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Topics - Auryn

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Cantina / Character Faceclaims!
« on: 03/20/18, 05:56:49 PM »
Didn't want to necro a thread that was almost two years old and has a lot of missing images (thank you, Photobucket); so can we consider this The New And Improved Faceclaim Thread:halo:

I'm only sticking with the characters I'm actively playing atm; a couple are missing, like Svipul and Hypatia, because I haven't thought about who they would look like much yet! But they will come, eventually.

Ian with his srs bzns face on. Man looks great in a suit; he's basically 007.

Yes, the different image was entirely necessary. Entirely necessary. Right @Dassalya ?

This was difficult to choose an image for, because Cole Sprouse embodies Feyda in every way.

This has been edited! I recently watched 'The End of the F***ing World' and I'm sorry Evanna, but Jessica embodies Haz so perfectly >.>;

(also wow; that moment you realise all your mains have white hair >.> )

Now... tag!  :whee:

Flashpoints and Operations / LFG Impside Dread Masters Ops!
« on: 03/06/18, 02:13:33 AM »
HAI GAIS. So myself and @Jaydek are looking to do the Dread Masters Ops on Oricon, for a number of reasons. First being, there's some decorations we'd like that are super rare that we wanna see if they'll drop, second because I have never actually 'completed' Oricon before because I have done either of the Ops; though also because, why not?

So far we have myself as a DPS, and Jay can use her Sin to tank. Who would like to join us? :D  :darkside:

Holocrons and Info Nodes / Until We Go Down
« on: 02/26/18, 12:30:13 AM »

Some Time Ago

“TAKE IT OFF!” he raged, corrupted eyes seething with anger at the blank-masked helm, “face me while you try to destroy me and my home, coward!”

The gathering wall of water was high enough now to cast a shadow over Northgalis’ lower levels, and rain from its outskirts was starting to pelt the platform they danced about on.

It was a threat. Just a threat. He wouldn’t. The bastard was just letting off steam - they both were. They’d end in a stalemate, or more likely with the echani against the floor with a sabre to his neck, being told how weak he was, which seemed to be the favourite topic of the month. Then they’d both ease off, grumble at each other. Maybe to kriff it out later. Then talk about what in the living Hell had been done with his poor brother - sent off for training, and locked up in some torture dungeon instead.

What by Force is up with you lately, Rysh? His eyes narrowed at the featureless black helm Darth Haar wore.

“Why don’t you just DIE?!” Came a holler from behind that mask, as Bælfir’s construct made from rock and bits of city reassembled for the umpteenth time behind them, ready to put the pressure on Haar’s defense again. Pure hatred laced those words.

Bælfir’s lips quivered strangely, as though he were unsure whether to smile that one down or not as some kind of… taunt? Joke? He covered up the lack of clarity with a snarl. That wave was looming ever closer. “Why don’t we go together?!”

I’ll call his bluff. Soon. He’ll stop. He’ll get over it. They’d been through too much together for this petty argument to be anything but a short, aggravated tiff.

He was still thinking that when his opponent made a feint to one side, then reached out with his duelling hand, disenganging his lightsaber. Bælfir expected lightning, or for the Force to wrap around his neck. Instead the arm wrapped around his waist and drew him in. His eyes fluttered in confusion. The grip on his own saber slipped a little as he felt the heat of Haar’s body against his for the first time in a long while.


Bælfir felt the cold press of the hilt to his back a split second before the sabre ignited.


He hung onto every word of the broadcast, still with anticipation, his nose so close to the feed that at times the holo wavered with static interference. Every now and then his Master glanced up from his work and peered over the room at the boy, suspicious at how completely engrossed he was in the broadcast, before giving a subtle shake of his head and returning to the old tomes spread out across the desk. At length he drawled without looking up, “Haven’t I given you an abundance of study for the week?”

“Finished it,” the boy replied listlessly.

“And your linguistics? Your incantation work has been sloppy as of late.”

Nu zinot gerejas,

Darth Arostos sighed tersely and beckoned with a single finger – the small holoprojector jumped off the table, and Baelfir’s head whipped around with a look of dismay as it was called to his master’s beckoning hand. He turned the device over in his grasp and considered crushing it, but no, he wanted to make absolutely certain… he thumbed the on switch and the feed flickered back to life, showing a strapping young Sith with dark, haunted eyes glaring down a nervous Imperial journalist.

