Faction Kingdom of Heaven [Warlords of the Sith]

[Darth Voyance]

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[Over Tash-Taral]​

Ripped from the photonic maelstrom of hyperspace the Tuk'ata-Class Battleship, the Reliquary, emerged in a reality tearing leap forward. It’s long monolithic red mass drifted past the efflux of its hyperspace exit on quiet residual momentum. Slowly advancing, it was met by a crowding rupture of several points in real space as the rest of the Dark Saint’s Praxeum fleet joined the Reliquary’s position. In a blanketing array of echelon formations, the Tuk’ata Battleships lined together in a vast cubic formation in space behind the command ship. Combined, the Praxeum Fleet swarmed over the northern hemisphere orbital sector of amber and sandstone colored world of Tash-Taral. Soon the other orbital sectors of the world would awash with warships of the other Sith Warlord Fleets – those of Errant Fleet under Warlord and brethren Dark Sovereign Vora Kaar , and that of the other Sovereign, Kascalion Giedfield and his Dread Fleet.​

Leaving the Praxeum Fleet formation, the Reliquary engaged its vast engines, spewing bright blue plumes of reactor core efflux. It lurched forward and then began to sink, belly first, down into the upper most fringes of Tash-Taral’s arid and earthy hued atmosphere. As it descended it past one of many Shield-Gate Stations, or SGS, that kept vigil over the orbital space of Tash-Taral. During times of imminent invasion or danger their linked and combined shields could blanket the entire world in a protective vessel obstructing deflector shield. Currently however, their shield generators were disengaged to allow the massive frames of the Warlords Fleet’s warships to visit the world’s lower atmospheres. Sinking further the Reliquary passed the SGS that guarded the skies of the northern hemisphere. The SGS was fashioned like a floating fortress with dark steel plates, jutting balcony spires, and spiked reinforced armored towers – an architecture shared by all the SGS around Tash-Taral.​

Breaking through the churning browns, soft sandy oranges, and gilded winds of Tash-Taral’s whispy cloud seas, the Reliquary levelled out and reduced its speed over a deep gash that tore the surface of the world below. The geographic scar that eviscerated the deep rock of Tash-Taral was cavernous and steeply edged canyon that slithered across an entire length of a continental plateau. An extension of the Great Valley, dubbed so in homage to the old Valley of the Dark Lords by the ancient Sith refugees of Tash-Taral, scanning readouts from the Reliquaries sensors had measured the wound as more than twenty kilometers long and the upper opening, a gap of two hundred. Dust storms bellowing in colossal moving chunks blew over the maw of the canyon, partly submerging the jagged peaks of its rim. The razor summits appearing like fangs from the gums of its dust clouds.​

The Reliquary slowed down near the center of the canyon and from its starfighter hangar dispatched a dark plated shuttle transport, flanked by Crimson Bolt Interceptor Starfighters. Diving through the dust storm the shuttle weaved through the canyon’s escarpments, cliff hugging straits, and deep troughs. Trails of dust and vapors streamed from the solar side panels of the starfighters as they came deeper and deeper into the canyon’s depths. At the deepest sections, the sunlight was diluted into a murky semi-permanent dusky haze, corrupted into a saturated ochre light. Taking a turn the escorted shuttle reached the faced of an ancient Sith temple complex, carved right into the escarpments.​

[Basilica Prime Fortress]

The very façade of the temple was sculpted from the cliff face. Large, monumental columns adorned with robed figures guarded the entrance and its long sloping steps. Sith script littered its mantels and archways, and crimson sandstone lined its thresholds. This ancient façade was the outer layer of the embedded Vigil Gate of the subterranean fortress – Basilica Prime. Above it, a modern hangar jutted out, the only exposed hint of the massive subterranean fortress built behind the temple’s façade and deep into the very plateau the canyon cut through. Swooping down to the hangar bay balcony, the shuttle and interceptors landed onto the disembarking deck.​

As the gangplank hissed open and was flooded with ventilation exhaust from the exit door threshold, Darth Voyance, Dark Saint of the Sith Warlords stepped out. She was followed by her the Shadow Hand, Siqsa Kun (left) and Sith Hounds of her Secret Order of the Shadow Hand. Behind Voyance and Siqsa, was a contingent of guarding Sith Battle Chapter Troopers (right), clad in black and red with rifles cradled in there arms. Siqsa had also brought the first member of her Itsuttoi Sith Clan, the Athiss Horde, the Lord Romund Sro . The other bodyguard Sith Hounds and the Chapter Troopers marched in two columns behind Voyance and Siqsa, who strode side by side.​

Passing the wide and arched tipped exit doors, the entered one of the many Receiving Halls that acted as antechambers to the hangar balconies dotted across the canyon’s hidden nooks

. The Vigil Gate Receiving Hall was monstrously tall and was armored and decorated like the bowels of a star destroyer or battle-station. Giant columns supported its walls wile levels of balconies and buttressed viewing platforms lined every story, connected by crossing networks of bridges. Large slender strip banners ran down the columns, festooned at the top and bass by large railings. The main floor was a wash with the tribal delegations of the scavenger tribes that dotted the wreckage repurposed spaceports and towns of Tash-Taral’s dune marches.​

As Darth Voyance entered with her retinue, the tribal delegations bowed their heads greeted the Dark Sovereign. Voyance nodded to them and gently motioned for them to raise their heads. She stopped and turned to Siqsa Kun, “Prepare the grounds for the arrival of the High Lords and Warlords, as well as their retinues. Herald them in as they arrive through the Vigil Gate, Red One.” Voyance then turned around to leave her apprentice saying, “I shall await the High Lords at the viewing platform, fourth level.”​

A great ceremony was about to begin. Lands would be rewarded to Sith Knights of the Dark Brood, and greater fiefs given to soon to be enfeoffed Warlords. And then the main event, the very sermon that would launch their grand dark crusade against the enemies of the Sith Code and the Warlords’ covenant. Siqsa knew it was coming. She had been privy to Voyance’s plans. The Warlords would be given their feudal dues and commands, the Dark Prophet of the Sith Ecclesiarchy, Darth Setheus would guide the dark faithful in a ritual of prayer and then the Sitharian Crusade would begin. At last they would reveal themselves proper. At last they would have their revenge. All of them.​

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TAGS:
Darth Bellum |Darth Immortuos| Ashin Cardé Varanin | Darth Kentarch |Darth Mutilice| Darth Vinaze | Darth Perfidiae | Velok Brokentusk | Ihsan | Romund Sro | Maestus |Jacen Novastar

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​

 

[Alina Tremiru]

The hunt for a dragon had introduced her to the Warlords, but it didn't compare to actually seeing them all gathered in one place. The armies they had were vast. Rivaling the Empire. They all had their places. The people around. The troopers following the warlords. The Sith who pledged themselves to each group. Alina couldn't be any more out of place. She purposely landed her ship quite a distance away from the gathering. The less noticed she was, the less likely a wayward Sith Lord would unleash fury upon her.

