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

[Jhyrack]

JHYRACK

Lord Jhyrack strode into the shadowed temple, wearing a broad grin. He cared little for the judgment of the sith in attendance. He was Maldrani - bred in battle, tempered in blood - and he only cared for the chance of more war.


At his side walked Ghruna, towering yet still raw. Her crimson hair caught the torchlight. She moved stiffly, uncertain in the sea of black robes and crimson eyes, but Jhyrack's presence was a bulwark. She was his blood nut that did not make her his heir. She had to earn that right.

Jhyrack took a seat and listened.

"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!"

"Hah!"

Jhyrack hadn't meant for the bark of his laugh to ring out so loud, but the enormous minotaur could not help himself.

He glanced around apologetically and sat back down. He grinned, exposing sharp teeth and the single gold replacement fang.

Jhyrack adored fighting, but he wanted the conversation to turn to war. He had already spotted two forms in Hasuras Na-Gerra and Velok Brokentusk that looking like they would be fun to fight.

But he wanted fame and glory leading his people against the Jedi. Long had they fought amongst themselves on their isolated world. He had promised his people a crusade of blood.

 

[Brooke Waters]

She knew the witches to be a tough sell but the politics of the Sith? Even more grand standing than the rumors let on. Maybe it was good they were mostly stuck behind the Black Wall. The Witch had seen this behavior before. Many times.

Mostly during mating cycles where birds needed to find a mate and had to prove themselves the best. Or most exotic.

When the crowd cheered, so did she. A bunch of the faces were familiar. When you got to her age in this galaxy, certain faces stood out. She didn't really want any of them to take charge. But the status quo could remain.

And was that Solopsis? Wasn't he dead?

Like a good little pretender, she would cheer. And when people looked her way, and she noticed, she'd cast a little Alter Environment to allow a cold aura around her. Just enough to say step off.

 

[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 Thomas Barran Darth Bellum Mercy Darth Avida Arris Windrun Talon Draven Vestra Tane Tamsin Starfall Darth Virelia Eira Dyn Ashin Cardé Varanin Velok Brokentusk Jhyrack

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

Ellissanthia raised a delicately arched eyebrow at the sudden display of Dark Side-amplified galvanic power. Or was it an opening strike? She hadn’t seen an explicit target, so for all she knew, the skeletal heretic Sith Lord had cast his declaration of Kaggath against the sky itself! Regardless, lightning was lightning. Power was power. No matter how recklessly said power was flaunted, or how seemingly unworthy its enactor might be.

Thus, it seemed that now was a prudent time for her to raise her guard.

And yet, the Undine needed not lift a finger.

Assassins. One hundred in number, clad in funereal black, and snarling in the Sith tongue emerged from within the crowd in a frenzy of daggers and murderous intent. Ellissanthia spun gracefully on her heels as a trio of assassins charged her from behind, only for invisible lances to erupt from their torsos like spectral stakes, splattering her plush, alabaster-painted lips with crimson vitae.

She recognized it immediately as an act of the Eternal Father.

Had she been elsewhere, Ellissanthia might have collapsed onto her knees and broken into tears. For now though, discipline steeled her psyche. She satisfied the sudden surge of rapturous devotion with a prayer of gratitude murmured under her breath, before gently dabbing the blood off of her lips with the hem of her cloak, a gesture both fastidious and reverent. From there, she turned her attention towards the Temple, her violet-hued eyes going as wide as saucers upon catching sight of a figure that she had not seen in months.

Darth Virelia.

Cast away from the Sith Order for the crime of calling a Kaggath against a weak, complacent Sith Lord of the Tsis’Kaar. Now, she was here, her hexocular mask sweeping across the gathering like a predator sizing up a herd, enticement dripping from her lips like wine. A chill caught Ellissanthia then, to which the Undine caught her soft lower lip between her teeth.

This was a true Sith. Power. Purpose. Poise. All manifested in a feminine avatar of Dark Side power.

“Show them what you showed me...” Ellissanthia whispered softly, the words a breathless incantation. “What it means to truly embody the Dark Side.”

Perhaps then, this gathering of pretenders might prove itself worthy of the Blood.