“Hnn…. Ryshias. Darth Nolus’ boy. You have an interested in him?”

Baelfir’s jaw slackened a little, as though his Master were old and dull and it was completely not acceptable that he had no concept of the Sith in question’s fame. “Have you not been following his progress through the war with the Republic? He is an unstoppable force, they’re all saying so. He’s not even that much older than me and he’s out there winning entire planetary conquests single-handedly. They say he could take on Darth Malgus himself, that even the Emperor favours him.” His eyes flashed briefly with anger. “How come you don’t let me join the war effort? I hate being cooped up here studying all the time.”

A wry grin twisted the old man’s coarse crimson features as he rose from the chair and made his way towards Baelfir’s study, leaning heavily into his gold-encrusted cane with each second step. It was a bother, which kept him inside more often than not to prevent the risk of peers and fellows from seeing weakness, but the disease had eaten through four cybernetic leg and hip braces before Darth Arostos had conceded defeat. The cane itself; a mocking gift from one of his daughters. ‘This is why I prefer the company of the little Echani’ he’d sneered.

He watched the boy unabashedly eye his withering frame with a subtle measure of dismay, expecting the same answer as usual.

“The Emperor favours no one, if his silence says anything about his care for our vast Empire… and last I checked, a fair bit older than you, my child. Some Sith may find amusement in dressing up younglings in armour and velvet cloaks and sending them into battle, but it is not a past-time of mine, and I would loathe to see you obliterated after all the time and energy I’ve put into that empty head of yours.” The cane lashed out, whacking the side of Bælfir’s brow before he could pull it away, and he hissed with the sting of it.

“You excel at the alchemical arts. You are not a brute-force fighter to be thrown at Jedi like a Hutt-ball in a death match – our way is of learning and creation. Science and old Sith Magic tempered together. You will help the war effort in your own way. Perhaps your creatures will one day stalk across the fetid swamps of Balmorra, or block out the light of Tattooine’s twin suns.”

Another reminder of what he was apparently so good at, yet not what held his interest or desire. Baelfir turned his cheek, and Arostos watched the way his stubborn chin jutted as he forced his annoyance and frustration out the window instead of up at his Master. Wasn’t their Code, their way, about following desire, finding your power there? In a brief lapse of judgement he peered towards the dreary distant forest mountains bordering Kaas City, and not for the first time in his young life, considered running away to find the destiny he desired. The cobbles Arostos placed before him were tedious and boring. They made him feel weak, to hid behind constructs or bury his nose in books when the other apprentices were learning to level buildings. When they were being shoved out of shuttles to the hard, unforgiving surface of Korriban and told to do or die. How thrilling. He wanted to be powerful. Powerful, like Ryshias. He saw himself standing at the young Lord’s side, sabre in hand, ready to show his new master what he could-

“Ow!” He snapped, cringing away as Arostos’ cane clipped his opposite ear.

“Ungrateful ape,” The pureblood muttered, though without contempt. Curiously got the better of the old man, and after a little while of watching the child refuse to reach up and rub his bleeding lobe, he asked, “Tell me what else you think of him. This Lord Ryshias; tell me what the Force speaks to you of him.”

“I think he’s bad news.”


He angled a bored look towards the eternal pessimist that was his brother, eyebrow shooting up. “I know. You’ve made your feelings on the matter perfectly clear. Many times.”

“I’m an intelligence agent. If you don’t trust my judgement, then trust my intel.” Fælan sighed huffily. Bælfir noted with some amusement that, despite decades of separation and growing up far removed from one another, it was much the same sigh he himself made when equally annoyed. “Do you know what surrounds Darth Haar in all of his records, reports and holo-files – and these are the ones that aren’t triple-encrypted by the Sphere of Mysteries?”

“Countless victories and adoring fans?” Bælfir brought his delicate crystal glass up and studied the light striking colour through its sharp edges, sipping at a deep mauve wine nonchalantly.

“A very high body-count.”

