Faction Cut Off One Head, Two More Shall Arise | Sith Order

[Aspect of Victory]

Jutrand
902 ABY

Thousands of voices echoed across a packed stadium, seating and viewpoints ranging from the poorest benches to the grandest balconies and floating lounges were all filled to the brim with activity and chattering audience members, with even a special compartment set aside for students of the Sith Academies to spectate. Dozens of droids streaming the currently unoccupied arena centre floated around to capture the sights and sounds of the crowd as they eagerly awaited the show to come.

With the war against the Galactic Alliance no longer looming but rather firmly on the doorstep of the Sith Order, morale among the common citizenry had been in a state of fluctuation as they watched with bated breath for the first reports to come back to them from the frontlines. Yet despite the gaze towards the frontier worlds now all had their eyes fixed on the heart of the Order.

It had been a generation since the last Kaggath and none wanted to miss out on the spectacle.

Jutrand would serve as the host to such an event, declared as such by the Emperor and Empress so that all would be able to witness the coming duel. One which would decide much on such a tumultuous edge as the one that the Sith now sat upon. There was no room for internal strife and struggles when their foes had struck out so recently and yet not all were eager to put aside their grievances and personal ambitions.

For many this Kaggath had another name, the Trial of Darth Strosius . The Lord of the Inquisition had long been a controversial and conflicting force within the Order but his recent actions against the Dark Council member Taeli Raaf had placed him front and centre in the public eye as a threat to the fragile internal peace.

Darth Malum of House Marr , the other heir to Darth Ophidia and head of the reformed Tsis’Kaar, had taken it upon himself to issue the Emperor’s justice to his wayward fellow former apprentice. The two heads of the serpent, the Tsis’Kaar and the Inquisition, stand poised to strike one another and all are eager to see which has more bite, as their lieutants stand opposite with bated breath of who shall be their new master.

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

It was still in a daze that he marched out of the gate, the ringing of the alarm had only moments ago alerted him of the fact that the time had come, the gate rising with the pull of mechanical cogs, and the weight of steel bars that were both prison and absolution. His mind had run through what would happen as he pushed through those gates so many times, thousands, millions of times, if he had to put any number to it.

Yet he could not even be confident of that.

Through dark gloves his hands were clammy, the heat of the Jutrand sun bore down on him, as did the cacophony of a thousand cheering faces.

He had faced death so many times.

He had faced battle so many more times.

So why, did every step feel agony, why did his knees waver, why was every instinct in his mind demanding his form shake, held at bay only by the will of one that knew as much as this was a duel, an execution of one of the most ancient Sith rites.

It too was a performance.

The masked visage of the Lord of the Tsis'Kaar rallied, as he pressed onward, every step more momentous than the last, as even with a clouded mind of memories that...

That...

A replica mask in the face of his great forebearer.

Armour made once for his Mistress, a black cloak swaying in the sand, draped across him in phrik, armourweave, and reflec, all too protect him from a battle he could not be certain he could win.

Not with the memories that did not belong to him, of blue faces, sweet faces, so familiar to him, but that he had not ever met.

Names he knew, but he...

How perfect it was, a mask of another, armour of another, memories of another, what did the scion of Darth Marr have that was truly his?

The thought struck as he took his final step.

Reaching to his back, a beskar hilt, pulled forth and the Sith Steel unveiled, the clatter of metal for a moment seeming to overpower the mindless voices that had all combined into the sound of something truly unrecognisable, but was familiar enough to know what exactly it was. The Blade of Storm and Flames was heavy in his hands.

It felt heavier as his ring glowed an eery orange.

As the cheers rose in their frequency and their thunder, near deafening, as the steel burst into flames, a blade aflame swung around, enrapturing attention, a show, as they awaited the one who had brought them here.

A million times he had imagined this.

All those thoughts seemed irrelevant now.

He could die today.

The realisation had come again, and again, through those million thoughts, yet, when each and everytime it had only made his stomach roll, again, and again.

This time.

It brought out a smile.

He could not die.

Dreams, ambitions, fate, destiny, all he wanted to achieve, all that he had not.

He would be victorious.

For himself.

A thousand faces fluttered across his mind, subjects, friends, allies, family... loves...

He would win.

For all of them.

Darth Strosius

 

[Darth Prazutis]

It was the largest viewing box the stadium possessed.

