Fire. Meat. Spice. [ House Verd & Extended Kin ]

[Malok]

H O M E S T E A D​

Verd Territory, Concord Dawn​

As the light of day began to dip below the horizon, a distinct aroma soared into the heavens. It was lifted upon the winds, wafting into the noses of those eagerly drawing near to its source. Born of fire, meat, and spices, the aroma was a sign: Celebration is Here! It had been ages since House Verd sat together. Although they always stood together in battle, their last true celebration had been decades in the past.

Yet now, they had reason to lift up their voices with joy. Now, they had reason to share food and drink; under a new roof of all places! The return of their people from Exile meant a return to their way of life...a return to Basics. And with this restoration came the raising of a new home - one to replace that which was lost on Mandalore.

Concord Dawn was where they would rest their heads.

And tonight, they would dine, laugh, and drink to their hearts' content.

[ [member="Deneve Verd"], [member="Amaya Verd"], @Mori-youknowIcanttagyou, [member="Izevel Zambrano"], [member="Oron Verd"], [member="Keira Ticon"], [member="Alkor Centaris"], [member="Aedan Miles"], @Alec Rekali, [member="Darth Carnifex"], [member="Darth Prazutis"], @AnyoneIMissed ]​

 

[Keira Priest]

It had taken a bit of bickering and a lot of convincing, but Keira had managed to drag [member="Julius Sedaire"] along to what amounted to a sort of impromptu family reunion that included House Verd and all extended family. From the beginning she'd been well aware how he felt about her people, but she'd gotten him to make an exception in her case so he could be properly acquainted with at least her siblings, if not the numerous nieces and nephews that abounded as well. He may not have entirely liked the idea or had very fond opinions of the present company, but she knew that he would do his best to demonstrate some kind of common courtesy, even if it was just for her sake.

Contrary to her typical mode of dress she'd foregone her armor, arming herself sparsely with her pistol and tomahawk. She had only been to the former Verd Estate once or twice, and so this was her first time returning to what she supposed was the first proper home she'd had in years. As the ship she and Julius had taken to Concord Dawn entered the atmosphere, she spoke up from the co-pilot's seat. "I still think you're over-exaggerating. It's not going to be that bad." She looked over at him, raising an eyebrow with a crooked grin. "Besides, if you can put up with me you can sure as hell deal with them for a few hours. I promise my brothers aren't too bad once you get to know them."

When finally they landed and the vessel shuddered slightly as it settled she waited until he stood before walking with him to the new homestead. They didn't quite hold hands as they approached, but their fingers did knot together when their hands chanced to brush. Neither had spoken a word as to just what the status of their relationship was, but the two seemed to have come to a silent agreement as to just where it stood. She knew full well her siblings wouldn't let her hear the end of it, and that went doubly for Isley. But then, the two had always bickered back and forth, and this would be no different.

The second her older brother came into sight she raised her free hand in a wave as they approached. "Su'cuy, ori'vod. Does this mean you plan on sticking around this time?"

[member="Darth Metus"]

 

[Julius Sedaire]

Mandalorians. He released a long breath to steady himself, touching the jed-cred hanging from his neck in a subconscious gesture for luck. Over his years he had on and off luck with the warrior people of the Outer Rim. It had ended, before Keira, in a tense sort of stand off and mutual respect. Julius had traveled with a mercenary band of them for a few years, and knew probably more of their ways than his... Well, whatever she was he probably knew more of her adopted culture than Keira guessed. Already he was running through the ideas and plans of how to act around her family. He wasn't sure precisely how he was being introduced either.

Settling the ship in, he replied to her bit of affectionate admonition with a non-committal grunt, and stood, following her out swiftly, fingers lacing easily with hers in a gesture that had become a reflex. What was more, he made sure it was his dominant hand that gripped hers. Though it would slow him only a fraction should it come to a fight, it was a sign to a group of people who breathed in war with their air and suckled battle with their mother's milk. He was at ease, and trusted them, and felt no danger. Nor was he come to cause any problems. Simple spacers gear was all he wore, a simple shirt of tusken cotton and a long brown coat made of bantha hide. The trousers were his only bit of ostentation, a metallic stripe of crimson. First Class blood-stripes. In a light rucksack over his back, he had something for her elder brother, their host. A small gift, more sentimental than anything, but it should carry some weight. Even if just sentimental.

