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Mother was here? 

 

Telperiën let her presence tentatively touch that great presence, eclipsed by the Dark Lords since his was so close. Its dark and silky embrace was so overpowering. But hers was intoxicating. Strong, as she had always been, leaving almost a wine like taste on her tongue. 

 

No wonder Ar-Pharazon wanted her so badly. 

 

She stood and began to search for her mother. It had been far too long since they had talked.

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ALLEGIANT

 

 

The palace enclosures were quiet, each step as loud as brass atop the marbled parquet. Ethereal ambience sheathed the room in shadows and candlelit flames, burning outlandish herbs commandeered from darker planets abroad. Such searing incenses highlighted indelicate earthy aromas that filled the halls, as if one could taste the wilds of Dxun by breath alone. Temperaments were easily controlled by the atmosphere of any given situation; subliminal mastery of such, whether comprehending or manifesting, was a particular study that Lord Exodus was quite fond of. What he had failed to see within the first on Kuat, he now found in the second and third nominees that came after. Both Dathomiri and Mandalorian were the fiercest of mind and body, and as the two were considered, they exhibited an unannounced gallantry to the hierarchy of things. Refreshingly, a distracting show of self-importance was either non-existent or laid to the side in these instances. An anima of power laid dormant inside the set of two, and Exodus would be the hand that unleashed it.

 

 

"Master Darksong, your timing is quite impeccable. Let us welcome Master Ardell.

Of rich Mandalorian stock, undoubtedly. A creature of much promise,"

 

A slowed selections of words played to the conspicuous tone of the Emperor, words as tantalizing as the illusions he weaved.

 

"He looks to build a tribe that would make worlds tremble before their name,

the name of which would immortalize them forever.

I know the filth in which he comes from, I buried the worst of them beneath Coruscanti rubble.

But, he wishes to become more."

 

Exodus ironed his attention to the Mandalorians that stood before him now.

 

"Master Darksong will comprise a seat on my open council, exercising one of the highest forms of autonomy known to the Empire.

You may know nothing of me, I confess. But of anyone, their secrets are never far from reach.

I would offer you the same as Master Darksong, if you can earn your weight in gold.

Resources, Ships, Territories. All of it.

 

 

Will Tros Ardell swear service to the King of the Sith, and bring his Mandalorians deliverance?

 

 

 

 

 

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𝕭𝖊𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖉𝖆𝖗𝖐 𝖒𝖆𝖏𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖞

 

There was a sense of familiarity as she stood watching the Emperor address the Mandalorian. She recognized the touch of her daughter and was glad that she still walked among the living. When she had paid her respects to the Emperor, she would seek out the last of her children. It would be most interesting to see how she had fared and if she had managed to stabilize the balance between the Spirit and the Flesh and stop burning out bodies. She had wanted to help her when they last met, but decided that her offer might not have been accepted considering the falling out they had. Maybe it was for the best of Telperien had managed to learn it on her own and grown because of it.

 

Being summoned by the Master of All, Qaela allowed the darkness to dissipate around her and stepped forward to bow before the dark majesty that was the focal point of the room and the planet as a whole. She needed say no words at the moment for it was still not her place. She was here merely for the Emperor to show the Mandalorian petitioner a devoted servant given much: a tantalizing taste of what could be should he accept the Spider's offer and serve him well. She was not disappointed in this arrangement: she had served him well and in turn, when she had fallen on Corellia, he had not forsaken her and saved her from her fate. That circle was not something that could be lightly ignored or left behind, she owed him greatly and would repay it.

 

Personally, she didn't have any real feelings one way or the other for the Mandalorians. She respected their skills in combat, but was disappointed at the pointless slaughter and waste they gave into the last time they were unified. It spoke volumes when the Sith had to come in and be the rational, restrained ones to stop the carnage, but they had done just that. If the Dark Lord saw some potential in this Mandalorian, then she would hold her judgment until she saw far more of him.

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As Karys waited, his thoughts drifted in the force...he took in the Darkness around him, feeling invigorated by it's embrace. His meditation was soon interrupted as his call for assistance was answered. However, his suspicions arise slightly that someone seemed to have been looking for him. Darth Mavanger, it was not a name with which he was familiar among the Sith. But he did need allies, so cautiously he chose to accept the invitation to meet. At least for now. Deciding to see where this went, he answered the communication and set a course for the the starport.

 

"Greetings, Captain Hurst. I am not quite sure how you know of my return, but I'm certain that question shall.he answered soon enough. You have my thanks for expediating my return to the surface. It appears much has changed since I have returned. Perhaps this Darth Mavanger, you speak of will provide some much needed answers. As such I agree to meet you and perhaps him, in time. Regardless, I shall see you shortly Captain."

 

With that he ended the communication, having been given clearance, he was easily able to reach the surface, the good captain had even arranged a fighter escort until he breached the atmosphere, at which point they broke off. Landing, Darth Akheron, noted his new surroundings. The whole area was alive, with Darkness everywhere, permeating everything. It was a delight. As he walked, he embraced the Dark around him.

 

Approaching the honour guard, Karys nodded his head in a slight bow, one of respect to them and then to Captain Hurst, whom he spotted waiting for him. Walking up to the man, he extended a hand of greeting.

 

 "Greetings. You must be Captain Hurst, I presume. It is a pleasure to see you face to face, and to be among such company again. I have been gone far too long, it is time our enemies again know the Lord Of Wrath has returned to deliver the Wrath Of the Sith and The Spider upon them. 

 

Speak as we walk, you need have no fear of me. What is this proposition your master speaks of. And tell me of this...Darth Mavanger, his is not a name I recall. I wish to know the man who seemingly knows more of me, than I of him. And why he sought me out specifically."

Edited by Karys Narat iv-Adas

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"The universe started in darkness at a time when light didn't exist, and that is how it will end. Chaos and suffering is what brings us together. In chaos a man or woman will show who he or she really is and in suffering they will speak the truth. We are darkness incarnate, we are the evil. This cannot be denied, even by me. But without us there is no redemption, passion or order." - Darth Akheron

 

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When Lord Akheron arrived, Captain Hurst gave him a deep bow. While he was technically under another Darth, it wasn't unheard of for some Sith to kill officers for not greeting them properly.

 

"The pleasure is mine, my lord. I'm sure I speak on behalf of the empire when I say that we're glad you've returned." he said, turning and walking beside the Sith. "I assure your, Sir, that Darth Mavanger only knows little. He knows of your deeds, and he, correctly it seems- deduced that you had returned to the galaxy at large. He is a newer Darth, with many battles under his belt for the Empire. He aided in the recent battles over Kuat, as well as an invasion of Corellia. He's a competent tactician, who trusts those under his command. But most importantly, what troops under him love him for, is his ferocity in battle. At each of these invasions he fought on the ground with his troops, leading from the front with a good deal of ability. As for why he sought you out... He's building an army. He has a fleet of warships and a legion of troops, but he lacks support from the other Sith. The only one currently at his side is his former apprentice, Darth Tyra. There were more, but..." Hurst trailed off for a moment, a pained look on his face.

