Dominion Sport of Blood | SO Dominion of Empty Hex

[Aspect of Resolve]

With the looming of war, opportunity arises. Fleets assembly and raiding parties unite. The looming dread of the despoilers behind the Blackwall united once again under singular purpose, crimson blades rallied high to the sky with a declaration of simple intent: the death of the Republic foe.​

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But that time had not yet arisen. The gears of the Sith turn with a methodical cruelty, and the warfleets will not depart until the pecking order is established and blood has been shed. And if the glories of war are to be earned, they will be earned by blood.​

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The mettle of a Sith is tested in strength, to battle their foes and allies alike. So was sent the clarion call, a chance for warriors of the Dark Side far and wide to rally within the great arena of Jutrand and battle for the chance to lead and claim the glories of Sith conquest.​

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A rancorous celebration on the eve of battle, warriors ferried within the winding labyrinth of the arena’s internal chambers into the abyssal depths to await the thunderous chants and rumbling drumming of ritual intent. For what better celebration could there be? A chance to see champions fight, to see the Dark Side turn upon each other till the day where those savage fangs turn upon one of the last beacons of the Light left in this new Age of the Sith.​

​

The prize was a simple thing - a chance to lead, a piece of the metaphorical pie. The winners of today’s melee would be given a place at the spearhead in the coming conflict and would be allowed to have their coffers grow fat on plunder and prize alike, a chance to be regaled with the wealth that laid beyond the Blackwall and given first crack at the hated foe. ​

The High Republic undoubtedly awaits our next move with bated breath, arraying whatever forces they can muster against the Blackwall and watching for our next incursion. Such a strike will be delivered soon enough with all the fury that is required to see it to fruition yet some concerns remain. Primarily, who is to wield and be wielded for the coming war? A test of might and skill for all to see will take place within the arena this day, Sith shall tear at one another and the last one standing will claim the ultimate prize of Warlord for the coming High Republic campaign. Those that survive but fail to rise to the top of the leaderboard will be compensated as the crowd deems fit, so put on a good show.​

As the arena becomes a magnificent display of combat and blood, high above the regular spectator stands sits the all-seeing and opulent viewing room for the Sith Order’s finest and their accompaniment. As you partake of the finest snacks and beverages that the servants freely provide, the conversations held here could prove just as influential in the war to come as the duels down below.​

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Who will commit resources to the coming campaign and what price do they demand for such a contribution? Will you use the opportunity to strike out for your own glory and goals amidst the larger battles soon to transpire? And of course the ever-present question of who should win the prize of Warlord and what can they expect from any patronage that you might offer?​

 

[Lirka Ka]

OBJ 1 LEADERS OF THE PACK
TAGS: OPEN

Some might’ve called it greed. Lirka Ka was certainly greedy, so it was not an inaccurate assessment. By all real metrics, she had no reason to be down here in the winding halls of Jutrand’s arena. Her seat at the table had been earned already, a Dark Councillor belonged up high peering down from the view-boxes to pluck out the most tasty morsels from the gathered assembly of Sithly killers.

But her hunger was a far more simplistic thing, loathe as she was to oft admit it. There was a nostalgic kernel that followed her heavy footfalls, it had been the Jutrand arena in which Lirka had staked her claim in those bygone days where Sith killed Sith in the name of petty power struggles of a throne yet unclaimed and dynasties yet unestablished. The good ol’ days. Short-lived days. Before she had unceremoniously found herself stranded in the depths of Wild Space.

But, that was then. And this was now. The hatred of the Sith was to be turned upon the ancient foe now rather than each other - today, a brief revel to batter her fellows and leave blades primed. And why not give the angry sorts a chance to lash out against the powers that be?

Blood begets blood. Let what was spilt in the arena’s sands multiple a thousand fold when they’d ravage Republic space. She was a child of arenas, a gladiator at heart. Showboating and loud, obnoxiously grandiose in her Sephi dramatics: the sliver of her parent-species that still remained in her wretched form.

She stomped out from the inner sanctums, ferried forth by the arena’s attendants with a careful berth given to the hulking metal monstrosity. There was a twitch to how she moved, ravenous, hungry. The path to apotheosis wore down a mind that was only lucid on the best of days. Now, with the precipice of war renewed? The Sith turned in totality to violence? How could only not let the madness of the bloodshed take root?

Stomping now into the arena, the sun above glaring down on black-metal plates: there was no fanfare for this champion. She was not popular among the people of Jutrand. To some a Kainate beast let loose from its leash, to others a conniving reminder of how horrid the Sith path could make oneself.