As he walked out, his eyes still scanned the room, habits from years of training. Evaluating places of ambush, places of defense, and evaluating those around them. The Dark Side roiled around no few of those he could sense, and while he was no puritan, he stood as a beacon of Light by comparison, if a faceted spectrum had faceted him. His views on the Force had been broadened by his time with the Aing-Tii, and he was not so staunch a fanatic as once he was. The Dark Side was to be treated warily, but not by necessity feared and forbidden. As the Elder Verd came into view, Julius' response was a deep nod of respect. One didn't need his education as a battlemaster or a Jedi to know he stood in the presence of a Master of both the Force and battle. His Mando'a was, as always, thick with the tones of Corellia, but it was manageable.

"Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur... Thank you for the welcome.. Been a while since I've been amongst the Mando'ade..."

[member="Keira Ticon"] | [member="Darth Metus"]

 

[Darth Prazutis]

​Verd Territory, Concord Dawn
​Homestead...

​A storm formed over the Verd Homestead...

​It was a choking fog, a maelstrom of darkness that snuffed out the light and sent its creatures scurrying away. A darkness that brought out the worst in men boiling the blood and filling minds with thoughts of death, destruction, and violence, while disturbing the pure hearted enough to send them tucking into nearby chambers. The maelstrom came as a blackened hull of the Upsilon-Class Command Shuttle landed, a pair of dark shadows emerged sliding down its ramp towards the homestead of the former Warmaster Isley Verd. A man scarred from the devastation of Mandalore, a man who fought a constant battle with his darker self but in the wake of his own destruction he wanted to burn, he should've burned...

​[member="Darth Metus"] had other plans for them.

​In the wake of the devastation a Warmaster died, swept away in a cataclysm created by unknown parties...perhaps they would never know who caused for the Mandalorian Clans collapsed into ruin shortly after. But make no mistake on that day a good man was killed, a good man no longer inhabited this earth. Only the visage of death remained, only Darth Metus remained a living nightmare for the likes of the jedi and other such allies of the light.

​In the wake of these titans shadows grew bolder climbing out of the corners of chambers and into the halls. In their wake spiders, rats, and other wicked and disgusting creatures of darkness crawled from the smallest egresses around the outside of the homestead. The doors were rapidly pulled open for these shadows as if they, the guards pulling them, or the building itself could've stopped them from going where they wanted. In the wake of these two gargantuan shadows it was as if the grim reaper himself watched the small abode eagerly gripping his scythe knowing the souls the pair sent to him. These were two men wanted across the galaxy for a laundry list of war crimes that turned ones stomach just to look at in its entirety. They were two faces synonymous with agents of destruction, they were a family united.

​House Zambrano had come.

​Braxus and Kaine Zambrano, Darth Prazutis and [member="Darth Carnifex"] respectively. Their domains stretched far and wide across the galaxy and on their homeworld an entire race worshipped them as gods. The walk of these men was filled with arrogance as if they owned the very ground they walked on. The heavy footfalls and menacing movement down the halls was that of men who wasted no time, even their walk was aggressive. But aside from the ornate robes and sith attire they wore, aside from their gigantic heights, it was the eyes that stuck out. A bright sulfuric yellow that burned like smoldering coals punched into the skull. As they approached the hall where the gathering took place Darth Prazutis swung his hands up in a small underhand motion, as if he was bringing up waves from a pool of water. It was a subtle but violent motion like an overlord jerking on the chain of his slave, and the slave reacted with a wave of energy that crashed against the doors forcing them open.

​It had been years since the Dark Lord had stepped foot on Concord Dawn. The last time he stood on this world it wasn't as friend but as conqueror, as death itself. It was during the heated war between Sith and Mandalore when battle lines had been drawn. Darth Prazutis was no Sith Lord then instead he was the Acolyte who had to prove he was worth teaching, the man who needed to prove he was worth the name Zambrano to a Sith Lord already infamously known for his brutality. In the name of his master Darth Prazutis put entire populations of Concord Dawn to the blade. The acolyte alongside the faithful Blackblade Guard stacked Mandalorian dead six feet high, the smell of decay and sulfur filling the air.

