Spite Station- the Maw

[Qaela]

So the girl wasn't yet corrupted. Qaela was not as surprised as she should have been. Many of those who were forced into a year long exile were picked up by the Nightsisters and "eased" into the darkness. Those who didn't join were eventually killed. This girl had better be extremely careful or she too would be killed or worse, "persuaded" in a way that was so brutal that even Qaela wouldn't inflict it upon her enemies. She had seen things while in the Sith Temple that had shocked her with their senseless barbarism. She had no qualms with torture, but she believed it should have a purpose. The Sith just tortured for the sake of it. She knew, she had experienced it firsthand and that was by but a barely skilled acolyte.

 

Qaela looked away when Raia called her "matron." She was hardly as such for the Nightsisters didn't have a singular strong leader at this point. They were but a mixture of mostly equal Sisters who constantly strove to get one bit higher than her opponents. While she personally had more Force potential than any of them, there were several who knew more spells and had more experience. Having been gone for so long and only recently replacing her mother, she didn't have nearly the support needed to challenge the others and rise through the ranks. Not yet, at least. In time, she would, especially if Furion was true to his word.

 

"I was the one who caused some of that mess, but I was hardly alone," she replied softly. "You are wrong about my status, though. There is no matron of the Nightsisters and there hasn't been for some time. Unlike Witch clans, we are too separated and nomadic for a singular leader. I am not even of great importance among the Nightsisters as was evidenced by how you were thrown in with me. Sending me with an unproven witch who was not even a Nightsister is a slap in the face. I do not mind, though, because I can see beyond the narrow world the other Sisters have built for themselves. I am more than willing to accept and offer help to those who don't stick a weapon into my back."

 

She sighed, pushed her plate away from her, and leaned back in her chair. Her appetite was gone now. "You are right about one thing, Raia. Matala did send you with me to die. She knows from my very reports how brutal the Sith are and how they view us with disdain and even animosity. My mother trained me for fourteen years, nearly nineteen Galactic Standard years, to go out among the Sith and see if an alliance could be made. When I was of age, I did so and managed to catch the eye of the Dark Lord himself. Not this one, but the one four or five Dark Lords back. Take careful note of that number because this was only a year and a half ago. The Sith have undergone numerous changes in leadership in a very short time. It is their nature to constantly betray each other in a pointless attempt to claw their way to the top. There is nothing wrong with ambition and even some treachery, but when it weakens you by seeing many of your number slaughtered in pointless power struggles against each other, it becomes a problem.

 

"Make no mistake, Raia, you are in danger whenever you are among Sith. My first negative encounter with them came when I was new to them. I angered one of their acolytes and in turn, he ambushed me, disabled me, raped me, then beat me near to death. After recovering from that incident, I encountered an overly arrogant male Sith master who decided that I wasn't humble enough because I didn't bow at his feet. Beat me senseless and broke many bones. Later, when I was helping another group of Sith by leading them straight to the Jedi's leader, one of them betrayed me and tried to kill me. He was a fool because I had just helped him and his kind find and kill the leader of their greatest enemy. Instead of following logic, he allowed his disdain for our kind to guide him to betrayal. Only the intervention of the others saved me. I was betrayed yet again by the Sith for little reason than being a Nightsister when one of their masters placed a bounty on my head. That brought a Sith bounty hunter that cost me a kidney and nearly took my children. I was lied to by the sire of my children for his own carnal desires and cast aside as a mere slave would be.

 

"I have seen Sith torn apart and dead within the halls of their own Temple, all from treachery by their fellow Sith. They are a brutal lot with no sense of loyalty, clan, or respect for anything but themselves. Yes, Matala sent you to die. I undertook this task because I have little to lose and much to gain, but you have not lost everything yet. I would send you back to Dathomir to live, but that is not possible. Here you are, and you have but one person here who knows of your heritage and cares a lick about you. Unlike the Sith, I do not turn upon my allies or my clan. You might not be a Nightsister, but you are Dathomiri. Until you do something to betray me, you have nothing to fear from me.

 

"I have been among the Sith or their kind for a year and a half now. The Sith helped me in some ways to cast spells using my emotions to give me strength. I learned how to use the Force as a Sith does and blended that with my own knowledge of how to cast Dathomiri spells. The Sith use their emotions rather than rituals and words for their spells. It gives them strength and speed, but at a terrible cost. Their emotions run wild and, if they are not extremely careful, can take control of them. That is why I was so feared by the other Nightsisters from the battle. During it, when that group of Nightsisters encountered warriors from one of the powerful organizations in this Galaxy, a fierce battle broke out. I was fighting against the Nightsisters under my treacherous mother. The battle got out of hand and I was fighting my mother in a fierce duel. During that encounter, I began to lose control of my emotions and they took control. She was slain by a random blaster shot and I went bezerk. In my rage, I slew ally and foe alike." She swallowed hard as the foggy, vague memories of those horrible minutes bubbled up once more. "In the end, I burned out and collapsed. When I came to, I was the only one left on the field, the rest had fled my wrath and each other. I had also slain my beloved, the one who was to be my mate, the male who had saved my life many times and given me much in this Galaxy." She looked at Raia with eyes haunted by loss and anguish. "Beware the call to use your emotions to fuel your use of the Force, young Raia. It may give you great strength for a time, but it is not worth the cost.

 

"Better to stay with the slower, more controlled Dathomiri ways than to be destroyed. Keep control of your mind and your emotions and you will be able to control the battlefield. Use your emotions rather than letting them use you. There is no harm in learning some of the things Sith teach, but be wary of fully embracing the ethos of raw emotional power that so many of them embrace.

 

"If you desire, I could teach you how to cast spells and provide plenty of challenge to keep you occupied without exposing you to the dangers that come with working directly with the Sith. It is up to you as I will not have an unwilling apprentice."

[Nishant]

Again, that voice. Again, that spike in his pulse, the joyous rush, the eagerness, the earnest desire to grow. It was as if all of them were a great forest and he was so far down, a sapling, a yearling, but was growing in spurts, was gazing upwards at the sunlight with a relish and a want that bordered on obsession. Power, not for power's sake, but purifying. There was no end goal. There was no way he knew of now, to measure his power, except in contest with all these other Sith. Yet, for him, this still was not the point. There would come a moment, he knew, he felt, somewhere down this path he was so readily walking, when he would be able to reside in stillness and say simply, "I am powerful."

 

The day his power matched the breadth of his will, that would be when he could say such a thing.

 

In the present, Nishant was surprised by Lucifer. Firstly, he enjoyed the mention of a Sith name. He had been wondering about the one Ar-Pharazon had given him, and had decided previously to stop regarding himself as such, for a variety of reasons mostly linked to his desire to forge his own over time and the absence of the master who had so rapidly bestowed it upon him. But he was curious, and cast a sharp smile Emily's way, wondering what she would choose for herself. Would he have to call her by this name? Or would he still be Nishant, she Emily? He was surprised by how such a seemingly small thought disturbed him.

 

He was drawn out of his incessant thoughts by Lucifer's reply to his question, and now connected the dots as to their previous encounter. He was returned to being wary, however, when Lucifer spoke knowingly about his former status as a Jedi. Though he had only been a Padawan, he had not considered that there may be some amongst the Sith here that would not look kindly on him. If they were all as apparently zealous, or more so, in their belief of Sith superiority as Lucifer was, some of them may not be willing, like this Lord, to look at him and see the benefit of his choice to join the Sith. Some of them might see him as inferior. He became intensely aware of the knife thrust through the backside of his belt, but when Lucifer turned to go Nishant let the feeling fade with him.

 

He turned to Emily, sighed in a small fashion, grinned, and said, "At this rate, I'm not sure there'll ever be enough free time to talk as I'd like to with you." He began to follow Lucifer, tossing back a soft, perhaps slightly teasing, "Shall we?" and then making his way to the ballroom, where he, like the others, took in the sight of the place with a receptive appreciation that was kept from being awe only by the consistency of Nishant's general disregard for architecture.

[Exodus]

The fastidious creatures that manoeuvred the Arachnid mumbled words of frustration as their thirst for know-how soared in view of this station. The access procedures and networks of coded parameter was a necessary nuisance, but none of which Exodus would take part in. He watched, as he always did, and scrutinized the cosmos with eyes unspoken, with a vision unnervingly written beneath his very skin. This was him; this was what he was known as, a man so corroded in silence but so filled with unbridled emotion that men without the strength to understand him would undoubtedly have fractured minds at the attempt to.

 

The loud resonance as boot would clash metal was absent when the hooded Sith placed first foot upon the now known Spite Station. His admission was a thorough process, but to have been concealed to all worlds for such a count of time, none would expect his presence in these halls. There was no halt however, and there would be none as his very breath exhumed his poisonous power in heaves just to leave those with inquisitive minds to wonder. There were glints from the silver pinned around his forearms that blinked from beneath his dark fluttering robes, silver so translucently crafted with sinister embroidery. The procured armoured chassis from many years back was still freshly adorned on ageless skin. He marched forward unnoticed but certainly felt in view of the fact that there was no mind about masking his existence any longer.