Kainate banners fell proudly over every wall. A phalanx of black armored Crownguard stood at the entrance and on every perimeter wall of the expansive box. A vast table held a variable feast of exotic foods, spices, and beverages was pushed to one end. Many of which were foreign in origin. A giant skull sat at the center of the table cut open, held an orange liquid that boiled like lava, it smelled of fire and the faintest smell of decay. Deep within a Kainite entourage began to arrive, taking their places at the designated spots to view the oncoming fight. But something else stepped out of the darkness.​

​

The Dark Lord of the Kainate arrived. ​

​

A living giant wrapped in zeyd cloth, clad in an outfit of ebony icarii leather freshly flayed from a screaming victim and worked tirelessly. A large lightsaber sat clasped at his side as he seemed to emerge from a rift in space itself, beside him came a petite figure emerging from the rift behind him. The Mortarch simply held out a hand and one of the decraniated attendants placed a goblet full of the orange liquid inside. He took a long swig of the liquid before sighing content, placing it down on a positioned table beside the area designated for their supreme rulers. Then he pulled out what looked to be a cigar, tightly wrapped in red, he clipped the end off and set it aflame. The very smoke billowing from it was enough to burn exposed skin, singe the nostrils with its potency. It burned with dark energy as he inhaled deep on it, resting a hand on the railing. ​

​

"We will see what your master is made of child. The Kaggath is sacred to our culture. One must fall." ​

Revna ​

 

[Darth Nefaron]

At Last
​

Nefaron had known the current order that had been imposed on the Empire could not last, the entire Sith Order had seen this day coming for some time now. The real question had been just what form this division would take, and of course, it had to be a damned Kaggath of all things. Honor had no place among the Sith, if this was really about a simple duel then this could have been settled during the great assembly called by the Emperor, but no, let it be a spectacle for all the galaxy to see. Rival factions had already formed, not only among the Sith but even the commoners who now cried out for blood, the question now was who would triumph?

Nefaron cared little. Either Malum or Strosius would triumph, his plans would carry on regardless.​

The Sith were in dire need of a… cleansing, for lack of a better word. Countless factions had been allowed to develop competing visions for the future that have strayed far beyond Sith doctrine's confines. Victory today might see allegiances shift, and false oaths of loyalty given, but in the end, there would be a wound that can not be healed without a fundamental shift in the Order. Nefaron would be the herald of a renewed and refocused Sith Empire, but he had realized such a task could not be carried out openly, at least not by him. He did not intend to give up power, but he thought it wise to rule from the shadows, to prop up a figure that could be feared and loved. In short, he would require an apprentice.

The Academy hadn’t exactly impressed him, the bulk of the present stock of Acolytes would prove to be capable enough to toss at the Alliance, but none had stood out as extraordinary.

That is, all but one.
​

Young Veradun Sharr was somewhat quiet, reserved, and yet there was a darkness buried within him that had yet to be unleashed. Nefaron had come cloaked to him as he watched the fierce debate in the Assembly, the boy was terrified that his High Priest would be struck down at the Emperor’s hand, but it seemed his life (or death) would be settled within the area. Still, Nefaron wouldn’t dare deny the boy a show.

The Corpse Lord has not aligned with any faction, his balcony in the area was far from the grandest, nor did it sit in the highest rungs of the area where the current power brokers watched with bated breath. But it was private, the most vile and ruthless minions from the Corpse Legion guarded the entrance and knelt as their master and his new apprentice passed by. Two thrones had been prepared, side by side to imply an equality that simply did not exist between Nefaron and his apprentice, but the gathered masses need not know that. Nefaron would let the boy taste power, and allow him to watch his academy sponsors rip each other apart. Today, he would begin his training, his first lesson to be one of freedom. The young Nagai would have to free himself from his past if he were to forge himself anew as a true Dark Lord.

“Come, Apprentice. Sit and take in the sights of an Empire at its height. Let us see this playground game unfold.”

TAGS: Veradun Sharr ​

 

[Zarava Dekki]

ZARAVA

Location: Jutrand
Tags: OPEN

Fighting. Fighting. More fighting. It seemed to be common with the Sith that wherever they went, fighting would be involved. Considering what had been said and the threats that had been thrown around in the recent meeting that Empyrean had held, it sounded like Darth Malum and Darth Strosius would fight each other. To the death? Zarava wasn't sure as she hadn't figured out those details when she had decided to attend. This would only be the third time that she had seen anyone of a high caliber fight. It could be a good learning experience, to say the least. Besides, she would be lying if she said she wasn't looking forward to seeing Strosius knocked down a peg. He was a threat to her very existence and the grudge that he held against her sponsor and mentor Taeli Raaf.

Zarava wore her usual clothing and found a simple place to watch while in the stadium. She tried to pick a spot that wasn't overly crowded. From what she could see where she was, she didn't see any other Acolytes around. That was fine, she had no problem being alone with her thoughts while she watched. The young redhead watched as Darth Malum appeared in the stadium, and her gaze was drawn to the opposite end waiting to see Darth Strosius emerge. She needed the other to lose if she had any chance of living in the Sith Order unscathed. If the other somehow managed to find her thoughts on wanting to leave, she doubted it would go over well. For now, she was nothing but a small fry, and the other might not even know of her existence. She was hardly a threat to anyone remotely as strong as the two that were down in the stadium ready to rip each other apart.