But, one did not need fanfare to put on a show.

Ichor dropped from her paint, rancid and viscous liquid used to paint bizarre alien runes upon her person. With weapons in hand, and arms spread wide in greeting to jeering and whatever cheering existed. She stepped out to meet those who would partake in the murderous melee.

​

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[Darth Strosius]

Equipment: Lightsaber - Sword - Dagger - Robes
Tags: Lirka Ka / Open!
--------------------------------------------

He wasn't one for spectacles and displays of the gladiatorial sort, He understood their place of course but He found them far less exciting and decisive for public enjoyment as a proper execution. Yet Darth Strosius found Himself in the arena complete with a ravenous crowd and looming spectator stand all the same. Today was meant to be a chance for someone to claim the honor of bringing the Sith Order's full might against the High Republic, a prize that was more than worth fighting for.

However, whilst He wouldn't have at all minded to be the one to ravage the worlds of the Mid-Rim and bring the Republic to heel, that wasn't quite His main reason for being in the thick of the action this day. For there was one singular advantage of these displays that He readily sought to exploit. The crowd didn't tend to care how much blood was spilled nor whom it was from and unless the spectators high above wished to ruin the show or display favoritism then they typically wouldn't intervene.

Which made it ideal for finally putting down the enemies of the Sith without interruption, and luckily enough one of them had already stepped right out and made her presence known. Lirka Ka marched forwards, the Zambranos' favored hound strutting about as though she belonged in a realm of the Sith, and the masked man didn't bother sparing a glance around Himself. So long as the Third Legion remained under Kainite sway and one of their councilors stained the already tainted Dark Council then they maintained a near indomitable position of strength and influence.

Slaying Ka would solve both of those issues rather handily and doing so here had the added bonus of humiliating the Kainate for all to see. Darth Strosius simply couldn't resist, nor could He afford to let the opportunity slip by as He didn't know when she'd be without her other two awful compatriots again. His crimson blade ignited and He took to the sky, His pale "wings" hurtling forwards in a blur of dark robes and armor as the lightsaber in His grasp lashed forwards in a deadly arc.

 

[Helix]

Tags: Darth Strosius / Lirka Ka /Open
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Helix swirled his glass around a little, studying the drink inside uncertainly. Some local vintage rolled out for the event, nothing to raise eyebrows, generate applause, or overstay its dubious welcome.

It wouldn't drag its drinker along on an unwilling flavor journey like the charming beverages in Anoat's wineries, but it was marginally better than nothing at all.

"Marginally better than nothing at all" described a great many things of late, in truth. Disappointing, but not entirely surprising. Still, he hadn't gotten rich by paying for his own food when it could be helped.

At least the drink came with a show. Down below, the various naive hopefuls were bludgeoning one another in the vain hope of gaining attention and status. If sheer brute power got you a gilded chair, Helix would have simply murdered his way to the Dark Council by now, assuaging his hurt feelings with the blood of his natural inferiors.

No, things didn't quite work that way, and perhaps that was for the best. Helix had long since killed enough people to make his eight-digit internal counter hit integer overflow, and yet here he was, drinking third-rate wine and watching adults play a child's game.

An embarrassing stagnation point for a long and glorious career, but the universe was rarely fair. It could be worse. He could be down there, still believing that effort always merited proportionate reward.

As it stood, dear Lirka had already reached near the top of the ladder herself, yet she still cavorted in the dirt with the likes of Strosius. That was her prerogative, he supposed. Helix figured he wouldn't find the creature so charming if she were conventional.

Still, it seemed a waste to have the Empire's finest jewel in mixed company with a glorified parasite. Just more evidence that fiction could never be as preposterous as reality seemed to be.

Helix had no such intentions of muddying his nano-carapace today. Duels were no fun. Too ritualized, too constrained. Helix liked to pick his meals apart slowly. He enjoyed a level of sensory precision and perfection that no mortal could dream of, and used every bit of it to appreciate the chaos of a proper battlefield.

More than that, he was nobody's spectacle. Loath as he was to admit it, that pride was why he was where he was. He refused to play the game, grovel before the appropriate people, lower himself today to raise himself tomorrow.

That was perhaps where he and Lirka differed. Helix could follow orders and work inside a hierarchy as well as the next combat-oriented macroconsciousness, but he could never and would never accept anyone else as a true better.

