Populate The Second Conclave | TSC Populate of Empty Hex

[Emissary of Strife]

Tamsin Starfall Kirie Anet Raine Acier Moonbound Eurydice Vestra Tane Mercy Varin Mortifer Darth Apophion Naniti Darth Amaymon Kyber Arixa Pazela Lysander von Ascania Ansisa Meliant

Amidst the smoldering skyscape, the Sith of the Covenant assemble at the ruins of the Imperial Palace in the aftermath of their victory against the Galactic Empire, but the vacuum of power is an easier thing to fill than to wield. Gathered within the deepest chambers, like a dark reflection of the once Jedi Council seated here time ago, the most influential and powerful of the Covenant inaugurate the Sith Council; while the rest of the Covenant work to clear out Imperial stragglers and rechristen the site into a new Sith Temple. There is a future at work, and a new Golden Age of the Sith on the horizon.

"The Second Conclave has begun."

​

OBJECTIVE ONE: Sith Lords and Knights gather at the inauguration of the Sith Council, now the ruling body of the Covenant. Here, everything gets decided. What rules to give a damn about and which ones to throw by the wayside. How the new rulers of the Core are expected to operate, and to divide up spheres of influence within the newest power on the galactic stage.

​

OBJECTIVE TWO: The Second Conclave of the Sith wasn't a patient gathering. The Imperial Palace, the place of this gathering, yet burns, and imperial holdouts remain scattered throughout the district. Anyone not attending the first assembly of the Sith Council is expected to pick up the pieces. In some cases, quite literally, as the Triumvirate expects the rechristened Sith Temple to be rebuilt, brick-by-brick. Of course, they and others will be far too busy to notice if you get up to no good.

​

 

[Milla]

'Site of the Siegemother'​

Objective: ???
Riffraff Ranat Adean Castor

Milla extricated herself, gingerly, from between two durasteel plates that the Seigemother's engineers had attempted to keep separate upon design and building, but that fate and the surface of Coruscant had decided belonged in a final embrace, reunited in death. She looked up, a bit critically, at the half melted mess of their joining. At a point that, at time of impact, had only been about a meter above her head. Some people would look up at such a near miss with with awe, dread, or even existential panic. Milla scrunched her nose up at it.

Bending down, she rummaged around in the wreckage for her satchel, tugging it out with only some small amount of trouble when it caught on something unseen. When it didn't come loose immediately she started kicking things, which was enough, one way or another for the snag to give up the ghost and free her things. Milla didn't own much, but what was hers was hers, massive ship crash be damned.

The air smelled of smoke, acrid and sharp, the sky clouded and roiling with the chaos remaining from a Force Storm Milla had kept to the shelter of the crashed ship during, thank you. Safer in the smoldering ruins of the Seigemother than out there as things had devolved. Which felt like a real treatise on just what the surface of Coruscant had been like not that long ago. Milla had no real appreciation for the crash site, despite having been sheltered in the hulk until the dust had (started) to settle. Riding in a cargo sling down as the ship had crashed into the surface of the planet during a full scale assault? Out of her mind as quickly as a stubbed toe. Kicking a bit of slag out of her way, she turned her back, unlikely to ever think of the experience again. More important things to think about.

Such as what now?

Mercy had tried to drop her off on a planet that had been wholly unsuitable. Blue skies, sapphire waters, tropical breezes. When she'd told Mercy she'd wanted to be left somewhere nice, she hadn't expected Mercy to bully her. Absolutely horrid. It had been easy to sneak back aboard while she'd been busy and snug up in the cargo hold. The only way to travel really, as far as she was concerned. This though? The smoking wreckage, smell of burning bodies and spilled fuel? This she could work with.

Not paying much attention to the carnage immediately around the ship, Milla slipped towards the epicenter of the chaos, towards the Imperial Palace with the unerring nose of a scavenger. It was time to see what there was to see... and what would fit into her bag.

Wasn't it wonderful to be free?

 

[Mercy]

​

OBJECTIVE I: The 2nd Conclave Feat. 'Hopefully Not As Explosive As The First'

Some time before the start of the Conclave...

She had been lured here with the promise of a grand affair, something that would mark their victory and bring in the next age of Sith domination over Coruscant and its regions. Naturally, Mercy assumed that Arris Windrun had been talking about a party. Instead what she encountered was a room dominated by a large table.

Said table had a lot of normal chairs associated with it except for the head of the table, which had three chairs. A large one in the middle, which was seemingly for her, and two smaller ones at each side.

Mercy squinted at that.

What party had a table with no food or drinks on it? A party Mercy wasn't sure wanted to attend. She moved finally, beginning to realize she had been fooled, towards her seat. Sitting down there with a grunt and gesturing towards one of her Graspborn guards. Mercy wasn't sure why she needed guards, but apparently the Cult had made its own deliberations.

