The Shepherd

[Darth Prazutis]

​Oricon Fortress
Approach...

​It had been barely a few weeks since the brutal duel that saw Darth Vitium dead on the ground and the domain of Khar Shian firmly in the grasp of the one man who took everything: Darth Prazutis. The Destroyer who strode down to the shadowy world and in one foul swoop changed the landscape of the Sith Order forever that day, by quelling the Storm. Now this man arrived in orbit over Oricon, the domain of one Sith Lord by the name of [member="Tirdarius"] .

​But where was the majestic fleet? Where was the armadas, the foppish entourage that one could expect from House Zambrano? There was none. A single Delta-Class JV 9 Shuttle coated in a reflective black paint emerged into the atmosphere of Oricon and immediately its pilots hailed Oricon Command signaling the impending arrival of the infamous Sith Lord to Oricon.

Darth Prazutis, Dark Lord of the Sith sat crisscrossed on the floor of this great shuttle clad in a set of black and gold, sinister robes a hood pulled firmly over his head. The dark side swirled around the shuttle radiating through its walls in undulating waves of darkness.

​Finally the dark hulled shuttle arrived aboard the docking platform the calming hiss as the docking ramp dropped the signal causing the King's eyes to open. He stood up then and descended out.

 

[Teynara Jeralyr]

| [member="Darth Prazutis"] |​

​

Oricon Fortress, surface of Oricon

The dark energies that swirled around Oricon felt quieter of late - a subtle but strong indication that matters were settling, or perhaps simply stagnating. An air of expectation, as though the Force was holding its breath, waiting for the next big thing to happen. That felt more accurate, on reflection: the swirling vortex of upheaval that had accompanied the death of Silara was settling at last, and that was more worrying than any incident. Rarely do things settle down for long. It wasn't the way of the Sith: they might remain in the shadows, watching, waiting, but they were never idle.

Standing on the observation balcony that led into his private office, overlooking the molten world from the pinnacle of his home, Tirdarius stared out into that tempestuous landscape with stormy grey eyes, watching the idle flow of the lava streams as they fell over the cliff and plummeted to the ashen rock below. It was an ever-consistent flow, fiery hot, capable of incinerating anything it came into contact with, and yet it always moved forward, never truly still. An apt metaphor for those of our kind. They would burn brightly, fiercely, damaging any that sought to block them, but never truly resting in stillness, always seeking the next challenge.

A sudden sound drew his attention, the roar of a starship's engines penetrating the atmosphere and descending from space, a fire of ion drives pushing at sublight speeds, meeting air resistance as they did so. The Sith Lord glanced upwards to observe a metal-plated vessel with three s-foils unfurled, the tips of them pencilling white streaks across the sky as they pushed through the warm air currents that sought to reach every skyward. Interesting. He was not expecting visitors, but he was evidently about to receive some.

Turning away, he entered the heat-shielded citadel, a transparisteel screen descending from the ceiling to close off the balcony as he stepped within, long strides heading for his personal turbolift, a rapidly-moving platform that would take him down to the lower levels, to hangar bay where the ship would undoubtedly land. Few knew of this place, so his visitor would be one that had been given the co-ordinates, or who perhaps had managed to turn one of the construction team responsible for it, handing them over in exchange for their life. The question remains only why someone would wish to come here. There were few enough reasons to his mind.

The turbolift stopped as it descended into the bowels of the fortress, a metallic door sliding aside to allow him to enter the sizeable hangar bay, blue-metal walls contrasting sharply with the warm orange glow that flowed in from beyond. The air smelled of hyperdrive coolants, acrid fuels, metal lubricants, humid with the steam released by hydraulic systems. A small handful of maintenance droids flurried around the hangar, one bringing forth a refuelling pump for the arriving ship, pursuant to their programming. The vessel that had landed there was an Imperial shuttle, designed to carry just over a dozen people, settling down on landing struts that extended from the belly of the craft.

Boarding ramp dropping down from the craft, a hiss of steam escaping the vessel as it released some of the pent-up heat from the engines, Tirdarius calmly waited for someone to emerge, knowing that it was his moment to play host, depending on the nature of the visitor. The one that stepped forth was clothed in ostentatious dark robes, similar to those that Tirdarius himself wore, but carrying a sheen of colour and ornamentation that the other man's lacked, clearly intending to convey wealth and power, a soft subliminal intimidation.