Returning his focus to the melee below, he gave Lirka a cheery wave from his comfortable, climate-controlled spot in the box. "Do bring me part of him when you're done. An ear or something similar will suffice." He transmitted to her helmet comms.

 

[Mercy]

MERCY

EMPRESS | WARLORD | STAR-ARM

Location: Observatory | Objective: 2 - Glass Houses | Direct Tags: Helix | Quinn Varanin | Srina Talon
Other tags: Lirka Ka | Darth Strosius​

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.

She itched to participate in the pitched battle herself down below, but even someone as blood-hungry as Mercy knew that would be disrespectful to the effort of those below. When those with enough glory to wrap themselves in it kept grasping for more, denying opportunities of those that wished to rise themselves, you only created ugly situations.

This was fine when there was no common enemy to fight. In a Galaxy dominated by the Dark, it would have been right even, to have Sith claw against Sith, until only the strongest remained.

But that was not the Galaxy they were in today.

"Oh, come now, darling Helix," Mercy murmured over to the creature in the other chair. They had met once on Corellia and Mercy had found him rather agreeable. A synth, yes, but a surprisingly reasonable one. "Strosius has heart. He is the type to chew his own arm off, just to bludgeon you to death with it."

Her tone was remarkably admiring considering the public awareness they had fought each other twice already.

She drew her pipe out and began to stuff it with herbs, but then smirked over to the synth.

"A little wager perhaps, to make it interesting?"

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ERASE THE PAST

 

[Helix]

Tags: Mercy ​

Helix looked up at the familiar voice, recognizing the towering slab of a woman who'd once terrorized his side business. It had been some time since Corellia, and even longer since she'd damaged his ship during the Alvaria debacle, but all the same, it was nice to see a semi-friendly face. For one with so fearsome a reputation, who'd supposedly filled entire graveyards, she'd been surprisingly easy to get along with.

"I don't doubt his heart. He's got more of that than the entire rest of Sith space combined. Shame I'll have to tear it out of him one day." The colony stared balefully outwards at the spectacle, somehow managing to convey annoyance despite the lack of a traditional face. Unlike the last time they'd met, Helix wasn't bothering to hide his true, inhuman nature from those near him. His semi-liquid surface rippled with irritation, creating a quiet, constant hum.

"We were friends once, you know. Or as close as you can get to that in a civilization like this one." He allowed a hint of something like fondness to slip into his voice. Not quite admiration, as in Mercy's case, but closer to nostalgia. Though it hadn't been all that long ago, things had been different then. Simpler. Better. A different universe from today.

Then again, he'd been simpler too, still running on centuries-old software instead of the near-limitless mental expansion he enjoyed now. Still full of beliefs his creators had made for him, still fighting a long-dead war. He'd been a child, living out childish fantasies. Nothing more. Eventually, the halcyon days had to end, and one had to grow up.

Helix considered her offer for a few moments. "Certainly." He answered finally. "I'm already gambling a bit by drinking... whatever this is. What manner of contest did you have in mind?"

 

[Mercy]

MERCY

EMPRESS | WARLORD | STAR-ARM

Location: Observatory | Objective: 2 - Glass Houses | Direct Tags: Helix
Other Tags: Lirka Ka Darth Strosius​

.

Mercy chuckled and nodded lightly.

The end of Strosius would never be a peaceful one, this she knew. It was the same end she'd receive one day. Helix. And most of those that walked this path of theirs. Violence would always end in violence. That was right, it was the way it was meant to be. If you died old, in your bed, surrounded by your loved ones, you hadn't done the job right.

But Helix's revelation about their past friendship did surprise the large woman. She shifted to look at the synth. Unlike organic creatures it was more difficult to gauge a synth. They didn't have the same reactions like organics. No heart beat that went faster when nervous, no twitches in their facial muscular, nothing like that.

The nostalgia was clear however. The question was if it was real or as synthetic as the rest of him.

"And what happened then, dear Helix, that caused this nasty rift of yours?" Mercy could guess, having known Strosius for more than five seconds already.

Helix had most likely done something that was out of step with what Strosius believed was correct. Or made an ally in a wrong corner. They might have even had a confrontation that spiraled out of control. And within a heartbeat's notice a friendship turned into enmity.

Helix considered her offer for a few moments. "Certainly." He answered finally. "I'm already gambling a bit by drinking... whatever this is. What manner of contest did you have in mind?"

"There will be many contestants today, I suspect, but let's focus on Lirka and Strosius. I bet that Strosius will last longer in the fight than Lirka." She drew from her pipe and thought about it for a moment.

