Kuat

[Exodus]

Kuat

 

Astrographical Information

Region: Core Worlds

Sector: Kuat

System: Kuat

Orbital Position: 4

Moons: 2, Bador and Ronay

Grid Coordinates: O-10

 

Physical Information

Class: Terrestrial

Atmosphere: Type 1 Breathable Oxygen Mix

Primary Terrain: Plains, forests

Points of Interest: Kuat Drive Yards (in orbit),

 

Societal Information

Indigenous Species: None

Immigrated Species: Humans

Primary Language(s): Galactic Basic, Kuat

Faction Affiliation: Imperial Remnant

 

Defense Rating: N/A

 

JediRP Canon History:

 

The Kuat Drive Yards served as the major production facility for the Empire prior to the formation of the Galactic Alliance. This resulted in a hotly contested landscape, with several unsuccessful attempts on the part of the Republic fleet to invade and acquire the shipyard. Just prior to one such attempt, Kakuto Ryu, Bad Karma, and Dagon actually broke apart the shipyards and transported them piece by piece elsewhere. While they were never noted as being reassembled in orbit over Kuat, subsequent attempts by the Republic saw them obliterated. Eventually, Dagon ordered the reconstruction of the shipyards.

 

With the subsequent formation of the Galactic Alliance, CoreSec took over active management of the Kuat Drive Yards. Darth Quietus, accompanied by Darth Eris, eventually ordered for the Star Destroyer known as the Shadow's Gambit, a floating casino serving as a shell corporation to funnel funds into Sith coffers, to be built at KDY.

 

Despite CoreSec's surveillance, Vladimir Faust was able to use acolytes and adepts in order to commission the construction of a private fleet of his own. The end result was a showdown between Faust, then-Commissioner Fett, and Grey Master Aryian Darkfire. The protectors failed to stop Faust, and he performed his Hunter's Ritual on the planet below, utterly obliterating all traces of life within a four-mile radius on the planet's capital, Kuat City.

 

The Drive Yards are currently under the control of the Imperial Remnant following the Remnant's secession from the Galactic Alliance.

 

((Summary compiled by Jaina Jade Skywalker. Thank you!))

[Exodus]

ORBITAL KEYS.

 

 

In the aftermath of that dismal triumph on Kuat, seasoned workforces within the Sith-Imperial operation rallied their numbers in order to promote a sense of structure and discipline, and moved to rid the installments of the previous proprietor. Hundreds if not thousands were outsourced from planetary establishments possessed by the outstretched hands of the Sith Empire, each of them heeding the call of service. The illustrious Kuat Drive Yards had a new master. The narcissistic Galactic Alliance, for all of their posturing, had proven fallible and quite unsound in their rule of the Core Worlds. The planets and their holds were falling, faster than any of their co-conspirators could flee. Rule would not remain in the grasp of the unworthy, which was demonstrated by the weak who had fallen without grace on both sides.   

 

Barren husks of breached destroyers hung in high orbit, advertising the woes of war to the shell-shocked populace below. The garish screech of TIE-modeled fighters could be heard as they proceeded their sweeps planet-wide. Enormous outfits of Sith Troopers marched the wide corridors of the ringed shipyards, accompanied by what appeared to be the notorious white-armored Stormtroopers, all platoons carrying high vermilion banners as a clear statement. With the Sith Empire evolving, Kuat now settled in as one of the first of many worlds to be secured under Imperial dominance, ushering in a smooth transition of rule under a new governing body. The Dark Council would soon convene to delegate new leadership to monitor the Kuat system, immediately ensuring a restriction of access to these prominent orbital shipyards. All of the Kuati shipyards would fall under military jurisdiction and become operated with varying degrees of supervision and regulation, but first, the purging of the remnants of battle would be prioritized. 
 

[Exodus]

His look remained nonetheless, indifferent and incisive, there was a way about it that offered no hint to true nature. Meanwhile he fed no response, behind the skin of his monarchical surface, an iron prudence considered the conviction in her words and her intention. He had far more depth on the subject than he needed, for the allurement of the late Master Alora, had been his broader influence in his earliest campaign as a Sith. Words and the emotions they were spoken with were meant to provoke a sense of interest, if done sufficiently. Malacoda Syn was a master of the tact and was rarely impressionable, unless it was his purpose to extend such bait. The shell he walked with had been calcified with the harsh realities of his species, and the experiences of loss that had learned him that these emotions were evanescent. Amusement was one of the last delicacies he afforded himself publicly, a smile and laugh was the last traces of his humanity.

"Lady Anwnn." The bloodless. He spoke her name as a greeting, before she turned the corner. She had a way with blood, more ritualistic than most, and her Dathomiri ancestors were to blame. The smell of it suffocated the air, both ladies slovenly dripping in it. The art of a clean kill was apparently out the window with these two, voracity was their game and they wore it on their skin with pride. "Only himself, Anwnn. He has lost a great deal. His people, his confidence, his passion. The loss of the station pales in comparison, but he will breathe again before he breaks." Or else, felt like the next two words that would come from his mouth, but they never needed to be said. Not with the way he spoke as if pure venom was the saliva that rested beneath his tongue.
 

 

Lady Nyrys meet Lady Anwnn.

 

[Exodus]

E X P A N S I O N

 

The center for Kuat Traffic Control is a highly sophisticated system that both reduces the number of ships traveling in the Kuat System and tremendously increases security. The system is based on a traditional concept that utilizes staging areas. Three stations, each dozens of kilometers in size, that are positioned on the fringes of the Kuat system, far away from the valuable shipyards and orbital facilities. Each of the three ports is assigned a role. Kuat Passenger Port handles all civilian travel to and from Kuat. Kuat Freight Port managed the flow of goods and material into and out of the system. Finally, the Kuat Imperial Transfer Port was a staging area for all military operations in the system, as well as for the deliveries of warships. Each port is only accessible by four systems, two inbound and two out. Passengers entered from the Redrish and the Ulion systems and departed to the Drurish and the Kidir systems. Freight was imported from the Monadin and the Horthav systems, and exported to Venir and Renegg. All information on the staging systems for the Imperial Port remained classified, especially after the reclamation war.

Once in the system, all traffic to and from the four ports is controlled by Kuat Central Authority, though during combat situations, Sith battleships defending the system can prioritize command of traffic control. Ships inside the system are sent to a number of nav points, and then routed to their final destination within the system, filtering matters of importance through command.

The actual Kuat Drive Yards remained a collection of various facilities throughout the Kuat System. The primary shipyards made up a nearly solid ring, called the Orbital Array, that surrounded the planet Kuat itself. These stations were split into smaller units, designated as slipways, offices, machine shops, factories, drydocks, or apartments for workers. Most Kuati citizens lived within this ring, never setting foot on the surface of the planet below. The orbital array was sufficiently defended since the assumption of power, bolstering the poor defensive capabilities that were exhibited pre-Sith Empire.

