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

[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 | Thomas Barran | @New Sith Order

​

"Prattle…" he echoed at last, voice cutting through the chamber unmuted, unbroken.

The muffling field folded in upon itself, reduced to nothing with the idle gesture of his hand. The Dark Side convulsed, twisting, and the weight of it snapped back upon its conjurer like a whip. Solipsis did not so much as glance at Gerra while doing so, as though dismissing an insect.

The Dark Lord's focus turned instead to the robed shade emerging from the Temple, a thing bound by ancient mortar of blood and bone. Its voice slithered across the assembly like frost on stone, its accusations more veiled than the helm of the warlord who had barked before.

"You call me tantrum, you call me wave.”

He let the words hang for a moment, a stone cast into black waters.

"You hide behind our victories and behind your precious wall. You play on words. I have not come to remember why we are Sith. I have come to remind you. Your bones mortared these walls because you failed to grasp the lesson I taught you decades ago when I crushed you the first time. Power is not held in memory, nor in empty judgment. Power is here.. now.”

The Dark Lord's aura pressed outward like a tide, colliding with the Temple's spectral malice, challenging its dominion openly before the gathered Sith.

"I don’t care what you do. I just want you to die.”

He ignited his saber with a crimson roar.

​

 

[Helix]

Tags: OPEN​

Helix's stare flickered across the room, analyzing. It was the sort of stare that at once combined contempt, wariness, and culinary appraisal. The colony had developed something of a taste for the raw, still-bleeding flesh of his victims. He'd found that, from kings to paupers, they all tasted much the same. That didn't make it any less fun to broaden his palette.

Occasionally at events like this, it was all he could do to restrain himself. Thankfully, he was nothing if not patient. Nothing if not quiet and unobtrusive. The dutiful, silent general, doing the bidding of his Sith masters.

For now, there was little else to do but watch them. See how they preened and announced themselves. Helix was under no such illusions of his own importance. He was just here to see if anyone died. Being a Sith event, it was a statistical certainty. Maybe he could even convince the victor to let him keep the loser's remains.

Helix's attention was then drawn to the arrival of their apparent host. He ran down the checklist. Fashionably late. Suitably theatrical. Darkly mysterious. Maybe this would be fun after all.

As the first saber of the evening snapped to life in the hands of the Core-Emperor, he knew he was right. Five minutes in, a new record. He rather liked it this way. When the swords came out, one found out who was right and who was wrong very quickly. Much more quickly than through civilized debate.

Plus, a duel was much more fun to observe. He pulled a block from the millennia-old walls, brushed away some moss, and sat down to watch. It certainly beat the hell out of filling out after-action reports, if nothing else.

 

[Darth Adekos]

These people were like caged dogs, snapping at each other for the crime of proximity. So many powerful beings all crammed in one place... Adekos could have devoted some time pontificating on the warping this produced in the Force, but the fact of the matter was that they were all such stupendous demigods that he could no longer tell the difference. It all blended. One big, angry mass so indistinguishable it no longer needed remarking upon.​

​

An entity was coming down the temple stairs behind Adekos now, and it was chattering away at Solipsis, and Solipsis was chattering back. And now here Tyrin was - a poor old man - caught in the middle. How did it always come to this? The worst seat in the house at the worst possible time.​

​

"You call me tantrum, you call me wave.”​

​

He let the words hang for a moment, a stone cast into black waters.​

​

"And I call you a bearded ape," snapped the failed Emperor, ruining the ill-conceived dramatic pause. He put his hands on his knees and rose with a mechanical wheeze. "Take a swing at someone or go home - you're marring the view!"​

@ Don't Speak To Me At All
​

 

[Ellissanthia]

Location: Ancient Sith Temple - Deservo
Tag: Darth Anathemous Hasuras Na-Gerra Darth Strosius Darth Carnifex Helix Darth Vinaze Darth Adekos Lirka Ka Anet Raine Barragh Nenn Elani Zambrano Darth Empyrean Brooke Waters Darth Solipsis Donne Toulemonde

Who was she, amongst this gathering of Sith both Blood-proven and pretender alike?

As the very last to emerge from the shuttle bearing the Sith’ari, Ellissanthia followed His retinue as a diminutive shadow, a cloak worn over her bodysuit to shield from the cold. The small-statured Undine took in the scene transpiring within the gathering as she approached, her violet-hued gaze narrowing with equal parts awe and disgust at the wanton depths of Sith heresy on proud display therein. In her mind, it was something akin to a playact, a pantomime bringing together all manner of “Sith” from across the galaxy and even beyond it.

How diffuse was the Dark Side to be spread amongst so many pretenders to the Blood of the Exiles!

Ellissanthia moved then, positioning herself away from those she perceived as pretenders as if their impurity might contaminate her by merely being within their proximity. From there, she watched as the spectacle played out. Challenges made. Insults leveled. Performances displayed.

How many here believed themselves to be the match of the Eternal Father?

Ellissanthia could not begin to guess at the number. Still, even with her distaste towards some among the gathered, the Undine could not help but to find herself wholly entertained by the ongoing display. It was only when she felt a surge of the Dark Side energy emanating from the Temple did her attention shift. Her head tilted with avian curiosity, lush violet hair slipping over her shoulder as a figure detached itself from the shadows and began a solemn descent down the weathered icy slabs.