For now, she sat there calmly, her arms crossed with a neutral look spread across her face.

 

[Darth Strosius]

​

Heavy footsteps signified the arrival of the Lord Inquisitor into the arena, his thick ornate robes flowing as he strode forward without delay or hesitation. He didn't seem to pay any heed to the roar of the crowd at all, nor to the dozens of camera droids swirling around him to compete for the best angle. Instead his masked gaze was directed to one particular individual which now walked out across the arena towards him just as he was doing the same in return.

The crowd bayed for blood and glory, for spectacle and struggle, for a Kaggath and a death. If he were a more prideful man then Darth Strosius might even entertain the thought that the crowds were cheering for him in particular, but he knew better. Blood was blood and seeing it spilled was all that most would care about. It didn't matter who it was from nor whom drew it, only that it flowed and did so in an entertaining manner. But this was no simple match of anger and skill, even if that fact wasn't fully evident to most of the audience.

He hadn't come here to slay Malum, he had come here to prove himself right. And if he had to do so whilst standing over the body of the Heir of Marr then so be it.

The Lord Inquisitor did spare a glance or two up into the stands to survey the situation at hand but it only served to confirm what he already knew. Many had come to see what would transpire this day, to watch the two heirs of Ophidia tear each other apart for their amusement. If only they knew what would come after his victory over Malum. If only they knew that they would have front row seats to the beginning of the next Sith Golden Age. One that would be heralded by the spilling of much blood indeed.

Then his gaze returned to Malum and narrowed slightly as his march forward came to a halt. A part of him did regret that one so essential to his previous plans was about to fall to his blade, but such was the way of things. Just as he had done with Ophidia, Malum would be cast aside with no more usefulness left to give aside from that which only his death would bring. For a few moments he dwelled on what exactly he stood to lose if he was somehow bested in the duel to come.

In his mind's eye he recalled an empire of Sith that was powerful enough to stave off the entire galaxy, yet in the end caved due to neglect and selfishness. Planets and legions rendered undefended husks that were all too easy prey for Jedi and Imperials. He saw Formos, a world so recently lost due to his own weakness and inability to slay Taeli Raaf. He saw the faces of the Inquisition and the Order of Wonosa, those that looked to him with trust and loyalty. Those that would follow him straight into death without hesitation.

Finally he allowed anger to seep into his bones as he pulled his lightsaber into one hand and his sword into the other. The Worm had been felled for his treachery, Ophidia for her hesitation, Malum would die for his insolence, and then Empyrean and Carnifex and all their ilk would follow suit. If he failed then there was no hope of success for the Sith, no victory against the Jedi and no future for the Order. If he failed then all his work and efforts would be for naught.

If he failed then he would be wrong. And Darth Strosius, Lord Inquisitor of the Holy Inquisition, High Priest of the Order of Wonosa, and Last Sith of the Tenth Sith Empire, was never wrong.

"It is such a shame you wish to die so needlessly like this, Malum. Had you just kept quiet and minded your own affairs, you could have been spared such a gruesome fate. But now..." His crimson blade ignited to life as he stared down the other masked Sith and leveled his lightsaber at him, the blade of his sword in his other hand crackling with bolts of lightning. "Now you will share the same fate of all who would oppose the Sith. Execution, a death far cleaner than someone like you deserves. Blueblooded wretch."

Darth Malum of House Marr

 

[Revna]

Of course he wanted her to witness the Kaggath between her Master and her own flesh and blood.

She only wished she could have been present under different circumstances.

Revna stood behind the Dark Lord as the rift tore open to reveal the immense box beyond, and when the Shadow Hand stepped forward, she followed suit. Her face was a carefully crafted emotionless mask, and she kept herself wrapped up tight mentally and emotionally to give as little away to those around her as possible.

The oppressive heat of Jutrand slammed into her as she passed through the rift and into the large viewing box designated for the Kainate. Never did she imagine she would be within such a place, surrounded by her enemies. Beyond the walls was the rising din of the gathered crowd, and the sight and sound sickened her. She wasn’t opposed to bloodsports; her own Master had seen to it that she would enjoy them from time to time.

But this was different.

Down in that arena… she would witness something she never wanted to see.

Revna cast her gaze towards Darth Prazutis as he was handed a goblet of some form of liquid she knew nothing about. A glint of hatred flickered in her eyes; of course he would partake in finery and luxuries while her Master and her cousin fought, and more than likely to the death. Her attention drifted to the table that was filled with goodies and treats and beverages for the Kainate entourage to partake in - but she ignored it all. And she silently shifted away from the caustic smoke that billowed from the lit cigar that her overlord puffed on; she had no desire to be caught up in whatever he decided to flood his system with.

Silently, the little woman stepped away from the Dark Lord to come before the railing that looked out over the arena, over the crowds. There was so much emotion flooding through the Force that it almost took her breath away; it was a sea of dark energy around her, and she couldn’t help but feed off of it herself. Her gaze never strayed from the sights before her as the words of Prazutis drifted into her ears, and she fought off the urge to scoff and fire back a retort.

