Public Great Hunt: The First Sith Conclave [All Sith]

[Emissary of Strife]

​

Desevro - a planet rendered cold from the ashes of war long ago, located in the Tion Hegemony, not far from the Holy Worlds.

Amidst the decaying urban sprawl is a place of dark power... a Sith Temple erected during a time before the Old Sith Wars... haunted by restless spirits drawn to the dark power within. A power that painted the world like ritual blood, invoking feelings of unease, and strong enough to strangle the Light. Indeed, the shadows cast by the statues of long-forgotten Sith seemed to stretch unnaturally, regardless of where the sun rested.

At the foot of the temple, Sith from across the galaxy gather at a war camp, surrounded by the spoils of recent campaigns in the Colonies and the Outer Rim. Though many carry hostility and disgust for one another, over ideological disputes and personal grievances, or even simple hate, they are united by one thing... Their hatred of the Jedi.

The GREAT HUNT has been called. As the Jedi scatter to their hidden places, the Sith gather at the First Conclave to discuss three simple things.

One: Define the targets of the Great Hunt. There are many temples, enclaves, and hidden Jedi sanctuaries worth striking. However, it isn't enough to win battles - the Jedi must be eradicated if we are to usher in a new golden age of the Sith.

Two: Some say the Blackwall has weakened us... that the Sith are too isolated, rending dull blades against worlds unworthy of our violence, while this upstart in the Core wages a conflict, boldly calling himself Sith'ari without challenge. The nature of the Sith beyond the Blackwall must be understood lest we resign ourselves from the Universe as Jedi do.

Three: Finally, if we are to wage brutal campaigns and purge the sickness of the Jedi from this galaxy, we will need worthy and warminded Sith to lead us. A warmaster must be chosen for our first campaign.

The most prominent of the Sith in attendance have gathered in a circle at the center, beneath the Temple's shadow.

The First Conclave Begins!
​

Mercy Vestra Tane Hasuras Na-Gerra Velok Brokentusk Kirie Darth Anathemous Tamsin Starfall Blade Ice Brooke Waters Lysander von Ascania Lirka Ka Quinn Varanin Ellissanthia Darth Empyrean Darth Strosius Helix Barragh Nenn Nodak Darth Vinaze Malyssa moddol Darth Adekos Darth Carnifex Darth Avida Elani Zambrano

 

[Darth Anathemous]

Wearing: Armor
Tag: Vestra Tane Tamsin Starfall Anet Raine Mercy Arris Windrun

The Lord of Blades was one of the first to set foot upon Desevro's frozen soil.

She and her students, three of them, had come at the head of this conclave with the likes of Mercy and Arris, powerful and rising Sith in their own right, from beyond the Blackwall. Every day they survived was a lesson in of itself, and today, Apprentices and Acolytes would learn one of the harshest, most crucial lessons of all; The ruthlessness of Sith politics and the Power of independence.

There would be no more hiding what they were...

"Glorious, isn't it?" she said to them, marching through the crowd.

Trampled snow crunched and ice cracked beneath her armored boots, the Dark Lord's unnatural heft giving weight to her march and depth to each footprint, truly a bulwark among vipers, but it would not shelter them forever.

"So many Sith in one place, so much power, unsheathed at last."

"Our plans are finally in motion." she gave Tamsin Starfall a glance over her broad shoulder.

"Choke the Light, starve the Will."

Soon she arrived at the Conclave proper, helm under her arm, gloved hand wrapped around the hilt upon her belt. They were some of the first to arrive, among the other architects of this movement.


"The House of Iron will stake it's claim today."

​

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

BEHOLD.

Hither comes Gerra, clad in raiment of crimson and aurodium. The snow white fur of a slain Nexu drapes across his shoulders. A terentatek skull crowns his head, which from those darkened depths burn his eyes as of two hot coals.

His stride is great and his form a titan, taller than all at this gathering save perhaps but a handful few. He wears no weapon but a smithing hammer at his hip, which shimmers with power in the Dark Side despite its humble form.