“My goodness, you’ve really not been paying attention to the Empire’s main activities at all, have you?”

“Not the bodies of our enemies, brother,” Fælan corrected testily, and Bælfir could practically hear his thin layer of patience being sanded coarsely away, “to all those around him. His men, his allies, most likely a few lovers – and his Master’s previous work in Mysteries was a time and resource sink I’m struggling to find even a speeder parking fine in relation to. There is nothing good to be found in an alliance between the Valefor and his power base.”

“On the contrary, an alliance between us is exactly what the Valefor needs – he’s a strong presence within the Empire, and I’m not sure if you’ve been to the last few War Room meetings but they’re mostly still screaming about hunting down and beheading ‘those Valefor traitors’.”

He lowered a lopsided smirk towards his twin. “An ally to speak of our allegiance to the Empire, such as Darth Haar, is a precious asset. Especially with that blob of a human being Malagant and his spittle-filled ravings that for some reason, members of the Empire are swayed by.”

“I just…” Faelan’s rigid shoulders relaxed some, and he leaned idly against the countertop.

“...Look. I’m about as Force-sensitive as a trash compactor, so my opinion counts for naught. I get it. but my instincts have never let me down. I don’t like him, Bæl. He is as powerful and renown as he is unpredictable. There are accounts of his cruelty that even for a Lord of the Sith, seems… excessive.”
Bælfir tried to search for a way to say ‘your gut doesn’t like him probably because he tortured you for information and you don’t remember’ that would somehow soften the blow – found nothing, and returned to drinking instead. If he was to be fair, and honest, that incident was the perfect example of Ryshias’ breed of ‘excessive cruelty’ Fælan was trying to explain.

Indeed, at the time he had thought it fairly excessive, considering he hadn’t expected to encounter any issue with sending his brother to the Citadel on some boring paperwork errand… but his thoughts were never on-point, when a fancy was involved.

In fact… It was that cruelty that interested him. Or, part of what caught his attention. It wasn’t like the other Sith, the rabid dogs who fought for scraps of power and approval, who were constantly at each other verbally and physically in any setting, seemingly desperate to go ‘No, I am the most powerful, witness me’. ‘I am powerful, you are nothing’; ‘no, I am powerful and you are nothing!’. Ryshias didn’t engage in, or need that. He had not those fragile insecurities. He knew he was powerful, and when he wielded it, ‘excessive’ was the only available word.

“What experiences have you had so far with Haar’s representatives that has you so insistent?” Fælan continued, insistent. “There are a dozen other, more predictable, less murderface Sith we could ally with that would give just as useful a sway. Sith who are more wanting for our resources, too.”

Bælfir came back from his thoughts, recognising that stubborn look from the mirror, and knew the other wouldn’t stop until he believed he’d completely and verbosely made his point. They did both like to talk, in different ways.

He spun the chair around to face him with a slow, bemused smile. “We’ve met up a few times. One of those, I was fairly drunk and it was at Dancer’s Palace, which is hardly what you’d call some sort of serious conspiratory battleground. He was there with that pinched, angry pink lesbian Kitaree and I commented on his new haircut. S-so much death,”

“Bælfir,” Faelan simply returned the look with a thin frown, and an accusatory stare, “tell me you’re not sleeping with him.”

Bælfir winked, swirling his finger around idly in the air and causing the wine in his glass to rise and dance around it like a hypnotised adder. “Not yet.”


The red tattoo was afire, making the skin stretched across his chest burn and smart and feel of agony each time the material of his tunic brushed against it. Baelfir ground his teeth together and pressed on through the narrow corridor. The closer he got, the more fiercely the pain accosted him, his vision beginning to swim and double. Zaharoth was impatient, just as Ryshias had said. Now that he knew where the other fragments of him resided, he was impatient to become whole again, and he would tear the three of them apart the first chance he got.

That wasn’t the worst of it, though. Pain he could take – the unknown, the issues facing them… what had his Master said? ‘Each problem has a solution, so waste not your energy on fretting with the how or why, but focus it on finding the shortest path to your answer’. He wondered briefly if that was the philosophy Darth Arostos had held in mind as he’d been making the incantation to burn that tattoo into his screaming apprentice’s chest while he sealed away the fragment of Zaharoth within.