A new title required an honor guard, the logic went.

Once arrived, she murmured something in their ear. It didn't take long for them to do two things: another chair was brought up, smaller, and put next and slightly to the side of hers. It required a bit of a rearrangement, but Mercy had invited a guest, and it would be rude to make them sit among the regular attendants.

The second thing: a goblet of wine, which she drank from as she waited for this event to start. This was the first time in her life that Mercy was early to anything, which made her suspect that Arris gave her the wrong time.

It entirely slipped her mind that she had requested Meliant to welcome the guests. Who would have to deal with Sith Lords and Knights coming into his Palace, rather than... Mercy wasn't even sure who else she had been expecting. It wasn't like Arris had any friends, so a party organized by her would have been awful, most likely.

She sipped from her goblet again.

And awaited for the first arrivals to come into the chambers.

Lysander von Ascania Vestra Tane Srina Talon

 

[Arris Windrun]

Mercy Meliant Darth Amaymon Vestra Tane Tamsin Starfall Lysander von Ascania Srina Talon

Arris finally arrived and saw Mercy seated with a goblet in her hand.

"Gaudy," she remarked.

The cyborg walked towards the end of the table, only to slow halfway upon noticing a fourth chair in the arrangement. Her eyes flicked up, almost accusatory. The hell?! Arris wondered if Mercy decided to change their power structure without discussion, unaware that a certain Empress was to be Mercy's 'guest of honor' as it were.

Her pace picked up, and she sank into her chair to Mercy's left. Arris leaned lazily against the armrest.

"I'm surprised you're early and that Vestra is late," she added to their stirring lack of conversation.

As her eyes drifted to the other chairs, she wondered who else was in attendance. That was, of course, information Vestra provided that Arris neglected to review ahead of time.

How unfortunate would it have been if each Triumvir expected another to be responsible for tonight's affairs?

"So..." Her eyes searched the mysterious fourth chair again, before finding Mercy next. "What the hell is this about?"

 

[Adean Castor]

TAG: Milla | Riffraff Ranat

There world come a point, hopefully soon, when Adean's skull would cease throbbing. She'd been fortunate enough to not be in one of the buildings affected by the Siegemother's crash, closer to the Imperial Palace. She'd been unfortunate, however, to be close enough to still hear it and the settling wreckage that followed.

A mixture of annoyance and concern kept her senses on high alert, definitely not helping settle the head and ear ache. It wasn't out of concern for any hapless bystanders, or the crew of the ill-fated ship. No, there was a nonzero chance the crew at least partially earned their fate. As for the rest, that was just how fate's cards were dealt sometimes. What concerned her is what the crash could mean for the rest of her day.

It would be an easy affair to let the wreckage lie, to just assume there were no survivors and if there were, they were someone else's problem. That was still very much part of Adean's design, quite frankly. And yet, she couldn't shake the curiosity that there were still secrets that could be gleamed from whatever was left from the ship. Or perhaps resources it's owner would no longer miss. Surely, a peak wouldn't hurt. Especially if the bridge remained intact.

With clothes that could easily paint her somewhere between a merchant, someone's assistant, or something else not suited for physical labor but not entirely useless, Adean slipped into the crash zone with a quiet confidence and a datapad at her hip to better sell the illusion.

Just don't look at the bodies, especially not their faces, or at least don't look at them as bodies, and she'd be fine. Right?

 

[Meliant]

Mercy Darth Amaymon Vestra Tane Tamsin Starfall Lysander von Ascania Srina Talon Darth Imperius​

Meliant stood afore the grand doors of the second Conclave in his marvelous golden armor - untouched despite the vagaries following Coruscant's latest sacking. It still bore the same imperious frown. He possessed a new sword (an evil thing plucked from the vaults below), which he now had planted tip-down in the floor, resting his hands on the pommel. ​

​

Don't worry. It has a scabbard. The flooring is unharmed.​

​

This was the doorman of the second Conclave. All who wanted to attend would, by necessity, have to pass by him. Depending on whom you asked, Meliant was either the best or worst person for the duty.​

 

[Riffraff Ranat]

Tags: Milla | Adean Castor
Mention: Meliant | Mercy​

After dragging herself through a rather dilapidated air duct that hadn't seen use in perhaps millennia save for Riffraff's clandestine passing, the ranat had barely made it to her piecemeal lift on time. The thing rocked and jittered as it carried her upward, all while she rasped for breath because she'd pushed her rebreather to the absolute limits. Thankfully whatever genetic modifications she'd undergone in her youth by the hand of long dead scientists had made her hearty indeed, and she wasn't going to let a little shortness of breath or environmental toxicity get her down.

