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

[Darth Carnifex]

Another was speared through the stomach, pinned to the ground as a second spear pierced their heart. The accuracy of each strike was consistently precise, the Eternal Father's extensive knowledge of anatomy and the endless hours of practice on moving and stationary targets exemplified in each dead assassin. Truth be told, He was expending very little energy dispatching these faceless ghouls. He'd mostly started targeting them for fun, but that quickly lost it's luster.

Still, rarely did He fight such savage zealots, and they intrigued Him fiercely. The next one that came, He allowed their weapon to bounce off the scaled cloak that shrouded Him, the veil parting as His arm struck out and snatched the assailant by the throat. Lifting him off the ground until his feet dangled several feet above it, the Eternal Father regarded the assassin as one would an insect. The sleeve of His robe bulged as a long, serpentine creature slowly slithered out, coiling around the Eternal Father's arm from bicep to wrist.

The creature was a grotesque amalgamation of serpent and insect, possessing the traits and appearance of both. When it opened it's mouth, long mandibles unfurled from behind sharp, needle-like teeth. It struck for the eyes, gnawing and gnashing like a hagfish as it burrowed through the eye-socket and into the cranial cavity. Blood oozed out from their wounds like globules of jelly, each bite delivering a powerful coagulant venom to the now clogged bloodstream.

As the brain was devoured, the creature eventually folded itself to fit within the now vacant brain-case. When it withdrew, it did so by chewing out through the other eye socket. Slithering back up the Eternal Father's arm, it disappeared within His robes. He let the assassin's body drop to the ground, stepping over it like it were little more than trash.

Memories flashed within the Eternal Father's mind, every waking second the assassin ever experienced from birth to death playing out in chronological order. He parsed out what was noteworthy and what was worthless, banishing those memories to the devouring entropy. It wasn't much, but the Eternal Father found the memories interesting. He'd have time to better discern them later, and for now stored them away.

All around Him, the fighting continued. Kaggaths declared, lengthy speeches uttered, derision from all camps heaped towards one another. Darth Carnifex let out a sigh of exasperation. The distinct feeling of déjà vu was overwhelming, He'd stood in this exact spot so many times before. But, this was the way of the Sith, to fight and contend and fight some more.

"The very worst thing they can do," spoke aloud the Dark Lord of the Sith to no one in particular, "Is bore me."

He raised His right hand, light glinting off of the dark embossed metal and shimmering amulets socketed into it. Bright azure flame coalesced between His outstretched fingers, forming into a sphere hovering just above the center of His palm. From it erupted a spiraling geyser of flame, soaking both those loyal to Solipsis and those loyal to the other assembled; it made no distinction. Where the flame passed, it devoured stone, metal, fabric, flesh, and bones.

More than that, it devoured the binding between the material world and that of the Force itself, leaving behind vacant gray absences where there had once been life. Each was like a wound in the Force onto itself; a void. Color and sound were completely leached away, leaving only muted desecration. The entropic flames continued to devour wherever they pleased, beholden only to the will of Darth Carnifex.

 

[Darth Vinaze]

As the lightning arced back towards him, Vinaze held his hands out greedily, accepting the surge of energy into his soul. He was a master of Force Lightning, who had learned to manipulate the very bioelectricity of the mortal form. With more energy he would supercharge himself, moving faster, thinking faster, more attuned to the natural flows of the Force, finding them amidst the utter turmoil the Sith had caused here.

"ISN'T IT THRILLING, THOMAS?!" he yelled over the great sounds of battle, accompanied by the fine melodies of the evenings entertainment. This was a party to rival Mustafar!

As Darth Carnifex 's reality-rending wave scourged the war camp, Vinaze called upon his many years of experience in the Netherworld of the Force to create his own tear. He grabbed St. Thomas Barran and pulled him merely one step to the side, enough, with a push of the Force in the right place, to shift their plane of existence. They were half between this world and the next, watching as things around them dissolved. Vinaze cackled and screamed out in his shrill, raspy roar, like nails on a chalk board, directly into the minds of those around him,

"HA HAH HAHAAA!
TWO EMPERORS, ONE PROPHECY! HE WILL LEAD THE SITH AND DESTROY THEM!
LET THE DESTRUCTION OF THE SITH BEGIN WITH THE WEAKER CLAIMANT!
THERE MAY ONLY BE ONE SITH"ARI!"
​

 

[St. 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
2

​

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

'What is this talk? It reeks of peacetime, it reeks of stagnation - well, I call it BLASPHEMY!!!!'
​

Jumping down from Vinaze's vantage-point, landing on his feet with a thud that distracted more than a few of the Conclave's attendees, the Khan decided it was time to make his own entrance into the fray, to challenge those who dared to speak for Dark and Shadowy power. For those who dared, all the Khan could see were those who strived for fame, and for as long as Barran himself continued to strive for the greatest battle of all, he could not forgive minself for as long as petty motivations remained in play around him. Continuing,'Show us that which passes for savagery among your kind, show us the violence that hides behind your eyes!', as he stepped forward to receive the first, the bravest to step out against him, there would be no mistaking the one-eyed Woad's intent.