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

 

[Da'Razel]

SITH GATHERING - DESEVRO
​

Tag Direct: Darth Carnifex | Darth Avida | Darth Solipsis

Tag Indirect: Darth Vinaze | Hasuras Na-Gerra | Donne Toulemonde | Thomas Barran | Darth Bellum | Mercy | Talon Draven | Darth Virelia

Equipment: Bōchōr | The Vow of Saud | The Helm of the One-Eyed Prophet | Korrûg Kuûr

Insolent. Profane. Blasphemous.

By the time his God-Emperor finally drew his blade, Da'Razel had already exploded into a rampage of flame and fury.

The hood and cape draped over him ignited, disintegrating instantly to ash, exposing the copper-toned skin and gold-plated war-priest beneath.

Snow hissed into vapor, mist coiling into a ghostly pool at his feet.

Heretical. Impudent. Rebels!

The calm, stoic spark he usually bore, like a steady campfire in the dark, was gone. What remained was a raging inferno, living pyre unbound.

"You heathens! You fat, loathsome ghosts of forgotten deities!"

His voice thundered, raw and ragged with hate.

Their pretense of calm, their paraded egos, their hollow poise, he stripped it bare with every word.

Rage boiled forth from his body. Muscles swelled and twisted, veins like iron cords beneath his skin, his fury rivaling the very hellfires he had once glimpsed in the Nether.

"We murder! We massacre! We bend worlds to our will! We turn whole planets into thralls of our cause!"

His eyes trembled in their sockets, his arms, cased in iron gauntlets, quivered as his tantrum erupted among the gathered.

"And you play royalty! Hiding in castles, nursing families! You are not Sith, not even Darth. you are princes and princesses! Bloated on wealth and spoils! You do not take, you hoard!"

The robed figure beside him stood stunned for a heartbeat too long, then perished as Da'Razel's rage found a mark.

Defiant. Audacious. Narcissists!

The man went up in a column of searing radiance, burning tendrils like incandescent serpents writhing from his mouth and eyes. Limbs froze in grotesque skew before melting from their bones, as the blood inside boiled and burst.

Pillars of pyre erupted where once a being stood. Then another. And another. They could not scream, only a bubbling gurgle escaped their throats before the blaze devoured them whole.

Nothing but a charred husk remained where they had stood.

Abominable. Godless. Infidel!

Da'Razel demanded slaughter. His rage would not be quenched.

Insults against his God?!

Their superficial gilded armor. Their menagerie of words. All fuel for his blaze of wrath.

Godforsaken. Traitorous. Oathbreakers!

A shadow moved across his flank, daggers flashing as the allied assassin leapt to take the life of another. Da'Razel did not hesitate. His clawed gauntlet snapped out, seizing the confused zealot mid-stride.

"Buuuuurn!" he howled into the tundra.

And the tundra obeyed. The cloaked figure went up in smoke, reduced to nothing but a shrieking silhouette mantled in flame.

Nothing mattered. Nothing and no one but his God.

Treacherous. Boastful. Pretenders!

For years he had read of the Sith pantheon, worshiped at their statues, prayed as their names parted his lips: prophets, saints, demigods. Now, hearing his God disgraced before them, Da'Razel stripped himself of all restraint, all decency.

Pure, unfiltered hatred coursed through his veins. Uncontrolled, it spilled out, Force energy bleeding from his body, his very life force combusting, burning away just as he burned everything in reach.

Corrupt. Malefic. Abhorrents!

Statues of stone cracked under the furnace of his wrath, their shadows torn apart in the shimmering blaze. Armor hissed as molten steel welded to the flesh beneath. The ice and snow parted, revealing blackened ground scorched bare.

Even conjured apparitions, the phantom spears of the Dark All-Father, were consumed, their writhing tendrils immolated by a fire that was not mere flame but Force itself. The Saint, unknowing, spared countless lesser servants of the dark, though any too close perished regardless.

Forsworn. Foul. Filth!

And then, amid the roar of his slaughter, a voice pierced the edges of his frenzy.

He barely made out a shape: dark hair, over-tanned skin, and the piercing eyes of a darksider.

Darth Avida was nothing more to him.

"DO NOT ADDRESS A GOD, YOU WORM!"

The words were half scream, half hiss, torn from beneath his veil of iron, the vertical slit of his visor pulsing in angry crescents of crimson.

