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  1. The Quarren marched slowly, his gilded black robe gliding across the cobbled path as it dragged gently behind him. He was illuminated brightly by cauldrons of deep orange fire, and candles symbolically on each of his shoulders. Robed figures lined the hall, whispering their chants over a flickering flame held atop a candlestick. He spoke from the back of his throat the Prayers of his burning god over the torch flame he carried reverently. “The great flame, the birthplace of civilization…” With each step, the roaring crackle of the fires around him grew. “The birthplace of the spirit…” The chanting became more uniform, many voices becoming one. “The birthplace of the mind…” Their voice echoed in the chasm, their long silhouette cast their solidified darkness in contrast of the flickering yellows and oranges that illuminated the cavern “Around the great flame we gathered, we lived, we loved, we lost…” Slowly the echo balanced, becoming one with their resonating voice. “Around the great flame we found our souls, longing to be awakened…” The sound amplified as it harmonized. “Around the great flame we created, learned, studied, and evolved.” Before the spire, in the dried fountain, a tower of kindling held aloft the body of the Sith. The one that plagued his nightmares, his ceaseless visions of the woman that would restore order, that would humble the galaxy with their message. “With this great flame we call for rebirth. Let us be the instrument of your enlightenment! Bring us the champion of your devouring inferno!” He pressed the torches light to the construction of kindling. The fire took and quickly rose up the grave, engulfing the lifeless corpse. “Let us burn our path to salvation!” The chants rose with the fire toward a great crescendo. The blaze roared, burning its visage into the eyes of all who gazed into it. With a burst akin to a solar flare, sparks and ash rose to the ceiling, depositing a thick black soot above the spire. In that moment there was silence, the powerful gust blew cold each and every fire meticulously placed in keeping with the ritual. From the center of the ash coated spire cracked a blinding light, widening to reveal the shadow of a woman. The black form stepped hesitantly forward into the settling ash. Her summoners knelt silently before her radiance. The Quarren turned, behind him an acolyte offered the crown that bound her to this reality on a crimson silken cloth. He took this artifact, turned back to face the woman and kneeled to her. “My Queen,”
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  2. Marcson Moonmous was now on the run. The Corellian Authorities would be here soon. No matter what he could not allow that. He made sure to rush down to the coordinates that he had been handed. He knew that the Sith Order had answered his call and that time was also short. Two Corellian Authorities moved around in the corridor that he needed to use. He knocked them dead with his T-6 Thunderer and continued on his run. He soon made it to the coordinates that he had been handed. He looked around and noticed the man named Krath Umbra. That man looked like he stood out in the crowd. He walked down towards where he was located and then removed his Battle Helmet as he made his introduction. "Hello. I am Marcson Moonmous. I want to become the next Sith Warrior." He waited some more and then continued his introduction with even more detail. "I am also known as Terrorist Moonmous. I have been called violence incarnate." Marcson Moonmous saw some Corellian Authorities move around the crowd. "There is not much time. We must move now." He moved into the civilian shuttle and sat down where he would not be seen. Whenever the Corellian Authorities had cleared out he came back outside. He then moved his T-6 Thunderer back into his holster. He calmed down somewhat whenever the coast was clear. However he was still cautious as he needed to be in this situation. His Battle Helmet was back on whenever he had come back out as well. He made some more introductions. "I have no Mother or Father. Those are the basics about me." He was now done with introductions. He then saluted the man named Krath Umbra as he would another warrior. He then made one last comment. "I will serve the Sith Order with honor and I will never waver in obedience to their cause." He meant those words with as much conviction as he could muster.
    1 point
  3. While Darth Idrija worked on the weapon, Darth Mavanger set about establishing the foundation for the new Sith Empire, and their new capitol of Ziost. He had the manpower- Those Sith that had sworn allegiance to him came with authority, and their slaves. Those that did not had been killed, and their slaves donated to surrounding warlords. And yet, those people only cared about what would bring them power. Armories, garrisons, factories. Infrastructure and spaceports were beyond their care, shipyards were beyond their power, and any form of inter-planetary empire was going to take more than a ragged band of warlords and tyrants. That was what his job was. Motivating those he now commanded to devote their resources to the betterment of the empire. It was a common adage that only two things were certain, death and taxes. It was less common for there to be a choice between them. He wouldn't be able to coerce resources from them forever, but he could do it long enough to show that they were not being poorly used. But first he had to establish his own base of operations on the planet, at the very least so that there was a place to route the upcoming tithe to. He could only remain on his flagship for so long, and while it was fully equipped to serve as a military hub for military operations on a local galactic scale, it was no use on a larger galactic scale, nor was it suitable for an administrative hub. He didn't have the slaves that the others did- He was never one to take slaves. In all his time he'd only ever had one- The girl from his homeworld. His first day. It had been so long ago. She had remained on Korriban until it fell, and had been evacuated- He treated her well, and in time she had forgotten her hatred of him. She was currently on special tasking combing through the fractured data-logs they had evacuated for anything useful. Regardless, he needed builders. The next shipment of slaves would be his. If they worked fast, worked hard, worked well, they would be set free within reason. If they didn't, they would die.
    1 point
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