Faction The Blood of Emrick

[Darth Malcharion]

The first of the rebels died in silence. The man's face was bruised and bloodied, and his left eye was swollen shut, but he stared up defiant even as the Emrick Sith beheaded him. The crimson blade came down in single, smooth arc, sending the head toppling down the stage set up on the landing platform. Jutting out from the mountain side the Black Citadel dominated, the stage had been set up on the half kilometer long platform used by the Emrick Dynasty to land their transport ships, circumventing the five kilometer hike it took to ascend the mountain to the Black Citadel. Far below, thousands of Myriosian citizens had gathered from the city surrounding the mountain to watch the executions, eyes glued to the projector screens set up far below for just this event. Every few minutes, they watched in muted fear and disgust as the severed head crashed to the ground before them, completing its kilometers long fall.

The most recent rebellion against the Emrick Dynasty had been a pitiful affair, Darth Malcharion thought. Barely three hundred rebel "soldiers" had mustered in the capital city of Myrios, Tilea, and had been planning to storm the Black Citadel. The actions of Nyrasa Emrick had been vital in uncovering the gathering threat. Given another few weeks, the minor threat could very well have escalated into a true danger. A task force of Sith, leading a detachment of the Legion of Blood, the Dynasty's elite warriors, had broken up the gathering. Many had been killed in the assault, but the ring leaders had been identified and captured, the actions of Vastar Emrick in particular had ensured they had not been able to escape.

Now, the world would witness the grim result of rebellion against the Emrick Dynasty. Seated in a viewing platform of the proceedings, Malcharion took a slow sip from the cup held out for him by a servant. The viewing platform was several meters above the landing platform and the stage, offering an excellent view to the assembled Sith as each rebel leader was summarily executed. Even from this distance, Malcharion could feel the dread of the men and women in the city below as they watched the death of their would be liberators. Each fall of the lightsaber washing over Malcharion like the sweetest rush of pure spice.

Taking a final sip from the cup, he handed it back to the servant as he turned to look up and down the viewing platform. His family, The Emrick Dynasty. In times past there had been hundreds of them, but in coming to power over the Dynasty, Malcharion had seen their numbers reduced to just over fifty. Those adopted into the family due to their force abilities at a young age, and those born into it like himself stood equal in blood, but separated by power. Even an untrained observer could see the clusters and groupings of Sith across the viewing platform. Each group was generally centered around one of the few surviving High Lords, though there were a few outliers. The game of politics within the Emrick Dynasty never ended, and even here, during the families triumph, moves were being made to secure victory for the next battle.

Malcharion cherished it, just as much as he loathed it. Such was the way of the Sith, and especially among the Dynasty. His mind drifted back to the execution as the crimson blade fell once more, and he closed his eyes for the briefest of moments, savoring the feeling.

Today was a good day.

Spoiler

(This is the starting thread for those looking to make characters for the Emrick Dynasty of Sith. There is still time for those interested to join the fun, or for outsiders looking to make a story and connections to hop in as well! Would especially love those of a more shootey personality.)

 

[Vastar Emrick]

Everyone played a part. Even leaders were pieces of a greater whole. Emrick cared little for the politics of the family, so long as they did not destroy the family as a result. If they could hold their position, and were useful, he never felt the need to rise from his spot. Not that he was prepared to do so. His power in the force and dedication was what ultimately helped him so much in the detainment of some of the rebel leaders that posed a threat to the security of the Dynasty, an unacceptable situation. The threat of being cooked alive, suffocated while flesh was sizzled and scorched, were powerful motivators to keep a person in check. Most knew the concept of force lightning, even if they underestimated it. But watching a man be bathed in fire could make the difference. And when it didn't, ripping the ground out from under them did help when you wanted them alive. However, for his power and work, he was not yet ready to sit in the position of a high lord. And that was fine to him, his focus was on power in the force and the stability of the family. Everything else came after. So he'd serve a High lord until his time came to be replaced, or for Vastar to find an alternative place in the Dynasty.

Vastar watched as the heads rolled, a wisp of fire twirling idly around his left hand reminding him of the heat it could reach when the moment called for it. His lightsaber sat at his hip, but the chances it would actually be used were negligible. He'd always preferred the force. What was a sith without it? No better than anyone else. He kept his eyes on the people rolling heads, but his senses were open to everything, just waiting for someone to make a move. Waiting for anything to go wrong. Even from his fellow sith.

He could feel anger and fear, and he could feel them in himself too. They were important, one must draw from anything to gain power. If fear motivates you, use it. If anger, or greed, use it. All that mattered, was the Dynasty would grow stronger.

