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He could taste the silence that filled the great chamber. Had a thousand foolish dreams in the hearts of young Sith Lords just died? Would the young Darth Mavanger be able to successfully assassinate the Imperial Remnant’s Empress? And the idea of some kind of weapon that could permanently kill a likely cloned and backed up force user made Delta shiver. When had they developed such a thing, and why? To open that type of pandora’s box was foolishness. And if it was something that could kill a soul with relative ease, it would not be five years before Rebel or New Republic assassins stalked the halls of Onderon killing as they went. 

 

He reversed his sword of rank and slid it into its sheath. He would allow any of the younger members of the Sith ranks to speak first, to give them the chance they wanted at power and prestige. Delta would go where the Dark Lord commanded. As always.

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Commander - Darkhand Brigade - Sith Empire

Blood Prince

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Akheron listened intently, as he stood now they had been given leave to so so, and voice any suggestions. As he listened, the strategy became that much more clear and made sense. Weaker the enemy from within, while elsewhere the resources were either taken away or disrupted upsetting the populace, turning them on those in charge. He was beginning to like Darth Nyrys especially as these types of raids were well within his and Clan Brasganu wheelhouse.  As raiders and reavers  it was their speciality to perform such surgical strikes. To strip resources and recruit.

 

Speaking up, he made his own thoughts on the matter known.He

 

 "A most excellent strategy Darth Nyrys. If I may interject at your leave, I believe that myself and Clan Brasganu would be well suited to the task of assisting both the Mandalorians and our necromancers to attain the fresh resources that are required. As we specialise as you know in raiding and reaving, specifically with a aim to recruit where necessary, I believe this would fall directly into our wheelhouse. 

 

However if you have another task more suited to our proclivities, then I will of course obey as you command."

 

 As he waited for a answer, he wondered what his apprentice was making of all this. The inner workings of Sith politics and how his master reacted. He was curious as to his current thoughts, while he waited, he enquired.

 

 "How are you doing my apprentice. How are you finding all this? The inner workings of Sith politics. I am no fan of politics myself but at times we must indulge in it. As expected of us. I give you leave to speak freely of your thoughts without threat of repercussions or consequence. It's not quite what one imagines I gather."

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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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Oni, in his foreboding silence, sat and watched as his resolve and wisdom was largely overlooked. But that mattered little. Time would tell the testament of Lady Nyrys' rise and fall just as it had with those before her. The only question that remained, would be how long it would last. Would it last millennia? Or just a few short years? He was intrigued on how her plan and the details would inevitably fall into place.

 

As the one that stepped out returned with the Lord Mavanger in tow, Oni's gaze turned briefly to him, his power delving into the undead a mimicry of his own, but the potential was strong. A grin encrusted his face as he stepped back into place amongst the younger generation as Lady Nyrys stood before the audience and proclaimed the first of her many intents. Shifting his gaze to her, he listened attentively. And as he did, her formulation began to unravel across the holovid.

 

Her idea was majestic, he would have to admit. To focus the target upon the stronger aspect of the Rebellion was bold. But to use the Mandalorians under this Tros as raiders under the guide of Lord Mavanger, whom had already become the face of the recent invasion was calculative. If it succeeded, there was no hindrance on the head of her Empire and would break the trust of the Rebellion and its allies. But if it failed, it would roll off as the Remnants of the Spider's fallen Empire having joined with the surviving Crusaders. Essentially leaving her overall intentions secluded from public knowledge outside of those present. And with the inclusion of the undead, there was security in the fact that dead men would tell no tales.

 

As he snaked around the others during Nyrys' explanation, Oni made his way toward the one known as @Krath Inmortos. He could feel the coldness of death upon this one, smell the rot of flesh beneath the guide of life. When he approached, his blade beckoned the dead that swirled around both and the veil of souls that dorn his form shifted in its call. Rotted gums revealed themselves as the smirk adorned his face and the rotted form of the Mandalorian he possessed announced his presence.

 

"So you are the Lord of Mon Cal?" He poised, the groan of his voice echoing the underworld. "I am Darth Oni."

 

There was no need for Oni to respond to the new Dark Lord just yet, or at all if she did not beckon him. The others held their own means voicing what would need to be said. So for now, it was time for the Necromancers to discuss their futures within her Order. It was only a shame that @Sheog the Madwasn't present to provide his own input.

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Solus listened to the Empress plans about the destruction. At least these plans made a bit more sense. But still…


 “I give you leave to speak freely of your thoughts without threat of repercussions or consequence. It's not quite what one imagines I gather."


Solus focused his senses on his master and spoke, albeit quietly, to not attract further attention from the Empress, though someone close enough could possibly overhear his words. 


“Surely master, you can see the errors in these schemes. While my time in this world of worlds has been limited, even I can see errors in the logic. We make plans of fattening and bloating our enemies after we eliminate their leaders? I have existed for an eternity before I was found, but I still remember those who betrayed me. Why would those who we have wounded forget us? Do we let those Gungans who we have beaten down live? Or do we, as those who make sacrifices to the Fanged God, kill them swiftly and be done with it?" 


Solus remained still, but inwardly he was shaking his head. He continued to speak softly so only his master would hear him, though he did want to call the Empress out on this. 


“We are of Clan Bragsanu. The Fanged God is our master in the darkness, correct? Do we exist to feed him? Or do we exist to let his enemy, the light side grow? Pardon my words of hypocrisy and heresy, for I had just pledged my allegiance to the Empress, but is she really the avatar of the Fanged God as you believe her to be? She inherited her title and speaks words of letting the enemy grow. She did not kill for her position. She leaves a weakness for future plans, by leaving the Spider alive. If he returns, there could be a schism in the darkness. And no one else is attempting to kill her. I don’t attempt to claim the title because I know my weakness. If I was stronger, then perhaps the story would be different. I would challenge her either here in the open or perhaps behind closed doors. But I am young in this world of worlds, and I know my place as the Golden Slave” 

 

“But you master...why don’t you attempt to claim it? You are neither young nor weak. You are more of the Fanged God than anyone I know of. I’ve seen how the Clan sees you, even with my short time with you. You’ve taught me to kill or be killed.”


Solus turned his attention to the others in the room. The beings here were powerful in their own right, and let his thoughts continue to be spoken quietly out loud. 


“I do love the idea of using these people for our own services. To kill on a scale impossible to imagine. I do wish to earn their approval as I have attempted to earn yours. Even Inmortos’ approval I desire, though I feel like I have earned it partially. If politics is how you secure their approval, then I endorse your actions, not that my endorsal means much. But our goals must be aligned, correct? Death is the meat of the Fanged God. Not life.


“Until I am no longer just the Golden Slave, I seek your approval and will obey you master. But from what little I know of the Fanged God and his forms, we are not obeying his commands fully. We must not allow life to grow, but eliminate it in its entirety.”

Edited by Solus
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Inmortos stood still and listened. So this was the plan. He would do as he always did, provide the finance of souls and the material of bodies to be ground before the Sith war effort. It mattered little for what reason. The dead were but fodder to be burnt upon the altar. He had no criticisms or challenges. He would pay his due to a war that was below his disdain to fight.

 

As the crowd began to mingle, the dark lord pondered his departure, for he had tasks that beckoned. He did not desire the promised attention his premature departure had apparently wrought. So he stayed, immobile as a specter of solidified shadow wraithed in black. Yet, in the mumblings and conversations, one approached. It reeked of death, of one who had crossed the veil and returned beyond what was natural, blurring the lines of nature, grasping at souls as if they were more than a valued commodity upon which to build. Yes, this Darth Oni was one who was shrouded in the mists of religions and ritual; but even one as misguided as this carried a power about him and was worth acknowledgement by the Necropolis King. “Mon Cal was not mine to rule,” he offered in sly correction to deflect any disdain at the failure of the Sith to hold such a jeweled world. “It was only a mine to be stripped of raw materials to a greater end. It belonged to Krath Apothos who even now rots within the cells of they our Empire seek to empower. He was not trained in the arts of death nor empowered to hold it. His death would be most welcome, but he clings like so many to the mortal coil fearful of what might lie beyond the void.”