 

Exodus moved into what must’ve felt like the final separation from him and his destination. Blooded tiles sprinkled with the blackest of stones was what he made stride on, tiles that conducted a musical of brilliant color for those appreciative of the finer things to smile devilishly too. Oh, and so he did. Exodus carved the cleanest smile beneath black hood as he passed the feverishly flickering torches that lined the sturdy walls. As the end of the hall approached and the ballroom now in naked vision with the masses collected all about, Exodus shed the hood from his bright and unsullied visage while his hair fell recklessly around his shoulders. Extraordinarily savage eyes searched and unearthed the quality of every man and woman before him in but one swipe.

 

“.. At long last.”

[Keenava Dira]

Lallu let the emotional euphoria of a single act fill her with every sweep of her legs. She pulled herself up with the force of her own muscles and swept into a series of extravagant bodily movements around the Ballroom. Her hands flew into the air with a twirl and took her entire body into a spin. The world around her meshed into a hundred different colors and pooled into a single blurred existence. The tips of her fingers began to tingle and her head swam, but she kept propelling herself into spin after spin, again and again. The vertigo wasn't important. The room wasn't important. That moment, underneath the crystal chandelier and dancing in a field of stars, filled Lallu with a potent joy that she hadn't felt in ages. It may have been ignorance, but Lallu was absent of logic. She had spent so much time worrying, so much time putting on masks and suffering for her own inexperience, that she loved the exhilaration.

 

She felt the beat of her heart fall in sync with the rhythm of her feet and she became one musical entity. The rise and fall of each movement took her in a whirl and before she knew it, the dance changed. The step fell into s different pattern and the silent music that filled Lallu’s heart pulled her onwards, as if on the strings of a marionette.

Pulse…

 

Lallu’s dance was interrupted by his presence.

 

Her thoughts were the fluttering inconsistencies in the floor pattern and for a moment, her heart split. The indecision she felt hours after that eternity on Coruscant flooded back. The burning sensation in her lips didn’t die and the confusion in her refused to die. She could see his luminescent amber eyes staring deep into her as his passion met hers, but was it real? Does he love me?

 

Hot tears leapt to her face without compulsion. The salted bitterness stung more than her scarred heart, but the contemplation of affection sang with a contemptuous cacophony. She couldn’t contain it. Her stomach was fluid in her body and the hole left by so many hollow partners left her prone on the floor.

 

Hold yourself together Lallu. He’s your master. He doesn’t have to love you…

 

Lallu breathed in the potency of that statement and wept. She held herself up and stared at the crystal chandelier, wanting it desperately to end her misery, but it mocked her from its place on the ceiling. A thing of beauty that was infinitely high above Lallu; always to be cherished, but always out of reach.

What did it mean? Why did he do it?

 

Lallu heaved slowly, her sobs coming in a little slower, but the pain of question still stabbed. The emptiness of confusion and derision spilled to the floor in a metaphoric crimson. They played together in harmony only to pull her apart.

 

Lallu sat in silence, but was brought from the floor of the ballroom with the sound of voices filling the halls. Her spine shot ramrod straight and she immediately got to her feet. She dabbed hopelessly at her eyes to remove the evidence, but when they couldn’t be held back, she settled with turning away from the door and feigning enthusiasm for the artistic pieces on the walls.

 

Hold yourself together...

[Sheog the Mad]

...The full might of The Order, in its maddening display of strength and power, all dressed in such opulent colours. Truly magnificent... Is that cake? Mhmhmh. Oh, it’s muja cake. Blast it, who in the Sith really thinks that is delicious? Well, there goes the cake-stripper idea. Really, healthy food at a Sith celebration? Nobody enjoys that. If that was my cook, he’d be basted in his own gizzards...

The Lord of Gluttony sighed and grabbed a slice of the cake to whet his appetite, for what would hopefully be a grand feast, fit for a crowning of a new Dark Lord of the Sith. At least that was what he hoped. The muja cake fright had undermined his confidence a bit, and set him worrying that the new Dark Lord might be a health nut, at which point he would take his leave of the order. He had no plans to turn in an exercise and nutrition plan, like it was once again the fifth grade.

 

With a small smile of disgust, he passed his uneaten cake to Hayley, who gratefully ate it with great gusto. He eyed her cautiously, concerned that he might be on her future menu. For but a moment, he envisioned her as an Exogorth, chowing down on an Imp Star Deuce. The girl had a high metabolism, and perhaps he had forgotten to feed her in the past few days. He turned to push himself away from the cake-table, but was stopped by the sight of the Greyjoys, his personal dozen Sith Masters (of varying races, as Sheog was an equal opportunity employer) who followed him loyally, gazing enviously at the cake knife he was holding. With yet another sigh, Sheog served up another dozen generous slices of cake and handed them to his men. They stood there awkwardly holding the cake, watching him until he could take it no more.

 

<

 

One, a fatter Rodian fellow, by the name of Rygal, spoke up joyously

 

“Actually, we were waiting for silverware and napkins, but a glass of punch would do nicely.”

 

Sheog shook his head and smiled, gathering up a dozen sets of silverware, along with napkins, and tossed them to his men, along with the punch, albeit much more carefully, as it was held in crystalline glasses, which looked expensive. Once each Greyjoy had his fill, Sheog turned to observe the rest of the ballroom’s occupants, and opened himself up to the full influence of Avarice and Gluttony, and the power of The Force that came with them.

 

His Greyjoys were immediately recognizable, each with their own personality traits and presences within The Force, each more loyal than any of his friends of old. Closing his crimson eyes, Sheog reached out with The Force, and widened his sphere of responsibility, approaching and recognizing the presences about him, of old friends and adversaries, and those that were much newer to him. One in particular was incredibly strong, yet at the same time ancient in its power and fully new to him. The overlarge Hutt’s eyes opened, and settled upon the newest arrival to the party; a tall being, with hair the colour of hay, with tips of chocolate, the very thought of which brought saliva to Sheog’s mouth. This was a Sith that none had seen within The Order for many a year...

 

In his studies within the Library at the now defunct Coruscant temple, before he had slain his master Ason, he had read of the Sith, within the histories. The Tails of the Trinity had him as a leading member, and The Official Cookbook of the Sith had a dish named specifically after him. It was Exodus, the Lord of Transcendence within the Trinity, and former Dark Lord. His masters were some of the most famous of the Order, the great Kakuto Ryu, and Nurgle, but in his own time, the Sith had eclipsed them in memory and fame. If Furion had called the phantom from the transitory mists, then none could ever challenge his right as Dark Lord.

 

The mountain of greed pushed himself through the crowd, angling to end his movement beside the man, but at a comfortable distance, as he knew some Sith preferred personal space. The Hutt Sith pushed himself to match the pace of Exodus, kindly pushing aside several Sith with his ornamental staff before he ran them over. With an insane twinkle in his eye, Sheog spoke in his inside voice, trying to not deafen everyone in the room

 

<>

[Tobias Vos]

Tobias and his beast walked through the hallways. The new cove of safety for the Sith was abuzz with movement. Slaves were coming and going, Acolytes busy with paperwork and other daily tasks. Inhaling, he walked past Emily and Lucifer once again. He would have stopped to chit chat, but someone had called out to have everyone meet in the ballroom. Walking into the room, he had time to concentrate on the new signatures. Lallu, and even Sheog.

 

"The gang is back together." He thought, then laughed a little.

 

He remembered back to when Sheog had joined the Sith order. He had come along ways. Back then, he was full of hatred towards the Hutt, but now... Tobias had grown accepting of the Hutt. That particular one at least. Last time he ran into Sheog, the Hutt helped him attack Lucifer, then left just prior to the duel between Vos and Lucifer. It would be good to see the Hutt once again.

 

Tobias stood in the ballroom where more people piled in. Vos found a spot along the wall to lean against. He was curious as to what the big announcement was. Fingers crossed it wouldn't be long, and he would have work to be done. He hated idle time. Idle time was wasted time. Keeping an eye out for Emily, he waited in the ballroom.

[Emily]

Suddenly it was turning into a party. Emily felt the presence of another Sith lurking nearby, eavesdropping on their conversation but not making his presence known. She inwardly shrugged. His loss.

 

Lucifer and Nishant had met before, and it sounded like under interesting circumstances. Emily listened, interested. She would have replied to Lucifer's question about her Sith name, but was interrupted by Furion's call. It was just as well, for she would not have known what to tell him. No, she hadn't yet taken a Sith name, but now that she was a Lord, that was at the top of her priority list. She would need some time alone to meditate on it, for she knew the Force would have an answer for her if she only sought to ask the question.

