Doors Once Opened, Never Closed

[Darth Carnifex]

How long had it been?

Days?​

​

Months?​

​

Years?​

​

No, it hadn't been that long...​

​

Perception warped...

Only the ebbs and flows...​

​

of the Living Force to guide me...​

​

The darkness... so cold...

But not for long...​

​

My ascension is at hand!​

​

​

Harbinger-class Star Destroyer, Apotheosis - Sith Space
The spear-like shape of the massive two kilometer warship trudged on through the inky blackness of space, with only the faint twinkling of distance stars and the pulsing, sickly green lights of the ship the only source of light for light years in any direction. The ship currently coasted through a particularly empty patch of space in the portion of the Core Worlds that was under Imperial occupation, and while scanners could easily pick up distant monitoring systems and various flotillas patrolling the vast expanse, the large ship was practically all on it's lonesome. It was unusual, to say the least, as only days earlier the ship was perpetually docked in the shipyards above Coruscant, left stagnant and anchored after the death of it's owner, the Sith Lord and Voice of the Dark Lord, Darth Vornskr.

But a few days ago, without warning, the ship roared to life and left the docks without much of an explanation save for broadcasting the correct frequencies that authorized it's leave from the docks.

Now there sublight engines died down to a spark, and the ship simply floated in the emptiness, but while the exterior of the ship was virtually uneventful, the interior was a buzz of barely contained energy and anticipation. The main perpetrator of this feeling was Rear-Admiral Omarest Croscal, the acting commanding officer of the vessel, who strode away from the bridge after the ship had been brought to a full stop once they reached scenic nowhere. Croscal moved with deliberate speed and purpose, passing by the various officers scrambling about the halls, and the shadow-masked Blackblade soldiers without even giving them a second thought or glance. His mind was set upon a chamber, a small circular chamber that housed only a single pedestal and the prize that was perched upon it.

Upon reaching the locked doors to the chamber, guarded by two scarlet-armored Kingsguard who activated their weapons and clashed them together to create an impenetrable X to bar him from entry, the Rear-Admiral stopped several feet away and recited a specific and esoteric phrase to the two guardsman.

"The stars sweep chill currents that make men shiver in the dark."

The two guardsman stood stoic and silent for a moment, and then they both spoke up in grisly unison:

"The void sucks at your soul. It is content to feast slowly."

The words said, the response met with response, and the two guards deactivated their weapons and stood aside to allow the Rear-Admiral entry to the private sanctum. Only a select few knew the words to gain entry into this chamber, and Croscal had gained enough of Vornskr's trust and admiration to be permitted the knowledge of entry. Still, that pass phrase did not work for all of the Sith Lord's secret chambers on the ship, and so far he had only revealed one to the Rear-Admiral. He was sure there were others who knew different pass phrases, but whether by fear or through some form of dark sorcery they were unable to divulge and share this information between themselves.

Croscal entered the chamber and stood to face the single pedestal, and upon it sat an object designed in the shape of a pyramid with ebony and scarlet sidings that pulsed with a darkness that made the Rear-Admiral's skin break out in goosepimples as he approached, and set the hair on his skin straight up like pins. Gingerly he scooped the artifact from it's resting place, which seemed to pulse with delight as his fingers touched the surface, and quickly retreated from the room and back out into the hall. There he was greeted by the two Kingsguard he had dealt with earlier who now stood side by side, the Rear-Admiral's escort from this chamber to the next. It took him a moment to realize that he had been holding his breath from the moment he had entered the chamber, and with a resigned sigh he finally began to breath back in again.

Without a word he continued down the hall and began his journey to the final chamber all while the two guards silently trailed him, their movements soundless and their figures emptying the halls of everyone with just a glance. Those guards gave Croscal the willies, they didn't seem Human... or at least, they didn't seem to act like a normal person! The Blackblades, while intimidating, certainly acted like every other soldier he had come across, but these... creatures seemed completely foreign to everything and they moved with an unearthly purpose that reminded him so very much of the Sith Lord he served. Were they abominations he had crafted in those horrific laboratories of his? Or were they once man, but were twisted by the sorcery he had commanded into something beyond Human?

Perhaps he would never know, and perhaps he didn't even want to know, but it was hard to push such thoughts from his mind. So, he decided to try and preoccupy himself during the trek with some historical facts and trivia, that always seemed to put him at ease when he was in a tight situation such as this, and while it took away some of his anxiety, the loomed darkness that hung over them all never wavered. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, they reached the final chamber, the doors of which opened with a mechanical hiss and permitted them entry into the darkened chamber below. Inside was a collection of hooded acolytes, Sith Lords, and collared slaves shaved of all hair and marred with ugly scars and tattoos that denoted their position.