Gesturing to an alcove that led from what remained of their gathering chamber, he continued, offering a momentary alliance with the mystic necromancer. Such a thing would complete their tasks and keep them within the graces of this mortal monarchy. Besides that, the icy necromancer had business to conduct with the grotesque Hutt. “Let us retire, as soon as we may, Darth Oni, to the gluttonous master of the Krath. Together we might in a single ritual raise forth the horde so desired for this campaign. With our contribution completed then might we turn our attentions to our own immoral and immortal ends.” 
 

As he began to glide ethereally through the group, a smile twitched at the corners of his frozen features when he heard the whispers of the crystalline Sith. He placed a cold hand on the robotic being’s shoulder as he passed, imparting a heatless void as he withdrew his hand, a hissed wordless warning, more snakelike than anything, cracking his lips beneath his breath. 

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A small laugh sprung from the shattered marble wall, Hayley stepping from it with a sudden, delighted spring. Her one, sulpheric eye seemed to sparkle in the light, a dark mirth like a flame within it. Her razor-whip seemed to curl about her lithe form as she stepped, and a predatory grin played across her freckled face. Her voice was gravelly and sharp. 

 

“You speak of gods, be they fanged, or hanged, or drowned… Are we not Sith?”

 

Her hands seemed to shake, as if with anticipation. Searching for a trigger to pull or the handle of a blade.

 

“We are gods. Bound to no power but that of our own. Perhaps the Clan Bragnalsau…”

 

She let the insult hang, her countenance growing entirely still. Her one eye stared at Akeron, reminding him of the training on Mykyr through which they had both gone. It had bonded them, but that bond would be broken easily by a challenge to the Dark Lord, and thus to The Court of Madness. 

 

“Needs to… Accomplish something of value to consider themselves worthy of stepping from the shadow of pathetic gods.”

 

The Sith Hunter stared then to the droid Sith, the one who called himself a slave. She had been a slave once, it was nothing to glorify. 

 

"Does your whelping god delight in death as I do?" 

 

A drip of blood rolled from the Sith Hunter's lips, and she let it fall to the ground between them. She had grown tired of talk, of such long speeches with little actually said. 

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Mordecai sighed as he stepped forward. He hadn't met this Awenydd, but she spoke wisely. It was time to quash this dissent- they had more pressing matters to attend, and a civil war amongst the Sith was far from the ideal. The Shard's challenge was quiet, not meant for his ears, but it was in a small, quiet room, filled with people who could attune their senses with the Force. Quiet words were words still spoken, and they would be addressed as such.

 

"Mind your words, apprentice. It is one thing to question Darth Nyrys's strategy- She has invited criticism and allowed us to speak openly. I have done so myself in my war room. But to vocally suggest that she should not be worthy of her position is a challenge, one that will be met with violence. Your master knows better- He will not fight your battle. If you openly declare her illegitimate again, then I will strike you down myself... Assuming she does not first."

 

Mordecai turned to the rest of the Sith. Their words were tiresome- they spoke of craving violence, of seeking death. He would show them what that truly looked like.

 

"Your words ring hollow, each of you. You speak of unearned allegiances and and unworthy successor, yet not one of you has the merit to take her place. Not one of you dares challenge her yourself, for you fear her power. You speak of your gods and your past glories, but they mean nothing. The Sith have no gods- We bow to none but the Dark Lord. Our past glories mean nothing in a new era- Let our actions in the present shape who we are and how we are perceived, lest we grow stagnant once more. We are Sith- it is in our nature to battle for power amongst ourselves, with words when we can..."

He let the sentence hang as he drew his blades, stepping forward towards the crowd.

 

"... and with blades when we can't."

 

He eyed them all.

 

"I am Darth Mavanger. Any who question my lust for death, for vengeance, for power, need only to look out a window at the city around us. Any who question my battle prowess or my tactics can look at the swathe I've cut through the Outer Rim. I do not claim the throne, and I do not see any peers more worthy of the claim than Darth Nyrys amongst our number here.

 

The Shard speaks of unworthiness, but then labels himself a slave, as though it is something to be proud of. He would turn us all to slaves of this... fanged god. I would rather lose every vestige of power and control over the galaxy before bending the knee to such a thing. The only real god is power- The only requirement is strength. The only ones above us, the ones who have more. How you use that power, that is what defines us. Do we waste the vestiges of this empire fighting a battle that will never be won in our state, or do we withdraw to strengthen ourselves, prepare ourselves for war, while the rebels desperately try to install any number of failing governments and civil laws? You have the freedom to choose, but the wrong choice will have fatal consequences. If you cannot stand amongst the Sith, then you will kneel before us as we climb over your corpses to victory, as we have for a thousand years."

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Akheron was about to answer his apprentices queries when he heard a familiar voice speak. One he had not heard in years, that of Darth Awenydd, or known in a previous life as Hayley Fieldgrey. The two had been apprentices together and formed something of a brief bond while on Mykyr undertaking one of the many trials Sheog The Mad set them. He still in a way bore the mark of the Court Of Madness from that training.

 

Lessons never truly forgotten. He temporarily remained silent unit she decided to insult the clan he was part of and his deep held beliefs. That he could not abide by, he hoped she might reconsider her words. Moment's later and Darth Mavanger joined in, at least in berating Solus. Something he decided was needed.

 

It appeared that clearly a lot of the Sith had no idea just what the beliefs of the clan truly entailed and how as much as they liked to think otherwise they already knelt before the Fanged God. It was perhaps time to clear some things up and make truths known.

 

"Lady Awenydd, it has been too long, I hope your doing well. Lord Mavanger. My apprentice speaks out of place, he shall be dealt with accordingly. Should he declare our Dark Empres such again, you won't need to Darth Mavanger, I will end him personally. As his master it is my duty to do so."

 

He looked upon his apprentice, looking stone faced, with anger upon Solus. His Wrath was palpable,even as he spoke attempting to remain composed. He balled his fists.

 

"In relation to your question, there are exceptions to the rule. Sometimes we must give people hope, the belief they have won in order to crush their resolve. By bloating our enemy after we eliminate the head of state, we make our enemy overextend themselves, unable to pick a secure leadership and the like, they in turn become more vulnerable as they fracture from within as well as out. They are spread thin allowing the Darkness we possess to corrupt and filter in until enveloped."

 

He inclined his head in mutual respect, turning to Hayley then Mordecai as each spoke in turn. Mordecai most of all.

 

"It appears there are many misconceptions about the clan, many things others still do not know. Perhaps it is time to enlighten, if you are willing to maintain a open mind on such matters. I only ask that you please refrain from insulting my clan and our deep held beliefs further...in respect of myself. I would not insult your beliefs and would expect to see the same returned. The Fanged God does indeed delight in such death Lady Awenydd, more than you can imagine. You could say he or she, we are uncertain of which, has very strong connotations towards death. And it is true that we are gods, Darth Mavanger of a sort, but even gods answer to..."

 

 He let the sentence hang a moment, and hoped Solus also took note as new information about the clan was revealed.

 

 "Other gods. Those who molded the universe at it's infancy, surely you have suspected this. It is a long held belief among those of Clan Brasganu, that the Fanged God and the Dark Side as you call it...the Darkness....are one and the same thing. Our veneration of this mystical entity is the driving force of our lives, closely followed by a devotion to the Clan itself and most prominently the Dark Lord. So you see in a manner of speaking you do kneel to the same god.

