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Silas took a shuddering breath, gripping his weapon tight. How the woman managed words despite nearly turning into green meat paste was beyond him, and he couldn't quite care. He could hear his heart thundering behind his ears, minute shakes he couldn't hide no matter how much he gathered all his rage - which was always lacking.


He had to kill her, or he will die as well. "I'll try to make it as painless as possible."


The first strike was horrid.


The tip of the barb just left a horrible bruise forming on the Mirialian's forehead, nicking some skin and a little bit of her alien blood flowed out. Kriff, Silas' hands were still shaking, and she wasn't properly dead just yet. Taking another deep breath, he slammed his training blade with all his strength on her forehead again. There was a loud crack that sickened him to the pit of his stomach.


His training weapon left an uneven indent on her skull, slightly caved in. A burst of blood flew out when Silas pulled it out, her eyes still somewhat bright with life, Fragments of her skull stuck at the end of his training saber, blood and a strangely colored fluid began to drip from her nostrils. He must have burst a vein, green filling one scelera.


In the Force, he could still feel her clinging to life. Silas can't live if she does.


With another strike, Silas felt his strength waver at the last minute and he ended up striking the side of her head close to her ear. Another loud crack - much too loud, in Silas' opinion - echoed. Her brain was strangely yellow as it oozed out of the first wound, mixing with the other fluids already there. More skull fragments had gone loose, the skin had stretched and ripped around the flesh surrounding her skull, her hair was an absolute mess - spread around her head like a dark halo. Silas tried fighting back the sick feeling growing in his stomach, resisting the urge to have his stomach fluids mixing with her cranial juice. There was already a horrible smell emitting from her exposed brain. Her forehead two-thirds caved in and somehow - somehow - she was still alive.


Now, Silas was more annoyed than disgusted, the queasy feeling in his stomach dying down because why won't she fucking die?


Mustering his strength another time, Silas slammed the training weapon on her forehead, resolutely ignoring the too loud squelch as the blade pierced whatever part of her brain that wasn't already damaged. Blood exploded out from the two craters that was her cranium, grey matter splattering out and into the floor (and Silas' shoes) in a spray of yellowish-green. Her eyes bugged out of their sockets, more green bleeding into her scelera and out of her tear tear ducts, rolling into the back of her head and exposing more burst veins.


There was still a spark of life left in her, and all Silas had to do to snuff it out was twist. There was another loud squelch as Silas proceeded to turn the rest of her brain into mash, could somehow feel the end of his blade scraping inside her skull, spreading more bone fragments and blood inside the cavity. Somehow, some of her brain matter made its way out of her nostrils, dripping down the sides of her cheeks. She was alien, and to Silas - it looked more like vomit than an actual organ.


Thankfully, that was enough to finally snuff out the light that was her life. It was... rather pathetic. It didn't dramatically die away like a candle suddenly blown away by the wind - rather, it slowly snuffed out on its own like a whisper, leaving no trace or hint that there was something significant in the space it once occupied.


Now that it's over, the redhead suddenly realized that his heart was beating too fast in his chest as it started to slow down. The adrenaline rush from braining someone began to die out, and Silas was suddenly aware that he just murdered someone just to avoid his own. That and his weapon was still stuck in the woman's cranial cavity.


The noble tugged at his weapon, frowning as it seemed to be stuck despite the mess he made of the alien's skull. He gave it another pull, putting more strength. It didn't come out. Grunting, Silas held on to it tighter, and poured whatever strength he had left and pulled as hard as he can.


There was a loud squelch as the training blade came out of what used to be a head. Blood, brains, cranial fluid, and bones went out in a large arc - Silas realizing belatedly he put in too much strength as he stumbled back and had viscera splattering his clothes. It was absolutely disgusting.


Except, when it meant survival.... What were a few skulls to crush?

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Darth Sanguira    241

Cackling at the boldness of the alien, the brunette let a cruel grin form across her lips, eyes blazing as the power she wore like a cloak began to stir.  Did the woman truly think a blaster could hurt, could kill them even after everything they've survived?  If only she had opted to be loyal, if only she obeyed them.  Clearly her bravery and lack of fear while facing death coyld have been a useful tool against the Republic, but disobedience could not be tolerated.