Solution. He forced his mind to a sharp point. There was a solution to this. There was a solution to every situation that ever was. He was an alchemist before anything else, and this - this reeked of it. Arostos would have built an out into the formulae. He wasn’t so eager for breakthough that caution would be thrown to the wind. An alchemist always played with fire. An alchemist without care was a dead alchemist.

He remembered siding down the wall, and how nice and cool the tiled floor was against his skin, and the pain abating some as his brother and his polarity approached, to help drag him to his feet.

“So was it worth it?” Fælan asked coldly. “Was it worth this? You and your bloody bleeding heart. He’ll be the death of us both.”

Alchemy wouldn’t kill him; but obsession might, he thought.


The rain from the impending tsunami still fell lightly into his eyes, and the wave never came as the roaring of the water subsided. The wound – the gaping hole the black-cored lightsaber had driven through his body – smarted and burned, but he couldn’t feel anything beneath it. The blade must have gone right through his spine.

One last, final, deadly embrace. The climax.

He felt Ryshias heavy footfalls pass by his head, towards the edge of the rooftop garden’s platform. He reached out limply to snatch at his ankles like a child.

I did everything for you.

He felt a child, too, in his stupidity. In his admiration. For the first time, laying there with smoke rising from his burnt armor and clothing, with such clarity of mind that he could feel his life ebbing away on the Force’s current… he finally understood the worry of the brother he had distanced, and sent away - another care of his that had been crushed by this damnable man.

I saved you. I came for you. I released you from Zharoth.

My suffering released you from Zaharoth. My brother’s suffering released you from Zaharoth.

Irmenu’s suffering released you from Zaharoth.

Without me you would still be pitiful.

Do you hate me, because… His breath rattled out painfully. His lungs struggled to expand again, full of heat and sitting atop a ruined diaphragm.

...because I loved you?

Words pierced through his clarity. He heard the Darth say something about being free from weakness, but his senses phased in and out, and the sky above began to blur and bloom. Sweet dropletsof rain fell to his tongue as his mouth opened wide, trying to breathe.

“Enjoy the rest of your life, unless these are its last few moments.” Darth Haar turned to glance down at him, a grin in his voice. The curtain call.

“I just don’t care anymore.”

Bælfir screamed for three days and nights.

The sheer fuel of his anger crept into every pore, every cell; forcing his lungs to pump, holding his last moments together like cupped hands sloshing water into a bucket, trying to save the ocean. He was alive with fury. He was fury. It stained his eyes blood red and his porcelain skin with dark, ugly veins, and he screamed.

The epilogue.

The doctor drifted over to his side with an injection. ‘He needs kolto,’ he heard. ‘He can’t keep on like this. Need to knock him out, get him into a tank.’

His hand rose into the air. Clenched. Twisted. The man fell to the floor with his spine in pieces.

No healing, no drugs, nothing for the pain, Baelfir seethed.

He wanted to feel all of it, he said.

He wanted to make sure he remembered this for the rest of his life. The agony. The betrayal. The hatred. Burnt it into his brain, as the lightsaber had burned into his body.

Every single moment.

Events and Occasions / The Irmenuan Masquerade Gala
« on: 02/23/18, 08:57:10 PM »
To celebrate the return of Irmenu to the galactic trading stage after almost a year of absence, Prince Bælfir Yosoth, Warlord Protector of Irmenu and Pretty AF Sith, would like to cordially invite you to a decadent celebration of fashion and over-indulgence.

Behold, Totally Not Manaan Irmenu

Location: Bælfir's Manaan SH.

Time and Date
Server: Saturday, March 10th, 5pm til late
Australian: Sunday, March 11th, 12pm til late
(The early start is on purpose - want to be as accessible as possible, so that people may come and go over the course of the evening as they please.)

Faction: Both. No fightin'. Remember your '/me' emotes won't be seen cross-faction :)

Dress Code: Formal, extravagant, fancy, outrageous! Headgear that covers your face to some extent is a must.