The lift took almost an hour to reach a reasonable level, after which Riffraff promptly pulled out a t'bac cigarillo as she took stock of the still settling dust, smoke, grime and havoc of war. She sliced in access to a swanky looking speeder that had only superficial damage on the passenger side and made for the palace. Pulling up right in front, she parked it and flicked the butt of her spent cigarillo into a still smoldering pile of rubble. That was when a shiny statue caught her attention.

Eyeing the thing as she approached, Riffraff determined it was a man and not just a piece of architecture. Hooking one clawed thumb over her shoulder and sticking the other paw into her overall pocket, the purple ranat greeted dryly.

"Heya, do me a favor and make sure none of the wizard brats touch my new ride, yeah?"

She slipped past without waiting for an answer but stopped just inside the entrance to take a look around. Giving a low whistle, Riffraff decided to keep to the wall for a bit as she watched who else might gather. One tall ear twitched as she made particular note of the big woman whose reputation she'd used a few times for coercion against the little Sithlings, to get them to do what she wanted.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Naniti Mercy Srina Talon Arris Windrun Vestra Tane Tamsin Starfall Meliant Darth Amaymon
​

Lysander walked alongside Naniti, matching her pace, like his steps just wanted to stay with hers. Even so, he was still finding his footing in other ways, learning what the Covenant’s assertion over Coruscant truly meant. Tremendous strides had been taken to restore some of the damage, though he knew it would take more time. Whole districts were leveled, empty of life.. and structure. Deep down, he sensed some wounds would forever be etched into the surface here.

“Everyone wants to know where they stand without having to ask,” the words floated between them, affected in an easy tone. “If it turns chaotic, I suppose we’ll know who wanted it that way.”

They’d been through worse, surely. But now, the difference lay in his willingness to hear the Togruta’s counsel, if she had any, rather than follow his own impulses.

Then he spotted a figure; the golden armor was quite impressive, almost.. beautiful in its creation. But whoever it was, had chosen this post, which Lysander found unnecessary, and more than a little annoying.

Lips parted as he passed first. "Fethin' nerf herder," said under his breath, the Arris born dialect slipping forth almost too easily.

So, the Sith moved toward a side wall then with a more calculated stride, his focus settling on it with intense concentration. Energy pulsed beneath the focus, and he let himself dissolve, slipping through the barrier as if it were nothing more than air. This was not the first time he had used the skill, having done so as well at the former ISB HQ.

In no time, they crossed the threshold into the room. Of course, its true nature was already unfolding. This was no place for laughter or festivity; the air was already oozing with authority and ambition.

His eyes rolled over the long table. Naturally, he was quick to note the triumvirate. This was a sight that could catch to attention of everyone present. Though the Covenant's structure was loosely defined, he understood that these three stood above him in the pecking order.

An obsidian coat cascaded around him, a datapad poised in his grasp. He circled the room once, then pulled the chair beside him out for Naniti first. Only then did he settle into his own, near the head of the table, close to Mercy.

 

[Varin Mortifer]

OBJ:2

THEME​

Varin decided to keep watch over the construction of the new Covenant Sith Temple. He had no need for claiming land or being with the higher ups this time around, and he felt some of the new…workers would need guidance on the temple’s construction. The imperial palace had seen much, much better days until the Covenant ran it asunder. Broken walls, toppled pillars, old murals and pictures of prior leaders. It all had to be fixed and changed to meet the expectation of the Triumvirate. He was also here for another reason.

The possibility of a sneak attack from the enemy was always a factor that could rear its ugly head. Possibly even demoralize those who were part of the rebuilding process.

This could not stand.

Security personnel and his own Nagai platoon would help him keep watch over those who worked the construction.

He kept his eye on everything either by his own eye or through informatory feeds from the security personnel and Nagai around the perimeter.

Some of the workers being captured POWs of the invasion, forced to work as slaves. Broken under the will of the Covenant and the shattering of their superiors. The fight that had lingered in their eyes, the fire that burned so brightly within them, doused from the very blood that flowed on the streets from their very own company.

This was how you reclaimed a kingdom. This was how you rebuilt your own rule, your own throne. Varin would make sure that it all went as smoothly as possible. But the slaves that stumbled were severely punished. Torture, beating and sometimes even death kept the others in line. Other apprentices or acolytes were shown more leniency. Not because they were part of the covenant, but to show that those who abandoned the prior cause and joined the new world order could be rewarded.

For the most part it worked. But there were always a batch of stubborn old believers that needed to be broken further.

He stood over the steps towering over them all as he paced back and forth, his molten eye glaring down at every worker. Each pass over the workers would start to work faster, fearing they too would simply be incinerated by his gaze. A power he had displayed to them a few times to some slaves being extra stubborn.