The Rear-Admiral took a long gander about, and then simply proceeded towards the large stone edifice in the center of the chamber.

[member="Darth Hauntruss"]
[member="Enigma"]
[member="Darth Carach"]
[member="Darth Isolda"]
[member="Vrag"]
[member="Duchess Magrath"]

(If you want to join, PM me.)

(7000th post, woo!)

 

[Zemi Madstone]

Zemi was not pleased.

She'd gone where the Spectre bid, for he held her name, and been handed over to those in his service. Rudely dumped from her solitary existence into the bustling hive of Sith machinations. For the most part she managed to dodge her caretakers, creeping from one forgotten place to another, and then came the command to be on the ship. When word came from the Spectre, she did not dare disobey.

Well and good, she was accustomed to metal, though it was usually rusted and twisted. There were ducts and passages an enterprising and scrawny girl could hide away in and navigate unseen.

No, what displeased her was the insistence on presentability for whatever was going to happen. She liked the hooded cloaks, they helped to wrap her in anonymity in the press of bodies that made her anxious and quick to reach for blade. The shining clean face on the other hand.. How was one to slip unseen when ones own traitorous face acted as a beacon?

The Spectre had said nothing about cleanliness, and her caretakers could go hang. With a scowl at some of the slaves in question a hand dipped into a pocket filled with globs of grease and other unspeakable things. In moments she was masked again, face now dark beneath the hood.

She was present as commanded to see what her Master wished, this was enough.

 

[Onrai]

Perhaps the deaths had a meaning after all.

Circe's rationale here was chiefly twofold. For one, she had been a close ally of Darth Vornskr - otherwise known as Kaine Zambrano - in life. Both of them had exchanged favors on numerous occasions, and it was times like this in which the debt between them reached an equilibrium. On the other hand, her experience with transferring essences, whether her own or that of another, was excellent - and there was more than likely no one more qualified in the skill than her. Whatever the cost, she would ensure the safe return of the Zambrano patriarch to his rightful place among the living.

Hopefully, there would be little if any trouble. The rituals needed to bring back someone such as he were going to be especially pernicious, and the less she had to worry about those attempting to wantonly slaughter her, the better.

[member="Darth Vornskr"]

 

[Yoru Shakou]

"And so it begins."​

​

Words spoken softly to oneself among the mass of bodies that cluttered the chamber, with another added upon the heap of flesh pressed upon one another. Yet even in the dimly lit chamber, filled with Acolytes, Lords and slaves, the woman seemed to stand out as she always did. Yes she was an acolyte, and had been a student of the Sith Lord for only a short time before he had perished, yet she was still one that held herself a certain standard that a hooded robe would push her beneath. ​

​

Golden-yellow hues remained vigilant as they moved about the room. She was in the midst of a lair of death, hatred and anger, with only herself and her wits to keep her breathing. Her own guards, the Fenrir, were remaining in the shuttle she had arrived upon. A small smirk crossed her lips as she knew just how anxious her old friend Colonel Mathias III was getting from being away from her side for so long. The Duchess though understood that she had nothing to fear, at least in that moment, from those that had been gathered. ​

​

Understanding ones place and the right time to speak however was a lesson she held tight upon and silent she remained. A mere acolyte was no where near the ability of those around her, and she understood this. After all, her pursuits in the Sith were much more than learning to wield a blade or tear down a vessel with the Force. Her goals seemed somewhere far off, and she never let others glimpse what she had in thought. ​

​

Remaining quiet, she watched with anticipation as those golden-yellow hues fell upon the stone edifice within the chamber. The Duchess remained stately, her hands folded over one another and resting upon her lap as she stood quietly. Her usual dark purple gown replaced with a somber black to respect an old friend that had passed beyond the veil. A soft smirk however remained upon her lips as she understood the possibilities as to why they had been summoned to this vessel, yet she also understood little in the process of how one would return. ​

​

What she was about to witness was one event that she looked forward towards, and thus became anxious in her own right. Her mind pulled to the thoughts of a multitude of questions and answers that flooded her mind before it quickly became quiet. The thoughts pushed back and held down, the questions and answers locked away. ​