When her lover spoke, offering mercy, she shot a quick glance his way - while he would and could spare the woman, Sanguira would not.  Fully prepared to end the fool's life as the man's energy flowed and clutched the Mirialan, began its slow crushing of her body, the movement in the crowd and a particular presence stilled her form.  


Red hair, fear, a meek expression.  It was the boy that had snuck aboard her ship during the massacre of the Empire, the one that knew of their secret.  Watching, knowing, the Darth giggled in enjoyment as strike after strike did damage, a gruesome sight being displayed before them.  After the last blow, the femme walked up beside the other that looked as though he were fighting vomiting, her clawed hand brushing up his arm until it rested at his neck, digits pressing lightly along the delicate flesh.  


"Very good," she purred out, lips nearly brushing his ear.  "The children have asked about you.  It will be good to tell them you survived...  Now come with me, Silas.  Let's make ourselves comfortable inside."


The couple had their pet, their monstrosity created with the combination of their powers and knowledge on manipulating the Force, but now she would have a second minion to toy with.  Ah, the day was starting off so wonderfully!  It had been some time since she felt such true joy.

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Corvus    221

Deadpan stare - even when the Private turned heel he kept an eye on he, and when she inevitably turns face; brandishing her blaster towards the Sith'ari a smile unlike any other crept onto his face out of nowhere. He didn't feel anxious, scared or tense. Simply excited. This was the exact turn of event's he'd been waiting for the whole time, though what ensued was anything but what he would've preferred to have happened.


As words split forth from the font of ignorant in front of his lord, Corvus could and would do little but snicker at the whole scene playing out in front of him. His right hand raised to his mouth politely as he tried to avert his  gaze to spare the poor thing some embarrassment, but he very much remained attentive to what was going on.




The little act being put on by the Echani came to a halt almost immediately. His hands straightened out his suit and eventually returned to his side once things were in order, his eyes carefully watching Atrox for a moment to ascertain exactly what his plan was. If memory recalled, while he was laughing at the outrageous behavior of their military recruits (something to be taken into account for reference), Atrox has showed a card awfully similar to mercy. Which.. simply wasn't a real card. A faux card, perhaps, but that wasn't something he'd ever truly seen. Corvus' eyes narrowed back to their neutral state- that meant a few things, and one of them was more suspect than the rest.

Manipulation, of course! The time old classic.


This is why, when Silas Kitsuchi made his way towards the group Corvus did little once again than but watch. While he certainly wouldn't have panicked in the first place, 'do not panic' also easily translated to 'don't kill the poor kid' in their own mutual understanding of things.


" I won't be a puppet ever again,"


Corvus shrugged and folded his hands in front of himself, "Bone meal for the plants is an alternative, I guess." He mumbled aloud, he didn't find enough light inside of himself to praise someone for basically committing suicide right in front of him. For someone with potential to squander it like that, it was utterly offensive to the Echani. They could've struggled and walked their own path. Even if it lead to deaths door eventually, it was sure as hell more impressive than the display in front of him right now.


"A moment of his time, my apologies." Corvus crept out of his designated spot as quickly as the blood and viscera had left the body with Silas' final draw backwards, and whether or not Lady Sanguira had intended to take leave of the stage immediately was almost irrelevant to him in that point in time. Long since the first strike he'd wanted to say something to him, if only on a whim based on boredom.


The hands folded in front of his persona unfolded, with his left extending outwards and his right covering where a humans heart normally would be. He bowed slightly, then extended the same left hand towards the Apprentice with a calm and composed look on his face, the red of his eyes trained indefinitely on SIlas' own for the time being. Whether or not he'd take the hand and give it a firm shake - it didn't really matter to Corvus, and it wouldn't reflect negatively in his demeanor.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mister Kitsuchi." The whites of his teeth showed as he politely retracted his hand and rather impolitely stepped in close to the boy, attempting to draw close enough to whisper to the opposite ear Sanguira would be positioned to.

"Come see me sometime soon, I have a proposition for you and Magus."