 

Mention of the Fanged God actually predates Clan Brasganu, the myth of the being can be found in several texts that might be older even than the Sith Order itself. This is what first intrigued me and soon drew me in. Where or how the clan came across the idea of this entity to the clan, is unknown but it has become central to our believes. It's no wonder you insult us, it's to be expected. An outsider looking to understand the idea of the Fanged God already has a difficult task, due to our insular and violent natures, we like to keep to ourselves. However, the simplest explanation is that the Fanged God is the entirety of the Dark Side of the Force while simultaneously a sentient entity that has manipulated events within the universe since time immemorial. The priests say that such a entity or such a power cannot be comprehended as a single creature by our limited minds, so in response we have taken to worshipping a series of aspects that together make up the whole."

 

Pausing a moment he continued.


"The Dragon - The aspect of the Fanged God representing of the Dark Side’s destructive, violent nature. To wield the Dark Side is to offer your soul up to to be devoured, whether you know it or not. 

 

The Robed Master - The aspect guarding deceit, greed, and ambition. It is revered among the clan as the entity who grants Force-sensitivity to those destined to serve the Dark Side. Such as you and I.

 

The Maimed Beast - This aspect represents the maliciousness and perversion of the Dark Side, as it twists what is said to be natural. It is often portrayed as representing the tenacity of the Dark too, and is invoked in the act of the hunt or in satisfying grudges. Or so they say.


The Father Of Dust - The most passive of the aspects, but also the most insidious, the Father of Dust represents the decaying, withering nature of the Dark Side, along with the inevitable lifelessness that is left in its wake. In rituals it's usually invoked as the inheritor of the universe, the final aspect that eventually consumes the other four, even the Dragon.

 

The final aspect is The Golden Slave. One Solus here is familiar with. He is not named as such for fact he is a slave rather what he represents within the clan at his current level of training. You see The Golden Slave represents raw power, pure and simple. It's usually linked to one of the other aspects in rituals. The Golden Slave is good and even selfless, yet it is always mastered and commanded by the other four aspects of the Fanged God. The Golden Slave in essence represents and draws parallels to our own compassionate, noble, generous impulses, and how we must master them or else end up a slave to those more worthy of the Fanged God's favor. Such as the Dark Lord. Which brings me to my most important point."

 

He allowed another pause.

 

"The Dark Lord of the Sith, is believed by myself and the rest of Clan Brasganu as having been the chosen vessel of the Fanged God, even if they are unaware of it or deny it. For only the strongest among the Sith are chosen as champion. I shall as our beliefs dictate, never interfere with a legitimate challenge for the title of Dark Lord by another Sith, or any type of tests of power that the Fanged God selects to choose it's new tools of his will. Such as here and now, under these circumstances. As much as my apprentice may believe me strong enough, I know I am not yet ready. Besides which I have never nor will ever have eyes upon a throne and crown.

 

It is not who I am. I am a Warrior, a soldier. Not a politician or leader of others on anything other than a battlefield. As for my apprentice himself...I bid him to speak his thoughts on the events, but not to question the Dark Empress legitimacy or ask I lay a challenge. He has dishonoured me by these actions....and brought me disgrace. I shall remedy the situation accordingly."

 

 Turning to Solus, his eyes and the force spoke where words wouldn't. Until his eyes went black with the Dark. Souls found himself again violently jerked upwards and pulled towards his master as the crystal like Shard was hoped to within barely being able to breath. Far closer than before to the abyss and then he was flung into a wall, and held with a vice pressure against it, before being brought back again and dropped. After speaking he was unceremoniously dumped on the floor with little care.

 

"I asked for your thoughts on the Sith present and the politics. I however did not suggest you nearly drag me into a challenge I have no desire to undertake or place us in a such a compromising position. Consider this your last chance Solus. Anymore moments like this and I'll ensure Krath Inmortos or another have a new project to work on. Am I perfectly clear?"

 

Turning to the Dark Lord, he knelt and bowed, as expected after such a ruckus.

 

"Forgive me Empress, my apprentice still has much to learn."

 

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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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Solus silenced himself immediately at realizing he was overheard. His words of doubt had been voiced too loud, and now he, and his master could be judged by them. 
The first who spoke was a female. From what he could tell, she was human. And powerful. A brief look into the Impossible Geometries showed the same red cloud of rage that surrounded his own master. But her auras carried a tingle of shaking and trembling. A madness that could not be contained? 


"Does your whelping god delight in death as I do?"


Solus decided it was best to avoid the insult and go for a compliment. “Great and wise being, we all in the clan delight in the actions of death. It is our meat and our sustenance.” 


"Mind your words, apprentice. It is one thing to question Darth Nyrys's strategy- She has invited criticism and allowed us to speak openly. I have done so myself in my war room. But to vocally suggest that she should not be worthy of her position is a challenge, one that will be met with violence. Your master knows better- He will not fight your battle. If you openly declare her illegitimate again, then I will strike you down myself... Assuming she does not first."


Solus nodded to this being and remained silent. This Darth Mavenger also held power in the Impossible Geometries. One that he would not dare to counter in the near future. But this Mavenger revealed something to the Shard. The power of words. With just a few chosen words, Solus had drawn his anger out. These beings in this room, even his own master, were all susceptible to the same thing: crafted words. If just a few clumsy words of controversy could make these people tense up and desire punishment and violence, what else could words do?


But then his master spoke. His cloud of anger was emanating strongly. He had seen this before.


When he was punished for his finding of the colo claw fish nest. 


Solus, in that moment, trembled slightly. 


Akheron’s words synergized with Solus. The talk about who the Fanged God was, his aspects, and its relation with the Empress. The talk about the Golden Slave and how it related to Solus especially resonated with him. In some twisted way, the shard felt like Akheron was complimenting Solus, describing him as having raw power but needing to be mastered.


If Solus could get over the fact that he felt a punishment was coming, he would’ve loved that twisted compliment.


Finally, Akeron did punish Solus. 


Solus’ body rose into the air.  The force swirled around him, gripping tightly like a mass of chains and fingers.  While the Shard didn’t breath, his master’s power did far more damage than a simple choke. His inner workings that connected his Shard to the rest of the body were both being severed and charged with electrical connections. The experience was again beyond excruciating. His vocabulator screamed and blared in spurts at all pitches possible, including those beyond normal ranges of hearing. Tear himself flinched slightly at the sudden pitches. The crashing into the wall was almost a mercy, briefly loosening the control over his inner workings. 


Finally, when he was dropped, Solus stayed on all fours kneeling. Like before, his anger was growing from him. But this time, he quickly attempted to pull it back, hoping the others wouldn’t notice.


"I asked for your thoughts on the Sith present and the politics. I however did not suggest you nearly drag me into a challenge I have no desire to undertake or place us in a such a compromising position. Consider this your last chance Solus. Anymore moments like this and I'll ensure Krath Inmortos or another have a new project to work on. Am I perfectly clear?"


Solus tilted his head upwards in an attempt to appear like he was looking at his master. 


“Yes master…” his vocabulator whispered, barely functional. The damage to his inner workings would need repairs from Stitch-Mouth. “I will not... disrespect you again…”


It took all of Solus’ mental effort to keep his anger from leaking out of him. Tear however could sense it, having bonded with the Shard. The Sith hound strode to the robotic being and sat next to him, eyeing the others with hungry eyes. This was the hound’s food source. Death, anger, and envy were Tear’s nourishment, and Solus could provide it in full. Akheron had punished Solus. If the others did anything more than necessary, Tear would be more than happy to bite a hand off. 
 

