Populate A Funeral For The Many | Tsis'Kaar & SO Populate of Annaj & Abbaji

[Míriel Ver Seryan]

OBJECTIVE II: Criminal Scum
TAGS: Vakhari Lutris | Lysander von Ascania | Kivah

It seemed others were also joining. However, they were all... doing something different. My eyes scanning the area to see on individual closing in on their target before closing the distance to a door and starting to work on something for it. While on the other side, a little boisterous and adding something extra to whatever this job was. I was unsure if all parties were part of this Tsis'Kaar I had heard rumors about. Either way, They had closed the gap on the opening attack against others.

Everyone closing in, but doing so of their own attempts. As if these people were either working separately of each other, or were ignorant of what was going on. It seemed they were all attempting to close in and just take care of whatever these people were doing.

Breathing in slowly and exhaling out any kind of potential stressors, I used the force to close the gap between one building and another. Moving to run up the side of the building as silently as possible. Looking in through one of the rooftop skylights. Breaking the silence on whatever coms they were connected to.

"How about we not be so sloppy in our advances, and coordinate? Door Slicer, you have two just on the other side. Since you other two are being loud, go ahead and get a little louder. Draw attention to your side of the facility."

The idea was since the woman already squealed like a stuck pig when almost taking a hit, and the lightsaber was humming and emitted light, they would be easier to pick out for now. Door Slicer was already trying to be as stealthy as possible anyway, so giving her a opening to cut through the door would be easier. Once both sides were in, then I could hop down from the rooftop and strike from the center while the other two groups went from the outside in.

I could barely hold my words back. Muttering them to myself. The irony was not lost on me. Being between the aspect of forced to work with the Sith, and trying to hold to the values of the Jedi I had been with for so long. However right now, it felt like there was some kind of disconnect even among the Sith.

"And I thought Sith were supposed to be threats."

 

[Velok Brokentusk]

As across the surroundings of the factory, wraiths began to advance.

"Oh." She simply said rather, uttered, "how peculiar of a sign, and a stand, and of all places." Lucette approached the being- wait- Whiphid. "Hello, don't believe we've met, Lucette Fortan-Raaf." The Dosuunian gestured to his sign, "alright, I suppose I'll see what you're offering. Although I ask, what payment do you seek?" Nothing even if a scam, came freely, especially a scam.

Until then, one of her Ravens would flutter onto [IMG alt="Lucette"]https://www.starwarsrp.net/data/avatars/s/48/48347.jpg?1750137251[/IMG] [FONT=BlinkMacSystemFont]Lucette[/FONT] 's shoulder to keep an eye on her as the events unfolded and she talked with an old associate of hers. That soft spot for Velok Brokentusk Velok Brokentusk would always continue.

"Today," Velok said grandly, pivoting from his usual rates upon hearing the name Raaf and seeing the Raven, "we operate on a pay-what-you-want basis."

He shook some knucklebones and scrutinized them.

"For example, I will tell our immediate future with one hundred percent certainty! We are about to be attacked by wraiths."

As wraiths emerged from certain alleyways, Velok threw back his poncho to reveal a mismatched pair of titanic weapons. In one hand he wielded a Lords of the Fringe Dukaggath Trophy Mauler, which began chugging and chewing through humanoid skulls to disburse a shotgun spray of flash-alchemized bone. In the other he wielded a Ssi-Ruuvi Bashreeft Entechment Hammer, a ranged weapon that flung and recalled a morningstar head of rapid entechment circuitry. Whether either weapon would work on the wraiths in question was anyone's guess. He gave it a shot regardless.

"All currency welcome."