Then he simply leaned back, gave him a polite (albeit off kilter) smile and took a glance towards the woman at his side, whose fangs and talons were already poised at the poor boys throat before they'd even been there a day. Well, there wasn't much he could do about that, that was simply how she was he'd come to learn. Corvus bowed his head slightly, performing the same aforementioned bow for her-


"Do play nice, my lady. He has potential." He calmly, respectively, stated before his poise returned to full form. With that, his bid in the little battle that had taken place had come to an end; and his attention turned to the public at mass rather than a few individual faces that had been confirmed to be harmless or, well, dead.


More importantly, the words of Sanguira had gave him a rather good position on that day. Not only did she take it on to answer any and all questions they might have, she had made her presence even more known than his own. That would make it easy to bee line it straight to the library as soon as humanly possible! The thought of relaxing with a decent piece of literature in an air conditioned room.. almost heaven, he concluded, as he side stepped the pulpy mess on the floor.


He still had one job left to do; however, so he patiently waited for Atrox to continue his entrance unless anyone else prompted him to do otherwise.

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Darth Verrin    2,130

Verrin observed the fate of the woman with seemingly passive disinterest. She was yet another in a string of those who didn't see the Emperor's vision - that unity under a cause required a strong leader. There was no freedom in the chaotic mess that the Republic spouted to the masses, but there were freedoms as part of an orderly society. In an empire, one was both a part of it, and depending on one's patience and perseverance, a person who could guide its direction.  So many times, those in the Empire saw the Sith as brainless, power-toting monsters.  They were anything but. The power they sought came from a unified effort, not that of individuals.  Atrox, for all of his individual prowess in the Force, understood the core concept of having an Empire at ones beck and call.


What interested Verrin more, was the actions of the boy who was ordered to kill the assassin. He had buggered efforts in Sith society when he fracked off the women of the Academy, and had been punished by serving as a locker-room towel-boy for a couple of weeks.  Apparently, that punishment didn't help his resolve, because he positively butchered the execution. If it was intentional, that would have been one thing, to watch the woman's life squeeze out from between his non-lethal, punishing strikes. But it was easy to tell that his efforts were small failures, and he regretted what he was doing. Verrin sighed.


And then Darth Sanguira moved in on him.  A prominent Sith in her own right, Verrin wondered what she might say or do to the boy.  All remained quiet.  Peace was a lie, for certain, and she was one of the best liars among them all. But the whole episode fell flat in Verrin's mind.  What could have been a show and explanation to the Sith and non-Sith who doubted the regime, did little in that regard.  Verrin could anticipate having to explain matters to those who questioned these events. It didn't enthuse him.


But, for his part, Verrin was encouraged by the return of the Darths.  He hated to admit it, but he enjoyed having a capitol ship and people to see his own visions to their end. And given his most recent efforts in research, he certainly missed having funds at his disposal to execute them.  Genetic manipulation wasn't cheap, and growing Sith the way the ancestral ones did was even less so. Verrin rubbed his chin in thought, and moved off to join the rest.


Finally, he spoke into his comm device, and Maggie issued orders on his behalf.  Two droids emerged from nowhere in particular, and began seeing to the remains of the woman.  Verrin, if nothing else, kept a relatively clean house. 

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Darth Atrox    716



That was the only word that escaped his lips as he stared at the motionless pulp that Silas had laid down, it was the only word he could use to describe such an attempt. Puppet or not, those who didn't realize they were all bound by the strings of fate were foolish. Her destiny was tarnished the moment she thought she could accept another fate. All of them were bound to die, but only those who were intelligent could truly live - the only difference was those that feared death and those that embraced it. Turning his attention to Sanguira as she got closer to the acolyte, a tight fist was formed as he felt his energies wane - another time, perhaps.


Motioning for Corvus to follow after seeing the man speak to the two, he felt blood continue to pour from his nostrils and even slightly from his mouth, and while he carried himself as if he was still powerful - his being simply was fighting against him. Natural or unnatural, the dark side had to take a piece of one's being to fully be embraced, and as he felt the disgusting heat caress his being even through his armor he dreaded the amount of time he would need to stay on Dathomir to monitor the situation.