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Fiochmar watched the goings ons between all of them.  Listening as each one of the Sith spoke and and especially when the other apprentice made the statements he did. It was when others started speaking out against this apprentice he raised a brow.

 

It was when his master moved to speak that he started listening more intently. As Mordecai spoke he nodded and stayed silent for a while. But at the drawing of the blades Fiochs eyes went wide and he was curious to see what would happen next. After Mordecais speech Fioch nodded and gave a growl of agreement.

 

Than Akheron spoke and Fioch looked over and watched eyes wide. Listening he nods silently to what he says, listening intently and learning about the fanged God though there is a grin on his face. When Akheron starts disciplining Solus Fiochmar's grin turned Feral and peedatorial as he watched in glee. At least it wasn't happening to him. When Akheron finished and made his apology, Fioch let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.

 

"Well that was interesting, glad i wasn't on the receiving end of something like that. Looks painful." He says softly to himself with a shudder.

 

"Note to self don't piss them off."

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Oni's withered hand graced his chin beneath the metal helm that adorned his skull, the flowing garments of the Mandalorian Prelest waving in the darkened breeze that swept through broken panes and riddled glass. His necrotic face frowned as he spoke. "I see. So my Intel was slightly off. No matter. Let his ruin be his prison. Those of us who have walked the abyss and conquered death have little bearings to such trivial matters."

 

Oni's gaze briefly shifted past Krath Inmortos toward the gathering of others over harmless words, briefly catching his attention as his necrotic brethren made his proposal. He nodded, offering Inmortos the lead as they shifted aside toward the alcove, the Sith Master briefly holding up a finger as they passed the gathering in their departure. This moment had grown into a subtle farce and one that Oni cared little to spectate. Revealing his arm from beneath the blackened veil, he offered the Sith Apprentice @Solusa hand up from his knees with little worry if the unhinged Tuk'ata bit him or not as his gaze turned to @Karys Narat iv-Adas.

 

"I believe this is the first time I have seen your true face, Lord of Wrath." Oni conversed as he dusted the Apprentice. "I am gladdened to see you. The Massassi in charge of the Tuk'ata were very inviting the last time I visited Korriban".

 

WIth that said, he turned his gaze to the struck sabers of the Warrior @Mavanger and the sinister smile of the Sorceress @Fieldgrey, stern and unapologetic. 

 

"This Apprentice holds the right to voice his questions and beliefs, just as you do. And if the Dark Lady or his Master feels so, receive the repercussions of such words. Neither of you have the bearings to say otherwise. I know little of you outside of your conquest Lord Mavanger. And Lady Awenyyd, I only know your Master and his Court by reputation. And yet, in your own ignorance, both of you have forgotten your places. Lady Nyrys has outlined our objectives and that should be our only focus at hand. You have only aided to the mockery of yourselves in her court. Dissent is one thing, but questioning upon one's belief is expected, especially in the Apprentices. All you have done is invited civil war into her reign by your reactions and threats."

 

Oni's gaze shifted from both to the warrior first as he sighed in disdain. There were more important matters to attend to. 

 

"Lord Mavanger, when you are done with the pounding of your chest, please gather the Mandalorian and meet myself and Krath Inmortos in the alcove. We have much to discuss and prepare in the coming days."

 

Shifting his gaze to the Sorceress, Lady Awenyyd, Oni spoke to her as well.

 

"As an Emissary for Lord Sheog, you may join us as well. Lady Nyrys has tasked us with creating a army of the Undead, and any expertise he may have bestowed upon you will be a valuable and welcomed addition."

 

With that, Oni turned a brief moment toward Lady Nyrys as well as her Consort, who were likely watching over the disturbance as he presented his bow and departure before turning back to Krath Inmortos. Without a misstep in their conversation, he replied. "Indeed. What do you have in mind?"

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If the infighting in the Black Sun had been horrifying, this was something all too familiar. So when there was a lull, he spoke up.

 

“Reputations be damned.” Delta inclined his head to the Lord Mavanger then to the struggle between master and apprentice that was happening before them all. “Stop playing out your power fantasies and kinks while at court.”  

 

He shrugged. His cape swirling around his shoulders like a waterfall of blood. 

 

“If you all lived up to your reputations that you hold so high we would not be worrying about a New Republic or a revenant Empire. If you all fought the Rebels with as much effort as you put into talking about yourselves, then we would have ended them once and for all over Onderon three kriffing years ago. Enough. We have a long partisan war ahead of us.Let us plan this great final battle and be done with it.” 

 

He looked to the Dark Lord.

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Commander - Darkhand Brigade - Sith Empire

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Tros watched and observed the majority of what he would describe as a circus freak show take place for a moment. He cared not for the display before him, so much as he wanted to begin his part of the journey, as many eyes were now fully focused on him outside of this lone planet. He understood that the weight of his actions and decisions from here on out would hold great shifting within the Mandalorians. He kept his head focused on those of whom he thought were of great importance in the room, but no so much of their words. It wasn't until a few others spoke that drew his attention. 

 

The first was a Sith, one who addressed the one known as Lord Mavanger. He didn't quite catch his name, but his words for the most part were irrelevant. The part the irked him was that he referred to Tros as the Mandalorian without even acknowledging him directly, despite him being within the very same room. He referred to him to the one called Mavanger as 'the Mandalorian.' Subtly with his middle finger, he lifted it alone outside of anyone's visible sight as he shuffled to hold his buy'ce differently and uttered the word "Hut'uun" just above a whisper. Luckily, his voice wouldn't have drawn any-if much attention due to Delta speaking up. Tros knew him as the infamous clone who had a long term tender with Black Sun until Zalis Krales took them underground after the Dark Sun Station incident. While he had no personal workings with the clone, he did know his reputation, which was worth its salt. As he finished, Tros assumed that meant he would now get some formal introductions to those that he would be working with, and would also get the chance to begin to plan and fully bring the rest of his House into the fold. 

 

Hut'uun : coward (worst possible insult for a Mandalorian to give)

buy'ce ; Helmet

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Mishuk gotal'u meshuroke, pako kyore.

 

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Children, nearly all of them children.

 

It seemed like they lacked the capacity to speak without using barbed words, subtle jabs, and direct insults. All meaningless of course without the verity of combat or other means of measurable challenge. It was all posturing and bravado without the conviction to make any meaningful claims or reveal any quantified outcomes. Some were more guilty than others, but reforging them into a singular spearhead was more important than naming and shaming individual parties.

 

It’s a shame Master Sheog wasn’t here, he probably would have eaten one of these pfaskers by now, and it would have been hilarious.

 

Sound left the room, followed shortly thereafter by a perceived thinning of the air. A profound sense of emptiness saturated the room, an absence so great that its emptiness inexplicably created the sensation of sound and presence. A true manifestation of how many pfasks she had left to give. Sharpened wills numbed and dulled, words caught in the throat and refused to vacate, and the tyranny of the Dark Lady’s will held dominion over the room in all of its dark glory.

 

“I came into this meeting thinking that we were all professional enough to keep the pettier aspects of our nature in check while we worked towards the betterment of our people and our place in the galaxy. My court is not a schoolyard for little boys to try and validate themselves by bullying each other. From now on you will keep civil tongues in your mouths while we are gathered for the purposes of planning and ceremony, or I will avail you of your tongues.”

 

Now too did the sense of gravity and inner balance fade from the room, making standing a nigh impossible feat. Light itself fled from her presence, until the room was revealed only by the crimson hues of her visceral energies, pulsing and throbbing like a raging heart. From the ether the throaty chanting of ancient Sith traversed time and space to resonate within the chamber. This was the power, the legacy, of the throne that she had claimed. It was high time the others were reminded of it.