​It was a bloody war that lasted for many, many years to come. The Mandalorians had paid them back as always blood must have blood, the extermination of the population of Dromund Kaas with a great asteroid and throwing it into a brutal ice age for years to come. But these were events of the past...and now there was a peace of sorts with groups of the Mandalorians, times certainly have changed indeed...

​When the pair finally came in sight of Metus, [member="Keira Ticon"], and [member="Julius Sedaire"] Darth Prazutis spoke. It was a neat trick the Sith Lord had at his disposal, to speak the language of Mando'a and have it roll off the tongue as fluent as if he was a native speaker. "Tateyus vod mhi cuyir iupe at haa'taylir ibac gar ganar cuyanir devastation be Manda'yaim..." ​Darth Prazutis said, his attention briefly fixing on Keira "Bare vabi'r biai adramte at ret' tug'yc." ​​Prazutis said with a mockingly happy tone. The last time he saw Keira he was trying to remove the head from her shoulders...things changed since then..to some degree at least. For the moment he didn't know the newcomer although he was certain he'd seen him somewhere...

 

[RC 212]

[member="Darth Metus"] [member="Darth Prazutis"] [member="Julius Sedaire"] [member="Keira Ticon"]

She was already drunk, and Worsh was even drunker. Given the evening company she had settled on the policy that anything goes. As warden she was bound to hunt darksiders to a degree. Except she felt herself strangely falling for Darth Metus and his mentality. It was raw and powerful. Something she hadn't tasted before.

As the oldest members and allies of house Verd entered she remained at her spot on the table, world spinning from the booze. when they spoke she responded, raising her glass.

"Suc'cuy ner vod!"

It was about all the Mando'a she knew. But hell it was a start right?

 

[Darth Rixas]

Victory. Victory? That was what it was called, Oron thought. Words and the definitions behind them became endlessly hard to grasp these days. The Mandalorians as a nation, a culture, were one thing but House Verd was different. Unlike most of the other clans, or maybe them all, they'd triumphed, conquered, torn asunder worlds and rebuilt them anew- Then years later, under a new name offered new unions, new appeasements, new propositions and terms for alignment and yet, refused to bend the knee to anyone that required such acts. Had much changed since their days of Crusading?

Their new alignment under the banner of the Mando'ade didn't feel like victory to Oron. It felt like a sentence. He, who was immersed with a myriad of factions and alliances he despised, and yet where else could he turn? What else did he have, he who'd fallen so far, so fast, who built ice around his heart and encased all vulnerable emotion there except for that one, single fissure, the weak spot that ran like a crystalline vein and if pulled by the root would be his undoing. House Verd was the root. Where his family went, he followed. Whether they were immediate, or even an affiliate- it was close enough for the red-eyed dragon. He would die in the name of House Verd and likewise protect those under it, no matter the atrocity committed.

They were not a kind people, per se. Perhaps to their own, but to those outside of the culture? Of all the virtues, kindness was not something that could be offered so easily. For what, he questioned, had been done to deserve it? Where were the Jedi under House Verd? There are none. Too much neutrality, independence, darkness and rot was riddled through their DNA. With his hands painted with a sanguine palette, Oron didn't deserve kindness no more than those who'd bled at his hands deserved their demise. Yet his family provided it to him regardless. Had he acted upon orders in the past? Yes. But since, he'd hardened himself to cruelty and perchance. Had he tried to make amends, sure. But now? Now he knew that he and the House had waded so far in the mire of misdeeds there would be no turning back. Oron acknowledged long ago that he'd sink into the fathomless depravity that enticed the members of the House as they grew and progressed. And he loved them all still.

The dark clouds that swirled over the estate put Oron at ease somehow. He sensed a darkness, besides the familiar presence of [member="Keira Ticon"] and [member="Darth Metus"]' aura that drew him inside the building. Slashed in sapphire and obsidian beskar'gam, Oron's inky black cloak billowed in the wind behind him as he entered the building. He drew a breath and exhaled. Removing his helmet, he gripped it in his clutch as it fell to his side. Crimson orbs looked ahead as the fluorescent lighting highlighted his discolored mocha skin with a pale yellow hue.

Moving down the halls, he rounded a corner and pushed the doors open leading into the lobby. Dozens of people were congregating. Hanging his helmet on a rack next to everyone else's, he looked to the tables, seeing family with heads tilted back as they laughed and enjoyed the company of one another. He spotted [member="Seraya Whisperwind"] with red eyes and a alcohol-induced smile welcoming those who entered with a chalice in her hand. A Cheshire grin softened Oron's chiseled gaze as he met eyes with her.