Around him are the corsairs of the Vahla, armed with Sith warblades and wearing the plunder of a dozen worlds.

Gerra’s heavy boots crunch upon frozen soil and swiftly does he pass into the center of the war camp. There are no trumpets, no fanfare, no pronunciation of titles. There is only his presence, wroth itself made manifest.

Here is he who would tread upon the worlds of the Core and bring low the pride of the mighty.

Let the wise tremble and the fools sneer.

 

[Darth Strosius]

Tags: Revna Marr / Open to all!

Venturing to ancient Sith sites was a hobby that Darth Strosius enjoyed quite a bit, seeing the old places of power that Sith in days long since past had constructed for one reason or another. To impose, to inspire, to institute their power and prestige in physical form. As such the temple on Desevro was of course a place of great interest that He was eager to see firsthand. That it was the site of a gathering of Sith of the present was simply a testament to how impressive it was really.

Normally Darth Strosius wasn't one for gatherings really, certainly not with other Sith at any rate. He didn't enjoy such tame activities, not when there were wars to be waged and enemies to be cut down. This event however was something altogether different thankfully. Not an opulent party or prideful meeting but instead a conclave to determine targets and methods of attack for the Jedi as a whole. Hopefully the beginning of a fruitful campaign that would see the Jedi routed from the far corners of the galaxy and carved up into more manageable and far more easily erased pockets. One could dream of such a thing at least.

In the meantime, Darth Strosius was content to find a seat with a decent enough view alongside His Disciple of Faith and watch the proceedings commence. There was much to be discussed and many personalities that would inevitably crash in one form or another. Perhaps today could prove quite the entertaining and productive show, so long as the proper blood was spilled and the weakness carved out. Then they could focus on the Jedi.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

The sleek shuttle cut through the icy skies of Desevro, casting a long and dark shadow over the sprawling urban decay that stretched out for miles in every direction. Dread cut sharper than the icy chill in it's wake, the nightmarish power of the Dark Side radiating out like an exposed reactor core. When it landed, it did so with unnatural stillness, and silence, an absence of sound more than it's softening, crept along the ground like a dense fog.

That same silence was broken moments later as twin hisses of compressed air rushed out from moaning hydraulics as the boarding ramp lowered to the ground. Unlike on Korriban many rotations ago, there was no need for the pomposity of grandeur. The Eternal Father emerged first, clad in the shimmering scale-cloak of Beskar woven from the trophies of a hundred butchered lineages. At His right was the priestess Darth Isolda , black silks and baubles of prophecy strewn about her alluring form. At His left was the gargantuan metallic silver beast that was Darth Shara, bronze armor half-melded into his scintillating hide, a pair of serrated horns crowning his reptilian visage.

Behind came a quaint multitude of Sith, from Lords to Apprentices, each dressed in a style befitting their station and tastes. The kin of the Eternal Father were amongst them, as were those born from womb and creche alike. All followed in the Eternal Father's wake, His power shepherding them towards the gathering of their fellow Sith. They carried their weapons in equal measures of concealed and exposed, some brandishing them openly on the hip while others kept them secured beneath robes or hidden up voluminous sleeves.

None could predict what a gathering of Sith would entail, but violence was always a safe gamble. And let none among the gathered find the Eternal Father and His host wanting in any measure of violence, the Dark Side baying and howling with each step they took.

Darth Avida | Elani Zambrano | Ellissanthia
Hasuras Na-Gerra | Lirka Ka ​

 

[Helix]

Tags: OPEN​

When a quaint little gathering like this one took place, one could be sure of a few things. As far as Helix was concerned, these sureties were as fixed and as certain as the cycles of the cosmos.

The first was that nothing would actually get resolved. Helix had been to a hundred such meetings in his time with the Sith, and yet the status quo marched implacably onward. It was nice to know that at least a few others saw the writing on the wall, but inevitably, any drive for course-correction would be crushed under the iron wheels of bureaucratic inertia.

