head – but the boy recoiled and blurted out a high-pitched “NO,” ducking behind his mother.

“Fælan,” She scolded, “Don't be rude. Darth Arostos is our guest – and you will address him as 'my Lord',”

“Don't be rood,” the other boy, Bælfir, cooed in repetition.

The pureblood near-chuckled, with a mirth she had not expected, “Do not fret, my good woman, he is a child. I do not expect him to understand how to be appropriate,” his stained teeth were revealed as his thin lips parted, “my own children are much the same.”

She relaxed, but only a little, as a mother nexu might cease baring her teeth but still stand stoic and at attention in front of her cubs. A smart one – hopefully they had inherited her mind as well as her looks. He regarded her with a measure of curiosity, absently stroking at one of the long, pierced tendrils dribbling from his chin. She did not seem desperate, and if her stoic exterior was a facade that hid sorrow, it was not known to him. Though she still seemed to care for them. Perhaps she simply figured they were going to a better life.

His eldest daughter appeared then, draped in a simple black cloak, her hands folded before her. “My lord father, the shuttle is here,” She reported plainly.

“It is time to say your goodbyes, then,” Arostos nodded to the Echani.

She bent to one knee, and turned the boys by the shoulders to face her. The shy one was sniffling. The other reached over and petted him atop the head, while she grasped them both by a cheek, and offered each a level gaze in turn. “Look after each other,” her voice was firm, but not unkind, “you are going into a new family, but you must not forget your blood. Come,” She instructed each of them to turn a palm to her, face up, and with a knife pulled from her pocket she sliced a little cut on each. Fælan cried, and Bælfir sucked in his bottom lip in upset but did nothing more. She repeated the action on her own hand, and then pressed it firmly into the cut palms of her children. Once, twice. Then she held their own together. Deep red dribbled down pearly skin.

“You are two halves of one whole. Never forget this.”

After that, they had made very little fuss with the departure, and slept most of the way back to the capital. Arostos' daughter, Kerult, was mostly silent on the return journey, and spent a good deal of it standing over the boys with her arms folded, watching them huddled together in a passenger seat. Their mere presence irked her, made her energy stiff and resentful, and her father practically basked in it. He had been nurturing her hatred and pride for years now - if the twins added to it, then they were only doing him even more of a service.

“Which one are we killing, again?” She called over her shoulder, though careful not to rouse them.

“Can you not tell?”

“Not when they won't come unstuck from one another like that.” Her ruby-red eyes rolled.

The Darth appeared just shy of her side, with a muted cough and wheeze into his fist, then draping the arm around her shoulders. “Fælan. He is the issue. The greatness is within the other, Bælfir. He will make a fine apprentice, and a finer Sith.” His gaze fell, devoid of emotion or regret, upon the two younglings curled beneath the thin thermal blanket. “Yes... much greatness.”

Kerult's bottom lip stiffened. “Perhaps one day you will tell me why our family needs the likes of a low-born mutt Echani to rise to greatness when you have me and my sisters, father.”


She heard the grin in his voice as his grip left her shoulder, and felt her blood boil. “I suppose you want me to do it then?” She whispered furiously.

“Yes. Make it quick and clean, no fuss is necessary.” Arostos was already moving back towards the cockpit, suppressing more ailing noises. She hoped he coughed up a lung, and choked to death on it. “Take him out into the forest and stab him through the heart. Leave the body for the beasts to eat.”


He was pitiful, but Kerult wouldn't deny that the way his tiny pale hand clutched at her deep-red one didn't stir idle maternal instincts within her. They were pretty little things, the two Echani boys, and neither had kicked up much of a fuss when she'd lead Fælan away from the family houses into the dewy, cold forests of a dreary Kaas morning, lightsabre gripped firmly in her opposite hand. She did like children when they were quiet.

Her plan hadn't formed fully, however, until she came to the clearing at which she had planned to kill the boy. He looked up at her with those big, pathetic white eyes, blinking back raindrops, and she scowled down at him.

“Father thinks you're useless. He thinks I am useless too, did you know?”

“No,” He replied.

“We're out here so I can kill you. Do you know what that means? Death?” At the lost look on his face, she huffed, and put her hands on her hips, “Younglings are so blissfully ignorant; it means you go to sleep and never wake up again.”

“Oooh,” The tiny stupid thing still didn't seem to understand the gravity of it. He began to suck at the cut his mother had left on the meat of his palm.