Without a heartbeat's hesitation, ignoring every warning ever etched into his skull by his master, full well knowing he was scorning both life and living, he tore the cursed revolver, Korrûg Kuûr, from the satchel at his waist. He raised the ancient armament of the Sith Stalkers at the woman.

He could feel the hunger coiled within the barrel, the weapon's ancient lust to slaughter those bound to the Force.

It longed to split the essence of life once more, to fulfill the sole purpose of its creation. From the moment of its conception, to the first bullet forged into being in that almost forgotten age, it had known only one truth: it was made to deal death.

The slug itself twitched in its chamber, an eager thing shrieking for release after centuries of slumber.

How many times had he reached for this weapon before, only to still his hand, measuring danger against reward, exposure against the satisfaction to kill? Not this time.

Da'Razel pulled the trigger.

Inside the artifact, the hand-forged slug of null matter tore free of its cortosis casing. Instantly, like a dam breaking, a wave of deathly radiation surged forth. Glyphs etched into the casing flared, a final warding chant to shield the slug from any meddling grasp.

It became a void-sphere hurled into a maelstrom of darkness. Something vile, untouchable, among the vile and untouchable. Damnation among the damned.

It sought its mark, dead center, spilling unseen chaos in its wake, a bullet as desperate for the release of death as the Saint who had fired it.

 

[Delsin Shaw]

All these people. All these Sith who wanted to cast larger shadows than the other. The calling of some a wave that was small compared to the ocean, failed to understand that the waves still impact things. As if these Sith were just small fry compared to what happened in the greater galaxy.

Sabers drawn, weapons ready, each going to be aiming to strike one another. Even some who already attempted to do so with a hidden blade. Even the trappings could not dissuade others from wanting to come and watch what was going down. Who would kill who. Would there be such a Kaggath? It was interesting for this all to happen.

And how I hated them.

The Jedi had their codes of control and balance. To keep themselves held within the confines of imbecilic values of Honor, chivalry, and protecting the helpless. And here the Sith are. Many of which were former Emperors and Empresses. Some who proclaimed themselves gods or some divine Dark Sided entity. In which was moronic for someone to be divine, but also of the Dark side. The Sith were blinded with power. Blinded by ego and the need to hold onto such things. They would one day all die. No one could truly be immortal. And as such, this fight, this conclave was falling apart because of it.

The call was to formulate something of a group. However, it was quickly falling apart with the allowance of the great Emperors and Gods of the Sith.

"Such a waste."

One calling the other scum and hoarding. Others saying that each should burn. Blasphemy and heretical views.

Sith calling others not Sith because they didn't follow "the one true god."

"Bickering children in a sandbox over castles that fall as easily as they are made."

I just shook my head.

 

[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

​

The Dark Lord's head inclined, just slightly, as if the weight of the inevitable tide had already tipped.

No flourish, no threat, only the crack of violence made manifest. His withered hand snapped outward, and the air screamed in protest. Mercy would feel the full brunt of an invisible hammer, a wave of Dark Side energy that sought to smash her backward through her own tide of wretched followers.

At the same breath, his other hand slashed downward like a judge's gavel. Darth Avida became the focus of a storm, his lightsaber flew from his grip in a single throw, gliding thought the air across the stone beneath her feet. It volley spun freely to coil and lash at her saber arm with savage intent.

He advanced between them, the world itself groaning beneath the weight of his presence.

"I accept.”

His power poured outward in a suffocating tide, offering no reprieve. His burning gaze lifted, casting beyond the two challengers.

"You’re next." Darth Empyrean , known to Solipsis as Maliphant having not seen the new Emperor’s rise since his early grave over Tython. The name cracked like thunder, a dirge called between two long enemy sides not seen together since the Sith Schism. "You have survived me once, at Felucia, but you will not again.”

Solipsis recalled his saber, and plunged forward leaping toward Mercy and her followers with murderous intent.

​

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

Incredible. The pretender to Sith’ari accepted the challenge of the Queenslayer.

Did he not understand the ancient rites of Kaggath? There were formalities to this, which the Emperor in the Core eschewed, charging straight at her.

Unwise.

If he did not comprehend the formalities of the ritual, then perhaps he did not understand their consequences. All assets. All domains. All titles on the line. Winner take all.

Even an empire.