Darth Malcharion Nyrasa Emrick

 

[Nyrasa Emrick]

The rebels had brought this fate upon themselves, she had simply hastened the process. She watched the head of the first rebel roll, these deaths could have been prevented. The rebels knew it, and yet they still attempted to strike at the Emrick. The Emrick may not have been what they once were, but they were still a force to be reckoned with.

The crowd of people gathered in the city below proved the Emrick's power. The Sith Dynasty had loyal subjects, the base of every nation. Nyrasa was grateful for the appreciation she received following her uncovering of the rebel movement, though she wasn't in it for the fame. She simply wished to be recognised in the Emrick.

Now she might have gotten the chance. She couldn't stay long she knew, her role within the Eternal Empire's Blackwatch was far too important to be compromised just for an execution. Following her recent promotion to Staff Agent, one step closer to Special Agent, she had to put on her best performance. For now though, she stood there watching the heads role. Her lightsaber at her hip, pistols in holsters, and a gleam in her eyes. This was only the beginning for the Emrick.

She stole a glance at the Grand Lord Darth Malcharion, an interesting figure, and not who he expected to take the mantle during her early years int he dynasty. He had come to impress her though, which was a rare feat. The High lords all stood to the side, surrounded by the members of Emrick. Many of them were fools, some had even been loyal to the previous Grand Lord, she didn't trust anyone in the dynasty.

Just enjoy the show. She told herself, ignoring the distractions she had been thinking about. Today was a important day to the Emrick. The fire of rebellion had been wiped off of Myrios. Today the Sith displayed their strength, the Dynasty of Emrick were here to showcase their supremacy, and no one would get in their way.

Darth Malcharion Vastar Emrick

 

[Darth Malcharion]

Malcharion flexed his fingers on the arm rests of his chair, the gloves groaning from the motion. With a smile crossing his face, he pushed himself to his feet, stepping towards the front of the podium. Eyes turned towards him, and he reveled in the equal parts hatred and fear they brought. He stood triumphant, having only recently brought the bloody civil war to an end, but he knew plans were already in the works to dethrone him. Such was the nature of the Emrick Sith, and that is why Malcharion loved them. Conflict made the Sith strong. It forced growth, development, and a drive to survive.

To be Sith was to seek power. To be an Emrick was to be powerful.

Two Legion of Blood soldiers standing at the front of the podium stepped aside as Malcharion took the front. Every screen depicting the executions turned to focus on the Sith Lord, his glowing yellow eyes shining through the broadcast. He cast his eyes from side to side, seeing nothing himself, but knowing the masses of people watching below would feel his gaze upon them. After several seconds of silence, he finally spoke, his voice resonating across the mountain home of his family.

"People of Myrios, rejoice. On this day, justice was carried out against those who would challenge the rightful order of our world. The ring leaders of this foolish uprising have been dealt with. With your own eyes, you have seen the will of the Emrick Dynasty carried out, and peace restored to your homes. Rebellion against the Dynasty hurts all of us, and the pointless attempts by those driven by wayward ideals threaten to destabilize all we have strove to build in these centuries together." Pausing, Malcharion turned to watch as another group of prisoners were being brought forward.

"Rebellion shall never be tolerated, and those who support it shall be punished." Turning away, Malcharion walked back to his seat as the families of the rebel leaders were brought up to the execution platform.

Nyrasa Emrick Vastar Emrick

 

[Vastar Emrick]

Vastar listened and watched as things progressed into something more. Executions were important, and every single one of them only strengthened the example set. Although, he did feel there were tiers. And different tiers could illicit different reactions. One execution had a very different meaning than one hundred. Context was relevant of course, but if you kill only one man and try to do so as an example, unless you are truly brutal about it, it was not enough. That was simply how things were. They'd become matyrs, but their fate might not be as feared as only one man out of so many almost left it to chance. But kill too many, callously or for entertainment, and fear might bring a willingness to fight even for those not truly in danger.

Darth Malcharion stepped forth, and attention of everyone was drawn in. He had no response for the statements made. To him they seemed true. A rebel clever in words might find their own ways to twist them, but they could always. Words were only ways of communicating, and they were easily mistranslated and misinterpreted. Even silence was that way.

He watched, families brought forwards to be executed. Rise and fall together, that was the way of families. He could feel empathy for them, but he was not sympathetic. His family was placed above them, and he had no intention of allowing that to change so far as he was capable. This was just how it needed to be.

"Would be best another amputation won't be necessary for awhile, would be inconvenient." He said to himself quietly. He was speaking metaphorically of course, but then again, cutting off some limbs might also leave a bit of an impact.

Darth Malcharion Nyrasa Emrick