 

They all began to move out of the meditation room, and as they did, Nishant spoke to her personally. She smiled in response, a bit sadly. "So it seems," she replied. "Don't worry. There will be time. I'll meet you there."

 

She headed off down a separate route, for if this was going to be a grand announcement, she wanted to look the part. She dashed to her room and dressed in the red gown she had acquired on the space liner. Letting her hair hang loose and graceful around her shoulders and slipping into some rhinestone-studded slippers, she hurried to the ballroom. The use of Force speed and a shortcut brought her there not thirty seconds after Nishant--an impressive feat for a woman wanting to dress herself for a party.

 

The ballroom was inordinately elegant, and Emily was glad she had thought to change. Her workout clothes would have made her feel utterly out of place. It was awkward enough being the only female human in attendance; it was important for her to look her best as a result. Her two-toned eyes sparkled as she took in the place and the Sith the grand room contained. The place was beautiful to her eyes, but even more so to her Force senses. The place reeked with unbridled power, and she was glad she had come.

 

Her head held high, she took a place towards the middle of the room and waited for the ceremony to begin.

[Raia Montar]

Raia nodded in acceptance of the correction concerning Qaela's status among the Nightsisters and returned to eating the fruit.

 

"I didn't think that you wanted me here," she interjected as the other sighed and pushed her plate away.

 

The teen sensed further explanation from the elder Dathomiri, so she crossed her legs and settled back to regard the woman as she continued her answer.

 

As Qaela continued, shocks of fear and panic as the reality of her situation flooded in out of her control. She'd never before experienced such a concept of violence, brutality, and cruelty, but knew from her instincts that Qaela's words were borne of harsh first-hand experience, and could feel her pain even now.

It did little to alleviate the rising level of panic in the young girl, and a queasiness indicated that her own body was beginning to rebel against the idea of her sacrifice.

 

Better to let it out here, and now, rather than in front of the rest later, she thought just before her body started shaking of its own accord. Unbidden tears sprung forth from her eyes and were hastily wiped away. She'd thought she'd accepted the idea of being sent to die, but there was something in her that just refused to give in to her circumstances. These powerfully strong emotions conflicting within her, resulting in the break-down of control now being exhibited.

 

"If they hate us as much as you s-say," she began, attempting to keep her own voice steady, "then wouldn't your protection paint an even larger target on my back?"

 

Her question was in earnest, and her heart was pounding now. She wasn't outright rejecting Qaela's offer to train her, but more trying to process the rapid and dangerous changes her life had brought her.

 

At least Qaela had been the first one to offer her a choice in her own fate since being captured by the Nightsisters. For that much, at least, she'd earned Raia's respect.

[darth shadowlord]

Landing at he new Sith temple, Draken looked around for a moment before he walked to the cargo bay and opened the Force Shielded cage which held the nine Nightsisters that he had as slaves. "Come." Silently they fell into place around him and followed him off the ship. Once in the hanger bay, he secured his ship and took stock of his gear once he knew he had everything, he headed into the temple proper with the nine nightsister slaves around him. As he approached the throne room, he blanked out his presence in the force and slipped into upper levels of the throne room to over look the crowd briefly before he walked down to the throne rooms main level. Many of the sith who were there, he knew quite well and others he knew and that was enough. There was one who was there though who did not desire to be there, she wasn't worthy enough to be among the Sith though at the moment she wasn't at the throne room. So he tracked that stench of her on through the force till he found where she was.

 

Along the way his mind was growing more and more disgusted at what she was doing. Who in the Abyss did she think she was fooling, being in the Sith temple among those who had the right to be called sith. To think that the product of a failed genetic would have the nerve to come among its betters and think that it was one of them was beyond him. Three floors from her room, he unveiled his presence and as he got to her floor blew open the first door with a gesture. The second door he dealt with in a similar manner, and as he rounded the corner to the third door spoke a word and brought a massive ball of caustic material to life from the force and cast it at the door. The acidic material ate through the door in seconds before Draken passed through it. As he reached her quarters he paused for less then a millisecond before annihilating her door with the force and as soon as he spotted her prepared to unleash total hell.

 

""So when did the Sith start letting broodmares into the temple, shouldn't you be with the slaves and the other lesser life forms? Or are you just here looking for another powerful sith you can writhe your way under?" His left hand held a small bouncing ball of violet lightning was was emitting a low squeal that was steadily growing louder as he spoke.

[Exodus]

In the midst of a measured halt, the balance of a colossal creature slithered into plain view. The swelled effervescence of darkness these two shared between such little divide was phenomenal, Exodus could sense it’s power. A somnolent sideway glance studied the beast once-over; an unlevelled thirteen feet or so of absolute might, a staff and the uncommon sagacity to keep sufficient distance. He had seen creatures both larger and half his size and so there was no real impression from sight alone. However, since the Hutt did fiddle with his identity early on, it revealed that the brute before him was no ill-bred fool. Exodus shifted his militant poise to face his dark brethren, one foot before the other while conscientiously memorizing and re-enacting the exact stratagem it would take to execute those that dawdled in-and-out of reach. Interesting.

 

“The honour is mine Hutt. What do these men worship you as? What shall I call you?”

[Raia Montar]

As though summoned by her words the metal of the door started to make a most unnatural sound and then erupted via some unseen force. Raia was already in motion to get behind the counter, as the voice boomed loudly into the room, "So when did the Sith start letting broodmares into the temple, shouldn't you be with the slaves and the other lesser life forms? Or are you just here looking for another powerful sith you can writhe your way under?"

 

The smell of ozone met her nostrils as she drew her knees up under her. Something told her that the comment was directed more at the Nightsister than Raia, but she quietly drew a long knife from the drawer behind the cabinet, out of sight of the intruder.

 

Her heart pounded in her chest, she'd never before seen a display of such power. Her breathing was short, but she managed for force herself to take deeper breaths lest she pass out and be able to make any sort of defense for herself.

 

Still, something odd about his words struck the young girl, and made her realize that Qaela's part of the story had only been of her side. What was it her mother always said about stories?

 

There are three sides - Mine, yours, and the truth.

 

Something told her that she might not make it long enough to hear the other two sides.

[Sheog the Mad]

An interesting fellow... Remarkably well-spoken. The books do not bear him justice... Probably because there were no real pictures of him, just apt descriptions, written by love-struck authors.

The voracious Hutt smiled at the Sith, known as Exodus, observing the man’s countenance and posture, whilst keeping his own in a positive and friendly manner. His stomach growled stealthily, and he took a long drag at the bottle of inexpensive port, trying to calm his incessant hunger, before it drove him insane. Well, more insane. With a small wink, Hayley and the Greyjoys spread out among the crowd, setting the stage for a response, in the off chance that a guest did something stupid. Hayley returned to the ship, and retrieved a package. Making sure to not fling any spittle onto his esteemed conversational partner, Sheog spoke,

 

<>

 

He took another drag from the port, and then glanced down at the bottle guiltily.

 

<

 

With that, he motioned Hayley forward, and the chestnut haired hacker brought out a bottle of Fullbank Cognac 1077, made from the vineyards of the Fullbank Brandy Company more than five centuries before, on Alderaan, which was now, obviously gone. She also took from a her cloak, a goblet of silver, marked with the Diresto family crest, which was little more than the engraving of a Hutt wearing a monocle and tophat.

[Qaela]

Qaela could sense a familiar presence coming her way and frowned. Her first reaction was to bolt for the weapons sitting in her bedroom and blast him on sight, but she decided against it. This was a Sith station and picking a fight with a Sith, no matter whether or not he attacked her, was just not a smart idea. Instead, when her door blew in, she simply caught it with the Force and let it hover between them for a second before letting it down gently to the ground. His threats was rather what she expected from one of her many Sith admirers, though she was surprised it had happened so soon. She didn't expect to be attacked for at least three hours after landing, but apparently that was too much to ask for.

 

She remained sitting at the table as he tried to intimidate her with his displays. A month ago, she would have been somewhere between afraid and furious, but now she was just amused. He had already sent minions to attack her once and it didn't work. If he was here to finish the job, well, it was just amusing to her that he would view her as such a threat. He must surely fear her greatly if he would go to such efforts to see her dead. It wasn't that she didn't want to die, it was just that she no longer feared death like she once had. "I am sorry, are you still upset that I didn't choose you, or are you angry for some other reason?" she replied tartly. "I am here because your Dark Lord wants me here. If you do not like that, perhaps you should take it up with him."

[Darth Furion]

The winding halls felt so confining, the air so thick with seething power it was almost palpable. His long strides took him swiftly toward his apartment where a desperate change of clothes would be waiting. If Julio were to make the announcement of his ascension before what little remained of the Order, he would further remind them how low they had fallen by doing so dressed in the tattered rags a beggar might wear. For so long he held his masks in place the trivial concern of attire had long sunken beneath conscious thought. Perception had always been such a tenuous thing, sought and accepted so readily by fools and feint hearted alike it was a simple matter to give them what they wanted. In the midst of his brethren there was no need for such guise. Here he was free to simply be himself, in all his despicable loathing for these whelps. Half of them hungered, but knew not what for, while the rest didn't even have that much. All of them, lost. Wandering. Confused. Children in their focus and intent.