For SH Invites:
Imperial: Whisper Bælfir (Alt code 0230) or Sèlaan (Alt code 0232).
Republic: TBA
Can't finds us?: Drop a line in RepublicOOC or ImperialOOC, we'll get t'you :halo:

There will be novelty prizes for:

Most Creative Ensemble

Best Ridiculous Get-up That Actually Works

Best Use of Dye

Most Impressive Cheap-Ass Outfit (No orange or purple items used!)


- For extra thematic fun, please have your nameplates turned off at the event.

- A decent bar-fight is all in good fun, but if violence breaks out those characters would likely have to be escorted off the property ICly. So keep it entertaining, but light. Only one Force-choke each. :P

- There will be an allocated area for the ball itself, but you are welcome to wander off and RP elsewhere in the Stronghold for privacy, or check out my dank minimalist set-dressing. (read: I am not rich, so the whole place is not decked out :P )

- That said, this is an All Ages event, so please do not ERP anywhere in the Stronghold. Not even in Bælfir's bedroom.

- Bælfir still represents the Valefor. Do not come to this event to throw around 'rawr Valefor traitors to Empire rawr'. I am not interested in spending the entire event explaining for the umpteenth time why the Valefor are not traitors, to deaf ears. You will just be thrown out. :halo:

- Out-Of-Character bullying or drama will not be tolerated, and result in an immediate ban from the SH.

Media Gallery / Auryn of Worlds
« on: 02/14/18, 01:12:10 AM »
I been makin' planets.

Two of the three planets in the Yggdris System, Wild Space:



I hope compression has been kind to them - they're too dark on one of my screens and too light on another. >_>

Events and Occasions / Masquerade Ball The Second
« on: 02/12/18, 07:30:23 PM »
After some fond reminiscing with @Noth and inspiration from all the fab outfits on the forum lately - yeah, we need to do this again.

For those of you who remember the first Masquerade Ball, it was a cross faction event themed chiefly around fun costumes with fun masks. We hung around on this one ledge at the Organa Estate, had some chill, admired and giggled at each other's outfits from the most extravagant to the most ridiculous.

I'd like to take it up a notch this time around.

To celebrate the return of Irmenu to the galactic trading stage after almost a year of absence, Prince Bælfir Yosoth, Warlord Protector of Irmenu and Pretty AF Sith, would like to cordially invite you to a decadent celebration of fashion and over-indulgence.

Location: Bælfir's Manaan SH.

Time and Date
Server: Saturday, March 10th, 5pm til late
Australian: Sunday, March 11th, 12pm til late
(The early start is on purpose - want to be as accessible as possible, so that people may come and go over the course of the evening as they please.)

Faction: Both. No fightin'. Remember your '/me' emotes won't be seen cross-faction :)

Dress Code: Formal, extravagant, fancy, outrageous! Headgear that covers your face to some extent is a must.

For SH Invites:
Imperial: Whisper Bælfir (Alt code 0230) or Selaan M'soth.
Republic: TBA

There will be novelty prizes for:

Most Creative Ensemble

Best Ridiculous Get-up That Actually Works

Best Use of Dye

Most Impressive Cheap-Ass Outfit (No orange or purple items used!)


- For extra thematic fun, please have your nameplates turned off at the event.

- A decent bar-fight is all in good fun, but if violence breaks out those characters would likely have to be escorted off the property ICly. So keep it entertaining, but light. Only one Force-choke each. :P

- There will be an allocated area for the ball itself, but you are welcome to wander off and RP elsewhere in the Stronghold for privacy, or check out my dank minimalist set-dressing. (read: I am not rich, so the whole place is not decked out :P )

- That said, this is an All Ages event, so please do not ERP anywhere in the Stronghold. Not even in Bælfir's bedroom.

- Out-Of-Character bullying or drama will not be tolerated, and result in an immediate ban from the SH.

Cantina / WWOHS?
« on: 02/07/18, 04:41:27 AM »
We all know the guy. From his edgy one-eye mascara accident to his pointy "Hey look I'm a bad guy!" goatee to the nasal-y way he practically vomits 'slave' at you like the very word tastes like dogpoo.

A friend and I who recently made new Sith characters have been having a good ol' laugh about how much we love to hate Overseer Harkun, and what our characters would really say or do to him if they had the chance.