"Braxus Zambrano," Tirdarius said in greeting, acknowledging the nature of his visitor. "Silara was just the beginning, then? Have you come to claim my head as well?" The Sith Lord's eyebrow raised inquisitively, a faint touch of amusement carried in his tones as he spoke. "How many others had to fall to your blade to bring my name to the top of your butcher's list?"

 

[Darth Prazutis]

The amused words of [member="Tirdarius"] rang in the Kings ears as they stood across from one another, the heat of the volcanic world smacking him in the face and dominating his senses as soon as he walked out of the shuttle. Carefully the Dark Lord wringed his gloved hands as he gazed to Tirdarius. After witnessing the sheer brutality of his duel with Silara Kuhn the message sent had been clear, anyone could be a target. Despite the cold approach involved there was a great deal of deception that went into his ploy, his statement. It made him known as a substantial threat among the rigid competition of the Sith Lords, after the slaying of one of their best.

​But again he would be underestimated.

​Braxus Zambrano was more than the Destroyer, he was far more than the Reaper of souls who would come to claim those who stood against him. Even more so he was the shepherd, the guide, the leader who would take the Sith Order down a new path. The goals of Darth Vitium and her attempts to gather allies were known to him, the scattered and broken Sith Order needed unity, they needed leadership, and they needed to be driven towards a common enemy to help ascend them from the depths of obscurity to dominance. "Lord Tirdarius you are mistaken. I have not come to claim your head. I have come to talk. Let us walk and I will tell you more." ​The King said approaching the Sith Lord, calmly folding his hands together over his center.

​"I have come to discuss the future, all of our futures beyond the obscurity we have devolved to. You know as well as I how the future is constantly changing...I aim to change it."

 

[Teynara Jeralyr]

| [member="Darth Prazutis"] |​

That came as no surprise, Tirdarius had to acknowledge: the murder of Silara and her daughter had been more than sufficient evidence that Prazutis was reaching beyond his power base in an attempt to become stronger, to wield greater influence among the Sith. Claiming Vitium's domain had been but a first step - undoubtedly there had since been others. It is ever the way of our kind, he reflected morosely. We cannot but breath without feeling a need to remove the claims of others to our air. The wonder had been that it had taken so long.

Gesturing that the other Sith should accompany him into the interior of the citadel, Tirdarius walked back towards the turbolift, stepping inside and waiting for his...guest...to join him, before it ascended upwards towards his private office, where he might better serve to host such a visitor. Silence extended between them as Tirdarius pondered those words, wondering at their portent. Many others had claimed to have a vision of something beyond the quiet biding of time that the Sith had fallen into, aspirations of moving beyond the point in which they merely gathered their strength for the struggles ahead. Invariably, one will move to expedite the process.

Not that this was something he didn't necessarily desire: the time of the Sith Empire had passed, leaving those who remembered it to languish in bitterness over the days when the Sith had ruled planetary systems throughout the Galaxy, a force of law, to be reckoned with and counted among the strongest of factions. And what are we now? Hiding in shadows, waiting to see our enemies undermined and our opportunity come again. It was galling, true, but he had ever been one for the long game. Patience is the true art of war.

"Change alone is no credit to our kind," he observed calmly as the turbolift door opened upon the office that lay at the very top of the citadel, an expansive room of cool blue stone, soft white glowglobes and austere furnishings. A polished metallic desk stood in the centre, towards the back wall, a large chair resting behind it, several smaller ones in front. "And that which you have ushered in of late has proven more chaotic than profitable for the Sith." He took his seat at the desk, gesturing that Prazutis might sit if he so wished. "Whatever you may have thought of Silara, her life added to our strength. Her death only served to diminish it."

He stared across the desk with stormy grey eyes gazing dispassionately at the other Sith, assessing him. Tirdarius knew the Zambranos: that eternal hunger to be something greater, never content with what they were, always wanting to be the architect and yet also the destroyer. They revelled in the violence and chaos they spread, oft seeing it as the groundwork for something that might be built upon the rubble. Is that your aspiration now, Prazutis? It was a question he certainly wanted an answer to.

"Would your plans for the future include more of the same?", he asked, raising an eyebrow in his typical questioning manner, curious despite himself. "Will we see others of our kind fall to your blade before your plan is ready to be enacted?"