Blinking from the black of space, an overwhelming influx of warships, frigates, cruisers, and destroyers of vastly different sizes, flashed into clear-view. All of these war-torn ships wielded the embellishment of the Sith Empire and the Black Sun. Labor crafts were launched immediately, thousands of small nimble silhouettes taking to empty space with the urgency and vigor of a people tenacious in their duty and faith. In an effort to embellish their borders, and replenish their expenses from DSS, the Sith Empire arrived on KDY. Ahead of them, Kuati Imperials arranged a small trade fair to welcome the honored patrons, with a tremendous concert held below in the capital of the planet. 

 

The celebration was in order to foster healthier relations with the people and help the Sith Empire entertain a more permanent status within their system. Advisors and sensationalists aplenty, made their way from the war-machines of the Sith to facilitate such humanistic relations. All the while, members of both the Sith Empire and the absorbed assets of the Black Sun, were dispatched on a reconnaissance mission within the Core. Imperial detention centers were sanctioned immediately, to quarantine suspicious activities that would come from evaluations within their captured foes, local resistances, and acquisitions from Black Sun. While the Sith-Imperial presence hoarded over the Orbital Array, there was much wealth to be distributed. temptations, cantinas, and trade were all the rave with new blood on the scene.

 

 

 

 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

 

 

 

The ardor between the space the two women shared was foreseeable, and perhaps competition, would create foe or friend faster than the enemies of the Sith could do for them. Lord Exodus turned heel from the conversation, understanding that time was not to be wasted on small talk. He knew that these two would be fundamental in the sculpting of this new chapter of Sith, their ambitions laid bare upon their faces, legible for all to see eternally. Inexperience would need to be weeded out from their vulnerable youth, and a discipline swifter than any they had ever faced would be pivotal in the quelling of their inflating ego.  The most effective way for any under his command to understand the other, was through combat, and no amount of speech would ever triumph that. "Task forces for the pair of you are being organized as we speak, I suggest you clean yourselves and oversee the operation. We make leave as soon as repairs are complete." 

 

The composition of Sith troopers stamped their staves into the steel floorboard as Exodus moved, then worked their formation to follow loosely behind. The Dark King reviewed the bracer across his arm and examined the feed of information he was invariably alerted to. With the two women positioned to his rear, he stared up from the view-screen hitched to his armored sleeve and looked forward to the end of the corridor. "Once you are finished, you will find me in the public assembly hall. They say that it has been cleared completely, an improvised competition of sorts is now underway. It would seem that our infantry has pit themselves against the men and women of Black Sun in physical combat, and I would not miss another second of it." The thrill of combat was immeasurable, and Exodus would make way to the end of the passage and travel to see the action personally.

 

 

(ALL SITH ARE WELCOME. TIME TO FAMILIARIZE) 

[Exodus]

F E A S T.

 

 

 

The mess hall was incredible, width and expanse stretched far and wide; a stretch of space that ministered to the thousands present. Vast banners magnificently pressed with the armorial bearings of the Sith Empire hung from mammoth pillars strewn across the monumental chamber, waving boldly in the face of all who looked up from below. Rows of steel seated all who were of proper rank or sanction, while the thralls of the Sith stewed and braised fresh provisions for them to consume. Drink and festive ceremonies ruled the coming hours with boisterous Imperial speakers honoring the fallen and glorifying those that still drew life. The conquerors extracted their fill as Vikings did, hoarding over their feast and addressing the adrenaline inside their blood with gladiatorial fight. Somewhere in the middle of the mess hall, tables had largely been turned over, creating improvised boundaries. Those of which dared to step inside of the broad circle, surrendered their peace, and offered themselves to a simple contest of might. Imperials, Agents of the Black Sun, and the hair-raising Sith all entered with their knuckles bare and their spirits running on a furious high. The brew and blend of blood and feed, flavors of exotic meats and drink, while battle and merrymaking roared without interruption. The power of the dark side was sublime, grand and distinguished by the powerful individuals that roamed nearby, feeding on the blind enthusiasm that spread like wildfire across the Scarab.

 

Conversations spilled over when the glasses began to dry, fill, and then empty again. The boldness of Bakra the Brave was one of the many shared tales that barked from mouth to ear, Imperial crewmen of the victorious armada never shied from boasting. The sheer volume of kills now under his belt, upholstered by a thunderous skill in weaving death between the enemy formations was a thing of art. Parables of Nyrys the Red Devil, unflinchingly weightless in her dance of death, devouring those that stood before her and furthering the enigma of cannibalism that haunted those that spoke her name. The young Anzati King allowed the whispers to entertain him as he swept by the masses and settled himself quietly amidst the crowd. The bloat of his power was easily suppressed, for he had done it since he was first introduced to the force, disguising his presence in order to move with the highest of efficiency, the fleet and prowl of the blackest vornskr. The Emperor King sat cockeyed on the lip of the table closest to the impromptu arena, watching his soldiers break each other. Robes of black with a fabric that seemed braided with the translucency of shadows was what he wore, the tunic beneath was woven and knotted with shadowsilk and trimmings of the purest gold. Those around him understood he held the supremacy of a Sith, and the feral red locks that hung in bunches from his hood, was the only sign that he was indeed the Dark King. 

[Exodus]

Triumph was what the Scarab celebrated, their arrival had aided their allies, and stemmed their extinction from the battlefield with odds. Minimal losses were tallied for the expedition, and a severe increase was wielded when the leadership of the Black Sun had decided to consolidate their fixed assets into the possession of the powerful Sith Empire. The advent of the Sith was a mere caution to the Jedi and Republic forces that had decided to assemble in vast numbers to isolate the infamous Delta-73 and demand surrender by means of violence. The ultimate outcome spoke volumes to the calculated efficiencies of the armada and the crew that manned each vessel. With success came an extreme level of prudence however, and with influx of allies and prisoners that made their presence known aboard, a swift knife would slice into the ship and carve the abscesses from the root. Members of the Sphere of Sith Philosophy would do the job. 

 

The Sphere of Sith Philosophy is led by Dark Councilman Darth Gw’rchod, an aged being of Cerean origin morphed and melted by years of dark side torture. A silent skeletal specter of a being who rarely speaks; when he does, however, it is in a chilling low growling undertone that sends shivers up the spines of his followers and his foes. Those who cross Darth Gw’rchod are known to vanish suddenly in the night. Most are never seen again; but those that are found again, are often found chattering twitching wrecks espousing dark side philosophies and little else as they look on in horror at unseen nightmares that plagues their every waking moment. The Knights of Red Truth spread themselves thin throughout the Sith Dreadnaught, operating on the whim of the mysterious Gw'rchod. These were the militant groups of Sith that have dedicated themselves to the preservation of pure Sith beliefs within the Sith Empire, black clad enforcers of the Pyramid of Sith Philosophy that swoop in to punish and reeducate any who espouse beliefs that conflict with Sith ideologies. Those that were eager to loan themselves to the Sith Empire from the remaining Black Sun, would be met with grace. Those that resisted the call, would disappear and find themselves whisked away on a transport to the nearest reclamation camp. 