And thus came the summons—a silent, compelling beseeching for all present to observe.

Spoiler: Loadout

• Eclipsed Veil
  
  • Miscellaneous Equipment
    
    • FAE/U-01 "Serenity" Anti-Signal Field System
  • Accouterments
    
    • Red Accents
    • Eclipse Sect Symbol - Left Shoulder
• Storm Kiss
• Supernal Infusion Vials
• Spirit Anchor Talisman
• Seer Stones

 

[Thomas Barran]

TAGS
Friend: Darth Solipsis Darth Vinaze Dodhorn Harert Sahar Lord Creuat
Darth Bellum Khamul Kryze Talon Draven Darth Apophion Maestus Da'Razel
Donne Toulemonde

Foe: Emissary of Strife Darth Anathemous Vestra Tane Tamsin Starfall
Anet Raine Mercy Arris Windrun Hasuras Na-Gerra Darth Strosius
Darth Carnifex Helix Darth Adekos Lirka Ka Barragh Nenn Elani Zambrano
Darth Empyrean

THE GREAT HUNT
1

​

SITH TEMPLE, DESEVRO,
OUTER RIM TERRITORIES (903 ABY)

'Nice spot.'
​

After making their quiet, discrete entrance within the Conclave's boundaries, both Darth Vinaze and Nokhoi Khan would walk through the gathering crowd of Sith with the hoods of their cloaks drawn over their faces, looking for a spot from where they could observe the unfolding situation more easily. Barran's peer in esotericism, knowing he should not expect anything suggesting the contrary, would continue to live up to his observant reputation this time, finding a decent vantage point over ground-zero to amplify their luck in being in the right place - at the right time.

'I get it, more going on than meet's the eye.... Ha! Seen the smirk, so I did.'

The Hybrid Umbaran had reason to seek a good observation platform, there was more going on within the crowd, and though the one-eyed Woad could not see where the Hybrid's two were looking, but even the half-blind could see the gaze of his acquaintance was darting hither and yon by the time they had both sat down. This would continue uninterrupted for a while, though the only interruptions would be swiftly turned away with repetitions of a simply-uttered,'Naw, pal. Muuuch too close, try somewhere else.', and shunts in general, agreeably-distant directions, granting the unlikely duo enough space to breath, think and converse in hushed tones for a while.

'He's here, I can sense him approach alr-'

'-Oh, how I missed you all.'
​

Striding in, with arms outstretched in a challenge to the all the Sith who still remained outside Galactic Imperial influence, the Emperor himself stepped in to make his presence felt; making his entrance in a way that reminisced of the previous century, and though the shift in their postures was swift and sudden, there was no doubt that Vinaze and the Bloodhound alike had been anticipating this moment. Foreseeing much of this night before had played a large part in their excitement leading up to the Emperor's entrance, and much more of that which would unfold soon later, there was no way they could feel any other emotion by then.

'Your fear.'​

'Vinaze.... Ready up, but quietly.'

The Sith'ari, of great renown though he was already, was verging on a precipice of mythic extreme; and for all that Solipsis had achieved already, for all the fear he continued to cast upon the minds of his adversaries in the first years of the Tenth Century ABY, this night would prove there were still greater heights to where his name could rise. But despite the visions coming true, the unlikely duo would be able to feel change in the air around them, the eyes bearing down on any and all unfamiliar faces they could find, and yet, for all the rising tensions around them, it made more sense to blend in whilst hornets buzzed in search of those who dared to stand out in the crowd.

'Your weakness.'
​

By then, the Umbaran and his Woad-born acquaintance would have hands slowly moving toward their sabre-hips, moving to rest as closely as possible to their Kyber-hilts, though both warriors would be quite transfixed on the following interaction between Solipsis the most vocally-opposed of his Dark Side counterparts. Watching on as this back-and-forth raised the stakes in already-rising tensions, spiralling beyond the control of diplomatic normalization, it was clear that there would be no recourse beyond this point, and especially not when the Great Sith'ari gained another chance to speak amid the shocked, stunned silence of all who were privileged enough to bear witness.

Swiping all allegations of tantrum-mentality and temperament to one side, almost as if they had been handed to the Emperor as a gift awaiting appraisal, almost as if they were expecting Solipsis to smash these toys in the spirit of petulance; it took everything within the Khan to keep his excitement from spilling out, but when the Sith'ari moved on to reveal an entirely new level of dominance in his approach, it became all the more difficult for Barran to contain himself. He was living through a moment that would stand out in the Galactic histories of the future, and when Solipsis concluded,'I don't care what you do. I just want you to die.', the Bloodhound would be turning to search Vinaze's gaze for the final word.

Silently requesting the order to proceed as his own lightsabre lit their corner of the gathering, bathing their vantage-point in autumnal orange whilst Solipsis lit ground-zero in a sanguinous, crimson red.

​

'Could be fun, mate.'