Gerra grunted with amusement. Nearby, some zealot lapdog began screeching about Solipsis’ power.

Fire roiled across the tundra, bright and searing. Gerra held out a palm and all that roiling flame rushed into it, siphoned into his fist, which now glowed at the edges of an unnatural heat.

Gerra looked around for a seat from which to observe the Star-Arm rip the old man limb from limb. Assuming, of course, that he was even really present in the flesh at all and not some cheap conjurer’s trick.

 

[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



Virelia had settled herself on a fallen slab of temple stone, lounging with the sort of comfort one usually reserved for silk couches and wine chalices rather than frost-bitten ruins and murder-happy Sith. She leaned back on one hand, boot lazily crossed over the other knee, like this was less a Conclave and more a theater production in need of reviews.

"Now this," she said with a delighted sigh as Solipsis attempted to hurl Mercy back with the Dark Side, "is why I came. Forget the Hunt, this is far more entertaining. I haven't seen this many half-naked egos in one place since… well, since the last time I looked in the mirror."

Her chuckle purred low, drawing glances whether they wanted to look or not.

"And who is our mysterious star performer?" she continued, gesturing vaguely with two fingers at Solipsis. "I don't know his name, but he's already doing better than most emperors I've met. Fewer speeches, more attempted homicide. Very refreshing."

A ripple of laughter followed her words — though it was uncertain how many laughed with her versus out of nervous instinct. Her grin widened as she leaned forward now, elbows on knees, savoring the chaos like it was dessert.

"As for the rest of you, let's not be shy. Half of you are itching to prove how sharp your teeth are, the other half are just praying someone else dies first so you can swoop in and call yourself Warmaster. Sith politics, really — it's like a drinking game, only with more screaming and less dignity."

She paused, tilting her head thoughtfully.

"Still, I respect the effort. A proper Kaggath always livens the evening. Me? I got exiled for trying one. Apparently, I'm better at starting parties than finishing them."

Her laugh was velvet and venom both, filling the frozen air.

"Carry on, darlings. Don't let me interrupt. I'd hate to spoil the fun by being useful."

 

[Lirka Ka]

Well, it certainly had gotten loud. Though it was far from an unexpected development. A gathering of this caliber was destined to be loud, violent, the clash of ego a deafening crash. Darkness awash, the combined presence of the likes of the southern-emperor Darth Empyrean the core-emperor Darth Solipsis and the lord of the Kainate Darth Carnifex combined with their sycophants, foes, and this world itself was enough for even Lirka’s meager void to be tickled by the swelling darkness of this place.

She was never particularly pleased when the touch of the Force could pierce through the emptiness of her being, so for her part, Lirka decided it was far more apt to bid her time. With so many a prominent face appearing, it offered the wondrous opportunity to slip into the masses. She had her eyes set on someone else in the crowd.

It would’ve been rude to interrupt the bickering after all.

Helix made for good company. She could only guess why he had decided to make an appearance - and most of those guesses involved getting first pickings of whatever debris get left in the wake of this many Sith, or getting a good show from the debacle. Compared to the rest, she had little qualms about interrupting her ally’s show. Indeed a great many things had been exemplified today. Perhaps if they were lucky, their mutual decaying associate would make an appearance to put in his own two cents.

Slipping through the growing clamor, Lirka appeared at the Mechanoid’s side. Pleasantly safe from the pandemonium. More quiet than she really had any right to be for her bulk. She spoke idly, in that prattling tone that meant she was about to start preaching about something or other.

“-“there is no purpose. There is solely will, there is nothing. Only me.” - creed of ruin, circa 2000 BBY.”

If there was one thing she was good at, it was spouting off random tidbits of theology.

“So is the greatest deception of our kind not exemplified today, my friend? Oft shall we lie, rally banners and wave weapons in the air to decry against the Jedi foe. But the Sith do not care about -“

The assassin near her being held no such qualms about interrupting. The flash of a dagger, gunning to silence the Sephi’s ravings. But Lirka Ka saw shadowy assassins in all things - more often than not, very fake. But in this rare instance where they were real? Well paranoia paid off sometimes. The whirr of mechanized limbs, the swing of a metal fist as if it were a hammer. Slamming into her would be assailant with a far more tangible-force. The shattering of bones, the spilling of blood. Brutish, but holy, violence. A brief interlude to spare the Mechanoid from her ramblings, though not brief enough. She rose from the earth after a violent scuffled, clawed hand caked in gore.