The paranoia was always there. She had no issue crossing sides between the Sith organizations that had sprung up around the galaxy. They all had their own knowledge. Things for her to learn and things for her to add to her arsenal. But how to join this one? Once she actually arrived at the gathering she stood with her head held high, glowing yellow eyes looking straight ahead. She didn't want to meet anyone's gaze to avoid challenges, but she also didn't want to see timid.

There was so much to be worried about among so many powerful Sith.

For now she'd watch. Listen. Whatever was going to happen she was here for it.

Darth Voyance

 

[Stilicho Drumarch]

Left...

Right...

​

Left...

Right...

​

The sound of thousands of feet hitting the sandstone at one was the music of war. War was life, and it was beginning on this day. Every Red Son was born today under the eyes of their forebears, whose great statues looked down upon all the little soldiers in a row. In front of The Vigil Gate they marched with intricate drill patterns and unmatched efficiency.

"MARK TIME!"
​

And they did. At the call of the Lord Commander, the sea of black and red armour stopped its advance, but the thundering continued as they marched in place. The drums of war were beating in every heart and every soul.

"HALT!"
​

The marching came to swift and violent halt, the sound of every right foot in the Sith Host banging down with purpose and duty reverberated off the canyon walls.

"PRESENT ARMS!"
​

In one motion the entire Sith Host saluted, bringing their rifles to a vertical position in front of them. They were at the disposal of their majesties the Dark Sovereigns. They were the weapon of the Sith, and the instrument of their revenge...

Zassat Rond​

 

[Ihsan]

Tags: Darth Bellum Darth Vinaze Alina Tremiru Apkari Darth Voyance Darth Kentarch Darth Mutilice Darth Perfidiae Velok Brokentusk Romund Sro Maestus Dasam Kal

Face partly obscured by her hood, Ihsan stood among the dark saint Darth Voyances entourage gathered for the ceremony and rituals that'd confirm the Sitharian crusades in a beautiful display of blood and majestic might. She could remember a time once of sweeter memories and days, when she was guaranteed a Padawan title on Kashyyyks green rolling pastures and paired with a knight of the order. But those times were gone like tears in the rain, lost to the pain and regret. They were all dead now, and only she remained. Pitiful as she was. She was a survivor.

It was difficult to specify when she did break; it all got to the young Mirialan in the end. A slow build-up of night terrors and anxiety from the horror of combat at a young age, thrown into the meat grinder as the Silver Jedi lost ground and manpower in the face of the then unstoppable Sith empire. She did her best, but it all built up, and like a well of emotions and pent up anger, she broke and commandeered the nearest fighter ship for the Sith border. The order wrote her off as having gone AWOL, another young face in a long and haunting wall of Jedi lost to combat, suicide or disappearances. But she found a different fate in the malevolent arms of another. Tortured for years into giving up all she held true to and dear, the poor little Mirialan fought against the encroaching dusk, and it's dark embrace. But like all things bound by mortal fate and time, she broke into a thousand pieces and was reborn anew.

Sucking in a deep breath, she let those emotions infuse her.

Nobody knew how she struggled with her emotions.

Slipping inside her own repressed thoughts was like taking a dive in a bitterly cold and dark lake. The shock of cold struck her in her bones, and it made her want to breathe in. She saw her former self sitting cross-legged with tears running down tattooed cheeks, but the sound of her sobbing was dulled as if underwater. Then she heard the screams in her head once more.

They had made her kill that which she held dear. And she followed her newly found masters like a whipped dog. Embracing her newfound path to escape from the night terrors and regrets of her own choices made. Voyance had found her years later, rather than fleeing like the rest of newly found kin in the Empire. She chose another way, a better way. Voyance saved her, and now she served a new master once more. ​

 

[Dasam Kal]

Tash-Taral

Tag: Darth Voyance

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[THEME]​

As the stars of the Galaxy sparked in the void of space surrounding Tash-Taral, a bright freighter zooms into the face of reality as it exited hyperspace. It thrust forward to the planet's orbit, nearing the Shield-Gate stations. During the short trek, a lonesome dark-clothed individual sat onto the metallic floor within a dome-like room. Though the floor held markings in the shape of things that were, the room was entirely clear of objects. All but a few small components floating in front of the dark figure. A crystal here, an emitter there, a three-pronged shade at the side. A lightsaber was being assembled.

The compartments slid into place together so smoothly and precisely, like it was meant to be. The assembly process was complete with the sound of a click, and the Sith held his hand out for his lightsaber. A replacement of the one lost, so many years ago. Another hand went over to the hilt to brush across the grooves of the grip. The fingers embraced the hilt in a tight fashion and a line of light in a crimson hue contrasted itself from the dark depths of the room. The heavy and vibrant hum of the saber brought satisfaction, a sense of nostalgia. The tune of the blade's presence was evidence enough that it is superior to its predecessor. A new weapon for a new chapter. The saber's light was extinguished and the room was pitch black again. With a clip over to the figure's belt, he strode out of the room and into a dark hallway that was opened before him.

Upon entering the cockpit area, the light of the planet was cast onto the room. The reason for the lack of lighting within the ship was revealed. The figure had a blindfold over him, for he suffered from an affliction called Hibernation Sickness.

"We are approaching the atmosphere Master and have been granted entry. We'll be landing shortly." A droid, piloting the ship stated.

"Good, put us at a slight distance from the Temple." The figure replied.

The droid gave a nod. And the Freighter descended to the skies of the planet. Closing in on the large scar that the planet bore, the sunlight getting dim as the ship descended in the cover of the canyon's edges. The landing gear slid out of their slots and brace their suspensions once they touched the ground. The Freighter had landed a distance away from the Vigil Gate, the landing ramp facing it. The blindfolded loner trotted down to the red sands below, taking a few paces ahead and coming to a halt.

The familiar cold came over the figure, a chill that he embraced. This was the right place, and the figure took hold of the blindfold covering his eyes and stripping his person of it. The black strand of cloth drifted off with some of the sands behind him, and the dim light was something the figure's eyes adjusted to swiftly. His golden eyes were graced by the distant architecture of the Vigil Gate, albeit somewhat blurry. But the hibernation sickness had been wearing off, as time was its best medicine. A resource he carried in abundance after his thawing.

And so, he continued in his stride to enter the Gate.

 

[Romund Sro]

Dasam Kal | Ihsan | Alina Tremiru | Darth Voyance | Darth Sinestruss
​

Clad in his golden bronze colored armor stood by Siqsa, Lady of the Athiss Horde. Behind his helms visor his single yellow eyes watched and looked intently at where they were. He had not known such a richly historic planet was so close to his former home. Eyeing more as they entered the more industrial looking interior.