 

"The most recent battle for Kuat claimed many lives. Most of his war council is either dead or have retreated to Onderon and Korriban to lick their wounds, but speakin candidly, it's too late for him to call off the campaign. Too many resources have been requisitioned to end the campaign before any real progress has been made."

 

Hurst's communicator beeped, and he looked at it.

 

"Good news. It seems we've made a beachhead in the outer rim, on Geonosis. If your interest is piqued, I recommend you go there and speak with him personally. There are too many finer details that I either don't know or am not authorized to share at this moment to give you the briefing you deserve." 

 

He stopped, turning to the Sith Lord with another bow.

 

"If you'll excuse me, I have many others to petition today, including some very high ranking Sith. You are free to join me, of course, but what you do is your decision. Welcome back to the Sith Empire, Lord."

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Tros watched and observed everything before him. The Dathomiri woman whom emerged from the shadows and was addressed from Exodus. He kept his own mind moving from thought to thought, slowly pondering his options before him. What he was being offered as a life of servitude essentially, much like anyone who served under Exodus. His eyes darted to his HUD and acknowledged a message and slow approval from Kot'dral. It was unspoken, but he doubted such a silent exchange of words went without notice from the two Force Users in the room with him. He slowly adjusted both new vambraces made of pure beskar before speaking up. 

 

"The clans following me will indeed serve in this capacity.  You have House Solus in the service of the Sith."

 

His voice was calm and sure. While it meant him serving another, this time he felt both parties understood what was at stake and on the line. Both were a means to an end, and both stood to gain much from each other. As long as the two held similar objectives and advancements, this alliance would serve everyone involved very well. 

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Mishuk gotal'u meshuroke, pako kyore.

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Karys listened to each word intently, studying them for signs of deceit and to see the measure of the man before him. It appeared he was loyal to this Darth Mavanger, who intrigued the massassi. It seemed they shared a common trait and respect for the thrill of battle. He understood that on the battlefield, all were equal and that it was where the truth of who a person was would soon be revealed.

 

A warrior like him in many ways. This amused Darth Akheron. He was already beginning to like the man even though they had yet to meet in person. It appeared that the Sith had been busy, even in his absence and yet more remained to be accomplished. His expression changed when he heard how some had retreated, leaving their commanding officer to fend for himself. Cowards. They would be dealt with after campaign. 

 

Hearing the reasons and the measure of who Darth Mavanger was, his decision was made. He knew now why the Dark lead him here now. And he would answer the call. Speaking, Darth Akheron stopped as Captain Hurst spoke of needing to see others. Some other Sith, but Karys knew there was no time to waste. He would go to Geonosis and see the situation with his own eyes, meet the man who sought him out and see what he could do to help.

 

"I see, then there is not a moment to lose. As much as I might enjoy meeting others and talking with you more...I think it more prudent to seek out this Darth Mavanger on Geonosis. And appraise the situation for myself, you have my thanks for updating me as to the current status of the Sith Empire and do your master credit. He shall hear of this, of that have no doubt. 

 

Until we meet again Captain. May the Dark guide you and give you strength." On that notion, Akheron gave a respectful how before departing for his ship. It wasn't long before he was inside, firing up the engines and up among the various Onderon defences. Avoiding several ships, he let command know he was departing before being given access to pass and defences stood down. 

 

Once clear, they again activated, even as he input the correct coordinates to Geonosis. A place he had not visited before...but knew well it's history. One soaked in blood. It would be a interesting experience. Activating the engines, his ship was gone in the blink of an eye. 

 

 

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"The universe started in darkness at a time when light didn't exist, and that is how it will end. Chaos and suffering is what brings us together. In chaos a man or woman will show who he or she really is and in suffering they will speak the truth. We are darkness incarnate, we are the evil. This cannot be denied, even by me. But without us there is no redemption, passion or order." - Darth Akheron

 

I survived the Great JNet Outage of 2012

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Camik walked through the chamber. He could feel the energies radiating through out here. This was a place where the powerful came, and he had just been inducted into a larger world to one of them.  He walked towards him and could feel the greatest pull. The greatest source of power trusting that this would be the Spider that Telperien had directed him too. 

He had told Kirain to wait for him. This was not a place for one such as she. He would meet back up with her after but for now he was on his own. 

As he entered the room that held the Spider, or so he could only assume he could see that he was not alone.  Not surprising, but for now he would wait and observe.  He did not know the people here and while he might feel he could burst in and demand his presence be recognized, a true hunter had patience and could watch the surroundings.  He wanted to see and hear what he was walking into. 

He would wait until Exodus would break off from the others and acknowledge him then bow and introduce himself. ”My Lord, I am Lord Camik recently promoted and sent to you by Telperien ” She had never given a title to him so he did not bother trying to figure out her title in the introduction. ”I am at your service.”
 

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Pact


 

The old covenants between the Sith and the Mandalorians were never considered a simple sanction between two powers, in any age or era. Such a union always became an embodiment of ferocious living beings, uniquely welded from two distinct worlds, producing a class of warrior unlike any other in even the farthest depths of the stars beyond. Of course, there were already pockets of Mandalorian clans that had sworn their lot in with the mighty Sith Empire, but they were a scattered bunch; desperate splinters from a broken crusade, or mercenaries enfranchised from the political prowess of Lady Nyrys herself. Tros Ardell, whether he understood this or not, was handed the keys to a lifetime of prestige and exaltation for the women and men of his clans and of his House. The commitment he would foster with not only the Sith, but more importantly the King of the Sith, was where the threads of this relationship would either prosper or burn whole. 

 

 

"You are wise, Master Ardell of House Solus. And for this, you have my blade wherever the feet of your people march." 

 

 

Exodus ran his fingers across the end of the arm-rest, imprinting a sequence of commands. Without a moment of latency, a three-dimensional holoprojection of the Onderonian skyline emerged from the ceiling of the exquisite hall. Tremendous warships flushed the entire panorama and stretched for many miles, blotting out the sheathing of clouds or the brilliant shining sun. Eerie and colorless husks of shadows eclipsed the barricaded cities of Onderon, smothering the world with the brutalistic designs and color patterns of Star Destroyers, Dreadnoughts, and enormous carriers swarming with Imperial TIE-lines. Yawning shapes and sizes of absolute power hummed a deep and groaning wail of hunger as engines burned bright and larger-than-life weapon systems ran through their checks. 