With sabre still active, the Bloodhound sneered as his mind utilised telekinesis to suspend it floating in the air before him, and with a simple exertion of will, his Makashi shone in all it's autumnal, half-bled glory as it's listless, buoyant state soon came to a standstill at chest-level, facing outward at any who wished to try their luck. Then, with hands free, the one-eyed Woad removed his cloak to reveal a canopy of tattoo-covered, scarred flesh from neck to belly-button, though the Sith behind him would be intrigued to find no such scarring on his back. Barely a mark, except for the prison-ink markings running down the surface of his spine, though the deep scarring surely made up for it from the front, the largest of which resting across the center of his chest.

Clasping his sabre's hilt once more, the Bloodhound made leisurely, slow effect to sword-salute the room, even bowing on it's outward, taunting final flourish; Barran then scanned his gaze back and forth, searching the eyes of all the rivalling Sith who were brave enough to remain, hoping there was one among them who would willingly test themselves against the might of Heathen devotion. If none here had known of the feats of (or even a thing of-) the man himself, it would not be long before the Heathen Saint rested in the minds of his rivals within the Dark Side sphere of influence, though St. Thomas was not yet sure whether this was a good turn of luck or not.

By then, it was much too late to back out from the endeavour - all that remained was the thrill of combat.

'SHOW US THE DEEPEST DEPTHS OF YOUR SOULS!!!!'
​

Chaotic escalations were flaring up all around the Conclave by then, and with powers clashing kyber within moments of the Emperor's arrival, the Khan only wished to accelerate that descent into a full-blown clash for survival. Sensing something was already afoot behind the scenes, Barran couldn't help but laugh at it all, chuckling at the sudden and destructive nature of this meeting between diametrically-opposed factions; as even in these moments, the Bloodhound could not help but think there was something divine in all of it, sensing that even the Avatars were getting a kick out of the madness as irresistable forces continued to meet with immovable objects.

For all the ludicrous changes of circumstances on display, even the one-eyed Woad found himself inwardly admitting there was a certain glory in the heat of these moments - something legendary hiding for future generations to discover.

'ISN'T IT THRILLING, THOMAS?!'
'DAMN RIGHT!! ITS LIKE NO OTHER DRUG IN THE COSMOS!!!!'
​

The Khan had not felt this near-death excitement in years, and even against multiple challengers since the turn of the century, the adventurous, intrepid danger always seemed to be lacking; but almost as soon as he started pressing down into cat-like poise, Vinaze had wisely pulled him to one side, working (in his own way-) to amplify this feeling of excitement tenfold. The Umbaran Hybrid had a plan, and despite the time Barran was briefly out of the loop, the maniacal laughter of his new acquaintance told the Woad-human everything of the madness that was about to unfold, the mayhem of the sort every Marauder always relished to experience for themselves.

​

'Wait, you're going for it? Here?!'

But then it all clicked, and when it did, Barran's laughter soon joined with Par's own, even making a pitiful effort to pull away his eyepatch when Vinaze prepared to open a tear in realspace, and in the same exact way they had together just days before that night. It would take a moment to compose himself once more, but when Barran finally removed his eyepatch properly, it was then that the excitement took on an altogether more profound sensation, contending with narcotic rushes as time seemed to slow to a halt in his mind. It felt as though someone else was guiding his hand towards his face, enacting exactly what the Khan himself had achieved dozens of times before, directing index and middle fingertips towards the ruby in his right eye-sockets, made all the stranger by the fact it seemed this presence knew already wished this to be so.

The Khan would need to compartmentalise this self-discovery for later, however, sensing duty was already beginning to override the thrill, and so he let this presence use his larynx to mutter incantations he had long-since memorized, right down to the last syllable. St. Thomas did not wish to admit, but this all felt very much like autopilot, and in the most-peculiar way, it felt as though he had lived in this moment before. It was in the fog of this curiosity that he began to grasp at the true power of prophecy, sensing it was never intended to paint a full, early canvas of intent, and in time, Barran would learn more to that effect; a door left unlocked, passed by for a time, but not to be forgotten.

In time, the one-eyed Woad would learn that a mere few brushstrokes were needed, but not then - not with mind distractedly occupied on Desevro.

Like a flash, the eye-shaped ruby sprang to red, glowing life, activated for it's one and only purpose, navigating through all things within (and beyond) the great Rift between Realspace and the Nether. Worlds that rested beyond the known fabric of space and time alike, places where only the dead and destiny's threads could reach, places of which both Vinaze and the Khan were well-acquainted, thus the ruby served no other purpose in realspace pursuits. One of the multiple reasons to have it kept discretely sealed behind a fraying eyepatch most of the time, but in moments like these, and on this night of nights specifically, it no longer made sense to hide it away from prying, two-eyes gazes.

'HA HAH HAHAAA!
TWO EMPERORS, ONE PROPHECY! HE WILL LEAD THE SITH AND DESTROY THEM!
LET THE DESTRUCTION OF THE SITH BEGIN WITH THE WEAKER CLAIMANT!
THERE MAY ONLY BE ONE SITH"ARI!'
'THE ONE - TRUE - EMPEROR!!!!'