Seeing the tribal delegations, the sneering imperialist inside him felt they desecrated this place with their mere presence. Even though his time among imperials was very brief he took quite a bit from them since he spent so many years alone and they were some of the first people he met in a long time. How could one not try to somewhat emulate their supposed saviors at least a little?

Then he watched as The Dark Saint turned to face Lady Kun to directed them on what to do. He stood proper and attentive the whole time. These were very important VIPs he was around after all. Seeing that Voyance was telling what to do he wondered if that meant Siqsa would than delegate some of the off on him as well. Or they would prefer him to do something else instead.

 

[Kascalion Giedfield]

Armor: X | Lightsaber: X | Right Arm: X
Tags: Darth Bellum | Darth Immortuos | Ashin Cardé Varanin | Darth Kentarch | Darth Mutilice | Darth Vinaze | Darth Perfidiae | Velok Brokentusk | Ihsan | Romund Sro | Maestus | Jacen Novastar | Vora Kaar | Darth Voyance | Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt | Darth Setheus | Dasam Kal

​

The Dread Fleet was a behemoth of a thing in Hyperspace, and especially so in material space. This was mostly in part due to the oddities of the ships that comprised it, which appeared to be designed around a rather ancient idea of mobile citadels. More strikingly, perhaps, than this was the presence of several aesthetics once deemed exclusive to the Ancient Sith Empire. T the oldest and wisest of the Galaxy with astute knowledge of these things, seeing such primordial constructs - or at least what they would dub it without knowing the specifics - in the modern age would have been jarring. Gargantuan spiked weaponized hulks powered by the Dark Side itself, with necessary mechanics here and there. In more ways than one, the Dread Fleet was not merely a fleet.

It was a collective super-powered weapon of the Sith, utilized by its Warlord and his people to instill its very namesake upon the Galaxy. And this could be accomplished by sight of the thing alone, especially what lay at its helm. Especially what lay at its helm this day. Yes, the feared Hallowed Grave still served as the capital ship of the fleet, as was necessary for the sake of posterity and lack of spreading ideas that Kascalion Giedfield held too much power for his own sake. But on this, the day before reckoning, he felt it necessary to reveal yet another addition to not only the Dread Fleet, but to the Sith Warlords as a whole. One he had so dearly desired to bring into the forefront since he had done his duty Wuncania and Credence in recent months. One that would help them dominate the Tingel Arm.

And so it arrived the helm of the Dread Fleet, thundering into existence upon leaving hyperspace and making its dramatic breaching into material space. How easy it was to break through the thin veil that was perceivable reality. For those operating the defense systems of Tash-Taral, they would only see a large blip on their scanners, accompanied by other blips and only one equal in size to what began to cast a dark shadow across space. What those with visual on the thing would see was a monstrous beast, rendered into a perpetual state of painful undeath and wired together with the powers of Mechu-Deru.

The poor creature's body had been repurposed into bio-mechanical ship intended to house the High Lord Giedfield, his closest confidants, his personal military force, and even smaller and equally monstrous creations. Its crooked legs and arms had been outfitted with weapons and its palms appeared to had been hallowed out to hold several high-powered rail guns, each capable of blitzing enemy fleets and reducing star destroyers to scattered shrapnel. But what really drew the attention was its incomprehensibly large and serrated hook-wings. Propelling the beast through space with only occasional powerful flaps, both wings bore scars and lights and even more weapon installations and inhabited control rooms and single-person tramways to traverse semi-safely.

And then, those viewing the great thing near Tash-Taral would see them. The two massive cannons tipping the wings. Whatever this thing had once been, whatever individual thoughts it had or desires it sought to reach for, it had all been washed away in place of this terrible thing that defied reason. It was magnificent. Immoral. Disgusting. Sickening. Abhorrent. It was the Calamity Tiamat. The true flagship of the boisterous and conceited warlord who stood - almost too giddily - on the bridge of this repugnant thing, which had been constructed inside its now metallic skull, stewing in the Dark Side and feeding off the sorrow of the beast that knew no better.

His larger and more public purpose on Tash-Taral was simple, relatively speaking. He was to do what Vora Kaar and Voyance would do: give out fiefs, lands, titles, and the whatnot and then partake in whatever ceremony the latter had prepared. But his true purpose was to, rather arrogantly and far too much like his younger self, reveal the plethora of apprentices he had managed to take from undocumented skirmishes across the Tingel Arm. Was it a show of force against the other Warlords? Begin the sowing of their inevitable conflict? Entice the others to come into his fold? Or was it merely the actions of a man coming back into his ways and rediscovering what truly made him a Warrior-King all those years ago? Or was it possible that there was no grand explanation and the man simply planned on doing this because he felt like it?

The questions would hang in the air over his head as Calamity Tiamat slowed to a motionless hover some hundred-thousand miles from the world. He gazed upon it through the viewports, marveling at the sands and ruins of the Sith who once called this place home. How curious that it would once again be the home for their descendants?

The voice that took him from his admiration of the world was deep and rumbling, "Lord Giedfield, the shuttle is waiting for you."

The Devil turned his gaze to the source of such verbal tremors, his admiration now set upon the armored figure before him. One of his newest acquisitions and a paragon of slaughter in his Tsis-Itsuttoi. Caerux Cain. Of all warriors in Liijëv Mbut, Caerux was one of the most savage and his armor had become permanently stained in blood. In his hands, he held a lightsaber that had claimed a hundred innocent lives, taken on the orders of the most brutal of all himself. Yet, such sentiments were not spoken of nor were they thought in any capacity to where the man could sense them. Only cold acknowledgment of his presence, which was dismissed with a curt nod. The warrior nodded and lumbered away to join the others in the shuttle, ready to make his first appearance in front of the rest.

The steely eyes of the Devil, still retaining their blue coloration since the day he partook in Ashin Cardé Varanin 's ritual, then wandered over to his second in the bridge, Atha Baegula, a Dark Jedi turned Warlord from Telos, "Lord Baegula, you have command of Calamity until my return...and send word to Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt to join me at my shuttle. I believe it is time that she sees what the Warlords are truly capable of."

Baegula said nothing and almost too eagerly took command of the bridge as Kascalion left to walk through the painfully metallic halls of the poor beast. He would have to be reeducated on such anticipation in the absence of the Devil. Each winding corner and turbolift had been constructed in such a way so as to avoid the unalterable vital organs and parts of the beast, and the Devil took great delight in traversing them and listening to the muted agony of Calamity.

"How you so yearn to tear free of your chains," he laughed with an invisible grin to the beast, entering the second to last lift to the hangar, which had been constructed in the sternum of the beast underneath one of its three hearts. "But no. No, you will never leave my control. You will serve me for as long as I need you, which unfortunately for you will be...forever."