 

She plucked Darth Mavanger out of that perilous abyss and steadied him, like a goddess plucking a stone and affixing it in the night sky as a moon, majestic in its own right but undeniably serving to reflect her own presence and purpose.

 

“Warrior. Chain breaker. Conqueror of death. Warlord of the Southeast Quadrant. You have led our armies and our people in battle. You have struck down agents of our ancient foe in single combat. You have put the needs of the order above your own pride and ambition. I exalt you in front of our kin and release the title of master from my clenched gauntlet. May your blade sharpen when mine dulls.”

 

She turned to Tros Ardell, who was not experiencing the same wrathful force as her unruly children.

 

“It seems that my wayward underlings require an education in the fields of respect and hierarchy. I offer you the honor of leading the final preparations for our assault on Nar Shaddaa, with these Sith under your direct command. And if any of them get too uppity I give you my leave to shoot them. Use them as you see fit within their roles. Except for Darth Mavanger, I have a special task for him.

 

As for those of you that have been so carelessly wagging about your barbed tongues, I am instituting a “Pfask about and find out” policy. Any unwarranted insult, any baseless accusation, any whispered snide remark, it will all be considered a matter of honor to be resolved in the ways of forebears, by means of single combat.

 

Now, I have had taskmasters organize refreshments and entertainment in the palace’s feast hall. I encourage all of you to use this opportunity to find value in the skills and talents of your fellow Sith. I have no delusions of this assembly becoming fast and timeless friends, but you should endeavor towards at least professional courtesy as if your lives and livelihoods depended on it.”

 

    

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He sneered at Oni's words, but as he opened his mouth to retort, another voice range out. As the Dark Lord spoke, Mordecai felt a force try and pull him to his knees. The gravity around him seemed to grow denser, more powerful, seeking to drag him to his knees. What was this? Some unseen attacker? Were the wraiths of Darth Oni seeking to make him kneel? No- he knew this power. It was one he had felt before, at Dark Sun, when he had been an apprentice. When the Spider had still remained glorious, before his bitter downfall into his own schemes and plans. The Dark Lord of the Sith was pulling them to heel. He thrust his still-drawn blades into the stone of the throne room floor, using them as support as the air around him sought to steal his pride, drag him into the abyss. The stone cracked and shattered with the weight of his resolve to remain standing, but even with his own bolstering of the Force and the support of his blades, it was in vain. He collapsed onto his knee. Even though he could remain upright like this, the Dark Lord's objective had been achieved. He had kneeled.

 

And then, he was released from its grasp. He lurched forward, stumbling to his feet as his efforts to push back suddenly met no resistance. He whirled around- not out of aggression, but caution. Why had she singled him out? Death? Combat? Her own chastising? And then, she spoke again. It was a cathartic feeling. While he didn't do what he did for glory or for politics, to finally receive it took a weight off his shoulders. He was silent, allowing the Dark Lord to finish her words before speaking.

 

"I am honored, Dark Lady."

And then, the meeting seemed over, and he had a duty. He would rip the empress Raven from her seat of power and dash her spine upon his knee. But in order to do so, he would need a plan, and the aid of the other Sith. He eyed Darth Oni, spite beaming towards him from across the room. His words would be addressed once the others had filtered out- He had so wish to question the Dark Lord's patience by speaking before the meeting was over and the others had left.

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Whatever transpired between all of the Sith came to a halt with the Dark Lady speaking. Her words were something that he focused on, up until two very important details that came his way. Nar Shaddaa as the main target and Darth Mavanger. It was the first time he heard directly that the final assault was planned to be at the heart of the former Imperial Remnant. His mind didn’t focus on the other words she spoke afterwards, as the many ideas and strategies began to formulate on how to break down the once go to place to hide. His mind was quickly broken in the train of thought however. 

 

Tros eyed the one called Darth Mavanger. He had been addressed by multiple people, clearly as someone who made a name for himself. He understood a bit now of how important he may have been, as the Dark Lady had singled him out as someone that was not open to his command. His eyes looked over the man, his blue eyes were piercing, amplified by his dark black hair that covered the rest of his face. He wondered for a moment what sort of skills he possessed that would make him a target of others and a favorite of the Dark Lady. 

 

Wait- everyone besides him is under my command? The thought made him suddenly more aware of the rest of the room. He glanced around and began to take in who was present. Several of them caught his eyes and people he’d like to figure out their skill sets and how such skills could become a potential strength or weakness while attempting to take Nar Shaddaa from the Rebellion. As he finished his initial sweep of eyeing those that he most certainly wanted to talk to, he pulled out his comlink. “Sutu, finish up and have those on Almas prepare for a holoconfrence. We have much to discuss.” 

 

Finishing up, he put his comlink away without much discussion for Sutu. By the time the clan heads were ready on Almas for beginning battle plans, he would hopefully have time to scout out the Sith for who could be utilized best within the battle plans. Seeing as the offer from the Dark Lady was to move to the feast hall for a chance to eat and have some entertainment as they discovered skills. Figuring that's what the majority would do, he began to move that way to get some food, which would be satisfying even more so since he hasn’t eaten since leaving Almas. And battle always made him hungry.

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Mishuk gotal'u meshuroke, pako kyore.

 

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When the Dark Lady spoke, it verged on a lingering lisp that echoed her disdain and malice of the transpired, the transgressions of all flowing along the flow of her will as all took a knee whether by choice or her will alone. Her Wrath was absolute in its transparity and her Vengeance resounded in it's core. And Oni stood as no exception to this rule of her Law, his form more limber than most as her words came across with wickedness.

 

It was a surprise for Oni, to be honest, that her displeasure had fell upon him as his attempt to Advise Lady Awenyyd and Lord Mavanger was for her just. But Oni also knew he had long been an outsider to those of the Order, and would likely remain one always. Such was the path that had birthed its self from that which he had always chosen to walk. So despite the surprise, it wasn't a complete shock to his senses. Still, his loyalty would go without question. For his was to her, as life was to death. And if that was her wish, she had but to ask.

 

His gaze fixated briefly to Lord Mavanger as Lady Nyrys singled him out, massive pleasure for both her Court and his ego as well, but not without warrant. In the course of Sith Politics, his name had been a topic of eagerness lately, one of expectation and reliance. There was little to no doubt behind her choice to name him a Master and raise his stature. Even in his brethren's Court, he had been a worthy Warrior whether Exodus had openly acknowledged it or not. Oni only questioned whether his idle hands would be counterproductive in Nyrys' Empire once they shifted back into the Shadows, or if, like those of Kakuto Ryu and Haphaestus, he would bring a calming storm. Only time would tell.

 

And as she spoke to the Mandalorian, a being he held no previous knowledge of, he simply gazed at with inquiry and interest. In fact, she had yet to mention his name and his only appearence before Oni had been this day. His contacts into the Intelligence Department hadn't said a word about Mandalorians being a part of those holding prestige in her and her previous Successor's Court. Only the Clone who separated himself from the criminal underworld and her new Consort, The Blooded Prince. Still, it mattered little. Oni knew their prowess only too well, even if it was a lifetime ago. It was only a natural welcome to be sure.

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As Valhalla exited out of hyperspace above Naboo, the fossilized crust of Dxun shifting small particles of debris to it's sudden slow, Shiro stood aboard it's command deck with both Artor and the Nightsisters in tow and overlooked the carnage and destruction that mutated it's surface grotesquely. Shiro and Artor both adorned a similar grin across their faces as they gazed upon the Nabooan destruction, and Shiro could already feel the fog of war clouding his sight and mind. It was a glorious return from Lehon. A comm was sent ahead to his Master, Lady @Telperiën Ar-Pharazon as a shuttle was prepared for his departure to the planet below.