 

The rapid padding of his steps came to an abrupt halt when ubiquitous familiarity hauntingly struck him. No... The Dark Lord thought in a hushed whisper, even in the fortress that was his consciousness. Reflex demanded and composure gave sway as he doubled over, seized fingers wrapping across torn features. Gilded circles flashed precious emerald in a twinkle before composure took root. It was him, that bastard. Why did he show up now of all times? Why hadn't Julio seen it? Breathless curses filled his mouth as he found his feet and gait took a much more brisk rhythm. It didn't matter. Nothing would slow him down, not even this.

 

An echo of his own furnace heart thrummed down corridors, strife was eminent. More and more seemed to be going wrong as power encircled power, drawing deeper and deeper to the core in this great field of insatiable maws. Unsteady hands quickly found the rosary clasped round wrist and bone white mask in tandem, quick to don both upon the rapidly angering Master. This was his house, his domain, and they dare?! Wrapped neatly in sweet obliviousness, the Dark Lord swept through his grounds with the unobserved grace of a shooting star, shot straight toward Draken. Before he knew it, the Sith could instantly feel the paramount presence of the one who held the craved power. Gauntlet sheathed hand flashed alive behind the offending Sith. The violet orb, dancing alive with so much of the Sith's power, yet so much of the very same Force of all, was torn from his hands in one violent jerk. As it landed in the Dark Lord's hand he quickly squeezed tightly, rending the sphere of energy through maddened will. The release could not be ignored. All power went somewhere, and this lighting had not been intended for the Dark Lord. None the less he had taken it, and readily let it take its hungry path up his arm, across his chest and down his body. He let the sensation was over him , the violence, the hungry destruction. Pain, if one were so limited, filled him and lit senses ablaze. With a hurried flick of his arm the black, viscous liquid coating the palm of his right hand flung against the stone wall in a sizzle, while his hand yet remained unscathed. Slowly and meticulously Julio surveyed the three of them, carefully searching each of them for clues as to the unprovoked threat.

 

What... Julio said slowly through clenched teeth. do...you... He had to focus on articulating every word, as if the rage coursing through his vains couldn't be quantified in such limited conversation. think...you...are DOING?! The scream came unexpectedly in contrast with his calm, collected demeanor, and rang with a finality few could deny and less could contest. His golden eyes darted around the scene to appraise the damage. Qaela and Raia seemed fine, though the young one felt utterly lost, confused, afraid. It was clear what happened here, but the why of the matter yet eluded him. The cadre of what appeared to be Nightsisters accompanying Draken were a message to the Dark Lord's guests. To what end didn't matter. What mattered was that this appeared to be a personal vendetta either had built up over some time. We will not assassinate our allies, Master Shadowlord. Would you dare risk the future of my Order on your own personal grudges?

 

He didn't wait for an answer. In fact, he didn't really need one. Enough. Shadowlord, give the Nightsister back her kin. Whatever is ill between you, drop it now! He barked the last command, anger quickly giving way to fury. The Order is in shambles and you want to tear us apart further from the inside out? If you think we can stand a few losses, step forward to take the first cut! Right now he was only looking at Draken, knowing him to be the transgressor. Fight one of my guests again, Draken, and I will put you back in that gaping void you crawled out from. Disgust laid thick in his tone, he was about to say something else but held his tongue, replacing words with an unrivaled scowl. He couldn't take it anymore. This had to stop, and if not now there would surely be more incidents to come. The Dark Lord shifted on his heels and began marching away fuming.

 

I expect to see all three of you in the ballroom shortly. It is about to begin.

 

Not forty paces away and the event was already forgotten, that lingering impression still so strong in his senses. Questions flurried in his head like a blizzard, no one thought tangible in the chaos of tormenting emotions running rampant. He wanted to kill all of them, every single man, woman, and child on this station and take the galaxy on head to head. Why, though? What fanned the ember of his unquenchable wrath now? He hadn't felt this way since...

 

In his chambers he changed in a hurry, tossing aside his father's ragged jacket and his own favored dueling garb for a simple black robe with no real adornment. Slowly the fury cooled to anger, and by the time he was finished dressing cold composure fell upon his features like the comfortable mask he was so accustomed to. Outwardly detached, he could be seen only as a normal man in Sith's clothing, visage of a thing so obviously less than what lay beneath. He exuded no power, held no air of superiority. Seemingly humbled in every way, the Dark Lord cut a quick path through the living quarters to the ballroom, ignoring the nagging feeling in back of his head any with true power get when they still feared for their lives. They want your life, Furion. Trepidation pulsed in every beat of his heart, but still he walked in through the crowd, ignorant of anyone but himself. He weaved through the crowd without a word and found himself at the throne at the top of the staircase. With every step up, the room seemed to grow quieter, all eyes turning to bore through this pathetic creature.

 

My name is Julio Furion, and I am your Dark Lord. Any objections?

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

In recent hours the slave pens had begun to grow quiet. Questions had long gone unanswered, and it was clearly evident that they'd continue to do so. As three hooded figures entered the pens, the room grew still. None dared to move, knowing what lay below the low hanging cowls.

 

'This one.' The middle figure pointed to a man of the age of forty, hulking in muscle. 'This one.' He pointed to another, a young, tawny woman. 'This one. This one. This one.'

 

The man made his way through the crowds, every so often pointing to another slave while the other two took the condemned by the arms and marched them out the doors.

 

'This one.' He pointed at A-Jax as he walked passed, never giving the twisted creature a second thought as he continued through the lines. All told twenty-three were picked and ushered into the hallway where ankle and wrist fetters were quickly secured, strung together by a single long chain running from the first slave called to the last.

[Rezjal-el]

His violet eyes opened to the sight of familiar cut marble ceilings. Sunlight poured in gently through an open window nearby to his right. The walls bore a myriad of posters featuring sports figures, super heroes, and scantily clad models. There were small piles of clothes tossed every which way on the floor. It was the room of a young man. A teenage boy. It was his room on Firrerre, just the way he remembered.

 

As Vaegir rose into a seated position he began to slowly take in the comforting image of his surroundings. Nothing had changed. Perhaps he had just awoken from a rather long, unpleasant dream. Dagobah? Really? Had that actually happened or was it merely a product of an avid, masochistic imagination?

 

“Well… guess I shouldn’t read before bed…”

 

The soft patting of his bare feet upon the marble floor is loud enough to resound within the room. It seemed as though just now he was realizing how his home was entirely too quiet.

 

A few quick steps took him down the hall to the large, central living area. Normally at this hour he’d be greeted by the sight of his father sitting in his favorite chair, datapad in hand as he went over the day’s news. Not today. There was no chair. In fact, the room was devoid of furniture altogether. Empty. There was no sign that anyone had been home in quite some time. The subtle chill of heightened alertness began to tingle along the back of his neck.

 

“Must be market day.” He reasoned. Though Market Day would never explain the destitute sight of the living room.

 

The kitchen. Surely he’d find someone there. The family cook was usually always busy preparing one meal or another. Such might explain the chubby frame he sported for most of his young life, but the thought of his expanded waistline was pushed from his mind as he pushed open the door.

 

Nothing.

 

The room sat empty. Not a pot on the stove, not a meal in the oven. The room that once always greeted visitors with the scent of fresh food offered nothing in the ways of a gentle aroma.

 

“Mother?”

 

Silence.

“Father?”

No answer.

 

“Straz?”

 

His brother didn’t reply.

 

“Ah… hah… they must…. Be outside…”

 

The front door offered no resistance as he pushed his way outside. The sun’s light was warm. The breeze greeted his pajama-clad form as he took a few steps down to the opulent stretch of front yard. The lawn looked much like it had before, though the hedges were just a touch overgrown. No one had tended to the gardens in what appeared a few days.

 

His house was simply deserted. His immediate outside surroundings were devoid of movement save for the odd breath of wind. Even a glance down the road provided little evidence to prove that anyone existed anywhere within visible range.

 

He found himself running toward the end of the yard, scrambling for the front gate. Though something knocked him off balance. The thunderous crack of an explosion threw him to the ground. His horrified gaze snapped skyward to take in the sight of a gloomy grey mist as it began to descend upon the planet from the upper atmosphere.

 

Hands trembling, heart racing, he could feel himself begin to cry out in terror as the terrible cloud spread across the sky, slowly blocking out the sun with its dense expanse. The world was growing dark, the color fading from the heavens.

 

Perhaps Firrerre didn't survive its sacking...

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Brothers... Our time begins now. Gather in the ballroom.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Vaegir snapped awake, knife in hand, poised and ready to strike at…. Nothing?. Cold sweat dotted his forehead as he scanned his immediate surroundings. He was in his small sleeping quarters, not back on Firrerre as some unknown death cloud began to cover world. And Furion? His voice boomed from somewhere within the dream.