​

 

[Hasuras Na-Eleos]

Eleos wasn't a powerful warrior, but he was studious and had a wealth of ecclectic knowledge at his disposal. An advantageous quality, for once, when an old warlord decided to untether the qualities of reality through the use of blue flame infused with the dark side. Eleos pondered for only a moment, then determined how best to act in defense of his brother and his warriors.

"Brother Gerra, please stay close," Eleos' meek voice battled against the sounds of battle, though he made his intent clear through the Force.

Calling upon the Force, the youngest Hasuras worked to direct the flow of the flames as they approached. He sent the flames heavensward. Up and up until they adorned the sith temple like a coiling blue wreath. There, they could feast on empty air.

Hasuras Na-Gerra Darth Solipsis Mercy Darth Adekos Darth Carnifex St. Thomas Barran @everyone else

 

[Darth Anathemous]

Wearing: Armor
Tag: Tamsin Starfall Vestra Tane Anet Raine | (Mentioned) Darth Virelia Mercy

She breathed it all in.

Hatred. Revulsion. Arrogance.

The misty breath she exhaled came slow, succulent, like the last dregs of sweetened tea in the morning. To those paying close attention, the citrine glow in her eye was growing brighter by the second, until it pierced the snowy haze of Desevro's bleak weather and the veins in her face turned a subtle black.

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

"Oh yes." she breathed.

"Because we thrive in chaos, where they cling to... order."

And then, like prophecy, that chaos came. She had foreseen it, sooner than most even. She heard the knives before they left their sheathes, saw robes shed by the most rudimentary assassins before dark cloth ever left their shoulders. It was an insulting display, actually, to believe that a such tiny dirks could fell the Lord of Blades. They preached glorious violence but fought as cowards, and even worse, fools.

"It want's to come out and play, if I snap run because this is like nothing I have felt before."

"Arm yourselves—" spat the Dark Lord.

Her body pivoted on instinct, narrowly avoiding a dagger thrust at her back. It was a calculated proximity, one that put her in reach. Her metal boned hand came as she spun, striking her would-be-assassin with a backhanded fist. It wasn't even her armor, just her the force of her own natural muscle and weight of her laminanium bones, which shed blood with a sickening crunch.

The man was dead long before he fell, a few paces further than before.

Anathemous flexed her unbreakable fingers, and slid the signature helm over her face, turning to regard her students with crimson visor and icy voice.

"Inside. Now."

She remained outside of course, for a time, long enough for the others to enter the temple. Her violet blade separated an oncoming assassin from his lower half, let none claim she did not partake of the very chaos she lauded.

But it wasn't her chaos. It wasn't the hunt she'd plotted with Mercy and Arris.

She watched her, over the chaos. Queenslayer. Champion of the great Kaggath. Star-arm.

Warmaster.

This wasn't a place of emperors or Sith'ari, let fate and prophecy burn as she'd always dreamed.

Let Mercy slay both emperors for all she cared.

No, the only thing that truly bothered her about this display was Darth Virelia . Late, praising the man who'd come to stifle her ambitions. Why would her lover do such a thing...?

"raagh!" she snarled.

Alone again, Anathemous grabbed one of the assassins by the wrist, threw him over her back, snapping his arm as he hit the ground in front of her.

He dragged behind her, screaming into the temple depths.

This fury required an outlet.

To be continued...

​

 

[Darth Empyrean]

"Bark, Puppy, Bark."​

​

His voice rolled like a millstone, apathy carved into dead flesh. He was not impressed by Darth Solipsis display, nor had he ever. This would be another addition to a pile of mediocre impressions left upon the Emperor.​

​

"You should have begged whoever revived you to bring back Irveric Tavlar instead - maybe he could win you this kaggath like he won you your wars. Do as you will, I'll see you dead if you survive the girl.", he said glancing slowly to Mercy .​

​

His gaze rested for only a moment before he turned on Darth Virelia ;​

​

"Banished for challenging a Dark Councillor? Is that the lie you've told your friends? Your lovers?", he almost cracked a smile at that, but his dead flesh protested such provocative measures.​

​

"As I recall, I banished you because you never learned how to close your mouth -evident by your incessent noise in a crowd where nobody even knows who you are. If you're worried about being useful, don't."​

​

Empyrean didn't ordain them with anything else, he turned and walked towards the Temple. At least that could occupy his time while he waited for the 'Core Emperor' to face yet another death.​

 

[Darth Adekos]

It seemed they survived the explosion unscathed - much to the umbaran's displeasure. What's more, the raving sorcerer had actually absorbed some of the power. A rather dangerous ploy. Sith were liable to pop if they took in too much of the Force too quickly. Vinaze would feel it soon enough: power that was not his threatening to burst his veins, split his skin, rattle his brain.​

​

Adekos had it in mind to make a live demonstration of this condition's natural terminus... But they were already gone, him and the unintelligible Mawite warlord. Slipped between the cracks of reality, phasing in and out, howling (yes, howling) like animals. Without further pressing, the ill-effects would taper off sooner or later.​

