Game ⚜️ Knights of the Eternal Empire: The True Sith Trials ⚜️

[Darth Thana]

IC: Darth Thana, Dread Master Of The Kissai

The Banquet Hall, Sith Temple, Korriban


Darth Thana was meditating in her private quarters aboard her ship The DreadFire, Venatrix class Star Destroyer when her Datapad began to buzz. The Zabrak opened her amethyst-colored eyes, lifting her hand to pull the device to her when she noticed it was a message from someone she had never really had contact with... Lady Apollyon.


It was an invitation to a feast on Korriban after the news had rung of Emperor Dreadwar being gone. It was a wicked thing to think about as Darth Dreadwar was considered to be everything she could think of as powerful. The Raven Haired Beauty rose to her feet and dust off her clothing, as she pondered what mayhem may unfold at this feast. It couldn't be just Thana attending, She could only imagine what fun Sith could have at a formal dinner...



Thana needed to perfectly pick her attire, she needed to stand out enough unprepared for what the evening may bring. Her fingers delicately skimmed across the different clothes in her closet. Removing black tights, a Crimson colored dress that seemed to open up at the bottom passing her thighs.


"Hmm..." followed by a pair of black tight boots with a brown colored belt and sleeve cuffs.



Moments later...


Thana finished dressing and pinned her hair up and lined the perfect amount of jewelry. She felt empty as she turned slightly away from the mirror pulling her crimson pike to her dominant hand.


The cool black metal fit perfectly in her palm before she detached the middle part of the saber to fold it, more to conceal it for safekeeping. The Zabrak was interested in this event but she was no fool, she wanted to be careful as she tucked it away on herself.


She exited her room and boarded her smaller ship, a Corellian HT-2200 named "The Infinite Inferno". Korriban wasn't very far so the journey was quite short.


The ramp hissed and opened as it fell making way for the Darth to exit, the clicking sound of her boots as they stepped off the final piece of metal. Entering the temple that the invite had directed. The doors opening as she saw many familiar faces whether she knew them personally or merely knew of them.


The banquet was extraordinarily crafted as she looked around at everything. The long tables reached the far ends, as if it touched end to end of the rather large room they sat within. Many other sith already mixing as they already sat in chairs all around. Some she had never met even in passing... walking past the doors those the Dread Master did recognize more so.


Darth Noxia, The Tribune. A Lady whose bite was a mere taste of what power she kept hidden away. Her ways of toying with the dead made her the iconic Mistress of Pain. Having watched her bite off someone's ear in person...


Darth Xarxes, The Nightfather who aided her in learning many of the ways of her childhood ideals. The nightsisters, their Magik, were mesmerizing. His hulking body that sat within the armor he had always dawned.


Darth Kain, The Beloved Prince of the Stars. She had not had many interactions besides on a mission but his presence was fearsome.


Two Lords from her house that were quite intellectual, those who she wished to learn from to hopefully be as smart as they. Lords Darth Ānhrā and Sedicious.


She also bypassed a Few Masters, one of which she had done some missions and training with since they were Acolytes. Darth Skyllan the Gray skinned and winged being, their personality was professional and although she had not really grown all that friendly with on a daily basis. Darth Mavros was someone she had not known much of, just that he was smart.


Darth Mirtis was a basic warrior who took more pride in killing face to face. The red skinned Trandoshan had been linked from what she heard with the mighty Tribune. Thana had escaped missions with him and trained since day one but they had wildly grown apart. The Zabrak would not likely put it past her to end his life by any means necessary.


Finally... Knight I-Ron, the brilliant yet literal Shard who she had a competition with since his arrival in the Empire. She had at some point grown quite fond of him, well at some points her. It was intriguing that they tended to change gender like most other change clothes. His mind and metal hands had crafted many deadly weapons to all Sith who had requested such.


Darth Thana found the shard like the closest thing to a friend. Among others she had not spent much time with or cared very little about in the long term.


The Zabrak fidgeted with her hands and wanted to craft a small fire on her right fingertip but something was missing... It didn't seem right. Looking around to see the annoying force suppression creatures she had learned while on her apprenticeship for free time.


"Well... Kriff... This will make it interesting to be in a room with all these ruthless individuals."


Then after taking a seat at a table across from a red skinned female she had not known in her time here, Darth Apollyon walked in making an entrance to say the least. Thana listened to the words she spoke of, Uniting under one person to stop the war that was ongoing. The tension was high here, Thana did not need the force to feel and feed on all the negative emotions running rampid around the room. It was easy to see key signs of them by the look on everyone's faces.


Locking eyes on her old Master, Lord Feros. Although something seemed off about him, the Dread Master figured it was just because she had not been around him in such a long time. His body language was slightly more different not that she had went straight to him before sitting down. Even now she had kept some distance away from him when she took her seat to see what was to come about everything.


Darth Thana looked down at the food and wine being served although for now she would steer clear until she knew nothing was spiked. Could never be too careful with the unknowing number of assassins that hold presence in these walls.


Sith are Sith after all.


Lord Kain seemed to take up conversation with Lord Catalyst, not that the Dark Lord of Cunning Linguistics escaped her view much. His features made his smooth talking ways be it flirtation or professional trash talk easy.


Attention to their conversation was not really something for her to worry about as she continued to scan the room to see who else matched up together.


Suddenly the doors opened as the Empress Volshe walked in with a small crowd following steps behind.


The guards that could be assumed with children in tow. It was one way to make an entrance to a grand hall filled with higher ranks barring the one apprentice in the bunch. The guards around her dawning different color armor then she had seen but she recognized it faintly. Thana had not really considered Empress Volshe to be her empress at least, the fact that she would bring those who believe in the neutral alignment of the force to a sith gathering. The Zabrak had been closer aligned to Emperor Dreadwar and now to see what would happen now...


Suddenly as Thana took her seat pushing down her dress edges down another Sith Master began to speak introducing himself. “Darth Mavros, Darth Thana,” he said, as cordially as he could manage, “allow me to introduce myself. I am Darth Volacius. I’m afraid I haven’t had the chance to read the reports of your respective exploits in much detail, as the recent conflicts our Empire has endured have occupied most of my time. Nevertheless, I consider it an honour and a pleasure to meet the both of you.”


Turning as she had taken the empty seat next to Darth Volacius. "Greetings Darth Volacius, I know of your name but I have failed to hear much of you either. As far as intro go, I am Darth Thana Dread Master of the Kissai. I would say it's an honor but honor is not what its cracked up to be. It's a fool's goal... Nonetheless it is great to meet another Sith of our empire.


Lord Xarxes seemed to take up conversation with Darth Skyllan, her Dread Sibling. She would've likely called Lord Xarxes the same but he was of higher rank to be considered her equal as her brother in knowledge and arms or so to speak.


Lord Pravum the self sure of himself dark lord, he was smart and having been trained under Lord Vassago. He grew to be full of himself at times which made him off put to Thana during their times of training. She would likely avoid that headache of any word exchanges with him.


The small exchange seemed to halt more as Lady Apollyon pitched an idea of unification. It was an interesting thought but was she right for the throne? She was Emperor Dreadwar’s apprentice so she learned most things from him but he had another apprentice who has done quite a bit for the Empire. Someone fearsome who had to have shown promise as she had an aura that made Thana fear her yet respected her so much... Darth Hesper. The Butcher of Coruscant, the power her name brought forth matched by beauty. Although Darth Thana had still not formally met her, she heard all she needed to and her being taught by the Emperor helped her opinion of it.


Looking up and towards what she thought was her former Master, his voice was different. The body language and his lack of accent made it apparent that it was not Lord Feros. There was talk of Darth Krayt, she now understood that it was him as the reborn dragon Lord...

 

[Admiral Volshe]

IC: Empress Kára Volshe (Darth Viscretus) and Darth Nihl
(mini combo)
Banquet Hall, Korriban

“Oh of course, I forget myself I suppose. It's just been so long. I got myself excited, Darth Kaos."

“See? There I go again. Apologies, Empress Volshe. Surely, you don't need my forgetfulness to add to your stress. We can all see you're simply distraught over the disappearance of your dear husband. Please, forgive me. The aged mind often forgets, doesn't it?"

The words hung in the air, much as her own did. This time, her ears rang. It took a moment for the scream of rage to dissipate, and by the time it had he had moved onto facetious compliments and conversation with the others in attendance.

The hand of the Knight beside her rose to her belt and the clip that fastened the lightsaber there. She stepped forward a half step besides Viscretus. It was not through sensing her anger that the Knight moved, but through noticing how close Krayt’s hand had come to hers.

It all happened in a whirlwind, her mind unable to focus on any of his words, instead slurring them into one string of indecipherable nonsense. Not that it mattered - everything he had to say was useless, provocative drivel.

She knew well he was attempting to set her off. Everything he had said was carefully crafted, an insult pulled from history of decades prior, a gesture of mockery, all aimed to push her over the edge. He knew her well enough, after all.

She exhaled, heavily, and in that instant, considered lunging across the table with the lightsaber the dangling just beside her.

Nihl's charcoal fingers paled to grey as they clutched Volshe's arm, hard.

Hold, he thought.

The Ysalamiri left Volshe vulnerable, even to Apollyon's enforcers of the peace; a level playing field was not a wise choice in field of battle.

She glanced to his hand, holding her arm in place. There was a brief moment in which she was tempted to pull away and continue with her instinctual plan. But the abrupt grip brought her back to centre with remarkable rapidity.

She relaxed, reluctantly, but did not forgive.

“It is excusable,” she began, her free hand moving to Nihl’s, fingers wrapping around his in an effort to hide that he was the last chain on a gate holding back Chaos itself. He returned the gesture. The next words came far more easily as the fire cooled, though it was far from extinguished. “I have not experienced it myself, but I imagine dying twice must have done a number on a brain so already sparsely populated. Much like the barren halls of your Order.”

There was a pause as she looked up and down the table. “It must be so difficult for you, darling, to face a third death tonight: your relevance. However, I am afraid I do not sympathize in the slightest.”

She tilted her head and a smile slithered across her lips. This time, there was venom. “I believe Apollyon did a kindness - unheard of for her - by allowing you to sit with us. But do be a dear, and hush, now. Do not make us move you to where you belong.”

Her hand released Nihl’s only briefly, as she motioned to the table of far lesser Sith - Knights and Apprentices - in the far corner of the room. It returned a moment later, and this time, she made a more dramatic gesture of taking his hand.