“Indeed. May the most worthy prevail then, and the weakest be destroyed. As they should be.” Revna murmured in a cold voice as she watched her cousin Darth Malum, and then her High Priest, her true Master - step into the arena below to face one another. It was so difficult for her to remain unmoved on the surface, to show no emotion that would give her away, for inside every part of her wanted to scream. She wanted him to know he had her support, even against her own family, but all she could do was remain silent.

Darth Prazutis // Open​

 

[Kasir Dorran]

Tags: Open

As Kasir learned the news that the High Priest would be engaging in a duel, he felt a sense of nonchalance. It was not a result of apathy, more so it was viewed as yet another roadblock that would eventually be eliminated. He had full confidence in the outcome of it all. On Jutrand, the air was thick with tension and anticipation. Sounds from the crowds filled his ears; it was a symphony of fervor and bloodlust that mirrored the primal desires of his heart.

He failed to notice an error in the decision to select an arena over council chambers; the never-ending world of petty politics proved tiresome to even hear, but at least in this setting, a handful of onlookers understood they were never more truly alive, than when they had to a foe to fight. Even if the odds were stacked against it, there was a deep yearning within the Darkseeker. As the two would soon display their strength, it would certainly present the perfect opportunity for distraction—one that could mask an assault on a lurking rival. Chaos, confusion, distrust, violence, Kasir more often than not sowed these things wherever he went and whenever he could.

Just as in the missions he carried out for Wonosa, he arrived alone. To him, sitting in a box held no significance; far too many seemed to enjoy just having the appearance of power. He wanted no part of it.

Under the harsh rays of the sun, he stepped forward from the shadows. His skin was as pale as death itself, and he was draped in a billowing black cloak that concealed his armor underneath it. He moved purposefully through the throngs of people within the arena. There were some that intrinsically made way for him, while others he would simply push aside. As the light breeze swept through the area, it stirred his dark brown locks. Kasir’s expression remained unreadable, his cold eyes surveying every detail of the environment, as if determined to gain a tactical advantage even here.

Moving confidently towards the edge of a crowd of excited spectators within the arena, his gaze finally fell upon the long awaited scene. Darth Malum emerged at last, his presence seeming to draw the focus of everyone present. And then, to his own satisfaction, the one he served, the High Priest, made his formidable appearance. Even from a distance, the distinct voice of Darth Strosius could be heard. Such was to be expected of him.

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

KAINATE

Darth Prazutis | Revna ​

Thunder clapped while a plume of black smoke streaked through the Kainate viewing box. The skeletal form of the Nightsister Matriarch produced before her beauty emanated under black ceremonial robes. She immediately opened her mouth, as one by one, plumes of smoke and silt leapt from her throat to be built up from the stone floor. These landed the twelve she brought forth from within, twelve spirits of her ancestors to whom she willing offered possession.

One by one the Wanica Coven of thirteen Nightsisters evolved into their physical form before their god, Darth Carnifex 's dyad in the Force.

"My Lord," they mused most reverently while they curtseyed in unison, and following Pomstychtivé moved to place a soft kiss upon Prazutis' fingertips. As she rose, her many amulets of cultural significance hummed. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, just to bask in the depths of Darkness which he emanates so familiar.

The Wanica dispersed beauty into the shadows, leaving their Priestess a moment to commune with her family.
​

 

[Lina Ovmar]

Lina's presence in the kainite box was a quiet one, bowing deeply with the others as Darth Prazutis arrived she felt her jaw clench as she saw young Revna in tow. She shoild have expected it, shhe should have known that he would subject her to wuch a cruelty simply to test if she was truly loyal.

But also to upset Darth Strosius should he notice. She used the arrival of the Nightsisters to move, sliding through the box to come up beside Revna. She dared not talk to her telepathically here, not with so many enemies around them. To do so would require her defences to drop and she wouldn't allow that for a second.

She let her shoulder brush Revna's but kept her eyes on the men below as they approached one another.

 

[Lily Rhodes]

Tags: Open

Lily felt physically sick. The whole debacle made her feel sick. Malum had always tried to tell her that the sith were more than just the butchers of the galaxy, that their purpose was good. Yet he had failed to prove that to her.

Granted, they were not all bad, she at least had found some kindness in her family, but overall? Doe eyes scanned the raucous crowd, scowled at holocams that swept across them and the arena like this was just a fun show…like this wasn't about to be murder on display.

She sat among strangers, unable to find her cousins…unable to find Revna . She chewed the inside of her cheek nervously, her leg bouncing as she twitched at every shout nearby like she was expecting an attack. She kept her normally wandering mind closed tightly, not wanting to know the vile thoughts that passed any of those around her.