 

 

"To support the rising tide of Clan Solus, carriages of war will be prepared for your choosing.

A particular dossier will be delivered to you by my operatives. Choose well, because we ride for battle shortly." 

 

 

Exodus closed his eyes and nodded towards the Mandalorian Commander, dismissing further counsel and cementing the summary of their meeting. He could appreciate the firmness of choice written by the one infamously known as Saberforce, even if by chance it was a fallacy.  If the Mandalorian was true to principle, then as they pair exited earshot, the Dark King smiled with the promise of true expansion. 

 

 

"Master Darksong. There are many branches of this Great Sith-Imperial tree, and plenty more to come. See to it that I have the many eyes, and many arms necessary, to preserve them all. One bad infection, one bad root will not be the end of reign. I would have them ripped from the body.

 

Go. See to your daughter, unwind before the ride to vengeance." 

 

 

Another dismissal, with thoughts to consider for a Master of his brood, before yet another had come to visit. This was a young creature of Cathar descent, bowing earnestly before his King.  "Well done on your advancement, Lord Camik." Exodus stood, stretched wide, and swept a most gracious bow towards the particular warrior. As unexpected as the salute was, King Exodus sweeping into a royal show of praise was a terrifyingly empowering exhibition from such a vicious hunter as he. The Emperor and Dark King of the Sith looked forward, allowing an image of the new generational breed standing prominently before a powerful relic of the old guard. 

 

 

"You and Lady Telperiën, your mentor, will join us tonight.

You will have a chance to exercise your new understanding power very soon,

And yet, you will have so much more to learn from the point forward.

 

If you have questions or requests of me, take advantage and ask them before you leave.

Otherwise, we will gather tonight and ride towards our enemies.

Are we clear, Lord Camik?"

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Sergeant Luiam nodded briskly as he settled himself into the crash webbing, the drop shuttle was thickly packed with troops, but that was the reality of the Imperial Army. If they dropped straight into fire then there would be hell to pay, and he had seen the Army pay far more hell for far smaller objectives. It would be a cold day in the coriellian hells before a recruit as cocky and self sure as this one made it three steps outside of a landing craft before a laser or mass driver blew itself through his empty eyesockets. The galaxy had its way of bringing everyone low. And he looked forward to showing this recruit the failings of Kad Ha’rangir. 

 

“Now we deploy to the destroyer. We have an access hatch to a break room if needed, but its essentially only a refresher. Use it if you feel like you want to vomit. Everyone does during their time in real combat.” 

 

He grinned under his ‘T’ visor and left the conversation there. But one of the corporals near the rear of the craft spoke up. 

 

“You worked for Black Sun? Did you know Captain Delta?’

 

___________________________

 

A alarm sounded deep in the halls of the Darkhand commando unit, they had already been divided in half by the earlier deployment, but now a new Sith Lord had called for their assistance. They lived to serve and so did their commander. He had been bred for it. He glanced to his datapad the and then gestured to the two now very tired Lieutenants. He gave Nyrys a loving embrace and a soft kiss.

 

“Don’t change too much. I kinda like this body.” 

 

He winked then took off at a jog with his compatriots. 

 

Geonosis 

 

He shook his head. Far too many memories there. 

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Commander - Darkhand Brigade - Sith Empire

Blood Prince

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𝖜𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖓𝖔𝖇𝖔𝖉𝖞 𝖊𝖝𝖕𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖘

 

Qaela bowed deeply once more at the commands of her master and withdrew respectfully. She didn't know anything about this Mandalorian yet, but she trusted the insights of the Spider in recruiting them. Nobody doubted the fighting abilities of the Mandalorians, but she wasn't sure they had any real capacity for loyalty to anything but themselves and money. Perhaps this one was different, though even if he wasn't, the Empire would use them up all the same.

 

As soon as she had left the Imperial presence, she began seeking out her daughter. As she did, her mind was racing with the underpinnings of what had been commanded of her. Words had been spoken, but the greater information flowed through the Force itself and she smiled at what it revealed. It would not be an easy task, but it was one that she was most suited to complete. To safeguard the Sith Order and the Empire itself, the Dark Lord needed beings loyal to the Order and Empire, not to themselves or power itself. She was that person, for she cared not for either of those things except in how they could be used to build up the Sith. She had already started on this when she was teaching in the Bastion on Korriban. Hundreds of acolytes and apprentices that had gone through there had been pushed towards the concepts of loyalty to the Order over self. Those teachings didn't take root in all of them, but it did in several and those would be the ones that she would reach out to and begin her work.

 

Her thoughts were interrupted when she sensed that the presence of her daughter was close now. She prepared herself and stepped around a corner and encountered a young woman whose face was foreign to her, but whose spirit would forever be part of her for having come from her.

 

She looked over Telperiën with both eyes and Force. Her daughter seemed far more settled than before, but that could also be a projection so she wouldn't assume. At least the raging, debilitating lack of control over the Force wasn't present and her body didn't seem to be decaying. It had been quite some time since the two had met and she was wanting to know what had happened. "You look well, daughter," she said softly. "Words of your deeds have been spoken from many, including the Dark Lord himself, and it brings me pride to hear them."

Qaela Sig

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Beneath the T-Visor he wore, Bralor returned the smirk. It had been a long time since he felt the nerves of battle churn his stomach into pits. No. The only thing that sat upon his mind was that of blood, and it's memories. And yet, with the sound of a voice, another memory cross his mind. Delta Dubrillion. So long ago and yet so fresh in his mind he could remember the defenses he helped build as the salty breeze swept across his original neo-crusader armor. The clone he aided and befriended. Days before the wars. Days before reality.

 

"The Clone?" He questioned the corporal as his blind face shifted toward him in disbelief. "If you speak of the Clone, Delta-73, then yes I knew him. A long time ago, when we both were welps. But I thought he was still over the Black Sun."

 

The news was news to him. To hear that name after so long, to feel the sting of such comradely, he felt the pit of his stomach churn in ways he hadn't felt in decades. Captain Delta? It was almost too good to be true, and yet, he felt its truth like a knife. So the man he once called comrade and brother was no longer with the Black Sun and a superior nonetheless? "Interesting."

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Formally Known as Hunter Of Shadows/Dark

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Tros gave a nod and turned without much of a word, and Kot'dral also understood the movement and quickly followed Tros out of the main hall. Almost as soon as the two got into the main hall, Tros fired up his comlink. "Priority Four-Three-Omega, WarHorse home. Eyes only. ::Vulios, rally the House to be prepared, we ride to war soon. Setup a link to begin communication.::" After finishing, Kot'dral spoke. "What sort of forces do you think this Sith will provide us with? He showed a lot that's for sure." Giving another nod, he turned his body slightly and moved the two into a small side room that was unoccupied in the main hall. Upon entry, the leader of House Solus took off his buy'ce and looked directly into Kot'dral's eyes as he also took off his own buy'ce in response to Tros. 

