This is a sample guest message. Register a free account today to become a member! Once signed in, you'll be able to participate on this site by adding your own topics and posts, as well as connect with other members through your own private inbox!
The Dark Side has stricken a major blow to the Light, whether victory was claimed or heavy loss, Csilla had left a wound too great to heal. An echo has been cast in the Force, a suffering that spreads from one victim to another creating injustice, despair, and in the end more echoes that continue to spread like a cancer throughout the galaxy. A perverse darkness threatens the very ideals the Light-Sworn cling too. Chief among them..
We stand on the precipice, the tides shift in favor of the Bogan. Fear once more begins to circulate throughout the galaxy and the Dark Side among it. For too long we have been weak, for too long have we let our power blind us as the numbers cull. The Dark Side is like a poison, for far too long it had been diluted and now it begins to concentrate again. Now it finds purpose in those bestowed it's divine touch.
The Dark Voice, Speaker of the Unholy Brotherhood of the Maw and Sith Master Darth Solipsis
, welcomes you to a gathering like no other held on the former throneworld of the mighty Darth Vader. Held within the bowels of the mighty Dark Lord's Fortress Vader, long abandoned to it's fate in ruins after the last stand of the previous incarnation of Ren. The ruins of the mighty structure have been fitted to host this mighty gathering and what better place than above the Sith Cave of old within the depths of the ancient edifice.
So come! Feast and make merry, strengthen your bonds as Sith and discuss your ideals. Battle old enemies and engage in Kaggath, or involve yourself in backroom dealings as everything comes to an end.
We salute the end of an era, and the dawn of a new day. The Sith will never be the same, we shall rise and dominate once more.
Rax certainly hadn't been out and about for some time. The previous months had taken a toll on him, training in secret; furthering himself quietly. He had no goals yet other than to build his body, and build his endurance until it peaked. Yet again, his muscle mass had grown, and as he sat with his legs wide at one the tables, he seemed vaguely disinterested in the things happening around him. After all he hadn't personally involved in what he heard was a great massacre on Csilla; but had no reason to turn down an invitation to eat. That he did, slowly. He stripped all the meat from a long bone, dropping it on his plate with a clatter as vibrant yellow hues scanned the room.
So far things had been surprisingly mundane, save for the periodic scream of pain that emanated down one of the lone hallways that dotted the imposing fortress. So this was the building the legendary Vader called home... He stood, pouring himself a full mug of some intoxicant, slurping from it loudly and making a round of the festivities. The Darkness was thick here, rolling off of all in attendance, and strengthening his own in turn. As he moved, he made no mistake of his size, or weight; either causing anyone on a direct path with him to move, or be moved. Or be shouldered hard enough to start a fight...
For the most part, most either moved, or took the contact with gusto, offering him a crude turn of the head in response.
Slurping again from that mug, he would make his way to one of the exit doors, and slide himself out onto a patio of sorts. Movement drew his eye sharply to the left, some obscene act caught in the process causing a a pair to gather themselves for just a moment, looking at him and causing him to simply chuckle aloud. Once they noted he didn't care about what it was they were doing, they continued, and he would move lean on a railing, observing the fiery hellish landscape that Mustafar was.
It was easy to see why a Sith would choose this place as home. The landscape embodied what a Sith was... Down to the periodic breaks in the Volcanic rock that had to yield to the infinite power that lurked below... Probably even right below the Fortress.
He slurped again, no qualms towards intoxicating himself this night. Of course he would try to maintain his senses, in case he needed to strangle, maim, bludgeon, or plainly kill someone later on; but an invitation to feast and make merry was just that. He might as well make use of it.
Malel Mal'gurith had arrived upon Mustafar, having ventured forth from the Capital of the Sith Empire's Dromund Kaas to witness this gathering of their kind, zealous and devout, followers of the way of the Sith and the glorious Dark Side of the Force at the whim of those who were able to wield its malign power.
As the Upsilon-Class Shuttle descended down unto the volcanic world's surface destined for the unholy Fortress Vader, the Wraith Lord could sense the darkness that enveloped Mustafar as if the Force itself were responsible for the very planets hellish state. For what purpose the Sith had all been summoned Malel would soon discover, yet he could already sense that he was not the first to arrive.