His eye caught someone though in the distance. Someone struggling to pull their weight as she fumbled with bricks and other tools. Varin could hear the security personnel begin to bark orders to her. Varin’s brow furrowed and he swiftly made his way over. Towering over the security personnel and the lady they were ordering mistaking her for someone not of The Covenant.

“Eurydice…”

Varin’s voice traveled over the personnel and they quickly separated to let him pass.

“Stand down all of you, she is Covenant personnel, and she is with me.”

Varin stood before the security in front of Eurydice, each person slowly glancing away to find someone else to order.

“Forgive them, Eurydice. They did not know any better.”

He slowly crouched down and picked up a few of the bricks she struggled to carry.

Eurydice​

 

[Meliant]

Riffraff Ranat Lysander von Ascania Naniti​

First among the guests was a rat-person of indeterminate sex. Indeterminant to Meliant, anyway. He privately assured himself things could only improve from this point forward.​

​

"Heya, do me a favor and make sure none of the wizard brats touch my new ride, yeah?"

"Fuck off," replied Meliant.​

​

But the ranat was now departed. Oh well. He would make sure the speeder was taken care of. ​

​

Next came a young man Meliant did not recognize, but seemed familiar. Where had he sensed him before?​

​

Lips parted as he passed first. "Fethin' nerf herder," said under his breath, the Arris born dialect slipping forth almost too easily.

Meliant might have remained in silent contemplation but for that remark. Instead, he stuck a foot out to catch Lysander's ankle as he walked by, attempting to hook it and prompt a fall. Now if he would only smash his nose on the steps in front of his togruta girlfriend - that would be a positive delight.​

​

 

[Darth Apophion]

OBJECTIVE TWO
​

The Imperial Palace District wept. The banners of the Galactic Empire lay broken and shattered, cast down by the Sith Covenant. The battle was over. For a fleeting moment, you could pretend otherwise. Power still flowed to the lights of the Galactic City. The people still bustled about in each block and district. Above, in the palace itself, the rituals of victory and purges would continue. Yet there was a noted stillness, an absence. The throne had changed hands.

Apophion walked alone, deep in the lower levels of the Palace District. Here, power conduits thrummed through ancient structures of stone and steel. The architecture shifted from Imperial to Republic, from Sith to Jedi. The deeper one went, the more it felt like passing into another era of time. His boots echoed as the Sith walked down an old corridor. The air was stale, cold, metallic, and unwelcoming. Finally, he came before a sealed bulkhead. Unceremoniously, he raised his hand. Durasteel ground against ferrocrete, and the bulkhead screamed open.

The bulkhead opened into a long-buried control chamber. Hololithic projectors flickered to life at his presence, running on systems no modern codebreaker understood. Ghost-images resolved fragmented tactical feeds, partial recordings torn from secure Palace networks.

Above him, banners were being raised. Titles proclaimed. Oaths sworn in haste.

Apophion had joined the Empire for one reason: to hunt down Jedi. In the coming new order, he was unsure where his place would be. He was not one of the Covenant and had no place among them. Sith empires always devoured themselves once their enemy was gone. His sworn enemy was the Jedi. Yet the future was now uncertain. This was the truth he faced. Like the Jedi, he was now a fugitive.

The war was over. But Apophion's battle had only just begun.

​

 

[Srina Talon]

OBJECTIVE: 1
LOCATION: A Table in the Back
APPEARANCE: XoXo
Direct Tag: Mercy
Hey Ya'll I Know You: Lysander von Ascania Vestra Tane Arris Windrun Meliant Eurydice

____________________________________________________

Srina arrived quietly, alone.

Enough time had passed that she no longer bore the difficulties of spice suppression, but there was still something off about the Sith Empress. She was clad wholly in white...Which was probably the wrong color, but she found the shade ironic, since most of her ilk favored dour blacks and blooded-reds…Especially when standing on Coruscant felt akin to standing in the middle of a funeral.

Or a mass grave.

The chamber was already filling up, and her head inclined gently to Meliant , who seemed a little bit overqualified to serve as a mere "doorman". The events after Mercy and Darth Carnifex had returned her to the land of the living were a bit of a blur. Pain, heat, and the strange narrowing of existence…But she was at least aware that her intervention in the fight with his brother had been ill-timed. She wouldn't apologize for it, but she also wouldn't rub his nose in it. Hence, the respectful, silent greeting...And the soft feigned ignorance of having not seen his foot dash toward Lysander von Ascania at an opportune moment.

She moved through the slowly growing crowd, the fabric of her gown drifting around her, gossamer, with shell spider-silk that caught the light when she moved. It was soft where most Sith expected edge, flowing, where most preferred austere severity. Her white-gold hair remained mostly loose, braids woven just enough to keep it from falling in her eyes.