 

The images of his abandoned house and exploding gas remained etched in his mind. How did Furion fit in? Was the dream one of the supposed Dark Lord’s tricks? Honestly, that man was just full of surprises, though creating dreams seemed something even Furion wouldn’t bother with. All that remained clear is that Vaegir needed to find out what happened to his home planet. If the omens he had seen served as any indication, then his gut feeling told him to not hold out hope for a happy story.

 

“That damned human takes everything….” Came a low, throaty growl.

 

The sound of nearby movement pulled him from his thoughts.

 

“Gather in the ballroom?”

 

Soundlessly he slipped to his feet and pushed out the door. He knew not where the ballroom was, but he would certainly find it.

 

Furion’s presence filled this place, hounding the young firrerreo as he followed along with a small procession of acolytes. Vaegir had not set eyes upon the man for over two years, and yet he was fully aware that the Dark Lord remained close by.

 

Force sensitive or not, he didn't question his instincts anymore.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

His arrival at the ballroom was rather uneventful. Groups of Sith began to file in little by little. Cliques among certain acolytes were all too obvious. Friends, or at least those that got along well enough to keep from murdering each other stood in their own little groups as they waited for the ceremonies to start. Vaegir, unlike most, remained without an immediate circle of friends.

 

Time to play the game…

 

Silently he made his way through the small crowd of gathered guests, doing little to call attention to himself. The only thing that marked him as any different from the next Sith was perhaps the two-toned hair he sported, though with time and calculated adjustments to body language, even that seemed more and more nondescript. He wished to keep attention off of himself for the time being. Merely blending in to the crowd. Another flesh-toned flower in a human landscape.

[Raia Montar]

Qaela's response wasn't the defense that Raia had expected, leading the girl to further suspicion that there was more to the story than the woman had originally divulged. The teen braced herself for eminent battle as the sharp pop and crackle of the lightening briefly filled the silence before another person burst into the room. 

 

Despite her fear, she found herself peering tentatively around the corner half-curious to see who had been crazy enough to enter; surprised when the man she'd met on Dathomir ripped the lightening ball from the original intruders hand. Mesmerized, she watched him take the full force of the attack, up his arm and finally flinging the residue against the wall opposite her. Her eyes locked on him, as she noticed that he bore no marks of the attack. Never before had she witnessed such raw power. She tucked back around the corner, deciding to wait things out.

 

"What...do...you...think...you...are...DOING?" he began quietly, but as he boomed the last word, Raia jumped involuntarily  her hand gripping the knife handle more tightly than before. After what she'd just witnessed, she knew that the last place in the world that she wanted to be was on the side that was against this powerful male. 

 

"We will not assassinate our allies, Master Shadowlord." He continued, as Raia filed the name under "persons to avoid at all costs". "Would you dare risk the future of my order on your own personal grudges?"

 

His order? Raia thought to herself, as she risked another glance around the corner of the base cabinet.   He'd actually risked going head to head with a clan of Nightsisters on their home turf, with his own daughter in tow, just to seek an ally? Raia considered this aspect of the man before her for a moment, actually coming to respect him somewhat. She concealed the knife within her boot, and rose as he continued berating their attacker.

 

"Enough. Shadowlord, give the Nightsister back her kin. Whatever is ill between you, drop it now!" She watched him glance from one to the other, glad that no one was really paying any attention to her. "The Order is in shambles and you want to tear us apart further from the inside out? If you think we can stand a few losses, step forward to take the first cut! Fight one of my guests again, Draken, and I will put you back in that gaping void you crawled out from." 

 

The dark-haired girl got a careful look at Draken Shadowlord, to make sure she could recognize him on her own. He was not a male she wanted to cross. 

 

It was quite a culture-shock for the young Dathomiri to suddenly find herself in such a male-dominated environment. She knew enough that males egos were quite fragile and that she'd have to tread carefully and lightly through this minefield if she were to survive. She almost missed the last command of the man whom she could now identify as the Dark Lord of the Sith.

 

"I expect to see all three of you in the ballroom shortly. It is about to begin."

 

'All three' of us... she swallowed. That means me too...

 

She waited for Shadowlord to depart, then slowly came out from behind the counter. She suddenly saw that even if Qaela's offer to train her was genuine, it would be far too dangerous. It was obvious that the elder had made great enemies among the Sith one way or another, and it didn't take her long to piece together that if these same enemies would just as easily go through her to get at the witch, regardless of if Qaela actually cared about her or not. 

 

As soon as they reached the ballroom, Raia glanced towards Qaela and nodded her head in brief apology as she split off from the older woman, choosing instead to locate Rose and stand beside her. It was there that she finally learned the man who'd brought her to this dark place, Julio Furion. 

[Ary the Grey]

Being ignored by now four people, the Dark Lord included, Ares felt this was truly a test of his assassin skills, a veritable trial by fire. But, like, invisible fire. Because the fire was set by ninjas. Who were themselves on fire at the time. It was a magnificent feeling.

 

And so, Ares set out towards the ballroom of the station, confident in his newfound abilities as a ninja.

[Exodus]

He is a bit mad, isn’t he?

 

Exodus returned polished charm with a smile of his own, except one far more humane. His expression of amusement stemmed not from companionship but rather from the representation carved into the silver chalice. This creature was either a maniacal drunk or perhaps this was his facade for the masses to be fooled with, those were the two strains of reflections simmered beneath sociable pleasantries. Exodus however, paid more attention the obvious clout buried beneath all that flesh and the intertwined power in those blood vessels that drove him life.

 

Exodus reached out with his quarter-armoured forearm while his tattered robe slipped behind his elbow. There was a subtle squint towards the bottle, in obvious inquisition to what it was that was truly to be served and if Exodus would partake in such poisons. His own flesh had been weathered from the unnatural and perilous properties of special medicines since the times of his old Masters, he had conquered the noxious lands of Umbara but nevertheless Exodus almost thrilled at the chance to devour a new taste of death. No it wasn’t fear, but excitement in the welcome of such treason if it were the case.

 

“...Well Brother, let us feast?—“

 

As he reached for the chalice, the storm of a familiar man brooded over the gathering and pinned himself to the throne amongst them all, Exodus split his attention for but a moment as that man he once knew as apprentice, declared himself a Dark Lord over the powerful Sith. Oh, so it is true after all.

[Guest]

“I can't feel my legs,” thought the wooly mammoth, “I need to move around!” Then, with a sudden roar, A-Jax thrust his arms out and up, for the first time fully extending his goliath body. His neighbors were unable to react, there was nowhere for them to flee, but could only take the painful blows.

 

The wampa-man could stand holding his breath, could stand being so close to so many, but to have to do it for hours--this was his breaking point. His next roaring, the previous one only a squeal from hours without talking, sent the crowd scuttling for the other side of the room. Some passenger were visibly lost in space, their eyes glazed and mouths gasping for moisture. Unable to notice or to respond, they were either lifted off their feet, smashed like peanut butter between the mob, or slipped noiselessly into oblivion at the mercy of uncaring feet.

 

Preparing a swipe to make room even if he had to stand on people, A-Jax was stopped by an apparent repercussion. A door slid open and a dark man entered with two or three other hooded figures. Everyone stopped fleeing the caged beast next to them. Their eyes of horror and angst solemnly looked away, no chance of eye contact.

 

A-Jax's heart, if that's what continually prodded his chest, stopped. He would have hid behind the unfortunate souls around him, but there were none. Unaware he had been picked, only frozen in self-reprimand, the two “guards” brought him out, ignoring his hideous appearance.

 

Leading the march to where ever, his thoughts flew through the possibilities. Had they been bought? No, there hadn't been any haggling. Are they going to be moved to a planet? (Was this a ship they were on?) No, it was too small of a group, only about twenty. They were going to do something for the blackened souls of their new masters, perhaps serve dinner, or serve as dinner.

Edited March 28, 2012 by Guest

[darth shadowlord]

"As you say Milord." With those words, Draken turned and disappeared down the hallway heading towards the ballroom. Meanwhile three of the Nightsisters fell to their knees pleading with and begging the Dark Lordto let them stay with Draken.

 

-- Later on.

"My name is Julio Furion, and I am your Dark Lord. Any objections?" Draken chuckled silently and waited to see how the others would react, new dark lord or not Draken already knew the first thing he would do after this meet and greet was over.

[Qaela]

To Qaela's slight surprise, Furion proved to be a Sith of his word, at least regarding this. He had guaranteed her safety and, at least now, he had come through. Though she almost wished that the Dark Lord had not interfered and allowed them to fight this out and get it over with, if they had, poor Raia would have been caught in the middle and likely harmed or killed. The man, Draken Shadowlord, didn't seem to thrilled with what Furion had dictated, but he didn't dare challenge the Dark Lord, not here and not now with two enemies to contend with. She doubted that he would experience any change of heart and made note to keep watch out for him in the future.

