By Blood & Sword.

[Darth Eversor]

Panatha, Eversor Estate​

- - -​

Dining Hall​

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FcOxqNvrvwQ​

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Among an elongated, rounded table sat many nobles in the Evesor residence awaiting a conference of sorts. Servants stood idly by, not blinking once for fear they might receive punishment for interruption or incompetence. Their owner sat at the far end of the marvelously crafted table with his fingertips pressed firmly together as he sat in silence, glancing neutrally at his guests. There was a reason all of nobility upon the great realm of Panatha was called upon, but it had yet to be thoroughly discussed. A moment more of silence and tension filled atmosphere passed by before Darth Eversor stood, folding his arms behind his back beneath his shroud.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I welcome you to my humble abode. This gathering was organized to introduce a concept to better secure the future of our beautiful planet. An idea that will place the purity of our blood above all else and crush those who stand against the blessings only our benefactor can provide. It is time we invest in those who invest so dearly in our compassionate overseer and kingdom. A call to arms, a birthright for those willing to stand against the filth and nuisance just beyond our home. A decree to unify a caste of our finest minds and enforcers. To fear none, and to bend to no other entity."

Darth Eversor brought his right arm from beneath his shroud and gestured for a servant to bring him a glass of wine. Lonesome, miserable footfalls resonated inside the spacious dining room as the host received his beverage. Upon taking a sip, the young man exhaled and looked about the still silent audience, awaiting some kind of query or input.

"...If that beautiful boast for our people was not in the least bit entertaining or moving, then allow me to be more hands-on. Everyone learns differently I suppose."

Through the Force, Darth Eversor grabbed the servant who had brought him his wine. Choking her and watching her as she squirmed for freedom, unable to beg or even whimper. The cruel young Sith gulped down the rest of his glass and slammed it against the floor with an almost unnecessary amount of enthusiasm, glaring at the nobles seated. "THIS! This... is... glory..." he shouted, using his left hand to relinquish an elegant hilt that came alive with a brooding, crimson glow.

"We live to serve our king, do we not?" Darth Eversor cast the servant against the wall, pinning her there as he walked up close.

"We live to cultivate a wealth through history and status." A quick slash was inflicted upon the helpless woman's face leaving a long, disfiguring scar. She screamed, and he grinned.

"WE LIVE TO CONQUER!"​

He pushed her deeper into the wall, listening as her bones began to crack and snap due to the pressure. Her screams echoing and filling the spacious hall as the onlookers observed with an expression of unease and uncertainty; however, they did not dismiss the ideals being implied. They would listen.

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"We live... for the throne..."​

An abrupt, sickening noise of wet flesh slapping the polished floor finalized the message. The woman's corpse was a pulp of bone fragments and mangled, destroyed limbs. A large stain of sinew and gore trickled and slid down the wall.

"Now... any questions?"​

​

​

[member="Nisha Skaiyr"] [member="Darth Carnifex"] [member="Darth Prazutis"]

 

[Nisha Skaiyr]

Nisha Skaiyr watched Darth Eversor, this pretty blonde thing, coldly and casually murder a servant girl. She watched him squeeze her throat, push her against a wall. And then, she watched him push her into the wall. Bones cracked. Organs liquified. Blood seeped from every opening in her body as Eversor quite literally squeezed the life out of the girl.

And all the while, Nisha looked into the girl's eyes. Eyes that begged for mercy, for release, and finally, for at least death to end her suffering.

But death came all too slowly. No, no. This punishment, this pointless, animal cruelty had to be prolonged. It had to be made into a spectacle. And for what reason? Because no one applauded the savage's hollow, flowery words.

Pure, distilled hate gathered around Nisha, and it was all she could do not to release it upon the latest addition to an ever growing list of vermin that masqueraded as people. Eversor was stronger than she, and he'd surely strike her down if she raised a hand against him. Today, at least. He would die, and Nisha would be the one to kill him. But it wasn't meant to be today.

Eversor's demise would be far in the future, and what tortures the War-Witch inflicted upon him would all depend on how he answered her single, simple question; it was something which any noble should know the answer to.

Her voice, though distorted by the respirator she was forced to wear for most of her waking hours, still quite clearly dripped with barely contained fury.

"What was her name?"