Only once he was out of sight and in the depths of the forests themselves did he let himself collapse to his knees, supporting himself on one hand as he clutched at the tome - it was his salvation, and his prize. Within the tome sat the solution to his problem, and to the issue that plagued Tanit - though they both had different remedies. Rain fell down upon his being as he covered the book completely with his body entirely, exhaling sharply as felt the cold of the rain chill him to the bone.


Once Corvus had caught up, the man finally let out a sigh of relief, his mask being torn off as he stood back up to his full height;


"You will be leading the Dathomirian campaign, meaning both Verrin and Tanit will be handing you the reigns regardless if they enjoy the situation or not," his words were spoken in a harsh tone, his lips being coated with dried blood as he spat out a globule, "I do not need to tell you what your objective is, I can already tell by your appearance you know of diplomacy and war - and the effects of both. Utilize all the assets you require, the sooner we are off this planet the better."


Dathomir was a good choice for the recruits, but for the Sith to be stationed on this planet and barely stationed on Ziost meant they were running out of time. Even with what resources they could obtain, they simply couldn't run around with their power when none feared them. Any slip up in one being tracked back to Dathomir could spell doom for the Sith and for the resurgence of the Empire.


"Scout on ahead without me, I will be taking my time until my wounds fully mend."



Post Information


This is my last post, but Atrox will be on Dathomir for the time being - as I will detail in my next post for Tanit. Feel free to reply to it however you like Corvus, and Silas is finally a man :P


Edited by Darth Atrox
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Kai Tsintah    50

Kai was numb.


She wanted to say something, step forward, interrupt the proceedings. It would have been pointless, ending in her own demise. Such reaction would never get the Korun the retribution she yearned for.


Although she did not know the fellow initiate's name, the young woman felt a slight pang of regret. What Jax did, was foolish but did she deserve to die for it? Stifling a soft murmur all too eager to leave her mouth, the Korun's gaze fell to the ground.


This could have been me. This could have been anyone.


She felt no hatred or disdain toward the acolyte who took the green skin's life. How could she? He was commanded to do so, by his superiors. One day, I may have to do this, Kai thought with a heavy heart. Her focus remained steady on the ground beneath  her feet, hoping that the Mirialan's body would be removed soon.


See me after this, soothed a familiar voice. 




What could he possibly say? What could he possibly offer her, after this?!


Everyone, including Darth Verrin was so accepting of everything that took place. Truth be told, so was Kai. Outside, she was a mask of calm before the storm.


Inside, she was screaming.


Father... is that all, that we are? Living to die, and nothing more?


There had to be more. Her heart cringed, tightening so hard that Kai nearly drew forth an audible breath to feel she was still alive. A lone island she was, floating upon stormy seas of uncertainty and darkness. When one could not see, all you could do, was sit back. Wait. Hope for the weather to clear.




Kai wanted this more than anything, to be one of them: the Sith. The power they promised would have assured her of everything she ever needed to exact her revenge against those who killed her father. But there was so much more to be had, than the latter. There was a future. Something she never considered even when she was growing up under her father's watchful eye, on Nar Shaddaa. Kai never considered much at all. Now, she was thinking of everything.


And yet, there was the corpse of Jasinda Jax, laying beneath some Sith acolyte's feet. It would soon be taken away, forgotten. Never to be mentioned again, except in passing as some outrageous jest that failed to please. Kai Tsintah would not be one of those, not if she could help it.


She closed her eyes, hands clasping in front of her, and the memory of the pain she felt when Jasinda jax had died made her wince. Fear. Uncertainty. Regret. All those things were Kai's secret bane. She wanted none of them, not here and not now. In her mind, the Korun imagined the gentle, comforting touch of a Zabrak's hand upon her shoulder. 


See me after this, a faint echo reminded her.


Was it really that easy? Kai stiffened, building a wall of her will to hold back tears of anger and frustration. Chewing on the corner of her lip, she felt a bit nauseated. Hopefully, this event would be over soon, and then the Sith initiate could seek her refuge in the spartan walls of her quarters, focusing back on the ultimate goal that mattered to her: revenge.