“Wasteful expenditure. My point is proven - the Sith do not care about the death of the Jedi, not really. What they care about is ego, to see their fellows destroyed. Rather than rally, they would brawl. They would declare Kaggath - for such is the nature, the endless struggle of darkness pitted against itself. Not too far from our lot, wouldn’t you agree?”

She would never besmirch helix in such a way to call him a student, nay even an “apprentice” (if such a thing could even be considered possible with her…esoteric world views). But she did consider him a set of audio receptors more willing than most to hear what she wanted to prattle about at a given event.

 

[Helix]

Tags: Lirka Ka /OPEN​

Helix hummed quietly to himself as the room erupted into chaos. He didn't move from his spot or lift a finger. He was in no danger here.

Photoreceptor-clusters sprouted from his surface as his molecular structure warped to accomodate them. There it was. A nice, 360-degree view.

No part of this was bad for him, as far as he could see. Maybe one or two of his little obstacles would get stabbed, saving him the trouble later on. He did let out a tiny, weary sigh though, or an approximation of one.

It was simple proof, as ever, that he was always right. That his co-conspirators had been wise to smell blood in the water. He wasn't especially surprised, just disappointed. An especially poignant reminder that the gravy train had to end eventually.

He could scarcely contain his relief when Lirka materialized behind him. Finally, someone sane and reasonable. The blood-caked apparition was able to handle her own business, but that didn't stop him from intensifying his omni-directional observation. Ever the dutiful officer. The death of his superior on his watch promised paperwork. Paperwork in sufficient quantity to kindle something akin to apprehension in Helix's black heart.

Lirka's observations mirrored his own almost exactly. Small wonder they enjoyed such a healthy professional rapport, or the closest one could get in Sith space.

"Unfortunately so, Lady Ka." He responded, accompanied by a long-suffering shake of the head. "While occasionally entertaining, it is equal parts disappointing." The sight of fresh blood thrilled him. A shame he had not spilled it himself. He did love how easily such playthings snapped and tore when you pushed them past their fragile limitations.

"Would that such ferocity could be turned in productive directions, but..." the colony mimicked a shrug. "Such is the nature of the beast. I'm simply... enjoying the show." The colony appeared almost entranced by the violence, like an insect caught in the mesmeric glow of a street lamp.

"It's the rational thing to do. One cannot turn aside moments like this. One can only appreciate them while they last." Helix occasionally found the Sith's fractious nature irritating. He was a creature of savage pragmatism. Results were what mattered. Having a little fun along the way was just the icing on top.

He supposed that was the only reason they kept him around. Half-mad living weapon he might be, but he got results. That unusual perspective had seized a victory more than once, while the Sith proper had been too busy with individual duels and ego-stroking.

Irritating, yes, but it was their nature. One couldn't change a Nexu's stripes.

"Not too far, maybe." He agreed finally. "In truth, I can't say I care about the death of the Jedi either. Any more so than I care about the death of anything, at any rate. An obstacle is an obstacle, Lady Ka. Regardless of the color of the sword it swings or the dogma it preaches. They come in all shapes and sizes, and regardless of their chosen form, there is only one proper way to deal with an obstacle."

He gestured outwards to the ever-escalating melee. "You cut it down and brush past it on the way to the finish line."

 

[Darth Adekos]

There was much going on and some of it even warranted input, but a surge of lightning was hurtling through the air at Darth Adekos and this required his full attention. He smiled faintly and held out an open hand, and the lightning went readily into it - drawn there, perhaps.​

​

Arcs and bolts shot this way and that, cracking and splitting the air. His arm slowly drew closer to him, wrestling with the raw power behind the blast... But it soon came under his control, slowly condensing itself into a single cerulean sphere.​

​

Here is the secret of energy manipulation: if you can learn to manipulate the minute details, the little signals and impulses racing along circuits and wires, the big stuff - the Sith lightning - becomes trivial in comparison.​

​

"Nyeh," Adekos hissed, which was about as close to a sorcerous invocation as he had ever come. More dignified, too, in his estimation.​

​

He pushed back, and at once the orb launched back towards its sender. It crashed purposefully into the ground between Vinaze and Barran, and on contact a brilliant electric explosion - several magnitudes stronger than the original volley - ripped the space apart. A few assassins and Graspborn still struggling with one another nearby were incinerated instantly, but not painlessly.​

​

Back on the stairs, Adekos shook his hand as if he'd just touched something unclean and blew off the remaining trails of smoke. "What an absolute pissant."​

@ To Whom It May Concern
Darth Vinaze Thomas Barran
​

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Mercy //: Kirie //: Arris Windrun //:
//: Outside //:

Today wasn't about her.