“Anyway, he wanted me to kill you, because you're a problem. You're his star-child's only weakness.” A grin began to tug at the corner of her lips. He blinked up at her, a finger shoved in his mouth. She set her hand on his head, and smoothed his bangs out of his large, pale eyes.

“So listen to me very carefully, little spore...”


[Twenty Years Later]
Dromund Kaas, the Estate of Darth Arostos]

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. No, I-- I have to get away from you. You've got more of a chance if-”

“No,” he reached up and gripped at the back of his neck. That face, a mirror of his own, now with an ugly wound splitting the skin of his cheek and nose, stared down at him twisted in desperation. Bælfir grinned back the pain. The world was exploding all around them, a mess of sound and colour, fire and blastershots and lighting,

“don't you dare leave again.”

“If I don't leave you'll die!”

“Heh,” the taste of it, too. Bitter, coppery, “Oh he of little faith,”

The deafening crash came, as it always did, followed by the demons in gold armour with their glowing ice-blue eyes and the stink of death on them. He threw his hand out, reflexively, and the Force ignored his call--

“My Lord?”

Bælfir's eyes flicked open. The isolation of his small meditation chamber was complete – the voice had come from the holocom panel on the wall, which blinked in the dim red glow of the room. He rolled his shoulders and stretched like a lazy cat in the morning sunlight, at ease despite the violence and danger of the vision. It had worried him the first twenty times, maybe – now it was too familiar to cause him any disturbance. Rising from the floor he gestured at the panel and a button depressed, connecting the call from his end.

“Good morning, Adva. Is the building secure?”

“Yes, my Lord, as you requested. All communications and traffic in and out have ceased, and this will remain for four hours. Did you... spend the whole night in your meditation sphere again?”

“I did. I can't abide an empty bed.”

“Charming. Once you freshen up, Proceed to Interview Room Besh. He's waiting there for you.”

Bælfir's memories of his early childhood were unreliable. He vaguely recalled a woman that was probably his mother, a lower-class community on the other side of the planet from Kaas City, a cut on his hand. As the turbolift descended to the lower levels of the building, he tugged off the glove of his right hand and ran his thumb over a tiny white scar on his palm. It was barely a nick, but he'd had it all his life. He never paid it any mind, not really, but now... it tingled, ached. He regarded the mark curiously. The more he tried to focus on the feeling, the less tangible it seemed.

The lift doors opened on two guards lying prone on the floor.

He frowned and instantly ducked to the side, shielding himself from view within the curve of the cylindrical tube, and spun his sabrehilt up from his belt into his grip. The loose glove fell to the floor. Bælfir frowned to himself... he had sensed no danger.

“Adva. Lock down level two.”

“Already done. I'm sorry my Lord, I should have noticed sooner.”

“Apologise later. Do you have his position?”

“I would, if the camera weren't all disabled for firmware updates at your command.”

“Ah, hindsight.” He tipped his head, and darted out of the lift, stepping nimbly over the bodies. The hilt was a comfort in his hand, but he didn't activate it yet. If their captive was nearby, it would give away his position, and he wasn't in any condition to fight blind... not with that man so close-by.

There was a blaster shot and a cry from down the left corridor, followed by the clunk of armour hitting the floor. Bælfir swept towards the sounds, though by the time he rounded the corner the culprit was gone, and there was another dead guard on the floor with a hole in his chest. His teeth ground behind his lips. He wasn't used to a delicately constructed plan falling to pieces so suddenly and uselessly through his fingers. It made humiliation rumble in his gut, which festered quickly into anger, and the dark side...

...the dark side did not reply.

Which was probably why, kneeling over the dead guard, he didn't sense the kick to the face coming. The heel of the boot hit his jaw so hard it dislocated. He fell onto his hands, jerking his head up the moment his vision cleared and raising his sabre hilt – coming very quickly face-to-nozzle with a blaster. Bælfir froze. Yep. None of this had really gone to plan, not at all.

“I wouldn't move if I were you.”

The face staring at him down the barrel of the blaster was a mirror of his own. Pale skin, snow-white hair and eyes. Sans tattoos, and with his hair trimmed and swept to the side in a neat and boring. A nervous sweat decorated his brow, and the front of his standard-issue uniform was rumpled and stained with scorch-marks.

“Don't try anything,” He muttered, “I know the state you're in, and I've killed Sith before.”