​

"Return, old friend." ​

​

She merely whispered as her eyes remained locked upon the stone. ​

​

[member="Darth Vornskr"]​

[member="Darth Hauntruss"]​

[member="Darth Carach"]​

[member="Darth Isolda"]​

[member="Vrag"]​

[member="Enigma"]​

[member="Zemi Madstone"]​

 

[Cryax Bane]

The summoning came as a dull shock for Cryax Bane, Chiss slicer, recent defector of the Red Ravens criminal syndicate, and former thrall of the summoner in question. At the behest of the perplexed staff of Kaine Zambrano, Bane had been asked to attend a cryptic ceremony aboard the Sith Lord’s battleship, The Apotheosis. Shortly after he got the Holocall, a private Sith shuttle was sent to his luxury apartment in the Senate District of Coruscant to take him to the skies and to the empty patch of Sith space where the Harbinger-class Star Destroyer loomed. A silver flask of aged whiskey was his only companion during the shuttle ride to the Apothesis' docking bay. The rich liquid calmed the tremors of anxiety he felt at the prospect of facing even the leftover dregs of Zambrano's legacy.

Once on the ship, Bane was escorted to a long chamber filled with Sith from the highest echelons of rank to the lowest castes, anxious sweat glistening off their shaved heads. A forest of hooded robed figures filled the chamber, standing around a stone edifice where some ritual was likely to happen. Self-consciously aware that he stood out like a sore blue thumb, the Chiss looked handsome in his finely tailored black suit with satin labels, a refreshing change from the bloody apron and black gloves he had been wearing for his work in the CRC. There was no need to bring along a security detail. With so many Sith Masters present, what good would a few droids do against a being who could fatally crush your innards with a flick of a wrist?

The dormant Sith magic leftover in his bloodstream, a curse from his time spent as Zambrano’s unwilling puppet, suddenly welled up inside of him as he waited along with the others. Bane hitched a quiet breath as he felt the raw power surge inside him. Whatever spectacle was about to unfold, the dark sided magic was reacting to its prelude, and soon, the surge hummed into a deafening crescendo that maddeningly drowned out all of his other thoughts.

[member="Duchess Magrath"] [member="Enigma"] [member="Zemi Madstone"] [member="Darth Vornskr"] [member="Darth Isolda"] [member="Vrag"] [member="Darth Carach"]

 

[Darth Carnifex]

[media]https://soundcloud.com/messiahcide/twilights-hammer[/media]

Slowly, meticulously, the Rear-Admiral descended the small series of steps that ringed the entire chamber into creating something similar to an amphitheater, his footsteps heavy as he carried the dark holocron of the Butcher King to it's intended location. The assembled hooded acolytes did not tear their gaze away from the stone edifice in the center of the chamber, but the shaved-headed slaves turned their heads in fright at the man's approach, but their fear was not directed at the man himself, but rather the object cradled in his hands. The closer he came, the more they wanted to squirm away and flee, but they were restricted by the heavy chains that bound their collars together, held tightly in the hand of several muscular Graug wearing ornate interlocking sets of plate armor and flowing zeyd-cloth robes with the markings of the Ukul'sroch Horde of Fornow. With one sharp tug of the chain sent many of the slaves tumbling to the ground, practically choking them as the chain caught short and the collar pulled back violently against their necks, a cacophony of hacks and gurgles accompanying Croscal's approach.

Personally, the man had no real taste for slavery, but he understood that in nature, and in society itself, the strong survived and thrived while the weak were crushed underneath the feet of the prosperous. Perhaps there was something to be gained through slavery, but often-than-not he thought of it as a crass practice to publicly display one's superiority over others, and in the Sith, as he understood, that was rampant. Still, even he was surprised by some of the comradery the Sith seemed to show one another in the Empire, which was a stark contrast to what he had learned from the Republic's history books about the Sith being backstabbing opportunists that could never coherently work together. Again, he learned that history was written by the victors, and while the Republic's accounts could be taken with a huge grain of salt, he was no closer to trusting these occult warriors than he was with the Jedi back when he served the Republic.

His moment of inner monologue came to an end as he finally reached the stone edifice which seemed to captivate the attention of many in attendance, and heeded the dark voice that whispered silently into his ears he set the holocron down on the center of the altar preceding the edifice that stood tall and obtuse against the otherwise traditional metal imperialistic walls and flooring of the chamber. He stepped back from the altar as an unnatural darkness began to settle across the chamber, the lights above dimming to nothing but a whisper of a spark, and a cold gale churning through the chamber, chilling those in attendance down to the very bone.