There was no crown, no sigil, nothing that might express she was different than any other guest. Jasmine and petrichor followed her—not perfume, but power, tightly coiled and leaking through the cracks where Force clouding could no longer fully contain it. Were she on Jutrand, she might have chosen to wear something with alchemical symbols woven discreetly into it to dull her presence. But she was far from home…And on this cursed planet?

It was not an option.

It was good, however, to know for certain that the Faithless had been fractured.

Scattered to the winds.

At last.

The thought did not bring her any sense of triumph. Only a strange, distant stillness. So much blood had been spilled for an ending that felt less like closure and more like exhaustion.

Srina wanted to sleep for a month—Minimum.

The wintry woman found somewhere to sit at table in the back. It was an unremarkable spot, overlooked, but it suited her fine. She chose a chair and settled into it with such grace that it was almost painful to watch. Ivory fabric pooled against pale stone, and her hands folded loosely in her lap, fully, not expecting most to recognize her. Why would they? There were thousands of Echani in the galaxy that, due to genetics, could have passed for her reflection. Around her, conversation shifted…Then resumed, and the wintry creature leaned back in the chair.

Eyes of corrupted gold pulled up from the table and fell on Mercy for a moment before she looked toward some of the others, already mingling and scheming. The Warlord had requested her presence before she returned home, and the Empress had obliged, knowing that, for reasons she did not fully understand, it mattered to the red-haired woman that she attend. She was uncertain if her daughter would feel up to it...

So, for now, she would simply do her best to just be.

Srina lowered her frozen gaze to folded hands, snow pale, and exhaled once. Slow.

She was alive.

The Faithless were gone.

For the moment, that was enough.

 

[Mercy]

Arris Windrun | Srina Talon | Lysander von Ascania
​

"Yeah, well, you know me, Windrun. I take my responsibilities as Triumvir extremely seriously." She muttered into her goblet. Either the cyborg was gaslighting her or Mercy had misunderstood completely what the point of the conversation had been earlier in the day.

Either way, this wasn't the time to correct that misunderstanding.

"So..." Her eyes searched the mysterious fourth chair again, before finding Mercy next. "What the hell is this about?"

Mercy glanced towards the fourth chair and then to Arris.

"Well, you can't expect the Empress of the Sith Order to just be sitting among the crowd, can you?" But of course, even as Mercy said that, she spotted the Empress entering the room. Subtle as a whip and sitting down in the back of the room as if she was just a regular Sith. Mercy blinked there and glanced towards Arris and then back to Srina.

"Everyone is just trying to get a reaction out of me today, give me a moment." Mercy rose up, leaving the goblet on the tablet, moving around and passing Lysander von Ascania by... if he managed to successfully extract himself from Meliant . If so the boy would get a pat on his shoulder, approving of his performance in the invasion.

She cleaved through the crowd like a claymore.

Or tried to anyway, but had to stop every so often to accept a greeting or a hail, until finally she reached the Empress.

"We both know you don't belong here." And just as was traditional between Srina and Mercy... she didn't wait before grabbing her wrist and pulling her up to guide her with her.

Again through the crowd.

Towards the head of the room where the four chairs rested.

 

[Tamsin Starfall]

Theme: Pulse of Darkness
Equipment: Twin Omens | Multi-Tool | Stars Enchained | Mind Crown
TAGS: Vestra Tane | Mercy | Arris Windrun | Srina Talon | Meliant | Lysander von Ascania | Darth Amaymon

"Empires rise and fall to ash condemned to the same fate as those that came before." ~ The Rebel Sith​

Burning ember eyes stared up through the Duraplex canopy of the turbolift, the light above a tiny dot that slowly got bigger as the turbo lift went up. Ascension from the deep darkness lifting up into the light like some pompous poem from a noble who had never felt pain of true suffering. The thing that was wearing Tamsin's skin just watched the approaching light above thinking on the past as it had once been.

Would she be denied her rewards once more by would be emperors and kings. Would she have to once again turn to finding a way to burn down that which she had helped support. Only time would tell what would come of this young new Empire or Covenant as it wanted to call itself.

It was funny though how she stood here on this world on this day. The final day the last remnants of the Maw were washed away from this Galaxy. The Maw she once served and even leader that had so long ago lost its way, becoming a mortal Empire. She stood once again on the side that was victorious destroying yet another Empire, she had played some small part in.


How many was it now, the demon in Tamsin's skin had lost count. As the turbolift reached its final leg a wicked little smirk crossed the Witch'ari's face a face that was a younger version of the one she used to wear. Then she pulled the hood of her black robes up over head, the brim coming up over her eyes just enough so she could look out but it would be hard for others to look directly into those burning embers.

BING!​

The Turbolift reached its destination and the doors slowly opened. The diminutive figure in dark robes stepped off into the fresh hellscape that was the palace district of Coruscant.