The second was that the debates wouldn't remain civil forever. In truth, this was why Helix came along. As much as he liked to consider himself above the failings of the Sith proper, he'd certainly adopted their bloodthirst. The hope of seeing the disagreements solved the old-fashioned way had been the lure that got him here.

In times of chaos and uncertainty, it was always reassuring to know that some things couldn't, wouldn't, and didn't change. Yet, stasis would be what killed them, if anything. The urge to be comfortable and enjoy the fruit of one's labor.

Helix couldn't relate, but had gradually grown to no longer see it as his problem. He and an enlightened few others had prepared, come what may. Today was about watching the fireworks, and hopefully, riding along on whatever crusade happened afterwards. With luck, his fellow conspirators might even be here.

 

[Darth Vinaze]

Tags: OPEN

It was strange to Vinaze to return to this part of the galaxy, so close to the Holy Worlds. He had not been back to the Stygian Caldera in decades, certainly not since it had been reclaimed by those he called heretics, who righteously called him the same. The news of this Great Hunt had come amidst a paradigm shift, one that Vinaze was eager to witness, if not influence. Darth Solipsis , the man he had place the crown on and declared a new Sith'ari, effectively sundering the Sith Order into two, had wrested control of the sacred Jedi worlds of the Deep Core.

The Jedi Order itself was splintering, its staunchest defenders split down the middle supporting two different governments, with many of its members scurrying like rats to far flung Enclaves or hidden paths. Their weakness presented an opportunity, if not to mend the schism then at least to give the Sith an enemy worth a united front. The scars of the Imperial Civil War and the Ashlan Crusade might never heal, but they had been worn by the Sith for long enough that they had become lessons from which the Sith would become stronger. They had established not one, but two empires to replace the one that had fallen. The Sith had come within inches of a power only dreamed of by their ancestors, rending reality almost to the point of total shattering and changing the Force forever. They stood now on the precipice of a new era for the Order, one way or the other, with or without unity. Vinaze had come to Desevro to bathe in the rivers of fate.

He moved through the crowds like a ghost, passing Sith Lords of monumental power and their gargantuan retinues, brushing shoulders with their soldiers, apprentices, scholars, and lackeys, delivering a chill to each he passed before he gone again. He was intent to observe all that could be, and to find who it was that had called this Great Hunt. Whoever they were, they now took on an immense burden in shaping the future...

 

[Darth Adekos]

Oh, his poor, old hegemony... Look at how they massacred his hegemony! Scoured and cold and near-dead, wilted on the vine just by being in proximity to the Sith. And that was nothing compared to what had been wrought on fair Tion.

Darth Adekos had arrived unbidden and was perched on the stairs of the ruined temple like a vulture. He was closer to the base than the top, with vantage sufficient to survey the rancid encampment with keen, mechanical eyes. He liked to be around for the turning of eras. There was a sort of smug satisfaction to it. Even though he had already concluded that this turn would be the worst of them all.

Nothing could ensue of this save for bad war and awful murder. Senseless destruction. That was already the state of affairs, mind you, only now they were threatening to get serious about it.

@ Don't Speak To Me At All
​

 

[Lirka Ka]

TAGS: OPEN

There was something so deeply amusing that this great gathering of Sith kind would be in the ruins of bygone things. Befitting of the culture, of all the things Lirka decried in the old ways. Yet, it was a calling that was all but undeniable. Such an amassing of darkness was a thing rarely seen, an opportunity for observation that only a fool would miss. And a worthwhile venture for the Once-Sephi to stake her claim in the violence to come.