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

Objective 1: An Honoured Entombment

"...A hallowed Governor of our Sith Assembly, one who declared by a counsel of his peers, made ruler of Saijo, the home of one of our finest academies, and a key fortress world. A believer of the strength of our unity, a believer of the strength of Sith Imperialism, his loss is a true loss to our Empire..." The herald continued on, ignoring the scoffs that struck across the pavilion of those who had hardly knew Darth Fury, those who had hardly considered him much of anything. The herald had known the moment he had been appointed to this position that it would be an uphill struggle, yet, he knew his duty still, "It is the will of the Dark Council that his killer has been punished, and so they duly have been, scroungng away as a vermin, away from these proceedings." That, may have taken some aback, the first proper show that this was indeed a Tsis'Kaar herald, and not one of the Imperial Court, for after all, how else could he be so venmous.

The empty casket struck the earth, with the sound of as the gravedigger began to shovel dirt to cover up the remains, or lack there of. Shooting to the fore, a face... or a lack there off, that was all too known amongst those gathered. The mask of Darth Marr struck them all with its gaze, for beneath it stood a face that was both hated and loved in equal measure. A poisonous assassin, an heir to a great lineage, the apprentice of the Ouroboros, the youngest Dark Councillor.

"And now, Saijo lacks a governor, and the Tsis'Kaar declare first claim over the world." The pommel stood at his side in visible reminder, undrawn from sheath, but memories were not short on Jutrand, even as palms were held in abeyance over the weapon. It only served as further reminder of what he could do.

"We have remained thus silent over over one of our own's demises... that ends now... it is by the virtue beheld by Darth Fury that draws our silence, a belief we all share, that dream of unity..." The rains continued to fall, the scent of water and incence filling the air, "Despite whatever acts by those unworthy, we shall not be rotted in our cores," A flicked gaze towards the bannisters, a lord of death that stood in opposition to all that his master stood for.

But was unfortunately, too useful to cut off at the seams.

"Invite any then who believes themselves worthy to take up the virtue of Darth Fury, to take up his loyalty, I will make you a Governor, I will make you amongst the greatest of our Sith Lords."

Adean Castor Darth Strosius Darth Nefaron Lysander von Ascania Kasir Dorran Akhuul Sautra Eira Dyn Krinear Malseren Raxus Thul Kalzok
Mentioned: Taeli Raaf Darth Fury

​

Objective 2: A Mass Grave

It was a pity that Tae- Darth Arcanix had closed off her district to his fangs, but it could hardly be helped, and it was not as if he imagined that the Mother of Monsters kept too much unregulated criminal activity in her backyard. That, she was not actively assisting those he was hunting would warrant enough of a thank you once the night was done.

Through water sogged comms, a familiar droid's voice filled his drums, a ghost of a smile alighting his lips, "Those outside of the visage of the Ouroboros are already advancing, thank you for silent work, continue at your will." He whispered back, as through the eyes unseen, he saw much of what was occuring in his immediate environs, a familiar sensation one drawn only by blood had confronted... another familiar register, though a stranger certainly... yet still familiar. All the while, Kivah, amongst the least... negative, of the Cathars that he had known, had seemingly returned to partake in another of his operations. All the while, another figure... entirely a stranger, was well on the way to the objective.

It seemed then, it was his turn to join the fray.

He faded from sight and sense, where once stood a black knight adorned in plate and rubies, a cape cascading down his back like a waterfall, all faded away from existence. That which speciality had been driven into him long ago when he was mere apprentice took ahold of him, the beskar pommel sitting ignored at the sheath at his side, now instead at his hand, the handle of a black shikkar glade. His legs sprinted across the watery ground, entirely confident that he would not slip, entirely confident that none would hear a sound, as he found himself at the edge of the wall, lookouts were being eliminated across the periphery.

The Syndicate was none the wiser... though considering those who he had brought along with him, there was little guarantee of that being the case for long.

All according to the plan.

He scaled up the building, the risk of slipping off playing at his mind, as the rain continued to splash against the concrete walls. Yet, he continued to climb, even as lightning struck, cascading a shield of light across the area, he climbed higher still, his legs grasping onto unsteady foundations, his hand upon precarious cracks.

Until he was across.

Three lookouts, one to sleep, one to lookout, the third to make sure he kept at lookout. Alas, they had trusted their perimeter far too well.

A pity.