The Galaxy had been a haven of turmoil, discrimination, hatred and war for some time now. The Jedi Order remained fractured, squabbling among their own by their differing creeds and hypocrisies while political powers sought every opportunity to undermind the other. The Dark side laying behind every single deceitful and devious deed whether the masses knew this or not.
There would be no peace for the likes of the Alliance or the Silver Jedi Concord, and those that fought for their perceived righteous causes would only find fleeting victories, eventually undone by the overbearing power that was the true manifestation of strength in the corporeal plain, the Dark Side and those who sought to control it.
Obsidian armoured Stormtroopers hustled down the loading ramp of the Sith-Imperial Transport, all moving to stand at either side and turning to face one another in rank and file, awaiting the presence of the Sith Lord of whose steps were heavily weighted, his armour and help a monstrous metal vision of flesh and bone, all draped beneath the wide black and red embroidered cloak that flowed against Mustafar's humid air as the goliath towered over the troops, making his way for the Fortress itself.
Among those in attendance for this summons, Malel Mal'gurith would stand as a representative for The Sith Empire.
The end is acceptance of a finite time on this mortal coil. Such fool notions are held by the petulant children called Jedi, who run around trying to save precious lives and precious time. Death is not the end, for life continues beyond the limitations of mortal bodies and feeble minds.
In the darkness of the void, one finds infinity.
The forces of the Light shatter the Sith at every turn, while the Sith fight sectarian wars. The same wars that had killed Darth Vinaze. Too many fanatics had claimed the title of Sith'ari. Of the few he'd observed, and the fewer he'd met in person, he was unsure if any of them could truly claim to be the harbingers of the Dark Side.
However there was another. A master of the Sith he'd only heard the tales of. Tales of grand demise, of a turning tide in the endless war between Light and Dark. This Darth Solipsis, he who had replicated the dreaded weaponry of Darth Sidious, he who had challenged a coalition of all the Galaxy's nations to try and stop him. Maybe this man was worthy. Vinaze's apprentice had confirmed in person the terrible might of the superweapon at Csilla.
Vinaze was no determined kingmaker, but to whisper in the ear of the one who might rule the Sith, who wields such power, was an opportunity few would not try and seize...
Castle Vader reclaimed, a far cry from the empty ruins the once-pilgrim had scoured in the folly of his youth. The congregation was a marvelous sight, a true testament to a coming era. The spirit of Darth Vinaze materialized in the shadows of the banquet hall, and the shadows he would attempt to stay. He manifested in a humanoid body topped with a swirling crystal ball, which to any who could figure out what he was might have looked like it contained his 'essence', though in truth the form he took on was completely illusionary.
He watched from the sidelines as the biggest players of the Dark side streamed in. Some he recognized, so were foreign to him. Some were simply faces lost in a crowd. But he felt them all through the force. Their power, their worth, even the intentions of some who dared to let their guards down in naivety despite the obvious tensions. There were Imperials, Eternals, Schismatics of every breed between Keepers and the Rule of the Few.
It was a feast of heretics. If there were ever a time when civil discussion could discover what creed truly stood above them all, it was tonight. And if not, then they would continue fighting until one dominated all...
The stench of smoke clung tightly to the air, reminiscent of war and destruction. A cabal of figures, their faces concealed by hood and mask, walked slowly through the burning fen. The irontrees which sprung forth from the volcanic ground were numerous, surviving and even thriving despite the inhospitable conditions of the world they inhabited. It was this resilience, this endurance through adversity, that drew the group to the woods bordering the mighty palace of Darth Vader.
It spoke greatly of the Sith spirit which they all held dearly, a personification of their lauded history in which they had been reduced to surviving in similarly inhospitable conditions. Shapes lingered on the periphery, vagrants and vagabonds who roosted in the shadow of Fortress Vader; weak-minded worshipers who still venerated the Old Sith. They were blind to the New Sith that slowly congregated in the hallowed halls above, if not outright hostile at times.
They were but beasts, but even beasts had their usefulness.
Reaching down, the tallest of the figures scooped up a handful of ash near the roots of one of the irontrees. He stuffed the handful into a leather satchel, cinching it shut before depositing it somewhere within the confines of his voluminous robes.
"The time has come," he spoke slowly, "Let us adjourn to the Castle, the others are waiting."