 

"He wants to test us in battle. Our House is far too small to compete in the sense going toe to toe with many of the their own competitors. He wants to see our skills. I'm no fleet commander, never have been. Atin and Vulios are the only two who have served in that capacity." Tros looked away for a second and some of the moving staff within the main Sith Palace before turning back to Kot'dral. "My working plan is this, Clan Vuuku will help the fleet control. Clans Ardell and Larkin will take to the ground forces that are given to us. Between you and me we have enough experience to lead armies. Kami is the only unknown at this point. She's always been a sniper for the majority of bounty hunting career. And our outing on Tatooine also didn't show us much outside of her having strong support skills and damn good flying skill. We'll play it out upon the first battle thrown at us to see what sort of damage she can really do."

 

As he finished, he put his buy'ce back on, followed by Kot'dral. Without much of a word, the two stepped back out int he main hall and walked outside of the doors of the Sith Palace. "One way or another, House Solus is about to make a name for itself." All Tros could do in response was to nod his head. The two walked back to the main city where they would find there own lodging for the time being until such a time presented itself.

Edited by saberforce

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Mishuk gotal'u meshuroke, pako kyore.

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N Y R Y S

 

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Tower of Mirrors

 

 

 

 

Patrons of Iziz swarmed the halls in droves throughout the day, stirring conversations rooted in schemes of coin and bureaucratic jousting. Appointed noblemen and noblewoman of the aristocratic congregation handled all affairs as swiftly as their tongues were taught, easing the administrative burden pinned upon the higher echelons of the Sith Empire. High profiles of domestic military bulwarked the social spaces from which the guests traded in conversation, keeping every citizen and non-citizen barred from the seated position of the bipartite Emperor-King. This was common practice, for the crowds of the ordinary to behold absolute power with their eyes alone, and to understand the extreme level of threat that would forever exist in their worlds. Ignorance was what their herds were made of, shameless sniveling and complacency, Exodus could read their thoughts by the very proximity. Their fear, their virtuous spectacles, and their presences reeked of desperation. In them however, stood but a few lions that staked their claim and moved of their own accord. Such individuals were watched by the silent collective of black robed Sith that also lined the interior of the halls, cataloguing any who held promise, in order to vet them for a far more serious commitment later. 

 

The halls would eventually empty themselves as loud sirens indicative of war and preparation wailed throughout the coming of sundown. Imperial Guardsmen wasted no time bringing an end to the audiences and clearing the tower of yet another stretched-out communal. The mighty walls to the rear of the throne began to pull apart slow somehow, hardened slab majestically separating, allowing the falling rays of the star above to pour into the chambers. Bittersweet amber-light burned through the passages, revealing how stark this place truly was. Exodus had no sooner moved from the seat of Onderonion rule and ascended the small flight of stairs to gaze out at the panoramic flush of jungle that surrounded the brilliant tower. All-black plainclothes adorned the Imperial Power, long sweeping robes across a shale bedrock. Sitting cross-legged, the body of the King began to lift from the ground as he entered into a deep meditation. It was easy to say that he had become obsessive now, a dream-state system of reflection that allowed him to travel to and from the Shadows.

 

 

He called out from there redoubled in voice,

summoning her name as the sound of it traveled through the cracks of reality,

 

"Ailbasí Zirtani, do you keep from me?"

 

 

 

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Like spiders crawling over naked flesh, Darth Nyrys felt the will of her sable king spread across her.

 

Never my lord, I simply had chains that needed breaking. I am at your disposal as always.

 

The Dark Lord's message contained an implicit command, a summons for his bloodsoaked warrior. She was no longer the overwhelmed young girl or the sensual monster that she had been in the past when she had met him. There was still a fire in her eyes, but it was guided by cold wisdom and experience, by a need to exist beyond the moment. Despite having cut more of herself away, she somehow felt closer to being complete, more of who she was meant to be.

 

Delta's troops had been deployed again, such was the nature of love in times of war, a cycle of not long enough and too long. She would attend to the Dark Lord alone. Darth Nyrys finally understood that she alone was enough. She took a shuttle back to Iziz, but did not have it land at the tower, instead she chose to walk among the city's populace. In the middle and upper class areas, the people were consumed by their own internal struggles and ambitions. Surely any normal person would be revealed to be rather lunatic if there thoughts were laid bare and the things they dwelt upon made known. Their minds were full of inane distractions and strange meanderings. In the abandoned and neglected places she found something more pure.

 

There were still people that in a city of every convenience and necessity made available still struggled and fought for survival. Against the system, against each other, against their own flaws. Success could be its own poison, a bitter numbing agent, and failure a catalyst for growth. If not for her own loss at Corellia she would have continued to struggle against old misconceptions. Many had internalized the strife and suffering of their lot in life, but there were some that believed something more was within their grasp. She sought out those individuals and with the darkness that she held in her breast, she lit a flame in their hearts. In the bones of an abandoned factory she gathered them and consecrated her first church in pledge and song. They would be her Forlorn Saints, broken people that somehow still held potential like she had when the Sith had found her. Purpose would make them whole in time.

 

With the ebon sacrament completed, she headed towards the dark tower of her master to learn of his bidding.

 

((Art by Adrian Półtorak))

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Seeing her mother brought more joy to her heart than Telperien had thought possible. It had been a long time sure, but they had never had the typical holonet mother daughter relationship. It had been a contest of power, since her conception. Or at least that is what Telperien had thought. Now it felt different. There was love there, even if she had not been able to perceive it before. But Telperien had been through a lot, and many bodies indeed since she had last seen Qaela, and this was one that she had learned from some past occupant. 

 

“I hope you are well, mother.” 

 

She managed that brief sentence before slipping into a smile and giving her mother a firm hug. 

 

“I have missed you. But I hear we may be venturing together with the Spider to finally end this rebellion, is this true?” 

 

And now fate was sending them on a mission together with the Dark Lord. What joy. 

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Visitation

 

 

The colors of the world stretched backwards, peeling away with a swallowing haste from any and everything until the landscape was covered in shifting black and grey. Rolling distortions of natural pigmentation and sound shuddered away as the reality of the tower transformed eerily into a monochromatic vortex of quicksand. All suggestions of life and hope drained from around the Emperor as he remained suspended just a few feet from the paving stone below. Through his mind's eye, he was there weathering the storm. Anyone watching him in physical form however, would simply see a man floating above the floors, diametrically absorbed in meditation. 