"If I am wrong, there is a spaceport on Commenor, that is in need of new management." Mercy smiled at the synth. "It might fit well with the purposes you spoke of on Corellia?"

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ERASE THE PAST

 

[Helix]

Tags: Mercy / Lirka Ka / Darth Strosius ​

"And what happened then, dear Helix, that caused this nasty rift of yours?"

Helix considered how much of the truth he wanted to tell here, but in the end decided that transparency was the best policy. After all, the truth wasn't exactly secret, and his methods hadn't been subtle ones at the time. She could acquire the facts from a dozen other places if he didn't supply them.

"That was more my doing than his. I simply had the truth pointed out to me." The creature visibly relaxed a little, but still fixated on the fight. Photoreceptor-clusters followed every small movement of the combatants, recording the details for later analysis.

"The truth is this. If he were to have his way, cast down his imaginary oppressors, and take the throne for himself, what then? I've been around a long time, seen revolutions come and go. When revolutionaries have no enemies left, they start looking at their friends."

"Then the purity testing starts. We had common cause once upon a time, but in the end, he'd have come for me too. One last heretic sacrificed on his altar." Helix shrugged, performing the humanoid gesture with smooth and natural ease. "Alisteri views everyone in two categories: today's enemy, or tomorrow's." The creature took another sip from his drink, extending a sort of needle-like proboscis to do so.

It had been Darth Nefaron that had helped him see that. A truth that had been so obvious a child wouldn't have missed it, but Helix somehow had. Eventually, Alisteri would have had no use for a being that had perfected everything he hated, and he'd had no intention of risking that possibility.

"So, I moved first. You were there to see the results. I split the Tsis'kaar's powerbase before he could inherit it, which is why I'm still here." Another shrug. "That's the way of things, isn't it? I'm sure you didn't sit as Empress of the core without sticking a few daggers in a few backs along the way, so you know how it is. The cost of doing business."

Not an accusation, but an acknowledgement of a truth. Helix wasn't too familiar with their cousins in the galactic north, but he'd been led to believe they did things a little more... informally there at times.

"There will be many contestants today, I suspect, but let's focus on Lirka and Strosius. I bet that Strosius will last longer in the fight than Lirka." She drew from her pipe and thought about it for a moment.

"If I am wrong, there is a spaceport on Commenor, that is in need of new management." Mercy smiled at the synth. "It might fit well with the purposes you spoke of on Corellia?"

He thought on her proposed wager for a moment, eyeing the two fighters up and down speculatively. Having a foothold inside Covenant space was a tempting prospect indeed. As it stood, his only assets in that part of the galaxy were small listening posts and front businesses dotted here and there. Nothing that could project serious power.

More than that, it was a way to extend influence in that direction. Lately, the Dzara had been largely focused on consolidation more than asset expansion. Having a business connection to the Core's ruler was the real prize here, and worth taking almost any risk at this stage.

"Interesting." He replied after a few seconds. "And if Strosius should prove the stronger?"

 

[Nerralyn Raaf]

Nearby: Mercy Helix
​

Another day, another function, and another blood contest over who would lead more armies and fleets of the Sith towards the Core. She perfectly understood why her mother found such occasions dull, and why she was sent in her stead to represent the Dark Councilor. That also didn't mean she really needed to pay attention the spectacle below, just that she needed to report everything to her mother.

So, even as the Empress of the Core and Helix made wagers upon the outcome of some of the fighters, Councilor Lirka and the disgraced former Lord Inquisitor, she was only half paying attention to the conversation and beginning conflicts. She was much more focused on her datapad and the Scum and Villainy draft she had started up on it for the Age of Chaos digital client, once again helping beta test the software in Galactic Illusionary Gaming's open beta.

If she was needed, she would respond, but for now... she was heavily debating if she should take the Domino in her opening pack to start off in White or the Mauve to try and go Blue/Black.

 

[Aerik Lechner]

Wearing: This | Weapons: Lightsaber | Knife
TAG: Lirka Ka | Darth Strosius​

The arena had been part of Aerik's life for as long as he could remember.

Long before it became a place where champions earned glory, it had been another classroom. The ancient stone walls had witnessed countless lessons, each one paid for in bruises, exhaustion, and hard-earned experience. Every defeat had demanded improvement, while every victory served only as preparation for the next challenge. Today, those same walls trembled beneath the weight of thousands of voices gathered to celebrate the eve of war. Their cheers rolled across the sands as Sith prepared to spill one another's blood before carrying that same violence beyond the Blackwall.