They turned their backs on the fen, making the arduous journey along the mountain trail leading to Fortress Vader. As they approached, each of them removed the covering from their face. Their leader was Darth Carnifex; former Emperor of the Sith Empire, now the Eternal Father of the shadowy state which spread across the galaxy in secrecy. Undoubtedly there would be many of the New Sith displeased by his arrival, though they were beneath his notice.
Darkness weaved through the air like the threadings of a quilt, merging with the volcanic light of the world in an effortless tango. There was something to appreciate about such ease and what such a thing produced in the larger schemes of Mustafar's existence. Mostly in the showing that the only radiance that could be found here was that of the magma runs and constant volcanic eruptions near and far. In fact, it was of Kavar's opinion that the Light Side would never be able to find solid footing here, even if all the Jedi in the current age banded together in the attempt - and only a few other worlds held such distinction.
Dromund Kaas, Korriban, Nathema, Ziost.
All worlds that had been steeped in the liquid void of the Force's depravity for so long that the very idea of the Light Side was an unforgivable sin to that which adored sin. That is why Kavar found the decision to have this "feast" held on this world so delightful. He could consume whatever Solipsis had decided to prepare and feast upon the energies of Mustafar. Although so would everyone else, which he could only admit in private was possible the real reason he was excited to be attending. The chance to gauge threats to his future rule...and perhaps engage in some friendly dinner party brawls.
And so he walked alone and titanic - a pyramidic container of silver and steelhovering next to him in a legless march - towards the entrance of Castle Vader which stood as an obelisk of the ages. Unbroken with a history that could never be destroyed. Each step through grit, ash, and heat, and eventually upon metal that could scald bare flesh sparked memories of study in the Devil's mind. This was the place where the order of a terrible mighty hand had ruled unopposed by any true challengers. Within these walls of onyx and obsidian, all of those who would have dared to deny the power of the Chosen One met their end or cowed under his gaze. Such a place could not go to waste ever again for that would be more of a transgression upon all things that the Sith stood for than the Light Side's persistence. The Devil would have to ensure that if no one else did, but he had an inkling of expectation that at least one would.
The first thing he noticed beyond the aged architecture - as he entered the primary chamber where the feast would take place - was the presence of a man he had the greatest respect for. Or at least, more respect than he gave any other. Darth Vinaze
stood in the shadows as best he could in the form that he had conjured, but there was no hiding from the man who he had helped revive during the Malachor Crusade, which had ultimately failed. The essence of his power was too much now for anyone to simply not be aware of, although that would likely not change their personal choices to ignore his presence.
Not so for the Devil.
Before approaching his former ally, the Devil set the pyramidic container on the central banquet table which had yet to be supplied with food and drink. After sufficiently aligning it to the edges of the metal table, he went on to push his way through the throngs of New and Old Sith that had arrived. Some voiced their disapproval of this blatant act of disrespect, but such complaints could be dealt with at another time later on. For now, a discussion was needed.
"I see you have adopted a new visage for the physical plane," the Devil said, his voice as smooth as the rocks of a riverbed. "It's...agreeable."
The compliment was as genuine as he could manage, and was more or less his way of saying: "At least you are no longer actively melting every second of the day."
Kalt arrived to the location, along with a number of other Sith from the Empire and Eternal. He had been training for some time under the tutelage of Darth Sanguis but was nearing the point where he felt ready to ascend in rank. In truth, he wasn't ready quite yet but he was getting impatient, as all good Sith were bound, if not expected, to do. In time he'll have what he wants, whether anyone else is ready for it, was beyond his concern. That said, he still respected his master and fellow Acolytes. Kalt found a drink and wandered around, looking to see if he could recognize anyone before attempting to greet someone new. Social gatherings weren't exactly his passion but mingling and getting to know people were a great opportunity to get an honest impression of people's fears and motivations. The things they might be concerned or happy about. The things that could be used to twist them toward his own will.
Kalt's little circuit to find someone familiar took him to the balcony where he saw his fellow Acolyte, Rax. "Rax! It's been a while. Have you slaughtered someone yet?" He greeted, the question itself almost as ridiculous as it was sincere. Kalt had a deep appreciation for Rax's ability to get up close and personal, and to really drive home the fear and terror into his victims. And of course, there was the natural companionship of being apprentices to the same Master.