 

Deep reflection was his immersion. As his spiritual form reached into the horrid abyss, the madness of his mind distracted him from such a beautifully rare metamorphosis. Eyes closed, he retraced a long forgotten childhood rooted in solitude, a wide berth of contract killings to sheath him from the cold winters, and the emotional traumas that always pretended to fall like rain from his impenetrable skin. A short journey through his mysterious past. The ecosystem of a creature such as he, was mired in a misery that would years later evolve into an understanding of what was before him, and the rules that were laid bare for living a life worth something. Had the jungles of Anzat numbed him to the empathy that most held onto as a part of their humanity, or was the son of a once great man born unhinged. Exodus opened his eyes for the first time, searching for the answers to his thoughts in the darkness, eyes straining to measure out anything familiar. 

 

"That was quick," just as the words left his mouth, he understood something was off. He had summoned Nyrys, but crawling from the newly divided space in the wall where the sun once shone, was nothing like he had remembered in her. Blinking deeply, the Emperor attempted to separate himself from the realm of the spirit to restore a divine sense of clarity, it did not come. 

 

 

"Rehhhhleeeeeeeeassssssssss."

The strange sound came out crude and carried with it a desperate and agonizing tune. 

 

"RELEASE ME!" The voice shook the room, echoing loud enough to provoke a flight response in any who could hear it. Grueling, angry, demanding as if it were a thing long-awaited for. Exodus smiled sadistically, nearly at odds with himself for why the sudden rush of adrenaline excited him so. It crawled closer, the Emperor now making out the small frame of the creature. A fragile frame, accentuated by off-putting features, dragging itself forward by the strength of her arms. Two sharp horns that were molded as an extension of her chin, hardened white bone jerking uncomfortably from the hard points of it's body, eyes as red as magma. 

 

"If I must." 

 

The King reached for his blade, fingers fiddling with the deep rivets in the hilt. Slowly, he retrieved the steel from it’s talismanic sleeve, dragging the metal nostalgically against the treated hide. The sound of it was always music to his ears. Dangerously however, he noticed as he pulled the ancient warblade from it's scabbard, ectoplasmic wisps of white began to rise from the floor. More than a handful immediately, and at an alarming rate, wraiths drew up from the world beneath. Angular, rawboned faces with pale and punctured skin. They were pulling themselves up from a hell that the assassin had sent them to weigh out the rest of their miserable lives.

 

The Dark Lord planted himself into stance, preparing to dance with the dead. Ominous white noise began to fill the atmosphere, a melodic backdrop as the whimpering of spirits played duets with the echoing hall. Exodus counted seven and rising, while the small creature continued to close distance, revealing a poorly stitched mouth and a bridged nose with no nostrils. For the quickest of moments, he caught her tongue slide from her imprisoned lips, and extend with incredible volume. 

 

"I have seen worst than what you present me, Demon," Exodus denounced arrogantly, now hearing footsteps behind him that were never there before. Laughing filled his ears as if one blew breath into them suddenly, feeling the air inside each of them. The Emperor spun cuttingly to face his challenge, blinking against the poor contrast of neutrals, only to find himself staring at the entrance to his chambers. Alone, color returning to his vision, and still poised in levitation above the floors. An Anzati lacked biorhythm, but his chest plumed with adrenaline as reality returned in a rushing tide. Lady Nyrys entered slow. Small frame, skin reddened but nothing like the creature he had just seen. Ailbasí had changed since last he saw her, but he knew who it was that had just entered. Exodus raised a forearm to brush the sweat from his head, exhaling a long-winded sigh, blade still sheathed tightly somehow. 

 

"You'll have to excuse me. It has been a long day. How have you kept, my champion?"
 

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Qaela embraced her daughter warmly, not caring about any who saw. There had been times for harsh lessons, but those times had passed and her only surviving child had managed to pass through the crucible and emerge as refined steel. She had never experienced warmth from her own mother and had not been wise enough to show any when Telperien was younger, but now she would.

 

"We may indeed be campaigning with the Emperor," she said when the embrace was finished, "but we haven't yet been summoned. Let us go and find something to drink and discuss where our fates have taken us prior to meeting."

 

There were places within the palace where the thousands of beings working and visiting it were able to acquire food and drink, and the funds that she had stored up ensured they ate the best. Food was never something that Qaela had found dear, especially growing up among the fairly primitive Nightsisters. She had managed to find an appreciation for it in her later years and was glad to enjoy something other than the sailor's fare onboard a warship on campaign. Being among the masters of the Sith had some small perks, and while she wouldn't indulge in the pointlessly wasteful games some sought, eating and drinking well would harm none.

 

They talked, catching up on the trails of death and carnage they had both trod. There were victories and defeats, exhilaration and suffering as well. Ultimately, both had risen and now found their fates tied to the Empire and the Dark Lord itself. Qaela was cautious in approving when Telperien told of rallying the surviving Nightsisters and binding them to her, but she would not judge her daughter. Gambles had to be made, and if they could be kept in line, it was an useful force to her own rise. Walking the halls of the great Sith Academy wasn't much safer, but Qaela had managed that and survived with a small following of her own. It was that following that would form the core of her new mission, one given by the Spider himself and of critical import to the survival of the Sith Order.

 

"Be cautious how high you try to climb," she cautioned. "There is always room to rise, but there is more room to fall. Rise too quickly and you will find the foundation beneath your feet easy to topple from the many hostile eyes you draw upon yourself. Operate instead in the shadows, appearing humble to all, and allowing those eyes to pass over you towards those who are more open with their ambition. By the time your enemies know you as a threat, it will be too late to stop you. Regardless to what happens, you will always find an ally in me and any who serve me. Never forget that."

Qaela Sig

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Tros sat in a booth of a cantina in the main city along with Kot'dral. Both had thier buy'ces off and sitting next to them while they ate and drank. Tros kept his eyes moving on the crowd for a moment as he held onto a tankard of spiced caf, while Kot'dral ate some sort of stew. Looking at his tactical pad on his right vambrace to see if Vulios had any update for them yet. "This is the worst bowl of Galla stew I've ever eaten." The comment broke the awkwardness of Tros just looking around and waiting. He looked down at the bowl after looking at Kot'dral and could only shrug his shoulders. "It's no Tiingilar, that's for sure. But I wouldn't trust anyone who isn't of our kind to prepare it. I told you to order the Hot Gizka sandwich." Kot'dral locked eyes with him. "Qat is a very hot planet. We knew that going there. All sorts of equipment is going to be needed to keep comms up and running, along with everything else that an outpost would require. Give it time Alor."