"The kids have done well."

She remarked to herself as she looked towards the Palace. Such a lavish luxury built for a arrogant piss ant that was Solipsis. It screamed moody but in that edgy punk pop way to her. Her little legs marching forward across the broken ground and smoldering fires. As she walked up towards the Palace in a straight beeline she forced blasted debris out of her way. Letting nothing stop her not even that shiny speeder bike of Riffraff Ranat 's that was between her and her arrival.

A hand reached out in front of her and with a wave of the arm and hand she yeeted that bike off into the Coruscant sunset. Off in the distance you could hear it crash into the duraplex of a building and the sound of someone yelling.

"Hey, watch where you are throwing your shit, nerf herder you almost killed my Dog!"

The Demon in Tamsin's skin stopped a second just then. Shit she didn't mean to almost hurt dog.

"Uh sorry…..It was meant to hit you my aim was a little off!"

With that the man in the broken window started yelling more expletives in her direction but she just turned and head up the steps of the Palace. Coming to the door man in a shiny suit of armor as he attempted to trip the boy in front of her Lysander von Ascania . It was time to let the girl talk though who looked up at Meliant .

"Darth Lunaris, good sir." She bowed her head slightly. "Hope you don't mind I took care of that speeder that was double parked over there. It may be a warzone but it doesn't mean you can't have a little respect for traffic laws. Hope to see you inside it is a great new day." The little creature gave him a smile and headed on in trying not to step on the new rug that was Lysander von Ascania .

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Coruscant

Equipment:
Acolyte Robes | Lightsaber | Cybernetic Arm

Ace returned to Coruscant without announcement or ceremony, slipping back like a familiar ache, letting the noise swallow him before anyone thought to ask questions.

The Palace still burned. Not openly. Not dramatically. Just enough to stain the sky a dull, sickly copper and remind anyone paying attention that something irrevocable had happened here. The top dogs were busy upstairs, discussing important things. Things that probably Sibylla and Lorn would want to hear.

He didn't feel like snooping. Not today. Instead, he prowled through the lower administrative sectors where Imperial resistance had thinned into something desperate and stupid. Holdouts. Pockets of loyalty clinging to a banner that had already fallen.

He felt him before he saw them. Always. Fear had a texture in the Force - tight, brittle, spiking in ugly little bursts. He followed it down a collapsed corridor. A flickering lumen panel cast long shadows across scorched walls. Blaster scoring. Rushed barricades. The aftermath of people who'd realized too late that no one was coming to save them.

A man stepped out from cover, rifle shaking in his hands.

"Don't--"

Ace didn't slow. He ignited his lightsaber into the man's chest. His breath hitched once, violently, and then stopped. His body crumpled where it stood. Ace stepped over him without looking down.

Anger rolled through him, but it wasn't wild. It was pressurized. Sibylla's assault. Coruscant's destruction. The realization that dismantling the Covenant was going to take time he didn't have and patience he no longer trusted himself to maintain. It was all eating away at him, and he was tired of restraint masquerading as virtue.

There were other presences ahead. Two this time, hiding behind overturned consoles. One of them bolted as soon as Ace turned the corner. He didn't chase, he simply raised his hand and the Force hooked, twisted. The runner slammed sideways into a wall hard enough to fold.

The second raised their weapon and hesitated. That was all the gap there was before Ace closed it without as much as a second look. When it was done, the corridor was quiet again. Ace stood still for a moment, chest rising and falling, letting the anger bleed off in slow increments rather than forcing it back down where it would fester.

Somewhere above him, the Covenant was already planning the future. Here, in the wreckage, Ace made space for it. The irony wasn't lost on him, it only served to piss him off even more.

He turned and moved on, senses narrowing again, hunting the next flicker of fear in the ruins.

OPEN​

 

[Vestra Tane]

Tags: Meliant | Arris Windrun | Mercy | Srina Talon | Lysander von Ascania | Riffraff Ranat | Tamsin Starfall | Darth Amaymon

Vestra Tane, third and least of the Triumvirate, arrived at the Conclave with little fanfare. When she and her companion - an Astromech of about knee height - departed from their speeder, the Sith pressed a small, golden credit chit into the driver's shaking hands. Whatever thanks he muttered in response escaped her. There was too much on her mind for her to maintain her usual, slightly psychotic joviality. Too much rode on this meeting.

Silently, she consoled herself: At least the Empire wouldn't be here to crash this one.

Tonight she wore her coat, ragged and battle-torn. Both of her sabers hung at her waist, because with this many Sith in one place, violence felt like a foregone conclusion. Her right hand was cold, obsidian synthflesh, and on her left she bore the regalia of an empress.