At least, she hoped this would amount to something. Such was the difficulty with Sith and their penchant to cannibalize each other at the first opportunity. So many banners waved, so many beliefs gnashing and clawing to rise to dominance. Indeed, in her long tenure Lirka had killed beneath many a banner - even now. The Kainate called her Slavemaster, the Eternalist Empire dubbed her Imperator, many more dubbed her scum, monster, another beast in the endless menagerie of Dark Lords. She dubbed herself visionary, conspirator. Working in the shadows with the monstrous likes of Helix and Darth Nefaron to serve as the chaos-bringers they were ultimately meant to be. Yet, despite these titles. Few but herself would call her Sith. She came regardless, among those handful of odd-ones-out that stood as little more than vestiges and ghosts in the Force. Untouched by its power, unblinded.

A meeting of this caliber was as much a chance to posture as it was to plan. Armored gleamed, freshly polished. The glisten of plundered Beskar from the Sith domination and massacre of Mandalore that felt like an eternity ago. Half-cape of deep crimson billowing as she walked to joined the gathered mass of evil. She had not come alone, of course. Another creature, flesh hidden beneath armored plate, had been brought alongside her. Nova Ka - the one creature in this Galaxy that she knew she could trust in the matters to come.

The prospect of battle loomed, be it with the Jedi, or among the gathered killers she did not yet know. She relished it, yet she would not delude herself. The grand victory of the Sith was a myth, theirs was a war eternal till the day came where the Primordial Darkness brought about the End-of-all-Things. A day to pledge violence for violence’s, to bring about suffering for the sake of strength. To test their foes and reap the bloody tally demanded for the chosen few.

Joining the assembly now, with mechanical chest puffed and pride bristling. Undaunted by the prospect of being scorned for her…lack of mysticality. There was merely the waiting game, as more and more Sith convened to see who would call out first to scheme their grand design.

 

[Anet Raine]

Anet's heart pounded as she stood at the rear of Darth Anathemous and her entourage. Though an acolyte in the making and under the tutelage of a Sith Lord, the scholar had only ever dreamed of attending such a gathering and yet...

Fear.

Insignificance.

Underlying those... a strange judgment, as if she were worthy of noting true Sith from false.

The woman sighed deeply and kept quiet. This was not her place to speak, and even her thoughts felt like an interruption of those who might kill her in an instant, if only they chose to do so.

Vestra Tane | Tamsin Starfall

 

[Vestra Tane]

On occasion, when Vestra moved her hand - the left one, the meat one - sparks danced and crackled across her palm, or her knuckles, and, rarely, up the sleeve of her long, ragged coat.

This made her smile. The storm in her chest yearned to be free, and although she hadn't mastered it - she could barely even control it, truth be told - she made little effort to keep these minor manifestations at bay. They would harm nothing worth caring about. And besides - since Kattada, the lightning had been a constant companion. She might start to grow lonely without it, now.

And speaking of lonely...

Vestra took a few steps back, and circled behind the blonde woman at the rear of her Master's entourage, hands clasped behind her. Anet was the name, she was pretty sure.

"Scared, rich girl?" Her smile was friendly, her voice was playful. Her eyes, though, those were hungry. Predatory. "Don't worry too much. They won't kill you for talking yet. Probably."

Darth Anathemous | Tamsin Starfall | Anet Raine

 

[Barragh Nenn]

The Umbaran lingered in the background.

Unobtrusive, anonymous.

His was not to draw attention to himself, his was to listen to what was said.

He did not join the others at the center; he would not be the Warmaster.

The Shadowcloak covered most of his frame. Only his head, chalky and pale which was common amongst his people protruded concealing the rest of him. Orbs of amber stared, looking at the others; mostly their backs but he need not see their faces to hear them.

 

[Elani Zambrano]

The view from inside the shuttle was that of a world forever stained solely by endless war. Desevro. The biting chill in the air cut like a blade against the weak. Elani Zambrano had a fire within her that pushed her through this harsh climate. Her father and the entourage she found herself in approached the Sith temple to which the only call that would cause such a gathering to occur has been made - killing Jedi.

Elani walked with cold grace, wearing blackened robes and two of her swords on her back. Her shoulders were back, chest out, showing strength as she walked behind her father. Elani's long black hair was held together in a neat bun beneath the hood on her head. She would convey a higher sense of self worth during this gathering despite knowing her life is meaningless before the Great Devourer. Just like all of theirs and the Jedi they will send directly into his unending maw.