 

He slowly nodded his head and took a drink of his spiced caf. A million different thoughts raced through his own mind suddenly, almost as if he had his memory wiped and suddenly restored. Thoughts of Riella and Caen flooded his mind, along with his time serving alongside so many. He looked up the man across from him. His dark jet black hair and piercing brown eyes locked upon him doing so. "I never was good at being a leader. I've always been known as that lone wolf. Bounty Hunting, posing as leaders, assassinations... I think it's why Terra and Fett wanted me in their circles so early on. I was good at things like that. But leading..." A slightly eyebrow raise and tilt of his head, followed by taking a drink from his tankard. Kot'dral leaned back in his chair. "But you've always understood what the pack needs. Even lone wolfs have a pack that they return to, and you've always had a bead on what the pack needs. Sometimes you do need to hunt alone. But now, you need to rally others to the fight."

 

There was a long pause between both men. "And you are doing what's right by us. House Solus will be strong. Others are seeing that now and joining." Tros looked slightly off to his right for a second, just to break eye contact so that he could process everything. He was always that way, unless it was required of him to make a decision immediately, he always processed things. Luck however seemed to be playing into his hands. His tactical display lit up with a text display from Vulios. He turned his full attention to it and read it before looking up at Kot'dral again. "And with this, we have a need to go see the Sith Emperor..."

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Mishuk gotal'u meshuroke, pako kyore.

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"I faced some manner of Jedi abomination on Correllia, and its strange sorceries brought me low. The defeat brought with it questions and doubts, and demons whispered in my ear that the only way to truly defeat the Jedi was to fully embrace the darkness through the absolute sacrifice of the self, but I will not become just another mask. I am Sith to live untethered, and I will not discard my goals at the goading of fear and doubt. I feel it though, in my blood, in the tension found in the words of my brothers and sisters, in the restlessness amongst the people. Something stirs in the Dark, my king, and it is growing hungry. Perhaps it is a momentum to be seized, but I am a warrior, and it is my nature to look at the full arc of where momentum will take the blade. Furthermore, I am a student of history and its cycles, and I wonder if the Darkness is posturing for another culling of its ranks.

 

We have seen many times in records and lore eras defined by the Darkness reaching a critical mass, and collapsing in upon itself. The Jedi claim it to be the instability of our order, but I wonder if it serves a more profound purpose. When we are most abundant and profligate, obese with success and stature, does the Darkness remember fondly the days when it was a lean killer? After a great deal of reflection, I have realized that there are grand things that I desire to achieve, but they are more valuable to my growth as destinations on the horizon than as notches on my blade. I am a wanderer with a sword, I am headed nowhere in specific except where I have not been. I find the idea of ultimate victory distasteful, as such a state would promise no other resolution than decay and entropy."

 

Darth Nyrys drew her blade as she took the knee before her king and the guards reacted as one would expect, after all, the Sith transferred the title of Dark Lord through that most sacred of trials. But the warrior's gesture of fealty was genuine, Exodus was still her king. He was not the charismatic statesman that she had seen at Dark Sun Station, he was... haunted, but she still recognized him as the best and most capable amongst the pack.

 

"I do sincerely hope that you require me to kill your enemies on some distant shore that I have not yet been. My blade is sharpened on the rocks of civilization and adversity, and I have no desire for it to become dull."

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Tros confidently walked through the main Sith Palace doors with Kot'dral by his side. Upon entry, a guard stopped them inquiring to the nature of the sudden appearance of the two Mandalorians. "I have a word for your Emperor. Tell him Tros Ardell of House Solus wishes to discuss something with him." The guard appeared to hesitate for a single moment before deciding to either humor him or felt that it was better to disturb the Sith Emperor anyways. As he walked away for a moment, Kot'dral leaned in to whisper to Tros. "Do you think this move is the right one?" Tilting his head, the older of the two made his own stance somewhat clear. "Yes. The ability to take a foothold for us also gives the Sith Empire a foothold in a location that they otherwise might not have held. I'm almost certain this will be well received."

 

There was a slight hesitation within his own mind, even though he was able to voice the words with confidence. The target planet was indeed something useful for them, but he still wasn't sure how well received it would be for the Sith Empire, as he still did not know the full goal of them yet to hold the confidence within his own mind. Until they had their meeting with Exodus, he would continue to have the doubt. 

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“I have always longed for legacy, we both have seen how short a command over galactic events Father had.” She spoke of Ar-Pharazon, once Sith Master and domestic terrorist. “No one even speaks his name though his exploits are but a decade past. As if everything he did were but grains of sand on Tatooine. Lost forever.” She shook her head, the small crystals interwoven with her braids glimmering in the harsh light of the eatery. “So how does one achieve Legacy? Am I his legacy? Though he never did a thing to raise me, so in that regard you have achieved far more than he ever did. In this harsh galaxy I do not think pure terror or power hold much weight.” She shook her head again considering her own stated questions. 

 

‘I have not lusted for power, or for influence, though their addiction interlaces everything around the Dark Lord. What is the goal? What is there once the galaxy is subdued? Another fight for power among his vassals? Do we eat ourselves like every generation of Sith past?”

 

She sighed and placed both of her strong hands around the warm mug of alcoholic cider. “So we must each focus on what we want in the end I guess. I want a legacy and I want our people to thrive again. What are your goals mother?” 

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Haunted

 


He aged differently than most creatures, attributable to an incredible life-span that was relatively uncharted in common conversations. For that, the King had easily imprinted a look of unparalleled magnetism whenever seen amongst the general public, which went double for the smaller and more sinister of his circles. Charismatic flair remained as his physical undertone whether he hunted the night-skies, butchering through his enemies while their blood painted his skin, or negotiated the fall of worlds with barbaric aggression in closed council. Something had changed, it was true. There were dark creases beneath his eyes now, the focus of them lost on some distant plane, weariness and exhaustion creeping along the finer details of his features. Complexioned skin began to turn for a paler tone, still wet with the kiss of the sun, but fading as if dried too quickly. Natural imperial elegance drained from him slowly, repossessed with a strange hypnotic lure of something displaced and almost feral. The dance of dualities between Emperor of Civilizations and King of the Sith had quietly taken a new swing, and it was the Wild King that now took lead, setting his long gaze ahead. 

 

Exodus could graphically imagine what she spoke of, the immediate actions of everything she said, re-animating frame by frame inside of his mind as if he were a simple spider on the wall to the whole experience. Her fall, the tensions, the stirring, and even the posturing of what was to come. Examples of these forecasts and transgressions ran like fast-forwarded screenplay, eroding the reality before him. He drew a deep breath and digested her oration, closing his eyes to find focus.

 

A light footfall somewhere on the marble floor
rustle of starched garment in the hallway,

"...focus."