 

Imperial officers of higher decree, found themselves on tasks of particular intent, seeking out individuals that were most accomplished post-battle, as well as predesignating the role and rank of the newest allies. Authorized and uniformed couriers found themselves inside of the mess hall, equipped with simple envelopes inside of their possession. Inside of these envelopes, simple letters of recognition for efforts distributed and accomplishments tallied, were drawn up with pride. Royal Sith-Imperial imprints were molded into the lettering, and those that carried promotions with them, also carried the weight of a rank-equivalent medal to sport upon their Imperial raiment. The Blood Prince would be approached by a man of the Truth, humbly interfering with where he and his crew were positioned, and bowing incredibly with honor to a man of such prestige. "Captain," he spoke the rank frankly, almost as if welcoming him, and then handed him the weighted envelope. He would leave the famous soldier to divulge the information, and then return to where he came from.

 

 

 

Welcome to the Sith Empire, Delta-73;

OOC:

• You begin with the rank of a Captain within the Sith-Imperial Army
• Under your command, is a Company worth 100-300 soldiers. Customize as you see fit, but must be approved.
• A personalized mission will be your first task, and will begin as soon as all assets have been re-fueled
• ICly, you can treat this as an official letter of promotional value, and have it written as you see fit.

 

 

[Exodus]

A Simple Man

 

 

Such dissimilar species, confidently unified under the voice of one. The consideration had never crossed his mind, but it was incredible to watch such a wealth of culture assembled in complete union, for a purpose that the Sith had carved from stone. The xenophobia of old had been discarded, and somewhere on the other side, his mother would exude a level of pride that he was once familiar with. Such memories were small sparks inside the dead of his heart, striking flint, but igniting nothing inside. Her warmth had disappeared forever, and the sweet scent of every breath she took, was lost in the winds of her final day. There was no keepsake to hold dear, for the roaches and rats consumed more than their fill on his home-world. Natural selection became your only friend, and the mother and father to teach you the harsher lessons of this universe, was always sheathed in death.

 

The black hood that rested on the brim of his nose-bone slid backwards when he shook himself from his muse. The depth of maroon that saturated his knotted hair, seemed both wearied and regally burnished, affixing the look of a barbaric conqueror. The skin that mapped the prominent bone structure of his face seemed ageless, a genetic constitution that most species would die for. Still, trace amounts of darkened ink outlined the smaller details of his face, clannish Anzati markings etched in and around his temples. The brilliant mane upon his head covered the tales of each symbol inked onto his skin, but was a clear sign indeed to who it was sitting unevenly, enjoying the show. Some noticed sooner than others, and the reactions were categorically different. There were those that harbored total fear and shifted further into the background, there were others that understood the power and leaned in to shower themselves selfishly, their faces and their fears were telling. The Dark King paid them little mind, and instead reviewed the way in which the Blood Prince drank himself with battle. The language that each soldier fought with, told a story that each of them held inside of their craven hearts, which story was it that this clone held closest was the question. Perhaps Exodus would see for himself. 

 

Clusters of men and women parted ways while a familiar face entered into his proximity. A dangerous place for people and things to crawl into. She bowed graciously, presenting a most sincere level of esteem. She wore herself in an attire that blended with the common people, neatly masking the command of who she was and the power she commanded. She was fair in the face, but the chronicles of her past was anything but. Humans were an uncertain flock, fleeting in life but supremely capable of a treachery beyond their means. His mother had worked to teach him this, and his Father learned him the ways to physically address such vermin. Lady Qaela held a mercy that Exodus granted few, and for her homage paid, he would always lend an ear.

 

"Undo the formalities, Qaela. This is a celebration, have a drink." Although he wished for those that followed to unfetter for but a moment, the manner in which the cool in his voice never changed tone even slightly, was worrying. A decorated tray was soon placed frankly on the table from where Qaela stood, fine glasses bubbling to the brim in a neat arrangement. The drink was hers to have whether she decided to take part or not. Sheog would not have hesitated to devour the tray at first sight, there was something voraciously humorous about his appetite that was unsettling more often than not, but insanity was the price paid. Exodus was indifferent to the festivities, finding a small measure of joy in the physical contests that played themselves out before his very eyes. Once they understood it was the Spider who was in attendance, they fought harder.

 

"Your work on Korriban bears fruit, whispers swear upon your efficiency. I will have to return to the land to see for myself. There is something I must ask of you though." Exodus turned his face from the pitched royale and looked the Headmaster into her eyes. "The room for mediation between our enemies and our Empire have been wanting. No words have been spoken, but their behaviors have proven to be irrational and emptied of the moral glass from which they've swallowed for generations. Dark Sun Station is a testament to this, they are embracing their true nature right before our very eyes. Darkfire spoke of a prophecy before he burned, and it seems the old fool might have been on to something." The ocean of our wills, the struggle between polar ends of the force. "... I wish to have words with the face of the Republic, there is something I must know, and something I demand. The difficulty of establishing such communications is of no concern to me, but my message must surely be received. They do not need to know who it is that calls upon them, but if they must, tell them I am but a simple man."   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[Exodus]

“.. Nothing is more frightening than a fear you cannot name.”

 

Words left him flippantly, the shallow undertone of his tranquilizing voice still distinct enough to be heard. The significance of his thoughts aligned with the way in which his enemies conducted themselves, blindly swimming in the actions of the dark side, replenishing the tremendous appetite that such a force demanded. Little did they know, and even lesser did they understand that it was a fear that drove them. Someone and something they could not name. Perhaps his enemies assumed to understand the face of the Sith just as the others did, applying a haunting allusion of some Machiavellian Spider, or the sagas of brutality that the name Exodus provoked. These were the quiet attempts to place an identity to the dread that now stirred their misbehavior, the rationale for their blatant butchery. It was humorous at best, for even now their efforts failed them, and there would be no way to cover their shame. The shortcomings of the failed Galactic Alliance allowed the Sith to harvest more influence. And now, the Darkest Emperor now harnessed the incredible prominence of the Imperial Reign; more sweet nothings that chiseled a romance of narrative over who he was and how dangerous he could be. But deadlier was what he could be, although when and how, was the most frightening part of it all. For now, he allowed a slight and sinister smile, the softest hint that more was to come.

 

"Your daughter is nearby, be sure to properly receive her before you leave here. She is much stronger now, and the child you knew is perishing." 

 

 

As the Lord of the Sith Empire sat in the midst of his kin surrounded by the favorable, his eyes searched abroad. Qaela was the first with sufficient rank to approach, and the floor was hers to speak if she so pleased. She kept company, as was unexpected, but perhaps there was reason to her stay. Others would come, and familiarity for knowledge sake was an underestimated commodity. Shortly, this small recess would adjourn, and the bells and whistles of the Scarab would requisition war. It was only a matter of time. For now, the high-handed assassin made himself accessible to his people, open to those that sought opportunity.  