Darth Carnifex | Hasuras Na-Gerra​

 

[Darth Empyrean]

Empyrean did not ordain this meeting with the strength of the First Legion - it would be uneccesary. Material things like the Mors Mon were weapons the unitiated could be impressed by, but those within the realm of Sith metaphysics would be impressed by nothing but their own ambition come to fruition. Empyrean did not intend to abide by this council, but petulant curiosity bade the Emperor beyond the Blackwall to humor this great hunt.

They had asked for him specifically after all, and he would not be a poor guest.

The Force arched, warped in a cry of unnatural tension, breaking free with a snap as Empyrean walked from the ether. There strode the Emperor of the Sith, Dark Lord, Death Walking - staff guiding him past faces old, washed up, or entirely unknown to him. None impressed him, but what could these days? The Undying Lord worshipped as a God was hardly a man to be taken lightly, and his praise was as scant as the breathes he still took.

He could sense Srina Talon resting in his shadow, playing at the fringes of light in his wake. If she felt it necessary, she would appear to his side - but watching would be all the same to them. This visit was to sate curiosity, and nothing more.

The Emperor stood and scowled, waiting for whoever had ordained this 'gathering' to actually make themselves known.

 

[Brooke Waters]

Like many from her clan, the Depths had a fascinating allure. Was it morbid? Yes. As you went deeper, water became colder, pressure became higher, food became more scarce. But the creatures that lived there were full of wonder, and the things from nightmares. Well, for the surface dwellers. Not so much for her. It was attractive, but not where she wanted to be. The Dweller in her head already was throwing different vibes than she wanted to claim.

Still, leaning into these depths helped her form the spells she needed for today.

A spell that she had read from a scroll from a Clan Elder… It allowed her to change her appearance and grant her a false aura in the Force. Her skin pale, black tattoos, scar tissue, and her hair flat, white… A temporary physical change, but also amplified by a bit of a mind trick. A charm, as she called it. That, with the armor of a Scissorfist Clan… It would be recognizable as Dathomiri, but so many things were.

Was this infiltration? Yes and no. Brooke had a need for information, and with a call for a great hunt? She wanted to know where to avoid. Her stolen ship had landed and she left, headed for the darkness in the center. With so many of her personal trinkets and charms left back on the Quiet Storm, she felt naked. But it was for the best. If she was found to be more of the light leaning variety, it could roll terrible for her, even if she wasn’t a Jedi.

She’d speak quickly to anyone, identifying herself as being from the outside the Black Wall. The sword she carried as not hers, but it did emanate a lava-esque feel. Brutal and uncontrolled.

 

[Darth Solipsis]

DARK LORD OF THE SITH | GALACTIC EMPEROR
Darth Vinaze | Sahar | Lord Creuat | Darth Bellum | Khamul Kryze | Dodhorn Harert | Talon Draven | Darth Apophion | Maestus | Da'Razel | Donne Toulemonde | St. Thomas Barran | @New Sith Order

​

The shadows of Desevro stirred, wind, nor by the shifting of time, but by the weight of presence alone. Amidst the camp of blades and banners, a tremor rippled outward in the Force, the Dark Side of the Force was potent here, strong and concentrated. Too hard to ignore by any one such figure who could touch upon the tapestry of the Force. From the blackened veil of the temple's archway stepped the figure spoken of in doubt and reverence alike. Cloaked in the silence of inevitability, his tread was slow, deliberate, as though the world bent to receive him. The air thickened, difficult to breathe, harder still to ignore.

The Sith'ari.

The title had not been taken, nor claimed, it had been proven. Through the fires of the Sith Purge, branded into the galaxy by fire and blood. Mustafar, Felucia, Thule, Korriban, Lao-Mon, a dozen victories over the broken bodies of his rivals. Jedi sanctuaries in ruin, and with his return the Deep Core once more under heel.