​

The umbaran sneered disdainfully in their general direction and descended the steps. What a change of pace that his enemies fled from him for once, rather than the other way around. Victory. Yes, we count those. Who wouldn't?​

​

He arrived at the base of the temple just in time to hear Darth Empyrean call Fossk a barking animal, among other varied and scintillating insults. Evidently this pleased Adekos. He stood smiling and watched ol' Dorian go ahead.​

​

"Nothing but respect," he said to whoever was left to listen, thumping his chest reverently and gesturing widely after Empyrean's back, "For MY Sith'ari..."​

​

Now snickering, thoroughly amused with himself, Darth Adekos turned and entered the temple.​

@ To Whom It May Concern
Darth Vinaze St. Thomas Barran
​

 

[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 , St. Thomas Barran , Ellissanthia , Vestra Tane , Helix , Darth Strosius , Lirka Ka , Barragh Nenn , Elani Zambrano , Brooke Waters , Donne Toulemonde



Virelia lounged deeper into her slab of stone, one hand propped under her chin, watching the chaos unfold as though she were in the best seat of an opera house. Her violet gaze roamed over the battlefield, savoring every violent crescendo and discordant shriek.

And then her eyes fell on Kaila.

Her darling Anathemous, helm sliding down over her face, fury seething in every motion as assassins were torn apart like so much meat. Virelia's smirk faltered, only a fraction, the way silk tears when pulled too taut. She exhaled slowly, her lips parting in a sound that was more sigh than laugh.

"Oh, Kaila…" she murmured under her breath, unheard in the din. "You deserve a stage, not a circus."

She meant it. Truly. Kaila was strength wrapped in scar tissue, ambition honed into a blade. And here she was, forced to spill blood for nothing — for someone else's tantrum, someone else's prophecy, someone else's damned Kaggath. Virelia pitied her. Almost. But pity was not in her nature, so she wrapped it in a different silk: indulgent amusement.

Everything was going to shit — gloriously, perfectly, inevitably to shit.

And Virelia adored it.

Carnifex was devouring reality itself out of sheer exasperation. Solipsis was leaping into the carnage like some half-remembered folk hero, and half the Conclave had already decided to turn the whole event into a knife fight instead of a council.

Virelia let out a sharp, delighted laugh, running her tongue across the edge of her teeth.

"Yes, yes, this is exactly why I came. Look at you all — the proudest predators in the galaxy, reduced to barking and bleeding because someone said a scary word too loud. Sith politics: it's less of a war council, more of a food fight where the knives are real."

She turned her face to watch Kaila drag another screaming assassin into the temple depths, shaking her head like a disappointed mother hen. She deserved a better chance.

And then Empyrean's voice rolled through the Conclave like a slab of granite scraping across a tomb. His words lanced straight at her — banished, noisy, irrelevant.

For a moment, there was silence.

And then Virelia laughed.

A full, rich, body-deep laugh that rang out above the screams and lightning and fire. She doubled slightly at the waist, her gloved hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking, laughter sliding between velvet and venom.

"Oh, that's good," she gasped out between peals. "Empyrean, darling, it's been years since someone said something that made me laugh rather than yawn. Banished for never closing my mouth? You wound me!"

Her eyes glowed brighter under the hood, lit with mirth and something sharper.

"But let's not pretend, hm? You miss me. I was the only one at those tedious councils and assembly meetings who made the silence bearable. Without me, things would of been so boring."

She leaned back, arms spreading as if to embrace the carnage around them. She could challenge the Blackwall's Big Bean, but honestly?

She just wanted to relax.

 

[Barragh Nenn]

An Assassin had struck at him at the command of Darth Vinaze but a piercing object snapping from the confines of the Shadowcloak that the Umbaran wore had skewered his attacker only to disappear back within the confines of the cloak the next moment.

Being in the background meant that he had went unnoticed by many of the other Assassins who had singled out more prominent targets.

Stepping back the Umbaran occupied a place of dim light which his cloak began to drink.

It helped him fade from sight.

It would make him functionally invisible to the natural senses.

Assassins that might have sought him in their orgy of death would pass by him unaware.

He had not left but it would seem like he was not there until he chose to be.

He'd make certain to stay out of reach and out of the way of the entropic flame that Darth Carnifex had conjured.

For now he watched, quietly and unobtrusively again. His attention spread across the many challenges that had been made and the battles now being fought but it never strayed far from Hasuras Na-Gerra . He'd chosen the Vahla, let their minds touch briefly but anything further would wait until the right time.

 

[Lord Creuat]

B L A C K G U A R D​

The tendrils from the Vahla’s magic would entrap around the Nautolan, but the only barrier between Creuat and the vicious tendrils was a simple, powerful conjuring of a barrier. The tendrils crashed and crashed contesting Creaut’s concentration as he focused his power in protecting himself before committing to a new a tactic. Only his mental resolve would determine how strong his barrier would be.

The fury surrounding him was intoxicating and with it the Executor channeled it into his power and unleashed a blast powerful to disintegrate the tendrils. A chance to move and find a new angle to attack, but halted when he could hear the dialogue between Darth Empyrean and Darth Virelia .