If Malum died here today…if he lost…what would become of her? The wayward cousin, the one who refused to accept her heritage…

She'd never felt quite so alone.

 

[Ansisa]

Tags: Open



Ansisa rose from the preparation rooms into the stand, her heart in her throat though her face revealed nothing of her fear. She strode with purpose through the stands to the Tsis'Kaar box, itblacked the flair of the Kainites, but then the Tsis'Kaar did not need to parade its power and strength in such a gaudy fashion. The lieutenants were gathered, snapping a salute to the Shadow Hand as she entered and gave them all a solemn nod to and a wave of her hand that they to be at ease. If it was possible to do such a thing.

Today, everything could change for them. They all knew if Darth Malum of House Marr fell, that they were required to bend the knee.

An instruction she had not taken lightly, for it would be her that would lead them in this. It would be her whose duty it was to ensure that Darth Strosius remained on the correct path…and it would be her duty to usurp him when the time came. The idea of accepting him as Malum's successor left a sour taste in her mouth.

She took a deep breath, her hands settling upon the railing before her as she exhaled, knowing she would need to keep her keel even, no matter what happened, Malum needed to focus and she would not allow the turmoil of her emotions to seep through their bond and disrupt him.

Her eyes followed her Master, her lover and the father of her children as he stepped into the arena, tracking him as he moved to the centre to meet Strosius.

You will not fall.

She thought to herself, knowing he would hear her.

You are the heir to one of the most powerful sith who ever lived. You. Will. Not. Fall.

 

[Kadann]

"Now we see..."


Kadann was seated near a small collection of Malum's supporters. He had been in the service of the young lord for some time. He offered insight into the ways of the Jedi, advice on his dark passenger and simple conversations on the philosophy of the Force.

No one would pay much attention to Kadann. An old man in a simple black robe with no holdings, no titles.

His own story was done. His was the slow epilogue of a man too tired to die.

This was Malum's story. A pivotal moment.

Perhaps its last moment.

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

You will not fall.

She thought to herself, knowing he would hear her.

You are the heir to one of the most powerful sith who ever lived. You. Will. Not. Fall.

Her voice despite all that had occurred between them, for as long as they had known each other, for the few minutes before he walked out into the arena, remained a constant... reassurance.

He would not fall, the voice repeated.

Perhaps if he repeated it to himself enough, he might manifest it into reality.

Such musings were concluded as the gate opposite him raised open, and out of them marched out a familiar figure. A figure that, though they had crossed blades so many times in the years that they had known each other, Malum had never once thought they would have met opposite each other in a place like this, would have met in circumstances like this.

Even when he had been filled with such wroth to...

...Another face flashed before his eyes, as beneath the mask, red eyes closed themselves from the world.

Many had called him foolish, many had accused him of taking advantage, many of them saw through his position entirely, yet, simply could not understand it.

Selfishness ruled him.

Selfishness had brought him to death's door.

His orbs opened, bearing witness as Ali- Darth Strosius' robes flowed easily down, as he marched along this long road that finally brought them together, for what could certainly be their final waltz. It had never been their way for things to end like this, even in Malum's wroth in the aftermath of what they had done upon Fiviune.

In his wroth that had brought his battlebrother low.

...They had been partners, allies... brothers... in an Order that so distrusted them, in an Order that hated them for following who they were meant to follow, who gazed long eyes of suspicion towards them, even as they proved themselves, again, and again, they had only each other.

But had that been the case?

They promised, that together, that they would bring them all down, that they would bring a new dawn for the Sith, for the galaxy.

But where had that gone?

They moved not in concert, but rather in discord, stepping on each other's toes as they tripped over each other in the face of all that they did, differing methods coming in the way of shared ideals, as by the end, they might as well have been actively in opposition.

How had Malum let it grow so bad?

The one man in this Order that he did not trust due to shared blood flowing between their veins.

But due to the fact that they had been forged together, raw iron was beaten, again, and again, until made very different weapons, a rapier, and a warhammer. They who shared secrets that none other knew, they who held within them the demons, that they held at bay with the hardest effort. How had they?

How had he?

Found himself at war with his own brother?

His musings broke without answer, as they so often did, the sand crumpling near, an alert to the fact, that he now stood opposite him, the hiss of lightsabre crackling with lightning, and the slice of a blade engulfed in flames, revealing.

The dance was about to begin.

"It is such a shame you wish to die so needlessly like this, Malum. Had you just kept quiet and minded your own affairs, you could have been spared such a gruesome fate. But now..."

"Now you will share the same fate of all who would oppose the Sith. Execution, a death far cleaner than someone like you deserves. Blueblooded wretch."

The Blade of Storm of Flames was pointed towards their query, the masked visage revealing nothing, as the free hand prepared. He knew how Ali- Darth Strosius fought, all the times they had trained together, all the times they had fought together against some insurmountable, some impossible foe.