 

Ailbasí Zirtani held an extraordinary sense of wisdom that reached higher than most, whether her competitive peers realized this or not, and it afforded her a significant edge in the challenges that were to come. This was not simply rooted in her educational studies of history and the cycles that befell such things, but the innate experiences that continued to draw demand of her mind and her soul, and drew her to become one of the most vicious the Sith had ever seen. Viciousness was not what Exodus saw before him, but the creatures that saw her work, spoke of such displays. Was she as certain of her present state, as her words swore she was? Her realizations in the now, would undoubtedly change again, just as they had when he had last seen her, walking in the flesh of another. A wanderer. As Lady Nyrys fell to one knee, expressing the strength of her allegiance, Exodus signaled off the sentinels with a subtle touch of the mind. Calming, but imperiously demanding. 

 

 

Exodus stepped forward, and for the first time, placed his hand upon the flesh of Ailbasí Zirtani,

sweeping his hand over her forehead and through her hair.

And then he held it there.

 

A light footfall somewhere on the marble floor
rustle of starched garment in the hallway,

Now she could hear it, the same way he heard it just moments ago.

 

rank odor of chamberpots, strong incenses,

dim light and whispers of low voices–

 haggard spirits were weeping outside this room,

long-deceased fallen gathering in around them,

slowly from out of the shadows.

Passing them, leering greedy and hateful faces–

 

"Suffering here is unmistakable Champion, pain and isolation,

the smell of blood, decaying wound and flesh,

lingering in the air is their wastes, unashamed.

 

You are right Ailbasí, 

darkness stirs, loudly, dangerously,

especially in the places we cannot see–"

 

Through him, she could see them as if they walked amongst them.

The dead, the wraiths, the weeping spirits; they were all reaching out, wanting.

Unsure if this was a reality, or an impression from the mind of a delusional assassin.

 

–perhaps it will wake you some future night,

vomit you from a deep sleep with sudden start,

thinking to hear and see nothing

nothing but the usual silence that fills your room,

instead, with a door only half-closed–

the faces of the many we've butchered, empty of all expression,
uncomprehending– stopping to shuffle their angered gazes in,

scratching against the marble, looking to find us at long last,
the wretched lonely gaze of the dying–

 

 

understand that when you come to that shore,

be ready and with your blade sharpened."

 

Exodus removed his hand and lifted his chest proudly, stark reality flooding back to natural senses.

He drew his most prized possession, his lightsaber Transcendence, and placed it at her feet for her safekeeping.

He would not say it, but this meant the future of what he had built, was entrusted to her if he was no more.

 

"Arise, Darth Nyrys,

 A Master of the Sith."

 

 

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𝖆 𝖕𝖚𝖗𝖕𝖔𝖘𝖊, 𝖆 𝖒𝖎𝖘𝖘𝖎𝖔𝖓

 

 

Qaela was pleased with how her daughter perceived and questioned the Galaxy. Most Sith cared only for power and might, but there were some that wanted something else. It was exactly the sort of thinking that the Sith Order needed and one she was searching out.

 

"Ar-Pharazon wanted only to satisfy his own urges," Qaela replied. "He was an useful means for me which is how the Galaxy got you, and I regret nothing of that. He was merely a genetic donor, nothing more. His legacy is nothing but terror, waste, and pointless carnage as is the legacy of most Sith.

 

"I serve the Dark Lord because he is not those things. You asked for a purpose, for what our legacy could be, and I can only answer for myself. The Dark Lord seeks power not for its own purpose, but for a purpose higher than that. I can't pretend to know all of his plans, but he doesn't exult in pointless carnage. He seeks to bring strength and order into a chaotic and weak Galaxy. He wants to bend it to the Dark Side which is laudable, but not the only goal of his, I believe.

 

"If I had a choice, my legacy would be turning the Sith Order away from its self destructive path and into an unified, cohesive purpose whose members serve themselves, but more importantly, serve the greater good of the Sith. The Galaxy needs the strong to prey on the weak in order to cull out that weakness that would otherwise infect the whole. By overly protecting the inferior and weak, we bring all of us down instead of making ourselves stronger. That doesn't mean we slaughter everything, for in nature, there is a Balance placed on the predators lest there be no more prey left and all turn to ruin. Even fire has its place in nature to clear out the overgrowth, but if it is not tempered, it would consume everything and destroy without leaving a remnant.

 

"The Emperor has given me a task and it is one that I am more than happy to accomplish. I am to gather like minded individuals who wish to see the Order and the Empire thrive as a strong whole rather than grab power for themselves and fracture it. I will take those individuals and purge those who threaten the internal stability of the Empire even while the Emperor purges the external threats. I would cull out the Ar-Pharazons and others like him who sought only power and ensure that the Sith Order understands a proper place within the overall Balance of this Galaxy.

 

"If you wish to join me, I would gladly take you within the ranks and use you to build a place where our people and all others who are strong and worthy are able to survive and thrive without fear of a pointless power fight for dominance."

Qaela Sig

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It was without any hesitation that the guard quickly showed them back. Moving forward into the main hall, Tros strode a bit more confidently through the palace, as he knew the play at hand was needed to move both forward. His boots making the loud thud upon the floor as he moved, matching sounds of Kot'dral next to him. His own beskar'gam was a bit different from Kot'dral's, which was black and red. The white pieces stood out amongst the light, and the new silver of pure beskar vambraces almost made his entire armor feel off and thrown together. But the light in the main palace made the white and silver glare a bit more than usual. "Emperor Exodus, there has been some development in the House of Solus. A scouting team has uncovered a planet that is ripe for the taking. I believe it provides a foothold not only for my House to advance within the sector but also provides your empire with a staging ground for further sector launches in your mighty campaign."

 

Tros decided to make a big play and he removed his buy'ce and put it under his left arm. Only trusted people would ever be able to see a face of anyone considered Alor within the Mandalorian culture. He wanted to make a show to the Sith Emperor that he was a valuable ally to have, even though he felt like it may already be known. "Almas is the target planet. The capital of Forard is practically uninhibited and has been run down enough to be built up into a mighty Mandalorian fortress. It's also far enough away from the old Sith fortress that it could still be used for your purposes." Tros took a quick glance over to Kot'dral only to notice that he also removed his buy'ce to follow his Alor. He felt like they were now standing upon the brink of a mountain edge, waiting to either jump or back down. 

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Mishuk gotal'u meshuroke, pako kyore.

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Blindness bonds one to the abyss, and from it's darkness, learns truth. It seemed an eternity, everlasting and maddening as Shiro gazed upon the souls of the weakened. Saldana, Dunstin, oh how they plagued his dreams, his nightmares, the memories of their death at his hands ever tantalizing to the taste. And yet their resentment, their lack of faith and understanding held a stench that could churn his stomach at mere hint. Oh how he hated them. They could not understand, even fathom, the reason behind his intentions, standing in the shadows like ghouls of a haunting. Despicable. Pathetic. This is why they could never grasp meaning.