So! Let's have some fun with exactly that.

If your Sith character had been trained as an acolyte under Overseer Harkun, however long ago; What Would Overseer Harkun Say, and what would your OC say right back?

Holocrons and Info Nodes / One Good Thing
« on: 02/04/18, 06:07:13 AM »
One Good Thing

With lungs full of smoke and a mouth full of blood, Hazaly was mumbling her death rites through sooted tears when she saw the stranger on the horizon.

Her vision swam in and out of focus, mostly out of. Scraped, pale fingers gripped and tore at the wilted grass beneath her as she pulled herself forward on her belly. One of hers she thought, trying so hard to bring him into focus. His back was turned, surveying the destruction laid out below, her once-home; good. Maybe she’d be able to get one last kill in before the Seiðr came for her soul.

Breath rasped haggardly through her teeth as she reached for the nearest something on the ground to use as a weapon. An axe, please, Oddgrimr almighty she hoped it was an axe. Broken-nailed fingers clawed for the hilt of what ended up being a club - not just any club, either, but one small enough to be the training ‘toys’ they gave the younger members of the tribe, padded with cloth to soften the blow. Her eyes stung and the memory of small arms clinging to her legs and wrapped around her waist or clutching her shoulders in a piggy-back ride drew a rugged sob from her.

Another sob was stamped roughly out of her when a foot came down on her back, pressing her sharply into the ground. The soft earth beneath from recent rain caved gently to her body. Nails scraped wood. Just a little more. Take them both down. Then die quick. Die before she eats you.

“You there!” The voice above swam through water to her. “Who are you?!”

She watched the blurry stranger turn. A slender dark patch silhouetted against the smoke and fire rolling out of their village over the gnoll. Though Hazaly could barely make him out, something clenched in her gut. That deep-seated power she’d never used, the power that the witch was sucking out of her brothers and sisters, told her something was wrong. He was wrong. Not the same wrong as the Seiðr.

The man above started making strange sounds. Choking. Pressure raised from her back - then the sound of a sickening crack brought his entire body down on top of her. She grunted breathlessly into the ground. Through watering eyes, the mannligr approached…


A loud pop from the crackling fire snapped Hazaly awake.

“Don’ sit up,” a voice out of sight urged harshly, “you ‘ave cracked bones.”

The smell told her ash trees, the oil they secreted poisonous to all but the surface-dwellers - the sharp air and the sounds of gentle creaking far below said the hut was up in the massive branches of said trees. Hazaly looked around slowly. She couldn’t have been out for too long - her eyes still stung from the smoke, and the soreness in her limbs was still young.

“Is this th-mmn,” She hadn’t taken the disembodied advice, and hissed sharply. A weathered pair of hands forced her back into the reed cot she lay on.

“How many,” she demanded at a rasp, head swivelling around to try and catch sight of her company as they struggled to get her back down, “How many??

“One more if you don’ lay still.”

The voice cracked like a whip, bringing with it recognition to the girl’s weary mind. Valhashra, the shamaness of the Norden Ash Tribe. A woman she had known, respected and slightly feared since she was small, since the truce between all the northern clans and the Council of Nords hard brought them together. Cowed before her authority, Hazaly whimpered and relented. The room tipped with her, dizziness overcoming her along with the thick smell of woody incense from the fire, and ash oil from the Seiðr’s anointed headdress. Valhashra hummed in the background, sometimes whispering words and verses with Force-magic curling around her tongue, between chewing on the herbs she combined slowly and carefully to a thick paste. 

Small slivers of wind made their way through the thick cloth flaps draped over the doorway, rustling through racks of hanging bunches of dry herbs, knocking together chimes made of bleached, hollowed bones. A Seiðr's hut was sacred - a place of healing and death, and the Force. Hazaly wandered what the soul-sucking witch's hut looked like. She imagined the skins of men strung up as its tarps, deer skulls adorned with blood-painted beads. The things of bed-time stories.

“Four,” the woman said at length, “includin’ you.”

Hazaly heaved with a miserable sob. She brought up a hand to cover her face, not wanting her weakness to be seen, trying to set her jaw.