One of the few he had relied upon.

One of the few he had trusted.

What was the point of being a Sith, when he could not have every selfish desire?

When he did not have the power to protect those he wanted to protect?

"Is that what you saw me as, this whole time, Darth Strosisus?" Malum questioned, his breathing growing heavier, as masked visages locked onto each other with an intensity that could melt entire worlds, "Where is the kind, yet firm, man I met so many years ago, who saw a young apprentice, and took him under his wing?" When Malum asked himself, how he had let it go so far.

He could not truly blame himself entirely.

There had been a change in his battlebrother, ever since Fiviune, a change that Malum could imagine he knew the cause for... but a cause which he knew his co-apprentice would deny from here to high heaven.

If this worked... then maybe...

"That man would have deserved to have defeated me," He narrowed his eyes beneath the visors of the mask, as he took a step forward, a challenge, the tip of the relatively shorter blade pointing to the enemy, that he so wished was not, "But now," His vision clouded with images of twin blue-skinned children, red eyes brimming with laugher, raven locks swaying in the wind.

"But now, I will not fall."

The white lightning coiled around the Sith Steel at a speed that went beyond reckoning, as it burst out with the speed of its make a flashing web cascading through the air, carrying forth to strike the Inquisitor.

Darth Strosius

 

[Veradun Sharr]

The latest transition in Veradun’s life was still new to him, something to which he was still adjusting for. Much had transpired for the boy in such a relatively short period of time: leaving home to attend the Sith Academy, passing through his various trials to even be considered worthy enough to attend, experiencing combat and making his first kill on his first outing with some fellow acolytes and a Master from the Academy…nearly watching his Sponsor fight the Sith Emperor at the Assembly, and being offered an apprenticeship to a Dark Lord.

The very same stranger who now had a name that Veradun knew, and whom he followed as they both approached the private viewing space set aside for Darth Nefaron and his entourage. The boy was still adjusting to his new life, his new position as the Lord’s apprentice, and he was certainly still getting used to those who were a part of his Master’s Corpse Legion.

He would get used to them in time. But for now he still regarded them with a mixture of revulsion and wariness, even as they knelt when he and the Dark Lord passed by and into the viewing box. The boy’s piercing gaze settled on the two seats set up side by side that gave a decent viewing of the arena beyond.

His Master’s voice carried through to him, bidding him to sit in one of the seats and the young teen sat down, making sure to move aside the fine black cloak he wore so he didn’t sit on it. Taking a deep breath, he stretched out his senses just a little bit - noticing that those in the immediate area around the more private booth were…quiet, subdued. Even with his relatively limited experience in using the Force, the Nagai boy could feel the tremor of discomfort in those that were closest to the box.

His pale blue eyes slid over to the dark robed figure on the other seat beside him, and it was not hard to miss the unease upon Veradun. He had mixed feelings about being here, and he struggled to truly understand and process what was going on through his mind.

His High Priest was here - set to fight against the cousin of his sister, but for why he couldn't really understand. He couldn’t help but wonder where she was; he had not heard from her for some time, and in the chaos of all that had happened, he couldn’t figure out where she was or what had happened with her. He assumed she was on a mission for her own Master - but Darth Strosius was here, and still the Nagai boy had not heard nor seen Revna. Surely she would be here? Or maybe she had been told to stay away? He didn't know, and it worried him.

...maybe she would come find Veradun and both brother and sister could encourage their High Priest together towards victory.

“So I heard that this was called a ‘kaggath’? What exactly is that, Master?” Veradun asked the one seated beside him, before his eyes were torn away by the lordly figure of Darth Malum Marr who stepped into the arena and directly opposite was the familiar and imposing sight of the Lord Inquisitor as he stepped forth to face his opponent. There was a buzz in the air, a tension in the Force that even the young and inexperienced boy could feel - as if the atmosphere itself was charged and primed to unleash a violent storm.

Darth Nefaron​

 

[Darth Empyrean]

Tag | Open​

​

Darth Empyrean sat alone in a box filled with Sepulchral, Praetorians, and upper ranking Eternalist Sith who had the favor of the Church. Alone he sat in a pair of thrones, while the other sat empty in favor of Srina Talon 's absence. He had come to watch a verdict reached - to see who among the apprentices of his enemy would survive to burden him still. A corpse come to watch a murder, feeling nothing as their cherished historic bond was smothered by the bloody cheers of a crowd gone mad.​

​

He felt nothing as he watched it, and he would feel nothing when the final blow was struck.​

​

The Corpse Emperor grew without companionship as a boy. Even when he was a man, his friends had been far and few between. Atlas Kane betrayed him, and was killed for his actions. Arken Lussk had remained in the confines of the corporate galaxy, a place he could no longer tread. Caulder Dune had abandoned him and his works. Each proved worthless to where he stood now, forgotten by the Galaxy while he continued to rise in relativity.​