How insufferable and pathetic to bear witness. Instead of showing their might as conquerors, they squabbled with their words.

“What an embarrassment…prove your worth to your titles, or remain silent,” his words meant for the pair, but hoped to instigate Virelia to challenge the feeble worm.

Hasuras Na-Gerra​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Armor + XMSS-ADV
Tags: Darth Virelia | Lord Creuat
​

The clash of blades, fury in the air, it was intoxicating in its own way. Not because he craved to join it per se, but because there was something to be learned in every strike, every mistake, every death. The Dark swelled here as a storm, and part of him wanted to stand in that rain just to feel what it was. So, for a moment, he lingered at the threshold, focus still drawn to the chaos.

​

A chilled gust of wind fluttered her dark robes about her as she cast a glance back to her two Disciples, Lysander and Varin: “Stay if you wish, though you may learn more within the walls of the Temple, then outside of it. If you do stay, then do not get involved - unless you are directly challenged.”

It was as if the world narrowed to that single choice. In that moment, his boots felt rooted to the stone. He carried no doubt there was much to learn within the Temple halls, but out here, the lesson was survival.

Lysander had stood among the gatherings of Sith before, from Korriban to the halls of Zios. But this was different. Here, just shy of the Conclave Circle, his gaze roamed over the aftermath of a brutal confrontation. Prickles of danger were still crawling along his skin like a serpent, and the cold bit at him. These grounds were littered with black clad figures. Assassins, he presumed. A macabre perfume hung in the air, the metallic scent of blood.

The word Kaggath drifted to him on the wind, and his curiosity sharpened. Beneath the surface, something stirred, a shadow of memory from Ruusan, where failure had left its mark. The thought carried the taste of ash in his mouth. But here he was, still standing, still walking, alive.

Armor of a dark sheen hugged his lithe frame, its contours etched with death, and in one arm, he cradled his helmet.

And then, his eyes caught one figure he knew. The mask bore a hue and design no more unmistakable than the shadows on Malachor V and treated the stone like it were just another throne.

He did not hurl himself towards the familiar presence, nor did he abandon caution in each step. They carried him at a casual pace, weaving through the masses. Drawing closer, he could make the voice, but all words were drowned out by laughter, a sound that seemed oddly out of place, especially against the scene of ruin that surrounded them. But he was unaware of what prompted it.

Soon, only a handful of paces separated them.

One hand rested at his side, the other brushing the edge of his belt. His head tilted just slightly, voice oozing with a calmness.

“It’s a rare thing, to see someone enjoy the storm without being caught in it.”

Or so, he believed.

His attention moved to the Nautolan, unbothered, observing.

 

[Barragh Nenn]

It happened quickly.

It flew from the shadows.

Somewhere between a whip and a sword. An exotic weapon. A Bilari Electro Chain Whip.

Electro-plasma current energized it.

It resisted the touch of a lightsaber.

While Lord Creuat focused on the fire it stretched out behind him. An entangling lash seeking to wrap around the Nautolan's neck before snapping backwards both to rend flesh, if it could and to throw the Executor off his feet, onto his back. Then it would withdraw.

To an onlooker it would appear as though the 'Chain Whip' outstretched from the depths of shadow then recoiled back inside of it.

Hasuras Na-Gerra would know he had an ally though.

 

[Blade Ice]

Theme: F*ck Authority
Location: Desevro , Court Yard on the way to the Temple
Tags:

---

​

A slight breeze of chill air ran through that long brown old duster, it was a patch work of brown leather stitched together at this point. It had seen so many wars and battles at this point, no piece of it was even the original coat anymore. The duster was open in the front revealing a bright floral print shirt, black cargo pants, and old dusty combat boots. Two sabers hung from the belt around the man's waste besides that anyone looking at might think him a homeless man or retiree who just didn't give a shit anymore.

His sabers were the only thing that gave him away as something more then he was, he was the sith lord Darth Lucid. A man whose legacy had long been lost the annuals of history, the Rebel Sith who defied Emperors and Dark Councils. A man who was labeled an anarchist by most of his peers who were mostly all long dead or disappeared into the unknown. A man who had seen so many Sith Empires and orders crumble and fall some by his own hand.

He wandered through the courtyard paying little mind to those bolstering and challenging. There was a time when he would have reveled in this, he would have joined in or even perhaps challenge every single one of those gathered to take him on at once. Yet something in him had changed over the years, he started to see no matter how many masters he humbled the sheep still gave the same people who held back the sith power. It never changed the same people who let the sith fall into stagnation over and over again led.

He had tried to change the system and fight against what he saw as the sith's weakness, but nothing changed. He had even led armies and gained titles for his campaigns against the stagnant leaderships of the past. Still all remained the same, and he had lost the fight in him that once existed. They all still kneeled before the same kings who had previous empires crumbled to dust under their leadership.

That is what the old rebel saw as he crossed the courtyard dust of more dead Empires. Not dead yet but dying in their stagnation because they were led by the same dusty leaders of the past. He himself had forsaked leadership exactly because he did not want to become like the ones, he so despised. Of his titles he had earned in long existence the only one he kept and the only one that ever mattered to him was a rebel sith because it reminded him, he would not become like them he would not let stagnation corrupt his heart. Let them war, let them destroy each other, in the end he would stand on the ashes of their Empires like he had done so many before. He continued his walk to the Temple through the court Yard.

