Everybody Wants To Rule The World

[Ras'kala'han]

Bastion | Imperial Palace; Side Antechamber​

Though he by all rights should be excited, nervousness nagged at Antherion's heart. Antherion. The fact that he felt that name, and not Darth Vesper - the moniker he could expect to be referred to with in this audience - was more natural, more suitable for describing him was enough; his lingering wound from his battle was still gnawing at his heart, filling him with doubt. His mind was shielded, but still... uncertainty - he was going to be meeting with the Emperor, he could well have a way to overcome this.

Then, glancing around, he remembered the easiest emotion he could summon up, the easiest way to fill his heart with the hate that was a Sith's sword and armor, even in the social arena: envy. The Imperial Palace's antechamber to even a smaller, private audience chamber was a study in the beauty the Sith could work in the world. A monument to wealth. Every curve of the high, arched ceiling, the free-standing sculpture that dominated the center, a robed and windswept figure - an orb suspended above their hand by way of repulsor to suggest the Force, the steady hum of the lights and the tapestry - all were a constant reminder of the absolute power of the God-King.

Here, what was Antherion iv Koroosi? The shadow of a shadow's shadow; he was drowning in a sea of nothing. This was envy. And again, the anger returned, and with it, the singleness of purpose he needed to armor his heart.

"My lord, about Facility One." his retainer and the official chief shareholder of his corporation, Jeni Apraxa, said, datapad in hand. "Thoughts on the shipment of voidstone?" Facility One, allegedly hidden, didn't exist. It signaled a lapse into their personal code, for communication. "Voidstone," danger. "Shipment," meaning present.

He gave her feelings a brief read with the Force. Fear. Natural, he supposed - he had commissioned her and several other Galactic notables to write articles pointing out weakness after weakness in the Empire's war economy, and made it remarkably easy to trace back to him. A subtle way of lobbying for a job, or perhaps annoying the powers that be.

He couldn't bring himself to tell her that they were too unimportant for the Emperor to personally want to kill them himself.

"The voidstone is irrelevant," he said, making a small gesture. No need to translate that. "It's all in the hands of the shareholders, so there's no real need to worry. Our primary concern should be taking advantage of any upcoming market fluctuations. Let me do what I do, make sure that you get collateral." Don't mind the danger. We can't control the Emperor, we can only take advantage of whatever situations might arise. Leave this to me, and focus on acquiring what material you can while here.

"As my lord says." She nodded, and as the memories of her helpful, if not altruistically loyal, servitude crossed his mind, he felt that strange pang. So he smiled as she handed him the datapad, and dismissed her with a proper goodbye - snuffing it out in short order. 'Empathy,' it seemed, was a disease appeased by perfunctory gestures.

How petty and beneath him.

Rising and dusting off his robes - today, he went for a traditional Sith black, a simple and fittingly-cut shadowsilk tunic with a low collar, bands of silvery metal around his wrists and a few rings - he straightened his head. He glanced down at his cloak - the only other adornment he had was the Bloodflower at its clasp. He looked as though he was getting ready for a dance - in a way, he was. He had hoped to bring in Jeni, but the summons was explicit - the Lord of Avarice would appear before the Dark Lord and whomever he chose alone.

The time was approaching. He waited, expectant and focused, to be called into the chamber.

[member="Darth Carnifex"]​

 

[Darth Carnifex]

The doors leading to the Emperor's sanctum were tall, impossibly so, and were gilded on all angles with luminous silver metal while the doors themselves were fashioned from black turadium. There were no guards flanking the doors, only a pair of statues which beckoned with gnarled claws and personified ancient primordial entities from the deepest recesses of ancient Sith lore. Columns of coiling marble flanked a middle walkway upon which a carpet of the richest fabric was laid out with exquisite precision, there was no error in the symmetry of the decoration. As [member="Antherion"] awaited his audience with the immortal Emperor of the Sith, the silence continued to drag on as the chill of the Dark Side burrowed right to the bone.