​

A perspective unfounded. He had grown into nothing but a destroyer.​

​

So true was his nature, he watched with passive acceptance at the destruction he caused before his peoples, his empire, and his soldiers. It was beneficial to him, no matter how it played out, so he had something to gain from this. Perhaps that dulled any guilt he would have had, or perhaps his decay into death had finally found a way to kill off more of his sympathies. The Dark Side had a way of stripping one of their humanity, for better or for worse.​

 

[Darth Strosius]

​

"You're looking right at him. But not as an apprentice needing guidance, rather as a failed and belligerent youth in dire need of correction." His words might have been harsh but surprisingly they held little venom, being genuine and yet so very cold. From where he stood Malum had chosen the wrong path and at this point there was only one way to save him from it. A quick and simple demise. One that he had granted so many before when they turned their backs on him and his vision.

"You fell into the same pit of mistakes and complacency that Ophidia found herself in. It is only fitting that I put you down as I did her." While most everyone would dismiss such a remark as brashness or prideful blunder, Malum knew the truth of it. They may have both struck down the Lady of Assassins but it was he that had put her in the position to be defeated in the first place. He alone had drawn out the shadow and made her vulnerable, turned her very powerbase against itself and twisted it for his own goals.

Regardless of whether Malum cared about the implications in his words or not, he alone knew the full extent of them. Ophidia had been struck down by his will alone and he seemed to very much intend for Malum to be done in the same way. Albeit without a civil war to cover and justify the execution this time. This time he would make it quick, no schemes or obelisks needed. It was the least that he could offer given their shared history he supposed.

The Heir of Marr was the first to strike, lashing out at him with lightning from his blade that the Lord Inquisitor would be forced to avoid unless he wanted to end up scorched already. He leapt into the air and the repulsorlifts on his boots carried him even further upwards, just barely above the web of lightning as it came at him. "I don't need you to fall Malum..."

"I just need you to die."

He shifted his body forwards, the repulsors launching him towards Malum like a bird of prey descending upon its next meal. He twisted in the air and made a slash with his sword that sent a small wave of lightning arcing off of the blade and slicing down towards the other masked Sith as he himself hit the ground running a short distance from his fellow former apprentice.

With speed that should have been wholly unnatural to one as heavily robed and armored as he, Darth Strosius raced forward almost faster than the arc of lightning that he had unleashed. He dove in and lashed out with his crimson blade and his sword at the same time in a rather brutish but no less effective frontal slice given that the arc of lightning would be coming down at the same time. A clever little trap it seemed.

Darth Malum of House Marr

 

[Darth Nefaron]

​

"The Kaggath is as ancient as the Sith Order itself, though what you see today is little more than a taste of what it once was."

Nefaron did not turn his gaze to his apprentice, instead focusing on the combatants as they entered the grand arena, the crowds roaring for their chosen warrior, failing to understand that they were about to witness the beginnings of a Sith Civil War. Still, the pure, unfiltered emotion that rose each time the crowd began to chant was practically electric, the power of the Dark Side had never been more prevalent than in a moment such as this.

"In the old days, when the Sith Empire warred with the Galatic Republic, a Kaggath was more than a simple duel. It was two Sith employing their armies, fleets, spies, and whatever other resources they possessed in what amounted to an isolated civil war within the Empire, no outsider could interfere, and not even the Emperor at the time bothered to put an end to the fighting. Often, a Kaggath was settled without the two Sith ever locking lightsaber blades, one often having lost their power base and therefore was utterly humiliated. But when the two dueled, it was the culmination of months, perhaps even years of conflict."

In truth, the Kaggath was a foolish relic of a bygone age. This was little more than a duel like one might find in the Academy, two angry boys battling it out over their own pride. The stakes of this duel were far-reaching, but for his apprentice, this was far more impactful. Nefaron knew well of boys' allegiance to his High Priest, but more so his allegiance to his sister who had been in Darth Strosius service for some time. In truth, it might be better to witness Strosius fail, than to have the boy watch the High Priest be humiliated. But Nefaron did not desire such a thing, for if Strosius were to triumph today his arrogance would propel him to see yet more battle, he would not stop until all of his enemies fell and he ruled the Empire alone. That war is exactly what Nefaron sought, but the future was clouded, this battle was far from decided.

"This spectacle is a joke, the Emperor seeks to defend a member of his Dark Council and weaken his rivals, he would love nothing more than to see Darth Strosius fall, but I am not so sure that is what is about to play out. I have little doubt of Malums abilities, but Strosius has a certain... ambition about him, ambition we can use. Our victory will be in drawing in the loosing factions supporters, granting them an opportunity to take their revenge."

Only then did Nefaron turn his cloaked gaze to his apprentice, his features offering a certain sympathy, an emotion than seemed impossible for the Master of Fear.

"Apprentice, what are you feeling? Speak freely, this is a momentous day."