Calamity could only answer the whispers in its reprogrammed mind with a mewling howl through space, one that would resemble that of idle engines to those that could hear it. This brought another laugh from the sadistic fiend that quickly made his way to the hangar and entering the awaiting shuttle. Before the pilot droid could make the descent, the Devil stopped him with a wave of his cybernetic hand, which only just now made him aware of how quickly he had become used to it. As if was actually his flesh and bone. A soft noise of amusement escaped him and he looked to the lift where he knew his greatest weapon would make her arrival. Lyra Voi'kryt, who had put up one of the greatest fights Kascalion had ever experienced not a few months ago. Her potential was, for lack of a better term, limitless in the Dark Side. The Devil attributed this to her rather tumultuous life, born into the Empire and whisked away onto some fantastical rebellion heralded by the loathsome Irveric Tavlar . Even bearing that man's children, which she inevitably hid away from the trials of the war.

And then she was nearly killed on Bastion by that same man, lumped in with the Sith simply because of coincidence with the Force. And finally, she was defeated on Helgard, nearly killing the very man that was now her Master. An accomplishment to be sure, but with the Devil, everything was futile when done in opposition to him. He was unkillable before, and now, as he felt the pull of his old power, as his destiny began to unfurl itself towards the next act, he knew - knew - that he was unkillable. None would ever defeat him again in the manner that Irveric once had. In fact, the next time those two met, the man would die with as much pain as this existence could allow one to feel before granting them mercy and taking their conscious ability to feel anything at all. This, the Devil swore.

But for now, he awaited Lyra Voi'kryt. And then, Tash-Taral would be graced by their presence.

 

[Ghoul of Moridinae]

​

Hunger.

It clawed at his rough, jagged flesh like a beckoning call. It was something all too familiar to him. Etching into his skin and drumming into the very center of his being. Something more primal and even older than his own wound in the Force. Something that called out to the very fabric of real space. That constant itch in the back of every sentients mind as they go about their day, needs met, but the animal inside still demands.

Hunger.

He had attempted to sate himself in these weeks past, hunting the crew of his vessel in dreary mobs. Most of them, many of them, would give themselves willingly to his nashing teeth and preying claws as he rended flesh from bone. The displace of organs lost it’s magic by time, as so many slaughters, splashing intestines and raw chunks of matter across the hallways like decorations for a child’s birthday could only do so much for the Ghoul. These willing were fine for the physical aspect of his hunger. They were fine for getting protein in his system, and a few of them even had the sweet, drug-like high of the Force coddling through their veins.

They lacked the fear he craved so deeply.

These men and women had become accustomed to his presence, he was less of a demon stalking their home and more akin to a God blessing their church.

How tired he was of this reality.

The Warlords offered a pathway out of that, a warfront to follow, crusades to take place in, new worlds to consume and pillage and demolish with teeth, nail, and anguish.

He had to only follow them.

Thus, the musing of yesterday’s meal about a planned meeting between the Warlords on the world Tash-Taral would be followed by the Ghoul and his cultists. The Interdictor cutting through hyperspace before breaking into the many various positions that the Errant Fleet was forming. Comms were screaming, and for once, the bridge crew was left thoroughly unmolested in their dealings. Reading off locations, allegiances, and transponder codes as the cruiser made it’s way over the world. Ghoul, already on his way to the hanger to board a shuttle to transport himself to the world’s surface.

The vessel had managed to land on the surface of the world, at the leadup to the Gates. His presence, and manner for being there, unannounced and unexplained. He had no formal dealings with the Warlords up until this point.

He was curious to see how their troopers and guards would react to the nightmare leaving the vessel.

With the shuddering of the door, the landing steps began to slide from the shuttle. A pool of blood seeping from the seals of the door before letting a small pool dribble out onto the floor as the host of troopers that had followed him into the vessel was cut down by two. Leaving him and two other marines soaked in their comrades' blood, bits of flesh hanging from the beasts mouth as he choked the rest back, and the two troopers a bit more shaken in their step as they left the shuttle. Making their way in the direction of the Gate.

And so the Ghoul came to the Warlords...

 

[Darth Bellum]

Even in death, there is no command but my own...
[ Theme ]
​

| Location | Tash-Taral​

| Purpose | Bear Witness​

​

Tash-Taral - The world chosen to be the next congregation of those who followed the Dark, having bided their time in the shadows since the splintering of the Sith Empire and the massacre of many of their order at the hands of the New Imperial Order and the subjects that had gained the ever-watchful gaze of the Eternal Lord of Conflict's interest. The wolves he had sought during his time amongst the realm of the living, all having risen from the ashes of adversity, the bloodied pits from which they were cast and admonished.​

​

Shadows swirled and came together as the presence of the Dark Side began to intensify, coalescing into the towering figure that was Darth Bellum's ghostly visage, coming into the perceivable realm by those graced by the Dark Side, appearing as clear and solid as any other living creature to those that held a strong connection to the Force. It was time to make his presence once again known to the galaxy - that the former Sith known as Kor Vexen still lived on, and become an even greater threat to Galactic Peace and those who entertained the notion of pursuing it.​

​

Darth Bellum would raise his hand up as his armored talons slightly curled as if ready to swipe at something, rending the very air before him as the atmosphere seemed to distort and be torn asunder, a tear in the very fabric of space and time being ripped open as the gap between Real Space and Otherspace was bridged. From the twisted tear that he created, the steady sound of armored boots marching could be heard, a methodical and ominous pace and aura being exuded from the breach.​

​

The Thirteenth Umbral Legion - The warriors that served Bellum in death as they had in life and his chosen elite. Having been listed as largely Missing in Action, or written off as KIA by the New Imperial Order following their disappearance at the first Battle of Bastion, the Thirteenth Umbral Legion had bided their time in Otherspace, having trained and grown even stronger as a fighting force and twisted to become a cult that worshipped war and death. At long last, their lord and master had called upon them bringing them forth from the depths of the void to once again fight and serve, their armors stained with the blood of those foolish enough to challenge them in the purgatorial hell that was Otherspace.​

​

They marched forth in unison, following Darth Bellum's ethereal figure as he proceeded to position them amongst the legions that the other Warlords had created to combat the Galaxy and once more remind them that the Sith existed and that they were very much alive. Amongst the crumbling ashes of the old Sith Empire did those worthy rise up, and they would come to lay dominion over the systems that had for far too long suffered the disease that was peace and prosperity. He was the cure, and his Legion as well as the Warlords of the Sith, would be the instruments of their salvation.​

​

For he was the one that would wage war against all. By their hand, they would expose the hearts of peace and order. By his blade, he would cleave it beating from their chest.

​

Darth Voyance | Kascalion Giedfield | Vora Kaar | Darth Immortuos | Ashin Cardé Varanin | Darth Kentarch | Darth Mutilice | Darth Vinaze | Darth Perfidiae | Velok Brokentusk | Ihsan | Romund Sro | Maestus | Jacen Novastar

​

 

[Darth Immortuos]

The Warlords of the Sith would gather today in mass to display their combined strength. It was a way for each any every sith here to showcase the power structure they had made for themselves here and now. An opportunity little would want to miss. Amongst them its was counted a ceremony and the start of something much greater to come. A crusade against the galaxy.