 

[Darth Bellum]

BELLUM CONTRA OMNES

​

| Location | Temple, Desevro​

| Purpose | Witness​

​

His presence was heralded by an unnerving feeling that rippled from a singular point in space. Shadowy tendrils amassed and contorted as the very fabric of reality seemed to twist, bend, and break at the edges like shattering glass. From the threshold between Real and Other space, strode out the dark vestige of Darth Bellum. Tattered robes and cloth concealed his monstrous form and grotesque face, a slackened jaw widening as a single, raspy exhale was heard, hollow eyes drifting over the gathering.​

​

The Sith knew no greater folly than stagnation and lethargy. Blades dulled by inaction and opulence behind their walls, denying their nature and purpose within their short, insignificant lives. Such wasted potential and aspirations were wasted on those who kneeled rather than seized what the Galaxy could not deny them. Power was taken by those not afraid to wield it and scatter the weak in their wake. Few in the Galaxy understood fully the nature of their ways. It amused and disappointed the resurrected Sith in equal measures to see a gathering of house cats pretending to be lions. ​

Such wretched weakness disgusted the Lord of War.​

​

The only individual of note was the Sith'ari Darth Solipsis - one of the few that Bellum recognized and offered any form of unspoken respect to. His actions had roused the Lord of War from his slumber. Death and war had awoken him, absorbing and corrupting the Nexus at Coruscant had revitalized him, and now he hungered and yearned once more. A skeletal hand reached back into the mass of shadows, pale fingers grasping the hilt of his sword Fellsong, its blade dragging and screeching along earth and stone in a wide arc before being lifted onto his shoulder, eager to see whose blood would whet its edge.​

​

The cycle would begin anew - ash and dust would be all that would remain in the end.​

​

 

[Darth Vinaze]

After his pass through the crowd, Vinaze met up with Thomas Barran , their strides syncing as one as they weaved through the war camp. Ensuring everything was ready. Then he would witness. He needed to find an ample viewpoint.

'I get it, more going on than meet's the eye.... Ha! Seen the smirk, so I did.'

"There is always more than meets the eye, Thomas. It is what sets us apart from these heretics. We embrace the subversions and paradigm shifts. They use the shadows to hide, inside their Blackwall." Vinaze sneered.

The unlikely pair, a prophet and a pariah, made their way to the epicenter of the event, readying themselves for the arrival of the Sith'ari, the arrival of Fate. Darth Solipsis ' appearance brought a terrified hush to the streets, then an uproar of defiance from the agitated Sith lords. Vinaze and Thomas both knew it was time. Thomas reached for his saber, while electricity began to crackle at Vinaze's finger tips.

'Could be fun, mate.'

"Oh, this will assuredly be a spectacle." a great, toothy grin stretched unnaturally wide across his otherwise gaunt face.

Raising his hands in the air the Sith Lord cackles as he blasts lightning towards the heavens

"Take a swing at someone or go home - you're marring the view!"

"Cease this insolence!" The Prophet raised his arms out wide to the crowd, "You have come to a Great Hunt, yet you wait for others to draw first blood! You come to hunt Jedi, but you do not prove yourself worthy to be a hunter! I say to all of you, strike down the one who stands next to you, prove yourself worthy of destroying the Jedi Order!"

The united sound of a hundred daggers being pulled from their sheathes sounded out across the crowd as men in black, the Dark Side assassins of the Odojinyakaar enter a frenzy of stabbing anyone who might be next to them, an indiscriminate attempt to agitate and sow chaos. The assassins yell zealously their commitment to death in the Sith tongue, knowing that they will be struck down but that they have given their lives for the Church of the Dark Side, and the Sith.

Vinaze himself, insulted by the lack of decorum, what he saw as a dismissal of the ancient rite of Kaggath, launched another crackling burst of Force lightning towards Darth Adekos .

 

[Mercy]

Location: Ancient Sith Temple - Deservo
Tag: Darth Anathemous | Hasuras Na-Gerra | Darth Strosius | Darth Carnifex | Helix | Darth Vinaze | Darth Adekos | Lirka Ka | Anet Raine | Barragh Nenn | Elani Zambrano | Darth Empyrean | Brooke Waters | Darth Solipsis | Donne Toulemonde | Ellissanthia

Her followers came before Mercy strolled in on a leisurely pace.

They arrived in pairs, sometimes alone, sometimes in as much as three. They were ragged things, broken, in pain, fundamentally grasping for strength and power. They had witnessed Mercy in the Galactic Kaggath and something had resounded within their souls. They decided that Mercy was worthy of being followed, hopeful that by sheer proximity they'd grasp for even a modicum of her ambition and hunger.

The Graspborn, they called themselves, and they were among the crowd before the large woman arrived. They were paranoid, flinchy, they took distrust to a whole new level and when the sound of knives ripping out of sheaths rang through the crowd, they did not wait for permission.

As one they moved, because their psyche was sickened with a tether that pushed them towards immediate violence.

They did not pull out guns or lightsabers, they attacked with teeth, nails, they ripped and tore with the Darkside of the Force behind them in the same way their patron fought. Unyielding, hungry, uncaring if they would hurt or die. So it was that to save further bloodshed within the crowd, Mercy's followers bled for them.

Just as a hundred knives unsheathed, a hundred broken souls fell upon them. Some died and some lived and those who lived would have Mercy's attention. The rest would be forgotten.

Mercy stepped on through the chaos. As if she was on a leisurely stroll, relaxed, head tilted lightly as she saw one of her worms rip through an assassin's throat with his bare teeth. Now that was sport. In her wake came those important enough to be allowed close to her. The Princess of the Sith, Quinn Varanin , Arris Windrun , her former opponent in the Kaggath and the only one who gave her a performance worth remembering. Kirie , partner to Quinn and already well on her way to becoming someone of consideration herself.