The gasp was silenced as gloved hands wrapped themselves around his mouth, as the glass shattered inside the flesh of the man, and he was pushed off. The second turning back in time only to see his compatriot fall, did not even see as the next shikkar was flicked to his direction, shattered as it embedded itself in his neck, the blood gargling as panic overtook the initial pain, grasping desperately at the most vital bridge between body and mind, as he fell upon his knees.

And soon stopped struggling.

The rain would wash away the blood.

Malum flicked a glance to the last lookout, still readily asleep at the demise of his partners. He likely would not wake until it had all finished... but...

Malum took careful steps towards the man, his form hidden by the tent they had no doubt erected today, as the rains had begun to fall. Squating down to his level, Malum looked the man over, nothing was distinct, nor obvious about him, black of hair, a lean build, almost rat like. It was a pity.

But so much of this was.

A hand came over his lips, as the other gripped around his neck.

Eyes opened in a panic.

The struggle took too long for Malum's taste.

"The lookouts are eliminated, begin the breach." He called emotionlessly over the comms.

Lysander von Ascania Míriel Ver Seryan Kivah Vakhari Lutris War Marshal Helix

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Objective 1 //:
//: Attire //:
//: CT-312 //: Kirie //:
//: Darth Malum of House Marr //: Darth Nefaron //: Darth Strosius //: Darth Virelia //:

Funerals were always the best way to hide mournful feelings.

Quinn was here not because she mourned the loss of Fury but as her duty. She was, in so many words, recognized as the Imperial family's ward. Taken in and made their own upon her forced exile. Everything on her shoulders was duty, but her mind wandered to where her heart lay.

Kirie was still gone.

Quinn had no clue where to find her. She only had brief glimpses into the woman's turmoil when she focused on their bond and connection. Her obsession cost her more than Kirie, but now was not the time to worry about the recently severed connection of another. In her mind, it worked out for the best - now she didn't have any other distractions, and she could focus on the Weikan woman's location.

Still, she was left longing, and every day was filled with pure agony. Often, Quinn found herself reaching, only to find the cold absence beside her. Despite her pain, Quinn had to comply with the duties assigned to her.

The Princess blamed herself and her hubris - thinking that she could protect the woman.

Her Love was taken off the streets that were supposed to keep her safe.

Quinn exhaled, trying to not fill her mind with the worst thoughts possible. If she had only used her resources and made the demands she could have gotten away with - Kirie would be beside her now, holding her hand, and above all, she would be safe.

A tear fell from the corner of her eye; onlookers assumed it was for the fallen fool of Saijo. At least here, Quinn could allow herself to feel the loss of her cherished ones. The procession concluded, and a voice echoed as it committed the empty casket to the ground.

The fanfare was outrageous. Someone so weak didn't deserve any of this. To be destroyed so easily and unable to defend his people, Fury deserved to rot in the nether - with his name silenced to all that knew or knew of him. Quinn cared naught for the man or whatever pathetic legacy he left behind.

He was weak, and he was culled.

Quinn stopped listening to the man praising the dead, her eyes falling on the small trooper that weaved through the crowd as if she were invisible. With the loss of her typical protection, CT-312 had become an asset that Quinn couldn't do without. She had already begun to set in motion plans that would hopefully bear fruit in the trooper and her fellows becoming more permanent in her command.

An odd hush fell over the crowd, and Quinn let her eyes drift from the trooper to the man in the mask. She recognized him and his demeanor, but he didn't feel like him. A sharp brow rose as she focused on the connection between them; he felt far - somewhere else on Jutrand, at least. Her eyes rolled as she sighed softly as the Malum on stage performed almost flawlessly.

Can't even come to your own colleague's funeral? She let her thoughts drift through their mutual bond.

A hand raised as the man on stage finished.

"Quite grand promises you make, Councillor." She smirked, wondering if his little puppet was able to let its master see the proceedings.

"I will avoid speaking ill of the dead, for he has barely even tasted the freshness of his grave, but I find the void he left to be easily filled by any ambitious Lord." Quinn stepped forward, the crowd parting for her, knowing who she was and what she represented.