The spectacle itself held little interest for him.

Aerik stepped through the gate without ceremony, sunlight spilling across the dark fabric of his robes as his amber eyes adjusted to the brightness of the arena. His attention never drifted toward the grandstands because the crowd offered nothing worth studying. Instead, his gaze swept methodically across the battlefield, measuring distances, identifying terrain, and committing the positions of every visible combatant to memory.

Many had come seeking glory. Others hungered for wealth, prestige, or the privilege of leading the coming invasion. Aerik sought none of those things. Whether he marched at the front of the campaign or somewhere within its ranks would be decided by those above him. His responsibility was simpler than ambition.

Fight well.

Survive.

Become stronger than he had been yesterday.

His gaze settled upon the first clash.

Lirka Ka stood near the center of the arena exactly as her reputation suggested she would. Opposite her, Darth Strosius abandoned any pretense of restraint. A crimson blade ignited before the Dark Inquisitor launched himself across the sands, his attack carrying all the commitment of a warrior intent on ending the contest before it had truly begun.

Aerik's expression remained unchanged.

Every battle created opportunity, but only for those disciplined enough to recognize it before it disappeared. His father had spent years teaching him that combat was rarely decided by strength alone. Position, timing, and commitment killed just as surely as a lightsaber. A warrior focused entirely upon the strike in front of them often surrendered awareness of everything else around them.

Strosius had committed.

That was enough.

The orange blade of Aerik's lightsaber erupted to life as the apprentice exploded into motion. Boots dug into the packed sands, carrying him across the arena on an angle that intersected thr attack rather than meeting it head-on. He did not charge blindly into the engagement. Every stride was measured, every adjustment calculated to arrive where Strosius had left himself exposed instead of where the man intended to be.

Gerwald had taught him to exploit openings.

Darth Prazutis had taught him not to hesitate once he found one.

Aerik intended to honor both lessons.

Closing the final meters in a blur of black robes and orange light, the young Lechner stepped into range with a sharp pivot of his lead foot. His lightsaber swept upward in a compact diagonal cut aimed toward Strosius' unguarded flank, the strike carrying enough force to demand an answer without sacrificing his own balance or recovery. Whether the Inquisitor abandoned his assault upon Lirka to defend himself or chose to press forward through the attack made little difference.

Either decision fractured the battlefield.

Aerik pressed forward without a word, his amber eyes fixed upon the movements before him rather than the names attached to them. Rank carried no weight inside the arena. Every Sith standing upon the sands had entered under the same expectation. Blood would determine who earned the right to stand at the forefront of the coming war.

Today, Aerik intended to prove that even an apprentice could draw blood from legends.

 

[Lirka Ka]

OBJ 1 LEADERS OF THE PACK
TAGS: Darth Strosius Aerik Lechner

Lirka played in the mud. She combed through muck and mire for what interested her, she was a carrion-feeder that gorged herself on the dirt and grime left in an Empire's wake and grew fat on the misery left in the wake of such things. It was only proper to deign herself down into the arena, for as much as she could preach faith and wear the laurels of position: she was a child of grime.

With Helix's voice whirring in her ear, a gurgling response came back to the mechanoid from a tongue that seemed to want to fight against the mouth it was forced to inhabit: a telltale sign that Lirka currently ran on a quaint mixture of ichor and stimulants. It'd be only proper to partake in some of her few primal vices in the wake of such great violence.

"I'll leave you a choice cut when I am done feasting upon his viscera."

As much as Lirka enjoyed the simplicity of a good arena melee, she too possessed her own ulterior motives for partaking. Darth Strosius may have wanted to stalk the arena like an assassin, but she was a vulture looking for more carrion: let the blood spilt in this place join her gestalt existence and add fuel to the growing inferno within her as she supplant her form with more and more of the meat of her fellow Sith to herald a dark apotheosis. She could think of no great honor to bestow upon the Wonosan lord.

Quietly did her stance shift some as slit-lenses watched the ascending approach of Strosius, only to find an even quainter surprise in the form of an orange blade interrupting their bout. For a moment, Lirka had bemused herself with the circular nature of time: her first meeting with Alisteri had been within this very arena, and now this newcomer added a much needed deviation.

The Wolfling would be dealt with later.