More, some who would perhaps reveal themselves in time.

"My oh my..." Her voice cut through the nonsense as she watched Vinaze throw lightning towards Adekos, one of her judges during the Kaggath. "I see the boys are at it again." Mercy's tone was cold, but her eyes were aflame with hunger.

For a moment Mercy watched to see if Empyrean, the Emperor behind the wall, would act to call this new Emperor to heel. It became clear soon enough that he wouldn't. In that wait blood spilled over her from one of the assassins being torn apart by several crazed vultures at once. Mercy spared it a glance and smiled a bit more appreciative now. They were so eager, it was almost cute. The spray of blood had covered her right arm, karked up, golden and it twitched as it soaked up the crimson almost as eagerly.

"You know, I have only just arrived, but I am already tired of seeing old decrepit men trying to get others to acknowledge them. It's... boring." She calmly stepped between the Tomb Spirit and Darth Solipsis, putting her back to the old ghost and face to the new one.

"I am your hwotha berry." Oh, yes, Mercy smiled a shit-eating grin at that line. "While you were being resurrected by my Master so you could have another chance at the game, I was bleeding and fighting. I never stopped. I don't take naps or rest in tombs until someone could come around to save my arse."

"I declare a Kaggath, Emperor. Show me what you are made of... or do you only fight ghosts and Jedi past their prime?"

 

[Darth Avida]

The Rapture (but it's pink)​

It wasn't until today that she really, truly, understood her place in the galaxy - and not just her own, but where every other living and dead being 'ranked' against each other. There were people coming to this conclave that had delusions of grandeur, Sith that assumed there was some deeper meaning to their lives that gave them some degree of importance because they thought whatever it was that they were working towards was making a difference in more than just the present tense. People who were so used to having servants or slaves at their beck and call, perhaps followers that were all of that and more except in name alone, that they mistook reverence and respect for a certain kind of inevitability - like the tide coming in to sweep away everything standing atop the shoreline.

Not realizing they were only grains of sand to be washed out to sea, to the force - the netherworld, to chaos.

She'd seen Darth Solipsis through her dead sister's eyes and he'd seemed every bit as grand and perfect as she'd seen her cousin, Darth Carnifex , but it was only when the two of them were together in the same place that she realized just how small everyone here - them included - were in comparison to the hellscape she'd just escaped from. Powerful Sith lords had a way of making them seem larger than life when they were encountered alone, even the strand-cast that she'd been forced to call her sister, Darth Mori, had appeared greater than her despite being dead and trapped in the red dunes of Chaos. Here, now, with that fateful reunion in her past, the two of them looked quite a bit more manageable than she had previously thought. Still, despite everything, she kept her mouth shut. Like them, after all, she was just a grain of sand who'd amount to nothing when the galaxy looked back in a hundred year's time if she wasn't still alive by then. What difference did it make if she said something now?

"You looked more terrifying through my dead sister's eyes."

Oops.

Her words were lobbed directly Solipsis with every bit of disappointment as she'd levied to impotent men that'd tried and failed to get her attention in the past. Things were certainly different now, the circumstances had changed and she was entirely devoid of any illusions that superficial looks or physical appeal meant anything in this kind of arena, but the men and women were appealing with every bit the same bravado as they did when they were looking to boast about anything else. Insecure little people who had to make themselves seem bigger than they were to compensate for something else entirely - she hadn't the slightest clue what it was that drove the people here, the root cause for their lust for power and control, but she wasn't too sure it wasn't something too far off from what had driven her insecure sister before she'd gone and offed herself along with an entire planet because she couldn't stand that she wasn't really her.

"I get it, though, threaten the people everyone sees at the top so you can make sure everyone takes you as seriously as you take yourselves."

She shrugged, her brass-colored eyes giving him as much of a once-over as she'd given anyone else in the last few days.

"It doesn't work if someone that everybody hardly knows doesn't take the bait, though, does it?" She asked, stepping out from behind her cousin's shadow. This probably wasn't the kind of favor he would've had in mind, she was sure, but this was as much for him as it was for her - the strand-cast, Mori, had joined forces with the man she was looking at now for reasons that were very much her own but Amara wasn't nearly as keen to reinvent herself as the Shi'ido had been. Consequences of not being a substitute, she supposed, but she'd also been looking for a way to really set herself apart from the person that'd worn her face for nearly two-thirds of their life. "If you want us to die.." She said, glancing down to her side, her nondescript lightsaber already in hand, and then back up to him again.

"Then why don't you try killing us?"

A column of red hissed to life as she lifted the blade to her front, her free hand, the one on her left, gesturing for him to come to her.

"You can start with me - unless you're afraid of it ending there, too, that is."

Darth Bellum Darth Vinaze Thomas Barran Hasuras Na-Gerra

 

[Arris Windrun]

Arris followed close behind Mercy , who, as far as she was concerned, was not just a Kaggath champion but someone who could damn well fight and kill anyone she pleased.

It seemed the bloody titan's sights were set on Darth Solipsis , a man she had only seen on the HoloNet and knew by reputation. Apparently, he assumed general authority of the galactic core after a centrist party got involved... Crazy thing too, because she swore there were only like two whole brief articles on the HoloNet about the party before a rebellion happened.