"I, Quinn Varanin, would kindly like to throw my name into the running for Saijo. At least then the planet and its people will actually flourish and provide a proper tithe to the Empire."

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Objective 1:

Darth Malum of House Marr Darth Strosius Quinn Varanin Darth Nefaron Darth Virelia

​

Lysander chose to linger just behind the core procession, cradled within a formation of Tsis'Kaar. Though he may have been granted a place among peers, the positioning was humbling in its own right; it would further serve as a reminder that sometimes the most powerful presence was also the most reserved. He was adorned in simple robes that bore the sigil of House Marr. Rain clung to the cowl that shadowed his face, and the emerald gaze beneath the veil burned intensely with focus.

But he wasn't aloof; he both saw and felt every shift in the air around him, reading it as a Seer could with lines in smoke.

As the empty casket was borne past him, he stood firm in a way that masked the icy chill in his heart. The faint sound of a shovel resonated deeply. This was not a foreign scene to the teenager, who had only recently watched his own father's burial on Ukatis, one of many to fall on a day when the Sith ravaged his home world. He could feel the darkness creeping in his veins, loss and pain settling in his chest like a knife; and yet, he held it at bay.

Long before Malum stepped forth to reveal the depths of his power to Jutrand, Lysander's head nodded in recognition, sensing through the Force the presence of the Dark Councilor. This was a connection woven from very blood that flowed through their veins; and now, understanding would add to that foundation. The declaration of Tsis'Kaar's claim over Saijo was far more than just words. Something stirred deep within, for this was more than just allegiance or another day of politics; it was a belief, and perhaps, a dream of unity.

In ways almost forgotten, he felt as though he were once again in his element. He understood the webs of intrigue, and the manipulation that often followed. Groomed from a young age to navigate political courts, he had learned the art of survival in a landscape where treachery lingered in every shadow. After leaving the Mid Rim, much of his time on Korriban had been spent within House Derriphan at the Kor'ethyr Academy, pursuing studies of politics and history alike. Now, it was a tool he understood well, one just as sharp as the lightsaber beneath the folds of his cloak.

Though one of the youngest in attendance, it mattered not; his gaze hardened as he took in the presence of those around him. While not yet matched in raw power, at least not yet, his strength lay elsewhere. Verbal prowess was his truest arena, and there, he believed himself their equal.

Most were simply here out of a lust for power, fueled by nothing more than personal ambition. It was to be expected, as it aligned with Sith ideology itself, but the blonde had yet to succumb to the corruption that so often devoured those in the Outer Rim.

Rather than one seeking to claim the planet like a trophy, he was a keeper of House Marr's legacy.

Still flanked by others of the Tsis'Kaar, he watched carefully as the woman stepped forward. There was no denying that how the crowd parted for her was impressive, regardless of potential intentions that remain hidden. When she finished, there was no rush, allowing himself another moment to just.. breathe. Then, he would make his move.

The hood fell back. His face emerged, bearing the contours of youth. No doubt, the visage of boyish innocence might well have been its own kind of deception, for what truly stood before the crowds was a natural born leader, one forged in fire, and forever grounded with purpose. He stood tall, prepared for any that may dare to question him.

"By the blood of Marr, and the ashes of Ukatis," he began, voice firm. "I, Lysander von Ascania, lay claim to duty." As though nodding to his preferred lightsaber form, Makashi, his chin inclined. As a duelist at heart, he was deciding where to cut first. "Let the others claw for power. I was made to endure, to lead." The fire that lived in his eyes would soon etch itself into the air. "I do not rise just to wear a title. I rise to carry what others have abandoned. I don't just seek Saijo's throne. I accept its wounds, and its silence. I don't take that responsibility lightly."

A pause lingered, and when he spoke again, each word dripped with devotion. "Governorship is not a prize. It a sacred vow. And I will reshape its pain into something greater."