Bælfir slowly reached up and fastened his hand delicately around his slackjaw, and twisted it back into place with a pop and a groan. He rotated it once, twice, his attacker waiting with tense patience for some form of acknowledgement... then finally the young lord met his identical gaze once more and grinned that nexu grin of his from ear to ear.

Well. You know how to spice up a family reunion - don't you, brother?”

He Ain't Heavy
[Prologue - End]

Events and Occasions / Event Horizon - The Kaggath
« on: 07/06/15, 09:14:21 PM »
Note: This is a Dark Network event! Your character must be part of the Dark Network powerbase to be able to attend.

"State your business," Darth Aylaa snapped tersely, "Be succinct, and then begone."

"YOU INSULT ME," Phrixos bellowed towards the Lord of Entropy, spit flying from between his bared, pointed canines,
"by walking onto my ground sin my absence, and TAKING what you LIKE! YOU DARE?! I have information that would

Thrax gestured to the pureblood. "You have nothing. And now I will make you less than nothing."

"Does it infuriate you that I have so easily taken what you've struggled for so many years to acquire? How simply I could destroy
everything you prize? Did you think that you could oppose me, mongrel, and expect to come away without scars?"

"To the void with you, Phrixos... and may 'Albaegoth' join you there soon."

"It's to be a Kaggath."

He leered at his fellow Darth.

"SO. BE. IT."

After being accused of treason and stealing assets from the Navras family, Darth Thrax has declared Kaggath against the ailing-of-mind Darth Phrixos. A proud and honoured but rarely employed rite of Sith, the result of which can only be humiliation and death to one side or the other.

Darth Phrixos' small fleet cannot hope to stand up against the armada of the Dark Network - to any, a confrontation in space would be an easy victory, a easy capture of his capital ship, The Kadath.

You are part of the boarding party sent to take and secure the ship after the fleet's victory, making way for the final battle between Thrax and Phrixos himself - though you have also heard that there are apprentices involved. Either way, it is your job to pave the way for that victory... and the endless maze of corridors aboard that ship are unlike any you have witnessed before, dark, and full of terrors.

Take the ship - before it takes you.

This event will be using the Base 100 system, alongside my Sanity System.

Please read the rules carefully before posting your traits and Sanity|Fortitude in a comment below!
The system is pending some changes to how Sanity and Fortitude are handled in battle, but it hopefully will not effect your traits too much. You are welcome to change them if it does :)

I know originally two events were proposed, but as some things have eventuated different than expected, it'll be narrowed down to one :)

The Rules of Kaggath

- One Sith could challenge another Sith for any reason, be it strife, anger, vengeance, greed or pure dislike. The challenger set the arena, whether a planet, a star system or the entire galaxy, and if accepted by the challengee, the ritual began.

-The two combatants employed the full force of their armies, bases and ships to outwit and outmaneuver their opponent in an attempt to defeat each other's forces.

-The battles had to be fought without any kind of outside help, in a direct confrontation of one Sith's power and assets against another's. The breach of any rule of the rite usually resulted in the execution of the offender by other Sith not involved in that particular Kaggath.

-The Kaggath reached a conclusion when one side was defeated or had surrendered, with the triumphant Sith choosing whether to terminate his opponent or leave him alive with the weight of humiliation. The winner also had the option to absorb all the properties, along with the military assets, of the loser combatant or choose to destroy them. Furthermore, the Sith who prevailed in the Kaggath also had the right to destroy his opponent's name and wipe their records from recorded history, theoreticaly eliminating any chance for the loser to leave some form of legacy to the rest of the galaxy.


Holocrons and Info Nodes / [The Aeon Files]
« on: 07/01/15, 09:34:37 AM »

This is Historian & Ancient Knowledge Master Yuga Thomoss, signing in on my first official entry regarding the Aeon Files, officially starting the process.

This document will act as my personal notes and musings whilst I conduct my research into the Albaegoth Holocron, and all related items and lore.

I must admit, I am intrigued. You must imagine my surprise when this curious item was marked on my list to be put in  our maximum security vault for ACMVODs [Artifacts Considered Malicious, Volatile or Dangerous], noted as delivered by one Padawan Miller Turlim. It has been a fairly long time since even a Shadow has brought me such a specimen, let alone an apprentice, and there was very little instruction or description attached, other than 'keep it secret, keep it safe', and 'there are likely more'. From what I heard, the man was quite frazzled. He also suggested not taking the object out of its containing cloth, 'especially when sleeping'.