He did not bow to the Conclave, he did not come to join his brothers in arms. He came just as he had long ago. And in this revelation, he chose violence.

His gaze, pale and unblinking, passed over the gathered lords and their retainers. Hatred hung here like iron chains, hatred for the Jedi, hatred for each other. It was fitting, for he matched that hatred for them. Only in hatred could one forge strength, and only through trial and tribulation could one TAKE the mantle. Yet within the fracture of the Sith, Solipsis saw not weakness, but inevitability: among those gathered, the weak would be crushed, and the strong would ascend. Including amongst his own flock. This was the natural cycle of the Sith. This was as it was intended to be. The New Sith Order had always sought to embrace that fact, the Force was a poison, spread too far and amongst too many and it became diluted. Only through the natural cycle of the Sith could this balance be maintained.

Vinaze's spectral presence drifted through the crowd, as it always had, a shadow among shadows. When at last their eyes met, Solipsis gave the smallest of nods, acknowledgment not of a servant, but of an architect. The Dark Lord's voice carried without need for volume, cold and heavy as stone sinking into water.

"Oh, how I missed you all."

The Sith had gathered to hunt the Jedi in the footsteps of the Galactic Empire, a move of unity that would bring their dogma forward. But they had forgotten the long scars beneath the surface, the galaxy was not theirs beyond the Blackwall.

It was HIS.

His steps drew him to the circle's center, beneath the temple's looming shadow. The statues of forgotten lords seemed to stretch taller, hungrier, as though straining to hear.

"Your fear."

He leaned in, sniffing the air around him.

"Your weakness."

​

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

"Your weakness."

“Enough of this prattle.”​

The words came as deep as the rumble of the mountain, as horrible as the quaking of the earth.

Heavy footsteps carried Gerra into the center of the circle, opposite the upstart imperial Sith who thought ruling a rump state and kicking at the corpse of the Alliance made him an emperor, Sith'ari, and the ruler of all Sith.

Oh, yes. Gerra had heard tell of his name from the Firefist. So many here would claim that title, had claimed it. Solipsis stood among a half-dozen emperors, past and present Dark Lords. Yet he, who had been cut down in his prime by Jedi, would deign seize it.

He thought himself a soaring eagle. But he was a mere carrion bird.

Dark Lord. Gerra’s lips curled with disdain beneath his terentatek skull helm.

Gerra gestured with a dismissive backhand and the Force contorted around the so-called Sith'ari. The air deadened and dulled for two meters around Solipsis - a creature in a glass cage, whose words would now only mewl out, but thrice muffled.

The haughty Vahla warlord cast his gaze upon Darth Empyrean , who wouldst also call himself the Lord of the Sith. In his stare a question. Would he deal with this, or would he leave it to the mere nomad from the Firefist?

 

[Donne Toulemonde]

​

Tags: Darth Solipsis Sahar Darth Vinaze et al​

​

Action and reaction. Rise and fall. Withdrawal and ascent. These were the key components of all things in the galaxy. As one power claimed dominion, another would invariably fall, sure as the rising of celestial bodies over the horizon of any planetary body that sustained life.

The small token in Donne’s hand pinged up and down in her gloved hand, steady in motion as she walked behind Solipsis, her cloak of thick synth heavy on her shoulders, fluttering as her body-armoured frame took easy steps. Her wrist, twitching with motion as she sent the coin up and down, up and down, catching it each time with certain ease.

Out in the expanse, Donne had cultivated her own way of life, finding a pattern she could follow, a routine that gave focus. She had waited.

Waiting was not stillness, but restraint. The mind, bound and quieted, no longer wandering. Thoughts stirred but went nowhere. Feelings never breaking the surface.

With the return of Solipsis, her mind had begun to fill.
Not with memory. With something older.

Not recognition.

Wanting.

Hunger.

Then, slowly, the ache of anticipation.