And then... a voice~

"Friends... Welcome."

[member="Duchess Magrath"]
[member="Enigma"]
[member="Zemi Madstone"]
[member="Darth Isolda"]
[member="Vrag"]
[member="Darth Carach"]
[member="Cryax Bane"]

 

[Onrai]

A smile descended on Circe's face as she heard the voice resonating throughout the room. There was only one individual such a voice could belong to - and it would make the Sith sorceress's attempt to transfer his essence into a body be that much easier if his soul was around. She focused, drawing the Dark Side to herself as she pondered over what she was going to do. Bringing back Darth Vornskr, the Epicanthix Sith Lord worshipped as a deity by those who lived on Panatha, would be a monumental task - not to mention he was an individual the One Sith considered to be useful.

Were this to be successful, it would hopefully showcase what she could do. And if she failed...

Best not to think about that.

[member="Darth Vornskr"] [member="Duchess Magrath"] [member="Zemi Madstone"] [member="Darth Isolda"] [member="Vrag"] [member="Darth Carach"] [member="Cryax Bane"]

 

[Darth Carnifex]

Cut to the bone, rob the grave​

Unearth the stone, lay to waste​

Defile the tome, rip the page​

Strip mine the vein, lay to waste.​

Frayed at the edge, flat lined.​

The anvil cracks the hammer.​

Relentlessly comes down.​

A new pariah is born.​

​

The pyramid pulsed a blood red, throbbing with anticipation as the spirit to whom it tethered coalesced and hungered, the consciousness of one so vile it poisoned the air with the greasy pollution of hatred, churning stomachs and setting a horrid taste on the tongue. The darkness swallowed the peripheral, and only the center of the chamber seemed wholly untouched by the gathering storm about to break, but perpetually kept on the edge of release. The spirit, the specter, or the fabric of consciousness, whatever they deigned to refer to it as, seemed overly pleased with the turnout at his own resurrection, and sent out a ripple of perverse humor that reverberated through the body rather than the mind or other senses. "Oh, how long has it been? To see a gathering such as this? Once in a blue moon, no doubt. Lords and ladies, thieves and scoundrels, the beloved and the despised all gathered here today to witness what many will call an abhorrence of nature, others a miracle of the Dark Side, and one that I will refer to as the beginning."

The dead Sith's voice was interlinked with the voices of dozens of other individual voices swimming behind the recognizable baritone of the man they all had once associated with, save for the likes of [member="Zemi Madstone"] who had only known the spirit rather than the man. The holocron glowed a bright red tinged with the blackness of the Dark Side, and through some invisible will it levitated a few inches off of the altar and suddenly zoomed backwards to adhere to the stone edifice with a loud click and then a rumble of cogs and other hidden machinery. The floor beneath the edifice slightly gave way to reveal a series of aqueducts and channels that ran downhill from the altar into the base of the edifice. It was then that the Graug slavemaster, who had been so silent and impassive previously save for the occasionally tugging of the chain that bound the many slaves to his hand, strode forward with the first of many slaves, and shoved his body onto the altar.

The slave struggled to be free from the top of the altar, but his struggled was for naught as he began to scream in unbearable agony as links of Sith runes seared into both his wrists and ankles, pinning him down onto the stone construct. The Graug slaver produced a scimitar made from sharpened volcanic rock; obsidian, harvested from the dormant mountains of Panatha whom the Sith Lord's home had been built upon, and forged into a wickedly sharp weapon whose purpose was about to be realized. However; instead of performing the act himself, the Graug slaver turned to the being known as [member="Enigma"], and knelt before her, the blade held out.

"He has willed you to carry out this duty, and gifts you this weapon of carving to perform it. Spill the blood so that He may drink upon it's nectar, and be reborn in glorious splendor."

[member="Cryax Bane"]
[member="Duchess Magrath"]
[member="Darth Isolda"]
[member="Vrag"]
[member="Darth Carach"]

 

[Onrai]

A nod would come from the Sith Lord, once Circe Savan, once Darth Pandeima, now Vanessa Kuhn, as she would take the blade firmly in her grasp. Her hand and the sword hovering over the neck of the slave, trembling with fear, she turned to the Sith Lords who viewed her as an inferior, a heretic - one of whom had even assisted in her previous demise. It was time

"Resurrection is not something to be taken lightly. For some, it is a simple process. A gift they have been given, being of such capability in the arts of sorcery that their spirit easily flows into a new body just as water flows into a cup. For others, more developed rituals are needed to form a stronger bond to the body in question - such as in the case of Lord Zambrano. The next time you see a Sith with skill in the transferral of essences between vessels, do not mock them for their lacking of abilities with the blade. Do not chastise them for their less active sorcerous skills. For of all the Sith..." She turned around, looking down at the slave. And for the rest..."