The cyborg had one of her guns unholstered as a tic. She twirled it around her fingers, holstered it, unholstered it, and did the whole damn thing again. It kept her cyber hands warm in the cold and her mind relaxed. Or at least it would've if an entire bloodbath didn't erupt right then and there.

She kept her mouth shut as Mercy chewed out the old man and that weirdo on the stairs.

Quinn Varanin , on the other hand, who had been with them, was a woman Arris had only met once before... Shot her, in fact. Maybe the Talusian ought to be glad this proved a distraction from having that conversation.

As for the rest? She'd wait and see.

 

[Talon Draven]

Objective: Watching
Location: Temple, Desevro
Tags: Darth Vinaze | Dodhorn Harert | Sahar | Lord Creuat | Darth Bellum | Darth Apophion | Maestus | Thomas Barran | Da'Razel | Donne Toulemonde

At the outer ring of the circle, Talon stood tall, his arms crossed over his chest as his face held little emotion from the clamoring going on and about. All of them were there for a reason, whether that was to prove themselves, interact with one another and catch up or to fight like wild animals, they all had one specific goal in mind....Kill the Jedi.

The War Camp was bustling with behaviors of all kind as Talon stuck to the circle where his Emperor Darth Solipsis made his grand entrance. It was the silence before the storm erupted across everyone. Yells of defiance, others proclaiming him as their Emperor. Talon's lips tugged into a smirk. Oh he was ready for a fight if there was going to be one. The hilt of his lightsaber was immediately in his hand as his Emperor spoke.

Talon's eyes scanned those around him and before him across the way. A show of power everyone was trying to exhibit. Thumping chests like apes, howling and baring teeth.

The man kept his hilt in his hand, ready to ignite in case anyone tried to pull such a foolish move on him in an attempt to show their zealous favor to the Lords before them all. Watching his Emperor's saber ignite, Talon could feel his breathing calm as the crash of his power enveloped those around the man standing within the middle of the circle. He would fight for his Emperor to his dying breath if any of them dared to go against him.

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

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

“Perhaps not,” came the reply to the mysterious voice that sought purchase in his mind. Gerra’s eye cast about for him, but chaos descended upon the war camp.

Threats and proud words, much beating of the chest, then came action.

An uprising of assassins, all too swiftly put down by the retinue of she who came as fury and ruin. Mercy Star-Arm they called her, and Queenslayer - for had she not felled the Hapan monarch with her own bare hand and a rock?

The princess came by her side and many Sith of worth. Gerra had heard tale of this woman with the strength of a rancor and had met her once, on distant Kwenn.

She would suffer no fools or pretenders.

If Empyrean nor Talon would act, then a new voice would come from the wilderness.

Something shifted at his feet. Gerra looked down to see one of the assassins seeking to crawl away, bereft of half a leg and both arms. Gerra stomped on his skull and ground it into the tundra with a crack of bone and a squelch of finality.

His eyes lifted to Mercy again. And slowly, he nodded.

She, he deemed worthy.

“Ware,” he rumbled to her, “He may yet be mere projection of presence.”

A pale shadow long cast, from far away. Fearful of mortal peril.

Mercy

 

[Vestra Tane]

Men.

Vestra had the creeping suspicion that, somehow, she would find some way to blame this catastrophe on the fact that every instigator was a man. Every one that she'd had the displeasure of witnessing today (save the Umbaran; he, at least, was funny) had contributed to her slowly growing conviction that Mercy was correct and misandry was a perfectly reasonable position to hold.

Empyrean and Carnifex were infuriating by their mere presence, and the way they warped the Force around themselves only stoked her bloodlust. Solipsis seemed to be going mad or senile, speaking as if he had personally committed atrocities even he was too young - by millenia! - to be present for. And, finally, the ghost - the one singing the Core-Emperor's praises. He seemed to have manifested only because the so-called Sith'ari's boots needed spit-shining.

Have some spine.

And then there were the assassins. In poor taste, even by Sith standards, and maybe worse than that; incompetent!

This last criticism Vestra noted with special disdain. If she, a lowly apprentice, could do this -

With a lunge, the Sith took the nearest Assassin by the throat. He had, rightly, taken her conversation partner as easy prey. Slowly, she crushed his windpipe with metal fingers and predatory bliss. The would-be killer stabbed at her, of course, jammed his blade into the servos of her arm. This was painful, but it didn't matter; because with her meat-arm she took her lightsaber, a simple thing of gold and silver, and lodged its mouth against the killer's chest, right beneath his heart. And then, with a click, he was dead, and Vestra dropped him unceremoniously to the ground.

- Then what hope did any of them have against the Jedi?

"Fucking Imperials."

Oh, well. At least her boss had arrived. In the absence of anything productive happening, maybe she could at least have a little fun.

Anet Raine | Darth Anathemous | Mercy | Tamsin Starfall | OPEN

​

 

[Emissary of Strife]

​

The Emperor in the Core's words seemed directed not at the spirit, but at a general and unguided hatred born from past experiences. Such was the way of many Sith.

When he drew his blade, however, he ignited that crimson... Declared his intentions.

"I don’t care what you do. I just want you to die.”

The spirit before him wheezed, and the temple laughed.

"Ha!"

A sound more akin to an explosion, but laughter, and the ground shook.

"Hahahaha!"