On the individual level it gave each sith a chance to see what resources their allies and rivals had. It was this reason alone that Immortuos decided to make an appearance. As a High Lord of the Sith he was perhaps required to show up but his reasoning as to why were entirely separate. Tethered, wind blown in ragged tattered cloaks, the dark hues of black, brown and grey formed the figure of Darth Immortuos descending from one of the many high peaks. Levitating himself to the platform on the fourth level balcony his presence was accompanied with a change in weather. The skies above flashed with streams of lights, zig-zagging in every manner of direction. Dry lightning. Setting foot on the platform the Sith lord adjusted his assumed crown and peered over to the presence of Darth Bellum with his grand display of military might and power over the planar sphere.

It was most impressive.

Immortuos himself, even before the ceremony began, considered bringing his own forces to display his grasp of power, But that could not be done. Blackwing was a respecter of no species, title, creed or personality. It sought to consume and infect all. Bringing it here to the birth of a new era of sith would end in certain doom for everyone else. So for now the Sith lord waited, observed and watched. Taking note of his potential allies and rivals to come.

Darth Voyance
Kascalion Giedfield

 

[Vora Kaar]

​

The occasion for bringing forth the entirety of a Military might, to show off the followings each one had was very strong today. Vora knew of the troops upon troops that would be brought forward in a showcase. To finally claim the planet of Tash-taral as our home. A place in which we would operate from in order to have a galactic standing for our crusades against our fallen brethren of the Sith Imperials, and other Dark Lords. Vora had decided, that if he was going to heavily lean into this showcase of "Show and Tell." among the Sith Warlords, and High Lords, he would offer all he could.

The Dark Sovereign of Strength took his place upon the bridge of the Sun Furnace. A massive shadowport that could transport itself through hyperspace. Standing before the racing lines of stars being passed by, The blackened dome of a helmet looked upon the Hyperspace tunnel. Coming up behind him, was the loud clamorous steps of heavy plate armor. That of Lúthien Tinúviel . This man, well, individual has come to work underneath Vora to find and produce troops for the Dark Sovereign, came to stand behind him. Bowing his head lightly before speaking to him.

"We are reaching Tash-Taral shortly."
"Is it true you had a tie to this place Warlord?"
"It would be remiss of me to not say I did for some time."
"It is where you... retained your form correct?"
"Yes. Captured into this vessel."
"Does it anger you to be here again?"
"No. For me it is a second home. A place I know well."
"Very well. Notify Tash Kaar that we are on our way. As she is with the other Sith Hounds."
"Any other commands for her?"
"Make sure the Bastard's Blade is taken just inside the Atmosphere. Otherwise, we shall take a shuttle to Bascilia Prime."
"Good m'lord."

The gaze turned from the tunnel of void and lights, barely looking over the shoulder to the living ancient armor. Stating he had been good to make those orders. While Vora was not a man who sought appraisal from underlings, it was strange still, to have a being who was pretty much immortal to tell the very mortal man of the Dark Sovereign that his decisions were justified. A metallic sigh escaped the helm.

"Be on your way. Have a gathering of Host from Jenignevlu arrive with us."
"Very well."

Vora turned to face the Hyperspace tunnel once more for a few moments as Nur'Vele walked off. Gathering what must be done. The Captain of the vessel spoke rather quickly of exiting hyperspace. To which Vora found the slightest bit upsetting. How he yearned to look upon the passing celestial creations within the galaxy. To have visions of them as though they were the word of the force. Either way, he watched as the tunnel began to slow then suddenly transition in a snap to the realty of where they were headed.

A mass of vessels from the Dread, and Praxeum Fleets, were now having to make room for the Errant Fleet. Already the mass of troopers, captains, and subordinates were communicating with one another. The massive 80 kilometer vessel of the Sun Furnace was left out further away from the planetary body of the Sith Warlords. So that there would not be any interference with the planet, or other vessels.

Vora turned to leave, walking with his bootfalls upon the freshly cleaned floors towards the hangar bay. One in which a host of shuttles were awaiting for the coronation of the Dark Sovereigns.

​

Tash Kaar was one such woman who prided herself on being autonomous from her master and "father." For the past small bit, She has been working with the Shadow Hand, and the other Sith Hounds upon which they would operate completely underneath that of the Dark Saint, and the Dark Sovereigns. The Twi'lek had found a liking of the other Hands. People who worked either alone or with each other. Operations that were of the highest importance. Near-suicidal missions. When arriving with that of the Darth Voyance, She stopped with the rest of the entourage. Orders given out to wait for the other Sovereigns. Prepare for them to arrive.

Tash turned around to the troopers and indicated a contingent to continue with the Dark Lord, while the rest stayed and lined up. Preparing for others to be welcomed to the temple. It was then she was being hailed. Retrieving a Holocomunicator from her cleavage. The resulting image was the bust of Nur'Vele. A Warlord who operated under Vora.

"The Sun Furnace is high time for its introduction."
"So I see Father is showing up now."
"It would be wise to clean up your attitude before our Highlord is planet side. Embarrassing his position would not do well for you."
"And why-"
"Its an order from the man himself. I am but the messenger."
"Whatever. Just let me know how many will be coming and I will inform the Dark Saint."
"Dozen of Jenginevlu Hosts, myself, and Kaar. Any other Troops will be stationed upon the Bastard's blade, and the Errant Fleet. Standing by."
"Very well. Till then."

The two ended the communication with Tash turning to Siqsa very quickly.

"The Errant Fleet has come to Tash-Taral space. Expecting half a dozen plus two. I know not of the Dread Fleet's attendance."

Darth Bellum Darth Immortuos Darth Voyance Kascalion Giedfield Ghoul of Moridinae Romund Sro Dasam Kal Ihsan Apkari Alina Tremiru

 

[Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt]

Tenebrae Armor / Hand Of God / Light Saber

Tags: Darth Bellum Darth Immortuos Ashin Cardé Varanin Darth Kentarch Darth Mutilice Darth Vinaze Darth Perfidiae Velok Brokentusk Ihsan Romund Sro Maestus Jacen Novastar Vora Kaar Darth Voyance Kascalion Giedfield Darth Setheus Dasam Kal ​

Artificial lights flickered over head as a distinct lull seized the behemoth craft, the burning ends of faulty wire hummed and settled in seconds. The solitary space had been etched out for the likes of a lesser servant, spartan-it reminded her of the deprivations from the Pure Blood. What he had attempted, in place Kascalion had achieved. The woman’s form lurched as the fall from hyperspace was hailed by turbulence. Thrust from unconscious trance, her eyes pried open, freed from the chemical haze. There were some things a knife could cut out, but she retained a certain defiance that hadn’t been scrubbed from her skin and Kascalion did not waiver to keep her chained. Her gaze drew near and far, the sterileness engulfed her. Slowly regaining her bearings as she took in the room, the woman drew a single breath and awoke within the pulsating calamity.