“Come now,” the old woman scolded, not unkindly, bracing the girl’s cracked ribs with a surprising strength, “y’must be brave. There be much more ay’head.”

“Th-that’s nearly everyone,” Hazaly gasped, each lurch of grief wracking her sides with agony.

“An’ yet not everyone,” Valhashra responded simply. She settled back away near the head of the cot, and Hazaly heard the sound of a mortar scraping in a pestle, back and forth, round and around. Could that paste get any pastier? The sound of it, and the subtle rise of the herbs within to join the incense already thick in the air was a hollow comfort.

“The gods want ye fer somethin’, fer certain. Oddgrimr had his eye on you that day. The mannligr saw it too, this old woman thinks. One who brought ye in.”

Mannligr. Their Old Word for stranger, holding mysterious and negative connotations, a bad omen. A mannligr meant change, trouble, upheaval of their ways… not always the bringer, but rarely the savior. Hazaly swept her thoughts over the blur of a man. She couldn’t recall any details other than the unease, and how he may have been the one to kill the goon who’d tried to crush her into the ground. If he’d saved her, she thought grumpily, the very least he could’ve done was to make sure that asshole hadn’t fallen right on-top of her--

“Where you think you’re goin’ then?” Valhashra went sharply as the girl eased herself up over the side of the cot with a wince.

“To talk te him,” She breathed, gaze locked ahead with determination. Pain of the body was nothing to the hardened Mountain tribe… she’d overcome. She had to - there were so few of them left.

Hazaly found him at the very edge of the village, on the last and smallest platform by the side of a run-down storage house that seemed to no longer be in use - the walk had been hard, the climb down a ladder to the lower platforms nearly a fall, but it was as far as they would allow him into the village proper. The Ash Tribe, one of the oldest of the northern area and devoid of men, were known to be highly superstitious and entrenched in the Old World. Hazaly wasn’t surprised they had barely let him over the threshold.

She knew he’d seen her approach -though he remained sitting against the wall of the shack gazing out towards the forest - by the way a hand had reflexively shifted to a cylinder clasped to his belt. Light sword she thought. Weapons of the Jedi and Sith, of Zakuul; factions that meant nothing around here. Not in these mountains, not on this planet.

He felt so wrong, and looked wrong to match it. Something she couldn’t place, the way a person simply set one’s teeth on edge - ordinary enough a human, other than the strange green lights in his pale eyes, and the slender dark veins sneaking up from the neckline of his tunic. Sickly? Or was this the corruption of the Sith she’d heard so many dramatic campfire stories about?

“Hey, you,” She demanded, hating the sound of pain in her own voice.

He didn’t move or respond - he was like a statue, and she was having none of it. Limping up, arm around her side;

“Hey, you,” she repeated, and kicked the side of his boot.

“Shouldn’t you be resting?” He asked quietly, barely flinching. His voice was low, a little rough around the edges, just like he was. “I felt three broken ribs…”

“Y’saved me.” Colour rose to her freckled cheeks, staining each dot darker and angrier, “why me? Why me an’ no one else, Mannligr?”

He let her confusing mix of feelings hang in the air a little while, then said simply, “I’m not here to save anyone.”

Still, he didn't turn his head. For some reason that made her more upset. The words were so infuriatingly departed in emotion… and it was such a lack of respect, to not look in the eye with whom you spoke. It was frowned upon in the north.

“You’re not from ‘ere. Your voice s’all wrong.” Her gaze went again to the bladeless hilt at his hip. She noticed a second one, on his other side, though both were scratched and worn. “You one o’ them… Jedi? Sith?”

His chest wobbled briefly with silent, bitter laughter. So the statue could move. “What’s it to you?”

“If y’are, I can only think o’ one reason your lot’d be so far out from that Republic, or Empire, or whichever.” Cold blue lit up her eyes like jagged ice, “You’re ‘ere te kill her, arencha? The lone Shamaness from the Blood Nebula. Seiðr Yadash.”

“No,” His voice almost drifted off with the wind, towards the distant fogs amongst the mountains that were once here home; and for the second between twilight and evening the mannligr looked far older and more weary than he had before, trembly hand moving to massage his heart,

“I came here to die.”

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 :)

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