TAG: @DarthFeros @Darth Kain@Hadzuska_The Jester @Darth Nathemus @Darth Xirr @Darth Solus @DarthNoxia @Drakul_Xarxes@Jihadi Quartz @Voidwalker @Ānhrā Māhnîu@G.Kn @Reatith Blodraald @Darth Thana@Sith_Imperios @Cardun Vrek @Darth Sedicious@Helkosh @Darth Xxys @Volacius, @Metus

 

[Xarxes]

IC: Drakul Xarxes​

Zyldek found it hard to keep his composure around Skyllan, to be sure. He nodded at the sky’tri’s words and gave a slight chuckle at the suggestion to keep track of his words as well, though he grew increasingly uncomfortable as the Winged Sith drew him in. There were beings of far greater power present, such as his master standing just beside him, but there air around Skyllan was filled with a different sort of dread, one which did not flow from the Force.

“I will be certain to keep that mind,” he said, calmly and deliberately. No doubt Skyllan could pick up on the discomfort. Xarxes cocked his head to the side, looking directly at Zyldek rather than merely using his Mqaaq’it.

He, for certain, knew, and agreed with his grey friend on the subject of rulers and monsters, though he did not consider himself to be one of the latter. At another time, perhaps he had been, and to many he was still perceived as such, though care for Arkania, his family, and his duties had shaped his attitude into a far more orderly one. Though once emotionless, he now bore heart behind his pursuits. A weakness to some, perhaps, though he preferred to think of it as determination. These others in mind he largely considered to be a small part of a larger whole to which his ideals of order and justice were in line with.

Though he could not tell this, his thoughts wandered in the same path as Skyllan’s. The perfect ruler was no Sith. The Sith held a better, though rarely trodden, opportune path to a virtuous life given their adherence to freedom. Xarxes and Skyllan both knew of this freedom, After all, both had severe gripings with slavery, rape, and other such deprivations of the will. Even drunkenness, which made one a slave to liquor, was abhorrent in the eyes of the Nightfather. But the reliance on emotion kept them chained in a different way. Not in that the will had no choice, but that it inclined towards protecting of those things which one valued.

A wise philosopher, lost to the ages, had once said that the one who needs no friends is either a god or a monster. The former was greater than the average individual, and thus, completely capable of self-sustenance, he lacked need for friends, while the latter was completely craven and lacked the capacity for emotion, love, care, and fellowship. The perfect ruler would have to be the former. A philosopher-king who could outstretch their hand to those far beneath them to offer guidance and security, prosperity and happiness.

In another age, perhaps Xarxes would have been this one. Before he arrived on Arkania, he had cared for no one. He had been aggressive, merciless, abrasive. Now, however, he had a handful of individuals he truly cared for. The Drakulian tactic of yore were gone. Nearly every choice he made was for the sake of them.

And when loved ones were threatened, even the most orderly man could become the most deadly and vicious monster.

“The dress is tasteful, to be certain,” said Zyldek, breaking Xarxes out of his thoughts, “and given the glances towards other individuals present, I would not be surprised if you had your chance to do exactly that tonight.”

“The necklace,” added the Zabrak, “is dashing. I am certain I can deduce its source. Beautifully morbid attire, as you are oft to don.” Xarxes scanned the room, picking up on Kain’s absence and the crowd now surrounding Krayt. They looked like friendlier faces, for the former Emperor, at least, so he doubted that anyone would be dying just yet.

“Be on watch, Skyllan. The night is young and there are many dangers which lie in wait,” he warned in hushed tones. “It’s best to keep your sceptre ready.”


TAG: @Admiral Volshe @Darth Kain @Hadzuska_The Jester @Darth Nathemus @Darth Xirr @Darth Solus @DarthNoxia @Drakul_Xarxes @Jihadi Quartz @Voidwalker @Ānhrā Māhnîu @G.Kn @Reatith Blodraald @Darth Thana @Sith_Imperios @Cardun Vrek @Darth Sedicious @Helkosh @Darth Xxys @Volacius, @Metus

 

[DarthFeros]

IC: Darth Krayt
Waltzing around the Conversational Dance Floor
Feast Hall
Korriban

Ah. There it was. She was reaching. Dragging the bottom of the conversational barrel for a worthy insult. But even a Miraluka would have seen the flash of anger and torment smear itself across her face. And she herself had opened up the angle of his retort.

"Ah. Yes. My relevance. I will admit, dying does do some rather special things. You'd probably know by now, if you didn't fear it so." With his next words, there was no humor. There was only a low sense of seriousness and scathing honesty. "And you challenge my relevance even as we share the same position. You say Lady Apollyon has done me a service, yet she shows me no favor. Surely there are far more relevant parties present, and they sit nearly to the door. Do you truly still harbor such resentment for me, Kára? You Wound me. After all I taught you. The hate that I provided you gave you much power. I have heard of the things you've done. The feats you've accomplished. How would you have done so without me? How long would that power have taken without the loathing and torment I provided you? Where Lumiya failed you, I made you strong. And that's just the fact of things. Hate me if you must. You have every right. But these side marked quips grow tiring, Empress."

He paused here to let the now-hushed room absorb the words. His tone had turned to iron and condescension. Krayt had never been one for posturing, and he saw no reason to be much different. "How dare she. Challenge my relevance, yet here I sit, at the head of a table next to a Throne that is rightfully mine!" "That Throne hasn't been yours for decades. And it isn't now. Nor will it be again, you broken sycophantic prat. You're a foot note on the history of this order. A stain. And you'll be cleansed away, whether I go with you or not. I'll happily caress you all the way back to hell." "SHUT! UP!"

"And it truly is good to see you endure, Nihl, regardless of where your loyalties lie. How is it, caring for children, by the way? You did so well with your first born. From all I've gathered, the boy has made a fine name for himself in spite of you and his mother all but abandoning him. I do regret that I forced that, truth be told. But he is a fine addition to this Order, regardless of the details of his conception, and in sheer spite of all the odds stacked against him. Simply color me curious as to your motives. That's all. Nathemus deserved far better than what he got. So I'm genuinely interested in what motivates you to now do so well to help raise children that don't even have your blood in their veins."

Krayt actually meant every word of what he'd just said. Was it cruel and depraved? Yes. Did it succeed in what he'd been attempting? Also yes, though Admittedly he'd heard it had taken time. But Nathemus, née Coatlec, had grown into a fine Sith. He had taken his two finest warriors and combined them. And it had worked. What the boy felt about it was irrelevant.

She may have had a point. His halls may have been barren compared to his former One Sith Order. But before now, he had also been seen as a madman in the throes of a mental shattering. Not as one of the most powerful and cunning Sith the Galaxy had ever known. Now there would be no question.

"And another point piques my curiosity, Empress Volshe. You say my halls are barren, yet you bolster yours, and indeed, even bring into our sacred Temple, those who share views far contradictory to our own. Imperial Knights." Krayt spat the words, as if they were some unpleasant bitterness, from his mouth. He looked them over and chuckled to himself again as the woman stepped forward and began to palm her hilt. "Careful with that glow rod, girl. You turn that thing on and I won't have to lift a finger to see you in a hole in the ground. And even if I did, I orchestrated the fall of Roan Fel. Surely you've heard of him? The fact that you even set foot in this Holy place is an insult to everyone who calls themselves Sith. I am not the least of the ones that would like to see your presence wiped from Korriban. So switching that pretty silver stick on would probably be the last thing you'd want to do right now. I count four of you. If you do decide that's the next step you want to make in the dance, you may want to get a few more partners. Because here, you're seen as hardly better than the Jedi. And that's not a good place to be on Korriban."


TAG: @Admiral Volshe @Darth Kain @Hadzuska_The Jester @Darth Nathemus @Darth Xirr @Darth Solus @DarthNoxia @Drakul_Xarxes @Jihadi Quartz @Voidwalker @Ānhrā Māhnîu @G.Kn @Reatith Blodraald @Darth Thana @Sith_Imperios @Cardun Vrek @Darth Sedicious @Helkosh @Darth Xxys @Volacius, @Metus

 

[Admiral Volshe]

IC: Empress Kára Volshe (Darth Viscretus)
Banquet Hall, Korriban

He spoke again. Raving like a lunatic, now, about how great he made her. Lies, utter untruths, all of it. He had broken her, yes. But he had not rebuilt her. He had not made her great.

She had done that herself.

A snort nearly escaped her, but she stifled it. She would not give him the satisfaction. Not even when he spoke her name, and a wave of irritation washed over her.

He was really trying now, wasn’t he? It would have been adorable, if it was not so utterly infuriating.

She reached to the goblet of wine, bringing it to her lips as he continued on his thinly veiled tirade. First, she was the target. Then Nihl.

Was he really so clueless? Or was he simply thinking his words would shake some loyalty somewhere in the room?

She knew they might. Such was the price of holding such power. Victory came as often as loss. But whoever swayed would not be anyone significant. She trusted her allies with full confidence, which was something remarkable for a room full of Sith.

She indulged in sips of the wine as he yet continued on, replacing his voice and her inner monologue with the decadent wine. Her focus went to analyzing the flavours, one by one.

The Knight behind her remained unmoving as he now moved to attempt to provoke her. Her eyebrow quirked up. Her hand did not move.

Not only was she not going to devolve the situation into violence that would clearly risk Viscretus’ safety, she had not been present for Roan Fel’s death, nor had she served the Federation in any capacity. Volshe’s knights were trained with their own creed, their own beliefs, divorced in the mid-140s from those serving the Fel Imperium by a schism led by Hogrum Chalk himself. They were ultimately loyal to neither light nor dark, but the Empress herself. They had no qualms with Krayt, unless the Dragon Lord threatened her wishes or her well-being. The very same principle went for the Jedi or the Sith. If Viscretus desired them to aid the Sith - they would, unquestioningly.

There is no contemplation. There is duty.
There is no will but Her own.

The woman yet stood with precise stillness, unfazed. As was her oath.

Viscretus smiled as she glanced down from her goblet, noting the sparks of fire that the corusca threw onto her pale skin. The rainbow was delicate, fragile, but the sparkling corusca was a small reminder that she was Empress in her own right.

As he kept reminding the entire room, should they have not already known.

“...hardly better than the Jedi. And that's not a good place to be on Korriban.”

She looked up, at last, as he finished speaking. Her eyes flicked to Apollyon’s, and then Nihl’s, mischief briefly glittering there. It had replaced the rage, though it still simmered deep in her chest.

“Hm? Jedi?” She frowned in a mock confusion. She had heard it all. “I was drinking my wine...and...I am so terribly sorry, A’sharad, but I only caught the tail end of that story. Would you mind repeating it for me? I do love your fantastical tales.”

She lowered the goblet and looked over to the throne, briefly, her gaze scanning the table. There was the second goblet on her side of the table, dubiously placed between Nihl and herself. It was entirely irrelevant, but it provided her a way to ignore him from that moment on. He only enraged her, and she was bored of him now.