Apparently, this 'Albaegoth Holocron' was retrieved from the damnable meddling Akar vaults, where one Knight Reithan Skyfallen had it stored in fear of the item falling into the wrong hands [one Darth Phrixos]. Technically, he stole property that officially belongs to the Jedi, as the item was taken without permission from the recently uncovered Tho Yor temple, Mahara Kesh, where archeological digs and cataloging is still taking place.

I have performed all the basic preliminary checks. It is true - the moment the object was brought into my direct vicinity, I felt instant wary and alert. Symptoms included:

- Nausea
- Mild Anxiety
- Sweat on the palms and balls of feet
- Object Fixation

Despite the above symptoms listed, I can concur that the object is not necessarily a Dark Force user's holocron. Its aura is most definitely unpleasant, but it is not corrupted. I find this exceedingly curious. Furthermore, there does not seem to be a way to activate the holocron. Whilst waiting for the object to be transferred to the Council of First Knowledge for placement in the ACMVOD vault, I tested the following tried and true methods:

- Command
- Meditation
- Light-Side Energy
- Dark Side Suggestion

It is very possible, of course, that the holocron is locked to a certain command, or voice recognition, or even DNA. As well as that, it is not as if I am some Sith who can offer it a truly dark aura - I only tried to trick its mechanisms, and that may not be adequate if the technology is sophisticated.

[The object in question]

Tomorrow I will lodge an official request with First Knowledge to have the holocron's ACMVOD classification suspended pending further investigation.


Roleplay Workshop / [Aolanni's Sanity System]
« on: 06/24/15, 10:49:24 AM »
Hello everyone. I have been developing this Sanity system for use in both forum and tabletop Role-Play. I hope some of you find it useful! You are welcome to use or share at your discretion, with credit. :aww:

“If I am mad, it is mercy! May the gods pity the man who in his callousness can remain sane to the hideous end!”
 - H.P. Lovecraft, The Temple

This System brings the risk of your character's mind to the forefront of roleplay – for it is a large galaxy, and not all that is lurking out there on some distant moon or beneath a planet's deep, deep ocean was meant to be viewed by rational and sentient minds.

The system is not overly complicated, though takes some explaining.

It can be used alongside the Base 100 System in RP events, on its own (if event or RP does not require physical combat rolls) or with any other roll system that does not have a set of rules for sanity gains and losses.

The Basics

This is a d10 system. Following is the success and fail rolls. When requested to make a Sanity or Fortitude roll, players will only ever be asked to roll 1d10.

1 – Crit Failure
2-5 – Failure
6-9 – Success
10 – Crit Success

Critical Failure can result in a loss of multiple points or just a worse outcome on the character. Critical Success can gain back lost points.

In this system you have Sanity, and Fortitude:


Characters start with 4 Sanity and 4 Fortitude, or can choose to add points on a +1/-1 basis.
For example, you can elect to start with 5 Sanity, but 3 Fortitude.
Even 1 Sanity and 7 Fortitude, though you know...  :shifty:
Your Base Sanity and Fortitude is your maximum. You can gain points back if lost, but not exceed your base stat.

Threats to someone's Sanity or Fortitude will be either High or Low. Failing a roll for a Low intensity Threat might not even cost a point, or at GM's discretion, a point could be regained easily. Failing a roll for a High intensity Threat could lose you up to 2 points at once, and you could temporarily lose control of your character. Successful rolls for High intensity Threats could regain you lost points.


Sanity is in relation to your character's base state of mind. It effects any roll to do with perception, intelligence, a character's common sense or rationality operating in the background. At the Game Master's discretion, upon the characters being exposed to something 'creepy' or suggestive that could effect their state of mind or rationale, the GM can request a Sanity roll. A character takes Passive Damage when failing a roll, which has more of an effect on the roleplay than their physical skills.

This can come across in lapses of judgement, paranoia, irrational fear, nervous ticks, mood swings, etc. On dwindling Sanity points, a character will also take roll penalties.

Upon losing all Sanity points, a character will become Unreasonable.

This may be reflected by external unresponsiveness, extreme paranoia, or however the player chooses to act it out. Either way you have lost touch with reality, and this must be reflected until you can gain at least a point of Sanity back. You could even turn on your team-mates! The GM could also elect, if the circumstance is correct, to take control of your character away from you, for a time.


Fortitude is in relation to your character's physical exhertions and mental will, and how well they are able to perform physically in the face of danger. Where Sanity is more of a passive effect, Fortitude is active, and success or failure has an immediate outwards result.