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Tyrant Queen."

Tags - Lysander von Ascania



The laughter faded from her lips like smoke snuffed by the wind. For all her mocking poise, for all the velvet cruelty she'd wrapped herself in, the words struck her with more weight than any saber could.

"A rare thing," she repeated, violet gaze lifting from the blood-slick stones to fix on Lysander. Beneath her hood the faintest curve of her mouth lingered, not in mockery now, but in acknowledgment. Respect.

"You've a good eye." Her voice was lower, stripped of the theater she'd draped around herself moments earlier. "Most here believe the storm is proof of strength. That to throw themselves into it is the only way to matter. You see it for what it is: a lesson."

Her head inclined ever so slightly — an act rarer than her laughter, rarer still than her feigned indifference.

"I've had enough of this circus," she said plainly, rising from her casual throne of broken stone. She brushed a pale hand across her cloak, as though dusting away the residue of other people's performances.

Her eyes lingered on him a heartbeat longer, softer than the biting wit she had wielded so freely.

Then, without another quip, without another indulgent smile, she turned. Her cloak whispered against the frost as she strode toward the Temple's looming arch, the laughter and fury behind her dimming with each step. She moved like a shadow reclaiming its own shape, intent no longer on the crowd, but on the deeper current that pulsed within the Temple walls.

She did not look back. The Conclave could tear itself apart in its bloody revelry. Darth Virelia had seen enough.

 

[Darth Avida]

Hot Singles In Your Area​

Always the prize.

"You do not take, you hoard." Avida heard him say.

She could feel the corner of her lips tug back into something of a mischievous smirk - the kind a child took when they were caught doing something they new perfectly well that they weren't supposed to be doing but delighted in both the crime and the chastisement all the same. She didn't know who Da'Razel was, in fact she hadn't even seen him when he'd shown up with the rest of them, but it seemed he didn't know any of them, either, particularly if he thought that crying over a dragon's greed would fall on anything but deaf ears. Somehow he embodied everything he was lambasting 'them' - mistakenly grouping the people in the Sith Order with the rest of the Sith that'd shown up from across the galaxy in a classic us versus them perspective - while having the audacity to wail like a wounded akk dog over it and drawing hers, and she assumed others, attention directly to him.

There was no shortage of cantankerous tantrums from grown men and women unhappy they weren't being as respected, worshiped even, as they were used to, but the schizophrenic break in temperament and murderous glee overwhelmed even his pretty god that he so pathetically praised and defended, like a teenager and their celebrity crush, in killing intent. She didn't need to see a weapon in his hand to know that the moment she was caught in his line of sight that he wanted to wipe her from the face of the planet, just as anyone who'd seen how a gun operated didn't need to feel the weapon chamber a round or see the trigger pulled to know what was coming next. It perhaps would've been curious that she could very much see him use the force, even feel his presence in the force, but where his weapon was it would've been like trying to grasp at a smooth, slippery, stone.. if she had noticed. She wasn't a child, though, and she'd watched more people die than most people met throughout their entire lifespans - present company included - to know that the moment he'd lifted his hand that she'd either have to act or be shot dead.

Her right hand lifted but it wasn't for the projectile that she knew would be coming, her lightsaber rose to clash against the saber Darth Solipsis had hurled her way, that was something she left for the free hand while she leaned to the side with the force of the Sith Lord's saber strike in order to keep her balance as she parried the blow. Slugs that lightsabers couldn't parry weren't all too common, most people preferred blasters because there were relatively few people who carried a lightsaber in the grand scheme of things, but the constant conflicts between the Mandalorians and Sith over the last several decades, coming to a close as they'd been beginning to, had taught nearly every master of the force the importance of avoiding slag to the face - her mother, in particular, had been on the receiving end of such an unfortunate molten spray. Telekinesis, as anyone who was over the age of twelve could attest to, was laughably incapable of dealing with slugs and supersonic projectiles in general, and maybe if he hadn't been quite the masterful hypocrite betraying his own god's perspective on the rest of the galaxy's Sith outside of his own perhaps irony wouldn't have been her objective.

There was a bang but there was no collision between the slug and her body, and in fact it hadn't ever made it quite far enough for her to have even come to the conclusion that her sense of humor had proven hilariously fortunate for her. Anything to put a man in his place, she would have probably said. Of course he probably hadn't anticipated the literal folding of space mid-way between his weapon and the woman he'd directed his ire towards, certainly not that the thing he'd shot at her would've instead found itself flying directly at him instead.

"Religion is a crutch for the weak and stupid."

She cast a sidelong glance towards Mercy and Darth Solipsis - where she very much would have preferred to have been by now - and then looked back towards the raving lunatic with a look of utter contempt. "Which of those are you, and which is he?" She asked with twice as much condescension as she'd ever given anyone who'd suggested that she should've found interest in them rather than the other way around.