“Oh, give me a moment,” she said, and held up a finger above the goblet to Krayt, motioning for him to wait. “How embarrassing. I was drinking from the wrong one.” She held the jeweled cup out in her hand to Nihl, returning to her rather usually coquettish behaviour. Her tone similarly returned to its sweet, warm lilt, her smile matching the glittering suspenda beads that framed her face. “My dear, would you like mine? Or this one?”

TAG: @DarthFeros
@Darth Kain @Hadzuska_The Jester @Darth Nathemus @Darth Xirr @Darth Solus @DarthNoxia @Drakul_Xarxes @Jihadi Quartz @Voidwalker @Ānhrā Māhnîu @G.Kn @Reatith Blodraald @Darth Thana @Sith_Imperios @Cardun Vrek @Darth Sedicious @Helkosh @Darth Xxys @Volacius, @Metus

 

[corinthia]

IC: Hesper
Bosthirda – before

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Rhythmic, lulling, a steady drip of water was rolling again and again off the barely-unfurled end of a young fern growing stubbornly from a rough-hewn stone wall; the droplets fell gracefully from green to dark stone, forming a puddle on the smooth, polished black larmalstone floor below. Moss and lichen clung around it, sopping up whatever extra water the fern did not divert. The room was silent, punctuated only by the incessant dripping, and all else was still and serene. It was sparsely furnished; a bed, a chair, a vanity, a stool. Ferns and ivy dripped down one wall, and a cool draft blew in from under a shut mechanized door. Through a high, narrow window, a single beam of cold sunlight poured into the room, casting its sole occupant in radiant light.

Drip.

Perched upon the stool, Hesper sat in the sun's ray, her hair like a waterfall of molten gold down her back. It was disheveled and unkempt, with nasty snarls making it matted; patiently, she was picking a silver comb through it, working through each tangle with care. As she did, she watched her own reflection in the mirror before her. Eyes of coin-bright silver and moonstone stared back, full of dark secrets and sunk in sockets of tired purple.

Haunted.

Drip.

The hair-combing ritual carried on—Hesper's mind was preoccupied. It still felt strange to be home again. Meaning, of course, being back in her correct timeline after all that time she spent searching, agonizing, and wandering. She supposed most of that time was spent elsewhere entirely, too, recalling the seemingly endless time she spent in the Vergence Scatter, the Chain Worlds, the world between worlds. Had it been days? Weeks? Years? It was impossible to tell, though it didn't necessarily matter. It was a thing of the past, now, especially considering she had done what she set out to do and she was home. Now all she needed to concern herself with was the future.

It was then that her master's words echoed once again in her mind: Return to me on Korriban. The time was nearly upon her. The last of the preparations had been set, her people put in their proper places, and soon she would board the Sibyl II and set course to Korriban. She smoothed her hands over her hair, sweeping it out of her face and tucking it behind her ears. Its tangles had been worked out, and now it shone—yet was still wild, hanging in golden waves all about her head. A quick touch here and there of cosmetics, and the grim, dark circles under her eyes seemed to alleviate, the anxious glimmer in her eye transforming to one of ferocity.

Return to me.

Then, like a violent clap of thunder, a howling memory—a dark presage of doom—splintered her mind. Hesper gasped, jumping to her feet and causing her stool to tumble backwards. Her heart thundered and fear roiled in her chest. Her eyes darted wildly about the room as if she were seeing enemies closing in. Chaos, the gravity of what she knew!

She held her head in her hands for a moment, collecting up her scattered thoughts.

Drip.

Sighing, she righted the stool.

Once again placid, Hesper checked her reflection once more before running her hands over the garment she wore. A soft, draping black gown with a deep V-shaped neck; it boasted folds upon folds of sumptuous fabric, making it impossible to tell where the gown became sleeves, though as Hesper lifted her arms to smooth out its neckline, it became apparent that there were deep slits to allow her arms through, revealing a clandestine lining of midnight black seemingly shimmering with thousands of stars. Its shoulders were ever so slightly structured— cutting a silhouette as though she were wearing pauldrons beneath.

She then picked up an item from the vanity table before her: her lightsaber. Its silver chassis shone bright in the cool sunlight before she tucked it away in the folds of her gown.

Hesper took a deep breath. It was time to return to the place where her journey as Sith began—this time, bearing news that could very well turn the tides of the galaxy and the Force.

Drip.

"Lieutenant," she called over her shoulder, towards the door of the room she was in. The final item in her preparation was laid out on the bed; she picked it up, hands soft over its sheer black gossamer. A veil.

The door slid open with a soft whirrr. "Imperatrix," a sonorous voice replied. In stepped Lieutenant Sorin Valantin Ar'váez—the second-in-command of the Hesperian Guard, and today, Hesper's personal guard. With a crisp tap of his lightsaber pike against the floor, he bowed as he saluted her, crossing his left arm over his chest. His face was obscured by the veil he wore, draped over a circlet of black. But he was handsome; gold-kissed brown hair with strands of grey swept back from a serious, bearded face with heavy dark brows over contemplative green eyes. He stood taller than Hesper by a good foot and then some, and his Hesperian Guard uniform fit him like a glove.

Hesper turned to face him fully, dropping her own veil over her head. It cascaded to the floor on all sides of her; the glint of her scarred eye from beneath it sent a shiver up Sorin's spine. It was strange, but right. To see Hesper don such a shroud was mystical, like seeing the orphic curtain which separated the mundane from the celestial made manifest.

"The Sibyl is at the ready, my sovereign," he said, standing aside to allow Hesper room to pass through the open door.

"And the Guardsmen?" she inquired, eyeing Sorin's lightsaber pike as she moved towards the door.

"They are at your disposal, already aboard the Star Destroyer," Sorin answered.

Hesper nodded curtly. She stopped before him briefly, leaning closer for a moment, speaking with tense gravity: "And the others? The ones from before?"

Sorin shied away imperceptibly, turning his head ever so slightly away as he replied. "All have arrived; they await you, Imperatrix."

Hesper set her jaw, her countenance darkening. The time was upon her to step into her destiny and take up the mantle she had foreseen: Imperatrix of the Final Sith Order.

"Then there is no time to waste."

- - -

Sibyl II – present ​

Hyperspace danced and roiled, vibrant blue and white screaming past the viewport of Sibyl II; Hesper, hands clasped behind her back, watched detachedly from its bridge. It had been far too long since Hesper took up such a position, and now, she was doing so weighed down by a portent of ill fate. It pressed down on her shoulders like anvils and tightened her chest as if with a vise. She breathed deep, noting the painful squeeze in her lungs. Closing her eyes, she cast her presaging forward to the same vision she had been chewing on since Lothal—the scream she heard echoed in the darkest corners of her mind.

"We will be arriving in the Horuset system within the hour, Imperatrix." Admiral Ontos burst her bubble, and she turned her head towards him, eyeing him over one shoulder with an eye like a wild animal's in darkness.

Beyond him, she could see those she had gathered: Arach. Invadator. Grievance. Most she had pulled from one era to another, and one she had sought upon her return.

She said nothing, allowing Ontos to continue. "I fear the Federation interdictor cost us precious time. We may be the last to arrive, I fear, and I apologise in advance for my dissatisfactory performance, considering the… urgency conveyed to me. But, we will get there. Lady Apollyon specified that she would not begin formal negotiations until all leaders were present at the feast."

Hesper lifted a hand to wave off Ontos' abasing apology, causing a ripple in the dark veil over her head. "Fret not, Admiral," she said; her voice was low, soft, deceptively mild. "I had foreseen the interdictor well in advance, and whatever time it lost us is trivial. And besides—to be last to arrive would rather suit me. The message I carry should be heard by as many as possible." She craned her head just a little farther to look at the other four Sith Lords.

"I have relayed to the Sith Lords and Ladies here what it is I mean to deliver at this feast. I can only hope that I'll be heard by them as these four have heard me; and that they take heed." She turned around to face them all, silhouetted in the stunning cyan of hyperspace behind her.

"Come, fellows—let us prepare for our arrival."

Briskly, Hesper strode forward, the hem of her gown and veil fluttering about her bare feet. As she went, she nodded to Lieutenant Valantin, indicating that he also follow. They would make their way down some levels, to the hangar bay, where a shuttle would be getting ready to ferry the feast-goers to the surface of beautiful, barren Korriban. Strangely, Hesper was almost excited to see the familiar red sands again; although she hoped against hope she would find it exactly as she left it. That they would make it in time…

Before the coming of the void beyond which you cannot see.


TAG: @Darth Dreadwar, @Reiis Invadator, @Grievance Vexx, @Arach, @dragonsith13 ​

 

[Voidwalker]

(Combo with @Admiral Volshe)
IC: Darth Voidwalker & Empress Kára Volshe
The Banquet Hall, Sith Temple, Korriban

Voidwalker had responded to his old friend a few moments too late it seemed. As he had already moved his attention on to Volshe and Nihl. Truthfully, Voidwalker also felt his attention being drawn back in the similar direction, it had seemed things were hearing up between Empress Volshe and the former Emperor of the One Sith. Voices seemed to be raising and venom spewing from both sides. The room was almost quiet now, of course now the fools were quite.

Voidwalker leaned back in his seat looking down towards the end of the table where the rising tension seemed to be emulating from. It occured to him that this might be just the moment he needed. To do what exactly, he wasn't completely sure but he would figure that out when he got there. Sitting back up straight, he reached up to the table and picked up a goblet that had been filled for him when he had first arrived. Turning to Lady Noxia, he politely and calmly offered her a few words.

"Lady Noxia, if you'll excuse me. I shall return in just a moment. I just have to find out where those Knights got their armor."

Without another word, Voidwalker was up and out of his chair with his drink in hand. He raised the goblet to his lips, merely for the purpose of seemingly he took a drink, visible to all who watched on. As he approached, he apparently took a step to close as one of the Imperial Knight turned to look upon him and took a step forward towards Voidwalker. Placing himself between the twins and Voidwalker. Voidwalker took one more step before stopping, and letting his body sway forward just a bit. Feigning the appearance of being slightly intoxicated.

"Whoa there big fella. I just came over to greet the Empress and Darth Nihl, we go way back. Damn you're a big one! How tall are you? I mean I'm not scrawny by any means, but you are a big boy. Eh, it doesn't matter. But I am curious to know, where did you get your armor? Like that crimson, it would go great with my eyes, don't you think?"

The Master Knight simply stared at him, appearing entirely unamused.

“Close enough, my lord,” he said, firmly.

"Close Enough....that's a brilliant name for an armor smith. Unfortunately that must be one of those inner core brands, I'm not familiar with."

Voidwalker leaned his neck to the right peering just past the Knight, catching a quick glimpse of Volshe's gaze. He gave a quick head nod in her direction, hoping that she caught the subtle hint before he leaned back up right.