"Somebody feelin' good!" He started as he moved to extend his gloved hand for a high five over the table. "I'll be back in 10, and I'm gonna see if I can feel as good as you for the rest of the day. Try not to drink all the ale before I get back." Oron said with a promising smile and a few genuine chuckles.

Nearing the doors leading outside, he exited the lobby and moved his gaze towards the garden where he saw his older brother and sister and...her boyfriend? Oron squinted then.

"Are they...are they holding hands?"

Shaking his head, he palmed his face and drew a deep breath as he approached, extending hugs to his siblings and opened his arms to Keira's plus-one as well, moreso grabbing him than allowing him to accept the gesture first. Oron didn't know [member="Julius Sedaire"] personally of course, but found an initial respect for him, if not for his power alone which he always admired in others. Weakness in most forms made his stomach turn in disgust. He could feel a strong vibrancy of Force mastery resonating from his persona. Julius seemed strong, fair, and looked much more clean cut than the majority of the people gathered today. Oron wondered how he'd fit in if he stuck around, but he himself wouldn't be the one to give the guy a hard time. That wasn't his job.

"Hello..Julius, is it? Pleased to finally meet you." He said with raised raised brows and tight eyes. He seemed nice. Oron wasn't sure how "nice" would fit into the Verds and their ways, considering how they maneuvered through the galaxay, however. It'd be interesting to see how he'd adjust, change, or do neither of the two in such a warmongering House.

Oron turned his attention to the two remaining Sith then. A few seconds passed, and he'd looked them both up and down, although he knew who they were. [member="Darth Carnifex"] and [member="Darth Prazutis"]. He'd campaigned with them in the past during a few invasions, but was completely oblivious to their connection to House Verd. It seemed he'd be campaigning with them more in the future as they've found a new banner to wave under the Ascendency. Something that turned Oron on more towards them. He extended open arms to them both.

"Su'coy ner vods." He began. "Aliit ori'shya tal'din" Which was true- Family is more than blood, but little did Oron know, they could have actually been related to him by blood. The house had grown so large over the past decade that this event was just as much for him to learn who's who as it was for him to eat and get drunk- which he also fully intended to do.

 

[Izevel Zambrano]

[SIZE=17pt]A pensive Izevel sat seated alone at nearby table, one leg crossed over the other. [/SIZE][SIZE=17pt]Lost in her own thoughts, she would glance up to see if she could spot her husband before once again returning to her thoughts. Soon she would make one soft remark.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=17pt]"For a man, he's too social."[/SIZE]

[SIZE=17pt]A hushed murmur weaves betwixt fantasy and reality, using reverie as needle points to pierce actuality. Where the worlds reside in a heart of complexity, wars collide, tearing them at the seams, while the various voices muddle thoughts and sentiments alike. Externally the eye of a hurricane rests at doll-like attributes. It tells a tale of naught but stoic concentration. Behind blackened bangs sorts duo chasms of cosmic proportions that gaze from an idle position between those arriving and a bottle of her husband's whiskey stolen from his private stash. Silken tresses seem to have stolen the the darkness , with inky hues painting grace over poised shoulders. Any accusations of such a feat are buried six feet under with the sharp tsk of ruby and pearl. And that was if any dared to approach the Devil's Huntress, a woman of empyrean quality. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=17pt]A familiar mundane melody strums at the threads of her conscience, bringing it from the depths of contemplation to the form of her kin. The Huntress had never bothered glancing at the rest of those gathered. Instead, an adroit hand lifts her mug of Whiskey to her lips so that she may down it..[/SIZE]

[member="Darth Prazutis"] || [member="Darth Metus"]

 

[Darth Carnifex]

Kaine was uncharacteristically silent in his and [member="Darth Prazutis"]' arrival on Concord Dawn, his eyes scanning the horizon as memories flared up in his mind of the countless atrocities he had committed upon this soil nearly thirty years ago. Back when the Mandalorians were the staunch enemies of the Sith, back when they had spurned Emperor Moridin's offer for unity and launched raids on the Empire's borders. They'd come in to teach the Mandalorian's a lesson, striking first at Junction and driving as deep as Mandalore before the war ended. By Moridin's command he had laid waste to Junction, systematically wiping out the planet's entire population as a show of force.