 

But force them, he felt he had to. Rather than lay in the shadows, ever present in the fade between realms, they could understand their purpose better if they could live it. They could understand what their sacrifice, their death, played in the overall scheme that was his life. And so he grasped their souls from his visit into the abyss, and from the netherworld, dragged them back to the living, binding them like wraiths to unwanted corpses. Then they could understand. War was for the strong, and through the strong, could peace find itself a truth rather the lie it finds itself. Hayley would be pleased.

 

Shiro's eyes flutter open, his vision blurred by the brightness of the light he saw above him. It stung, sending pain throughout his entire form as his mind came to reality. It hurt to breath, his chest heavy in weight. His exhale was raspy, almost mechanical and he sat up quickly, his body cracking with it's swift movement. It was a nuisance, this subtle and dull pain. But pain brought him power and he reveled in its welcome. And on either side of him stood forms and faces he did not recognized, their voices snarls rather words, and the memories of Cathar came flooding back to him. Saldana, Dunstin, how cruel he was to them. Creatures of instinct, more slave than sentient. He chuckled pleasurably. Now their souls would understand the truth. Let the Darkness reign.

 

His memories shuffled to Hayley, her presence undetectable. Cathar was distant, no more a teacher for his soul than she was. She had moved on, leaving him behind in abandonment, a better teacher for one like he. This suited him better, for Darkness was the truest of disciplines. So the pupil stood, the added weight slightly disorienting him briefly as he adjusted, Saldana and Dunstin staying put as they snarled beneath the blackened veils they adorned. Good. They had began to learn. Splashing water upon his face, he gazed upon his own blackened eyes, red pupils adorning each. So this was the mark of the Abyss, for one to look so deep. And as he pulled aside his collar and saw the armored ribs, realized the price he had paid to pull their souls from within. So be it. It was well worth their agony.

 

But what was this on the horizon? A presence he knew, but had never felt before. It was dark, untethered, wild. This intrigued him. And so he would investigate, grabbing his gear that sat to the side and exiting the infirmary, a new scent upon the currents of the air. And it wasn't the scent of Onderon. He knew it well. No. This scent was familiar, this presence known. And as he wondered the halls of this place, it grew exponentially. Around one corner, down a flight, and through another hall, until finally, it presented its self with another that held a similar presence. He smirked with the irony as he and the two wraiths made their approach. "Ah. The intrusive one." Shiro spoke as he bent the knee, his gaze shifting from @Telperiën Ar-Pharazonto her counterpart. "Mi'lady."

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Tel nodded her head, the small crystals interwoven in her hair  almost changing colour as her eyes were drawn away from her mother’s face to something in the distance. She grimaced, her eyes narrowing as she pushed herself back from the lunch counter. SHe spared another glance to her mother and nodded again.

 

“I will join you for whatever comes, though my place will always be with our people. Not the Sith Lords, our masters.” 

 

She gestured to the shambling man who was rapidly approaching their table. He spoke and knelt and she pushed her chair back before planting her knee firmly and with a great amount of force into his eyesocket. Following it with a direct slap to the side of his face, intending to throw him onto his back. 

 

“So did Haley throw you from her service and you come crawling to me?” 

 

She laughed then, a pure laugh, then extended her hand to the man. 

 

“You are welcome of course. If you wish to learn the way of my people, you are most welcome. Even if you are a man.”

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𝖆𝖓 𝖆𝖒𝖚𝖘𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖘𝖆𝖑𝖚𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

 

Duty to one's clan was respectable. Qaela herself had been merely allied to the Sith for years and it wasn't until Exodus ascended to the throne and showed his vision of the Galaxy that she had fully joined them. Telperien had her own followers, her own goals, and her own loyalties that were towards an honorable goal. Qaela herself had abandoned the Nightsisters and Dathomir, but it was good that someone at least was trying to lead them.

 

Qaela's black eyebrows arched in amusement at her daughter's response to the newcomer. She didn't feel any sort of threat or danger, but she was on the ready to lash out with the Force if needed. Telperien clearly knew this being since she hadn't known her daughter to generally attack strangers unprovoked, though perhaps she had changed in the last few years. Still, she sat back and waited, watching and not engaging unless brought in.

 

 

Qaela Sig

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The balance of the room shifted, changing and contradicting itself in the way that the unknown tended to. The ambiguity and rudderlessness of the state of late stage lordship was replaced with the responsibilities and freedom that came with the rank and prestige of being a Sith master. She had a debt to repay to the Sith Empire for giving her a pathway to this power, but now she had a freer hand in how to repay that debt. She felt an odd sense of weightlessness in her very being, the opportunity to shape the worlds that she touched to her vision, rather than planting the flags of others after each bloody victory.

 

But the Dark Lord also offered her his saber.

 

This was not a part of the ceremony of becoming a master. This was singular. Had Corellia inflicted trauma on the Dark Lord as well? She had heard rumors that he had been grievously wounded during the fighting. Or perhaps he had been visited by some vision of umbral eventualities and shadowy possibilities. If anyone could unravel the puzzle that visions of the future presented, it was him, for the emperor was known for his wisdom and statecraft, his mind as razorsharp as the keenest blade.

 

She took up the blade in trust, she had progressed too far to doubt the Dark Lord’s choice in custodianship. The weapon felt strangely soft, and she realized with a small degree of surprise that it was at least in part alive. She felt its gaze trying to strip her down and judge her measure, but it found no cracks in her armor. It seemed willing to at least tolerate her presence for the moment, but she could feel an unspoken threat in its demeanor that if she was ever found lacking, it would take its wage of flesh from her.

 

Darth Nyrys rose a master, custodian to a legacy that she would fight to be a part of, and took her place at her emperor’s side as his burning blade. The challenges ahead would sharpen her edge and refine her balance as she moved ever closer to breaking her chains. Most importantly though, it was a chance to carve her own name into the annals of history as a hero of the empire and a master of the blade.

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His own erupted form of laughter intertwined with hers as he laid briefly upon his back, the pleasure of her pain tantalizing his receptors of both flesh and machine. He shifted his gaze back to her, the blackened eyes and red irides falling upon for familiar form in a new light as the two wraiths stood by with groaning snarls, almost enjoying watching her place him beneath her. As she helped him to his feet, he wiped away the blood from his brow with a gloved hand and flicked it aside.

 

"You could say that." His voice had changed since they last saw each other, a more depth to it and hints of his rebellious had mellowed. "Lady Awenyyd said she had taught me all that she could, and that I had to find others to teach me further. It's only sheer consequence that you were the first I have crossed."

 

"Whether I be man or woman, I am your's to teach." His grin fell from his face and he bowed his head to his better.

Edited by Oculus

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