Bishop Of Battle

*Bishop took a moment to admire his body and turned his face towards her with the fringes of an almost sardonic grin.* "And smear blood over your beautiful clothes? Ilum can wait. You are needed with me for now. After the battle on Hoth, I will see you there myself. As for your mother, she has not fully come to terms with the... experiences I have been through. Now, you can allready feel the battle taking place, can't you?" *He took a few steps, turning around in the process and coming to stand beside Kaylynn.* "Now... please, come with me while we collect your mother and venture to join the others."

"Very well." *Bishop turned to the remaining Sith standing before him.* "Get to your ships and move to the Hoth system. Blood awaits us this day." *Making his way quickly through the temple grounds with the talker beside him. Kaylynn, and the boy he had seen her with earlier, were not far off and easy to be found.* "Kaylynn, it is time to go. The Jedi in the Hoth system are waiting and I want you to be there. If you are to lead the Sith to their destiny, you will need to have seen what you can."

"And what greater responsibility is there in her life than that of the Sith? As we both well know, it is her calling to lead the Sith to and create the most permanent mark in their history. How is she ever to do that if she is never with the Sith in their greatest battles? Nor would I think it is too much to ask to have my closest Sith accompany me aboard the Imperial command ship to oversee the operation. Her life will not be in danger, nor will your's. Besides, Mimban has kept itself free of unwanted intruders decades before we arrived. I am sure it can continue to do so with minimal effort on our part, though if you wish for someone to stay behind and watch over the planet, then I am sure you can choose someone qualified for the position."

OOC: Oye, oye, oye”¦ *And with that, Abaddon disappeared. Odd. The trees fell from the wall with their controller gone, and the Dark Lord was left to survey the wreckage with Raynuk by his side. Silently he turned and walked from the hall, the saber on the floor rocked in its place for a moment then darted through the air in front of him and slipped back into his clothes. The broken ribs in his chest carved at the insides of his muscles with every movement, though he showed little regard for his chest or his severed arms. All, portions of his body easily replaceable. He looked to the talker and his board as he passed him through the throne room gates. His stride did not break as he moved towards the group of Sith that had gathered to take part in his maltreatment. His eyes strode venomously across them, as though sizing each up through his blind stare. Tarrian was passing the throne room on her way to their chambers when he exited the throne room.* ”œTarrian, I still need you here a few moments longer.”

*Laughter, the taunt of fools and the arrogant. Bishop's robes fluttered with the wind, another mindless display of self-appreciation. So much flaunt with so little to say. The Dark Lord raged before him as though he thought he might get his way, like a child who throws a tantrum when his parents inform him its now time to stop playing with his toys. All the taste for power, with no idea of how to invoke it. With patience, uncharacteristic of a Sith Lord, Bishop watched Abaddon come at him with his saber out. Gently, as though shifting from one comfortable position to another, Bishop placed his left hand behind his back and unrolled his right arm to the side. His limb extended out away from his body, empty with the fingers pointing diagonally towards the ground and his palm facing Abaddon. Through what could have been simply his lightsaber falling down his sleeve and into his outstretched palm, slight of hand, a Force trick, or perhaps a combination of the the three, there was a flash of chrome and a snap of red light. No burning women felt the need to scream. No babies cried in the night. No one felt their chest tighten when Bishop's saber ignited. There was no need. For screams are the echoes of pain, and death rides silent to its victims. The tip of the saber caressed the stone where he held it, his lips sealed closed and his body motionless. When he drew it back to be raised against Abaddon's first swing, the tip carved the shallowest of niches across the floor in front of him. Each of his blocks was batted back and away under the force of Abaddon's powerful swings. Power wasted in his futile attempts. Though he struck hard, none of his strikes came near to threatening Bishop's life. With slow, half steps, Bishop backed away from the swinging, allowing Abaddon to cross the line drawn in the stone floor. Allowing his blade to fall away from one of the blocks, the tip crossed above the floor from his left back to his right where it was held firmly in his grasp, Bishop took a full step back. Abaddon's blade passed over his front with the same ferocity as all of his attacks, yet still all it could find was the folds of his robes. The heavy black cloth slid where it had been severed, half catching on his shoulder's and arms where it hung lifeless but without hindering. He could feel the Force around them being accessed, and it was immediately apparent for what as Abaddon's strikes grew quicker. Almost without thinking, Bishop increased his own speed to match the strikes. Lazily, he flicked his wrist out in a strike which Abaddon latched onto to take advantage of. The rib snapping kick lifted him into the air, tipping him forward and dropping him to the ground before he caught himself in a half-way kneeling stance. His right hand rather was rather casually extended before him, as though balancing out his back half, and his left hand was till tucked neatly behind his back. Coagulated blood dripped off of his exposed ribs onto the floor, pooling in the cracks and divots of its imperfect surface. Abaddon stood back from his opponent, apparently drunk on his own successes. Standing flawlessly, Bishop came to a fully upright position. His blind stare penetrating the black shroud that obscured his eyes. The bones jutting from his chest cut tissue again as they slid back into his body to accommodate the posture change. Abaddon's hand flew, though Bishop did not even turn to watch the knives find their mark, confident already in where they would land. Expressionlessly, Bishop turned his hand over, pointing the lightsaber blade off to his right and down again when the doors burst open behind him.* ”œTarrian, Tarrian, Tarrian”¦”