"I see you were also called to this place of Dark Power. What do you think we're here for?"
High in the atmosphere above the ancient Holy Land the air displaced, generating a blinding flash as arcs of lightning whipped down to strike sure at the ground below. A series of sonic booms followed, roiling across the sky, rattling all that dwelled upon the ground.
A lone, long dead tree immediately bent low in genuflection before snapping in half along the main trunk, uprooted and spent upon the shadowy land.
From time to time, the last remaining thread of Life would scream under the weight of the full glory of Darkness, so beautiful, and surrender itself to suicide thinking it could escape. Even the most innocent of Spirits get lost in the darkness of Hell, lest something far greater of Light exists to draw it free. There is no Light here. Nothing present could identify with its wavelength as anything but abhorrent.
From above, a visual distortion etched through the atmosphere. A blinding light manifested first, elongated and broadened to reveal absolute darkness within.
From the concealing darkness, out stepped the Nightsister Matriarch Pom Stych Tivé onto the sleek black rock, setting the porthole to vanish behind her. No jedi could funk up such splendor! How they persisted in their attempt, stains such as Jax Thio
. How she loved causing the like to quake enveloped in the presence of utter Darkness.
A kindred to the chaotic energy, her Soul reveled in truest content. She felt him near, and awaited for his footsteps to reach the portcullis where she stationed herself momentarily.
Mustafar. The place of fire. Of life. Of the Dark Side. She drew such intense energy here, as she was doing this moment.
She stood on a dilapidated balcony ledge. Or rather, what remained anyway. In such a state of disrepair, it resembled a shelf jutting out from the side of Fortress Vader. Oft considered a holy site for the Sith. It certainly held special meaning for one Sith in particular.
The Sith who stood, nude, arms outstretched and could be identified as a Twi'Lek from a distance. Maestus. To her, Mustafar was her homeworld now. No longer had she any connection to Ry'loth. That final connection, that final -Weakness-, had died, violently. By her own hand. Violently. She no longer had parents.
Mustafar, to Maestus, was her true home. It was, after all, the world where she was reborn. Baptized in lava and fire. It was here that Maestus truly felt a connection to a planet. It had come quickly. Not long after her arrival. After she had risen back to the cliff her Master, Darth Solipsis
had shoved her off. After climbing a mountain with a broken leg. After calling on the rage of the Dark Side, fueled by the fire and lava of the planet itself.
It was THEN, THAT MOMENT.
When the Dark Side bent to her will. She commanded the Dark Side for the first time, forcing her will to subjugate the will of the Dark Side. And when the Dark Side obeyed, and began to course through her body, gathering at the location of the break in her left leg. The raw power, the raw Dark Side mended her leg. Because she willed it to be so.
That was the moment of her rebirth. And Mustafar was where it had occurred.
Maestus stood, arms outstretched and nude. Above her, clouds gathered. Thunder filled the air, and lightning erupted from the sky. Below her, at the base of the Fortress, lava flowed, bubbled and splashed. It felt as if the air itself was becoming hotter by the second.
Maestus turned and went back into the Fortress.
A short while later...
Maestus strode towards the Great Room, laid out resplendently for all Sith to enjoy. In whatever manner they chose to indulge themselves. She moved on silent toes, steps hard to hear. She wore diaphanous silk robes, black with red stitching. Belted loosely at her waist.
Her face held a congenial smile, which she bestowed on any she engaged with. Her eyes belied her inner composure. Black orbs with red flames at the edges. The flames were at rest now, laying still and placid.
As she mingled with the gathering Sith, she was making her way towards her Master. That is not to say she cuts anyone short. She simply deftly maneuvers the conversation to a quick but satisfying ending, and continues on her objective.
His dark eyes burned with intensity as he gazed upon the altar, the obsidian obelisks that surrounded him began to hum and their runic etchings produced a faint orange glow that warmed his skin. Yellow orbs of hatred stared out blankly, his mouth moved in utterance of words profane and inaudible to the naked ear. He was lost in trance, focused on someone or something before making his appearance within the cavernous hall that held the Great Feast.
The runes faded and his eyes closed shortly after in a blink, his attention was back to that around him.