Kneeling alone, the woman turned her hands over in her lap tracing the blue line that fed in to the crook of her arm. Sybila didn’t hesitate to rip the needle out, discarding the line aside. She was surrounded by durasteel and tainted flesh, the stench carried with it metal and something..rotting. She would have clawed her way out, dragging half a body behind her back to the depths of Credence before stepping foot aboard the constructed corpse willingly. It was a tiring cycle that had whittled her resistance down to the bone. Her knees creaked as she picked her leaden body from the floor, whatever was in the cards for her now was cloistered in shadows; without purpose. Howling pain echoed from beyond as her thoughts grew muddied, through the stretch of unseen within the Force reached her ears and Sybila stared at the thin sheet metal that separated here from the being.

The depths of Kascalions depravity only grew, but she would store that knowledge away; to prey upon it mayhaps. He had driven her this far, the savagery of the final clash. The hatred that had amounted in their final bout and lead her here..She couldn’t recall then what had happened and her brows furrowed.

The sole woman at the helm of a Legion, once Major General of the Imperial order, now just a thought, just a feeling, not a woman at all. Lyra was dead somewhere, what this person was-or lack of..Not a person at all. Not a name or a face. Just need, fear and loneliness. And rage. Though these thoughts could not be produced by her mind now, Kascalion had told her to be the ugly dark thing that embedded itself in her chest, not to think or question-to simply be. The bones he rendered and blood spilt to achieve that only solidified this dissent. That was what Sybila had become, but worse numb to the moving world around, just a witness-for now. Digits brushed the wall, the woman rested her servo against the cold metal; simply listening. A black shadow reflected her in the wall. The whisper at the feet of the man, pleading-they had arrived..and it radiated like a circuit board.

It was disturbing, even as the word has lost its desired effect. Her revulsion drove her away, but through the mournful cry-there was a distant echo of a child’s sobbing that truly chilled her blood.

She flinched, scrambling away. Eyes fell to the liquid that bubbled from the needle at her boots, and she turned away to prepare herself in a haste. To donne what she had been provided by the grace of her new Master. The living shame to be cowed in such a way, her hands shook before her and she steadied herself with deep breath. Sybila dressed in the heavy robes silently at the mercy of her own mind. Nigh meticulously, she ripped down the armor from the mantle, and under the swaths of cloth she hooked her saber to her belt as the plates clicked into place. There was a piece missing, the thought clouded her mind as her hand brushed the bare shelf-the helmet she had bore so long.

The piece she had hidden behind so long. A hiss drew her eye and the woman turned to watch the blast doors peel open, a red clad soldier stepped in to greet her with faceless visor. It was only a matter of time and Sybila acted where once she rebuked. The soldier’s voice died, words unintelligible not by her volition but as she swept past. A steady boot click resounding as she marched down the hall past him, welcoming the change. Home, the concept she had constructed of it was far and unobtainable here-the was only a mission. The fleeting goal that was soaked in violence, she would would not be the one to waste the opportunity that presented itself.

<”You’re being summoned to the shuttles by Lord-”> the man’s voice, distorted by layers of armor.

“Then take me there and say less,” Sybila droned, interrupting the soldier. Her words sounded like gravel, but far wore.

The halls winded far through the carcass and by instinct she slowed deferring to the man’s sense of direction. She had been here before, passing nameless soldiers; their armor clicking steadily. It was familiar and the rile in her chest stilled as they passed patrol and entered the lift. The levels passed down the screen of the cloistered space until they emerged in the hangar. Hydraulics hissed and the doors unleashed them, Sybila moved with a purpose. She followed a unseen string that had lead her this far into the company of Kascalion Giedfield himself. Striding up the ramp she was flanked by the soldier. Maybe he served as reminder she mused, a false set of eyes. Sybila bowed her head as she deferred to the monster himself silently.

"And what is the occasion Maledictus?" she dared. Her gaze rising to meet Kascalion's as she addressed him plainly, she had been gifted the title by another before him. The dynamic that unfolded between her and Darth Avernus paved her expectations alone, whether or not Kascalion cared. A thin brow cocked and she smirked-the twist of her visage stretched her scars oddly enough. Unheard there was a faint but familiar chuckle that haunted the back of her mind.

 

[Alina Tremiru]

Armies, monsters, and power. It was all Alina saw around her. This was little more than posturing, showing off the strength of the Lords in charge. The more that arrived, the more out of place the young Sith felt. She had no such army. No such minions. She was not powerful, not like the Sith around her. Still an acolyte, still learning. Why was she even here? To bow and worship?

No, that wasn't who she was anymore.

So she stayed to the side. Observing. Not the Lords, but their minions. Their powerbase. What did it mean to rule? How did one rule? These were the lessons she sought to learn next.

 

[Drako]

Tag: Alina Tremiru

---

From the assembling soldiers, Darths, and other Sith the glint of brushed durasteel armor was not an uncommon sight. Unlike the others though this suit was armor was donned by an apparently Human male sitting atop an Uvak within a saddle follow by no attendants. Like a clerical stole there was a deep red cloth bore the markings of the Warlords of the Sith. Gripped within the gauntlet clad fist was a sleek power lance with a red pennant affixed. The creature the knight rode was also bedecked in small hexagonal plates mounted to what appeared to be thick armorweave.

Drako turned his head to look towards Alina Tremiru at a distance, his expression completely hidden by the helmet, and gave a nod of acknowledgement towards her. The Uvak's head turned to look at the woman briefly before it's attention was grabbed by more active movements of troops and others.

 

[Darth Sinestruss]

Siqsa remained by the entrance of the Receiving Hall with her retinue as she watched Darth Voyance enter one of the elevators encased in the supporting columns of the hall. Her golden pure-blood eyes narrowed, eyeing the Miralian ( Ihsan ) that Voyance had accompany her. She was a new catch. Darth Voyance had sprung her from the grip of the Empire during the shadow years of the Sith Keepers. Siqsa was suspicious of her master’s intentions with the Miralian. A threat? Or an ally? Siqsa flexed a brief scoffing smirk, she knew there were no true allies in the Warlords. The Sith Code forbade it. All were rivals. Some more useful than others.​

Siqsa broke her gaze from them and turned to throw out a hand at her Sith Hounds, “Disperse. I want ears in all corners of this Hall. While I must do my master’s bidding and play the Herald, we are still here as operators of the Shadow Hand. Go and bring me back whispers of what the Sith speak in hushed corners.”​

The Sith Hounds, agents of Siqsa’s Shadow Hand Order bowed and enveloped themselves in black smoke – vanishing like the wind. Only Romund Sro remained. The Sith Clan Kinsmen of her Athiss Horde remained, his gilded bronze armor appearing like a illuminated idol beneath the hall’s rows of luma-panels. Siqsa stepped closer to Romund, brushing past his shoulder she stopped to whisper to him, “You will stay with me, Lord Sro. Together we’ll measure the might of the monsters the Dark Saint has assembled here. It’ll do our Itsuttoi some good to see what our rivals so foolishly flaunt.”​