In a moment with a crackle her electro-whip flared to life once again, and in a flash its wicked barbs lashed out to meet the Sith Lord's blade and entangle it within its winding energies. They had been but fledglings then, but now? Now they'd have a great many new tricks to share. For now, Lirka stayed upon the defensive despite all the protests of her thumping hearts: she'd give into chemical mania soon enough, but not till the advantage presented itself

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[Darth Strosius]

Equipment: Lightsaber - Sword - Dagger - Robes
Tags: Lirka Ka / Aerik Lechner / Open!
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His charge had almost carried Him right into His target, close enough even to begin arcing back for the strike that would seek to cleave Lirka's head from the rest of her armored form in one fell slash. Yet Darth Strosius noticed something rapidly approaching Him from the side where He couldn't angle His sword to intercept. As the orange flash came up towards Him all that He could do was wrench back His arm and bat the strike away with the back of His gauntlet, the metal hissing but holding at the contact as His own attack had to be abandoned in the process of the movement.

A hissed curse slipped through His mask as He skidded to a stop and gave a sidelong glance at the interloper that had dared to strike at Him, finding no immediate familiarity. Not that it mattered really, he would die all the same for such a slight. Unfortunately the distraction was enough to allow for His true opponent to make a move of her own. The masked man's grip on His lightsaber tightened instinctively as He felt the length of the Councilor's whip wrap around the blade and restrict Him from lashing out at the interloper in doing so.

"Can things never be simple?!" Lightning crackled from His armored finger tips along the length of His sword, pulling it up across His form and shifting to the side to allow a violet bolt to leap from the tip towards the younger man whilst also carrying the blade upwards to try and sever the whip and free His lightsaber.

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Mercy //: Helix //: CT-312 //:
//: Darth Strosius //: Lirka Ka //: Aerik Lechner //: Nerralyn Raaf //:
//: Attire //:

Spectacle and war. It seemed they went hand in hand with the Sith Order nowadays. Her eyes trailed down to the arena, watching and seeing one of her fellow Councilors decide it was time for them to reign in glory.

Quinn scoffed; Lirka had already reached the highest echelon she would ever reach. Even then it wasn't by her own efforts; it was a gift, a promise kept by the young Princess.

Lirka had protected something precious to Quinn once. Returned the handmaiden alive, but not unscathed.

Thinking quietly about the woman made her heart ache, but her blood boiled in the same beat. Kirie, in the Princess's mind, was smarter than she gave off. She used Quinn's resources and protection to find a way out of her debt or whatever it was to the Kainites. When she found her freedom, Quinn's usefulness disappeared.

At the end, Quinn felt guilty, but feeling the woman on the same battlefield on Coruscant — Quinn realized.

Rolling her eyes, she put the wayward woman from her mind as she focused on the fight below. Alisteri decided to show his prowess by hunting Lirka. She wondered if he was trying to elevate himself to Lirka's seat? It would make sense to go after the force-dead creature. She was an anomaly on the council.

Sighing softly, Quinn began to grow bored until Aerik decided to step in. The boy was quick, but she felt tension spread from her neck to her shoulders. They hadn't spoken since he had crossed a very serious boundary with the Princess. Seeing him here, she was reminded of that ache in her chest.

She needed a distraction; Mercy and Helix became the focus. It was a curious moment, overhearing Mercy speak as she did. If Quinn was a betting woman, she would have expected the fight and bloodthirsty Empress to be in the pits with the rest of them.

Seeing her here, making bets with a droid, raised an eyebrow from the blonde. Today was interesting, and Quinn mused over it.

There was a shift in the Force.

Unlike before, Quinn allowed an inkling of herself to remain within it. Her presence seeped into every current, followed by the dreadful hunger that only accompanied the Princess and her Phobis Core.

It was restrained, yet the Force recoiled all the same. Every breath carried the quiet certainty that something impossible had begun to feed.

It was not rage that bled from the Echani.

It was appetite.

Quinn kept it leashed, allowing only the faintest pulse to escape. Still, even that was enough to burden the Force with a suffocating weight, as though the galaxy itself had forgotten how to breathe.

She was among fellow Sith.
She wasn't going to be small here...
Not anymore.

The Sith Princess shifted; the gentle chime of the metal, scale-like armor announced her entry into the conversation.

"Both Lirka and Alisteri too often strive to just be noticed." She smirked, "Unfortunately, Alisteri hasn't changed much from school…"

Her eyes followed back down to the pit, "Still a bottom feeder, just without his precious brother feeding him scraps from the table."

Quinn let the venom leak into her words. As much as she and the Marr heir had their falling out, she still blamed Alisteri for the man's disappearance and shortcomings.

"I'll put money on the puppy." She nodded towards Aerik, who had made himself known in the arena.