She swiftly and suddenly, in one fell stroke, took the blade and brought it down upon the neck of the slave, taking his head and resting it, hair up, in the slough, allowing the blood to fall from it and run down the small channel along with the blood from the body. She angled the latter's rest downwards a bit to increase the release of life's fluid - the sooner this slave bled out, the sooner another could be dealt with.

"The rest is silence."

[member="Cryax Bane"]
[member="Duchess Magrath"]
[member="Darth Carach"]
[member="Vrag"]
[member="Darth Isolda"]
[member="Darth Vornskr"]
[member="Zemi Madstone"]

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Darth Vornskr"]​

The Voice of the Dark Lord did not comment on the role of the woman, because it did not concern him and had no factual influence on his presence here. There was one simple reason why Carach was currently standing within the shadows, two Royal Guards behind him and awaiting the proceedings with great interest. It was because of his respect to his fellow Voice and friend that he came to witness his rebirth.

A blink and suddenly the world shifted just slightly, angles became more pronounced, colors saturated into their most basic components and most importantly… there he was. Vornskr, in his full and corrupted glory.

Their eyes would meet and Carach would pass a nod, no words were necessary as understanding passed between the two of them. Brothers would always come when asked for, it was one of the law of nature.

Carach blinked again and the vision passed, there were always costs involved in taking a look beyond the veil, even when most of the journey had already been mostly finished. Take too long and you might find yourself diminished or even your own essence snatched away in the screaming gale of the soul wind.

Some things couldn’t be mastered, some things… could simply be made less impossible.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

With a single swipe of the blade the sharpened black edge cleaved through flesh and bone with zero resistance, a moment of silence heralding the coming eruption, and with a groan the slave's head lolled to the side and rolled right off of the stone slab. From the exposed neckhole came forth a great torrent of dark scarlet blood gushed forth to stain the stone, and flowed down into the interlocking series of aqueducts that covered the floor, rushing through the twists and turns before funneling into the base of the edifice. Through some dark magic the blood was sucked free from the headless cadaver with such ferocity the body convulsed from the effort, and the body visibly shrunk as if drained of it's innards. The body then crumbled in on itself and shattered into dust all in the span of several seconds, nothing left but the violence and gore of it's passing. Even the head that had rolled off of the table was not safe from it's vile corruption, and where it had come to a rest only the blackened skull remained, grinning eerily up at the assembled acolytes as the flesh was seared clean.

The Graug brought forth another and another, forty slaves in all including the one whom had already been sacrificed. With each swing of the blade, and each roll of the head, the blood continued to flow freely into the stone that dominated the center of the chamber. The various essences and consciousnesses of the sacrificed were being pooled and collected inside of the pillar, which had begun to glow brightly with several esoteric runes in the ancient High Sith language, burning brighter and brighter with each blood tribute. The air was rife with the stench of blood, the coppery tang infiltrating even the most powerful air filtration systems, leaving a horrid bile in one's throat.

"Tuii' ka mad kei
Tui ka mad sezi
Tui oli aydreki dui vi'vsi."

A ravenous rumble echoed throughout the chamber, the runes on the stone edifice grew white hot in their intensity as the Dark Side choked the air. Then, with another deep cry of unholy birth the stone edifice splintered and ruptured outward with a massive explosion of dark energy and electricity followed by a flash of bright. hollow light. Once the light had dimmed to nothing all that remained of the stone edifice was the shards that had impacted the steel floor of the chamber, and the floating entity dripping with the blood of sacrifice that had brought him life. His hair, black and short, was matted with blood as well as his skin, and at first his eyes were sealed shut, but movement behind the lids belied the awareness of within'. Then, with great abruptness, the eyes opened to reveal brooding emerald orbs, and the entity dropped into a kneeling position upon the remains of the edifice that had concealed him.

Rising steadily, shakily, the entity flexed his fingers and tested his senses, reaching out to all who knew him in the vicinity to announce that, yes;

He had returned.