Tags: Veradun Sharr​

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

The first salvo never hit.

It seemed to be a consistent rule in all ventures like this, the masked visage tracked the movement of his opposite as the repulsorlifts threw him up into the air, one of the tricks which his co-apprentice was known for. The lightning extended outwards, flinging itself in its shocking intensity towards where he flew, seeming to follow him as a snake having found its prey slithered.

Alas, his speed, despite the heavy armour he wore, was enough to counter.

Reaching into his armour, as red eyes witnessed the lightning beginning to form, the lightning as pure blue as he had seen it upon Faldos, he knew, that while this war was waged in public, there yet, was still the war waged in the privacy of his battlebrother's mind, that unless he could bring that war to a conclusion, there was no way to bring about victory.

The victory he selfishly wanted.

His fingers found what he searched for, a smoke ball.

Thus, as the cultist's lightning splayed to bring him to his knees, the inquisitor actually moved with a speed greater than the lightning he had unleashed, as the gap between them tightened as every millisecond passed, both lightsabre and sword destined to skewer him in two...

A great explosion whirled out, as the black smoke took command of the stage, as Malum whirled through the darkness, his feet empowered by the Force twirled his way out of danger, blinding them both, yet, Malum knew exactly where he was to go. A blinding darkness giving way to blinding sunlight, as the crowd cheered.

The smoke concealing the outcome of the first clash.

"This is not the first time I challenged you, why now did it bring about such hatred, Darth Strosius?" His words were filled with feeling, emotions whirling together as made asunder in his cords, as he spoke into the smoke, as he prepared his Sith Sword for the possibility of his counterattack through the fog, as his teeth began to grind, as he let out a shallow hiss, as she stirred awake, "Do... not, say her name." He grunted out.

As the invisible inky tendrils of his Consume Essence latched out to find his query through the smoke, a sight formed unseen, as the Force bent around him, as he commanded its loyalty and submission, ordered its will asunder, as at the perimeter of the wafting smoke, darkness was made manifest, spinning upon their own axis, wisps of pure essence coalesced.

Made shape, made form, made matter.

And with seconds its purpose realised, rows after rows of spears had been constructed.

And tracking their concealed target.

They were let loose.

"Do you so wish me death, brother?" A sombre voice, a voice unspoken carried across the gap between them, brought from one end of the tendrils to the other, as Malum searched, searched for the presences he knew he faced, as he took in emotions he knew he would feel, anger, wroth, rage.

He needed more, he wanted something else.

Darth Strosius

 

[Darth Prazutis]

The Mortarch stood in front of the thrones designated for the Dark Lords as he watched the events unfold below.

Long had he mastered the domain of death, even its realm knelt before him when he consigned himself to oblivion when She died. It was in his return that he emerged even stronger for it, his presence churning like a hurricane stretching over the vastness of the system. So saturated in death he wore it like the cloak of time, decades of planetary destruction and organized genocide. Untold trillions ground beneath the boot heel of Sith oppression, driven forward by his grand design. The Shadow Hand had become destruction incarnate, through his outstretched hand worlds burned. The last vestige of his beating heart died when his precious child, Vesta Zambrano, when Darth Mori took her last breath. It destroyed the man and left behind the monster, the metaphysical shadow of pure malevolence in physical form.​

​

Even while he watched the Dark Lord of the Kainate was like a vortex in the middle of the ocean burning with hatred, he gathered so much power from the surrounding area, from the surrounding emotion it hummed in the air around him. The very atmosphere in the box seemed to change, the smell of ozone creeping into the area as static grew over surfaces. The growing pressure made standing before him feel like the growing heat of a thermonuclear warhead. The free hand opened and closed reflexively into an ironclad fist while the other clamped like a vice down on the railing so hard, it had begun to crack. The outcome below didn't matter. Both were targets and eventually both would find themselves at the mercy of the Kainate. Every world their influence touched, every bastion of power would burn, every member of their bloodlines would die screaming their souls consumed. All that mattered was if one would cut the other down, and the consolidation of power would make the fate he planned for them that much easier.​

​

In this moment he barely registered Revna 's words, Lina Ovmar 's presence entering the room, the wife of Sarlow subtly making her entrance. It was the entrance of a Queen that drew the Dark Titan's gaze from the depths of the blackest abyss. The Queen of the Nightsisters had finally made her appearance, emerging from Malsheem with an entourage of her own, perfection in its purest form. She had moved to stand beside him and he held out his open hand for her to deliver a kiss in, a greeting and certainly a display of power, of dominance. "Welcome my dear, your presence has made this all the more interesting. Witness the squabble of two worms, soon to be crushed." The giant replied, turning his gaze back over to the apprentice "The reaper will have his due today child. Unless one of your allies below chooses to wallow in the dirt and beg for mercy before the eyes of the entire order."​

Pom Stych Tivé​