Hairline cracks spiderwebbed across the frozen dirt beneath them all, and from it a great and ancient power erupted. Forces drawn from the dead, restless souls, and now fueled by the freshly deceased... by the hate and terror wrought as the Emperor in the Core and his ilk embraced what all truly are... rudimentary creatures - animals driven by their basest instincts, fueled by the simplest passions.

The spirit's robes tore open and then fell harmlessly to the stone slab like a feather.

From the temple, the laughter continued. It grew louder until all that cacaphony of twisted pleasure became a deafening and primal scream.

Then, the latent and radiant Force energies from world and gathering both were drawn into the Temple's center, surging upwards into the sky like a fiery pillar. The Dark Side lauded this violence, and more than that, it lusted for Mercy's challenge.

A thousand voices cried out....

"Kaggath!"
​

Another phantom figure appeared beside Darth Solipsis .

"Do you accept this ancient rite? Will you prepare and meet her on the ground of her choosing, or will you refuse?"

The voice heeded not the ongoing murder and battle around them. It was but the creatures whetting their appetites.

No true Kaggath could go without preparation, after all. The challenger chose the battlefield, and with it the scale of the conflict, as was tradition - as all true Sith know.

Mercy

Darth Adekos Darth Anathemous Darth Empyrean Darth Carnifex Hasuras Na-Gerra Talon Draven Darth Avida Darth Vinaze Darth Bellum Thomas Barran Ellissanthia Darth Adekos Vestra Tane Helix Darth Strosius Lirka Ka Barragh Nenn Elani Zambrano Brooke Waters Donne Toulemonde

 

[Darth Carnifex]

"Now, this brings me back."

Cold breath billowed out like a plume as the Eternal Father exhaled, more in amusement than exasperation. His form towered over many, clearly defining Him against the crowd that had idly congregated near His point of arrival. His followers had tensed, hands reaching for their weapons, but in comparison the Eternal Father was relatively calm; His demeanor relaxed and His posture unburdened. He'd never once reach for His weapon, the fiendish spike of metal and stone lashed to His hip.

"Though I fear that even Mikhail Shorn would have grown nauseated at this display. His spirit must be rolling by now." His gaze settled on no one in particularly, looking beyond the physical as the chaos erupted near and far. One of these assassins, these Odojinyakaar, attempted to plunge their blade into the Eternal Father's flank. He never got close. The blade was the first to go, the metal unraveling as it was reduced back to the base components that comprised then. Then the extremities, flesh peeled as though by extraordinary heat. The last the burn away was the wretch's heart, which beat only once before turning to ash.

He didn't need to look at Isolda or Shara, but they looked to Him even without words. They peeled away, as did the rest of the Eternal Father's entourage; blades drawn all. It left the Eternal Father all by His lonesome, swaddled in the trophies of a murdered culture. In this isolation, more of the assassins came for Him; only to be dispatched in quick succession by invisible spears of midnight black. The Eternal Father's mastery of the Dark Side made it so that He could conjure these invisible weapons at any location and in a multitude yet to be tested for limitation.

So that's what He did.

Behind the head or chest of any assassin across the conclave, an invisible spear manifested to skewer them through the brain or heart. There was no rhyme or pattern to the strikes, they seemed to happen arbitrarily and at random; beholden to nothing but the will and whimsy of the Eternal Father. Some, especially the more tenacious and resilient ones, got struck multiple times, pinned to the blood-soaked ground by half a dozen invisible spears.

Elani Zambrano | Darth Avida | Ellissanthia
Hasuras Na-Gerra | Darth Vinaze | Darth Solipsis ​

 

[Tamsin Starfall]

Location:


Location: Desevro
Equipment: Armor | Twin Omen | Circlet of Projection | Talisman of Stars Enchained | Mind Crown
Tag: Darth Anathemous | Vestra Tane | Anet Raine | Mercy

"Indeed" She remarked to Kaila saying that this event was glorious, yet something in the back of her mind told her nothing would turn out as planned. It pained her that feeling knowing that in a way this was an Ascension Day of sorts for her sister. She was important to this cause that was being started. Yet nothing ever went according to plan.

She wanted to say all the right things to her sister but something just nagged at her and gnawed at her mind. For once she wanted to see their success come to something overwhelming fruitful that would help them in their great plan they hatched from the day they met.

"Today The house of Iron will be victorious no matter what."

She said trying to give her sister an encouraging smile, though it seemed lacking. She sensed a bad Omen ahead of them. As she tried to pull her thoughts from it by listening to Vestra Tane lightly tease Anet Raine the newest members of their growing family in a way.

Tamsin was just getting to know the two but on a base level she found both unique and valuable in their own ways. Kaila would turn them into great Sith like she had done with Tamsin herself.

Yet they barely got through the crowd and made their way to the center conclave when all hell started to snap. Powerful arrivals poured in, strutting with all their faux importance. It wasn't that Tamsin didn't think these people from Darth Carnifex , Darth Empyrean , Darth Adekos , and even Darth Strosius weren't powerful they all had unrivaled power but not a single one of them was important to her. Names she had heard or met on a few occasions but just that names that had power nothing more.

Men who had ruled empires and dominions, men that had legends told about them but at the end of it all they were just that men that could easily be forgotten. She listened to the few words some of them spoke but it wasn't why she was here. She was here to support the only one that had any importance to her, her sister Darth Anathemous .