Then the tell-tale sound of whirring mechanism and the gargantuan doors retreated into the doorframe's partition, revealing a chamber of such opulence and grandiosity that it made the waiting chamber look positively dull in comparison. Yet it was not a magnificence that one would expect, the light in the room was dimmed down to barely a flickering glow and the floors and walls seemed to be made out of the darkest substance as if light it was couldn't exist alongside it.

A guard, nearly nine feet tall, emerged from the room to pound the pommel of his vibro-halberd against the floor, drawing Antherion's attention to him. "The Emperor will see you now, my lord." The guard turned and returned to his station within the chamber, clearing the pathway for the smaller Sith to enter and begin his trek towards the throne dais. As he proceeded deeper into the chamber, his eyes would begin to adjust to the perpetual gloom as the light of the antechamber receded with the closing of the doors. Mirroring columns of marble lined the pathway to the Emperor's throne, each one decorated with profane and ancient personifications of the Dark Side as depicted in the grimoires of the ancient Red Sith.

The throne itself was raised several steps off of the main floor and had been wrought from a slab of glossy obsidian and inlaid with gold geometry and esoteric symbols, the pelt of a monstrous creature from some distant and primordial world draped over the high back. Yet as grand as the throne appeared, it paled in comparison to the man who sat upon its seat. His muscular body was swaddled in a deep maroon cloak, his torso protected by a cuirass of blackened armor emblazoned with the crest of his house; the dreaded Eye of Solomon. A crown of brilliant rubies sat perched atop his brow, and his luxurious black hair was pulled back in a warrior's ponytail and decorated with bands of gold and shimmering gemstones.

His eyes were like pits of unfathomable hatred, the whites completely corrupted by the Dark Side until they were as black as the empty void between the warmth of the distant molten stars that were his pupils. One brow arched in intrigue as he came to stand before him, his lips peeling back in a callous chuckle as he leaned forward to get a better look at his newest visitor.

And then in a voice overflowing with authority and immense cruelty, "So, they tell me you've been publishing scathing critiques of the Empire's economy, a bold course of action. Tell me why little Lord."

 

[Ras'kala'han]

How could one focus on envy, or anger, or anything under that fiery gaze? No wonder those who found no joy in the darkness withered before the Emperor, no wonder his servants wilted before him and called him their Butcher God. Did the candleflame envy the sun?

Yes, thought Vesper as he walked into the chamber, his eyes immediately falling on the man who had wrested from the cold dead hands of so many before him the mantle of "Dark Lord of the Sith," a thousand times yes.

"Your imperial majesty," Darth Vesper fell to one knee as he gazed up at his liege, a gesture of respect his pride would permit him give to few. "I did nothing but observe the duty all Sith have, to Empire and Emperor. If there is a fire in a building, a leak in the ship, you sound the alarm. Had I more subtle messages to catch your eye, they would have been employed - but it is remarkably hard to find a chain of individuals from my station to yours willing to pass along a message many do not want to hear, that many think you might not want to hear."

"My passion - hatred of seeing my enemies prosper, and love of our way of life - a life of order, stability, power, dignity - allowed me no other course of action."

"Let it not be said that I would waste my lord's time with complaint, empty critique, problems without solution. If your majesty would give me leave, I have a set of programs - I believe their implementation would consign ever individual issue the articles I sponsored mentioned to the past, and see a new era of Imperial wealth and strength."

[member="Darth Carnifex"]​

 

[Darth Carnifex]

The Emperor rose, his body gargantuan, and with very precise and meticulous motion he descended the dais upon which the seat of his Imperial authority rested upon. Holos and drawn depictions did not do the man justice, for his presence was wholly intoxicating and all the same intimidating in person. He exuded an aura of darkness unmatched by most within the galaxy, it radiated from his body like heat from a raging furnace.

But there was no warmth to be found here, only the frigid bone-biting chill of the Dark Side of the Force.