A hand reached towards 312, the stoic guard that stood at the Sith Princess's side. The guard handed over the small holoprojector, and Quinn opened her palm. Numbers appeared under different spreadsheets.

"If either of you win, I'll offer some of the trade I have with the Black Sun remnants," Her eyes looked to Mercy, then back to the holoprojector.

"Terminus and Echnos."

She smiled and closed the projector with a snap.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

The Dark Lord of the Sith watched the spectacle from His private box, attended on by a small menagerie of Decraniated servants. One knelt beside His seat in perfect repose, a goblet of amber liquid perched steadily atop the flat plane of their neural implant. The others were as still as statues even though they were wrought of flesh and bone, one carrying a pitcher of more amber liquid, and another a tray of extra cups for guests.

For His part, the Dark Lord was just as animated as His servants. He sat quietly, still as death, watching the combatants below with a predator's clarity. He would only ever move slightly to draw the goblet to His lips, only indulging in a brief taste at a time. Otherwise, He would idly reach to the other side of His seat, where another being lay ensorceled.

They were not Decraniated, but were nonetheless as bound to servitude as they were. They wore only rags, their body bearing the brunt of invasive scarification. Their hair had been shorn to thin wisps that clung to the skin of their scalp, which likewise was mapped by a complex latticework of runic symbols and connecting leylines. Their skin and muscle hung emaciate from their bones, the reason quickly revealed as the Dark Lord reached over with one lazy hand and drew forth their life essence with a weak twitch of His fingers.

The slave might have cried out, had their lower jaw not been entirely replaced with a cybernetic implant that muted all speech and sound. They could only writhe in silent agony as they grew more haunt and haggard, unable to even pull against the chains which bound them to the Dark Lord's seat. When He'd indulged His fill, the slave was even more spindly and weathered than before, but nonetheless alive.

Slavery might have been outlawed in the Empire, but those who sought to continue and even expand the practice found many avenues through which to indulge in this most ancient of Sith traditions. It was the Dark Lord's wish to see slavery return across the whole of the Sith Empire, to finally stamp out these misguided modernist ideas for good. The Empire had to adapt and evolve to survive, it was true, but there were some traditions that He believed were unassailable.

Somethings could not be so easily discarded, no matter how much they hewed and cried about it.

 

[Sybil ragnos]

Tag: Lirka Ka | Darth Strosius | Aerik Lechner | open

Wearing/look: xx gear: generic lightsaber and knives

Sybil walked into arena stretching she had spent most of the last 6000 years in a rakatan mind prison and her body frozen in carbonite on opposite ends of the galaxy. It was partially luck that led the remaining cultists of ragnos to find her body and mind prison as she cracked her neck. Staring into rhe arena with her one purple eye and one red eye sybil took in the three figures fighting into the arena.

To say the daughter of marka ragnos was unimpressed with the sight she saw as she ignited the standard red saber that one of her followers gave her to use while she repaired her force saber. She stood there her aura reaking of rage and disappointment at the three of them as she charged lirka sybils body being empowered by dark rage moving at almost a blur swinging her saber at lirkas arm that held the light whip swinging just as fast and as strong as a rancor as she did so.

 

[Aerik Lechner]

Wearing: This | Weapons: Lightsaber | Knife
TAG: Lirka Ka | Darth Strosius Sybil ragnos​

The strike never reached its mark.

Steel met phrik instead of flesh as Darth Strosius twisted sharply enough to wrench his attack away from Lirka Ka. The back of the Sith's gauntlet caught Aerik's blade in a shower of sparks, the armored plating hissing beneath the heat while absorbing the force behind the blow. It was a disciplined response born of experience rather than instinct, and it revealed more than a successful defense ever could.

The man adapted quickly.

The realization had scarcely settled before violet light erupted from the tip of Strosius' lightsaber.

Aerik was already moving.

Rather than retreating, he pivoted sharply across the packed sands, allowing the bolt of Force Lightning to rake through the space he had occupied only a heartbeat earlier. The scent of scorched earth rose behind him as the energy carved a jagged black scar into the arena floor. His momentum never stopped. Every step carried him onto a new angle, denying Strosius the opportunity to recover from one exchange before another demanded his attention.

The battlefield shifted around them.

Lirka's electro-whip still coiled around Strosius' weapon, but another combatant entered the melee with startling speed. A woman Aerik did not recognize surged toward the Dark Councilor, her crimson blade driving for the arm that wielded the whip. Whether her strike found its mark no longer concerned him. Her arrival fractured the engagement into competing threats, each one demanding attention from warriors who already had too little of it to spare.