Today was about Mercy.

Today, Quinn would return the favor of the promise made aboard the cursed ship.

Quinn followed closely behind Mercy, half a step behind, her gaze flicking to Arris, another one of Mercy's companions. The woman seemed to be more threatened by the people around the Princess than she had thought. She knew that her being one of Mauve's guards, but to see that she worked with Mercy was a surprise.

Though, as Quinn learned, they had fought in the Kaggath. She remembered the matches fondly. Mercy had overpowered her opponents like the Princess knew she would. There were reasons why the woman was chosen and kept as Ashin's apprentice, and as they grew closer, Quinn quickly learned why.

When they arrived, things were starting to get chaotic. But what did one expect when gathering all the Sith of the galaxy to one place? Talks and agreements were the farthest thing from most of their minds. Not all Sith had the mind of diplomacy — more often than naught, strength and power were gained through war and combat. Quinn knew this, but she wondered if her fellows did as well.

Her question was instantly answered. Solipsis and Empryean had both decided to show themselves. The thought of having the Emperor of the Core and the Emperor of the Sith in one place was quite the spectacle. Before anything, Mercy, of course, took her moment to shine.

A kaggath — issued to Solipsis. Quinn mused over challenging her Emperor in the same fashion, but now wasn't her time. She looked to the man and then back to Mercy.

She was the woman's asset and through her boon of the Sith Empire would bless the woman.

"A kaggath, good luck, Lord of Conquest." Quinn used a title, one she personally bestowed on the woman at her side. "Show them what the true champion of the Sith looks like."

Her attention turned away, a hand, gasping for Kirie's as she cast a vast bubble of protection around them. Her hold, protective over the handmaiden, her handmaiden. Leaning close, she smiled against the woman's ear.

"We'll be fine, don't worry."

Pausing, Quinn looked to Arris with a knowing little smirk, "Ms. Windrun, if you elect to assist, please make sure to point your guns the other way."

Her playful little tone indicated she held no hard feelings for what happened on Weilu.

She and Mauve already handled that situation.

Quinn looked to her apprentice and nodded, the gesture was to allow the girl to choose. Either to fight or to follow. It was up to her.

---

//: Darth Solipsis //: Darth Empyrean //: Lirka Ka //: Helix //: Hasuras Na-Gerra //: Ashin Cardé Varanin //: Darth Anathemous //: Darth Adekos //: Eira Dyn //: Ellissanthia //: Darth Bellum //: Tamsin Starfall //: Vestra Tane //: Emissary of Strife //: Elani Zambrano //: Darth Avida //: Darth Virelia //: Sorry if i forgot anyone!​

 

[Lord Creuat]

B L A C K G U A R D​

Lesser power surrounded him. Apostates filled with nothing but gluttony. Pretenders who hid in the shadows, in the far reaches of the Galaxy. Instead of conquerors they reduced themselves to faint whispers.

How displeasing.

Blood would pay for this slight.

The Emperor moved to attack Mercy and Darth Avida , leaving the Executor to his own devices. Like his Master, Creuat too would challenge those who braved to speak out against their dominion.

And there, the proud colossal who offered insult wished to sit and witness this Kaggath instead of braving the carnage. Creuat would not tolerate this weakness.

At his command a brilliant, cackling bolt manifested into his palm and gripped it without being harmed by its power. A quick moment passed and the bolt was hurled directly at Hasuras Na-Gerra .

“Rise and fight, or do you only prattle?”

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

PING.

The hammer swung true, slapping aside the bolt of hated with disdain writ large upon the features of its wielder.

Then did Gerra arise to his full height, eight feet of gene-wrought sinew, and he came upon this Nautolan of mottled-blue.