"So what do you say big man, can I pass and greet the Empress?" He raised the drink back to his lips to take another false drink.

Thanier looked back in time to see the Empress lean slightly away from her lover and nod in approval, the goblet still in hand.

He became no less unamused, but nodded himself towards the empty space between them. A motion that he could pass.

"Thank you. See, told you we go way back. It's a feast loosen up some." Voidwalker chuckled as he stepped past the Imperial Knight, once again raising his goblet.

Stepping into the unoccupied space between the two Imperial Knights and just behind the seats of Volshe and Nihl, Voidwalker stopped between the two of their chairs. "Lady Viscretus...my apologies, Empress Volshe. Forgive me I don't drink often. I have a bit of a cursed past when it comes to drinking. I'm sure you and Lady Apollyon understand." Voidwalker knew that he had to think of something quick if he was going to sell this performance of his. Then like a blast of Force lightening, it hit him.

"Oh where are my manners? Lacking in decorum, I'm better than this." Voidwalker knew she deserved respect for numerous reasons and he would do just that. Knowing if he were to kneel that he was putting himself in an open and vulnerable position. He simply had to hope she knew him well enough. He brought the fist that held the goblet of drink in his hand to his heart as a "drunken modified" sign of respect. "Hail, Empress Volshe."

Volshe looked up at him. How much exactly had he had to drink already? She resisted the urge to shake her head, instead raising her chin up. “*Yes*, Lord Voidwalker?”

"Greetings, Empress Volshe. Lord Nihl." Offering a respectful nod to the Nagai Sith. "I won't take up too much of your time, just wanted to come by and say hello. Show my respects and all that. Of course I wanted to give a special thanks to Lady Apollyon." Waving his arm in the direction of the former hand of Dreadwar as he turned to address her as well. "This has been an excellent gathering. The food was absolutely delicious and the drinks never seem to end." Voidwalker was lying, he hadn't consumed a single thing that had been served the entire time he had been present.

As much as Voidwalker hated the thought of lying, sometimes you needed it to help sell the illusion. "I am most honored that you invited me to be a part of this, Lady Apollyon." He raised the drink one last time before letting his eyes fall upon the one that he truly wanted to speak with. "But before I go, I did want a chance to introduce myself. You must be Darth Krayt. The single most infamous and talked about man here. Allow me to introduce myself, I am Dra....Darth Voidwalker. I've certainly heard some things about you, mostly bad from what people say. But among Sith I would say if you're hated then you're doing something right. But I have already taken up enough of your time, we should speak again though. I feel that we might a have a mutual connection on certain aspects and views. But That's a conversation for later. Until next time. Darth Krayt, Lady Apollyon, Lord Nihl, Empress Volshe. I hope you all enjoy the festivities." Voidwalker nodded to each of them before turning on his heel and heading back into the direction of his chair.

As he sauntered back past the Imperial Knight, he stopped for but a moment before glancing at him and offering his drink out to him. "Here, do you mind to take this?"

The Knight looked down at the goblet and back up to the man offering it to him. Somehow he looked more unamused, his brown eyes centering on Voidwalker’s own.

“Take it with you, my lord. You’ll need it.”

He tilted his head towards Krayt in a nodding motion, a brief but wry smile crossing his lips.

"Ah, it seems you're right. It would be rude of me to return without a drink when I left with one. It seems I failed to get that armor smith information. Maybe next time." Voidwalker offered a quick smirk before walking straight back to his seat, no sign of any influence. As he sat back down, he smiled at Noxia, as he'd kept his word. "Ah see, and I'm back. I even brought you a drink. Cassandran brandy, I know it's your favorite." He sat the full goblet down on the table in front of Noxia. The same full goblet that he'd picked up as he departed his seat to begin with.

TAG: @Admiral Volshe @Darth Dreadwar @Darth Kain @Hadzuska_The Jester @Darth Nathemus @Darth Xirr @Darth Solus @DarthNoxia @Drakul_Xarxes @Jihadi Quartz @Ānhrā Māhnîu @Helkosh @G.Kn @Reatith Blodraald @Darth Thana @Sith_Imperios @Cardun Vrek @Darth Sedicious @DarthFeros @Darth Xxys @Volacius @Metus

 

[G.Kn]

IC: Darth Skyllan

The Dread Sith stroked a hand down the crystalline sceptre, looking at it with something akin to a loving smile. "You should have heard their horrified screams when I broke those eggs… it was beautiful, like our time on Secundus, but much more intimate." The False Angel's eyes glazed over slightly before sharpening again. Unwilling to let themselves get too complacent given the situation.

"I was expecting to be able to listen to them all night, but the null field here has robbed me of that. No doubt they're still shouting of course, but without the Force neither side can establish the link to hear the other. Maybe by the end of the evening the clan will have stopped screaming as much." There was an almost sad tone to their murmurings. "They'll still hurl abuse of course, but I'm disappointed their outrage was cut short." Skyllan mused.

"There will still be the depression and fear about what I'll do next though." The Winged Sith admitted, with a warm smile at the prospect. "It's a damn good thing that the imprisoned spirits of the damned can't commit suicide. Such an action would no doubt leave a dark enough stain to draw on, but I've always preferred screams to silence. More atmospheric."

Maybe it was something to do with that one task when they were an apprentice. Volacius had taken them to a dark room, and told them to do all they could to keep a prisoner alive while the mirialan tortured them. The honour holding warrior might seem like one of the more pleasant sith to be around, but the man had a dark streak that the s'kytri had admired in their time together. Not that Skyllan hadn't experienced cruelty before, but that had mainly been on the part of the abused, not the abuser.

Being not completely oblivious, they had noticed Xarxes' little chagrian pet's uncomfortableness. While they felt no need to reassure the man to any meaningful degree, they could play with him. "You needn't worry, Scribe Zyldek of Champala. Out of all the people I've killed, they deserved it the most. Their past actions caused the deaths of a great many people, and statistically speaking at least some of them had to be innocent." Skyllan explained. "After all, they brought me into the world. Causing… probably millions of people to meet their end." They reassured the scribe.

Their gaze flickered back to the Dread Lord though, and their hand shifted slightly. Going from caressing the dark side nexus they deemed appropriate to wield as a weapon, to gripping it for just a moment, to subtly show how easy it would be for them to switch to using it as a piece of glorified jewellery to a weapon in an instant. A slightly harder look in their eyes as they met the Xarxes', the merest of nods assuring him that not only were they keeping their Sceptre in very easy access, but they were ready and willing to use it if the brewing violence spread to include them.

"I've recently, amongst other things, been pursuing the sculptures of a nabooian craftsman from some time ago. Théa Cifra. She was a talented woman, but her child died in an accident and for some reason, she was blamed. It feels a tad insulting to those of us who kill people deliberately, but I don't take too much issue with being in the same category as her." Skyllan said with a smile, wondering if Xarxes would pick up on the name.

"I've engaged in a bidding war against certain other elements who seek her work due to some fascination with the macabre, but as I'd never really gone to lengths to amass wealth, I don't have too much of it." The Winged Sith admitted. "I have a single piece stored away, but I was wondering if you'd be interested in purchasing some of the others? It was a task to track down the bidding numbers, but I have them if you'd be interested." They told their fellow Hesperian with a slight twinkle in their eyes.

"I do long to meet the artist in person, that would have been rather difficult up until recently. I don't suppose, in any one of the many aspects of your life you've heard of her? Or perhaps where she is headed?" 'Hesper. Do you have any news about Hesper?' Interestingly, the Priestess' presence may weaken Apollyon's claim further. After all, she too had been trained by the Emperor. If Hesper chose to stand against whatever the other sith lady proposed, it could well change the board laid out for them.

Then Voidwalker moved, and the s'kytri's gaze tracked him.

There was just something about Skyllan's smile as they paused to watch the conversation, that was rather reminiscent of a shark who'd smelled blood. Their gaze snapped back to Xarxes quickly enough, but they kept Volshe and Krayt in their peripherals. "My humblest apologies my Lord. I didn't mean to get distracted." The Winged Sith said softly, bowing their head to the zabrak. Releasing the grip on their Sceptre that had been in place since Voidwalker stood up.

It was a false alarm, but damn if it didn't feel like watching a minor war as they kept Viscretus and Krayt in the corner of their eye. That whole interaction was like a powder keg threatening to blow this whole feast sky high.
...and Skyllan loved it.

-----

TAG: @Admiral Volshe @Darth Dreadwar @Darth Kain @Hadzuska_The Jester @Darth Nathemus @Darth Xirr @Darth Solus @DarthNoxia @Voidwalker @Drakul_Xarxes @Jihadi Quartz @Ānhrā Māhnîu @Helkosh @G.Kn @Reatith Blodraald @Darth Thana @Sith_Imperios @Cardun Vrek @Darth Sedicious @DarthFeros @Darth Xxys @Volacius @Metus

 

[Volacius]

IC: Darth Volacius, Scourge of the Jedi
The Banquet Hall, Sith Temple, Korriban

Mavros was the first to speak following Volacius’ introduction, though Thana quickly followed suit. Both fellow Sith Masters expressed similar sentiments to his own, though the slender Zabrak female had made a point of decrying his use of the word ‘honour.’ Although Volacius did not hold the concept of honour in contempt, he didn’t value such a character trait either. Honour was, just as Thana had said, a fool’s prize; the lapse in logic that made one give a defeated adversary a final chance to fight instead of executing them on the spot, or to allow a hostile force to retreat because their commander had ‘fought well,’ or some such nonsense. But the mere word was just that: a word. It was a term that was only as meaningful as one allowed it to be, both by those who heard it as well as the one who uttered it.

Volacius smiled in response to Darth Thana’s remarks. “Indeed,” he replied casually. “I am ever-grateful that Lord Kain saw fit to break me of that weakness when my apprenticeship under him first began years ago. I simply used the term in formality.”

Before continuing, the Mirialan Death Master glanced around the banquet hall once again, briefly taking note of those guests he considered important.

Kain and Catalyst had yet to return from wherever else in the temple they had departed to.

Skyllan had for some time now been engaged in conversation with Lord Drakul Xarxes, a man of whom Volacius knew very little aside from his reign over the world of Arkania.

Most interesting, however, was the dialogue taking place between the once more-reborn Darth Krayt, and the ruler of the New Galactic Empire, Empress Kára Volshe. Nathemus had moved to greet both Volshe and Nihl, but now it appeared that he’d fallen out of focus in their conversation. Volacius wasn’t close enough to the rival contenders to the throne to make out exactly what was being said, but one didn’t need the Force to detect the vitriolic antagonism being thrown back and forth between them, subtle as it might have been to the untrained eye. An excellent development in the Mirialan’s eyes. He had no love for Volshe, but where his distaste for the Empress—and more specifically her Imperial Jedi—ended, his pure, unadulterated hatred for Darth Krayt began. If conflict broke out between those two, so much the better. The enemy of my enemy is my ally, Volacius thought to himself, at least until my enemy is dead.