---

[member="Darth Eversor"]
[member="Darth Prazutis"]
[member="Darth Carnifex"]

 

[Darth Carnifex]

Above the chamber of gathering was a small secluded alcove that housed several elongated couches and cushioned seats in a semi-circle around a carpet of silken gold and silver. Upon it rested a monstrous beast of bristling black fur with a pair of curving horns protruding from its brow, its chest heaving up and down with each long lazy breath as it periodically let out a toothy yawn and stretched its magnificent frame before settling back down in a comfortable position. In the nearest chair sat a being cloaked in black silk and zeyd-cloth, a mane of graying black hair cascading down from his scalp to partially obscure his scarred face. In one hand he held a goblet filled with a swirling purple liquid that he occasionally took sips from as he watched the scene unfold beneath him, the smell of blood and offal appeasing to his barbarous senses as [member="Darth Eversor"] callously ended the life of a poor servant girl.

But he wasn't the only being attracted to the stench of death that now pervaded the chamber, and with a grumbled roar the mighty Barbas rolled over onto its feet and attempted to shake away the lethargy that so often plagued him in times of peace. He maneuvered his large frame in the tight space, peering over the balcony's edge to stare hungrily at the servant's mutilated corpse as it slumped down against the wall that it had been so grotesquely pressed against. With a single leap it descended from above to land squarely on the rounded table, scurrying off in a hurry to partake of the corpse's spoils with a voraciousness that seemed unbecoming of a relatively well-kept and pampered pet.

The King didn't lift a finger to impede his pet's quest, nor did he move from his rather comfortable spot on the upper alcove. He merely sat, watched, and waited.

[member="Darth Eversor"] | [member="Darth Prazutis"] | [member="Nisha Skaiyr"]​

 

[Darth Eversor]

The room was filled with an eerie silence after the Sith's escapade, no response nor query was raised to attention - except for a peculiar woman whom seemed a bit out of place. Her demeanor was silently judged by all the guests, including Darth Eversor. She wanted to know if the young master knew the slave girl by name, and alas, he did not. To the young Sith, these servants were akin more to furniture or a living statue. They did not bear rank or any deeper meaning beyond serving guests and attending to the petty whims of the God-King's duplicate.

"Her name?" Eversor quipped, he chuckled and tilted his head as he gazed upon the outsider. "Her name was nothing, not that I would have cared. I do think she changed my bedsheets though. Does that suffice for your question?"

The young man extinguished his crimson blade and sheathed the hilt of his lightsaber. He inhaled deeply before giving his full attention back to his guests. "We have an avenue ahead of us, my fellow friends. We must not let our culture and excellence be taken by those who do not deserve it, and that is why we must protect what is rightfully ours. My example just now was not to prove me mad or infuriated, simply a passion I wish for all of us to share. Our future starts now, and the lineage we carry on will depend on the security of our assets."

The room full of nobles began to talk amongst each other and came to a consensus that it would be done. A caste for the betterment of Panatha and subsequently the Sith Order. A devilish grin spread across the scarred face of Darth Eversor as he looked once more upon the strange woman with a disgusted expression. He knew his act angered her, but there was no care for the life of an object.

In the Sith's mind, his actions were completely justified.


[member="Nisha Skaiyr"] [member="Darth Carnifex"] [member="Darth Prazutis"]

 

[Nisha Skaiyr]

"Yes," came the utterly calm response to Eversor's mocking answer. "Yes, that answers my question perfectly. Thank you."

There were about a thousand different things that Nisha wanted to say to Eversor, and not a single one of them included the words 'thank you.'

"You think yourselves like unto gods," began Nisha once more, her voice eerily monotone through the respirator fitted over her mouth. "But the lot of you at this table are barely worthy to lick the boots of true Sith."

Her speech was not, in fact, interrupted by the sudden appearance of a giant, horned lion. If anything, the presence of a wild beast seemed to enhance her confidence. It made her feel more at home.

With a casual wave of the hand, the War-Witch indicated a pretty, thin young man who sat a few seats to the left of her. "You. I could break your bones as easily as I might break the bones of a child." Her attention switched to a corpulent noblewoman sat only a few seats away from Eversor himself. "You, Eversor, and my Lord," She paused momentarily to offer a respectful nod of the head to Carnifex, "pose the only threats to me in singular combat - and you only because I'm not sure my blade could reach your vitals through your belly."

The War-Witch continued on like this, coldly and calmly pointing out every weakness and imperfection she could discern in the nobles. How she could easily best them in combat, disabilities she might exploit. She went so far as to point out how quite a few of them had a presence in the Force even weaker than hers. She, a lowly apprentice. Hardly even a Sith.

And then she simply stopped speaking, and lifted up her respirator to take a sip from the wine goblet a servant had so graciously offered her beforehand.

---

[member="Darth Eversor"]
[member="Darth Carnifex"]
[member="Darth Prazutis"]

 

[Darth Eversor]

"I see." He replied. "Then with such confidence, do enlighten me, what is a true Sith?" A firmness came over Darth Eversor's right hand, fingers folding into a tight fist as he listened to what was nothing more than a challenge. The woman's will seemed strong, her independence duly noted. But she still did not understand the depths of the Dark Side, or even the sacrifices one makes along the way. A lesson - an example was to be made. "Stand." Eversor demanded of the stranger.

