Faction Trials of Worth | Dread Ascendancy

[Kascalion Giedfield]

What is worth to the Sith? What makes one worthy of not only recognition, but their very life? The answer is simple and has been relayed to the Galaxy time and time again. To the Sith, what makes one worthy of both recognition and life is their power. Their insidious cunning. Their skills in combat and their abilities to manipulate and control the Dark Side of the Force. It is their ability to separate themselves from the weak and the fearful lessers and establish themselves as strong warriors, mystics, and scientists. Today, the Sith of the Dread Ascendancy - an organization still in its infancy - have the chance to prove just that before the coming wars. A chance to gain a proper position to lead the armies that await on hand and knee to charge into combat, enthralled by the void above and below them.

On the hidden world of Wuncania, in the dark mountains to the South, lies an arena constructed by evil. Within its spiked walls and dimly lit halls and chambers, the chosen warriors are preparing to fight in a series of trials against monstrous beasts, waves of criminals and slaves, and each other. The only rule for those facing such odds is to fight or die. Retreat, begging, and any otherwise cowardly and weak behavior is outlawed entirely and to practice such will result in immediate execution. This is what has been told to them repeatedly by their overlords.

And as the fateful combatants will soon discover: countless of these types of people, including the slaves and the lessers from of all walks of life - fortunate or otherwise, human or alien - have been sacrificed here for the greater good of the Dread Sith. In a ritual led by a man only known as Hect, their minute essences of life and Force are distilled like water and fill the very veins of their killers - or more specifically, the beasts locked in their pens below the sands of the arena. As their masters walk by, throwing aged slabs of meat onto the ground before them, their mouths froth in rage and hunger for fresh blood. Unbridled bestial rage bursts against the iron cages holding them in containment, the bars threatening to bend and break at any second against the intense weight of their captives. The goal of these creatures was simple compared to the trials of their intended victims that would increase in complexity at every turn: slaughter. Wanton slaughter befitting only the heathenous creations of the Sith.

Finally, as the last of the attendees take their spots in the arena stands encircling the sands, a lone figure, robed in blacks and reds and carrying a staff of charred oak, appears in the center pits from a bright flash of smoke. Hidden to those gazing upon him, it smiles a devious smile with a fanged maw, too large and too wide for any known humanoid. Its hands extend outward from its sleeves and are raised into the air into an open embrace for those gazing upon him with sinister and judgmental intent.

“Lords and Ladies of the Ascendancy,” it calls out in a regal tone laced with many unearthly qualities, chief among them being a prolonged pronunciation of each word. “The Convocation and the Autarch bid you welcome to this most sacred of festivities.”

Shadowed eyes scan each visible and masked face in the audience, most bearing blank expressions, others stern, and a few excited. The impossibly wide smile grows impossibly wider still, practically covering half of the figure’s hidden face. “Today, we will be the judges of these chosen men and women,” it hisses with a bony-finger pointing towards the gated bridges that would soon slide open to unleash both man and beast. “Who feel it is their right to be called Sith. As we march forth into this burning Galaxy to take our place in its history and bring about a new age of the Dark Side, we need only the strongest in our ranks to lead.”

“Tik tave Z'kaina,” some in the audience chants in their reborn tongue of Sith.

The hooded figure nods slowly, like a stone golem made flesh, “Only the Worthy, indeed. These tests, which will be presented to you in all of their glorious unfettered carnage, will breed new personages, prove their pre-existence, and remove the rot from our people before it can set in.”

“Tik tave Z'kaina,” the vocal number in the audience repeats, louder and more passionate than the first.

The hooded figure turns sharply on their heels and points to the first gate resting between two lit sconces. Without any words being spoken between slave and master, the thralls on the other side push against it, opening it for the first set of ten warriors being lifted up the spires in their stone elevators. The next gate on the opposite side is subsequently opened as well for the beasts selected for the opening round.

“Watch now as these warriors fight and die for your judgement against these beasts offered forth by our most esteemed Darth Vinaze and Darth Interitus ,” the figure resumes to speak, turning once more to the crowd around him. “To see who among them we should truly call Sith.”

Spoiler: OOC

This is a story thread that can be written over an indefinite period of time in accordance to the holidays and general fluid time on the board. Overall, survive your tests against the beasts and opponents of the arena and prove your worth to the overlords of the Dread Ascendancy.

 

[Darth Vinaze]

Some time into the tournament
Focus: Vinaze's Champion
Challenger: OPEN
Tags: Kascalion Giedfield | Darth Interitus

​

Only the worthy, indeed.

Darth Vinaze sat upon a seat of carved stone, high above the arena. In his past life it might have been uncomfortable, but his corpse like frame felt next to nothing these days. He was once whole of body, but now it was little more than a husk, a vessel for his ever-growing mind. That was why he sat in the stands with the cheering plebeians. This day was for the warriors, with bodies and minds like stone.

His task was complete: creating a champion who would rise to lead his Sithspawn armies, or who would die at the hands of another warrior. Even those that perish do not lose in this arena, for their deaths are sacrifices to the Sith.

He watched with intense focus. His champion tore through mindless beasts like a lightsaber through a blast-door: slowly, but with an undying determination. The champion had no name. If he overcame these trials, Vinaze would call him "Z'kaina", Worthy in the language of the Sith. If his champion failed, he would never be spoken of again.

His champion was Zveris. A beast. He had once been a Sith of pure blood, but just as Naga Sadow had used the dark side of the force to corrupt the ancient Massassi, so too had Vinaze corrupted this man. The Sith were a noble and haughty race who exemplified the shortcomings of the Empire. Now a Pureblood would be made an example of how no being is above the Force.

The champion's past was fleeting from his mind. All trace of identity was replaced by one thing: a need to serve his masters. As Vinaze's champion felled the last of a stampede of raging Tuk'ata, he raised his arms in victory and basked in the cheers of the crowd. Their praise made the champion feel ever closer to his master. As the champion's first real challenger entered the arena, he raised his greatsword into attack position...