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Silas swallowed, throat parched and feeling even more light headed than he was when he brained that alien woman. Darth Sanguira was a sight enough for one lifetime, and Silas had seen her one too many. Wasn't it enough that he kept their secret already? The redhead knew that the slightest slip of the tongue, and he would have been dead and the thought of using that knowledge as blackmail never crossed his mind. It was difficult for him to form connections, let alone allies somewhere higher up, that could use the secret of the Sith'ari's spawn. 


On one hand, he didn't want to come with her. On the other, he didn't want to stay in this mosquito-infested pit either. It wasn't that hard to make a decision.


He was getting tired of the mosquito-infested pits anyway.


"Thank you, my lord." Silas smiled, pushing the queasiness in his stomach down, knew that his expression looked more like a grimace. Then there was the mention of her children. Well, kriff. It wasn't that the redhead hated children, but he couldn't quite get himself to like them either. However, any attention from them didn't seem good in his books. "I am... glad that they seem to be in good spirits."


She seemed too cheery for Silas, and cheery Sith women had his hackles rising every time. So, he was rightfully wary, because one of the Dark Lord's entourage appeared not too long after,


The man was tall and Silas' gaze lingered on the hand on the chest, before looking up. There was something about this man that seemed familiar, but this wasn't the time to reminiscence. The man extended his left hand, and Silas narrowed his eyes as he shook it. His hands were a little clammy, but he made sure to make his grip as firm as possible. If there was a little help from the Force, it was a tiny smidgen that was barely noticeable. 

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mister Kitsuchi."


Silas couldn't stop the grimace at the smile that was all teeth. "The sentiment is the same, milord. However, I do wish that we could have met at a time I had less viscera on my robes."


The redhead actually froze when the Dark Lord's... assistant? Manservant? Got far too close for comfort and whispered in his ear. He already had one Sith Lord in his personal bubble, Silas had no need for two. "Come see me sometime soon, I have a proposition for you and Magus."


The smile afterwards just made Silas a lot more uncomfortable, feeling a lot more like a specimen under a microscope instead of a Sith Acolyte. The fact that the man had to tell Darth Sanguira to play nice had Silas growing twice as weary. As much as he wanted to push the woman off, he had no idea how she would react and he didn't want to set her temper off either.


Which also meant risking the Sith'ari's temper.


'I am trapped in this hellhole.' Silas tried and nearly failed as he kept his expression neutral when he caught the Dark Lord's gaze, before the man turned and moved out with his manservant following afterwards. Summoning as much bravery as he could muster, he turned to Darth Sanguira. "Where to next, then?"

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Carnifex    62

This display of power would bring the people of Carnifex' home planet to their knees. It would make Atrox a god, a figure of legend to live forever in the sagas. To any primitive people, the spirits manifesting about the Sith'ari would ensure him a place among their pantheon. 


The effect was barely lessened when turned upon the Sith gathered in the training pit. Atrox raised his hand, the power of the dark side roaring from his fist in coruscating bolts of lightning; the trees above burst into furious orange flame. Ash rained down upon them. 


As the Empire had died in fire, so the Sith were reborn. The Sith'ari had come. Among the ashes, a new order would rise. 


His piece spoken, Atrox donned his mask once more, the impassive metal face the very image of an idol ensconced within some dark temple. He turned, hand reaching out to touch Darth Sanguira's shoulder- and yet though he had ceased to use his physical voice, the Sith'ari spoke within Carnifex' mind. 


"Carnifex I trust you are capable of guiding these Sith unlike your former master - remember that your strength isn't always without, but within." the ethereal voice said. "Vengeance for our fallen brothers and sisters will come in time, but you are better suited to guide the Sith in their physical training, show them the truth of our tempered fury," 


Training. Shaping the future of the Sith, as he had shaped his lightsaber crystals in the compressor's inferno. Yes, vengeance would come. And that vengeance would require strong Sith to spill the blood of the Jedi. Carnifex felt the pride well up within him at this recognition by the Sith'ari. He lifted his chin, acknowledging Atrox' words. Maeve, beside him, shot him a quizzical glance. He waved it aside. Later.