[Exodus]

If not hundreds, thousands of naval warships swarmed with extraordinary life around the metal wreath of Kuat. A sparse few turned into a great many, and as laboring crews worked to prime the Armada, vessels from all abroad appeared in ever-increasing numbers. Dozens of warships drifted eeriely through the vesper gloom, sub-light thrusters burning colorfully against a backdrop of a dismal star-field. The largest among the flotilla were the capital ships of the Sith-Empire's upper crust, each one capable of fielding a powerful offensive all their own. For now, they simply listed lazily above a hoarded ringed world with a vaunted wheel-shaped dockyard. Cargo freighters moved about the stations expeditiously, stopping at one station before moving onto the next, and so on and so forth. The lush expression of the raw planet started to blot with the smear of black and crimson. Mammoth works-of-art spread across the high-orbiting ring, Sith-Empire encrusted battle-fleets haunting the mere spectacle of the celestial body. Commandants and Masters of the vast flotilla shared a common interest, one divine purpose delivered to them by their unyielding Emperor. 

 

"The rate of death is catastrophic! The sellswords attack with impartiality; there is no halt in their advance. The Alliance, the Jedi, they have abandoned us! Coruscant is dying, I beg of you——"

 

The holo-matrix deactivated abruptly, and the small-scaled frame of the distressed public official, collapsed back into the home of the pocket-device. Such miserable whimpering slowly peeled at the patience of the Emperor, and he could stand it no more. A heavy yawn escaped both his manners, and his mouth. A creature nearby leaned, not of humanoid distinction and swamped in the usual blackened robes, lowering himself to where the Dark Lord sat among peers.

 

“The Fleets are assembled, your Excellency. They are ready to move on your order.”
 

It was time.

 

The coy infiltration of the future repeated itself inside of his mind, churning a boiling anger within his blood until the air around him stifled. The neediness of the weak. The squealing of sentient life-forms that chose shame instead of glory, far too helpless to protect what it was that they most cherished. Their hands reached out, begging for an answer that they themselves could never provide. Exodus and the Sith sacrificed more than their share for this power, and now these panhandling worlds would seek them out for it, pleading to their new saviors. 

 

“Alert all commands, prepare the jump.” 

 

Soon after, the mighty armada converted their formations and began a powerful transference of energy, winking away one after another into the depth of hyperspace. Kuat had served a purpose, now battle was upon them.

 

(Sith-Empire Armada Departs for Coruscant.)
 

Edited October 24, 2019 by Exodus

[Exodus]

The transmission thundered with static at first, with sounds of chains rattling against steel. Breathing, steepened with a heavy draw, and then a crawling quiet. An eerie silence hung in the atmosphere, empty of life. “..Tizn tsosûti?” His voice was darker now, a tongue so immersed in ancient power that the echo of his words ran like chills down naked skin. “A conqueror views their own actions as experimentation, Darksong. An attempt to ascertain whether they are capable of more. Success and failure are for them, answers above all. Do not confuse your failure with defeat. Simply, what have you learned?” Exodus smiled a carnivorous one, his brilliant Anzati features impossible for the Sith Master to see. “For a few vessels, we have taken much more. The shipyards, and the planet of Mon Cal now belongs to the Sith, dearest Darksong. Relieve Ornkala of command. An example of him will expel the leniency that his reign has inflicted. You will be explicitly responsible for this, and the warden installed thereafter. I will see you at Corellia,

 

..Will you finish what you started?”

 

 

---The heavily encrypted transmission suddenly terminated.
 

[Exodus]

Anarchy continued to erupt across the ambit of the Kuati Shipyards at a terrifying cadence. Star Destroyers thundered their firepower with destructive intent, bursting warships into pieces and boiling whatever shields stood in their path. Smaller battleships maneuvered under duress, executing far more complex flight patterns while heaving through mounting debris. The black expanse quickly became a theater of metal and death, quietly aroused by the incessant Rebellion.

 

The communication beacons did not falter under the heightened strain of information that was divided between the war-machines of an Empire; their efficiency and discipline easily highlighted as the primary nature of their brutish domination over the years since resurgence. The Emperor King demanded this of his galactic kingdom, and those that failed this, would endure an uncompromising reproach. The cannons would drum until the fire that fueled them burned out; the legions of his military would fight until their body and mind caved to death and then push further; these worlds would not loan an inch to the seditious. 

 

From the hindquarters of the Imperial fleet line, reinforcements gushed through hyperspace. Hordes of blackened-titanium TIE variants rose sharply into the scramble, ionized gasses burning loudly through their thrust arrays, expelling a rich square-wave harmonic infamous to such Imperial powerhouses. Proximity sensors would swell, as the haunting fighter-craft flooded the battlefield. These were experimental TIE Silencers; tremendously frightening in their sudden emergence, with macabre hulls of ingratiating black. Several of these weapons of war had their frontal viewports smothered with red-painted hieroglyphs of the Spider. He was alive, the totality of the grand armada would soon realize. The Emperor had come.  
 

[Exodus]

The Emperor of the Sith Empire sat grimly within the dark cabin of his Silencer, heavy arms mantling loosely over the control deck orientations as his war vessel erupted into enemy formations. His broad-shouldered and magisterial body heaved coolly while cloaked in the draperies of Sith aristocracy and power. Dimmed light sources reflected off of his black spider spun armor-plates, but the long drawn hood over his head covered most of his semblance in a ghoulish shroud of darkness. His squadron of fighters steered the deep battlefield territorially in his likeness; as wolves that masticated any metal that did not hail the colors of their command. Point-of-view numbered these late arrivals in the hundreds, but these TIE demons draped in oily obsidian and reds were a mere dozen strong across radar calibrations. Reality was quickly distorting.

 

“Inquisitor. The reinforcements found you well.” Cold breath left his mouth beneath a devilish tone, faintly misting his scope of vision as his machine of war punched through the opposition. 

 

“Lord Emperor? You’re—You..” The voice of the Emperor buzzed through the communications array of the Onager-Class Artillery Cruiser, God of Cinder, and much to the surprise of their stoical crew. Barca hesitated with a raised eye-brow, treading whether he should ask the question on his mind, and then burst out with estranged laughter as he realized just who he was dealing with. “Affirmative, Black Lead. There were those that held reservation on the choice of support for our task forces. But, as you see, the enemy crumbles before you now.”

 

“I see that, Barca. Order the Armada to impede the enemy retreat.

Our wolves will tear apart those left behind, for they have not learned their lesson.

No mercy, Inquisitor.”

 

 

The small company of TIE silencers moved in hyper-aggressive patterns, shelling and picking apart life pods without remorse. Scrambling TIE-variants swarmed the scurrying rebellion and increased their oppressive firepower, unrelenting in their efforts. Accompanying bombers laid into anything that moved without the full force of their shielding, bleeding the morality of their enemies. Over the year, these shipyards had become the most exhaustive graveyard in the Empire, and continued to swell with death as the Rebellion offered their own as cattle to the flame. Hundreds of thousands would be lost here in such a short window of time, unimpressively and unremembered. Hard judgment would passed for their transgressions against Imperial Law. As for the Sith King, he would take as many lives in this affair as was offered, while reviewing parsed information revolving Lord Mavanger, his apprentice Zendrin and the elusive Master Sheog.