Then the chains truly snapped as a man strutted in, a man she did not know and held even less importance than the names she had met or heard tails of. As he entered and the anger and rage rose all around them from him simply showing his face a light cackle entered the back of her mind. The Demon knew Darth Solipsis and she was laughing at him like he was some kind of joke. The Demon had more compassion for Lirka Ka then this man and she disliked them both.

Tamsin could feel all this from that simple mocking cackle and as the chains fully snapped it began feeding like a vampire on the chaos of this pooling its power. Tamsin the girl who wore the demon, the god of destruction, Rhand, Psycho Witch'ari Tegan Starfall 's younger face could feel the energy flowing through her. She knew the Demon wanted to get out but was doing her best to hold it from getting out. It wanted Blood and Vengeance it would not care who it hurt if it broke loose. Tamsin Turned to her sister and the other two accompanying them.

"It want's to come out and play, if I snap run because this is like nothing I have felt before." The Two might not know what she was referring to but Kaila would.

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Tyrant Queen."

Tags - Darth Solipsis , Mercy , Darth Adekos , Darth Anathemous , Darth Empyrean , Darth Carnifex , Hasuras Na-Gerra , Talon Draven , Darth Avida , Darth Vinaze , Darth Bellum , Thomas Barran , Ellissanthia , Vestra Tane , Helix , Darth Strosius , Lirka Ka , Barragh Nenn , Elani Zambrano , Brooke Waters , Donne Toulemonde



The air grew colder.

This was a different kind of cold — deliberate, engineered, a scalpel's edge of atmosphere that seemed to cut between every gathered Sith Lord, separating them from one another with the precision of a surgeon and the inevitability of a predator.

The crowd shifted first. Their instincts told them to. Lesser Sith stepped aside without realizing it. Acolytes found themselves making room as though their own bodies had betrayed them. Even Lords and would-be Emperors turned their heads. It was the way predators noticed when another stepped into the den — not with fear, not yet, but with a low awareness that the air had changed.

She had arrived, Darth Virelia walked through the Conclave as if it had been hers all along, violet eyes glowing faintly like neon blades behind the shadow of her hood, her lips curved in something between amusement and disdain.

Where others had come to posture, to rally, to prove themselves worthy of the Great Hunt, she came to do none of that. She came to harvest their fear, their envy, their hunger, and let it ripen around her like incense.

The hem of her cloak brushed against trampled snow, black fabric trailing as though stitched from shadow itself. When she reached the circle at the Conclave's heart, she did not ask permission to enter. She cut through it like a knife through silk, drawing every gaze without even needing to command it.

Her voice was the first true rupture. Low, rich, unmistakably amused.

"Careful with Kaggaths, darlings," she said from beneath her hood, shadows wrapping her features as though the Temple itself conspired to hide them. "On the other side of the Blackwall, they'll exile you for calling one against the Dark Council. Learned that the hard way."

The words cut sharper than any blade as six eyes stared down the soul of Darth Empyrean .

"Speaking of, where is he? A pity he did not come to open ground." she mused, knowing that she was so dangerous to the established order of the Sith behind the Blackwall that she had to be cast out.

There was laughter in her tone, but it was laughter sharpened into a weapon. She made mockery of her own exile with the sort of confidence that told every listening Sith exactly what they needed to know: she had not been broken by it. She had been forged by it. What the Order had tried to cast out had returned sharper, more inevitable, more herself than ever.

She let the silence after her quip linger. Let the gathered Sith stew in the realization that she had crossed the Blackwall and returned, not diminished but elevated. Every exile, every schism, every scar was fuel — and she radiated the knowledge that no council, no emperor, no so-called Sith'ari could erase her from the great calculus of power.

She smiled — slow, licentious, predatory. The kind of smile that promised ruin and revelation in equal measure.

"I see we're already arguing about emperors, tantrums, and whose shadow looms the tallest." Her eyes drifted from Darth Empyrean , to Darth Solipsis , to Hasuras Na-Gerra , drinking in the tension like a fine wine. "How tedious. You remind me of my first lovers. Always arguing who was strongest, who had the most… stamina. And in the end, darlings, you all end the same way — beneath me."

A ripple passed through the crowd. Some bristled, some smirked, some pretended not to care. But every last one of them heard her. That was enough.

She continued her slow prowl into the circle, each step measured like choreography, her voice curling like smoke.

"I didn't come for your Hunt. The Dark Court is already waging one, if you hadn't noticed. The Hidden Path bleeds in smoke and sand. The New Jedi Order festers. My blades are already wet while you're still debating who gets the honor of choosing targets. Only the Galactic Empire can truly attest to striking out at the Jedi as well." She tilted her head, violet eyes glinting. "But chaos is a rare vintage… and I do so enjoy watching the strong make fools of themselves."

She stopped near the ancient cracks of the Temple floor where Darth Solipsis ' saber hissed in its crimson roar. And there — for the first time — her gaze locked with his.

Unlike the others, her look was cooler, sharper, laced with something almost like appreciation.

"You," she said, voice low but cutting through the Conclave like a blade. "You called a Kaggath. Bold. Traditional. Dangerous. You never need to say the word, all you needed was to draw your blade and purge weakness as you saw it."

Her lips curved into something halfway between a smirk and a whisper of reverence.

"For that, Darth Solipsis, you have my respect. Few still remember what power truly means. Few still remember that blood is the only ink the Sith ever write history with."