 

What did surprise her was the presence of battered, broken women who seemed to be vaguely familiar. She had been much younger when news came of many of their kind falling in battle. Several bodies had never been found. She suspected she now knew where the missing Nightsisters had gone. She kept careful control over her emotions when the nine of them began filing into the small apartment.

 

Raia didn't seem to desire to stick around and made herself scarce. There was something in her aura that made it seem as though she had rejected her offer and choose instead to allow her awe at the vainglory of the Sith to take her. Poor girl, Qaela thought. Hopefully she will survive long enough to realize that the power the Sith have comes at a brutal, brutal price. She bore no ill will toward the girl and wished her well, but she feared that the witch would never be able to meet the expectations of the Sith, not with her weak Dathomiri blood. Qaela herself had been forced to go through hell and back again to overcome that weakness and she still bore the scars of it.

 

She had much to do, it seemed, and first among those things was to deal with the three pathetic hags that had taken to begging to be left with the Sith. Whatever he had done to these once proud women of the night had to have been perverse for them to actually want to go back to him. Seeing their pitiful begging turned her stomach. They were not worthy of being taken back if they would rather be with the one who had clearly abused them so. With a simple gesture of her hand, the chains holding all of them snapped and fell to the ground. To the three, she said coldly, "Go, be with your slave master." They didn't need to be told twice before scampering away.

 

She now turned her attention to the remaining six. They did not seem to share the others desire to go back to chains, but they also didn't seem entirely whole. Clearly, their time in captivity was not pleasant. Qaela's blood burned at the sight of their wounds and feeling their twisted minds. They may be beyond saving, but she would give them a chance.

 

"Follow me," she said. They didn't offer a word of resistance and Qaela shook her head sadly at how trained they were. She wasn't gifted in healing psychological wounds, only causing them, so there might be nothing she could do. For now, she had other duties. The best she could do was to drop the women off at a medical ward to have their physical wounds treated. Vowing to return as soon as possible, she made her way to where the mass of Force energies were clustered to observe whatever show Furion was going to be putting on.

[Hou-Jo Poleb]

The Fallen One watched from the shadows, observing these Sith. People he once knew as enemies. Well, for the most, not specifically anyone present. The Sith as a people. Most of this collection was unknown to the former Grandmaster. If his birth name were to be revealed... would they know him? As subtly as possible he observed a few of them. For the most part he was ignored. He could feel one probe out through the Force. Not many women appeared to be aboard, aside from a cadre of witches. It was no surprise that she found herself the object of attention. It roused his curiosity that when surrounded by others that she could look beyond and sense his presence; superior though it was. He sensed indifference from her. That was fine. Let the girl live in that moment. A moment where the Sith were on the verge of extinction. With this Jen'ari, the Jedi would face a darkness in their past. One of the Jedi's greatest failures would follow a new creed and a new leader. Ambition enough to rival Vader's destruction to the Order. Perhaps to destroy the Jedi once and for all. Only time would tell.

 

He watched as the message was delivered. Like bees fleeing to their queen, they scurried to their Master on a moment's notice. No so much the frailty of their will, but the fear imposed by their Lord, Furion. His gaze strong enough to down the armored tanks that once roamed Hoth, he watched them leave. Only once all had left did he continue, remaining anonymous as could be - until he was called upon.

 

He made his way to the ballroom, as requested. Immediately his attention was caught by an unlikely party (as far as he was concerned). A Hutt. A Sith Hutt. Feasting with... Lord Exodus.

 

Finally! A being he recognized as a Sith Master. He knew now that Furion was deserving of rank, but did not know at first glance. Exodus would have once been considered one of the chief rivals to Hou-Jo Poleb. A cancer to the peace and order he had sworn to uphold. This wasn't a Sith like Quietus or Barabbas, whom, while potent, never quite reached the upper echelon of Sith lore. Exodus was a name that resonated along the likes of Havoc, Mortis Diabolus, Luciferian, Heretic, Lascivious, and on and on.

 

A lone white cloak stood behind the crowd, leaning against the back wall. He observed as the new Dark Lord chastised his new subject. Finally, among the ruckus and splendor, the Dark Lord echoed a mighty question. He called for any who would oppose him. Some of these people would not know the privilege of making such a challenge. To know who was the strongest. All stood in attendance unprepared to defy. Whether they were too afraid, unambitious, or too weak. For the sake of the Sith's eventual victory, each Sith Lord in this room should at some point in their life usurp the Dark Lord... or die trying. Just as Hou-Jo Poleb died trying. The Fallen One let the hunger fester. Perhaps one day this soul would drop from the highest heaven to the most awesome hell. But not for the foreseeable future.

 

.:At least you can't foresee it:.

 

Spared in the form of Darth Cadivus, the former Jedi wondered if the Dark Lord would utilize such potential. If he would use the power of one with the strength of will to have challenged him. He stood in silence. White robes worn ironically and as a symbol of power. He adjusted the leather mask that hid his face, still unaccustomed to wearing it. In the presence of the Dark Lord the afterpain of his scars left the back of his mind and into his waking thoughts. A pain that he chose to keep as a reminder. Though as powerful as he thought he was (and actually was), it was important to remember that his place among the Sith had not yet been earned.

 

[Tobias Vos]

Tobias smiled, he knew Lord Furion from years before. This man would be good for the Sith. Especially after they had lost the Temple on Corusant. Excitment, distrust, and skepticism filled the room. But if anyone had any brains they would see this man was up to the task. He hated these lectures, but saw the importance. Tobias started to rock his feet back and forth. At least it would feel like he would be doing something, a little mind trick on himself. Sooba was quietly sitting at his feet. Both of them listened for what Furion had left to say. Any luck, he was just warming up in his speech.

[Gonzo Lockjaw]

My name is Julio Furion, and I am your Dark Lord. Any objections?

 

Gonzo made it into ballroom not to long after the New Dark Lord had uttered these words, from the looks of it he certainly seemed like the man for the job. Judging by the number of Sith in the room it would seem Gonzo wasn't the only one of this opinion.

Since he didn’t have any objections to the Dark Lord’s claim Gonzo continued moving throughout the room making his way over to where his old master stood.

[Keenava Dira]

Lallu's feelings lingered in the tingling of her fingertips. Her eyes were still puffy with the evident display of emotion, but after a few moments of denying herself from public view, she decided it was appropriate to mingle. People would ask questions if she didn't and that would lead to uncomfortable truths that Lallu didn't feel like letting go yet. She seemed appropriately dressed in her slinky red dress though, for what that was worth.

 

She could hear the Dark Lord's words pushing into the fabric of every conversation, sitting atop the throne with the room in his hand. He issued a challenge, but Lallu ignored it. It wasn't her place, she wasn't strong enough and she didn't know if she would, even then. Something about him defied the persona he was putting on here. A man of infinite masks that hung over the puppets underneath. No one was really who they promised to be and everyone was there for their own selfish needs. It was a necessary evil, she knew, but Lallu couldn't understand why they always hid. What was there to gain with never being who you truly are?

 

She let the question hang and refused to let the ceremony stop her from mingling. Lallu started off around the room and looked amongst the crowd for people she knew or people she'd met.

 

Furion’s presence never left though. The man with the golden eyes held himself prominently over her as she moved through the crowd; a haunting memory; a baited trap; a…

Well, she didn’t really know.

 

Lallu turned silently around once hitting the east side of the ballroom and wordlessly called to rez when he showed up. He seemed a little skittish and tried to stay out of the way, but she remembered his preference for the new Dark Lord and figured that his reaction was natural. She saw a large familiar Hutt speaking with a dark man that Lallu only had the vaguest recollection of and she waved, woodenly.

 

She carefully started to break through the crowd nearest Sheog, when she saw a familiar head of hair amongst the crowd. She was standing near the throne, but also trying to pull away from the bulk of the Sith group. It was the most familiar person in the room and Lallu didn't even expect her to be here. Lallu smiled brightly at the realization and immediately headed toward the flower that stood, regardless of the darkness around her. The Twi’lek’s sour feelings still prickled under the sheath of her pathological glee, but Rose could always cheer her up.

 

Lallu worked her way through the crowd, ignoring the melodramatic men in hoods and armor, and then clasped soft hands on Rose’s shoulders. “Hey Rose, how are you and who is this?”

 

Lallu absently brushed a single hand through Rose’s fine hair and then, seeing the little girl next to her, immediately stopped, surprisingly abashed at the sign of affection. She was prepared to take her hands back from Rose's shoulders, but she decided against it and merely watched the girl absently. She was fairly pretty, considering the situation and considering her future occupation, but the thing that stood out the most to Lallu was her face. It was fair, framed by wispy long brown hair and trapped in those beautiful gray eyes. But those eyes steeped in anxiety. The girl beside Rose looked afraid. Something about her seemed clung to the absence of desperation and fear. The fact that there were a horde of Sith around her might make that particular realization self-explanatory, but Lallu wasn’t concerned with them. She looked at the girl with a soft smile as she continued clasping Rose’s shoulders.

