From his Blooded Throne at the center of Ultimate Pandemonium,
Kascalion Giedfield, the Lord Goliath of Madness and the Empty Beyond,
Seeks to set ruin upon all those who oppose his rule

For He is the Master of All that Dwells in the Void

Sith. A people of war. Of power. Of control. Of domination. A people that once served as the culmination of a thousand thousand years of progress and of steeping themselves in the miasmic pits of the Dark Side of the Force. A people of unending destruction and doom laid down upon countless worlds and countless cultures. A people that now stand on the brink of extermination.

Since the days of the Sith’ari Adas of Korriban, to the coming of the Exiles at the end of the Hundred-Year Darkness, to the Golden Age of Sith, to the Great-Hyperspace War, to Exar Kun, and to the days of Sidious and Vader...through it all, the Sith have birthed fear.

Sorrow. Anguish. The trepidation from those in their sights of subjugation.

They did this time and time again. Sowing the seeds of chaos and hell for their causes, their beliefs, and their own grievous pleasure. They became conquerors of worlds. Warlords of star kingdoms. Emperors of entire sectors. Autarchs of millennia-old bloodlines of festering evil. And all claimed to be worthy of worship. All claimed to be worthy of aversion. They were nearly unmatched in combat and in the Force. Yes, indeed, for only a select few could touch them.


The Sith as it stands today - ruled now by Pillars and Chambers and Imperialism and false idols and weakening facades - has failed to do this. It has failed to invoke the aspects of true Sith marauders. Of true Sith kings and queens, lords and ladies. They have failed time and time again.

I was there when the walls of Bastion fell. The heavily-defended capital and proverbial heart of an Empire that stretched across the stars. Yet, through their hubris, it stands now as nothing more than a monument to their folly beneath the Iron Sun banner of the New Imperial Order. My kin lay dead in the hundreds. The thousands. Defeated. Humiliated. Treaded upon by the iron heels of the Irveric Tavlars. Of the Vaulkhars. Of the Lucien Dookus. Of the Lyra Voi’kryts. Themselves unmatched and untouchable. Standing over us as the killers and warlords we used to be.

On that day, it finally became clear to me that the Sith Empire - the one I have always served under a hundred leaders for time immemorial - had failed to adapt to the steely push of those who had betrayed them.

The Empire had failed to adapt to their tactics. The Sith Empire had failed to adapt to their knowledge of the interior workings of its armed forces, of its alchemy, and its sorcery, and its Imperialistic beliefs and ideals.

The Empire had failed to offer the necessary salvation to the weak before the war truly began, allowing them to rot the body of Sith to the marrow. They let their very enemies do it for them in the streets that they could not defend and the streets that they fled from. The essence of inefficiency. Of backward thinking. Of cowardice.

It failed its people and its leaders - so ostentatious and so cantankerous - receded into the shadows to work on machinations to keep themselves in positions of power they no longer hold. And now, it continues - blatantly and without right - to believe that the Galaxy will fear it still and will not retaliate and will bend the knee.

The Galaxy does not fear the Empire anymore.

It has retaliated in force.

And it will not bend the knee.

The Jedi have come with their faith and their honor and their creeds. They have declared war on the Empire once again as it always has, threatening the "sanctuary" of the Dark Side. Threatening to eradicate the anathema of Light.

The Bryn'adûl have come with their fire and their monstrosities and their mutations. And they now beat on the southern gates of the Empire, pushing and pushing against a people that have lost the very things that made them the strongest. That made the old Sith rulers uncontestable. They lost the fear and the ability to change.

And they refuse to admit this. They refuse to admit where they have fallen.

But unlike the Empire that seeks to retain a lost control...I can admit my downfalls. The losses that made me stronger. The destruction of my very being that reformed me into the ironclad creature that I am today. I felt the pangs of failure on Borosk, Bastion, Velmor, Kashyyk, Bescane, and more worlds than you could name and process in a lifetime. I have felt the doubt of losing myself. Of becoming weak. A brittle knife that was not worth the heat of a forge.

But now...I have been reborn by a power that I could not see in my stupor. A power that made me realize what a foolish man I had been to fall so easily into the same mediocrity and failures of my comrades.

And now I see everything. Across the veil, I peered beyond the curtains of mortality and I reached for the hands of eternality. And from its grasp, I gained immortality, perpetuity, and unclouded clarity. I...have become infinite.

On this day, I declare what I am. What I truly am and what I was born to be.

I am Kascalion Giedfield. Kavar, born of the Skator Hai. The Warrior King. The Autarch of Dread.

I am the Dark Lord of the Sith.

I am the Sith’ari.

And through me, I will destroy the Galaxy and from the ashes birth anew an Ascendancy of Darkness that will last for an endless passage through the universe. And I will breed again what makes us strong.

And no one will stop me.