For example, characters may be required to make a Fortitude roll to see if they have the mental stamina to navigate a narrow ledge with a wiggly eye-monster awaiting them if they fall. Those who succeed in the roll may cross. Those who fail, lose 1 Fortitude, and are required to make a Sanity roll.  They can attempt another roll after recovering, or may end up having to find another way around. 
Fortitude can also be considered a feat of strength. Shaking loose a tentacle wrapped around your arm, trying to drag you into the dark, requires a Fortitude roll, as it takes both mental will and physical strength

Dwindling Fortitude effects character's physical ability to continue, as their health deteriorates. They may become fatigued and have trouble keeping up, or an injury they received may start to become infected, or a poison may spread.
Upon losing all Fortitude, a character becomes Fatigued, and cannot physically continue. The lights are on, but nobody's home. 
Depending on what caused the final loss of Fortitude, this can result in something as simple as unconsciousness, or as extreme as running screaming into a wall and knocking themselves out.


- Force-users can regain Sanity or Fortitude out of combat by meditation, which takes a roll and time. Force-users can also roll to restore Sanity or Fortitude to fellow team members. A failure will have no result.

- Non Force-users must remove themselves from the distressing situation and take a “break” to roll for Sanity and Fortitude. If they fail the roll, however, they lose another point.

 - As  Points go down, The GM is allowed a certain measure of creativity. For example, they may request the player's permission to offer the character vivid hallucinations in the PM box, or alternative dialogue, so that the character hears their companions saying completely different things, maybe talking about how much they despise them. Or they could enter a corridor which a character with low Sanity believes to be getting smaller and smaller as they go on.

- A Character only incur roll penalties on 1 Sanity|Fortitude. With Low Sanity|Fortitude, the RP is merely... flavoured. Flavoured RP sarts occurring at half your base Sanity|Fortitude, and becomes more extreme as you continue to lose points.

- In combat, player may make a roll on their turn to regain 1  Sanity point. This takes a whole turn, and requires the character to have either finished engaging an enemy targeting them, or otherwise gotten away.

- The GM may take away Sanity points as a way of punishment if a player makes a choice lacking in common sense, or just something plain stupid. You rushed into the dark room without checking anything? Something cold and moist brushes your cheek, and you hear giggles coming from all corners of the room – lose 1 Sanity point.

- Roll penalties start to occur when a character reaches low Sanity or Fortitude. If Fortitude is low, any roll relating to physical action will have a penalty. If Sanity, Force Power rolls, or things that require lots of thinking will have a penalty.

- Fortitude and Sanity can still directly influence one another. Someone suffering low Fortitude may start to take penalties to their Sanity rolls depending on how high the Threat levels are.

- If a character loses all Sanity or Fortitude during an event, the effects are expected to spill over into any RP over the next few days, as recovery from such a traumatic experience is expected to be slow. PCs are welcome to be creative with this and are trusted to depict it.

- The GM does have the option to briefly take control of a character that loses all Sanity, Fortitude or both - though only with the PCs permission. If permission is not given, then the PC is simply instructed that they're incapacitated and must act completely out of control.

Concerning Traits - IMPORTANT

- If used alongside the Traits system, characters can elect to have one trait relating to the Sanity System, which must be confirmed with the GM prior to the game.
[As the system is still being Beta Tested, please be understanding with this. Some traits which seem to give an unfair advantage might simply be allowed to test them out in an event, for example.]

- If a character is buffing their Sanity or Fortitude, they can only do so by 1, and it must have some form of negative drawback.
(E.g. Aolanni has +1 to her base Sanity, making her 5|4. Drawback: the GM can elect for her to automatically fail a Sanity roll once per game)

- If a character is buffing their Sanity or Fortitude rolls, they can only elect one, or the other. A character cannot have roll-buffs to both Sanity and Fortitude, because the system is built towards one being the stronger, and one the weaker.
(E.g. A character can have a +1 to their Sanity or Fortitude d10 roll result, but not to both, because only one is their stronger side.)

As a closing note: Does this System seem unfair? It is not meant to be fair. It is based on Lovecraftian concepts - such as your character in a position where they must work their way up from the bottom of the mental food chain, out of their depth, not able to rely on their strength alone, and lorded over by things too terrible for their minds to cope with.
 This is not meant to be a damper on anyone's fun, but to provide a challenge of a different kind. Games utilizing the Sanity System are not about winning or power. They are about surviving.