Covered in blood, and bereft of any form of clothing, the now reborn Sith Lord staggered forward and set his eyes upon those that had assembled. A deep chuckle cleared his mouth and throat of blood and bile, and with each step his posture became more and more confident regardless of the lack of clothing that covered him. He had no shame for his physical body, and did not deign to cover himself for the sake of modesty, for he did not believe in such a thing. His eyes laid upon Cryax, blue and subservient, and with a cold smile he spoke out to him.

"Cryax... my robe, if you would?"

[member="Cryax Bane"]
[member="Darth Carach"]
[member="Enigma"]
[member="Duchess Magrath"]
[member="Vrag"]
[member="Darth Isolda"]
[member="Zemi Madstone"]

 

[Zemi Madstone]

Zemi was not overly awed by the destruction of the slaves. She'd seen such done by the Spectre before, this was an old game. She'd even made considerable progress on working out just what spell would create such a reaction. Still, she knew powerful magics when she saw them, and blood magics were the strongest of all. Hers was most often worked with only tasts of blood. Dribbles and drabs. To kill so many, to use all their blood.. On the plus side if it was necessary she was certain she could cut the hamstrings of many and be odd, down the passages and gone. The fact that it was a confined ship was something of a problem, but apparently if one pressed enough buttons it would go somewhere.

An entirely new person bursting out of stone was a new one however. Teeth were briefly revealed in a dirty face as she let her opinions on such dramatic and unexpected events be known. The feral had very little idea what was going on at this point, largely ignoring when other people had been speaking. When the blood covered form (and didn't that raise some rather pertinent and interesting questions) spoke however, she recognized the Spectre.

Spectre no more apparently. This body did not seem to be destroying itself like the other one he'd taken had.. Interesting. Destroy four hands to make one finger.. Was this a constant? Perhaps. It would bear looking in to.

 

[Cryax Bane]

Cryax could barely breathe while the ceremony ensued. When the pristine, white throat was cut, the Sith magic within the Chiss' blue body surged so violently, his blood pounded in his ears, and his vision was consumed by red. Suddenly, the magic crested like a wave and fell over his consciousness, washing him clean.

The ritual was complete, sealed by sacrifice and dark arcanum. The Sith magic within him decreased to an adagio, and became merely a voluptuous hum, contentedly buzzing in the presence of its creator. Bane's alien orbs flickered lightly in the shadows when he blinked at the sight of Kaine Zambrano's newborn body. A younger version of the man. In his late twenties perhaps. There was barely a crease on his blood-slicked forehead. The things the man had done to him on Panatha burned through his head, setting all his darkest emotions alight. His own blood seeping through a sluicegate. A needle popping through his lips. The tethering of his soul, while he faced death itself and was painfully brought back from the doorway between two worlds. His body had survived Kaine's trials, but his mind? The Chiss' mind was a devastated place. Instead of synapses firing off the expected response to Kaine's misdeeds, like anger, outrage, or a lust for revenge, they heeded the seductive call of his more deviant, carnal desires.

The younger Kaine, wearing only sacrificial blood, stood and looked directly at Cryax, eyes boring into him, with glacial coldness, the eyes that always seemed to see right beyond the veil, and beyond his facade of a person. Cryax felt his adrenaline rise as he was called by name, the only visible sign of inner disturbance, a tiny crease between his blue brow.

Although the Sith magic violently insisted he fall to his knees in front of the newborn Sith Lord, he did not bow or scrape in front of the man. However his resistance to servitude was thin when it came to the man before him, and so the Chiss stepped forward, flushing as he felt the room's eyes on him, and dutifully brought the younger Kaine his robe, wrapping it gently around the man's pale frame as viscera stained his suit.

[member="Zemi Madstone"] [member="Darth Vornskr"] [member="Darth Carach"] [member="Enigma"] [member="Duchess Magrath"]

 

[Onrai]

When the new form of Kaine Zambrano himself emerged from the sarcophagus, Circe could only smile. And why would she not? The ritual she had conducted, while a pale imitation of what had been done to bring [member="Darth Hauntruss"] back to the realm of the living, had been more than successful, with Kaine now having a youthful, brand new body. Whether the body would remain stable, she did not know, but it was more than likely. The end result of this ritual had proven to be a success.

Though feeling the blood of slaves on her hands was an... unusual feeling, to say the least.

[member="Cryax Bane"]
[member="Duchess Magrath"]
[member="Darth Carach"]
[member="Vrag"]
[member="Darth Isolda"]
[member="Darth Vornskr"]
[member="Zemi Madstone"]