[Karys Narat iv-Adas]

Interesting. It was the only word to describe it. Looking around Lucifer saw many old and familiar faces, and then some he did not know, faces of the distant past. One in particular struck him. A figment of the past that his former master had spoke of a few times. Exodus.

 

If ever there was a legend he was one of them. His feats were myth among the sith ranks, ghost stories were written of the man, yet the kiffar had never had the pleasure of meeting the legend himself. This was a chance the young Sith Lord would not waste, a chance to meet a true legend, a man who inspired his own rise as well as much as his old master. This was a true gathering of darkness where those who dwelled in the deep dark of night could meet their own and be open, at least as open as one felt comfortable with for one was never truly safe when surrounded by sadists and murderers from all manner of and walks of life.

 

As Furion spoke of his intention, Lucifer couldn't help but let a slight smirk cross his lip. So this was the reason he was called. he might have guessed Furion would be one of the contenders for the position of Dark Lord, he always did seem the type to grasp a chance should it pass by him. Deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt, the kiffar let him be. If he could raise this rabble into something greater than it had been in previous years then who was he to complain. He had witnessed the decadence firsthand and in part played party to it, at least when it suited him and most times not of his accord. Yes, now was a time for a change of the guard. If Furion could deliver and stop the constant infighting for a time he would serve loyally, however if he failed then he was no better than the rest of them these past months who had come, tried and failed to unite the sith into a lethal weapon.

 

Walking up to who he recognised as Sheog, Lucifer gave a short bow knowing well to respect those he deemed fit to receive such a notion. Sheog, now there was a Hutt he had not seen in a while. Last he saw him he was a apprentice, a newcomer and last he heard the hutt had declared himself Dark Lord. It seemed his reign had been shot-lived indeed if Furion now stood where he should have been. The hutt seemed as genuinely mad as always and appeared to be conversing with Lord Exodus. Intriquing, it seemed the two were getting along like a house on fire. Lucifer laughed inwardly about that comment. A House on fire, Sheog would love to see that, mind you so would he.

 

Approaching the troublesome duo, Lucifer spoke.

 

''Forgive my intrusion gentlemen, but I couldn't help myself. Might I join you two in this moment of glory. It is rare that I meet a true legend. My former master spoke much of your exploits Lord Exodus. You are a true inspiration to us all. And Sheog, last I heard you were Dark Lord I am curious as to your latest exploits, afterall we have so much to catch up on.''

 

Lucifer let a slight smile grip his lip, if it was genuine or not no-one could tell. Only that the kiffar seemed genuinely interested in meeting Exodus.

[Raia Montar]

Raia had originally thought it best to focus on what was in front of her, rather than chance glances around the room. She now wished she had, because there were some apparently very unique individuals of species that she'd never seen before. Now, as the ebon-skinned figure approached the two of them, Raia found herself taking in the woman's striking beauty. 

 

Her crimson outfit played well to her womanly assets, and her head tails spoke of something even more exotic. Even the odd patterns on her skin were fascinatingly elegant. 

 

The out-of-place Dathomiri girl took a small step back as this other woman, almost a head taller than the two girls greeted Rose in a familiarly cheerful manner.  

 

Again, something in conflict with Qaela's accounts of Sith behavior. The more young Raia was seeing, the more she wondered if Qaela hadn't brought about those events of her own action and accord. 

 

"Hey Rose, how are you and who is this?" the other woman asked, as she ran her hand through Rose's hair affectionately, then stopping as though she'd realized that there were an audience. 

 

Raia's grey eyes watched the dark-skinned woman's crimson ones, not in a challenging way, but in acceptance of the scrutiny. She watched back just as intently, wondering what this woman's connection to Rose was, but decided that, for the moment anyway it didn't matter. Raia smiled back, but didn't respond since it was Rose that had been addressed, rather than her. She'd learned that it usually wasn't best to speak unless she'd been asked a direct question. No one had ever really valued her input anyway. Yet another act outside of her control that had led her to where she was standing at this very moment. 

 

The almost tangible tension in the air as Rose's father announced his position and called for challengers was enough to turn her attention from the exotic alien woman and back to information that could potentially save her life if Qaela's stories were half-true. 

 

First and foremost, she would do what it took to survive.

[Darth Furion]

Tangible quiescence hung stagnantly, suffocatingly. Alone and aloft, the Dark Lord looked down upon the undisturbed assembly reserved, utilizing every minute capacity for self control he held to keep himself from lunging down upon them. Very few he knew, or knew of him, but to the rest he had walked into the gathering little more than a man. Virtue amiss, he bore naught but the Sith's only vice; weakness. A ruse, undoubtedly, but the question that should have animated their ambition was extent. How far had this foreign body feigned abhorrent nature? A child could have played to the same pretense and none would have doubted. Or perhaps doubt would have rested in their hearts, yet implicit qualm would still linger on bitten tongue.

 

Once upon a time he foolishly loved them for their infinite potential. Not for their own sakes, but for what their fecundity offered him. On their own ambition they could have one day risen beyond their sycophantic limitations and truly give him the struggle he sought. But now, quivering exasperated in autonomous awe, they offered him nothing.

 

Look at yourselves. He said with no lack of disgust. Acetose flavors began to coalesce in his mouth, the urge to spit overwhelming. Julio futilely flicked his tongue around in his mouth as he surveyed the room, none stirring. Who are you? Sith? Hardly.

 

Anger hindered yet piquant escaped him like the tiniest flicker of flame. Composure held no meaning now, set aside for the burning truth they needed to hear, yet remained out of convention. All I see before me are slaves. Slaves self fettered in narrow, instantly gratifying passions. You say the code but you don't internalize it. Self deprecating lies of freedom stain your action while intent stands as nothing more than release.

 

To them they were just words, litany of a chiding priest. They didn't understand, couldn't comprehend the full gravity of his words. Flicker fanned in lack of understanding, and the brightness in the Dark Lord's gilded perception darkened. Birds flew, fish swam and these Sith, just as simply, acted upon emotion without thought or sense. Just look around you! Why do you see but a hundred stand as brothers amongst us? Do you think it the Jedi's fault for striking them down? Julio's fury began to seethe just below the surface, purely conceived solely by the literal heat his rigid form began to cultivate. Perhaps it was absolute clarity in the matter that angered him so intensely, or maybe just the continuation of their own obscurity.

 

I will highlight recent events. Something fresh in your thick heads to avoid straining. Let us say that you hold the seat of power in the Galaxy, a firm position on the capital of Coruscant. Even with the devastating blow of losing a favorable galactic government and long time ally, the Empire, you manage to hold your position amidst the enemy. A place where all power of the galaxy flows through and from, where you had to but stretch out your hands and see yourselves washed in political, economic, and social favor. And when the enemy came about their senses and tried to remove you from this powerful place, what did you do? He stood statuesque to offer pause to the rhetorical question, waiting...and waiting for their discomfort to take root.

 

YOU FRAKKING ABANDON IT IN FAVOR IF ATTACKING A TARGET THAT IN NO WAY COMPARES! Suddenly and violently he broke stance, arms flailing, eyes wide in absolute, consuming fury, fervor written plainly on his face. Holding back was no longer feasible or attainable. The sheer concept of composure had been thrown out the window with the maddening truth that lay so openly before them. He was screaming now, unable to still his furnace heart so stoked as it was.

 

You lack direction, purpose! And because of this a vast majority of our Order has been lost to your bloody lust, or now stand behind lock and key at the hands of CoreSec! If any of you had taken but a moment to think.... He cut himself off, rage too blinding to continue on. His left hand shook free his rosary, and in frantic desperation he began to thumb through the beads, muttering just under his breath. After not ten, but twenty could he stand to raise his head and look upon them again. We feel freely, but we do not act upon those emotions without will! That is what makes us Sith. Not our emotion. Every being in this verse can feel emotion just like you, but it is our will that takes the very Force by the reigns! Without it we are nothing more than animals, fated to merely run our course and burn out like the rest of the pathetic souls in the galaxy!

 

Shoulders rose and fell rapidly as he took a moment to catch his breath. He couldn't stand it, these elementary lessons taught upon entering the fold should be spared for those taking their first apprehensive steps. Scores of Masters and Lords, and still they required study. He wanted to strangle the lot of them, to take them in his bare hands and take from them what they so ignorantly abused without consideration. He wanted to take everything from them and give them nothing. He wanted to consume their very existence, and he made no effort to hide or quell this feeling. Yet unlike these cretins he did not act simply because he felt. Everything he did held purpose, and their deaths would serve none but the moment. Darkness obliged Julio Furion. Julio Furion would not oblige Darkness.