 

[Adean Castor]

OBJECTIVE: 1
ATTIRE: X
TAG: Darth Malum of House Marr | Darth Strosius | Darth Nefaron | Lysander von Ascania | Kasir Dorran | Akhuul Sautra | Eira Dyn | Krinear Malseren | Raxus Thul | Kalzok | Quinn Varanin

If the funeral proceedings were meant to move anyone, Brassius was not the target audience. Too many times, they'd witnessed someone part the mortal coil without so much as a mention within the order, and yet this governor got all sorts of pomp and circumstance. Had this Darth Fury even delivered in the position assigned to him? Brassius sincerely doubted it. The documents filed away on their person would suggest otherwise, as well.

The funeral and all it stood for was a joke, Adean suspected everyone present knew it. The fact of the matter still spelled annoyance pinging in the back of her skull. Why waste their time and resources on pageantry, especially on a world that very much didn't need the grand display?

There was a purpose to everything. Brassius knew that, conceptually at the very least. And so, while the temptation to further ruminate on the questionable decisions made by the planning committee was very much present, the agent stilled their qualms and focused elsewhere. Dark hair framed their cheekbones, clinging to them after the torrential rain, another indicator that this gathering had been little more than a waste of time.

Well, perhaps not a total waste. The court was still gathered, after all. The agent leaned back against a wall as she considered the call for a new governor. It'd be foolish of her, wouldn't it, to put her name into the ring. A nobody wearing the name of a dreadful dynasty, one whose best work was left unseen, hidden behind the minutia of documentation rather than prowess on a battlefield that so often was disproportionately valued among her fellows. Yet perhaps that was precisely what Saijo needed.

Lips pursed as others stepped forward, weighing their speeches, contemplating what she'd heard about the applicants beforehand. Quinn Varanin had a title in her favor and no doubt, connections. It was a rare sight to see the princess unoccupied in what gatherings they'd both attended. Had Adean been a gambling individual, her credits would've gone to her.

She'd briefly seen Lysander von Ascania in action once, though she was under a different face and name. Each word he spoke of duty left the Epicanthix only wishing to pull his claims apart by the very thread of syllables he spun. It was a strange sensation, being compelled by such wrath, one that Adean was not keen on encouraging, especially when such wrath belonged to a different face she wore.

Yet perhaps it was that wrath and the sneaking suspicion that popularity would determine the new governor that saw Brassius stroll forward. The stiffened fabric that wreathed her shoulders and maintained a sharp, severe figure drew a stark contrast to the shadow of a liar she'd once been, mere months ago.

"Talk of worthiness and duty is wasted while there's a void to be filled," Brassius spoke, producing a file from their robes where it'd been kept safe from the elements. "What's needed is something actionable. I have here, in both physical and datachip form, a 3-year plan of approach for Saijo, with a focus on rebuilding and promoting infrastructure. No longer would Saijo fall short of our Empire's expectations." These weren't, of course, the only copies of the plan. Just as they weren't all there was to the documentation provided, especially not the datachips. No, what agent would she be if there was no other plan in the works? Green eyes glanced up at the masked figure of Darth Marr, unblinking, unyielding.

 

[Kivah]

Objective 2: A Mass Grave

Hearing the unknown person call out to her and the others over their com network caused Kivah's ear to twitch in frustration. What was the point in being practically invisible to both the eye and the Force if you were still getting spotted and called out for being sloppy? Maybe even the reduced glow of her lightsaber had given her away in the rain. The other thing she didn't like about it was that she had no clue who this new person was. A random stranger trying to help? A last-minute addition to the team? Or a nameless observer from deep within the enigmatic Tsis'kaar? Worse, was that after the chastisement, the woman had said to do exactly as they had been doing as the proper thing to do.

The next voice to come over the comm was emotionless, and exactly what Kivah wanted to hear. "The lookouts are eliminated, begin the breach." She hadn't been waiting for permission, but it was nice to have the official go-ahead.