Aerik intended to become another.

His father had taught him that battles were won long before the killing blow was struck. Victory belonged to the warrior who denied an opponent good decisions until only bad ones remained. Darth Prazutis had refined that lesson further. Once an advantage had been seized, it was never surrendered willingly.

Pressure created mistakes.

Mistakes ended fights.

Using the momentum of his sidestep, Aerik drove forward again before Strosius could reclaim the initiative. His orange blade swept toward the Sith's weapon arm in a compact horizontal cut, not because he expected the strike to end the contest, but because every response carried a consequence. Defending against Aerik risked exposing Strosius to Lirka. Turning back toward Lirka left Aerik's blade unanswered. Attempting to disengage invited the newcomer into the exchange.

None of those choices favored the older warrior.

Aerik's expression remained unchanged as he pressed the attack. The roar of the crowd faded beneath the rhythm of measured footwork and disciplined breathing. He had not entered the arena seeking applause, nor did he care who ultimately claimed the title of Warlord. Such honors belonged to those who sought them.

Aerik sought something else.

Every exchange against a stronger opponent was another lesson.

Every lesson survived was another step forward.

If Darth Strosius wished to fight Lirka Ka, then Aerik intended to ensure the man never had the luxury of fighting only one enemy at a time.

 

[Lirka Ka]

OBJ I LEADERS OF THE PACK
TAGS: Darth Strosius Aerik Lechner Sybil ragnos

Oh how beautiful the pandemonium was. Nothing like the suffocating confines of the arena to elicit the sort of chaos that Lirka relished, all these souls scratching and slashing at each other in hectic melee.

Darth Strosius might have looked to the interlopers with a rabid hatred, as he did most things. But Lirka took it with a far more gleeful violence - with the bets far above unbeknownst to her, what did the Councillor truly have to lose? Let the worthy be plucked from the chaos in the wake of their bouts.

With the other two now preoccupied, Lirka’s violent attentions quickly turned to her own newcomer. The Once-Sephi moved with mechanical mockery of a regular Sith - with the flurry of crimson that swung towards her arm, Lirka let her grip on the whip abide quickly. The beastly woman was a walking arsenal of various tools of torment. With the saber sizzling against the little bit of plundered beskar that still remained in her powersuit, Lirka’s arm reeled back to relative safety.

And with it, the decorum of a regular duel evaporated before it could even come to life. With metal bulk as her ally, Lirka bursted to slam her weight against this newcomer who had dared to come so close. Little more than a welcome and a brief distraction as her mighty machete flew to her now free hand and its electro-plasma filament roared to life.

Wasting no time to see she had even fazed her newest of foe before swinging her arm back around for a hacking counterstrike.

​

​

 

[Aileni Ifor Xeraic]

Outfit: Dathomir Wanderer
Equipment: Dathomiri Energy Bow
Tag: Lirka Ka | Darth Strosius | Aerik Lechner | Sybil ragnos

He was an outsider. A warrior who had won matches in brawls, fights. A rising star who was primal, tribal and embodied the Dathomir style of fighting even if he did not look like a night brother. Murmurings of a large brawling fight within the Sith had been rippling through the fighting underground circles that Aileni was embedding himself into.

Offering himself as a potential fodder, an easier target for the Sith to fight and demonstrate their dominance. While that had been the warning of what was expected from him, Aileni was curious to see what he could do. Nothing outrageous, he did not wish to reveal too much of his hand but demonstrating that perhaps he was a warrior, a hunter that could be someone that stood out. Someone worthy of being welcomed in and desired to take part in their efforts. The knuckles whitened as he gripped the bow, breathing in slowly. Battle nerves. It was battle nerves and nothing else. He couldn't let his thoughts linger on anything other than the fight.

The primal voice deep within Aileni growled and hungered for blood. When he rushed out into the arena, Aileni noted that there was a group of Sith fighting, powers thrown around that was far beyond what Aileni knew what to deal with. He knew that he needed to focus on the easier prey, the Sith that were not likely to win the title of Warlord. Pulling the energized bowstring, Aileni fired upon the Sith at the edges of the arena.

"Survive. Fight. Kill. Survive." Aileni chanted to himself under his breath as he moved through the arena, darting around quickly as his body could. His deep emerald eyes gazing around the combat field, assessing where it would be best to strike next. Where the best opportunity to make a bold move to be noticed. Hopefully in what a Sith would concern a positive way.