And then a blaster went off, bolt arcing into the flame-wreathed sky. A Mirialian woman, not too far from where Carnifex stood, had a weapon leveled at Atrox. She spoke, but there was no respect in her voice. Just a challenge. 


The huge Sith had already pushed halfway to the alien, gigantic metal fist clenched to crush her skull for the contemptible display, before Atrox spoke. The Sith'ari's hand raised, the flow of the dark side quickening; recognizing that he would handle itself, Carnifex ceased his push towards her. Maeve had followed, long, wicked-edged vibroblade in hand. Perhaps she appreciated Atrox more than he'd thought she would. 


In any event, it was immaterial. Events unfolded in a brief second, a skinny apprentice pushing forward, training saber in hand, a whispered apology from one not fully committed- and then the alien was dead. With surprising brutality, the young human crushed her skull, repeated blows splattering alien gore everywhere. 


A well-deserved fate. Maeve returned her weapon to its sheath; Carnifex let his hand drop. 


In both fire and blood, the Sith rose once more. 

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Vansic Modun    61

Vjun, in the illustrious Modun Manor...


A light, tinkling Alderaanian air echoed within the dining hall. The smell of roast Vjun fox suffused the atmosphere. Count Vansic Modun sat at the head of his table, clad in a sumptuous crimson tunic, set off with ice-white accents, toying with an exquisitely-sculpted, shining, aurodium-gilt fork. There were portraits hanging upon the walls, baroque renderings of Moduns past staring down upon the current scion of that noble and long-storied family. 


He was bored.


Surrounded by luxury, ensconced within the bosom of his manor, attended to by numerous servants. What more could a man want?


The bridge of a Star Destroyer. World-killing firepower at a word. The absolute obedience of three thousand souls. 


Vansic Modun had tasted that once. Not just tasted- he had drunk of that power for years. For full half his life. He had seen starships dying in the void, hemorrhaging atmosphere, debris, and corpses, lanced by turbolaser fire at his order. He had stood at the helm of a Subjugator-class vessel and fought off a Mandalorian assault on the bridge. And now he was just to sit here, idly, drinking and eating his life away. Dealing with labor disputes by day, and the stagnation of Vjun high society by night.


How far the mighty had fallen.


He glanced up at the portrait nearest him on the left side. It was of his older brother, the former Count Modun. Rovis had been an abhorrent, fat little man in life, and the Kaasian artist Vansic had engaged to paint his portrait after his unfortunate and tragic demise had done that abhorrence justice.  Beady little eyes stared down, glaring at Vansic just like they had in life. Such a magnificent artist, she had been. What was her name? Vatin. Something like that. Dead in the assault on Kaas City, alas. That, of course, meant Rovis' portrait was now worth quite the pile of credits. He had received several collectors seeking to buy it already. 


Vansic looked down to his side, at a small dark stain on the stone of the floor. No, he wouldn't sell. Not such an important reminder of his dear brother. 


The count tapped the fingers of his left hand upon the wroshyr of the table. He had already mangled the roast fox upon his plate with fork and knife, eaten the heavily-seasoned diced tubers on the side. With a heavy clink, he set down the fork, reached out, seized the crystal decanter of Savareen brandy in long, powerful fingers, and refilled his snifter. 


The family doctor said he would need a cloned liver sooner, rather than later, and that he should stop drinking. He had fired the man on the spot, had Tiberius drag him out by his collar. The replacement doctor had said the same, but hadn't advised him to stop drinking. Vansic had a sneaking suspicion that Tiberius had briefed the man before his arrival. 


Vansic drained his snifter in one gulp, no pretensions, not in his own home.  The door opened. Tiberius slipped in, a discreet cough to gain the count's attention. "Message for you, sir." he said, tunic rustling as he walked over. Vansic remembered the days when the manservant wore a military greatcoat and carried a scattergun. He took a slim holoprojector from the man's huge paw, waving him off to the side- who was it this time? The foreman in the mines? The banker? Perhaps another damned invitation to another damned dinner party.


He activated it. It was not. It was actually, unexpectedly, Darth Sanguira. It was so surprising that he actually forgot to be surprised. "My dear Vansic, I do hope your mind and skills have not gone rusty." the little hologram said. "We are in need of your services once more, so join us at the coordinates encrypted in this message. Darth Atrox has a gift for you." 