Without a word, she slinked past the "doorman," in his gaudy golden armor, and offered a polite nod in greeting. She had never met the man before, but she'd been informed of his betrayal. Useful, but the Covenant would need to keep an eye on him. And whatever Lysander had done to earn his ire wasn't any of her business.

Once inside the halls, Vestra took her place with the other Triumvirs and the Order's Empress, whom she was only slightly surprised by the presence of and wholly unsurprised to see dragged around by Mercy. She offered each a nod with varying levels of familiarity and deference as she deemed appropriate.

"Mercy, Windrun," She muttered the name of her peer with a particular coldness. "Empress."

Then she looked down to the droid at her side. Her expression melted into a smile, only for so long as he was in her line of sight, and she asked, in soft Chandrilan,

"Vee, could ya start taking minutes?"

The little droid chirped in the affirmative. The Triumvir looked back up at her comrades.

"Right. We ready to get this thing going?"

 

[Arixa Pazela]

---

---

Imperial Centre (Coruscant), Corusca sector;
Heart of the Galactic Empire, The Sith Covenant.
Tag: Acier Moonbound

---

THE SECOND CONCLAVE, OBJECTIVE II
' Brick By Brick '

Somewhere, out there, in the ruined landscape of Imperial Centre (what the Dark-Imperials had renamed Coruscant too after they conquered the Galactic Alliance) laid the smouldering wreckage of a prison ship they had called the Twilight Gladius. In the advent of the battle, before the Sith Covenant finished what Solipsis had started during the FIRST CONCLAVE, the renegade Sith Lord, Xan Atropus , had raided and subsequently overthrown the Imperial crew of the ship to free prisoners that were being shipped into the Deep Core.

Among those captives was Arixa Pazela: a Dark Jedi that had been picked up by the ISB on New Plympto, and if not for the Sith invasion, would surely have ended up becoming a new member of the now defunct Dark Side Elite.

"What you do with your freedom is of no concern to me. Take it and run if you wish, or if you desire to get back at those who sought to enslave and break you, then join me... Together we can make an Empire bleed."

Unlike some of her fellow prisoners, who had jumped at the opportunity to fight alongside Darth Diabolos, Arixa had scrammed the very moment a chance to run had come. The attack on Coruscant had nothing to do with her as far as she was concerned, and she didn't want to die in the battle, so she had run and decided to hide until the fighting stopped. Of course, if she had ever reached Byss, Arixa might have had a different point of view now. She wouldn't have been the only person forced to enter the Dark Side Elite and made to yield to the dark, twisted arts which had turned Jedi, Sith and others alike into pawns, or weapons, for the Galactic Emperor.

But, then again, Pazela hadn't made it that the far into the Deep Core. Now, in this mausoleum of the Galactic Empire, she found herself stuck on their capital looking for a way out, and curiously, still unaware of her roots which could be traced back to the days when Adekos had overthrown Voracitos to become the Dark Lord of the Sith, and where Vazela had joined the usurper as had taken over the Eighth Sith Empire to become one of the Umbaran's Sith Lords.

Perhaps, in time, the Dark Jedi who found herself traversing the city for a way out will become like Vilox.

But that is a story for another time.

"Don't-"

Placing her back up against the corridor wall, as she heard the familiar, awful hum of a Lightsaber blade taking another life, Arixa stopped her exploration and found herself stuck again. There was a Sith at the other end, she summarized to herself quietly. Either it was one of them or they were a survivor, from the Imperial side, who had lived to tell and fight another day. Communications black out meant that Arixa didn't know much. She couldn't know, for example, that the entire regime that had been the Galactic Empire had fallen to the overwhelming onslaught of the Sith Covenant and all their territories belonged, now, to the Sith Council that was being formed in the former Jedi Temple turned Imperial Palace.

Perhaps the battle wasn't over still. It made sense that pockets of both sides would still be alive and spread out all over the city even if the flashing, strobing lights of Star Destroyers firing upon each other had stopped. Arixa didn't miss the sound, mind you. There is something distinctly awful about hearing a battle let alone being caught in the middle of one. God, she missed Almania. Why had she ever left in the first place?

---

 

[Kirie]

Location: Coruscant Sith Temple
Tag: Anet Raine | OPEN

In the shadow of the Second Conclave, the Covenant's lessers worked with their hands. Laborers removed shattered masonry and broken columns by the shipload. Half of the building had been flattened, and large sections severely damaged, but other sections were mostly untouched. It was in one of these relatively intact wings that Kirie found herself leaning against the wall of a quiet corridor, watching a crew of people a few dozen paces away diligently work to seal up a spiderweb of cracks in the stonework, caused by some sort of artillery or Force blast.

Kirie was supposed to be "supervising" this construction, so she had spent the morning wandering up and down the temple hallways, imagining what it must have looked like before it was an Imperial palace, when it was occupied by legions of young Jedi. Occasionally, people came up to her and asked her to approve things, or provide instructions. Kirie would just nod, or shrug, or look at them absently until they left her alone. She didn't want to give orders to these people. They were like her, they were slaves.