~Enjoy the Insanity...~

Holocrons and Info Nodes / Dear Little Shit...
« on: 04/03/15, 06:37:10 PM »
Dear Little Shit,

Mum doesn't like you spending so much time in that area of the Outer Rim. Can you at least call her or something, let her know you're not dead? She was crying on the holo last time I spoke with her. Just don't tell her about your new friends.

I blew up a Sith's head with a cryogrenade last week! Well I lobbed it, then ran up and shattered his face with the back of my rifle. Looked cool. Thought of you. Know how much you like blowing things up. Reminded me of that time on the farm when you carbon froze the water vaporator and used it to scare off them wild kaths. Heh, good times.

Call mum. You're her baby, go easy on her.
Keep your horns outta trouble. LOVE YOU.


Dear Big Shit,

I hate sand. It's coarse, rough, gets everywhere. The heat on Tattooine is crazy. Who decided two suns was a good idea anyway?

Can't you talk to mum? I can't take it when she cries and begs me to come back and I hate having to say no over and over and feel like a bad guy. Plus these guys are ok. They don't try to grab my boobage or butt like the last lot I ran with, and they don't talk down to me about how to fly.

I can look after myself! Lol, except for the times I need to be bailed out. That's where you and your guns come in.

Love you big bro. Keep off the drink yeah?


Dear Little Shit,

Sober two weeks. :)


Love Z

Storyboards / [White Scars]
« on: 02/18/15, 08:35:48 PM »
The Rating for this thread is M15+. It will contain violence, suggested violence, medical procedures, and the portrayal of characters dealing with issues of abuse.


Sickness had taken Reithan out of lucid consciousness quickly after he'd been dumped, physically broken and weak with agony, in the deeper bowels of The Kaddath's prisoner cells. He drifted in and out, hours and days warping and melding together in the damp darkness of the ill-ventilated rooms... whilst the wounds on his legs festered.

He remembered Phrixos chiding him as he'd first been dropped on the floor of the cell. "You are back in my world now, apprentice... home, where you belong. Here we earn everything. Nothing is given. You will fight that infection or it will kill you. If you die you are nothing - if you live, you may be allowed to walk again."

Fever gripped him in its clutches long after. The wounded Jedi tried numbly to tug on the Force, for soothing and healing, but the daze gripped him too completely... the pain. The heat. The /pain/.

He began to hallucinate. Miller knelt by him, shaking his head. "I told you, friend. I told you...". Audaine leaned against the wall murmuring about his betrayal of her trust and referred to him only by ‘Ayen’, stubbornly… and deep, dark tendrils rose up from the grating in the floors, wrapping around his stubbed, mutilated legs and causing him to moan and roll about as though the touch burned him with acid. Ja'zin of all people, he saw, standing over him with a pipe raised above head, ready to put the frail and ailing Jedi out of his misery--

Seven red eyes glared down at him, the head of a spider peering into his cell. Reithan retched, though there was nothing left to bring up. He was dying. It didn't make sense. Phrixos had gone to so much trouble, yet he would be left to die here, with infection and necrosis inching up from his severed knees, sweat and puss and filth covering his spent body...

The spider reached down with metal pincers snapping.

Reithan opened his eyes blearily. There was light. He was somewhere else. Misty liquid caused him to blink, uncomfortably... uncomfortable, but the pain from before, the fever and the stench of dead flesh, it was all gone. He felt something metal and plasteel clamped over his face, helping him breathe. The world was a blur, locked in a transparisteel bubble. A kolto tank.

His legs. /Ashla, his -legs-./ He would have panicked and despaired if he wasn't so weary. Or if he had the ability to look downwards.

Just on the other side of the barrier, condensation had begun to gather. He had been here for some time, and his vision was obscured by it as well as the viscous gel that kept him suspended. It was just as well that he had been out cold. There was nothing for him to gather about his surroundings, save for the vague impressions of red lights emanating from off in the distance. Occasionally, a cluster of them would appear before his tank and mutter something that sounded like droidspeak, even muffled by the transparisteel partition and the stuff containing him.

Inside the tank, life was going on without his interference, his existence in the hands of some other master now - presumably not the one that'd put him in the state of decay that he was gradually being worked out of. His hands couldn't have reached out to touch the sides of his sterile prison even if they weren't suspended by tightly-bound braces with tubes thrust into his veins. His legs, despite being severed, were also braced and bound. An ambiguous feeling emanated from the wound, something akin to the nipping of many tiny fish at the scar tissue. A cursory glance downward would've revealed the presence of a collection of insectoid machines suspended in the kolto along with Reithan, using small pincers to gently clip away any rotten or gangrenous patches in his flesh.