“Well, I doubt this evening will be uneventful,” Volacius said with a smirk, still watching as Empress Volshe and Krayt continued their veiled slinging match. He relished the thought of Krayt meeting a swift and especially gruesome end, and could only hope that Darth Dreadwar’s former bride would oblige him. Just imagining such a spectacle caused his left hand to drift ever so slightly toward his ancient sword. “Wouldn’t you both agree? I for one, am looking forward to seeing who comes out of this assembly ruling the Empire—if anyone attempting to do so makes it out alive, that is. Incredible, isn’t it? One moment, the Sith as one force were grinding the Federation and their Jedi protectors to dust; we had them on their hands and knees, ready to be dealt the final, killing blow. The next, an infestation of pretenders lay claim to a title they can’t hope to realistically attain, and now we squabble over who gets the throne. Meanwhile, our true enemies wisely take the opportunity to rise from the ashes we had very nearly buried them in.” He paused for a moment, his contempt for Krayt only matched by his contempt for the Jedi. “Either way, the sooner I get to plunge my blades into what’s left of the Jedi Order, the better.”

TAG: @Darth Dreadwar @Admiral Volshe @Darth Kain @Hadzuska_The Jester @Darth Nathemus @Darth Xirr @Darth Solus @DarthNoxia @Drakul_Xarxes @Jihadi Quartz @Voidwalker @Ānhrā Māhnîu @Helkosh @G.Kn @Reatith Blodraald @Darth Thana @Sith_Imperios @Cardun Vrek @Darth Sedicious @DarthFeros @Darth Xxys @Metus

 

[dragonsith13]

Draconis
In the belly of a steel beast - VSD Sibyl II

The hum of the durasteel bulkheads flexing from the strains of hyperspace was like an ambient orchestral presentation. One that he swayed his head to slightly, with every passing star. The beginnings of life, throes of death spirals of dying worlds. The cold void of space that existed beyond the mechanical construction that was the destructeur d'étoiles de victoire. A relic from the infancy of the Galactic Civil war… so many many years ago. The silent musical symphony that played in his head, drowning out his thoughts for a moment, which was a welcomed reprieve from the realities known to him.

Dangling forward barefoot and bound, the metal chafed against his wrists and ankles where he was bound, his arms pulled back behind him, leaving him in a forward leaning position that left his chest and head swaying slightly back and forth.. All that was left of his black dress robes being below the waist as the pale white skin of his upper body reflected slightly upon the polished black floor of the holding area. Each of the points at which he was bound on his ankles and wrists anchored into the walls with high strength cabling, electromagnetically charged to give it further resistance. A myriad of chains hung from the ceiling of the once used storage bay, some of which had been hastily put into service to construct this makeshift containment apparatus. A regular cell would have been useless, the same as any ray shielded or reinforced containment cell. Even with the basic use of force suppressors, it would have been near futile.

The collar that he wore was of a particularly keen design, a force suppression collar with a set of spikes facing inward. The row of spikes arranged just enough to barely pierce the skin. A reminder of their existence. He admired her ability to have utilized it. Then there were the flowing tubes from the suspended medical apparatus above him. A patchwork of metal, chains, and tubing. Half a dozen intravenous tubes attaching and piercing into his back, the barbed needles inserted to ensure they did not come loose easily. A slow drip concoction of sedatives and poisons to keep him… sedated. The slight clang of metal as he swayed. Dazed. Conscious but drifting… the slight trail of dried flowing from where the needles, bindings and the collar grazed or pierced his skin.

Outside of the room, two additional generators had to be employed to raise the suppression field. More than a half a dozen guards had already fallen dead with another five guards falling ill from the certain unexplained circumstances, thus subsequent guarding of the area had been relegated to remote monitoring as any non force user experiences signs of hypoxia and severe brain hemorrhaging and unexplained bleeding from the eyes, ears, and mouth. At first it was thought that the high density of electrical equipment had been giving those stationed headaches. He wondered if she was getting annoyed at the rate her crew was succumbing, it was not intentional, not mostly.

The sudden rush of its presence, he had felt the faint glow of it growing stronger. Ever present and pulsating out into the darkness. Korriban. The red sand world that he had wandered for countless years. Its presence soothing.

A gathering? The ringing of the bell… so many flowed to this place.. In promise. Seeking. Searching. The long dead world holding an eternal syrens call to those vulnerable enough to be caught up in it. Often saturated with impostors, found wanting as they bathed in their own frivolity…

Draconis remained suspended forward, a slight smile forming on his face.

They were home.

@Darth Dreadwar @Reiis Invadator @Grievance Vexx @Arach @corinthia

 

[Darth Cold]

IC: Hadzuska

The Banquet Hall, Sith Temple, Korriban

Tensions were getting high, and the Feast had only just begun. Volshe and Krayt were making snide comments, but they weren’t the only ones he was focused on. He had seen where the Sedriss’s eyes laid, even for a moment. Talon. Perhaps the rumors he had heard were true, and that was his mother. Dark thoughts went through his mind.


Without a word Hadzuska stood and made his way around the table towards the very well known, and loose Twi’lek. Crouching down, he begins to whisper into her ear with a hypnotically calm voice that only she could hear. “Look at him, the Sedriss. He’s become a monster, one that isn’t under your control. Look at the cracked skin across his face. The reddish orange hues glistening from them, simply making his face glow. Can you even recognize him anymore? His loyalties are not aligned with yours. Mine could be." Hadzuska paused for a moment to let that sink in before continuing. "When things deteriorate here, as we all know they will, kill your biggest threat. Kill the Sedriss, before he has the chance to kill you. After all, the galaxy wouldn’t be right without you in it. The Sedriss is a monster that the Galaxy would be better without, you know this, as well as I. Kill him.”


Without waiting for an answer he stood up with a slight grin on his face that would make anyone think the whole thing was his way of flirting, and made his way back to his seat. Upon sitting he put food on his plate, and began to mix it to make it look like it had been eaten. He then began to pay attention to everything once more. Hoping that his attempt to persuade Talon was successful, while waiting to make his move at the right time. Only time would tell, and this was a game that was all about the right time.




TAG: @Admiral Volshe @Darth Kain @Darth Nathemus @Darth Xirr @Darth Solus @DarthNoxia @Drakul_Xarxes @Jihadi Quartz @Voidwalker @Ānhrā Māhnîu @Helkosh @G.Kn @Reatith Blodraald @Darth Thana @Sith_Imperios @Cardun Vrek @Darth Sedicious @DarthFeros @Darth Xxys @Volacius, @Metus @Darth Dreadwar

 

[Admiral Volshe]

IC: Empress Kára Volshe (Darth Viscretus)
Banquet Hall, Korriban

Kára Volshe was utterly unamused, now. She had come to the banquet to be recognized as the rightful ruler of the Sith. All she was being recognized as was...not at all suitable. She frowned and shook her head, setting the goblets aside, her ploy to act distracted from Krayt was foiled by Lord Voidwalker’s drunken show.

This was not going as she planned. Her eyes narrowed. Fools. The lot of them. Only a select few - her loyalists - were worth any weight. She tutted beneath her breath and then.

And then.

There it was.

A simpering smile slipped across her lips. The solution, to Krayt and his nonsense. To the useless rabble of pretenders.

Her smile was fractured a moment later into surprise. She glanced down, and from a pocket within the lining of her cape, pulled out her comm. A moment later, her face had etched instead into a frown, the glimmering blue casting a subtle light onto her cheeks. She looked up to Apollyon, then Nihl, her voice taking on a hushed, urgent tone.

“My dear friend,” she began, glancing about the room, leaning close to Apollyon as she could manage. “I am...afraid my loyalists and I must take a brief recess, for an urgent matter has come to arise on one of our vital worlds.”

She replaced the comm in its place, and stood, nodding first to Lady Maladi, then glancing to those in order down the table.

“My lady, if you will.”

She looked back to Apollyon, steel in her gaze, no longer simply golden fire. “We shall return shortly. Allow us a half an hour. After all, we would not want to miss the events of the evening.” Her smile returned, its warmth mimicking the flickering braziers.

“Come. It is of great importance,” she said, to the others, first Lord Nathemus, then Lord Solus, Lord Pravum, Lord Voidwalker, and Darth Mavros.

She turned, the Knight aiding her from the table, and made way towards the vast halls of the Sith Temple. She knew them all well. Part of her position directing Sith Intelligence was the intimate knowledge of the temple, both inside and out.

She knew precisely the place for their impromptu meeting, spacious enough for them, but away from the prying eyes - and ears - of the feast.

A table away, the brunette woman who had pursued her at a distance now rose and approached.

“Cordé,” Viscretus said, summoning her to her side as she neared. The woman obliged, her footsteps light, buoyant, like a dancer. Fitting, after all. She had once been one. “Bring Lord Kain to my location. He is outside. You may bring his associate.”

The woman nodded, saying nothing, her chin lowering near to her chest. She flit off to find them, hems of her linen and silk skirts trailing behind her as she sauntered away.

Viscretus was escorted to the doors to the main corridors by her Knights, the twins being brought behind by the two others. Deianara was carrying a shuura she had been nibbling on. Primordius was eyeing it longingly, having only brought the spoon from his dinner setting. Her eyebrow briefly quirked, but she did not allow it to distract her. She ushered them just outside the doors.

They gathered just outside - waiting for the others to collect. “Summon any others,” she instructed the Knight to her side. There were others, scattered about. Those who had not arrived yet. Those who had. Those who were elsewhere, that had not directly been summoned by her guiding hand. Should they be both willing and able, to attend to her abrupt meeting...

And with that order, a comm message was sent to her Moff council, as well as those other loyalists.

She moved to continue out of the Hall and into the corridor with leisurely strides. Cordé made her way similarly out the very same doors Lord Kain had, prior.

TAG: @Darth Dreadwar @Volacius
@Darth Kain @Hadzuska_The Jester @Darth Nathemus @Darth Xirr @Darth Solus @DarthNoxia @Drakul_Xarxes @Jihadi Quartz @Voidwalker @Ānhrā Māhnîu @Helkosh @G.Kn @Reatith Blodraald @Darth Thana @Sith_Imperios @Cardun Vrek @Darth Sedicious @DarthFeros @Darth Xxys @Metus @skira @Loharr Talem

 

[Xarxes]

IC: Drakul Xarxes​

While Zyldek appeared intrigued by Skyllan’s thoughts on the fine art of Théa Cifra, Xarxes knew better, immediately keying in to the code language. His gaze switched back to the Winged Sith, clearing his throat and straightening his head. He had not made any others aware of his communication with the High Priestess, though he had discovered

“Curious you should mention her, Skyllan. I have taken an interest in Nabooian art as well. I’ve heard of Cifra, and even possess a piece of hers. Magnificent work, and I would be delighted to discuss in greater detail the pricing on others.”