The Elder rose to his feet slowly, gripping hold of his old wooden walking stick as an aid in his rise. The Sith Master took pause for a long moment and basked in the holy glow of the Dark Side of the Force, it permeated everything.
While the intended purpose of the Sith Cave was no more, it still served a powerful conduit in the Dark Side, a former doorway to the glories of Bogan itself. The power that ruptured forth was a taste of what awaited those who could rebuild the broken doorway, a wave of dark miasma would trickle through the fortress with a wash of rejuvenation over all those who touched upon the Dark Side and embraced it's gifts. Yes. This place was strong with the Dark Side, a nexus of hate coupled with a conduit of darkness below. Fortress Vader even now in it's loathsome state was a bastion of power, a worthy redoubt for their Great Sith Gathering.
Hobbling his way out from the sacred shrine, the Sith Master left the Sith Cave behind and made way to the celebration where Sith from all corners of the galaxy had begun funneling in. Members of the Sith Order from his allies within the Warlords of the Sith, the Kainate, the Sith Empire, and the Sith Eternal all began to rally under this sacred place. Even members from his newly founded New Sith Order were in attendance, secretive artisans of the Grand Plan that lurked within MAW space under his command. They were few, they were powerful.
The Dark Voice entered the hall with his hood drawn over his face, a smile of dark grimace and veiled wickedness came to him as he grinned from ear to ear upon entry. The Elder made little attempt to interrupt the proceedings as other Sith arrived, he would wait patiently as more came before he'd begin. He had an announcement to make that would mark the beginning of a new era, the dawn of a new day. Csilla had been just the beginning..
Gnost poured all his hate and resentment onto the canvas. Each brush stroke a violent slash brimming with profound emotion. He was completely lost in his work, heedless of the meeting ground's grisly new company. Art was his form of meditation. Creation allowed the kel dor to channel the darkside and could even lead to gruesome visions which he had come to cherish. His Force connection drew him to places like this, just as it had drawn him into the Unknown Regions where he could be free of the Baran Do once and for all.
"Magnificent," he murmured softly to himself.
His latest masterpiece was finally taking shape. Csilla's outline was distinctly visible now, albeit distorted in its death throes. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of the Maw's superweapon etched in profile as the doomed battlestation met its own violent oblivion. It was clearly an expressionistic landscape of the Chiss homeworld's planned destruction. Every artist had their muse, and Zym was moved by catastrophe. Visceral transformations of life into Force energy no longer tethered by its mortal coil.
"Hm? Oh. How wonderful."
Moments later Darth Solipsis
arrived. He gave a few scattered claps before the Sith Knight looked around and realized he was applauding for a speech which had not yet begun. Sometimes it was easy to get lost in the future. Many of the others here on Mustafar were dark saints carving their bloody legacies into the skin of the galaxy. Zym was a ghost who existed only in the deepest shadows. There were many paths to power. For now he would be content as a Sith wayseeker building a different kind of following out in the Chaos.
"I never come to these things," he confessed to Darth Vinaze
who was quietly seething nearby, "But its for such a good cause."
“You and I are of the same mind… artist. Something is happening tonight, and one would be a fool to miss it.” A sith artist? Some kind of court painter perhaps? Intriguing. Sith artists often either died very young, or very old, and those venerable Lords of art were respected greatly.
As they entered, the presence of the two titans, Carnifex and Kascalion, were immediate and overwhelming. The former: once his sworn Emperor. The latter: the man that, up until a recent wave of doubts, he had sworn himself to and upheld as the coming Sith’ari. It would be interesting to see how Kascalion, with the new power Vinaze had helped him gain, would fare against this Solipsis. If his spies were correct they were friendly, or at least allies of some nature given the Warlords’ aid to the Brotherhood at Csilla. But the same could be said for most of the Sith in the room. When it really came down to where to place the knife, it was almost certainly in the back of a ‘friend’.
Kascalion set his container down, and eyes began to draw to it. Hushed whispers spread slowly and softly beneath the louder chatter of the banquet hall, and any entering could see the ornate pyramid clearly. Then the Dread Lord turned to him.
He approached as if he was fully aware of Vinaze. Had he known of his ‘survival’ all along? Had he sensed Vinaze through the force, or consorted with Kuric? Whatever the case, his master and his killer spoke to him. It was curt.