 

Though the Nightsisters walked with the Apprentice of their Lady, the disdain and disgust that they felt for him was evident in their callous distance, even as their revered Rancor walked beside him in symbiosis. But for Shiro, Lehon had been a changing point for the young Warrior, a revelation of his past and present, that had set a new course for him to walk.

 

The Nightsister's Magic had repaired most of what had been broken, his form delved in the blackened armor of the Infinite Empire's remnants as they had bound his flesh with the steel of the ancient Force Hounds, the stave that kept him balanced their broken weapon. But in their dismay, he had bonded through combat with the Bull Rancor known as Artor both in blood and in heart, as the remains of Lehon's power courses through both their veins.

 

As the Nightsisters regaled Lady Telperiën with the happenings of Lehon once they arrived planetside and located the Witch, mostly of his failure in combat to the hands of the Rancor and the bond that transpired from it, two vocal in their disdain and seeing it as blasphemy to their heritage, Shiro stood aside the ship with Artor and awaited his Master's approach in subservience. His interest in their heritage and customs had not hindered, but he was beginning to understand their reverence with such beasts as Artor and in their magic that had bound these artifacts to his flesh.

 

He felt lighter, more refined. And thanks to the wraiths of Dunstan and Saldana in his absence, he now controlled Valhalla and the remnants of the Onderonian 11th Battalion 7th Imperial Marines, his former Regiment. 

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Inmortos stilled as the Imperial Head spoke, unable to continue in conversation with his fellow necromancer as all eyes turned to focus on Lady Nyrys. The frail looking Firereo weathered the display of power much as the dead, silent and still, his lips pressed into a thin line. He grimaced, his eyes flashing briefly, at being offered to serve beneath the Mandalorian in battle. He knew his place in this regime though and the dark lord would do his part, even if he was not to return to the core of this watery world or venture forth to find the lord of the Krath as he had desired. It was but a divergence of his plan; one he would take in stride as he plod inwards towards his eternal destiny.

 

As the group was dismissed to mingle and interact, Inmortos stayed for a drawn-out moment, surveying the eclectic group. His conversations with Oni and the others forgotten in the shadows of what had been brought about. Seeing the Mandalorian making his way towards the feast hall, he elected to follow. If he acted now, perhaps he could forego any premature encounters with death later. Shuffling along with his weighted walking stick, the black-clad necromancer hurried after Tros. His bones creaked and his joints popped as the decrepit wizard lungingly snaked forward.
 

“Master Mandalorian,” he wheezed when he finally drew close. Stopping to lean heavily in his stick as he caught his breath. “On the field of battle, one such as I am a liability at best. Look at me, barely skin and bone knotted together by sinews too stubborn to die. I cannot lead men into battle or flail about with a mighty sword. Antiquity, not technology, is my area of expertise.

 

Might I propose a better arrangement?

 

Armies of undead to distract and demoralize these rebellious souls, drawn from crypts and battlefield across the galaxy. Mindless monsters and beasts to terrify and ravage your foes resurrected from the depths of space and the madness of the mind.” The necromancer stooped his head even lower on his twisted frame in a bow before the Mandalorian, both hands clutching his cane to remain upright. “I await but your word m’lord.” 

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Telperien ducked out of the meeting, her sisters marching after her. Their leathers and braids clashing awfully with the high granite ceilings of the royal palace. She gave a sideways look and clicked her tongue, her two animal guardians loping out of where they had been sitting to flank her on either side. Their long fangs making them even more fierce than they already were.

 

So Shiro had returned and with him the rest of her Sisters. 

 

She reached out to him in the force as she sighted him with a Rancor beside him. She gave him a deep bow and then glanced to the Sisters, to whom seeing Telperien in a new body was not something new. 

 

“So you return. What news do you bring from Lehon?” 

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Tros kept his movement, even while he heard footsteps behind him, clearly in attempt to catch up to him. He was hungry and there was nothing that was going to stop him from reaching his goal. He figured amongst the Sith, there was likely a high demand to see him after what the Dark Lady declared before them all. It was when he finally stopped in the hall to observe the food and entertainment is when the gangly looking Sith approached him. His opening words of "Master Mandalorian" took his off guard for a slightly moment, and had him turn to observe the black clothed creature leaning upon a walking stick and catching his breath from attempting to reach him first before any of the other Sith. Tros plainly looked at the Sith, still with his buy'ce under his right arm. Once he knew the Sith was finished, he pondered upon his words for a moment. He signaled for him to stand up and not to kneel before him.

 

He turned and picked up some piece of food and ate it quickly before responding. "Antiquity isn't an expertise. Knowledge of antiquity is, and that serves no one except those who need to learn. And even then, do not lean upon such a thing as a cowardly act. You do not wish to fight and die- you are better of being plain with me in these terms. But I think I could easily push such a notion even further. If such knowledge of the antiquity you claim to be an expert with was threatened enough to perish, you would be a fool worthy of only death if you choose to stand by and let it perish. So the real problem you are presenting is you are unwilling to die over this cause." Tros lifted a finger as a way to hold the Sith for a moment. He then reached and grabbed a drink on a tray that was nearby, took a full swig of it to empty the glass, and then tossed it aside when he was done. 

 

"And your better arrangement comes at a high price. The terms of which I lead everyone into battle was left rather unclear. So let me clarify for you my expectations moving forward. Failure is always met with punishment. Those who lead from afar are expected to be best at changing and altering tactics to maintain an edge and keep clear and constant communication with those on the front. I judge the failings of those who lead from afar tenfold more than those who make mistakes in the midst of battle. The less risk to someone, the higher the standards upon which they will be judged by." Tros put his buy'ce down on a table to have both arms free as he was sure others would undoubtedly seek out conversation with him and bring up similar points. "You offer up distraction upon the battlefield, little more than that. If that is indeed your skill set, let it be known that as the plans begin to formulate, I will indeed put them to use. I will use every skill set available to me." 

 

Tros now leaned in closer to the Sith, to keep his words between the two. "You have the Force. I do not understand it, nor do I seek to posses it. But I have seen it do strange and powerful things. No matter who you are, death comes for us all. Death is life. One should die as they have lived. Do not expect to be killed like an ailing pet. Meet it head on when it comes." Tros now pulled himself away from the Sith. His eyes darted to find something else to eat, as whatever it was that he put in his mouth when he arrived tasted like kyr'am.

 

Buy'ce - Helmet

Kry'am - Death.

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Mishuk gotal'u meshuroke, pako kyore.

 

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Akheron was somewhat relieved when the Dark Lord decided to intervene and set the record straight....silencing the debate any further before it escalated maybe into violence. He hoped his apprentice learnt his lesson well and the consequences of certain words and actions. A lesson he had several times tried to install in him. Perhaps this time the lesson would go in.

 

In the meantime, he spoke briefly with the group before deciding it was perhaps a good idea to get some refreshments and a stiff drink. He sure needed one. He turned to Mordecai.

 

 "I believe congratulations are in order. Congratulations, Darth Mavanger on your ascent to masterhood, long may you continue to serve the Order and lead to victory over our enemies. That said I think we all need a stiff drink. At least I sure do."

 

With that after a brief bow of the head, he vacated. Heading for refreshments, he motioned Solus to join him. Which was probably for the best given very recent events. He hoped the chefs had prepared some raw meat. Such was the diet of his race. Carnivorous and requiring of a large calorie intake. Noting, Fiochmar he approached cautiously as to not cause offense to Mordecai.

 

 "Greetings, I do not believe we have had the pleasure of meeting before. I am Darth Akheron, some call me the Lord Of Wrath. But you need not fear such, at least from me. It is a rare privilege to meet and speak with my own kind, if you and your master have no objections, I would invite you to a drink, something to eat perhaps and a chance to converse. Afterall your presence intrigues me, as far a I was aware, I was the only recent member of our race to join the Sith. At least within the last few years, it is good to see another has finally made the decision to join." 