Yet despite the brutal and vicious trappings surrounding the Dark Lord of the Sith, there was an intelligence and nobility to his person that was often overlooked in reference. He had not built the greatest Sith Empire of the modern age through strength alone, but through cunning and guile, a keen understanding of how the Sith worked and operated that allowed him to maneuver through the blood-stained waters of Imperial politics and power-struggles until only his will remained.

His vision, and those who followed it.

He came to stand before [member="Antherion"], the latter outmatched in physicality and in stature. His face showed neither contempt nor affection, the impassive lines hiding his true intentions and his true emotions. "There would be many who would chafe at your words, those who find differing viewpoints a bitter pill to swallow. But they are not the Emperor, they do not hold sway on my council. The cracks in the foundation of my Empire have been growing since its inception, and you have masterfully articulated one of the problems we now face as a people. The economy we built to sustain our early campaigns is no longer viable, we have grown too large and too populated for such antiquated ways, and thus we must evolve."

The Emperor beckoned Antherion to rise, "Show me what you have designed."

 

[Ras'kala'han]

In his father's time, such behavior from a Dark Lord of the Sith would have been unimaginable. Then again, a Dark Lord with alien blood would have been unimaginable - yet it seemed to have happened many times successively over the course of his long, dark internment. It seems, Vesper thought, Sith culture overcomes alien breeding. And what was before him was the culmination of a long tradition of Sith culture. He inhaled briefly, as measuredly as could when awash in the icy presence of the new Empire's sole ruler. Indeed, it seemed the true rise of Sith power only came after all his father's deepest convictions had been overturned.

Hadram, Vesper thought triumphantly, his mind briefly drifting back to the horror on the red-ridged wretch's face at the moment of his death at his sister's hands, you truly were a fool.

Rising in a single, practiced motion (after all, he had been kneeling in front of his ship's mirror in week leading up to this appointment in hopes of making only the best impression) he decided to discard his usual winning smile in favor of stern serenity. This man did not seem one for excess cheer.

"As my lord wills." Removing a holopad from his tunic's inner pocket, Vesper pressed a button on it and a single, floating logo was projected holographically into the air, accompanied by various floating graphs, zigzagged with shifting digits and red lines.

Spoiler

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"Behold, my Emperor, the new symbol of your Empire's riches. I submit to you, my lord, that we would benefit from the creation of a centralized Ministry of Economics - a Sith-Imperial Commerce Syndicate, if you will. Spearheaded by one or more Sith with vested interest in their nation's prosperity, with the purpose of ensuring that the Empire's security does not compromise its flow of goods, or its ability to secure Galactic trade dominance."

"Even as authority is centralized, control would be more indirect - investors prefer a silk glove or an invisible hand to an iron fist. Limited privatization of domestic industries, with shares going to the hands of those who are properly loyal - diplomatic accords contingent on free trade - playing the economies of our own planets off one another to encourage specialization and thriving internal flow of assets - all of these could be accomplished without direct government orders, but rather through precision pushes in just the right places."

"Control of information is equally valuable - treat the specifics of budget, value, and productivity as matters of utmost importance to security and control the information tightly, falsifying as needed to reassure the investors of their ability to return."

"A charm offensive on one hand, an offensive of subtle control in certain key foreign figures by means of sorcery, drugs, and blackmail on the other. We will entangle our enemies and allies alike in our grasp, and they will not realize they will be drawn in until it is too late"

"I already have several Darths who I imagine would be marvelous candidates for collaboration in this project - Maliphant, Imperia, and others. All that you would require, Dark Lord, is to vest the authority in someone to begin this project and it would come into being."

Vesper bowed his head slightly. "Do you have any questions, my Emperor?"

[member="Darth Carnifex"]​

 

[Darth Carnifex]

The Emperor listened silently, gently rubbing the underside of his chin as he absorbed each word that was spoken to him and visualized how it would all come together in his mind. Each cog with a specific purpose, meticulously suited for its task and when combined with the other instruments in the grand machine it would function perfectly, not unlike the machinery that ran the greater Empire.

It was masterful, in a way. Equal parts guile and ruthless manipulation to turn the riches of the galactic trade network to serve the Sith.