“I must keep up appearances. It has taken me some time to get… acquainted… to the situation you put me in,” he spoke with the same dry tone he had in life, though he hinted at some discomfort. After he’d transcended the mortal plane at the behest of Kascalion’s axe, he’d initially struggled with spirit-hood. His inner darkness had manifested him in… horrific ways. A monster of esoteric proportions. He’d driven many of his acolytes insane, and taken himself to the brink of insanity once again. But the beast within was under control now, and this form was indeed agreeable.
“If you’ve brought what I think you have…” he trailed off. Though he had no discernible eyes, it was clear he was observing the container, “there will be much to discuss soon.”
There was almost a tinge of sadness in his voice.
Stepping out onto the surface of Mustafar almost reminded Alisteri of Korriban at first. Of course, the heat and dark ashen landscape weren't similar in the slightest. The sense that the planet gave him was what had him reminiscing. That overwhelming feeling of the Dark Side, almost suffocating if one weren't careful enough not to take it in all at once. Of course, unlike Korriban, Mustafar's presence wasn't just coming from the dead Sith of days that dawned centuries ago.
Rather, it mostly stemmed from the current occupants of the planet.
Parties in general weren't his thing, he left them up to the higher Sith to enjoy themselves so that he and the lower ones got to work without as much pressure on them. He especially didn't care much for parties that happened to have invited traitors and heretics. And yet here he was.
The masked Acolyte had no interest in partaking of the food or drink that the fortress offered, just in case it was poisoned in some way. He wasn't a Sith Lord, so he had no place in any of these supposed talks that would be occurring amidst this 'Great Feast', he was here on business. Knowing ones enemy is essential in war.
He kept himself far and away from the majority of the guests, content to watch from the back.
Better that he go unnoticed, in case some Lord decided to make an example of him for being 'too weak' or some other reason. Here we have a gathering of Sith not loyal to the empire, some of whom are traitors even, and here we are partying and talking instead of striking the place from orbit. I doubt that I shall ever understand Sith politics.
Perhaps that was something that he would learn here.
She was not much of a party girl, never had been, but she did take the time to make appearances at such events. This would be no different. Food and drink held no allure to the Lady of Secrets, especially the drink as it just clouded the mind, but it was the game that always interested her. The eternal struggle of those of the dark side to position against themselves, to subtly or not so subtly undermine their rivals and opponents for greater power, smiling all the while.
The cutthroat nature of the Sith was once again reasserting itself outside of the Sith Empire she served as a Dark Councilor, and it was certainly having an effect on the galaxy at large. Where their enemies once had only one big target with the Empire, now multiple factions and power bases were cropping up like ember-born fires in a forest. That was also the nature of the Sith; they could separate like drops of mercury and the strong would bring them back together in a new form eventually.
This gathering promised opportunity.
She heavily disagreed with the attack on Csilla, so much so when she learned Carnifex
was going to take part, she had expressed her feelings in the most passive-aggressive way she could to her ally; she had sent any communications he or any of his followers sent her about their plan to read for a week. Csilla had been unnecessary. No, it had been worse than unnecessary, it had been wasted. But again, opportunity could be grown from disappointment. The Maw's navy had been heavily crippled, large swathes either destroyed or damaged beyond repair.
She did hope to meet their host Darth Solipsis
to discuss that and possibly more, but that would remain to be seen. As she entered the castle, hood raised on her cloak and dark purple dress, she reflected that the last time she had been at this place had been the attack by the First Order while she was with the first Alliance and the New Jedi Order, researching it and spying.
The Dark Side had called forth its chosen to gather at Mustafar and the Lord of Eternal Conflict answered its invitation. The skeletal visage of the Warmaster had manifested itself in orbit of the planet, his hollow gaze falling upon its surface as Darth Bellum folded his arms across his chest. Like much of his time spent following the death of his mortal body, he had come to observe, once more watching over the Sith to see who among them were worthy of the title of Sith and those strong enough to wield it. The Force whispered into his ear, speaking of what was to come and what would be and such whispers were primarily the reason he had been drawn to watch and observe - nothing would escape his baleful gaze.