He took another drink from his wineskin, draining it to about half, before answering there second, and far more important, question that the sky’tri posed. “I have not, unfortunately, been made aware of the destination of said artist, though I do hope to meet her as well. I currently have her art stored away and don’t intend to present it publicly until I have obtained more pieces for a collection.”

The Nightfather’s Mqaaq’it darted towards the gathering near Darth Krayt. The conversation, judging by the more hectic motions and facial expressions, was spicing up, but had not yet reached its seemingly-inevitable boiling point. He turned the Vong biot then towards the nearest exit, past the clusters of Sith and Ysalamiri. If a fight did break out, reaching the outside of the Force-suppressing bubble would become of the highest priority. He fingered the hilt of his sword with a free hand before using it to replace the faceplate hanging from his belt into its socket on his horned helm. There was a brief red glow through the eyeholes as the sealed environment of the armor was again activated, signaling his own preparation for the potential fight to come.

“Not distracted, my dear Skyllan. You’re paying as much focus as, I believe, many individuals present. I’ve never found you to be one who slacks.”

He held out his wineskin, still half-full of blood. “In case you need some stronger drink to last you the night. I’ve had my fill. It has been good to speak with you, Skyllan, and I am sure it will not be the last time we speak tonight. I have a few other faces I’d like to see before the night ends. I bid you well. Come, Zyldek.”

He inclined his head slightly in a motion of respect before turning, heading off towards the same exit that Darth Kain had earlier vanished through, his scribe accompanying him. He felt sickened as he walked past the Ysalamiri clamped to the walls, though once outside and walking away, he began to feel substantially better, though still did not feel the return of power just yet.

Their walk was soon interrupted by the arrival of Empress’s handmaiden, who walked in the same direction as the two of them. Evidently, she sought Kain, or possibly Catalys, perhaps even both. Still, Xarxes did not slow or alter his gait at her arrival, instead still marching towards where he believed Kain would have gotten to.

TAG: @Admiral Volshe @Darth Kain @Darth Nathemus @Darth Xirr @Darth Solus @DarthNoxia @Drakul_Xarxes @Jihadi Quartz @Voidwalker @Ānhrā Māhnîu @Helkosh @G.Kn @Reatith Blodraald @Darth Thana @Sith_Imperios @Cardun Vrek @Darth Sedicious @DarthFeros @Darth Xxys @Volacius, @Metus @Darth Dreadwar

 

[Grievance Vexx]

IC- Lord Grievance Vexx
Location- Sibyl II

Though a substantial amount of time has passed, the Kaleesh warlord still finds himself reeling from the process of being collected from a different time period. The uncertainty he has felt since then clings to him like a plague. Uncertainty is one element he has worked so hard to keep out of his life—to no avail, it seems. Every. Single. Time. It always creeps back in, finding its way through his defenses like a duelist far more masterful than himself; one he can never hope to defeat, though that doesn’t stop him from trying.

The runes carved into his armor betray his troubled soul. The liquid-like crimson and ebony colors inside the runes swirl and pulse and glow with agitation and anxiety. Only those who know him well will be able to realize these feelings are the cause of the external manifestation. He is able to thoroughly guard his feelings in the Force just as much as his skull-like faceplate guards the evidence of emotion behind a perpetually scowling visage.

It would seem that Vexx is in something of a stunned state of being as he has not spoken over the course of this journey nor does he even seem to be aware of the presence of two familiar beings he had consciously worried about for years: Lord Draconis and Reiis Invadator. He seems to have shut down, in a sense, having internalized everything that has recently transpired in order to process every detail. In this way, his organic mind actually behaves like a machine, but it has nothing to do with cybernetic implants in his brain. He has always been this way in the face of traumatic change, which seems to be a theme he was born into. It is a survival skill he had learned at an extremely young age.

Trying to anchor oneself in the present when the present has changed so drastically as it has for Vexx is no easy feat. This is the greatest reason why he has lapsed into silent internalization. He is trying to reorient himself as to what and where the present is; what to expect. Though he knows certain things, they are only the things he has been told about this era he has been transitioned into. Words only go so far in the Krigsbefallaf’s mind. He will have to actually see evidence of what he has been told in order for his confidence and unquestioning trust to be gained.

In an attempt to anchor himself, he purposely focuses on intricacies only he would be sensitive enough to notice: the barely perceptible feeling of motion as Sibyl II makes its journey through space. His cybernetics know something is in motion and they constantly make adjustments to secure his balance. He is keenly aware of this phenomenon and attaches his focus to simply that for now. The rest of this new present time will fall into place for him eventually, perhaps when they disembark at their destination. Horuset, was it?

He thinks he had heard that mentioned, but voices sound distant; as though they are coming from the opposite end of a vast tunnel. This is a sure symptom of his mind being at intense work, deafening him to the goings-on of the world around him; yet another post-trauma occurrence that has happened to him as far back as he can remember in his lifetime. It is like being trapped in a transparisteel dome, where sound from the outside is muffled and distorted.

His yellow eyes—pupils narrowed to hairline slits in his mental state of introspection—shift toward Hesper, recognizing her as the one responsible for this event he is still having such a difficult time processing. There is no malice in his unblinking gaze; only the implication of a single unspoken word of questioning: why? Why is he here? Why did she not let him die in the fiery crash he had been braced for? It isn’t that he lacks gratitude; he is simply battling a lingering sense of displacement and confusion as he has more questions than answers. He is trying to trust that all of the answers will come in time. He really is. But right now, time itself feels like it contains the highest levels of uncertainty he has ever been faced with.

In regards to Hesper, he has not forgotten that he is indebted to her. She had saved his life and though he did not ask for her to do so, she now has him by his loyalty. His honor code will be the death of him one day; even he is sure of that, but it doesn’t matter. He would rather die with his honor intact than to sacrifice it just to live a few more years. Of what use would it be anyway? While he has savored every moment of his life and welcomed every challenge, to go on like this indefinitely has no appeal to him. To summarize, the quality of his life means more than the quantity of years he manages to live it.

Perhaps the greatest concern he has is the inability to strategize at this point. In order to do this, he must wait on answers. Though the Kaleesh cyborg is undeniably a wellspring of patience, such a virtue is not coming with much ease at this place and time in his life. More often than not, his survival relied on his ability to strategize and have a plan, moving chess pieces in his head. Right now though...he simply doesn’t have that advantage. Too many gaps; too many mysteries; too many unknown variables. He can only hope that things will come together and make sense sooner rather than later as he is not keen on this prolonged state of wondering.

Keeping his silence for now, the cybernetic Sith Lord shifts his gaze from Hesper and out toward what lies beyond the viewport, allowing it to hypnotize him back into his thoughts and reflections. Still, he remains alert, trying to hear above his own thoughts for when words will become actions and he can return to the soothing comfort of having a mission; perhaps even what he lives for. Strategy...combat...

War.

Tags: @Darth Dreadwar, @corinthia, @Reiis Invadator, @dragonsith13

 

[Cardun Vrek]

IC: Darth Mavros

The Banquet Hall

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ah, Thana. Just tell the stranger you just met exactly what you think. Forget subtlety and guile, eh? It’s not like we’re in a room full of Sith. Inwardly, Mavros sighed. But his attention was quickly drawn to the head of the table, where Empress Viscretus and Darth Krayt, and yes, it most definitely was the former Emperor judging from the vitriol the two were throwing at each other, were locked in a heated argument. Well...it all had to kick off sooner rather than later. He knew where he stood. Mavros detested politics, but admired those who possessed strength and cunning. Those who could rule.

Those who could win.

He knew little of Krayt, other than that he had very powerful enemies and seemingly few friends. Dreadwar was gone, possibly forever. The other claims had little to no strength. No, he knew where he stood. And who he stood with.

Volacius was speaking again, but Mavros wasn’t listening. His eyes were fixed on the Empress, his ears straining to hear her words above the idle chatter of the others in attendance. He wished he had been assigned a closer seat. She said something to Apollyon, then gave a meaningful look to several people seated at the table, including himself. She clearly had a plan in motion. She stood, and said a single word. The move is made, for better or worse. Hopefully for the better. Mavros turned back to Volacius, smiling apologetically.

“Forgive my rudeness, but it seems my presence is required elsewhere.” He stood up casually, as if he was simply leaving for some fresh air. He was glad to have a reason to leave, though he didn't let his features reveal that fact.

He followed the others out the hall, ignoring any glances in his direction. He didn’t care what they may think of him. He had survived this long by being smart, and cautious. And he would continue to survive by continuing to do so. He didn’t trust many of his newfound allies, but he didn’t need to. They all had the same goal, at least for the moment. He could work with them without completely trusting them. After all, could any Sith really put their faith in another?

The spirits of Korriban could answer that question easily.

He joined the rest of Empress Viscretus’ loyalists outside. They were all powerful and respected Sith. Good. We’ll need every ounce of strength we can get. He thought to himself. He said nothing as he arrived outside, but bowed low towards the Empress as a sign of deference and respect, and nodded to the others already here in turn. He was glad to be out of the banquet hall. He longed to be able to touch the force again. But, the Empress must have had a reason for summoning them.

Now, the night would truly begin.


TAG: @Darth Dreadwar @Admiral Volshe @Darth Kain @Hadzuska_The Jester @Darth Nathemus @Darth Xirr @Darth Solus @DarthNoxia @Drakul_Xarxes @Jihadi Quartz @Voidwalker @Ānhrā Māhnîu @Helkosh @G.Kn @Reatith Blodraald @Darth Thana @Sith_Imperios @Volacius @Darth Sedicious @DarthFeros @Darth Xxys @Metus

 

[Reatith Blodraald]

IC: Reatith Blodraald

The Banquet Hall, Sith Temple, Korriban

"Power."

The young Umbaran man turned his head and whispered into the folds of his hood the sat piled on his shoulder. Underneath the many layers of thick black cloth a tiny light could be seen changing colors form time to time as the Apprentice whispered to it. The Sith Apprentice wore a formal military uniform given to him by his Master, Lord Solus. The perfectly crisp uniform looked uncomfortable but was surprisingly cozy, even with the layers of armor underneath it. With permission he wore a customized coat over the uniform that matched the military colors exactly, but was full of pockets for weapons and an additional layer of armor, just in case.