Wielding the energies of the fire he had but moments ago absorbed, Gerra cast them forth with a gesture and a word.

“Odojinya.”

Threads of shimmering citrine energy sprang to life around Lord Creuat in a net of coruscating energy that sought to ensnare him, as Gerra had once ensnared that troublesome Jedi on Kattada.

“I did not think to come to frozen climes and find myself a fisherman,” rumbled Gerra.

 

[Jhyrack]

JHYRACK

Jhyrack did not shield his daughter, Ghruna as the fighting began. If she died, that would be entirely her fault.

He had many more children.

He huffed in annoyance as Hasuras Na-Gerra swung his hammer and stood to meet a challenge.

"I was hoping to fight that one," he muttered.

"Why?" Ghruna asked.

"Look at the size of him!" Jhyrack said, as if that was a perfectly rational explanation.

He didn't know whose side he was supposed to be on in the bedlam that had broken out. His daughter - angry little thing that she was - snarled and headbutted a passing assassin. Humans were fragile things. Jhyrack merely sulked.

"Would have been a good fight," he mumbled.

 

[Mercy]

Direct tag: Darth Solipsis | Quinn Varanin | Kirie | Darth Avida

Right after Mercy declared a Kaggath upon the Core-Emperor, another Sith Lord piped up with a challenge of her own. Mercy squinted at the interloper and resolved herself to wipe her out too, if she dared to interfere in this rite. As events spiraled out of control Quinn offered luck to her and moved to bring Kirie to safety.

Instead she'd find Mercy's fingers clasping tight around her chin, drawing her in, until Mercy kissed her cheek lightly.

"Don't go too far, you should witness me."

She let go right in time, because Solipsis exploded into motion and-

The telekinetic blow struck her chest like a wrecking ram, hurling her backward. Dust and blood speckled the air as her nails gouged deep scars into duracrete to halt her slide, sparks hissing under her grip.

She snapped her head up, eyes fever-bright. The Emperor lunged, but here would be no followers at Mercy's side. Just her. That was all she ever needed.

The golden ruin of her arm warped, splitting into a haze of corrupt flesh. From the miasma a blade jutted outward, crude and wrong, swatting his lightsaber aside. The plasma hissed through her shoulder instead and Mercy grinned as the smell of her own charred flesh rose like incense.

Her other fist came up like an earthquake, driving straight for his chest with bone-breaking hunger.

As an apprentice Mercy punched an Akure Leviathan in the face and knocked the grotesque creature back. She walked away with just a broken arm. Mercy wasn't an apprentice anymore. In the Netherworld she had broken the last chains holding her back and claimed the title of Lord. Grasping for power and taking it without waiting for permission. Mercy punched through durasteel with one strike, she ripped people from arse to mouth and never slowed.

If Solipsis tried to tank her fist, she'd find out if the Emperor was anything more than brittle bones strung together by hate as her arm buried itself to the elbow in his chest. Trying to slow down her punch from this proximity would have to happen in a moment's notice, to blunt the damage and prevent her from making him bleed from the inside. But they usually sought to dodge her completely, even from up-close.

Mercy was ready for that too.

Darth Empyrean | Lirka Ka | Helix | Hasuras Na-Gerra | Ashin Cardé Varanin | Darth Anathemous | Darth Adekos | Eira Dyn | Ellissanthia | Darth Bellum | Tamsin Starfall | Vestra Tane | Emissary of Strife | Elani Zambrano | Darth Virelia | | Arris Windrun​

 

[Khamul Kryze]

The Unchained

Loadout: Mandalore's Lament, Regret, beskar'gam


Darth Solipsis , Darth Vinaze , Da'Razel , Lord Creuat , Dodhorn Harert

Theme

Oh how he hated them...

The pagentry, the narcissism, the overblown sense of self-importance. All of it was enough to make him want to vomit. Words meant nothing to the Unchained, for it was only through swift and violent action that one could truly claim any form of power. The Sith, for all of their years of huffing and puffing, had only proven themselves weaker than ever before.

Then... he came back.

The Sith'ari. The only one that had united the strong time and again under his banner in an effort to bring fire and death to the unworthy. Khamul was not loyal to the New Sith, particularly not Solipsis, but the madman had consistently given Khamul the opportunity and resources to further his own goals. Goals that, in recent years, the Unchained had neglected.