"Your swearing of allegiance to me, as the new Dark Lord of the Sith."

"Vaguely. But we have more important matters to discuss."

*The large double door swung inward. The room was empty, save the Dark Lord seated alone upon his throne. Bishop and his companion stopped just outside of the doors' arcs. They shut swiftly and securely behind him. The empty hall echoed for with the tiny sounds of the scraping doors, whining hinges, and clacking metal. Starting forward in unision, the pair stopped again a few feet before Abaddon's throne.* "Lord Abaddon."

*Bishop's head tilted to follow Jareth and Kaylynn's, and even little Viano's, progress through the courtyard as though his eyes were not blind. He was silent, as though considering what she said. A moment before he spoke, his gaze seemed to take on an endlessness.* "I have been to the edge of this nothing, where the ripples cease. I have been to the end. That is where I have resided, and that is from where we have returned." *Standing back from the railing, Bishop's gaze broke away from the three in the courtyard.* "I would appreciate it if you would gather the records for the archeological finds. Especially those concerning... the temples and their artifacts." *His tone shifted down a notch again as he turned away to begin back to their room where the talker still waited. His voice had returned to normal when he began again.* "For now, we must go and meet with Lord Abaddon. There are still so many things we must do." *He left her to think, to ponder, and to accomplish what she would. Entering back into her room, he glanced the talker's way. Without so much as a nod, they left again, both now heading for the throne room.*

*Casually, Bishop watched the talker thrown safely onto the sofa, the gesture more to make a point than any real threat on Tarrian's part. The tempered look, sharp though it had appeared, had told him that even before she acted. It occurred to him now why she had never killed anyone of consequence before... a good thing that trend continued now.* "I find it amusing that the Sith still revel in... self-appreciating displays." *For a moment, he tilted his hooded face towards the talker, who did not seem entirely put off from being placed on the sofa, before turning and following Tarrian out the door. Searcy appeared to still be standing there, despite the time that had passed, so Bishop followed Tarrian a short ways away where she felt they could speak in more private.* "The situation still remains. I would still like to know the location of my daughter. Secondly, we shall be requiring our own quarters during our stay and will need any of the archeological records the library might have on this planet. Your help would save us a great deal of time, especially as we have other things that we must attend to." *Bishop's head was slanted slightly off in the direction of the throne room, perahps in search of something particular, or perhaps for nothing inparticular at all. He turned his body a little so he could look at the same carved statue he had been standing before earlier, allowing him to set his hands on the railing they stood by. A pillar pierced the stone rail just to his right. Further to the right Tarrian stood looking down into the same courtyard as he.*

*Walking only a half step ahead, Bishop made his way with the Talker back towards the room Tarrian had taken him to. The young Sith was still standing outside their room for his own reasons. Bishop paid him no heed, continuing past into the room. Tarrian appeared also to have never moved from her spot on the sofa. He took a few steps in and turned to face her, leaving enough room between himself and the door for the Talker to enter beside him. He glanced past his companion to the door, which, at his mental command, slid shut.* "There are things to discuss before... Lord Abaddon's return."