Resuming her path she walked past Romund to summon her passive disguise as the apprentice and obedient herald of Darth Voyance. The sinister and scheming Siqsa Kun was supplanted as she greeted Dasam Kal upon his entry into the hall. She bowed and stretched out a hand to gesture his welcome. “Brother Knight Kel,” said Siqsa, “You’ve made it to Basilica Prime. I am glad.”​

Just as her greeting was made, the red Twi’lek of Dark Soveriegn Vora Kaar – Tash Kaar, interrupted with her announcement. Siqsa flicked her eyes to the side and glared at the haughty Lithian. “Is that so?” Siqsa said in feigned reverence, still ever vigilant of the Sovereign’s adoptive daughter, “I shall inform Lady Voyance soon enough.” Quickly she spoke to Romund through the Force in telepathic mutterings, ‘Deal with Tash and Soveriegn Kaar, speak and listen. They’re influence will grow as the Crusades are launched.’ The message spoken in the Darkness, Siqsa returned to Dasam and grotesque visage of the Ghoul of the Warlords, the Ghoul of Moridinae . “A great brood of monsters, the Dark Soveriegns have gathered,” Siqsa said to Dasam, drenched in dry accusation. “Don’t you think?”​

 

[Alina Tremiru]

It was impossible to miss what amounted to a dragon walking into the gathering. All manner of individuals had come, but none atop a beast of war like this. Alina perked a brow at the sight. More so at the rider himself. Was it a Sithspawn bred to be a minion? Or did the rider tame it? Her curiosity was there, but the fact the rider acknowledged her was far more curious. Perhaps she could get an answer to the question. She walked through the growing crowd to stand before the Uvak, looking it over curiously.

"Spawned, or tamed?" Her yellow eyes stayed on the beast, only glancing to the rider as she asked her question. With him so covered in armor, she wouldn't be able to learn anything from how he carried himself. Better to study the dragon. Blood pulsed under it's scales, she could feel that much. Not a machine. She reached out a hand, calmly offering it for the creature's inspection. If it took her hand, she'd just drain it of it's blood to regrow it. Not the best way to make friends in the Sith, but she was prepared for that reality.

Drako

 

[Kascalion Giedfield]

Armor: X | Lightsaber: X | Right Arm: X
Tags: Darth Bellum | Darth Immortuos | Ashin Cardé Varanin | Darth Kentarch | Darth Mutilice | Darth Vinaze | Darth Perfidiae | Velok Brokentusk | Ihsan | Romund Sro | Maestus | Jacen Novastar | Vora Kaar | Darth Voyance | Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt | Darth Setheus | Dasam Kal

​

"And what is the occasion Maledictus?"

The Devil gave a low snort to the woman's tone and if he could form a grin to match hers, he would. Such daring to refer to him in this formal manner, despite the attempts of his underlings to rectify this behavior. It never worked. Not even the encounters with Jain sa'Nahl Theriabe seemed to have any impact on the achievement of this goal. If anything, those particular instances only led to the opposite, for the latter had also proven to be troublesome as of late, which only made the Devil chortle in the dead of night in his lonesome throne room.

Even so, it would perhaps be either unexpected or infuriating to the Vindicate to find that her Master still found her disobedience to his ruling quite comical. At times, he even seemed to encourage it. As if testing her like a rat trapped in a maze looking for cheese. Of course, why else would he give such a problematic individual so little attention despite her rather integral position in his story? It was almost as if he wanted to see if she would let that rage break through her shield of temperament.

That shield. Another source of amusement.

The Devil, in his vast wisdom, perceived that it was vulnerable. That Sybila was cognizant of the pain of this creation, Calamity. It disturbed her to a high degree. The wisps of despair thrashing around her blackthorn heart told him enough in this regard. A primary reason that he even created it. To bring out the true depths of gloom and sorrow in those following him. How, he wondered, would she endure the Fields of Bdelugma on the world from which this living vessel originated? If this minor monstrosity of flesh and metal cause such anxiety, would she be able to handle the pain of those wide scapes? Or the Respite on Credence? Would her despair worsen at the sight of those she lost and crack that shield further? He was confident it would.

The Devil silently signaled for the doors of the shuttle to be closed. Snap-Hisssss. As the engines finished their final preparations and the doors of Calamity's chest began to slide open in sharp motions that brought deep rumbling wails from the throat of the beast, Kascalion stood motionless. Vibrant blue eyes that spoke of ageless understandings bore down upon the woman who stood in her form of defiance still.

"The occasion on this day is one of spectacle, dear Sybila," he finally spoke, his fleshless jaw moving up and down as the gaping maw of his throat belched out the evil. "We are to witness the rise of our people back into the forefront of the Galaxy. Worlds will cry out as they hear our celebrations. Mothers and fathers will bury their children in the farthest reaches of the Galaxy to escape our coming. People will swear loyalty in an instant to worship us and prevent their inglorious deaths."

The skeletal behemoth clacked his teeth together rapidly as a horrific sound thundered from his throat. Was it laughter? No one in that shuttle could tell, and a few even shrunk a touch away from their Master. The unshifting gaze fixed upon Sybila only intensified the uneasy atmosphere within that craft as it sank into space and made way for the sands. The clacking stopped suddenly and the villain quickly leaned down only slightly to doom-loom over his charge, "And you...will be presented as my gift to the Warlords. A key piece in the fight against your Imperial Order. You see, dear Sybila, you will swear your loyalty to the path we have been set upon. And to those that stand above you. You will be our weapon and you will serve that role willingly and gratefully. Avernus created the blueprint for your servitude to the Dark Side, but I will create the masterpiece. You will witness the death of your people and you will only roar alongside us in glorious triumph."

The Devil straightened back and turned away from the woman, who now had all eyes in the shuttle set upon her by the other apprentices of the titanic Warlord. "Any questions?" he asked with finality.

 

[Dasam Kal]

The Vigil Gate Halls

---

[THEME]​

The warrior with poor sight trotted into the halls, his form better shown under the light of the luma-panels that integrated with the wall. Having already been welcomed by the stark contrast that was the stone statues standing high above. The figure relieved one of his hands from the grasp of a glove, planting the palm of his hand against the metal wall as his fingers brush on the smooth and cold corridor interior. The feeling he carried about the whole environment was different, but the same in combination. He'd cease with the sampling of touch on the wall. He'd slip his hand back into its glove and proceeded along deeper in the halls. Where he would meet others like him.

His steps came to a halt as he felt the presence of another nearing him, and with his name called. His ears were blessed with a polite welcome. An unexpected surprise, but a welcome one to the figure. As for the Sith-pureblood Darth Sinestruss who greeted him, he provided a soft smile in response. Before dismissing it as the lethan twi'lek entered the conversation that had just started.