 

 

[Exodus]

The roars crawled to a room full of whispers while the shuttle released from the Destroyer and set course for the burning star. Citizens of the Sith Empire had shown en masse to pay their respects. Many among them carried faces of fury, long expressions of pain and vengeance whether or not they held a personal familiarity to those that fell to the desperation of the struggling rebellion. "Awuzi ir midwan." Unheard words in the highest of Sith dialect, purred nobly from beneath one of the many dark cloaks scattered throughout the gathering. There were other voices, other tongues sharing words with the dead, and for a moment, there was an unbreakable unity that spread through the halls like the fanning of a great flame. An oath of retribution could be heard, ringing through the heart of the dark side. 

 

Just outside of the larger viewports, they all could see their enemies turning tail and pulling back to the trails of hyperspace, retreating before the unbridling might of the true Empire. Mercilessly, the Sith Armada hunted the remnants of their derelict vessels and tore through them with an anger that the entire congregation could feel. Emotions of wildfire passion boomed through the chambers, filling all in attendance with an adrenaline spurred from the speech of a rising champion, infectiously spreading through the body of the Harrower-Class. The rest of the Armada cheered with thunderous applause for their own reasons, mattering less for what, and more that the energy spilled through the entire dominion of the Empire through communication relays. 

 

A tall man stepped from the disguise of the crowd and into the clearing, lowering the black hood covering his face as the riotous celebrations continued. The long length of his dark mane was pulled back and tied into a braid of ceremonial cloth skirting a metal-fanged half mask wrapping the lower half of jawline. King Exodus held a magnificent grandeur, while the crude scar carved through the lids of his eye, hinted at the powerful barbarism that he traded in. The Emperor was noticeably taller than most creatures surrounding him, thicker and more brutish by far judging by his imperial gait, and the way his heavy black cloak capered his ivory-bone armor chassis. Those that began to notice just who he was, shifted uncomfortably fast when the inimitable features of his appearance surfaced from the dark shadows that swam about him.

 

 

"Warrior, we meet at last."

 

  
 

[Exodus]

 

Darkness descended.

 

The eleventh hour drew nearer. Destruction and devastation fell like rain-water around the Imperial Battlefleet and the prestigious shipyards. Annihilation of life now seethed within this sector after yet another attempt on their way of life. Kuat had always been a place of respite. The arid landscape, the tumultuous weather, and the invigorating boon of the Dark Side of the Force were tranquilizing, principally for the hard-nosed industrialists. Rebel scum had changed that forevermore. The Drive Yards of Kuat was constructed as the beating heart of this corner of the galaxy, from which the life-blood of many civilizations and military might spilled forth. Each section of the garrisoned shipyards was designed for defense, with hundreds of chokepoints and redoubts scattered throughout the narrow winding superstructure. The marriage of Jedi and Rebel Forces, incessantly slaughtered their own faithful against the vast Imperial barricade, atomizing the bulk of their resources in the face of an undying Red Sun. The end of another rebellion played out again, across a long history of feverish feuds. What did the enemy gain?

 

The Darkside relished in this reckless abandon, victory rhythmically drumming throughout the heart of the militia as a hunger growing unabated. This yearning would be met swiftly, and a heavy-handed reckoning would soon fall upon their enemies. However, the Emperor was not a man goaded by simple emotions. The mortal fall of weaker men was a transaction; a bartering or thinning of the herd that was necessary to inspire survival of the mighty. The weak, for the strong. Judgment was the only reason the Shadow now marched openly. With treasonous ruminations festering inside of his mind, Exodus recognized early that many from within posed as deferential allies, but equaled nothing more than bottom-feeding leeches that nursed on the affluence of an Empire built with his hands. This is why he had destroyed Raynuk Montar, and would punish Kakuto Ryu, as well as any other that dreamed they could double-cross the Sith. 

"What brings you aboard in our hour of victory?"

 

The Emperor stalked the three comfortably in half-circles, carefully measuring the choice of words and tone that came from the human’s mouth. Hundreds of eyes watched with nervous uncertainty from all around as Exodus heeled dauntlessly through each and every one of them. Molten-ivories curiously dissected any hint of body language or behaviour left naked for him to see. The world was always a little unsettled wherever he tread, the reaper entreating with anything he considered a harvest. From beneath white-plastoid composite helmets, the traditional range of ceremonial black hoods, and just plain flesh-faces pulled over bone with a smattering of expressions, they watched. 

 

"I came to see for myself.." Exodus, closer now, spoke plainly. An empyreal gaze settled upon the fair lady Zendrin for a deliberate moment, glacially to the familiar Master of the Krath, and then back to the one enunciated as Darth Mavanger. In passing, he shared a knowing look with the Maw, and then his attention naturally shifted. The moment revealed no such familiarity, but this Hutt was a creature he considered a part of his brood, family from an age of Gods. Sheog was a creature that would have wrenched the spines from any and everything that stood before Exodus, bowing them to their knees exempting any form of hesitation. Suspiciously, he had disappeared for great lengths at a time, now standing across from him in the mire of fresh blood. Lord Ryu had done nearly the same. Now delusions of grandeur tickled at his mind, but for any other to know that, was an impossibility.

 

“Mordecai. A name, among few others, enumerated to the defense of my Empire.

Your superiors spoke lightly of you. Those that have fought alongside you, speak more."

 

He moved authoritatively in his position of power, left hand massaging the ridges of his bone overlaid armor-plate while his right toyed with a terrifying Sith Blade, the tip of which angled towards the floor and to the rear of him. Exodus was quite large for an assassin, with a distinguished body of muscle embellished in long tapestries of black shadow silks and golden imperial grandiosity. A medley of brutish black and red pallets born of a Sith King and the aristocratically gold trimmings of a sworn Emperor. Spun spider silk frayed at the seams of heavy black cloak, wisping subtlety from his body as if shadows crawled from him in soft vapors.

 

"You will report all activity directly to my council henceforth, there is no discussing the matter.

For your endeavors however, I have motioned your campaign forward in totality,

and by my hand alone it moves."

The Emperor took another step forward, eliminating the distance between the two.

 

"Be cautious of your next step, young warrior—" He lowered his voice to but a whisper

Whether within the circle of the Emperor, or an enemy of those within it, either path represented a significant change in the power structure of the Sith Empire. Narcissistic belief was in abundance throughout the machine of the Empire, especially in the youth. There were a great many that considered themselves the next best thing, most lacking any regard for those that had laid the foundation for others to find footing within higher civilization, but Exodus had surveyed decades of such creatures fizzling out beneath the weight of their own sickening vanity. Yet and still, positions of strength would need filling from the most promising. Classes of Warriors, Assassins and the majestic Krath would need candidates to steer their expansion. Cogs within every function of the resurging Sith Empire, would need tithe and toil from those chosen by the King, and anything less than would be rooted out from it's stem. 

 

"—You and those you have become responsible for, depend on it."