"Even without the connection to the Force the immense weight of power and prominence can be felt from each of them, including Master Solus. I guess it isn't only his strong electric force aura that causes anxiety."

A small snake-like droid, bathed in dark blue light emerged from the hood and craned its head around to point its polished visual sensor at the indomitable Commandant as he scanned the room with piercing eyes. The droid, Roshkas, recorded every detail and movement with awe and curiosity. The complex durasteel plating that made up the body of the droid moved and swayed in a lifelike manner without making a sound. Each cog and driver moved seamlessly, gliding with polished perfection. It was a definite contrast to the cortosis and songsteel mask of its master, Reatith. Though it was carefully constructed to his exact specifications by his own hand, the same hands that built his little shoulder friend, the mask was rough, containing many sharp corners, pointed teeth and jagged runes filled with dried dark red blood.



Lady Apollyon stood and addressed the Great Hall, welcoming them and clearly stating why they were there. Yet this only brought up more questions that caused the Apprentice to doubt his presence here even more. At her side was a very familiar face, or chassis. I-Ron, AKA, Darth Lisan, at one time Reatith had nearly become apprenticed to the mystical Shard. He had often wondered where he would be if he had been chosen from among the candidates. Those thoughts were often fleeting though, he was more than happy to be trained by the Commandant. His thoughts returned to the feast and the only thing he could think to do was to observe and record everything.

"Look! It's The Dark Messiah, Lord Kain..." He said in a hushed tone. Reatith's Mark began to burn at the sight of man who showed him Death and the futility of life for the first time, helping him become who he is today. "And there he is with Lord Catalyst, I haven't met him before but I have heard..." He stopped whispering abruptly and leaned back in his chair, staring intently. "Are they flirting? I thought Lord Kain was married. Perhaps it is open ended for others. Well, that is none of our business. Who else can we find?"

A flood of near silent servers began to pour into the great hall, barely a distraction to those in attendance. Each uniformed individual moved with grace and speed, clearing away the tables for the main course. Small salads were replaced by still bubbling soups and steaming meats cooked in every way imaginable. A large platter was placed in front of him, a thick dark soup in the middle surrounded by dark purple and blue colored vegetables. A few tentacles and a small side of sliced meat lay delicately next to the stone soup bowl, a rare delicacy unrecognizable to most. It was a dish made specifically for him, shipped all the way from Umbara and prepared in a near traditional way. All it was missing was the...the Umbaran waitress set a silver goblet of pink, glowing Zabrak Spine wine. The small blue woman looked at him for a brief moment with her iridescent, sparkling eyes. To anyone else, they would only see pearl white, but with the natural ultraviolet light that was visible between the two, the true color was clear to see.

Just as quickly as she arrived, she broke their gaze and left. The young man sat and stared at the meal hungrily. 'Such a shame that it has to go to waste.' He thought to himself as he pulled a small bottle of water from his pressed uniform jacket and sipped on the warm water. From another pocket he retrieved his half-eaten, stale emergency ration and nibbled on it. Not a moment later he nearly choked on it as he watched Lord Kain's face twisted into an unspeakable horror for less than a moment before the man turned and left the great hall. Was it a trick of the light? His imagination?

"Roshkas!" He whispered loudly, "Did you see that? Tell me you were recording."

The little droid whipped his head around from observing the young, female Umbaran's backside as she walked away. "Really.....You perv, not like you can do anything about it chrome dome. Make sure you're paying attention, this is important, why else would we have been invited?"

The duo scanned the room carefully, dozens upon dozens of Dark Lords of the Sith sat accompanied by an entourage of followers, friends and possibly enemies, all ready to fight for the Throne or pledge their loyalty to their candidate. The main doors burst open loudly as A woman strode into the hall with flair.

"That must be the Empress. between her flashy dress and the way she walks she must believe she already owns the throne." He said in a hushed tone.

He watched lazily for a moment before continuing the recording. "Why would she ever bring children to something like this? Seems like a definite way to get them killed. And if she is so powerful, why does she have so many guards? I've never seen that type of guard before.....are they......Jedi? Why in the depths of Chaos would anyone ever bring Jedi to a Sith Ascension? I thought they were all wiped out after The Butcher did Her famous work. Strange indeed. She has got a lot of presence and claims the title of Empress, but when it comes to us as the Sith I don't know if she is going to get much support with moves like this."

Looking around the room his attention was snapped back to Darth Viscretus as she began speaking to the man who was announced to be Lord Krayt. Somehow he had possessed the body of a respected member of the Sith, Lord Feros. From what he had heard, he would have liked the man, but unfortunately that was no longer possible. Possessions rarely did anything good to the hosts soul.

"Hey, hey, keep an eye on those two, see if you can record their lips and figure out what they are saying. Those two are some of the biggest players here and it needs to recorded carefully. I'll try to get us closer." He stood carefully as to not draw any attention to himself. He danced around the staff that continued to serve the guests as gracefully as they did to avoid him, he felt like he belonged more on their level than to any of the guests here. He distracted himself from those thoughts by making small talk to Roshkas. "Who knows what could happen, apparently they really hate each other. We will definitely need to stay clear of them when the blasters and sabers come out."

There were many faces throughout the grand feast that he recognized, some of them he hoped to meet, others...not so much. "Darth Pravum the prideful; Darth Voidwalker the.....also prideful; Darth Xarxes the Hulking Monstrosity; Darth Skyllan the Winged; Darth Nathemus the Emperors Hand; Darth Volacious the Scourge; Darth Wyyrlok IV one of the Dragons of Krayt; Darth Thana the Witch; Ahnra the intriguing; Darth Noxia the Beautiful — you know, when Darth Xxys taught me a lesson...The lesson, she was the one that brought me back. Also, by happenstance we were unknowingly paired up in a celebration of sorts and I am one of the few to have danced with her and survived. Speaking of, let's find Darth Xxys."

There he was, much more intense than he had ever seen before, which wasn't saying much, few people saw The Assassin and lived to tell about it, even Reatith hadn't. He nervously pulled out his bottle and sipped from it, making far too much noise and he struggled to suppress the loud 'gulp' only making it even more audible. "Should I just walk up and say 'hey, remember me?" He thought nervously to himself. "He looks.....really busy." The fidgeting Umbaran looked around the room for anything or anyone to approach, something that he could pretend to have crossed all the way across the entire Hall to see. Anything but the Dark Lord Xxys, and secretly to record the conversation between Empress Volshe and Darth Krayt.

TAG: @Admiral Volshe @Darth Kain @Darth Nathemus @Darth Xirr @Darth Solus @DarthNoxia @Drakul_Xarxes @Jihadi Quartz @Voidwalker @Ānhrā Māhnîu @Helkosh @G.Kn @Reatith Blodraald @Darth Thana @Sith_Imperios @Cardun Vrek @Darth Sedicious @DarthFeros @Darth Xxys @Volacius, @Metus @Darth Dreadwar

Apprentice: Reatith Blodraald​

 

[skira]

IC: Loharr Talem and Sol Kira Combo
Location: Sith Temple, Korriban

After hearing the message from the commlink, Sol and Loharr both looked at at one another as if they were having a silent conversation. Sol gave a small nod to her fellow apprentice and they both moved, walking towards the exit.

“My apologies, Overseer Marcus, Master Xiannar. Perhaps you’ll have to see us fight some other time? We have other matters to attend to, from someone much higher up,” the young Onderonian said as she reached the exit, pausing to give them a partial smile before walking out.

“So now? We have to go now?” She asked once she had caught up to Loharr, overtaking him with haste. “I’m not the following type, don’t take it personal.”

Loharr heard the echoing footsteps quickly coming up behind him. He turned his head, only to have his sight completely blinded by an auburn flash. Sol had hastily caught up to him, and even overtaking him.

Walking was certainly not on her agenda, so he started into a brisk jog, in an effort to keep up.

“We have been called, it is our duty to answer.” Loharr answered, “It must be important, so we need to hurry. We mustn’t make her wait.”

His brain began to race, his thoughts attempting to contemplate the reasoning behind this latest development. Had something occurred during the feast? Or perhaps the opposite was true? Was someone dead? Alive? Wait… how would that last one be an emergency? Either way, it was still something to consider.

He managed to catch up to Sol, turning his brisk jog into a nice power walk, now matching her pace in near-perfect synchronization. But his mind couldn’t help but return to the summons.

What exactly was going on?

“I wasn’t planning on it,” she responded, walking quickly through the dark halls towards the coordinates they had been sent along with the message. “I have a bad feeling about this,” she muttered under her breath, slowing down to turn to go down the steps.


Tags: @Loharr Talem @Admiral Volshe @Darth Dreadwar

 

[G.Kn]

IC: Darth Skyllan

-----

They smiled coyly as Xarxes gave them the wineskin. "Until later my Lord. Don't be too long, I'd hate for something exciting to happen without you." Skyllan told the man as they stood to leave. "I'll send you the information I have on Cifra's work after the evening is over." This was assuming that the man did know that the statues weren't just a metaphor, despite using them as a way to bring up Hesper discreetly. "Oh and Zyldek, I'll be finding your contact information soon. Your job has, to a degree, caught my interest. I'll be speaking to you about what to look for in a Scribe in the not too distant future. Obviously there is your heart, liver, lungs, and other delicious organs, but I really want to find what makes you tick beyond those." There was a slight predatorial leer that accompanied the words. To be honest, Skyllan didn't really care, but the chagrian was an amusing plaything. They understood why Xarxes kept him around.

With the Lord leaving, Skyllan turned their gaze on the other people leaving. Nihl, Maladi, Nathemus, Solus, Pravum, Voidwalker, Mavros, and at their head, accompanied by her children and knights, was Viscretus. The s'kytri watched them leave, their golden eyes memorising the sight. Commiting the names and figures to memory. The wineskin of blood in their hands smelling more and more alluring. With the numbers in the hall seemingly dropping like innocent civilians, the temptation to imaple someone grew. To spill blood on the floors of the sith temple, like had happened countless times in history. If they threw one of the many knives on the table fast enough, would those Imperial Knights be fast enough to stop the blade hitting their target? Under normal circumstances, Skyllan had no doubt, but with the force limited like it was... For the time being, it would stay a mere idea. But the temptation was immense.