"The only god I've seen is me."

She flourished her lightsaber with a challenging wave - inviting him closer, though every bit of her body language suggested she wanted to be entangled between Mercy and Solipsis instead - and then spat at the ground with as much disrespect as the words that left her lips next.

"When men worship me at the foot of my bed."

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

The fury surrounding him was intoxicating and with it the Executor channeled it into his power and unleashed a blast powerful to disintegrate the tendrils.

An entangling lash seeking to wrap around the Nautolan's neck before snapping backwards both to rend flesh, if it could and to throw the Executor off his feet, onto his back.

The crackling tendrils of raw energy blew backwards, as before a mighty breeze. They flailed about like cords of snapping rope. In that moment, the crack of the whip and the yank of a lash came unseen. Should the Nautolan be snared and dragged backward, he might also be pulled through those strands of energy, which would burn him and drain him at a mere touch. Not completely, not entirely. But it would minutely deaden his connection to the Force.

Gerra stretched out a hand and curled his fingers into a fist. These selcouth tendrils obeyed, once more thrashing about to seek to bind this weirdward fathomfeeder as one might bind a rampaging animal. The more threads he touched, the tighter they wrapped, the more his connection to the Force might dissipate.

Beside Gerra, his brother spoke. Ah, Eleos. Ever wise.

Then a deluge of flame rolled forth from Carnifex, redirected by Eleos, and shrieked into the air in a torrent of roiling fire and flame. Gerra laughed with delight at the heat of the inferno, voice booming.

“Good!”

His eyes, now consummate pools of pure cinders, full of heat and hate, watched as more and more departed the conclave, including Darth Virelia

“Cowards,” he pronounced, “Hot air and nothing more.”

Disgusted, he turned back on the Nautolan.

“Did you think we traveled here empty-handed?”

A full armada hung in orbit. Nay, several, for each of the Sith Lords brought their own compliment of vessels.

Three of the Vahlan corsair destroyers, captains moving at the behest of a Hasuras-led battle meditation, broke formation and drifted into low orbit, their turbolasers charging, their gunners acquiring targeting solutions.

“You think yourselves invincible? Look where you are, curs. Desevro. Ten thousand parsecs from your fortresses. Far beyond the safety of your core worlds.”

If the Core dogs thought to bring ships of their own, the sensor suites of the gathered armadas would be aware of them well in advance. Nor could they spare such a force for so distant a strike. Not when war raged so hotly in the Core. There were other matters to consider: matters of supply lines and logistics. But these things were oft overlooked.

This had been a targeted attack, with a swift and expected outcome against Empyrean and the Kainate. They had not anticipated so many Sith from places beyond the Blackwall. And now, the outcome of their lightning raid looked uncertain. Perilous.

"Foolish lapdogs. Flee now, as the others did, or you will all die here with your master."

Desevro’s nexus crackled with power and Gerra reached out in the Force. Before it he bared his intentions, his will to dominate, and his unrepentant designs on violence.

CEDE ME YOUR STENGTH.
​

Lord Creuat
Barragh Nenn
Hasuras Na-Eleos

Soon: Darth Vinaze St. Thomas Barran Darth Bellum Da'Razel Talon Draven

​

​

 

[Kirie]

​

Egos. She saw great Sith with great arrogance drifting across the cavernous floor of the temple like vast icebergs. Around them, Sith and sycophants were tossed about in the waves of their presence like bobbing ships, or pieces of wayward jetsam. It was pandemonium. Many were liable to drown in the violence, or be crushed by the weight of greater beings.

Even her companions, Mercy , Quinn Varanin , Eira Dyn , and Arris Windrun , they were power-seekers too. As hungry and ambitious as any other Sith here, each pursuing a certain power and each tantalisingly close to securing it for themself. Kirie, on the other hand, was not ambitious. She was curious, and she was afraid.

Violence surged around them, but their entourage continued smoothly forward, carrying Kirie with them towards the centre of a storm. The declaration of a Kaggath stirred the room into a frenzy, and she was caught in the middle. Perplexingly, this was not the first time this had happened to her.

Kirie smoothly slid behind Arris, who she knew only by reputation, having shot her girlfriend. The alliances of the Sith shifted so strangely, but Kirie has long since stopped questioning them, though she did make a note to trip her over if she got the chance. She had no voice with which to explain herself, but with a quick gesture, her small droid moved to hover by Arris' head, and a tinny approximation of the voice she'd had was projected towards the tough Sith girl's ear.

'Seems safer back here. Mind if I hang back behind you?'

But she needn't have bothered to say anything. Kirie had thought Quinn would leap into the fray to assist Mercy. That had been what had happened on Echnos. The Princess had never been one to shy from a fight. Instead, after a parting kiss, Quinn's hand found her own, their fingers interlacing in a protective grip in time with the shimmering bubble which spread out around them. It was a pleasant feeling, to know someone was looking out for her.

Arris, for her part, was no doubt glad to be any obligation to be a human shield for a squishy handmaiden. It only took her a moment for her to find her target, and she too was crashing through the violent masses. Arris seemed hungry too. Was Kirie the only one who did not relish this depravity? She hated it, not just because it was unnecessary, not just because it was wasteful, but because the sea of viscera that threatened to engulf them made her sick to her stomach.