A thin smile graced the Emperor's lips, he enjoyed what was presented to him.

"You have obviously put much thought into this endeavor, and your work has merit. The Empire already controls the worlds of Muunilinst and Scipio, both of whom have supplied the galaxy with the credits necessary to stimulate and maintain multiple economies." They were some of the first systems to fall to the Sith during their rise and had assimilated well into what constituted the heart of the Empire's new homeland.

"Before my time as Emperor, the Sith made certain deals with the Muuns to safeguard their autonomy and allow them to continue their ancient traditions without persecution. I believe the time has come for such deals to be altered in our favor, and I believe that they can be turned to benefit this new vision. Maliphant and Imperia are interesting choices, Lord Vesper, but the latter has my trust. I would leave it to you to assemble those best suited for this task, and to establish a dialogue with those among the Muuns who would be amiable to serving the Empire in a more direct manner."

Undoubtedly there were those with voracious ambition and clarity to see that the Empire was the future of the galaxy, and would be willing to help.

[member="Darth Vesper"]​

 

[Ras'kala'han]

Vesper saw no reason to suppress his smile, but opted for a faint, crescent half-grin as opposed to something wide, toothy, accompanied by jumping jacks, and far more reflective of his mood. He nodded with all respect, his mind already tracing out the possibilities of the enterprise - as though a web of planets in his mind, suddenly coming into focused connection, a constellation taking shape - and he blinked, and realized a most singular possibility.

"My Emperor," he said, "The Muuns will come into our service. I do not doubt this, I will make it so. However - afterwards, we must go further. We will require a location from which to centralize and operate SICS. A location which is not too heavily entrenched in Imperial space, so that it is accessible. A location advantageously positioned in the Galaxy with regards to hyperspace routes. A place where we already need to assert and build influence to ensure it will not break free from our grasp."

He turned rapidly to [member="Darth Carnifex"], his eyes flickering with bright eagerness. "My lord, we should quarry our material from Muunlist, from wherever we can find - but where we should first build?"

"SICS should be the tombstone of the old regime of Commenor. Let us take that world and make it the new jewel in your crown."

 

[Darth Carnifex]

Again, the Emperor rubbed his chin in thought.

He could see the merits of establishing such an institution far out from the Empire's domain, but at the same time, he liked to keep the ministrations that were integral to the Empire's ability to function close at hand in the event he needed to directly intervene. Commenor was a world ripe for the manipulation, to mold and to shape exactly to his designs in accordance with his will, but there were already whispers of a resistance in the underground.

Then again, such a move would show that the Empire does not consider Commenor to be an afterthought, a throw-away world that would be pecked clean of resources and abandoned the moment the Empire lost interest.

"An interesting proposition, Lord Vesper. Very interesting. I will inform Admiral Dathart and Acolyte Interitus of your intentions, so you can coordinate with the full support of our occupation force. Communication is key to success, make sure that you work in full concert with those already in command. I would be extremely displeased if I had to hear reports of dis-unity and setbacks because of personal ego, such blunders are unbecoming of us."

[member="Darth Vesper"]​

 

[Ras'kala'han]

Nothing less than what he expected - yet at the same there was a thrill inherent in having the commission of the Emperor. The man's direct presence tempered his envy somewhat; [member="Darth Carnifex"] was far more domineering when you were staring into those burning eyes. He could feel the pull, the temptation to bow to his will. To give in, body and soul, be drawn into his orbit. Like a moth to the flame, he was tempted with the utter thrill of being the extension of another's will. Of being commanded. It was all he could do to stand before him and armor himself with what ego he could muster. A lesser man might have been wracked with trepidation, but Vesper was anything but lesser. No fear. Only certainty. He offered a bow at the waist.

"I will reach out to the leaders of the occupation and make your desires known to them. I am prepared to take full responsibility for this venture, my lord. Through me, your will shall be done."

As he rose, he paused - something nagged the back of his mind. He raised his left hand in a gesture of conciliation, to show that in his next gesture, he had no intention to render harm to the royal person. "And, my liege, one more thing before you dismiss me."