[Exodus]

LESSON

 

"Your title and position are owed respect, my Lord. I haven't seen if you're worthy of them, but there will be time aplenty for that on the battlefield. The Sith need a stable leadership more than they need a new Lord. You will face no mutiny from me- not as things stand now, at least. On this, you have my word as a warrior."

 

Shimmering, full-bodied hair cascaded down the strong bone structure of his face, celestial eyes sat deep behind cheekbones that angled symmetrically with an arrant nose and a broad full-lipped mouth, all of which screwed itself in careful consideration. Unyielding features of a peerless and brutish general were on rare display, features accented by a sovereign lambency that oozed from the ornate build of his fiendishly obsidian armor-plating, the face of an elysian Anzati gladiator at whose feet the wise would crawl and submit, the face of a King made in legends against conquered worlds and the open rule of the galaxy: The Dark Emperor.

 

Rage almost surfaced onto one such face. An unruly vibration of power could have erupted and stifled the moment, stirring a mixing pot of volcanic blood and ethereal fury in his chest. His white eyes would have churned into a burning deeper than the red cresting of a dying Coruscant, empty soulless things, debasing the proud lines of brow and jaw, peeling lips back to show sharp drawn-out porcelain fangs. 

 

 

It never came.

 

 

“Disappointing.” Flatly, the single word fell as apathetically as one could ever speak it, souring what the King had come to expect. A world-weary sigh escaped him, nostrils somewhat flaring from the heavily bored exhalation. “Words of mutiny, insurrection, and worthiness." Exodus said the words indirectly as he paced, as if tasting them for the first time, wondering why each one had felt unbalanced against his tongue. Exodus met the eyes of his lesser with the same indifference he had exerted with all that opposed him. Antipathy lurked beneath his facade of noble decorum, a cold and meticulous cunning as glacial as frostbitten steel, perusing the demeanor of the human before him. "Your validation has never been, nor will it ever, be any of my concern. It is fetching that you’ve come to believe otherwise, adorable even. But unfortunately, your respect is not a thing to be desired in the slightest, my child.” Basic was the simplest language he could use to relay his meanings to such a creature, stressing the importance of every word as if it were indeed, his very seed.

 

 

Ungrateful. 

 

 

As if enjoying the Emperor’s stalking prowl, aberrant shadows flowed beautifully across the mapping of the Sith King. Maintenance headlights flickered a few episodes, and the silence drew menacing. It was wildly apparent that many here drew strength from the same source, the Dark Side of the Force, but none brandished such power with equal footing. The rushmore of power within the Sith Empire had many faces far more tried and tested than the machinations of an over-eager student, the unstudied would be wise to acknowledge each and every face that had paid their dues beforehand, for fear of gravely disparaging those that had paved the way. Delusions would have one quickly believe they could rival or displace the throne of the Dark Lord after they’ve bumped their chin in a few scuffles. A few bruises and victories were a far-cry to a near impeccable legacy carved from persistence and steep reverence. Such a lack of awareness was why the creature did not appreciate that it stood a mere footfall from the maw of the great Sheogorath the Insatiable. Did the human even realize just who that was? These thoughts ran through the mind of the Emperor, and swiftly by all means.  

 

 

Severing the head from his spine cleanly, or watching the Hutt devour the soul like marrow from hollow bones.

No. No.

 

 

What stood before Exodus was the equivalency of a spoiled child, a child of his own brood, broadly ignorant of what it took to manufacture such dominion. An affluent galactic estate built from nothing but rubble. From the very brink of extinction to the triumphant subjugation of the known galaxy, the entire infrastructure of this superpower was laid brick-by-brick by Lord Malacoda and his Faithful. This very fleet and the souls that crewed them, were but a gift given to divulge freedom and autonomy to his Sith kindred. Such things could be taken away, and by the snap of a finger. But he would teach this one, for he held a promise that if nurtured by the right hand, would reap wonders. To empower the young, and not castrate the lifeblood of an Empire.  “You’ve mustered nothing. Nothing but arrogance and delusion it seems, for you have been given the means and the resources freely, but fail to recognize which hand provides these in abundance. Do not misunderstand, you have simply done your job Mavanger, a duty shared with the many others that have come to Kuat." Or would you have them excluded to flaunt personal glory? Exodus nodded genuinely towards apprentice Kahla for her efforts in battle, encouraging her victory for the next. Inquisitor Barca had laid the stratagem for the first round of contest between the fleets, despite criticisms, yet had stoked the flames of victory before the battle even truly began. Such efficiency garnered praise from the men that followed the beast, but even larger praise from the King himself.

 

"..And yet, your hope is that I am to remember that you showed yourself,

That you've done what is expected of you? ..Foolishness.

 

You are strong, Mordecai. Your active presence has not gone unobserved, but you have much farther to walk.

The Rebels weaken by the moment, and I have belief when you say they will be crushed underfoot.

For that, you have my ear.

 

Nevertheless, it is imperative that you become wiser than what you've shown, young warrior.

 Your poor choice of expression has proven less than the promise of your future,

 

…Show me that this changes when you return victorious."

 

 

The King shifted from his half-circle hounding, now disinterested in offering what he had come to propose to the promising warrior. There would be another time, depending on what side the human found himself on when the line was drawn in the sand. Exodus instead rounded towards the disguised Hutt, bowing graciously before the creature. The Emperor smiled something sinister at the stern of his bow, dangerous white-pearls stretching from ear to ear knowingly. "And you. Executioner of Jedi Master Sarna." Words fell from his mouth with silken satisfaction, snarling at the name of an arch-enemy, as he rose slowly to his full height once more. "Inquisitor Barca cannot take his eyes from the feeds of your brutish supremacy, he quite enjoys your style of aggression. Most would say they have missed it." Exodus hinted fluently, that he had indeed longed for the company of the insurmountable Krath, while adhering to the secrecy that the Hutt was maintaining. "You have honored the Sith, and the Empire in totality, with such pivotal triumphs against our sworn enemy."

 

"LONG LIVE THE EMPIRE!"

As if signaled, the entire floor and audience shared in an explosive salute,

every hooded figured, and every armored soldier,

observing the great contributions put forth.

 

"I myself, look forward to bleeding the fields of battle with you, shoulder-to-shoulder.

It is time to bring our enemies what they have been dying for;

an extermination the likes of which the Galactic Alliance would have begged for.

Do not venture too far, the time draws near."

 

"LONG LIVE THE EMPIRE!" "LONG LIVE THE EMPIRE!" "LONG LIVE THE EMPIRE!" "LONG LIVE THE EMPIRE!" "LONG LIVE THE EMPIRE!"

  Hysteria and frenzy became infectious across the bay, heightening with the declarations of swift retribution.

"LONG LIVE THE EMPIRE!" "LONG LIVE THE EMPIRE!" "LONG LIVE THE EMPIRE!" "LONG LIVE THE EMPIRE!" "LONG LIVE THE EMPIRE!"