A strange sound close by caught Kirie's attention and her head whipped around to see Delsin Shaw approaching, taunting the Princess. Fear flooded her nerves and she stood rigid, but she forced herself to stay calm. She turned to him.

'Go get him.' she told her, forcing a smile. 'I'll go find somewhere safe to ride this out.' There was not much time to be spared on goodbyes or reassurances. They would just have to trust each other that they would meet unharmed at the conclusion of... Whatever this was. There was however, enough time for a peck on the cheek and a quick word.

'Don't hold back.' Kirie signed to Quinn. 'Show him this is not a game.'

She stepped back to let them face each other, her eyes up and searching for an unoccupied corner where she could cower.

...

​

​

 

[Koda Fett]

Bounty

The Mandalorian people accused Fett of a particular fondness for the Sith. It was never that. Even the opposite. The Jedi made for poor clients on the account of no available jobs, while the Sith paid well and had a slew of contracts out there to seize. Sith were annoying, however. Too unpredictable, too much like children. Petulant, in that regard.

Off the top of his helmeted head, he could think of a handful he would put down free of charge. Today, he was being paid for his efforts.

Slinking through the cold, ashen remnants of a dead-city, Fett kept himself low as he neared the Sith temple. In the backchannels of the underworld, there were whispers of a meeting to take place between the Sith in the blackwall.

Damned thing was bad for business.

He folded his rangefinder over his helmet and saw just how many of the freaks had gathered, groaning, "Hnh." Something of a sneer spread at the sight of one he wouldn't mind killing, though she was occupied. Fett searched for other prey.

The price was the same, either way.

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Tyrant Queen."

Tags - Hasuras Na-Gerra



The word cowards had barely left Gerra's mouth before the shadows at his back twisted unnaturally.

From that void, Virelia summoned the spear of midnight black. The Darkshear coalesced like a shard of absence, a weapon of pure unbeing. She cast it without hesitation, the throw silent but swift, a lance of annihilation cutting for his exposed back. Its passage distorted the air, leaving only the faintest shimmer, a wound in reality itself.

She was already moving. Her hooded form surged from her place of retreat, cloak snapping wide like the wings of some predator breaking from cover. Both hands snapped forward and the BWE Fighting Claws sprang out with a hiss, each digit elongated into glinting blades. They curved with surgical lethality, vibro-edges alive with a low, hungry hum.

Silence itself was her war cry. The violet glow of her eyes sharpened beneath the cowl as she closed the distance in a blur.

 

[Srina Talon]

Tag: Darth Empyrean
Location: Conclave...?
____________________________________________________

From somewhere very far away…She felt his annoyance and a particular apathy stir.

The quiet Echani arrived at this Conclave without fanfare. Nothing heralded her coming. No footsteps. No announcements. It was a simple shift of atmosphere that betrayed her presence while it washed over those nearest with the bone-chilling sensation of something unfathomable. White-gold hair had been drawn back from her face with what seemed to be meticulous care, partially braided, while leaving the rest to fall down her back. It was not ornamental or indulgent.

It was practical.

Brosi was still fresh in her mind, and the work to be done in the Holy Worlds had not yet ended. She had not returned to Jutrand since the victory had been declared for reasons that seemed to elude many others. Certainly, they made up motives, but she paid them little mind. Her duty was to the Order, and that included ensuring that while the battle had been won…The was not forgotten. It wasn't the first time these particular Imperials had attacked with waning strength. It wasn't their first loss.

But it was the first time she was left wondering if it was part of a larger plan.

Certainly, they couldn't be that inept.

As Darth Empyrean turned away from the gathering, his wife stepped through the wake of his shadow. She became a slender silhouette of modest cerulean and onyx, trailing in his stride, as if the darkness itself had summoned her. Her gaze briefly flickered across those he had dismissed, corruption-filled eyes cool as winter sun, before they returned to the Corpse King as though nothing else merited the time it took to fill the space between heartbeats. Her expression was cutting. Austere—Even here, before parties who may or may not have viewed themselves her better.

Even amid the ruin of tempers and the raw edges of childish defiance…She was untouchable. She did not bend. She did not break. She could not be moved nor cowed by wagging tongues and made-up titles, but instead took interest in those who said nothing at all.

Those who were God and King—Never needed to say they were God and King.

They simply were.

"Leaving so soon?"

The way she fell in step beside Empyrean was…Strange. As if she had always been there. A part of his whole that neither feared nor loathed him. Past, present, and future. There was no heat to her words, nor did she convey any disdain. Her expression did not shift…She did not console nor condemn. She was simply as she had always been. He was frozen in a ghastly appearance, a wolfish maw, perched in the macabre mocking grin of something unholy. She was frozen inside.

He had long ago learned to bear that cold.

Her head tilted to the side for a moment, almost hawkish, before she released a fluttering sigh while her hand found the arm of her husband that she could touch. The one that wouldn't potentially rend flesh from bone and devour her marrow. "You have missed much…"

"What drew you here?"