Of course Junction only had a population of roughly one-point-five million at the time, but it was still a significant death toll.

Concord Dawn suffered the brunt of the war, it was where the Sith had launched their largest incursion into Mandalorian space in preparation for an eventual strike at Mandalore itself. Kaine had led most of the operation himself, infiltrating Concord Dawn's capital with a substantial army of brainwashed suicide bombers and other insurgents designed to cause as much damage and chaos as possible prior to the Empire's arrival. It was a glorious battle and Kaine remembered it fondly and as clearly as if it had happened only yesterday.

But today none of those old scars remained on Concord Dawn, thirty years of rebuilding had wiped it all away. Kaine didn't mind, the less evidence of his past transgressions against the Mandalorians worked all the better when he was trying to do what Moridin had failed to do all those years ago. He was on the precipice of victory now, all of his machinations were finally coming to a head. Now he just only needed to make appearances with his closest ally base within the Mandalorians.

Yet it wasn't any Mandalorian that caught his attention, but the one who had allowed all of this to come to pass. His daughter, [member="Izevel Zambrano"].

He approached her from behind, reaching out to fondly grasp her shoulder as his gruff words pierced the air around her. "I didn't take you for a drinker, my dear."

 

[RC 212]

[member="Oron Verd"]

"Yeah I'm good!"

She picked up some meat from the table and sampled a piece. It had a citrus pepper taste to it. She loved that. It seemed that they all had something in common, their past perhaps? But her presence became uneasy in the force when the two Sith conversed. This Carnifex character gave her serious pause and she wondered what made his signature like a black hole.

"So you gonna have a drink with me dude?"

Her Warden senses were tingling. But if they were Mando'ade they were Vode, and her justice would have to be saved for the Hyperlanes.

 

[Ria Misrani]

Amaya had built the homestead here, and as she dwelled far below the festitivies. The girl looked at her prize, known as Project Hama. "Readjust the intertial dampeners," she said to herself, down in her labs crafted into the dirt that was Concord Dawn. Dressed in a pair of black cargo work pants, durasteel toed boots and a tan work shirt. Her hair was pulled back and she looked over her shoulder at Teyn Gratiir.

"You've been working on that all day," he said softly his arms wrapped around her waist. Lips touched her bare shoulder, "your family is upstairs, drinking and being merry. Should we not join them?"

She shook her head, "no." A pause as she turned to draw a breath from his lips, "they've earned their joyous feast. I must work so that we may continue to have this peace." Her holo beeped, a reminder for the morrow's activities. "I go to Commenor tomorrow, perhaps I should take one of the Savea's. Mhmmm? Have an excuse to take my farm boy with me."

"Your farm boy?" The man questioned, as he rested his chin on her shoulder. "I did not recall being owned in such a manner. Am I a Verd slave then?"

"No." She refuted, "that would mean I'd have to share you, and we both know that's not happening."

"You are a jealous woman."

"Very."

Amaya turned away from her workstation and focused on Teyn. She'd only met him a few weeks back, but even then she knew that she loved him. There was an energy between them that could not be explained. The daughter of Isley Verd broke from the kiss that she held with Teyn and looked back at her work station. "I could take a break, I guess."

"Good. I'm starving." The raven-haired man was quick to lift Amaya up. His hands held her against his body, he carried her to the little mattress she had in the corner. "And you should clean up."

"Now look who's giving the orders, Gratiir." Amaya nipped at his lower lip. "Sadly, I think you're right. It would not be proper for me to show up looking like a bag of Rakghoul turd. Care to assist me?"

"We both know that if I assist you, there won't be time for you to enjoy the festivities, so go on." He teased with a kiss. "I'll grab something proper so that your father doesn't see me as some nerfherding peasant."

"You'll always be a nerfherding peasant to him, but you're my nerfherding peasant."

"I know."

 

[Malok]

It did not go away.