With a roll of her eyes, Kivah slid the door open and rolled her body in around the frame, she wouldn't silhouette in it, but an unaimed panicked shot might still have caught her. A thrust of her saber caught a rear guard through the chest was followed by a downwards turned cut out his side to cut his companion's blaster in two. Thrusting out her left hand, she dragged the man to her by the throat and sliced him apart as well. Pausing a moment now that the way was clear, Kivah took stock of her immediate surroundings, a small locker and break room combo. Hmm.

Using the Force, Kivah slid a wall of lockers in front of the door out, blocking off any escape and then walked out into the warehouse proper, lightsaber deactivated and tucked away in its pocket again. "♪Total slaughter, total slaughter," she quietly sang under her breath as she pulled a plasma grenade. Collaring a running thug, Kivah pulled him back into her and showed him the grenade in her invisible glove. He flinched and tried to jerk away from her steel grip with a curse when she activated it, only for her to throw it far off to the side of the warehouse where she felt the most fear.

Grabbing the back of the thug's head, she gave it a violent twist, snapping his neck. "I won't leave a single man alive." She quietly continued as she lept into the empty racks awaiting cargo pallets. "Let's begin the killing time...♪" Fire from her grenade was lighting one side of the warehouse as Tsis'Karr assaulted the front of the building. Chaos. She bared her teeth in a grin, hidden by the hood that covered her head and face.

A shadow among shadows, still amidst the motion and chaos of the fight and above where most would think to look in their panic, Kivah extended her senses out again, waiting for her prey to come to her. Those in charge of the syndicate were too careful, they wouldn't risk fighting. They would instead flee to her, or into the waiting maws of the horrors that awaited below.

Darth Malum of House Marr | Vakhari Lutris | Lysander von Ascania
War Marshal Helix | Velok Brokentusk | Míriel Ver Seryan​

 

[CT-312]

//: Quinn Varanin | OPEN //:
//: Jutrand //:
//: Attire //:
//: Weapons: LO-18D ASSAULT RIFLE, & Vibroblade Knife//:
//: Objective 1: An Honored Entombment //:​

CT-312 didn’t march in the formation. Nor did she stand near the nobility or mingle with delegates. She was embedded within the crowd. But not part of it. Just another armored figure at the edge of the square. Partially obscured by a column, standing still. A silhouette in camouflage armor dulled by the rain. Helmet on, mouth shut, her hands were relaxed. Yet they were close to where they needed to be. Her rifle hung across her back, vibroblade clipped at the base of her spine, secure but easily drawn. As the rain continued to beat down in waves on CT-312. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t care. She’d operated in worse.

She was there to observe. Study and position. To others she was just another Trooper holding a perimeter. Easily overlooked. Exactly as intended. CT-312 didn’t really get funerals. She understood the mechanics. Stand here, salute that, pretend this means something. But the mourning? The grief? No. That part never made sense. Everyone dies. Everyone leaves. That was one constant she could count on in this galaxy. In her world, death wasn’t a tragedy. It was expected.

‘Maybe it makes sense if you had a fixed squad’ CT-312 mused. Same voices in your ear everyday. Same boots beside yours in the dropship. But that’s never been her reality. Always on the move. Always replaceable. A moving piece on a shifting board. In a strange way, that made the Camo Scout lucky. Never long enough to belong. No attachments means no mourning. No mistakes.

The rain thudded against her helmet. CT-312 watched from her shadowed post as the procession continued. She saw the funeral for what it was. A powdered keg. This hollow ceremony for Darth Fury. Political dogs, all of them. Sniffing for blood and favor. This was an opportunity dressed as grief. Her visor observed the body languages of the participants.

Her eyes rolled beneath the visor. ‘Really? Right here?’ In the middle of this. Even CT-312 knew there was a time and place for things. Sith culture was always… weird.

Even in the sea of robed figures and masked lords, CT-312 spotted the Princess instantly. She wasn’t assigned to her this time. Not officially. No details or orders. With how often she had been summoned. CT-312 made a mental note of safety for the Princess as a secondary objective. She watched as the Princess as well as a few others stepped forward to lay claim to Saijo.