It was not all a loss, despite his absence from the greater galaxy. He had been slowly building the ranks of Death's Hand, preparing himself for the next storm of violence. Their wrath would be felt by all, and soon the galaxy would tremble once again at the very mention of their name.

He had entered the conclave with a heavy step, his motions unforgiving, and his ruthless presence oozing with the ceaseless urge to kill. He hadn't come with a contingent. No banners were flashed, no effort toward pomp and circumstance to herald his arrival. Just him, his blade, and a desire for blood. Yet, surprisingly, it wasn't he that drew the first weapon.

Solipsis had come out swinging as he always had, followed by the eldritch visage of Darth Vinaze and his assassins. Others soon joined as well, making their allegiences known. As for Khamul, well...

He wasn't going to let them have all of the fun.

Mandalore's Lament lit aflame with a vicious snap-hiss, igniting in a fiery display of black and red. Khamul's attention would first turn toward some arrogant little worm of an acolyte. He had no idea why the inexperienced whelp chose to single him out. Perhaps it was his armor, or his iconic mask. Perhaps the young fool simply wished to make a name for himself. Unfortunately for him, no songs would be sung, save for a funeral dirge. Mandalore's Lament lashed out, swiping away the young man's own weapon before swiftly taking the arm with it, followed by his head. Beneath his mask, Khamul chuckled...

It felt good to be back.

 

[Arris Windrun]

Arris was annoyed.

She was told to prepare for anything, so she came well-prepared. A pair of pistols and some of the best fucking ammo on the market. All a gift from Mauve.

The cyborg itched to get in on the action, but between all these fancy words and challenges going around, she got the distinct impression that Mercy and Darth Solipsis weren't to be interrupted. They would go toe-to-toe, Titan versus Emperor.

Annoyed because both she and Mercy had gone gauntlets in the Galactic Kaggath. The same Kaggath - if she recalled correctly - saw the Empire's own champion get wasted in the first round. Yet Mercy was the one who'd get the standout fight. Still - Arris knew a matchup when she saw it. Mercy could beat that guy, but Arris? Arris wasn't so sure.

Cyber eyes scanned the scene, and her co-processor marked targets. It wasn't until she spotted Khamul Kryze that she saw a matchup worth pursuing. Didn't have a single clue who he was, but he looked like a fighter, and that would have to be enough.

She leapt into action - cybernetic legs and the Force both. In the moment the Mandalorian chuckled, Arris's full-metal fist found itself within seconds of his behelmeted skull. She knew Beskar for what it was... knew it might even break her hand... but some people just had to be punched.

 

[Delsin Shaw]

So the fight had begun. So many of them were all starting to fight. So many were willing to just throw down because of the lack of words being spoken. Each pulling various weapons of all kinds out and preparing to end one another. Would this be the legitimate end for it? Or no? Considering Mercy was the one who had called out the Emperor of the Core, It was then I saw a familiar face. Smiling brightly in the direction of the person.

I stood up from where I had seated myself. Just very casually walking closer toward the two individuals who were there. Even as the fight of them had started. My head dipped as some kind of blast was sent out and I had been in the way. It flew past me for now before I walked over towards the little shield that Quinn had formed around herself and some others. My hand raised up and simply flicked it with a finger. A soft tap rang from it.

"Well hello Princess."

I could feel my vision sharpen as it looked up to her. Knowing my eyes would now clearly look more like the irises of a feline predator. Slits that stared at her from my strange eyes. Once more, my finger flicked the shield this time, rapping harder upon it.

"Come out to play."

Quinn Varanin

 

[Gnost Zym]

Obsidian talons idly plucked at a seven-string hallikset before strumming a familiar progression of chords. Zym was entranced by his own music and the depths of the kel dor's emotion bled into each note. Heedless of the fire and lightning and bolts of midnight black, deft claws increased the tempo with every crimson lightsaber or alchemized bludgeon joining the growing fray.

"Good... Good."

His voice was breathy with excitement. Zym poured rage and paranoia into the instrument's melody. The music was a vector for his subtle influence. Perhaps this impending massacre would be the kel dor's masterpiece. Zym's humble contribution to the dark tapestry of fate.