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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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Mordecai nodded to Akheron as he spoke, and while his attention was solely on Darth Oni, he caught enough to give a nod to the conversation.

 

"Go, apprentice. Mingle. Speak with the others, but be mindful of your place."

 

His focus was directed to Oni, and he made his way over as soon as he had the opportunity. There was a matter of honor, and of standing. And there was the matter of the insults that the other Sith had laid upon him before the assembled Sith. He sheathed his blades on his way over, stepping into Oni's field of view, and spoke quietly as to not disturb the mingling that was currently occurring. These words were not for them anyways. 

 

"Darth Oni. I presume you were at Kuat, fighting as your brothers died around you to preserve our Empire? Or perhaps you led a campaign to expand it. You must have lost many dear friends, people you trusted, if you presume to speak of me like a mewling child. While you hid under whatever rock you called home for the last three years of bloody war, I fought on every front we've opened. While you casually insult your peers and command them about like the mindless dead you try and cloak yourself with, I devoted everything to ensuring our people were protected, that they were powerful. Every Sith present save for you and Darth Awenydd have seen my work, and I assure you, it is not as insignificant as you seem to imply. My hand was stayed by the Dark Lady this time, but should you insult me to my face again, whether it be private or public, then my blades will taste your rotten, cowardly blood, for it is not just me you insult with those words. You insult every Sith and every trooper and every officer who has given the ultimate sacrifice for our people."

 

He could feel it again. The taste of rage, of sorrow and grief. They welled up, fueled by his words. He could feel his blades pulse in the Force, drawing on the dark energies that surrounded him. The spice of fury, the deep melancholic bitterness of grief. They were his only remaining comrades, the only things that had survived every conflict he had been in. His face was marred with the scars left to him by an imperial knight, and his soul was scarred by the false Empress and her retaking of Mon Cal, where his lover had been killed by their forces. it took every ounce of restraint he had so not attempt to murder the Sith before him, so he silently turned on his heels and moved away. He didn't care to hear the other Master's words- He had made his position clear. He gazed upon the people present- He had been tasked with killing the Empress, and he would likely need a task force to aid him.

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Solus eventually stood up and took a few steps away from the others. Let them discuss their plans and plots. He had earned shame from them for speaking badly of the Empress. He would simply observe and catalogue for now. 

 

Not that I entirely deserve this shame... Solus silently mused to himself. As if it could hear his thoughts, Tear almost growled in agreement. Solus looked his hound over in curiosity. How smart have you become? 

 

Akheron motioned for Solus to follow. Not daring to stoke more of his Master’s wrath, Solus did so, snapping once for Tear to follow. While he didn’t eat the same kind of food the organics did, Solus saw the need to grab some kind of meat for his pet. 

 

While his master got refreshments, Solus utilized all of his sensors and memorized each face he could see and their current placements. The withered Lord Inmortos was conversing with the armored one who was placed in control over the rest of the Sith. A curious being to say the least. Just a momentary glance into the Impossible Geometries revealed that the being had no strong connection with the Force, and yet he was placed into a position of power. What accomplishments did he have to be put above Akheron?

 

The newly appointed master was briefly talking with the one sole being who offered a hand to the Shard. This one also made Solus curious, if only because of the singular act of kindness. Was that a ploy? Or simply an act of defiance towards the others, especially towards Darth Mavenger? Even now, peering into the Impossible Geometries, Solus could get glimpses of pain and fury from the two, and Solus was confident who it was from. 

 

“There seems to be more than meets the eye in this room” the shard commented to himself, finally pulling up his hood to help focus on the beings in front of him.

 

A few slaves and servants had produced instruments and begun to play. While the tune was simple, even the simplest notes were distracting for the Shard. The language of sound was still fascinating.   Solus wondered if in his spare time he could learn to play some music. Such beauty needed to eventually be learned.

 

Akheron was now speaking to another apprentice. A red-skinned apprentice Solus noted. The resemblance was uncanny. No doubt both this new apprentice and Solus’ master were of the same race. Akheron’s words only confirmed it. Still, this new apprentice did not carry the same presence as Akheron. He was much, much weaker. But was he still dangerous, and worthy of being trained like the Shard was?

 

For now, Solus maintained the image of the wounded slave that he currently was, and dropped Tear another piece of meat. Akheron had once mistaken Solus for a droid once. No doubt some of the others might occasionally believe the same if he continued to act like one. Still, Solus pointed his facial plating towards this new apprentice, to sell the fact that he was paying close attention to this being. Tear too kept his caninoid eyes focused on the two Tsis’. 

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As his Master approached, he knelt before her with awaiting her blow, his body tensing up and expecting her power as his gaze fell upon her boots. And yet nothing crossed his form save for her words. He grinned as his grip tightened around the lance her held in his grasp. So the Nightsisters' regaling of his lose to the Rancor did not seem to phase her in the slightest, nor his broken form beneath the bound armor they had placed upon him. This intrigued him.

 

"We have won. Lehon is in our grasp." He spoke with obedience, the power coursing through his veins holding his broken form together with the bound armor. "Though the victory was not my doing. The beast.." His gaze shifted upward toward the Rancor as Artor returned the smirk toward Shiro. "...Artor and I met on the battlefield and he proved my better. I still have much to learn."

 

Artor stood in looming silence as Shiro presented the Forcesaber the beast had deposited on his body when he felt that Shiro was dead, sniffing the smoldering air with interest and salivating maw. The smell of cooked flesh seemed to prey at his attention. 

 

"This was presented to me by Artor." Shiro spoke as his gaze remained to the ground. "It looks like a lance, but holds a housing similar to a Lightsaber. I think he thought I was worthy of it and his presence seems to mimic that notion. But I leave that up to you."

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Fiochmar nods and gives a nod to Mordecai. "Yes Master, as you say." With that he than turns to Akheron and nods at his words. He takes a deep breath and exhales.

"Id love a stiff drink and some food, thank you for offering. My name is Fiochmar, and there's actually quite a few of us in the Jungles on Onderron. We are a clan of hunters."

 

He grabs a drink and some raw meet beginning to eat and sip before speaking again. "I don't understand why more of us aren't with the order, it was named after our people is it not? So we should be honored to help it grow." 

 

He glances around thoughtfully for a moment as he looks to Akheron. Munching away before looking to Solus and his pet. "Ooohhhh where can I get one of those?"

 

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Feeling the hold that Lady Nyrys had placed down upon their forms loosen with the ending of her words, Oni felt the world beneath him loosen it's grip upon his feet and he rose above it once again like a leaf being lifted by the subtle gale. Her words, wrought with anger and disdain, had been heard loud and clear by all, himself included. For this Empire of her's, like those before, was his duty to oversee and watch as a Chronicler, as a Guardian, as a Testament.

 

But such things were never without unwarranted confusion and boasted brashness of the youthful. And before Lord Mavanger made his approach, his bile and hatred for Oni and his truth filled words permeated across the stone floor. Despite the smile he graced the newly appointed Master before him with, and despite the uncontested lecture he received without interruption, Mavanger had failed to understand his truths. To Oni, he was but a child. A child to be scolded, not pampered. For Oni had lived through numerous Empires, numerous Dark Lords and Ladies. He was living proof of such truths.

 

For the Sith, even one as Oni, immortality was a jest, attainable but fruitless. He may have shed his mortal bindings, but the one thing he could never escape was experience and the wisdom gained from it. And only if the corruption of their darker nature was kept at bay. Many of his brethren from the eras before were no more than ravaged beasts by now, lost in the madness of power and hunger. What separated he from them was his experience as a beast and his loss of lust. That was the curse of power, to one day be consumed by it. And even Mavanger, Nyrys, Inmortos, Akheron... All would succumb to it eventually. It was inevitable. Only tempering one's self could withstand it. That was the nature of the beast.