 

[Darth Strosius]

Objective: 1 Sanctify the Mourning
Equipment: Lightsaber - Sword - Dagger - Robes
Tags: Darth Malum of House Marr / Darth Nefaron / Quinn Varanin / CT-312 / Lysander von Ascania / Adean Castor
--------------------------------------------

The herald's address, one that had veered spiteful enough near the end that a brief fanged smirk adorned His hidden features, was naturally punctuated by the coffin's descent. Darth Fury had been talked up as a martyr of course, simply another part of the spectacle that was this funeral. Darth Strosius idly hoped that the man would have more of an impact in death than he had in life, it was the kindest condolence that He could offer alongside a quiet prayer that the Force took mercy on his soul and enveloped him into its vast currents.

With the ceremonies concluded however, business resumed. Darth Malum stepped forward from the congregation and laid out the situation as it was, the true reason that so many had gathered to gawk at the procession. Saijo had been ravaged and utterly ruined. A world rendered all but irreparably damaged was hardly useful and as such it was in dire need of restoration. Restoration that would be headed by whoever was bold enough to their proverbial hat in the ring that Darth Malum had offered.

Some of His followers glanced at Darth Strosius as though wondering if He would step forward and lay claim to Saijo but He had no intentions of doing so. He'd worked with a blank slate before on Formos and it had taken nearly a decade to shape it into something usable, He saw no reason to saddle Himself with such a burden again when there were other worlds that were ripe for the taking. He couldn't quite tell if His followers were relieved or disappointed at His silence, but it mattered little as the first responses were thrown out.

"Of course she's here." The masked man muttered under His breath as the, thankfully, one and only Quinn Varanin stepped forward and announced her desire to oversee Saijo's restoration. One that would result in the planet benefiting the Order as a whole rather than primarily the Tsis'Kaar, something that made Him scowl beneath His mask. She was lucky that it was Malum's decision to make in this regard, He'd have denied her entirely for that one remark. Tithes were unbecoming of a Sith.

One from amongst the procession stepped out then, a young man that made Him quirk up a brow at the boldness needed to put forth such a bid for the world in question. He could respect the bravado. He could most certainly respect the apparent diligence with which the young man spoke of his proposed governorship of Saijo. He made a mental note to keep an eye on this Lysander, He rather liked how the boy carried and presented himself. Time would tell if he could live up to that image however.

A third contender came forward as well, one with a message that He didn't at all disagree with. Words were cheap, easily spoken and just as easily forgotten or undone, but actions were far more permanent and telling. That she apparently already had not only a plan for restoring Saijo back to prosperity in such a quick timeframe made Him somewhat question her strategy. Corners could very well be cut during such an operation, if there was any plans to be had at all even. It was simply very convenient for her to have such plans on her person and ready to be distributed and He wasn't a believer in coincidences.

"I concur with the assessment of our third candidate, even though I must voice my suspicion at her proposed plans." Darth Malum would be the ultimate decider of the next governor for Saijo, that much was certain, but Darth Strosius nevertheless felt the need to add some input of His own as a peer. Saijo had been useful for the Tsis'Kaar's operations and it needed to continue in that use. While of course it did need to placate the wider Sith Order, first and foremost it needed to support its patron.

As such Darth Strosius, an incense burner still hanging from a chain wrapped around His wrist, stepped forth and clasped His hands behind His back. "These are turbulent times indeed. Preparedness is a valuable quality indeed, but practicality alone will not suit every instance." His visored gaze shifted with a turn of His head towards Quinn then. "Nor do we need mixed loyalties diluting a delicate situation." He moved on swiftly to Lysander before much disdain could creep into His words. "Inexperience is a dangerous thing in this careful matter, but something that can be tempered. Provided that one is willing to go above and beyond their current capabilities."

Finally He passed Darth Malum and shot the projection a glance before nodding back to the contenders. "Consider carefully, Lord of the Tsis'Kaar, you've already lost Saijo once. Do not do so again by selecting an unfit governor a second time." With that He merged back into the procession, stepping right back into His place as though He had never ventured out from it at all.