And he took out his lightsaber - or more specifically, the lightsaber that he used. One that was not his originally, but one that belonged to a man who had gone by Beleth, Abraxas, and other names still. He glanced down at it - it still reeked of the man's presence. The anguish of his final moments, and the horror that he carried in his heart, to the grave.

"This weapon belonged to Darth Eversor. I know you held him in little esteem, at the time of his passing. But, as trophy or memento, this weapon first belongs to your family - if you wish to retake it." He paused, regarding the Emperor. "My lord - that man was your family. And after what you had done to him, he knelt before me and begged that I kill him. He chose to die at my hands rather than go back to you. I know what happens to those who cross you. I have seen what you can do, even to your own blood. So know..."

He gazed up, and in his golden eyes there burned an icy, resolute flame, as he held out the weapon to the Emperor - an offering. A promise. "I am not him. I will not fail you."

 

[Darth Carnifex]

The Emperor's impassive lips turned down in a frown, his eyes narrowing at the offering that Vesper now held out before him. For a moment he did nothing, his eyes only boring holes into the weapon that was so freely given to him. Then he reached out with his right hand, his dominant hand, and gingerly grasped the metal hilt and brought it closer for a more thorough inspection. The design was familiar, it echoed of a past life and the subconscious influences he had on his clone's mind, but only a cold disdain emerged at the identification of such similarities.

He held the weapon aloft and pressed the activator.

Snap-hiss~

True to the weapon of a Sith, a blade of bloody sheen erupted from the emitter. The Emperor continued to expect it in silence for a few seconds longer before the blade retracted back into the hilt. "This weapon conjures a cold anger in me, Lord Vesper. I will keep this memento to failure and let it stoke the darkness in my heart, to remind myself of that worthless clone's inadequacies so that I may never again repeat my mistakes." He gestured to Vesper with the lightsaber, "We will see if you will not follow in Eversor's footsteps as well. Now go and forge a weapon worthy of your legacy, Lord Vesper, and then carry out my will amongst the stars."

[member="Darth Vesper"]​

 

[Ras'kala'han]

A few moments of silence. The soft glow of the saber - and the tension. Vesper regarded the Emperor, and pressed his lips thinly together, unable to fully hide from the Sith Lord the faint flicker of fear behind his eyes as the hulking man regarded the sword, and as he felt the cold of the Dark envelop him like a shroud, suspended by a singular thread over the swimming sea of shadow, with only two questions: Have I made a mistake? and If so, is it my last? And when the silence broke, he had little to say in response to the man's instruction.

"As you say, my Emperor, so shall it be." A low bow, a proper bow, and a turn - he kept his posture, his form, all the way out of the ornate throne room, his eyes squarely forward, no longer wandering over each detailing. He walked, with utmost composure, out of the palace grounds, not turning back. Feeling his rage, still, hanging over him. His breath on his neck. His hand on his shoulder. His spine prickled with electric, helpless fear, and his heart raced, and he walked with all the calm of a droid.

And when he stepped onto his ship, where Jeni was waiting for him, certain that no outside eye was on him, he collapsed, grabbing the end of a seat to partly hold himself up, pale and shivering.

"My lord - are you -"

"Be silent." The middle-aged woman choked on her next words, feeling the invisible hand of Vesper's will seize her tongue. The Sith gathered himself with a stuttering breath, rising shakily. "I simply... learned a lesson."

She looked at him, still utterly quiet, eyes alight with curiosity and concern.

"Family never changes." He paused, sinking into the chair, his sister once again on his mind. Gone for millennia, as fresh in his mind as yesterday, as lively. He gestured, and Jeni got the idea - heading to the cockpit to prime for takeoff. It would be several days before she managed to speak. As they rose up to depart, Vesper felt the hollow, numbing lightness return to his heart, as he sunk into his meditations, and his endless dreaming of the dead. "Nothing ever changes."

[member="Darth Carnifex"]​