Flash

Images scrolled by at great speed, shooting familiar pangs into her forearm, sratches against the skin as ghosts of the past flew by. She could feel, as she had always been able to, the echoes of the force, emotions rising from those around her. Jealousy from this one, disgust from another, derision from so many. A star. A forest. Water, trickling like a torrent, cascading over generations, a shaft of light, a burst of fire

She blinked away the images as if they had been seared across her retina for only moments. She had learned over her seven decades to suppress her gift when it sought to distract her. She had one purpose; lend her blade and her craft to serve the Sith’ari.

She watched as the great lord Gerra seemed to distort her master's very essence for a moment, a bubble of suppression.
Donne's lips curled, though not into a smile. She lifted her hand and sketched a crooked line in the air, two fingers tracing inhuman shapes. Where her mark passed, the silence warped.

The smooth curve of Gerra's cage tremored, the smallest of hairline fractures running through its invisible walls. What had been still and suffocating began to sound, first a faint groan, then an illusionary crack

Her exertion would allow a hopeful moment of connection for the Sith'ari. His will was powerful but she hoped that even this small interruption might serve as the sliver required.

​

​

 

[Emissary of Strife]

Power burst from the temple. It was not the simple passions that guided living Sith, but the restless taint of those long-dead. It carried nauseating gloom, the deep cuts of loss and treason, pain of failure, and most of all... regret at the bitter end. These were powerful in their own right, but all an aura to precede their voices.

What was only hinted at, however, is that this Temple was built brick-by-brick - using blood, bone, and ash of dead Sith as its mortar. Not merely a means to bind stone, but the very souls of those who once ruled in this place.

A singular figure stepped out from the shadows of the temple, in a slow walk down the cracked and icy slabs that proved impractical for stairs. A being clad in simple and heavy robes, fabric which served well to obscure what - if anything - lay beneath it all.

His voice was a whisper, yet the words echoed from the Temple itself with the volume of thunder.

"Emmmperor in the Blackwall..."

Merely an acknowledgement, for now. Darth Empyrean

"Emmperor in the Core..."

The being stopped but a short distance from where Darth Adekos sat. Did not acknowledge the former Emperor, though so rarely did this one need scolding from the dead.

No... The attention and the voices scratched at the interloper, who acted swiftly to rile up Hasuras Na-Gerra most of all, it would seem.

"Ohhhh, Emperor in the Core, have you come to remember why we are Sith?

Emperor, Emperor.

Even a tsunami wave is a ripple in the ocean. Your primacy is recognized by many, but do not thrash against the universe in this tantrum.

Lest we think your war so pitiful and insignificant as to draw your attention to this place of all. Or perhaps you are so confident that your impressive champions subsume any need for you to rule actively?"

An icy breeze washed over the gathering as if the Temple itself sighed.

"Nonetheless. I humbly implore your greatness to forgive our idle curiosities, and observe." Darth Solipsis

Of course, the bloodlust would be an addictive call to many in attendance.

Darth Anathemous Darth Vinaze Vestra Tane Barragh Nenn Darth Strosius Darth Carnifex Helix Lirka Ka Elani Zambrano Brooke Waters

 

[Barragh Nenn]

Interesting.

Two Emperors had deigned to attend this meeting. Two Emperors from two opposing sides, different and yet both still representing the Sith. A Sith they themselves purported to epitomize.

Amber flashed to the Warlord, Hasuras Na-Gerra .

He said nothing but the Umbaran had to profess that he liked this man, this adherent of Vahl. No subtlety though.

A Whispering voice accompanied by a singular figure.

The Umbaran listened but his voice would find Gerra's mind, neither seeking affirmation nor confirmation as it tickled the shell of his psyche...

{I do not think he is real, Warlord. Do not waste your efforts or your power until he proves himself otherwise.}

...it was a whisper, a suggestion that the Umbaran offered the Vahlan. His words carried a subtle influence with them, not absolute but with a metaphysical weight.

Other than this small act he remained in the background unobtrusively.