It played a couple times over before Vansic reached out to turn it off. They required him again. He'd been aware that there was a remnant out there, he had been attempting to funnel them money through the Bank of Aargau and several front companies- but this was unexpected. The last he had heard was that Darth Atrox had disappeared, and the non-Force-using part of the Empire needed to lay low. But this? Need of his services? A gift?


"Tiberius, lay out my uniform and tell Lombara to ready the yacht." he said, leaning back in his chair, defocusing slightly. "Inform the mine foremen that I shall be absent for a while, and that they should deal with any issues... appropriately. That's all."


The manservant nodded. "Yes, sir." he said, turning on his heel to leave the room. 


They were back. The Empire was back. This could be nothing else.


Vansic drummed his fingers on his thigh, pensively, and then sat up to pour himself another drink.

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Darth Sanguira    241

Smile not reaching the frigid gaze in her molten eyes, the woman guided the noble along once the hybrid had finished having a private word.  Did he know the redhead as well, or was it a message from her lover?  Neither mattered much to her, so she ignored the curiosity, the tiny desire to know.  


As they walked towards the temple that Darth Verrin had built for their people, she spoke in a hushed tone, words for the lad's ears only, the few beings along their path stepping aside to bow respectfully as was expected by her.


"You wish to avoid attention, our attention.  Do not deny it, boy.  Your expressions give your feelings away more than my skills at reading others do.  I cannot say I blame you, for attention from a darth of our caliber often results in death.  But enough of your weak desires.  You have no backbone, not yet.  I am in need of services from acolytes, so I will start by moulding you into something of use."


What went unspoken was how even if he had no knowledge of her children, he would be in her crosshairs at all times.  The moment the boy was born, he was cursed to face those he wanted to be invisible to; nobles and masters of power - jedi and sith alike - were her favorite types of prey to break.  Her husband knew this very well.


"Silas, what skills do you possess, for physical strength certainly isn't your forte by any means.  Served that wretch right, though.  And why in Chaos's name do you not have a proper lightsaber yet?  Tch." 


Clearly unbothered by the state his attire was in, the brunette pulling up his file from a datapad that had been fastened to her hip, something she kept with her when going on "diplomatic" missions.  Not all data had been lost in the destruction of their Sith planets, the various highly encrypted backups given to council members proving useful during the continuance of their survival.  


"Hm, nothing very noteworth on your file, but no matter.  That flicker of anger you felt whilst executing the traitor will grow tenfold when I'm done with you.  Now to find a room in this place to test the needed abilities..."

Edited by Darth Sanguira
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Kai Tsintah    50

All of this, the entire gathering was so very, very awkward for the Korun. She felt entirely out of place, here among these finest darkside warriors who nonetheless, allowed her to be present.


Kai considered just backing out slowly, carefully, vanishing around some corner or bulkhead, maybe? Or maybe she was a drooling idiot! Peon or not, they would have all sensed that the makeup of the dejarik board had changed. Not to mention, the training pits were a wide, open area. There was nothing here to hide behind except maybe another individual? Rubbish, Kai thought grimly. As if skulking behind Corvus or hiding under some other Darth's voluminous robe, was an option.


Still bearing the gruesome image of the mutilated Mirialan's body in her mind, Kai lowered her gaze demurely and continued to stand semi-cautious in a posture of half-obeisance and half-readiness. Eventually, the assembly would dissipate completely and she, Kai, would return to her spartan cell with her datapads and books for comfort. Until then, she would listen and she would watch. Lowered glance could still spy things beneath the thick fringe of dark lashes, stopping at the feet of an enormous Sith (Carnifex)  and lingered there. Kai would never be as awe-inspiring as this man, but at the very least, she would strive to attract the eye of a potential mentor or Sith Master.


Granted, staring at someone's boots probably wouldn't gain her much attention from this, or any other formidable warrior gathered within. Daring to lift her chin if only a little, Kai continued to display a modicum of respect while studying those still present with a curious, artful glance.

Edited by Kai Tsintah
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