*Bishop stood, watching the Talker as he held the board aloft, unblinking. After a few moments he took a few steps to close the distance and crouched back on his heals to bring him to the same level as the other who had kneeled. Almost absently, he lifted his hand and dipped his fingers in the water pooling on the board's surface. He removed his hand and studied his fingers through his shroud, rubbing his fingers together as though they had been dipped in something other than the rain they were allready drenched in. The droplets of water that continud to fall slid off of his hooded cloak, lost in the puddles on the ground as they fell. Bishop shook his hand of the excess water and laid it alongside the other. He looked to the board a moment, then shifted his head around as though streching out a stiff kneck. Light illuminated the dense cloud cover high above them from within, an expected rumble rolled out a moment later to accompany the droning pattering of rain on stone, vegitation, and cloth around them. Apparrently satisfied, Bishop stood, seeming to stand taller and of fuller being than he had been a moment ago.*

*Bishop returned the guesture with the briefest of movements that could only be likened to a bow between the two. No words were exchanged between the two yet when Bishop turned and led him away from the landing bay. The Talker's Force presence was unnaturally thick to the Force attuned. He led on out of the facility and into the pouring rain and crisp air of Mimban. Neither much noticed the rain as they walked, striding directly for one of the ancient ceremonial grounds. They were still in the process of crossing when he spoke, eventually coming to a stop in the middle of the square area.* "The Sith Dark Lord is not here. He will be returning shortly. We will meet with him when he arrives."

*He was almost here. It was almost time to begin. Bishop sat up a moment before the second set of knocks at their door came. He rose and Tarrian's head jerked towards him sharply to follow him. Without a hint of sluggishness despite his apparrent rest, Bishop moved quickly towards the door. It opened without so much as a single physical command, and he walked right past Michael on the other side. He did not look at him as he passed, only spouted off a few words that did not sound so much as though they were said than as if they were recited. Recalled from a memorized poem and stated aloud for recollective purpouses.* "It is not yet your time to serve me, young one." *He continued on without breaking his quick stride. He was headed towards the docking bay.*

"Yes... the war." *His voice shifted again.* "The discourse you feel is only natural. It is the way of the galaxy. But I bring rest from the discord." *The closet slid open before him and his gaze marched over the lines of clothes inside. He walked away a moment later without having touched any of them.* "When either your envoy or Lord Abaddon returns, inform me of their arrival. I will also require a list of the available mercenaries, specifically those with the skills and stomach to handle what we will require." *Bishop laid himself down on the bed, fully clothed and with his dark hood still pulled over his head. His arms crossed his chest and he went still as death. It seemed he was not even breathing.*

"Good." *Bishop did not move immediatly at Tarrien's suggestion. She had found him stopped before one of the relics of the ancient temples. He was studying it as though it was important.* "Yes..." *He turned to face Tarrien, as though seeing through the black shroud over his eyes.* "Lead on to my chambers." *When she moved, he followed.* "Who are our strongest allies now?"

"I see. Unexpected, though it will be resolved." *Bishop turned away from the railing, glancing briefly over his shoulder at Tarrian as he continued down the path that had followed a few moments earlier.* "I want you, or for you to send one of the trusted Sith in your stead, to go to the planet Ilum. There you will find a being who calls himself Talker. He is to be brought here for me." *He clasped his hands behind his back as he continued to walk.* "There is much to be done before... this war." *The tonal shift was evident in his voice again. Deathly silent, he continued down the corridor, entering back into the interiour of the complex.*

*Bishop's hand was cold to the touch, and he did little to acknowledge the contact. He did not turn when Raynuk approached behind him, and he gave little attention at all to Nahstaa's presence.* "Heretic will be dealt with when it is his time. He is not a concern. Raynuk, arrange for me to meet with... Lord Abaddon." *His tone shifted, not a faulter but a change, as he said the Dark Lord's name.* "We must collect one more before we will be ready." *Their path took them onto a fenced portico overlooking Mimban's thrashing forests and the windswept temples. He pulled away to walk to the railing, his hand sliding out of Tarrian's. The water drenched, ice cold railing was warm to his touch. He stood silently, lightning rumbles filtered through the clouds above.* "Where is she?"

*Bishops dark and damning gaze settled on Tarrian's shadow in the doorway he strode to greet. Yellow light washed in from the hallway, tinting the overblown white of the hanger. To his eyes the world image in his mind was of high contrast pigmints. Where the light blossomed over her forehead, white blew out her features. In the shadows of her eyes and hallowed cheeks, darkness reigned in inky blackness. Blues, greens, and reds contrasted in full saturation as though vainly trying to put together a picture. The world as seen through a high crontrast negetive. His footsteps halted on the other side of the automatic door. His cloak swept the ground as it brushed just past him then settled into place. He cocked his head slightly to the woman standing through the doorway.* "What has happened since I left?"