Not everyone had such qualms, though. She had seen Varin Mortifer a couple of times on her rounds and he certainly seemed to be making the most of his newfound power. She didn't blame him. He was a real Lord-in-training.

Someone- a young woman with reddish brown hair- came up to her and told her that her group was due for a rest. Kirie blinked at her, but it was clear that she was waiting for an answer. Kirie adjusted the silk scarf tied around her neck nervously. It was a new addition. Not perfect, but she wanted to hide the ugly thing that sat beneath it.

'Uh. Yeah.' Kirie told the woman, vaguely looking in her direction. 'You can go.'

 

[Anet Raine]

OBJECTIVE 2
Kirie

Anet prowled in the shadows, licking wounds both real and imagined from events that transpired only so little ago.

The Covenant's victory unleashed a tsunami of pain and terror across the Core Worlds, impacting trillions of lives, whose anxiety and suffering fed the Dark Side. For someone like Anet, who both reveled in that darkness and was untrained to defend against it, the result was pure ecstasy. But that didn't mean she was in a good mood... Kirie saw to that.

The scholar slammed her fist against stone. She didn't care that it hurt. Didn't mind the dark purple that now blemished her pale blue hand. She cursed under her breath as memories played out. Of when Kirie betrayed her. Anet rounded the bend, content to sulk and take her pain out on the world around her when she saw the source of all her pain talking with another acolyte.

"What are they..." Her speculation ran wild.

Was Kirie turning them against her? Plotting another escape? Was this to be Anet's replacement?

Oh... That last one struck.

"Am I so easy to discard?!" She seethed quietly to herself.

Angry, with a face to prove it, Anet stomped towards her. The other acolyte - the one talking with Kirie - turned in surprise, they had no idea, and barely any time to register Anet's backhand. The acolyte yelped and stumbled back, before turning and running away. A pace that really said 'fuck that, I'm out!' but Anet's icy glare had forgotten all about them. No, Kirie was special... For Anet's anger, she was the whole universe.

The half-pantoran jabbed a finger into the brunette's collar.

"You!" She looked ready to chew her out in historic fashion. Yet... Somehow, some way, Anet summoned self-control. But, as would soon be revealed, for reasons that had nothing to do with kindness or respect.

"You," her voice reduced to a whisper, "betrayed me."

 

[Darth Amaymon]

Tags: Vestra Tane Mercy Srina Talon Meliant Tamsin Starfall Arris Windrun Lysander von Ascania Riffraff Ranat
​

He was running late.

Or was he right on time?

Before his colossal figure could be seen, it was his presence that had first arrived. Animosity. Raw and wild. Like a tempest it swirled about the red titan in his approach. Adorned in his armor, obsidian in its texture and partially exposing his chest. The sith lords appearance was akin to that of a gladiator of sorts. The duracrete and metal plates groaned emitting minor quakes with each step of armored greaves. Sulfuric eyes scanned the entrance and spotted immediately the golden figure of a metal man. They wielded a claymore or some sort of sword as if guarding or greeting those that entered.

In the Gen'dais perception, this was either a punishment or an arrangement that had been made. It was more than possible that it was both. Who the kark wants to be a door man? With long heavy strides Darth Amaymon closed the gap between himself and Meliant and paused to stand beside him. Though he faced one direction and the metal man faced the other. Momentarily Amaymon considered saying something to the being but all that sounded out was a " Hmph." Something more akin to air expelled than words.

It was as civil of an acknowledgement that the Sith lord was going to express in public. Especially for a first time meeting. Yet attention and time had been spent when it could of been reserved. Not waiting to waste anymore time, the red titan continued onward in till he managed to brood his way into the council chambers. The doors of the room echoed a thud and were forced open with a obnoxious swing. Through the threshold he emerged and scanned the room with a rather scrutinizing gaze.

These young lords and ladies of the council were the up and coming lords of this council. Suddenly the concept of age of impressed upon Amaymon. He was likely the oldest member on this council and somehow that invoked irritation more than anything else.

"Right. We ready to get this thing going?"

He approached the table and scowled at the chairs surrounding it. The one in front of him was far to small to fit his frame. It was removed swiftly with a wave of the hand. The furniture sent telekinetically sliding back with a screech. In its stead, Darth Amaymon lowered himself into a more comfortable and primal position. A simple squat.

A posture that somehow made him appear even bigger than before. It was only afterward did he speak aloud as if responding to Vestra or anyone in the room.

"Not so fast Vestra. So, whose idea was it to invite this," A large accusing finger wagged in the direction of Srina Talon ." Soverign imperial hag?"