As exchanges that he was not apart of were made, a turn to Romund Sro , who stuck out in Dasam's blurry-sighted vision and donned a bronze-like armor like none other. While the detailing of Sro's armor would not be recognized, the silhouette in bronze was provided a simple nod before it stepped off for whatever reason. Kal's head turned back to the pureblood as a query was provided. A means to continue a conversation that was interrupted.

"Indeed, I'm sure we will gain an impressive yield once we move forward." He turned his head to the Ghoul of Moridinae, the very thing that screamed darkness in Kal's senses. Whatever orchestra of flesh that carried the dark side within it, Dasam's hibernation sickness hid the very details of its appearance from his eyes. A benefit for the time being. He later continued his words.

"With the individuals amongst us, we're even giving the Bryn a run for their credits." He chuckled. While pronouncing himself with ease, the warrior was reminded by the very people that resided in these halls that there was much to do if one was to meet their ambitions.

 

[Drako]

Tag: Alina Tremiru

---

Drako watched the woman approach, as did the Uvak, with a stillness. When she asked her question and outstretched her hand to touch the head of the creature Drako replied "Tamed since birth." the Uvak did not recoil nor did it push towards Alina, it instead watched with a cautious wariness "I am Drako, and you are?" he asked. His voice was slightly muffled by the helmet though it should have still been audible. The Uvak stretched it's wings for a moment, only going to a quarter extension, which was enough to cause a gentle gust of wind that kicked up the sand around where the trio of individuals were.

The posture of the Sith was one that leaned more towards regal pride in purpose than arrogance. His armor was simple aside from the rich red fabrics that bore the symbols of the faction. On his right hip was a powerpack and what appeared to be a lightsaber hilt connected by a cord, both seemed extremely old as if they were cleaned up relics from an tomb digsite. The trained or educated eye would know this was a protosaber.

 

[Vora Kaar]

​

The shuttle took some moments. Gathering the hosts requested of Nur'Vele, and the Pilot who seemed to be a little nervous. Vora could feel him. His form of life should have been mere trivial and insignificant to a man of his stature. Yet, as the black clad man stood upon the ramp, he turned around facing the pilot before sitting in one of the seats any trooper would. It seemed to almost... humanize him.

"What is your name?"
"Second Lieutenant Anderson of-"
"Thank you for being formal Lieutenant, but who are you?"
"Garren Anderson... My Lord."
"Garren. Sounds like Corscanti?"
"Y-Yes sir?"
"What seems to be the matter?"
"You know where I am from just from a name?"
"Your hands are not calloused, face clean shaven, and your name Anderson is derived from ancestral ties to the planet."
"Oh... Wait are."
"Garren, how long have you been a pilot?"
"I flew for the Imperial Order, Sir. A shuttle pilot for diplomats, and I just..."
"You what?"

Garren seemed to jump at every word Vora spoke to the man. The Sith seemed like some large and imposing figure due to never showing his face, hiding all of his previous life, and even known for having rather... destructive bouts of anger should someone fail. So saying that this may be Garrens last job as a pilot was no joke to him. However, the lord seemed to... enjoy talking to the pilot. Just small talk.

"I shuttled diplomats that had began the process of Kyber Dark. Sir."
"Why would you be nervous of such?"
"You were a Keeper Sir."
"Was."
"I'm sorry?"
"I was a Keeper. They are no more. Now, I am one of the three Dark Sovereign appointed by the High Lords."
"You aren't... Why are you so... blasé about the death of your allies?"
"You were only doing your job Lieutenant Anderson. Survival with what you knew. I cannot fault you for such."
"Thank-"
"Well, it looks as though the Hosts are ready to leave. Anderson, please do keep us on schedule. I have a feeling I will need use of you again."
"Yes M'lord."

Garren had a confused look upon his face. His emotions were wild. Vora could feel the confusion, the nervousness, the fear, the anticipation, but most of all... relief. He was worried that Vora's past ties to the Imperial Order would look down upon a man who was only doing his job. Instead, Vora seemed to understand and almost... empathize that everyone had a job to do, and at the end of the day, were just trying to make it to tomorrow. Whatever form it took. Garren seemed to be a little more at ease even as the Hosts boarded the Shuttle. Vora stood up and moved to the co-pilot seat along side the Lieutenant. Surprise came to the man's face as Vora began lifting off sequences. Nur'Vele had taken Vora's previous seat in the back.

"Ready Lieutenant Anderson?"
"Uh..."
"We have a Schedule to keep Lieutenant."
"Yes sir! Just... nevermind. Everyone strap in. Ramp is closing!"

In that moment, Anderson seemed now, to understand that this was his job now. Ferrying one of the most powerful people within the newest iteration of the Sith and their crusades across the galaxy. It made him almost.. feel proud to be making history. As the Sith Lord and the Second Lieutenant lifted the ship out of the hangar bay and moved towards the atmosphere, Vora looked back to Nur'Vele as the man held upon his lap a rather large Sith Sword.

"The Hosts are prepared correct?"
"Yes."
"Check again."
"Very Good."

​

Tash was not happy with how her, essentially boss, reacted to doing what she was told. While clearly she was engaged in a conversation and threw Tash by the side, she knew why. Her ties to Vora made it difficult to do anything with this Red-Skinned Sith. She wasn't all too far from the arrogance that pervaded their species for eons. Tash simply smirked and folded her arms. Standing there like an annoying child. Knowing that Siqsa seemed to just be another haughty Sith with a stick up the preverbal bush.

However, her attention was pulled to this sudden... darkness within the area. Almost as though a pure corruption had found its way to the surface upon which they stood. A grotesque form of a creature seemed to hobble out. Tash was no expert in the force, that she knew of well. However, this creature was no mere Sithspawn. No, it was alive with the force flowing through its veins. It had thoughts, reasons, and a madness she could feel.

Vora had taught much of consuming the emotions of others around her. Siqsa and her distaste of Tash was easies to feel due to the proximity, and the uneasiness of others with the impending Dark Sovereigns. This Ghoulish individual, was something else. Attempting to remove her eyes from such a sight, she turned back to the others who were there. Yet found herself taking a spare hand, and rubbing her temple. A headache formed from the beast. Attempting to consume too many emotions all at once.

"Excuse me Shadow Hand, I must see to the arrival of my Lord."

It was with that moment she chose to leave those in attendance and meet with her lord. Reaching out through the force, feeding emotions of what she felt to her master. CLoser and closer should she feel him coming to the planet. Staring up and seeing through a haze, the massive structure that was the Sun Furnace.

"What is it with everyone and a quirk."

Darth Bellum Darth Immortuos Darth Voyance Kascalion Giedfield Ghoul of Moridinae Romund Sro Dasam Kal Ihsan Apkari Alina Tremiru