 

 

Honoring the hierarchy of the Sith was a key ingredient in why this dominion had lasted as long as it had, eschewing the infighting that had collapsed every rule prior in short order. There were a great many that held significant power within the ranks, many of which Lord Mavanger had yet to face, or answer to if his hubris ever sparked an affront to the efforts of others. His journey would be long and difficult, but his careful considerations of choice would dictate how far he would reach within the emerging Sith Empire. Exodus would curate each and every fighter charged to his campaign, and for now, gestures of conciliation would last only as long as his patience allowed. 

 

 

The Dark King of the Sith Empire turned and motioned to move through the havoc,

Thralls and officers of every nature converged on his march, procuring an unimpeded path to his departure.

 

 

 

Edited March 4, 2021 by Exodus

[Exodus]

Heavy black plastoid-armor covered the martial formations that surrounded the Dark Emperor. By the very inch, their assembly was kept tight and moved with supreme military discipline. Exodus marched forward, aware of the wide perimeter that they fashioned for his advancement through the passageways, with a keen eye that curiously watched over each one of them. He would never be comfortable in the hands of even his most faithful, for the life of an assassin disallowed him the comfort of idle ignorance. The hilt of his blade played against his palm and for but a moment, felt far more familiar than his own flesh, instead of the cold bite of alchemical steel. His blade was ready, the impressions of bloodlust itching at the recesses of his mind. The instant he decided to draw steel, aligning the broad blade with the stretch of his forearm, there would be nothing that could stop him from instantaneously severing at least two of their heads cleanly from the neckbone. The Anzati held no drum of the heart, but an invigorating adrenaline would carry through him nonetheless, igniting a rageful lunge for the third, tearing through their chest cavity with blunt force. Sheer momentum could only carry him forward now, surging through the formation as a wind-churned demon, fangs jerking hungrily for the fourth, biting into— 

 

 

“Commander?”
One-Eyed Crow dared.

 

 

Exodus faltered slightly in his last step, revealing an unusual lapse in balance, catching the attention of those sworn to screen the measures surrounding the Crown. The present came back to the King, just before his eyes drowned in blood that wasn’t truly there. These reveries were becoming more pervasive, a feverish famine that spent unexpected moments to try and convince him that there were enemies everywhere. Whispers of insurgency, dark demons that traded secrets just outside of earshot, the same shadows he visited when he opened his mind’s eye. Reality was quickly blurring, and something had to be done.

 

“These warships are nauseating,” Exodus feigned a half-lie.

 

The armada was filled with enormous impounds, destroyers aplenty, but suffocating for a creature of the wild. That was not the cause of his misstep, but the distaste for these vessels quickly grew. The sovereign formation cut through the Sith Resurgent more quickly now, gathering aboard their own dispatch, separating once-and-for-all from the bruised Destroyer. The Eye of Ida made descent towards the surface of Kuat.

 

______

 

[Undisclosed Location]

Rows and rows of hypothermic tanks were scattered through this hatchery, submissive to the near-extreme temperatures that cooled the operating systems of this subterranean complex. The architectural design of this hatchery was wholly mimicked from the imaginative concepts that the Kaminoans were known for. The cloning chamber was interspersed with cylinders that housed developing reproductions of particular dignitaries. The genetic material from the host was originally extracted and amended to the desired parameters, creating artificial embryos to nurture within the compound. These embryos were grown inside glass incubation wombs housed in the cloning chambers. There, the chamber provided the developing embryos with the nutrients that were needed for healthy development in the form of a nutrient bath. The components of this Kuati cloning chamber included the actual cloning chamber, diagnostics, DNA sequencing, energy supply, life support, and the fetal clones housed inside the chamber. A subsect of Nightbrothers had recently been assigned to this location, brushing the frost from the face of a chamber coined to a Master of the Sith Empire.

A special commission of metempsychosis had been ordered, an expensive and rather taxing modus operandi, that would steal the life force from a few, in order to exact the soul of one that had been lost. In a few moments, she would be awake once more.
 

[Exodus]

The subterranean complex nestled into the dead marsh as a laid egg tucked between thinly cracked branches. It was an arid landscape stretched industriously far, with nothing but haggard machines and cutthroat fortifications, carving out an aura of brutalist architecture and military decorum. Activity had remained scarce, and only the dull operational hum of energy churned throughout the expanse. 

Meticulous surveillance went on for quite some time, revealing the exact moment when her lungs filled slowly with labored breath. Blood and power soaked her insides, tethering her empty shell of a body by eating at the life force of those within her proximity. Her appetite at first was miniscule, but after weeks it had become ravenous, while her consciousness knew nothing of it. Her comatose state persisted while her body fed vampirically. Reports pegged that some nights were worse than others while the Sith Master slept, draining those that tended to her care with a force so heavy that it buckled them at the knees. Details explained this as a sort of physically felt gloom, comparative only in sensation to when the dark council skulked nearby. Handmaidens held surveillance on her in day-and-night cycles, spending every moment washing her bare flesh, nourishing the body, and stabilizing erratic life-pulses that riddled her new form. Each of them were at risk for every minute spent, but a sacrifice of life at the command of their King was the holiest of honors. And now she had awakened.

 

/////

 

The moment the dried hide of his buckskin boots fell from his lander and dug weight into the parched land, an overshadow the size of a mammoth swelled across the earth. Acrylic black-resin warplates only emphasized the daunting ambience of his arrival, light metal shifting crudely as he marched towards a clearing in front of the compound. An imperious high-collar cloak was fastened by gilded links to his dark breastplate, entirely blood-red as if soaked and dripping by the spill of his enemies. Brisk winds carried the rich fabric, snapping theatrically against the pressure, hailing the fearsome insignia of the Spider high and proud.

 

“Bring her before me.”
His voice snarled wolfishly, half heard out loud, and half inside of their minds.

 

A pair of Imperial Sentinels were a scarcity in most worlds, and ones as mountainous as these were only referenced in words of old fable. Colossally they stood, twice the size of any known humanoid. Each Sentinel brandished large vibro-axes, and donned heavy battle armor under ceremonial, reddish-purple cloaks emblazoned with intricate gold patterns at the chest, back, and shoulders. They wore large thick-set helmets that concealed both the head and neck, leaving only their glowing red eyes visible. No parts of their bodies were left uncovered. At the command of their King, the two immediately shifted their statuesque demeanor and moved to secure their objective. 
 

[Exodus]

KEEPER OF KIN

 

 

There was a surreal iridescence that tinted the full surface of his eyes with fever, shimmering unevenly as if the shallow beat of a bright star splashed against the scales of a sun-bathing dragon. There was something majestic in the way the darkness manifested inside of the Anzati Warlord, an elegance and savagery that danced across his flesh and made bed with his every mannerism. More and more of him offered itself, and more of his sanity swam eagerly with the current of the Dark Side. The longer he waded, the more his mind pruned with a bitter and biting coldness, for his heart had already been long forgotten. 