Delegates of the Sith from all reaches of the Galaxy had come to answer the Dark Side's invitation. The Warlords, of which he had chosen to arrive and observe with though his true intentions had yet to be revealed; the Sith Empire who had fallen from its grace and continued to cling to whatever power it still held; and the Brotherhood - the enigmatic group that had made a bold announcement to the Galaxy of its presences with its recent attack of the Chiss homeworld. Certainly, an interesting gathering of individuals nonetheless, with many who were likely to be at another's throat given the briefest of opportunities.
With a simple wave of his hand, a shroud of darkness formed before the ethereal form of Bellum as he floated in empty space, stepping forward as his body was soon engulfed in darkness wrapping around his body with an umbral embrace. A similar shroud of darkness appeared on the surface of Mustafar by Kascalion Giedfield
and Darth Vinaze
as his figure emerged wreathed in dark flames that soon faded. It was rare for the apparition of war to make an appearance outside of the battlefield. For one who in death as he did in life despised formal gatherings of Sith he considered beneath him spoke volumes. His gaze fell upon the container that Kascalion had brought with him - irony certainly had its ways of reaching out to even the most powerful of individuals.
The Dark Side had continued to invigorate and renew the hollow form of Darth Bellum, with such a concentrated gathering of it having allowed the ethereal avatar of war to become a near corporeal entity. He made no effort to hide his overwhelming aura of ravenous hunger known to those around him - an unmistakable thirst for blood and war reaching out to even the most guarded of minds.
Nox stood in the chamber with the other Sith, his arms crossed underneath the sleeves of his shroud. His face was obscured by his dark flowing hood and he stood, like a dark statue-radiating menace. There were Sith here whom he'd met in battle, some who might even recognize him if they were to see his face. It was a risk for him to come here, but one weighed against the possibility of immense reward.
His mentor, Darth Solipsis
, had won a victory on Csilla. With the great powers of the galaxy turned to face the threat of the Bryn'adul, the Sith elder had taken power as it had always meant to be taken-by force. It was at the Elder's request that Nox Intemptesta, the dead of night himself, had come. If Solipsis had requested it, Nox knew that there had to be some benefit to his coming.
While others spoke amongst themselves, a few drank and ate. Nox just watched.
The voice heard was not startling, but his head did still whip in the direction; wondering who who had approached him so brazenly. He hadn't spent so much time that the voice was immediately known, but once he saw the others form, and face he would smirk in response. Mr. Four Arms.
"Not just yet... I'm sure someone will provide a reason soon enough"
the acolyte chuckled, glancing back at the hellish landscape before him. Kalt Bruq
's next words caused him to mope lightly, head canting in answer.
"I'm here to eat, and drink..."
He would accentuate that by slurping again from that mug, letting out a burp away from the others direction. Just cause he was a Sith didn't mean he couldn't have manners after all. After he did that, a smirk found his lips again, and he slowly pivoted his head to the other.
"And hopefully slaughter one or two people..." He said, angrily peering at the other for a moment. He kept that up for a few beats, then broke into a laugh, turning and switching his mug hand so he could thrust his right forward in greeting of the other; left now occupied with drink.
"It was a good time last we met, what have you been doing brother?" Rax asked, Kalt Bruq
would be able to easily note Rax had not only grown vertically, but in muscle mass. Slowly, but surely, he was becoming physically fearsome. Even still, he had no interest in harming this man; their Master wouldn't be pleased.
"Were you apart of the slaughter on Csilla?"
It was good to see one of his 'siblings' here however. If anything broke out he expected the other to be on his side, just as he would help crush Kalt's enemies, he expected the other to help him crush his; unless asked to not intervene, Rax perceived this as their way... Simple, and to the point.
Mustafar was always a place of power. The legendary Vader had made his home here, and, as many would argue... he was born here. And he was not the last. There was a certain innate quality of rebirth that seemed to almost come from the very planet itself. The molten fires of the land coalesced in a hellish, baptismal current, allowing the worthy to find their purpose. Perhaps Khamul could one day take advantage of such an environment, but not today. Today, there were other pressing matters.
A call had gone out from the mysterious Voice of the Maw, Darth Solipsis
. A call to all Sith, to which many had answered. Even the entrance of the ominous fortress was bustling with various Sith and their retinues. Some were familiar to Khamul, others unknown. He even recognized some as enemies, foes whose forces he himself had fought on the field of battle. If this were a different sort of gathering, he would have likely cut them down where they stood.