Her tone shifted, dripping now with playful venom.

"Of course… respect does not mean loyalty. I am not here to bend knee." Her eyes slid past him, grazing Darth Empyrean , Darth Carnifex , all the assembled lords and warlords. "But a Kaggath? That… I can drink to."

She laughed, low and throaty, letting it hang in the air like perfume.

Around her, the Conclave seethed. Some saw insolence. Some saw temptation. Others only saw a rival to be cut down. But every one of them saw her. That was the point.

Virelia moved as though she owned the place, as though the spirits entombed in its blood-mortar whispered not warnings but welcome. The shadows leaned toward her as she passed, statues of long-dead Sith seeming to stretch taller, their faces warping in the flicker of torchlight.

She thrived in it. Fed on it, every breath, every whisper, every flicker of resentment or envy.

Her words dripped with calculated seduction as she let her gaze sweep the gathered Sith once more.

"You all dream of golden ages. Of thrones and banners and Jedi skulls stacked in neat little pyramids. How quaint." She leaned closer, conspiratorial. "The truth, darlings, is that we are already in the golden age. This — the knives, the betrayals, the power dripping like blood from the walls — this is as good as it gets. Everything else is delusion."

She straightened, the gleam of violet neon burning in her eyes.

"And I…" her voice dropped into a velvet rasp, "…I am here to savor every last drop of it."

Her very presence was the threat — the insinuation that she was inevitable, that she was patient enough to outlast them all, that she was more dangerous as an observer than half of them were as combatants.

Exiled, unbowed, licentious, cunning — Darth Virelia came not to hunt Jedi, not to claim titles, but to remind them all that some predators need not bare their teeth to make the whole pack uneasy.

And in that silence, she smiled again.

"Now…" she purred, voice smooth as silk. "Do go on. Amuse me."

 

[Eira Dyn]

Equipment: Lethal Pursuers, vibro-sword, blaster pistol, mask
Outfit: Assassin Attire
Tag: Quinn Varanin | Open

A call had gotten out for a Great Hunt, to search for the Jedi, ending their Order once and for all. It made sense since the Galactic Alliance was being smashed by the Galactic Empire, the New Jedi Order had crumbled, but there were still pockets of Jedi resistance. There was still the Jedi in their ivory tower of Naboo. Far too many lived and they lived without fear that the Sith would be chasing them. That they would be slaughtered. It was comforts that were not acceptable in Eira's mind. The Dark Side was as powerful as ever, growing in power and the Light Side was failing to match. There had to be more they could do to demonstrate this.

So, this Great Hunt that had been coordinated, this gathering of Sith. It was ideal. It was something that Eira respected in theory. A chance for the Sith to finally coordinate fully in how they could go about ending the Jedi and ruling the galaxy. A chance to really put her skills as an assassin to the test against the Jedi that she had trained herself to be a weapon in killing.

Then she attended the event in person and saw the reality of this gathering. Eira groaned deeply, the ego measuring contest was something Eira had to roll her eyes at. It was proving the Jedi words always correct. Why should they fight us when the Sith are so good at killing themselves? There was no more proof of that fact than the in fighting that happened almost immediately. The frustrations at how blind all these supposed Sith Lords were, it was astounding. It seemed that titles and ego seemed far more important to them than fighting the supposed enemy of the Sith.

"And they call me feral..." Eira muttered, her words low enough that only her Master, Quinn would hear what she was saying. Shaking her head, this was ridiculous and it was getting them no further to what needed to happen. All it did was demonstrate how these titles that all the Sith Lords here have pushed them further away from what it meant to be one.

It was anarchy and the only thing burning was the chance to actually destroy the Jedi.

 

[Ashin Cardé Varanin]

Call it professional development for Jaccath, her hulking Massasi pilot/tattoo artist. Call it a retirement perk for Azel Moran, shorter but no less broad, the great bladesmith, and a chance for him and a handful of golden-themed Aksifas crafters to make contacts and spot opportunities. Call it a mild obligation to accompany Saavat Kishan the poisoner, her successor as captain and headmaster of the Pomojema. Call it a desire to see what Quinn and Mercy got up to. Call it a wish to stay relevant or, more importantly, to encourage events like this, because their consequences tended to produce opportunities of value. And call it an chance to get eyes on the people who'd happily looted her vaults not long ago.

Lots of reasons to attend. So: black armorweave robes, the Mask of Anger, the mace Khovesk on her hip and a simple lightsaber on the other. She was present in only one body. For the moment, her coterie — Jaccath, Azel, the Aksifas, Lord Kishan — stayed close. The situation was still taking form. Someone tried violence for some unknown reason and Jaccath put a lanvarok disc through them. Such was life.

 

[Velok Brokentusk]

Much to hear, much to see. Nine hundred pounds of Sith Marauder turned fortuneteller to Lords and galaxies, Velok moved through the crowd unbothered and greatly interested.

The word 'kaggath' was of special fascination: there'd been a time, maybe forty years back, when he and others had agitated for the legitimacy and return of that rite. And though his priorities had changed greatly — to the point where hidden layers of complex work from Nagai telepaths and Toglannoq practitioners concealed certain inconvenient truths about Velok — the word still conjured up excitement.

The excitement of stakes. The easiest thing for any Sith Lord to forget.