*A dark wind setteled through the broken clouds above Mimban. The security measures had dropped silently at its approach and restated themselves when it was through. Lightning crashed in the atmosphere, a constant of Mimban's destructive skies. However, even the bolts of energy danced around the ship's hull rather than touch it, as if afraid of the vengance it might reap. The Dark Knight tempted the powers of nature to turn its gaze away in fear. Without sight, black fingers traced the controls in the dark. The Force was sight itself for the blind, and those who could not make the Force their eyes were truly blind. The three landing feet extended on hydrolic shocks a few moments before landing. A hiss of steam filled the empty silence of the landing bay when the shocks adjusted for the setteling weight of the ship. The back landing bay lowered with only a slight groan and allowed light to filter up onto the robes of the black clad figure standing at the ramps apex. In the darkness of the robe's cowles, Bishop's face was still thin and strong, though age had begun creeping with its small lines across the cheeks and above the eyes. Most of that was still well hidden in the darkness. The milky whites his eyes had begun to fade to was hidden beneath an even more impenetrable shroud. Silently, he walked down the ramp into the empty hanger.*

OOC: I am throughly suprised that the people that PM'd her to null these actions were probably not anyone who was directly involved with the situation. I.E. Probably only Blckclone. *With that, Bishop left*

Since no Sith have... you must chill young Impede.

*Bishop tipped his head slightly towards the communicator that Bluedust pocketed.* "I very much doubt that a communicator of that size has the power and range to penetrate Mimban's atmosphere. It is a wonderful thing, isn't it? The most natural of defenses, it even blocks out ship scans. Your ships might have had the communications power to reach whoever you were trying, but that seems a little late now." *He took a few more steps closer to both Jedi.* "And I'm suprised that you would delude yourself into thinking we would simply hand a guest like Mes over to you."

*Like a dark spear, the Hand of Bishop streched from the storming sky over Mimban as he returned to the Sith homeworld. The smell of visceral combat was intoxicating to say the least. Some would say because it fed the most primal of instincts. But the true warrior knew that it was because combat employed every level of body, mind, and heart. That it taxed every avenue of awareness available to the combatents. It was the ultimate expression of oneness. The ship touched down on its customary landing pad. As he stepped out of the hanger, the skys cracked open and rain began to fall. Rivulets ran down his black cloak to the ground. Bluedust and Orrick suddenly found themselves drenched by the downpour that was so customary to Mimban. Lightning sparked in the sky overhead, the stench of sulfur and burning air filtered down across the Sith compound. Bishop could feel Raynuk down in the basement near Mess. Undoubtably with company, or soon to be joined by it. A Jedi, obviously new was in the main hall. He did little to hide himself and seemed allready locked in combat with Darth Vauler. He doubted any of the others there would be so foolish as to leave their guard down and were masking their presence. However the world was one of darkness and pain. The ancient temples and the power of the Sith were contained there, and light was an anathema to this place. Their location was vauge, but there none the less. He wove his presence amongst the dark energies that traveled the worlds surface, masking his approach towards Orrick and Bluedust. At fist, his rising form blended with the swirling black clouds, though as he dropped his sheild against detection his form was easily visible by the facility backlighting him. Beneath his cowled hood, he grinned.* "Jedi Master Bluedust. How very sardonic. As I recall, the last time you visited a Sith world, wasn't your body a soul a prisoner of it? And you bring fresh meat to the grinder I see. Adi-Wan's apprentice, wasn't he? Orrick I believe?" *Topping the hill between them and the buildings where Raynuk and Xen-Que Poleb faced off, Bishop continued down the other side. Black shadows covered his face through his approach.* "Lord Ar-Pharazon and I would be most pleased to welcome you to Mimban, enjoy the scenery while you can." *The wind picked up for a moment, slinging the loose ends of their clothes around their bodies while the rain continued to pour down upon them.*

*Bishop rose with the looming night. Coming death was an oder upon the air that smelled so sweet. The twin suns of Tatooine drifted past the horizon and he made his way down the stairs of the shattered villa. Tusken Raiders stood in the distance. A few had ventured close enough to near his ship, but scattered as he approached. Bantha's wailed on the horizon as his presence permeated them. The women and the children of the nomadic tribe hid behind the thick coats of their rides.* "It is time to bury the past." *Behind him, cracks formed on the surface of his once home. The walls shattered and fell within eachother and the sands swept up into a maelstrom. When he was done, a wind swept dune covered the remains of the past. He continued to his ship and climbed inside.*