Maybe the lizards would make better targets, there was a strong chance that if hey killed one, the others in the hall might join the party. Skyllan let their gaze slowly travel around the room as they debated their ability to throw a knife through the bars of a cage. The issues obviously with that idea were Apollyon and I-Ron. The Hand, would not have employed the lizards if she couldn't defend herself suitably without the Force. Similarly, the s'kytri knew for a fact that the chassis that I-Ron was currently wearing, if it was anything like other droids using that model, then in a Force Null, the shard was one of the most dangerous people in the room. If Apollyon and I-Ron took offense at Skyllan killing the repugnant little lizards, would they engage him in combat? It was a fascinating scenario to play out. If it was either one of them, the Winged Sith was arrogant enough to believe that they could put up an interesting fight. Skyllan would however, eventually lose. If it ccame to fighting both of them, well, a similar idea played out in their head. It had been a long time since they'd fought without the Force, or even without their armour. In truth, they weren't fully certain about their potential opponent's capabilities.

Of course, if a fight started, it was very unlikely it would remain the inital combatants alone on the battlefield. There was Apollyon's pet Vong, and the many people who didn't wish to submit to whatever the Hand's rule entailed. Skyllan had allies too, or at least, to an extent, but they had always been allies of convenience first and foremost. They were under little illusions about their popularity or political draw, they had always preferred to work quietly and alone. It had earned them a degree of respect, but little in the way of allies. Skyllan thought back to their final trial as an apprentice, battling through a hanger of troops and then facing down a jedi and their devious droid. The explosions and the sprays of blood. The damage they had taken, the damage they'd done... yes. Fighting alone was hardly something to be concerned about. Perhaps it was a tad problematic here, given that whatever fight they might hope to start would require support to live through, but it was worth it.

Ooh maybe they should attack Krayt. Obviously the man had done some bad things given how many people in the room wanted to kill him, it would be rather fun to deprive all of them of vengence in one move. That being said, were they even capable of killing the 'Dragon'? No doubt with some time the could, but right now in this moment were they capable of doing it? Given that the manmore than likelyrelied on the force to keep himself from death, perhaps caving in their skull would work while in the Force Null. But would they just regenerate when the force null left, or would it be true death? Perhaps a few people in the hall could answer that, but Skyllan admittedly could not in this moment. Their own plans to thwart death didn't require the use of an alternate body. They were interested in a method where they could manipulate the end result more easily. The rituals they had gone through to strengthen their Sceptre, to imbue it with power.... it was to be their magnum opus. They would become a Weapon for the Darkness in a very real, very dangerous way.

But of course, to reach that point they first had to survive to reach it.

In the vein of their continued survival, Skyllan removed their datapad from their pocket and sent a remote command to Vulcan their R6 Unit. Ordering it to start a revolving scan of the planet, if a ship took off from Korriban now that there had been a minor exodus then Skyllan would make a point of removing themself from the situation as quickly as possible. They didn't *think* Volshe would bomb the sith temple, but something told the Winged Sith that she was capable of doing things far beyond that if deemed necessary. The question was, did she? Under normal circumstances, they doubted it, but given the lizards and Krayt's presence... best not to take chances. Underestimating people was one of the reasons that Skyllan had been permitted to grow into the monster they'd become. They would do their utmost that no potential threats to the s'kytri would be treated the same way.

After a quick glance around the room, noting with minor - but hidden - amusement, Reatith apparently floundering amongst other less interesting things. Perhaps it would be worth speaking to some of the pretenders so they could learn where best to stab later. Or maybe starting a conversation with some of the more respectable sith here, like Noxia, Xxys or Māhnîu. But then again, approaching a lord or lady without clear reason wasn't really the smartest move. Instead, they settled on two figrues they knew relatively well, Volacius and Thana. Their former master and someone they had fought alongside once or twice. Their occasionally displayed talent of turning into a dragonsnake was a reminder of one of the more memorable times.

"Hail and well met Master Volacius," They began as they enroached upon their conversation. The use of the term Master wasn't one they'd enjoyed much as an apprentice, and one they still did not now, butthere were certain protocols that Skyllan had agreed to follow when they joined the sith, this gathering wasn't really the right place to discard them. "And Darth Thana too, always a pleasure." Skyllan said, their words characteristically soft. But both of the people they were now speaking too knew the deadly potential within the False Angel. "Are you enjoying the proceedings? If Lady Apollyon's words are to be taken at face value, then some of the last remnants of the Federations' higher ups will die today." A slightly hungry look slipped into the s'kytri's eyes. "It's a rare thing that drags you from your studies Thana-" Indeed she was one of few that Skyllan recognised as having a thirst for knowledge for magic and other more archaic forms of the force akin to their own, in regards to the tier they both stand on anyway. Beings such as Sedicious and Māhnîu had them beaten in regards to esoteric knowledge - for now. "-and a similar thing could be said for you and the battlefield." The Winged Sith had fond that 'crusader' was a very fitting word for the Scourge of the Jedi.

"Here's hoping we are all suitably staisfied by how the evening plays out." Skyllan stated simply, well aware that off the three of them, it was probably them that was the biggest recluse. What with their tendency to just leave and go explore random ruins and such places without really informing anyone.

-----

TAG: @Admiral Volshe @Darth Dreadwar @Darth Kain @Hadzuska_The Jester @Darth Nathemus @Darth Xirr @Darth Solus @DarthNoxia @Voidwalker @Drakul_Xarxes @Jihadi Quartz @Ānhrā Māhnîu @Helkosh @G.Kn @Reatith Blodraald @Darth Thana @Sith_Imperios @Cardun Vrek @Darth Sedicious @DarthFeros @Darth Xxys @Volacius @Metus

 

[Darth Xxys]

(Darth Xxys IC)
The Feast.
Korriban.

Following Lord Kain as he exited Lord Catalyst departed the table just as the tensions at the foot of the throne looked to be reaching a boiling point.

The words they shared belied the subtext: all three here wanted the throne. All three believed they deserved the post.

Apollyon to serve her Master's will and maintain the Empire.

Empress Kàra Volshe to secure her place and ensure her children's survival and eventual rise to rule.

and Darth Krayt, whos motivations could only be guessed at, he had ruled before, and power once tasted can become enough to bring one back from the Maw of Chaos....twice.

Xxys had seen what chaos had done to the Empire over the past two year's and he was not pleased. Under Lord Dreadwar there was order and discipline. Punishment for disention was swift, and final. Now with his absence the power void was massive, and one of these three at least ment to fill that void, even of that was over the bodies of the other two.

Xxys' postion was tenuous.

His loyalty was to the Empire,.and the Throne, and whomever the Dark Side saw fit to deposit apon it.
He had no personal feelings about any of them...but he did have a preference as to whom he thought should rule.

He simply wanted order.

Now he sat back in his seat and slowly imbibed his cigar, the smoke curling around his hand as he exhaled the pungent leaf seemingly oblivious to the mounting unrest.

This bickering was pointless. Under the current conditions it was likely that there would be an all out brawl between these three as one never could predict the nature of women, and Lord Krayt was clearly trying to antagonize Lady Volshe into lashing out. Despite the lack of the Force, electricity seemed to spark between the two. The conversation started innocuous enough, but the tone turned vicious on the part of the Lady, and condescending on the part of the Dragon. Xxys could see that the Lady Volshe was keeping herself barely in check; her delicate, bejeweled hand, gripping the wrist of her companion so tightly it must have caused him considerable pain while she used her free hand to reach for her goblet. Lord Krayt reached out at the same time and for a moment their hands nearly touched, Xxys imagined a white hot spark flying between the two that would start a conflagration that would set fire to an Empire already soaked in the fuel of unrest. A guard that was stationed just to the left and behind the Empress took a step forwad and placed his hand on the hilt of his weapon in response to Lord Krayt's sudden proximity to the Empress.

Raising his hands in mock embarrassment (it was obvious in his tone he regreted nothing he had said nor the slight to the Ladies postion) Lord Krayt turned his attention to the the Lady Wyyrlok to pay a small compliment before returning his attention to the Lady Apollyon.

'My Dear, thank you so much for the invitation.'
Xxys saw Lady Volshe stiffen in her seat at the blatant disrespect for decorum.

Likewise he could see genuine rage in the eyes of Lord Voidwalker, who had arrived with Darth Noxia. Such was The Dread Heir's anger that he was virtually vibrating in his seat, and only the grasp of the Dark Lady Noxia's hand on his arm restrained him from assaulting the grinning Lord.

'My...Lady." the words dripped with contempt as Empress Volshe glared at the grinning Lord. 'That is the correct form of address from an inferior to a Dark Lady of the Council'
She shook her head as one does to a petulant child and sent a glance to Apollyon.

'Such audacity.'

Xxys' shifted his seated position and leaned forward in his chair but otherwise made no indication he was interested in anything other than his cigar which he rolled slowly between his forefinger and thumb.

Lord Krayt launched into another tirade and inspite of his seeming disinterest Xxys had nearly left his seat when the Lord had addressed the Empress as a commoner by her given name.
He was forestalled by the seemingly drunken arrival of Lord Voidwalker who interposed himself to difuse the volatile situation. Before the Empress could truly settle her personal coms sounded and the saccharine smile she had affected in response to the blatant insult dropped. Not from anything the mad Lord had said but from the information she had been given by the comms unit. She gathered her entourage and a few others with a glance and excused herself.
Xxys was not included in that glance but he rose as the Empress did and made sure his movements were obviously in favor of distancing himself from Lord Krayt, and signaling to any that might be watching, where his immediate loyalties lay.


TAG: @Darth Sedicious @Darth Dreadwar @Volacius @Darth Nathemus @Darth Solus @DarthNoxia @Drakul_Xarxes @Reatith Blodraald @Voidwalker @Ānhrā Māhnîu @Helkosh @G.Kn @Darth Thana @Hadzuska_The Jester @Sith_Imperios @Cardun Vrek @DarthFeros @Darth Xxys @Admiral Volshe @Darth Xirr

 

[Arach]

IC- Darth Arach
Sybil II

Darth Arach stood off to one side of the bridge. She stood silent and motionless with her hands clasped loosely behind her back. She turned her gaze to the swirling vortex of hyperspace. The constant shifting patterns had a soothing effect on her racing mind.

Memories tried to force themselves against her mental barriers. She felt her mind try to tear itself in half, part of it attempting to return to the past.

The assassin took a deep breath and slipped into a half- meditative state. She slowly opened herself up to the presences of everyone on board the ship. She felt Lady Hesper’s presence approaching the bridge, the presences of Grievance Vexx and Reiis Invadator. She felt herself become more anchored to this time and felt herself relax a little.

Arach was about to withdraw, until she felt a spark of another presence familiar, yet somehow altered? She was about to investigate further, when Lady Hesper entered the bridge. Cautiously, Arach withdrew her consciousness and blinked her eyes open.

She respectfully inclined her head to acknowledge Hesper and felt a sudden spark of excitement. She felt the corner of her mouth lift up in a slight smile.

Arach felt it. They were close to Korriban. She was almost home.


Tags: @Darth Dreadwar, @corinthia, @dragonsith13, @Reiis Invadator, @Grievance Vexx