If the makeup of the little mechanical surgeons was not clue enough as to the identity of the current warden presiding over his captivity, the appearance of a cluster of seven red lights on the other side of the transparisteel would've revealed it. The presence of the void pressed in on the other side of the glass, though it wasn't as entirely unwelcoming as it once may have been. It wasn't harsh and lashing out, but instead simply... quiet, subdued. The ripples in the stygian pond that was the cyborg's force presence had subsided and given way to a placid, almost calming black. It was a mask of course, but one that had been donned for the younger man's benefit. His state was fragile, and having to gaze into the hungering abyss was one stress he was in no need of right now.

Reithan could feel the dark lord's eyes on him, and not the ones on his mask but the ones behind it - rather, the single organic one behind it. After a few minutes of quiet staring, the impression of a black leatheris palm-print pressed to the side of the kolto tank, fingers spread. Thrax had been where he now was, though surely what'd befallen him had been far worse. A rare expression of sympathy, maybe the only one he'd known to come from the man in as many years since their last meeting.

Darth Thrax.

That didn't make sense. Reithan frowned slowly, awake enough to see and understand, to feel confusion. Why would Thrax be here...? Though he did not feel like the Kaddath anymore. There was something about the resonance of that place, like a carcass floating in space, rotting from the inside out - the shell of a creature, hiding something deep and dark within. This was not that place, that ship where the Lord of Agony and his creatures were. This had a different feel. Metal, wrapped around void.

The feel of the tiny, mechanical insects crawling and spinning and nipping at the flesh around his severed knee and thigh was nothing compared to the pain and discomfort he'd already experienced, and didn't bother him nearly as much as it could have. After a little while, the humming and tingling of them had enough of a rhythm to be something of a white noise. They were helping... and he wasn't going anywhere, anyway.

Whatever his fate, and whatever questions and confusion he had about it... none of them mattered. He was trapped, and alone, stood tall over by two Sith that plagued him most in the galaxy.

He saw the black blur of a hand rise against the glass and closed his eyes again, an exhausted breath out leaving the mask as a cloud of bubbles. It didn't sicken him as it had other times, the sight of the Hollow Lord. Perhaps he was just tired. Perhaps he had felt too much for that to effect him, anymore. If Thrax was being gentle with him, he couldn't fathom why. The last time their paths had crossed, it had been with his sister, mentally twisted and brain-washed, standing between them.

/Then, Aolanni... is she here too...?/


It was highly unlikely that Reithan could have expected a reply to his idle musing, but then he should've considered who he was dealing with. Thrax was a master of the dark side of the Force before the half-Miraluka had even been born. Telepathy was not beyond him, reasonably. And when he spoke with it, the voice resonated from -inside- the younger man. If not for the courtesy of the Lord of Entropy creating a clear distinction for what was his response to Reithan's errant thought, it might have been easy for the recipient of the message to mistake it for a thought of his own making.

Thrax's entire den of iniquity, wherever he was holding Reithan, seemed to resonate with the same basic aura of both oppression and invasion. While there was certainly the ever-present feeling of domination, there was also something more insidious lurking beneath, trying to worm its way inside the younger man's heart like water into cracks in stone. The erosion that accompanied his presence was not only passive, but also actively manipulative. It was the remnant of what once had been the unique ability to create powerful bonds with others in the Force, a power which had since corrupted so as to make Thrax himself something akin to a plague-bearer, actively spreading an infection of darkness and despair.

It would have been how he corrupted so many on Zythia into following his nihilistic rule. It must have been how he corrupted Aolanni, too... though Aolanni, if her jailer was to be believed, was no longer with him. And why would Thrax lie about being in possession of such a potentially valuable advantage in his dealings with him?

Before Reithan could project another question toward the Darth, a sudden jab to his neck disrupted his thoughts. One of the insectoid medi-bots had snuck along his back and now had its syringe proboscis buried deep in the young man's throat. Warmth filled his veins, rising to his cheeks, which he felt reddening as the anesthetic began to take hold over his body and mind. Clearly it wasn't intended that he should awaken just yet.

The first feeling to be lost was that of the small droids going about their work. Apparently the mechanized mites had their fill of the last bits of infected tissue clinging to his body and had left the tank somehow. The tingling feeling of skin healing into scar tissue over these areas was overwhelming to Reithan's senses, before it started to fade to numbness along with everything else in his world.