Another day, perhaps...
Khamul made his way into the main hall, scanning the room as he pushed his way through the crowd. He sensed familiar energies here. Darth Bellum
had graced this meeting with his presence, as had Kascalion Giedfield
, but there was a third... a flame in the darkness that Khamul had thought extinguished...
... could it be? It appeared so. Death had failed to claim yet another of the Sith. Khamul couldn't help but to ponder on the events he had experienced since he joined the Warlords. The War Dragon necromancer, the mysterious book on Helgard, and now, a comrade back from the dead. The Force was trying to tell him something... it had to be...
Perhaps Khamul would make use of the planet after all.
He moved closer to the mysterious object Kascalion had placed on the table, studying it closely. Whatever it was, he was sure he would find out soon. There were many questions to be answered here, and he was sure they would be answered soon.
The air of Mustafar was drenched in the energies of the Dark Side. Normally, Petrichor would bask in the purity of the Darkness, but today was different. Today, the purity of Darkness seemed endlessly polluted with the stench of false Sith. The murky depths of their presence seemed endless in the sea of darksiders that converged on Fortress Vader. A true cornucopia of ambition and hate. There was a day when Petrichor would have counted himself among them, but that was long ago. He had almost refused to come, but something told him that this was a necessary risk.
The Force works in strange ways, he would tell himself. The looms of fate weave themselves as they see fit, and Petrichor was little more than a single thread, trying to find his way through the tangling paths of destiny. Perhaps, this day would help to untangle some of those threads, and present him with a path to greater clarity.
The Dark Heretic kept to himself as he moved through the crowd, attempting to cause a little a disturbance as possible. The less attention he attracted, the better it would be for him. There were many here who would likely wish him dead, and he was in no hurry to fight his way off of the planet. That being said, he hadn't come ill-prepared. Several Exerpts, agents to his Order, had arrived, scattering themselves among the crowd and blending into the sea of Sith. They too would keep their presence quiet, unless the need for violence were to arise. Until then, they merely waited among the rest of their Sith brethren.
Petrichor observed the presence of many notable Sith among the crowd. Many who would call each other enemies had found a moment to gather without weapons drawn, which made him more unsure of where the greater situation stood. He had questions, but some answers would have to wait. For now, he simply observed, scanning the room for a sign of opportunity.
Those who would call themselves Sith had gathered in number, some of which Darth Cessair recognized to be of the Empire in some shape and form. The most notable among them being Taeli Raaf
for it was she who was responsible for the Virmse ra Dvasia, the demons birthed of the Dark Side, part of what had been utilized in the unholy conjuring that stood before them now, Malel Mal'gurith. A former Legionnaire who in death had surrendered himself to the Dark Side and been reborn, the Wraith Lord made manifest.
There would be no words shared, yet the Sith Lord did briefly lower his head in acknowledgement to her. She who had earned her place within The Sith Empire so much longer ago than that of himself; It had taken some years for the spirit of Darth Cessair to break free of the shackles that tied the Virmse ra Dvasia to servitude, yet their ethereal essence made up a large part of what he was capable of today. For the rest of his kind, there would be no consideration, only that which served his own agenda.
The arrival of Carnifex
was a testament to the new era of the Sith Empire, the former Emperor and Dark Lord of the Sith was viewed as an example of prestige and power that one could obtain should they commit themselves fully to the way of the Sith, to the Dark Side.
For what purpose Carnifex had turned his attention away from the Empire, Malel did not know, yet from his example, they would ascend all expectations as long as the Wraith Lord would have it. Already there were plans underway, changes happening in the shadows, the time of the renewed might of their glorious Empire soon to be upon them for all the Galaxy to witness.
For what purpose they had been called for today, they had yet to be revealed, and so Darth Cessair cast his gaze back upon those not yet familiar to him. Truly, regardless of loyalties and alliances, one could not deny the dark and maniacal presence that had gathered within the Fortress. Together they all held one thing in common, their connection to the Force and their convergence affecting the very foundation of their corporeal environment, were it not already bathed in power, they would surely plunge the realm into darkness.
Silently, the Sith Lord stood tall with his arms crossed in wait for what was to come. Eager to get on with it.