 

As Mavanger departed, Oni was not without manners. He stooped his head in reverence as he watched the Sith Master turn his backside to him and walk away. And for a brief moment, the Oni that once existed imagined a quick blade through the ribs and into the heart with a simple stroke of ire. But those days, the days of the Assassin trained under Dominus and forged for the Alcazarins, were days long past. Rage, Lust, Envy, they were but constructs to one's demise at their own devices. Dominus, Haphaestus, Black, Cyrus... They were just examples. Blackened Examples forged from infighting and products of Gluttony. As would these Sith, in turn, become. Himself included.

 

But there was subtle truths in Mavanger's words. And as Oni shifted his soulless eyes across the room, he realized his absence in the years past, he had ran far too long from his fate. All he knew had came to pass, and everything he was had perished in dust. From his duel with Exodus as an Apprentice to his loss to the Jedi Kyrie and now the bearer of DarkMetal, Mandalore. He had been gone for far too long. His search for immortality had bore fruit, but when he returned to the Court of Exodus, he found a Spider trapped in its own web. But now with the rise of Nyrys, there was potential. Where once stood a demon, now only a wraith bore it's brittle fangs against the youthful. He had fallen more than he cared to mention.

 

His gaze shifted toward @Krath Inmortos and the Mandalorian @saberforcehe conversed with. He knew it was time to remind both the Galaxy and the Sith he knew as brethren why he carried the name Darth Oni, even if his fate became sealed. Shifting across the untouched stone, he made his gliding approach toward the two, catching the near end of their conversation as the Mandalorian stepped to depart.

 

"What my burc'ya means to jorhaar'ir, is that we wish to be the ciryc buurenaar of your gaan." Oni spoke in a near perfect combination of Basic and Concordia dialect. "Mando'ad draar digu, ner vod"

 

Burc'ya = "Friend"

Jorhaar'ir = "Speak/Talk"

Ciryc Buurenaar = "Cold Storm"

Gaan = "Hand"

Mando'ad draar digu, ner vod = "Mandalorians never forget, my brother"

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"Ooohhhh where can I get one of those?"

 

Solus almost chuckled at the new apprentice’s words. Had he not been abused earlier, he probably would have. 

 

“This one was found on my homeworld of Ishvara. It’s a place of… well, I guess I never saw much of it.” Solus fumbled a bit for memories of his old home. But most of what he could recall there were of two things. The abyssal blackness that was his time before he was ascended and…

 

“The laboratory was all I knew. Very dreadful, though fascinating to a point. Lots of rotting flesh and broken down droids. But there was a small pack of these ones. My father, my sister, and I had to kill them to get off-world unfortunately. I however broke Tear’s legs and since he was still young, he became mine according to my father. Perhaps you could find a few more there but I highly doubt there are any more left. ”

 

Solus gave a slight shrug. Tear eyed the new apprentice carefully, its teeth a permanent grin with its deformed lips pulled back. The Tu’kata shook his head slightly, the tendrils on its neck moving slightly. Judging by its size and the length its horns had grown, it was not yet fully mature.

 

Suddenly, Solus  snapped his fingers with an idea. “I did hear that they were once native to Korriban. Have you been there before? It is truly a wonderfully dark place. I heard that some of the old tombs there might house a few of these. Course, taming one is truly impossible from what I've discovered. It’s more like a game of both respect and dominion. You got to be complete in both control and in favor. I’ve only done so well thanks to my master honestly.”

 

Solus turned his head slightly towards Akheron, wondering if he got the subtle message that Solus indicated. Tear however never turned its gaze from the new apprentice, wondering if it’s meat was more tasty then the cooked morsels it had received. 

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Tros openly squinted his eyes at the approach of the Sith whom the Mandalorian had given the finger to earlier now stood next to him, speaking the language of mando'a. His words tripped slightly over themselves, but mainly due an overreaching attempt to keep a bridge intact. He understood why the Sith would wish such a thing, but much like the other one, they simply maybe misunderstood the nature and stance he took. 

 

"Copaani mirshmure'cye? Perhaps a lesson first and foremost is needed. I do not call anyone vod- unless I know their name. I do not know either of your names. It is important to know the name of those who you will be working close with. Or would you rather I wear my buy'ce so that you can always distance yourselves from me?" Tros now let his buy'ce drop to the ground, making a rather loud bang as it hit. "I will not speak my native tongue to you, nor will I have it utter from anyone here until a mutual respect is earned." Without warning, he climbed upon a table and began to shout to the entire room. "My name is Tros Ardell, leader of House Solus. The only thing that matters to me is honor and going above and beyond on the battlefield. Give me your names, your talents and skills and I will forge a path as directed by the Dark Lady without any questions, hesitations or doubts of success."

 

He looked around the room for a moment before climbing off the table. He picked his buy'ce back up and looked at both Sith still before him. "So, give me your name and your skills." Tros narrowed his eyes as he stared down the two Sith. The politics of the Sith had shown up early, and still lingered. He wanted to make sure that all Sith knew he was not about that. He was a warrior and one that would let the battlefield decide who deserved his respect or not. Who would gain honor amongst him and those whom he would rather shoot in the face. 

 

Copaani mirshmure'cye - "Are you looking for a smack in the face?

vod - brother/friend

Buy'ce - Helmet

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Mishuk gotal'u meshuroke, pako kyore.

 

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Akheron acknowledged Solus for the compliment. It wouldn't fix what had occurred but it was appreciated, he just hope he learnt his lesson, just as he once had too in a similarly if not more painful way. Being ripped apart by the force was excruciatingly painful as he had once found. 

 

He answered the enquiry to both their questions almost simultaneously.

 

 "It is true that a Tu'kata can be found elsewhere, but most cases this is where others have imported them to be trained as temple guardians or attack hounds in battle. Much how Tear here, fills a similar role for my apprentice Solus. My apprentice is correct in that Tu'kata are native to our ancestral homeworld, indeed they still roam free in the deeper deserts of Korriban. Usually hunting in packs of 4-5 maybe more. Perhaps you might one day have a chance to acquire such a beast. I welcome you to visit Korriban some point, much of what remains of the clans reside there in the desert settlements and the mountains not far from the Sith academy. 

 

It is interesting you say that such reside upon Onderon, when last I visited a few years prior none showed themselves. A clan of hunter you say? The only clan I know of who follows such a way is the Clan Ragnos, would these hunters and yourself happen to be of this clan. Last I knew all that remained of them were on Korriban with the other clans after escaping the destruction of Ziost.

 

They will be happy to know others survived. It is true that few others have yet to join the Sith. Either that or they failed the trials. But I feel a change coming. With the invasion of our ancestral home, as you heard others are likely to join us. I intend to return soon and aid this, you are welcome to join me along with your master and assist this attempt to assimilate them. You likely know how stubborn our people can be, they will need persuading, although this recent series of events does aid this goal. We might be able to capitalize on the anger.

 

But you need not answer straight away. For now I follow your progress with much interest and must take my leave. As you can imagine other matters require attention. Solus, you are free to mingle but be on your guard and mind your words...we need no more upsets."

 

With that he inclined his head before departing the current company. Hearing Tros yell, he allowed a smile to form. He liked this man. In many cases they were alike. Both placed value on honor and earning respect, both were to be found among the troops in the grim and dirt of battle. Warriors. Approaching as he finished, he inclined his head allowing the two to finish speaking before he would speak himself. Warrior to warrior.

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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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