Why did it yet linger? The frustration which bubbled just beneath the surface...had Darth Metus not tasted vengeance? Had he not laid to rest the devil responsible for burning the Clans away? Why then did his fingers twitch at the thought...why then was the Sith Lord not satisfied? On this day of mirth and celebration, the Father of House Verd looked inward. All about were those he cherished. All about were those he loved enough to die for. His wife. His children. His siblings. His Clan. All drank and laughed and enjoyed the gift of life; so why was he angry? The reality baffled Darth Metus, so much so that his participation was less than enthusiastic. Initially he sat at the head of the table, one adorned with a literal feast of food and drink, quietly.

A glass was in his hand. Its contents swirled as his wrist moved, slowly. Absent-mindedly. And although his eyes danced from face to face, he was asking the question Why. Why did he feel this way. Was not what stood before him everything he desired?

No.

His nostrils flared. The answer jarred him, encouraging a light sip of his beverage. Yet he did not shun the truth, no. He rode it out; just as he did the sting of liquor racing down his throat. No, he wasn't satisfied with this. Yes, the House lived. Yes, there was cause for celebration...but what about after. What awaited Darth Metus and his kin after the fires died down and the feast had been consumed. What good laid on the horizon? Another sip. Nothing. Nothing good laid on the horizon. They were the most dominant force in the Mando'ade: the single most powerful Clan of the present. But were they treated as much? Was the name Verd lauded? Was there gratitude, ever, for their service time and time again?

Or were they simply handed a cut of dirt to build a Homestead. His fingers tightened about the glass. Or were they looked at with disgust for being born as gods. They were...worse than feared, they were despised. Their power, which was always used as a sword for Mandalore, led them to be looked upon with disdain. Hatred. Yes, their King did not officially regard them this way; but his subjects did. And even though Darth Metus had tasted vengeance, an even greater offense than his death yet lingered. No longer. The beverage was temporarily abandoned upon the table as his kin began to arrive.

[member="Keira Ticon"], accompanied by [member="Julius Sedaire"]. He stifled his thoughts long enough to truly appreciate the moment: someone was crazy enough to brave Keira's bed...and emerged breathing. A deep laugh erupted from the Sith as he opened his arms, stepping forward to greet them. Much like [member="Oron Verd"], an embrace was thrust upon them. "We welcome you to our home. Come, sit. Feast with us!" he began, motioning at the table. He then placed a kiss upon his sister's cheek before stepping away.

The extended family had arrived. [member="Darth Prazutis"] and [member="Darth Carnifex"]. Both were Titans in their own right...both had announced their presence with an air of dominance. They were as a Storm...They lived how the Verd should - as gods and Kings with Dominion over the Stars. Darth Metus came to stand beside his younger sibling and placed a hand upon his shoulder. His greeting to the Destroyer was accurate: family was indeed more than blood. "So glad that you could join us, Darth Prazutis." he began, before turning his gaze over to his bride [member="Izevel Zambrano"]. D-Did...Did Carnifex have his hand on her shoulder? First Keira had a man and Carnifex was being a parent...the Netherworld must have frozen over. Darth Metus dismissed himself with a nod before striding over to his wife. He regarded his father-in-law with a bow of his head before sitting beside Izevel.

"I must claim responsibility for her current taste." he said with amusement in his tone. He placed a kiss upon her lips...whilst reaching out for her bottle.

"Come, let us all feast together, everyone!"

 

[Izevel Zambrano]

[SIZE=17pt]"I like my whiskey like you like making bastards father.."[/SIZE]

[SIZE=17pt]A simple smile was given to her father, to say shock was what she felt was an under statement. It was then that her husband made an appearance, a simple flare of anger would be felt before dying down almost instantaneously. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=17pt]Her gaze slid up his form then down again, an annoyed sigh leaving her lips. Holding up one finger, she would reach over take back the bottle she had swiped fair and square only to bring it to her lips. Giving him a scowl whilst she downed the burning liquid she would soon set the silver container down.[/SIZE]


[SIZE=17pt]One could say she didn't do social gatherings, she would much rather be off torturing some poor helpless soul. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=17pt]"Don't you have some children you've ticked off to find and make up with .."[/SIZE]

[SIZE=17pt]A low blow dealt with a beautiful smile before she returned once more to her drink. Yes, this would have to do. She would play sociable then when she had the chance she would slip away and go find some poor unsuspecting victim to torment for the evening. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=17pt][member="Darth Carnifex"] [/SIZE]
[SIZE=17pt][member="Darth Metus"][/SIZE]