The last sensation the young man would experience before his mind returned to blackness was that of great suction emanating from beneath him. His kolto-filled world was rapidly emptying, and soon he would follow with it as the braces containing his body were released, starting with his legs and ending with his wrists. He descended with the draining goo, breathing mask leaving his face as he started to slide into the depths of unconsciousness again.

Seven red eyes saw him off to his renewed sleep.

Cantina / What Are Your Writing Influences?
« on: 02/10/15, 02:48:05 AM »
I've been wanting to bring this up for some time, because I believe most of us are really impacted in the way we write, fashion characters and even see the world, by the reading/TV/movie material that really stuck out to us in the past. Which stories resonated with us most, which mediums we absorbed easiest, what sort of explorations we like to make.

I would love to hear how a lot of people here came into writing, and where they think their styles and inspirations and influences come from :) Let me start with my own...

Neon Genesis Evangelion

I'm sure I've rambled about this with at least a few of you already. Please don't be fooled by the 'mecha-fighting anime' vibe, this show is in a league of its own - one of the many reasons that, while the animation and such has aged over time, it still continues to have a massive fan following and a shit-tonne of weird-ass porn, but let's not get into that.

The entire show lures you into a false sense of security for the first half of the series - cool fighting robots, sometimes they go a bit nuts, and are piloted by teenage children. I was only about nine when I begun watching it, not really understanding the concept of 'cartoons for adults' yet (the word 'anime' wasn't even on my radar), and thankfully for me, neither did my parents. What I had originally thought was show about cool robots ended up being a lot more. It was probably the first thing I'd ever watched where each main character was intricately written, with such three-dimensions to their personalities that all slowly came to light as the show progressed. The mains are not just pilots, but teenagers going through puberty and struggling with different emotions, depression, the responsibility of their work and the ghosts of their pasts. It taught me, most definitely, how to structure a layered character. It taught me the basics of human psychology. It had me asking questions of myself that I don't think many nine-year-olds were asking, such as "where is my place in the world? Where is my self-worth? What do I bring to society? Am I happy?". It was heavy stuff at the time, and I think sometimes it even made me miserable - but nothing could've taught me how to structure a character like this one. The way the show visually represents and explores the characters psyches and how they feel within beneath the facades is truly amazing and unique.

A low budget also seemed to be a blessing in disguise, for being limited with a small collection of musical themes and often haven to either reuse footage or have long still images - the directors had to get creative. And they were. The show had excellent pacing with building tension and excitement. They knew what shots to use and when to use them, how fast or slow they should be. Guh. Evangelion taught me so much about composition, too.

I recommend this show to anyone, whether you like anime or no. The animation and music is a little dated now, but if you can overlook that you'll be doing yourself a favour. Even the English voice-acting is alright. Just do yourself a favour and don't watch the movies that concluded the anime... they sucked so hard and were essentially one massive troll by a very disgruntled creator.

The Never-Ending Story

Nope, not a picture from the film, because I'm talking about the actual novel :D So much love for the film, but after I watched it many years ago, my mum dug up a copy of the book from a box in the garage. I proceeded to read it over three times and essentially love it to pieces. It was grade three. That book was what piqued my interest in writing my own stories. I loved the world created in it so much, that I then also became enamoured with the idea of creating my own worlds. I had always drawn, but after reading the book I started drawing fantasy worlds and creatures, and started writing and making up my own things. It was also the longest book I had ever read at that age (395 pages) and introduced me to a whole lot of new words I hadn't known before. So much of my desire to create came from that book. I feel so incredibly connected to it and the story within. I still own the original copy from the garage, though I've since had it rebound, and last year I also got the inside cover signed by Noah Hathaway, who sighed it " 'Do what you dream, love Noah Hathaway, 'Atreyu' ' ".

So, those are my two greatest writing influences :) Now tell us yours!

The Trading Floor / In need of eyepatch!
« on: 11/03/14, 06:21:38 PM »
HEY GUYS. If anyone is willing to sell me an RD-07A Viper Helmet or something similar like the Enforcer's Eyeguard (from the Contraband guys at the Bazaar, I don't have the standing to buy it!), that an agent can wear, I would love you forever and ever.

The character in question IS a cyborg, but the patch needs to sit over the right eye socket.

I can pay in items, creds, or a drawing commission :)

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