"Ladies and gentlemen, excuse me and this terribly rude woman. Please, find yourselves at home and enjoy each other's company just beyond this room. This meeting will reconvene momentarily." Once the guests had left the dining hall, Eversor stood, placing his hands behind his back. "Repeat what you said about gods, please. Because you obviously do not understand where you sit nor who you talk to. What's more, is that you come here and attempt to ruin political affairs with pointless rhetoric. That's quite irritating."

"Now, stand." He demanded again, drawing his lightsaber into view and igniting the crimson blade without hesitation. Looking to his Lord's pet, the Sith thought of how ferocious its appetite was. A beast as such surely has more room for fresh meat.

Nothing more escaped the lips of Darth Eversor, only an unwavering stare and the burning desire of murder tight within his grasp.

[member="Darth Carnifex"] [member="Nisha Skaiyr"] [member="Darth Prazutis"]

 

[Nisha Skaiyr]

Beneath her respirator, Nisha smiled. So Eversor wanted a fight. She was happy to comply. With a low chuckle, the War-Witch stood and unsheathed her sword, Mocelsa ai Maras. She had no illusions that this was going to be an easy fight, or even that she was likely to win. In fact, she was probably going to lose; there was no getting around that fact. But there was still not a trace of fear to be found in her heart. Battle was Nisha's element. It was her home.

With practiced, fluid grace, the War-Witch brought her sword into a high guard on her right side, blade pointed to the ceiling.

She took a step forward.

With a burst of hate-fueled Speed, there she was, right in range of Eversor.

There was a lot of momentum behind her, seeing as she'd just moved at speeds faster than should be physically possible, and so she used that momentum to deliver a full-body swing at Eversor's left shoulder. Nisha'd thrown everything into the attack; all one hundred kilograms of hate-powered muscle and sinew were dedicated to this chop. It was quick, it was brutal, and it was strong.

And if it missed, she was wide open.

---

[member="Darth Eversor"]
[member="Darth Carnifex"]

 

[Darth Eversor]

Without further ado, the woman finally made an effort to lash out at Darth Eversor. A blur of fury came rushing with every intention of bestowing death, but that reality would not be so. Not today.

Raising his lightsaber in anticipation, Darth Eversor clashed with [member="Nisha Skaiyr"]'s blade, buckling under the kinetic force put behind the blow. He'd look her in the eyes before cracking a sly grin, breaking away from the brief intensity of confrontation. Now slowly pacing and watching his target, the nobleman twirled the hilt of his crimson blade, fully embracing the idea that this fool only begged for humiliation.

Barely worthy to lick the boots of true Sith...

That conclusion would be decided with cold, unrelenting truth. Calling upon the Force, Eversor welcomed the Dark Side to flow through him like an undisturbed stream. He seethed with a hatred that he wanted the wretch to feel. When it came to integrity, failure was not an option. Especially not with the Dark Lord sitting just above observing the quarrel.

Now enraged and pulsating with foul corruption, Eversor reached out through the Force and picked up the very table they were seated at, attempting to ram it into the direction of the nuisance. If she dared to test the wrath of the noble, then so be it.

Much more was in store.

[member="Darth Carnifex"]

 

[Nisha Skaiyr]

A surge of bloody, primal satisfaction blossomed in the War-Witch's chest as her foe buckled beneath her strike, followed quickly by frustration as he retreated from the bind.

Coward. He dared not meet her in the locking of blades, dared not fight her toe-to-toe. No, he felt the need to prance backwards like the foppish noble that he was, twirling his blade in a desperate attempt to appear confident.

Eversor's lifting a table up to heave at Nisha dampened the latter's confidence, but not by much. When the former lifted up the table, Nisha did something that looked, to the outside observer, fairly unreasonable.

She dashed towards the table, then, as it was pushed forward, used the power of the Dark Side to jump over it.

Or she tried to, at least. While the resulting injury was, indeed, better than taking the full force of the projectile to the chest, it was still a wound. The lip of the table clipped Nisha on the left ankle, throwing off her balance and sending her spiraling through the air; it was only with a snapshot blast of force that she avoided hitting the ground with bone shattering intensity. Instead, she landed with a dull thud.

Right at Eversor's feet.

There was only one thing to do, really.

With her uninjured leg, Nisha threw a snap-kick at the Epicanthix's groin.

---

[member="Darth Eversor"]
[member="Darth Carnifex"]