 

Set upon his throne for the first time, the entire station quaked in response to the Dark Lord. Now he shed what little mask he had managed to sustain, freely and wholly himself before the entirety of the Order. Luminescence became too weak to resist his unbridled darkness, quickly lost upon his prodigious influence. What little managed to reach his cowled face cast him in the visage of some malevolent thing no longer of this world or the next. Now, more than anything else, he hungered for much more than what stood at his feet. He wanted it all, demanded it all. All who looked upon him could feel his insatiable desire in the wrenching of their very souls. A weak few found themselves taking unconscious steps toward the throne, inescapably drawn in by his will. While you contest for transitory power, I will be transcending my very fate. Now...kneel to your Dark Lord.

[Sheog the Mad]

The insane Hutt smiled broadly at the great Sith Master before him, who had taken him up on his offer of the finest Cognac the galaxy could produce. Exodus was one of the few to accept his offers of drink and food in many a long year. The Sith were far too paranoid for their own good, and they should know the master of Gluttony never poisoned food or drink. The reasons were many, but the main was that he almost always forgot that he poisoned it, or more likely his hunger overcame him, and he was just as likely to eat the poison as his victim. He was no fool. With head bowed, Hayley poured many a fine shot of the Cognac into the goblet, pausing a moment to undo the wax wrappings, and to uncork it, before handing the fine silver chalice to Exodus, keeping her eyes dutifully downcast. With a smile, Sheog raised his own large bottle of port and finished it off in one swallow. The voice of Furion caused him to quickly stifle a belch that rose from his very depths.

 

An all too familiar and annoying presence broke through his thoughts, as the Sith Kiffar Lucifer meandered up, clanking noisily in what appeared to be at least four layers of armour. Sheog narrowed his eyes, trying to cast a silent signal to the man that they were in the middle of a conversation, and that interrupting two Sith Masters in the middle of one such as theirs was plain stupidity, but the Kiffar seemed to not notice them, and clattered up to them. He reached out with The Force to get a reading on his intentions, but all he got was a residual wish to see a house aflame. Always happy to oblige the insane, as long as it meant a lack of conversation, the Lord of the Krath projected into Lucifer’s mind the sight of a great mansion ablaze in orange, yellow and red. From the windows, a never-ending conga-line of blazing clowns came leaping to their deaths, trying desperately, and in vain, to extinguish the flames consuming their hilariously dying brethren with pressurized soda water, and creamed pies. Unfortunately, such a vision could not ward off the kiffar, and the man spoke up, even as the Dark Lord was speaking.

 

''Forgive my intrusion gentlemen, but I couldn't help myself. Might I join you two in this moment of glory. It is rare that I meet a true legend. My former master spoke much of your exploits Lord Exodus. You are a true inspiration to us all. And Sheog, last I heard you were Dark Lord I am curious as to your latest exploits, afterall we have so much to catch up on.''

 

Sheog sighed and pointed silently up to Furion, who was in the middle of a tirade, about them attacking Gala, and getting minions lost at Coruscant, which Sheog didn’t have all too much to do with, other than leading the assault to Gala, which had been a moderate success, as they had killed countless Jedi. Reaching out with The Force, he touched Lucifer’s mind, and spoke to him through it

 

...We shall speak after The Dark Lord is finished with his lecture, for now, silence is golden, and might allow you life...

 

While you contest for transitory power, I will be transcending my very fate. Now...kneel to your Dark Lord.

 

...Hmm... Kneeling... This is perplexing... Kneeling is a bit impossible for Hutts. Perhaps he will take a bow. I think I can do that...

 

The Master of Gluttony bowed his bulk in response to The Dark Lord’s query holding his gifts for Furion, and in unison, Hayley went to her knee, still cradling the bottle of Cognac. At the same moment, the Greyjoys bowed as well, scattered throughout the crowd, and though many kept their eyes downcast, through The Force, they were wary of the Kiffar Sith who stood before their leader.

[Raia Montar]

((Rose's actions posted here with permission))

 

Rose smiled at Lallu. "I'm well," she answered, then shrugged dismissively. However, her tone was pleasant as she whispered, "Raia is her name, I think."

 

The blond girl gave a sharp nod towards her father's domineering figure, excited at her first taste of the real Julio Wartide, and indicating that she wished to observe silently. She gently placed her right hand on her left shoulder, holding the Twi'lek's hand to her shoulder, but turned her attention back towards the figure in black.

 

Raia nodded to Lallu, somewhat surprised that the girl had remembered her name since they hadn't spoken at all on the trip from Dathomir. She also followed Rose's lead shifted her focus from Rose and the woman back to the commanding presence upon the dias.

 

"Look at yourselves." he finally continued when no one stepped forth to challenge him openly. "Who are you? Sith? Hardly." His tone was rife with disdain, and Raia could swear that she could almost feel the affront many took at his words. It did little to help quell the quiet nervousness that was slowly beginning to build within her.

 

"All I see before me are slaves. Slaves self fettered in narrow, instantly gratifying passions. You say the code but you don't internalize it. Self deprecating lies of freedom stain your action while intent stands as nothing more than release." She took a careful and cautious glance around the room, as much as she could without meeting anyone's eyes directly.

 

Observant, gray eyes surveyed the room's layout, looking for a quick escape should things escalate before Julio could contain them.

 

Dozens of weapons lined the walls, many Raia couldn't readily identify, did little to settle her anxiousness.

 

"Just look around you! Why do you see but a hundred stand as brothers amongst us? Do you think it the Jedi's fault for striking them down?"

 

She seized upon the opportunity to openly look around her, not at the others surrounding her, but more to the other elements of the room that she hadn't noticed before now. Chills were also beginning to run down her spine for reasons that she couldn't explain, and she fought hard against her fight-or-flight response to remain rooted to her spot.

 

"I will highlight recent events. Something fresh in your thick heads to avoid straining. Let us say that you hold the seat of power in the Galaxy, a firm position on the capital of Coruscant. Even with the devastating blow of losing a favorable galactic government and long time ally, the Empire, you manage to hold your position amidst the enemy. A place where all power of the galaxy flows through and from, where you had to but stretch out your hands and see yourselves washed in political, economic, and social favor. And when the enemy came about their senses and tried to remove you from this powerful place, what did you do?

 

"YOU FRAKKING ABANDON IT IN FAVOR IF ATTACKING A TARGET THAT IN NO WAY COMPARES!" His rage, now apparent, so wholly frightening, Raia's flight response won for just a fraction of a second. She hoped the half-step back she'd just taken hadn't cost her anything too dear.

 

The dark-haired girl found herself wanting someone or something to keep her from running from the room as Julio's fury reached it's crescendo. "You lack direction, purpose! And because of this a vast majority of our Order has been lost to your bloody lust, or now stand behind lock and key at the hands of CoreSec! If any of you had taken but a moment to think...."

 

For a fraction of a second taking Rose's free hand occurred to her, but there was the issue of barely knowing the girl in the first place.

 

And she's where her hand can be held in the first place... Raia realized in nearly that same instance. Meaning she's not his daughter at this moment...She's just another Sith...

 

The curious thought was enough to distract Raia long enough for some semblance of insight to come to her. She didn't have anything to fear from the Dark Lord at the moment. His anger, his fury, and his loathing were not directed at her in anyway, and she focused on that thought to calm herself down. It was then that she decided one of the first rules to survive this was to not do anything that displeased the Dark Lord.

 

What he said next surprised her and made her consider things in a way she hadn't thought of before. "We feel freely, but we do not act upon those emotions without will! That is what makes us Sith. Not our emotion. Every being in this verse can feel emotion just like you, but it is our will that takes the very Force by the reigns! Without it we are nothing more than animals, fated to merely run our course and burn out like the rest of the pathetic souls in the galaxy!"

 

She stopped to process this for a moment. Will is what makes a Sith. What really makes up a Nightsister or Witch?

 

Her thoughts were interrupted by the low vibration in the floor beneath her that grew until the whole station shook from what she could only assume was his power. She felt something calling to her in that next moment, attempting to draw her in, closer to the dias.

 

Mentally, she recognized it for a test of will, though only a basic one, for surely if he could shake the station than with the right amount of effort he could overtake her own mind, as sharp and quick as it was!

 

She continued to hear the subtle call, and saw as others moved slightly forward in various spots around her. She looked back up at the figure before her, meeting his gaze, her own will evident in her gray eyes as she stepped forward, though with a little more deliberation than the others. Though the others might begin to think her meek and frail, the emotion behind her eyes showed only her own force of will in the action. To show that she understood him, she took one more step.

 

"While you contest for transitory power, I will be transcending my very fate. Now...kneel to your Dark Lord."

 

It had become increasingly obvious to the young Dathomiri, that despite Qaela's offer of protection being genuine, the Nightsister lacked the means to back it up, at least on this arena. Following Julio would mean better chances of her surviving to see another day.

 

She knelt and bowed her head. Her choice was made.