 

Not a single biorhythm echoed from within him, not one recognizable frequency of life hammered through his body. His temperament left neither indication nor trace of emotion to suggest he was nothing more than a grand sculpture, but the atmosphere around him sizzled with a humming of absolute power nonetheless. King Exodus watched indifferently as a master of his court rose from the sunless compound, bearing the housecoat of a commoner of Kuat. A gauntleted hand rose to brush the draping of his long corvus mane from his face, casually clearing his view of the ordinary woman, and then to signal the Sith Master to be at-ease as she bowed respectfully low.

 

"Failure, death, abandonment—”
The order in which she felt them, every word stretched just enough to resurrect the feeling.

 

“What do you now feel?”
 

[Exodus]

N I N E

 

 

The Emperor found the evenness of her tone, her breath neither hurried nor holier than need be. Exact was how the woman held her demeanor, nothing more than what she needed to show, except the glaring lack of self-importance she held onto. It was coincidence then that the man she had chosen as an apprentice in her time before death, held behaviour that had shown the complete opposite in just body language alone. A Human typically overwrought with pride compared to a domesticated Dathomiri with as much humility as a Ziostian monk. The connection would have made him smile, but a simple question lingering in his mind removed humor altogether; which of the two would attempt the knife in his back?

 

As she revealed herself through words, the powerful width of the imperious Warlord shifted forward. He stepped closer at a disarmingly slow march, the sound of dirt and stone grinding beneath his boots. Exodus closed his eyes as he moved forward and tasted the wind through his nostrils, brushing coolly across his tongue. He moved forward yet, closing the distance between the woman and himself, even catching the dead gaze of the two stationed Sentinels.

 

 "Nor should I?" Interesting was the way the sentence carried a tune of command, as if she would ever dare, but the Emperor couldn't resist hearing the words played aloud once more. He whispered them loud enough for her to hear, and questioned what it truly meant. Anzati held a particular liking towards the aristocratic taste of fine arts, an appetite for the flavor of many manner of things. The brutish organization of many language had been just one that always arrested his attention, perhaps this was simply a language barrier rooted in translations. Basic was nowhere near as expressive as the Anzati tongue, but she would not make the mistake again.

 

Closer now, Exodus was but a half-meter span from where she stood. He stalked where her feet planted, moving with wolfish grace and curiosity. He studied her scent as it drew off of her ignorantly, filling the small space between them. The Emperor leaned forward, nearly brushing the bridge of his nose against her shoulders, lifting just before and against the cascade of her hair. Her body was flush with nutritional saturation, force-fed until her physical maturation improved on the natural decay of her first-form. He could taste the richness of her. Even her hair seemed wet still with the dampness of the underworld, a moisture carried forward between the physical and spiritual worlds.

 

"Lady Darksong," Exodus moved passed her now, approaching the two gargoyle Sentinels that lurched in watchful formation. "...a great many have failed me, and in more ways than you could ever imagine. Yet and still, here we are, atop the food chain. Do you know why that is?" Rhetorically speaking, the King handwaved her from answering.

 

"The useful pieces remain at my side, they adhere to my call."

 

The seers on Arachnakorr had showed him the way, gave him the means to conquer the distant stars, unraveling the darkest mysteries of the Force. The Umbarans kept his burial chambers sacred and sanctified, worshipping him as a God that kept watch from the mountains, drowning him in tribute. Onderonians carried his name as a legend born from the superstition and mysticism in which his journey was carved. The creatures of the known galaxy understood the lure of the assassin, connecting the Sith in such a way that had never been done before. Exodus drew his Sith Sword, listening acutely to the scintillating kiss of metal dragging across metal. The balance of the blade resonated with him as he held the weapon in his hand, turning it over and studying the glyphs etched into its surface. It bled down the alchemical metal with ancient knowledge, cursive text that whispered in a tongue from Chaos itself.

 

 

"I could care less whether you think you are deserving or not.

You are a Master of my Court, and will conduct yourself as one at all times, in victory and in defeat.

Hold your head high, for you have gone to lengths that others will not.

You brought a measure of value to your name, while others wait for me to hold their hand.

 

I grow weary of my own, I see the envy in their eyes.

They are leeches, spoiled by the sanctuary I grant them.

I will weed them out, and feed them to my wolves.

And I will bring our enemies what they have been dying for.

 

You say you will serve, as they all do. But will your sword become synonymous with mine?

I have fetched you from your grave, how far will you follow your King, Lady Darksong?

 

 

Exodus dragged the tip of his blade against the dirt, smiling.
 

[Exodus]

COURT OF DARKNESS

 

 

"You speak true, Dathomiri." 

 

 

Exodus replied quicker than even he expected, but sensing the truth in her words was something he could not mistake. "A rarity," that another before him could string the words together almost as well as he, and draw a conclusion similarly to the one she had confessed, or so he thought. She left nothing to the imagination through the lens in which she saw things laid out, she coined roots of a paranoia that perhaps, even he was unaware of. Such clarity and transparency would be a cornerstone to the longevity of a Sith Hierarchy. 

Exodus weighed the expression of her thoughts, dragging his warblade from the earth and balancing it high above his head, as if words and weapons were one and the same. The windows to his soul held a desperate color of black death as he stared out into the open peacefully, the shapes of his irises becoming less circular than they were sharpened and lined with an oozing volcanic drip. 

 

The atmosphere about them had changed, a sweet and subtle change that many could never bookmark in their lifetime, never really knowing what it all meant. Many biological beings resorted to a sensation of fear, but it was simply the presence of the Dark Side. And as Exodus lowered his blade slowly, now walking towards Master Qaela, he placed the visceral edge of his weapon just past her fearless face, hovering the kiss of it beside the soft wall of her neck. Sharpness of such steel could fall gently from where it was raised, and carve down into the small woman from her neck and shoulders, sliding as if cutting through butter, opening her belly wide enough to watch her insides sloppily abandon ship. The point of the weapon instead revealed what it was that had crept down in the far distance. 

 

"I brought you something." 

 

It was beyond gargantuan, a smattered fusion of crystallized black and thrice-hardened steel with an underbelly of power synchronously pulsing with feverish light. The lining of this monstrosity flaunted organic shells, as if birthed from luxurious stonework. It was alive, and so immersed in the call of the Dark Side that only the presence of the Dark King could distract from such. And still, the beast whined and moaned; singing a somber cry filled with pain and destruction, an unholy choir that reached out to the heart-strings of those that could hear it. The ISD-II variant Kyber-Class Herløv, a mighty herald of Master Qaela had shuddered into the clouds of Kuat and buckled the atmosphere with it's raw power. 

 

"Did not let this little toy fall to our enemies, with you is where it belongs, enjoy. They return gloriously from the defense of Fondor, they have fulfilled what was asked of them, providing me with time. Get reacquainted, but do it quickly. We have a place that needs burning. I'll send for you." Exodus retracted the blade and sheathed it's brilliance. He nodded to the Dathomiri and stepped off from the compound, grabbing at her shoulder proudly with his free hand, subliminally hinting at the differences between his hand and his blade, and the choices she had made within the moments spent. She walked a thin rope, and would fall as foe or cross as comrade in the war to come. He had his answer on who she was, for now, and so he  made way for his chariot.