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

[Lina Ovmar]

Lina felt him enter the box, her whole body stiffening as he did, as the dark power in the room seemed to vibratw as the three of them cane together. Her mouth went dry as she felt his eyes upon her, as he always felt his eyes upon her, the skin of her arm where she had once bourne his mark, tingling.

"I would argue, that the outcome matters a great deal." She turned slowly, meeting the Dark Lords intense gaze as she always had, with a glitter of defiance. "If Malum falls, the Dark Council is weakened, the Tsis’Kaar and the Inquisition unite once more, only this time under the banner of a man who continues to disrupt the Order. And one who it seems countless have tried and failed to bring to heel." She tilted her head, knowing that Carnifex was among many who had tried, but she left the implication unspoke.

"We could have another civil war on our hands, just in time for us to go against the Alliance. And meddlesome gnats will be allowed to thrive in the chaos." She turned her back on all of them watching as the fight intensified, as Malum took the first blow. "We cannot fight a war without, while we fight a war within."

Revna Pom Stych Tivé Darth Carnifex Darth Prazutis Kaila Irons @Kainites

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Darth Prazutis //: Lina Ovmar //: Darth Carnifex //: Revna //:
Sorry if I forgot to tag anyone else

Kaggath, an ancient tradition of the Sith. A way to display power and a fair way to settle disputes. It was a far cry from the advancements of the current Sith Empire, and with war always on the horizon, it was usually considered a waste since the loss of a prized fighter for the Sith was a detriment. Quinn sat in her seat, viewing from a more public box than she would have liked. She tried to ignore their conversations while focusing on Malum and Alisteri's combat. Both men affected her life in their own way, and as much as some would enjoy that - she hated it.

Malum had eventually wormed his way into her affections, not in the same sense as others - but she was soft on him. He understood her better than some and could empathize with her cause. Thinking about it, Quinn outworldly scoffed. Alisteri, on the other hand, was her former classmate. Not many were left; most had died during the war, while others, such as her and Alina, kept to themselves and treaded another path. There was an underlying kinship to Alisteri, but he had nearly burned that bridge when Quinn discovered he had murdered her paramour.

She pinched the bridge of her nose as she exhaled. Both of these men were acting like boys. They decided that this was the only way to settle their dispute. Quinn sighed as she shook her head at the thought of this archaic display. Either way, one of them would die, a waste for the Empire.

While she watched, Quinn felt something shift in the air. She couldn't ignore the voice that suddenly spoke. Horrible memories resurfaced as she recognized the man speaking. He would have been her father-in-law in a perfect world, and she would be sitting here with Vesta or somewhere far more appealing. Her heart ached as she thought of the woman, feeling everything again from that day. Quinn realized there was nothing she could have done or changed to make Vesta desire to stay. She needed a world that would allow them to be together, but this reality wasn't the place.

Quinn clutched the necklace around her neck, the charm that would no longer reach Vesta's mind. After gathering herself from the sudden rush of the past, Quinn stood, brushed back her hair behind her ears, and then made her way to the small group she had been avoiding. Seeing Prazutis scared and comforted the Echani Princess. Their lives are so heavily intertwined without their choice. Her mother murdered his wife and Vesta's mother, while the murderer's daughter only loved his daughter, but it wasn't enough to keep her in this world. Quinn bowed her head slightly, a hand over her heart, and she addressed the man. "Sorry to interrupt, but I wanted to at least say hello despite the circumstances, Darth Prazutis." She stood straight again and looked at the others; some she could name and others she couldn't. It seemed they were in deep conversations about the potential outcomes.

She stepped back and allowed the floor to be used for the others speaking.

 

[Darth Caedes]

Outer Rim Territories
Jutrand
902 ABY
Tags— Madrona A’Mia | Darth Carnifex

Caedes swept atop stone flooring like a whisper, silent and unrecognizable beneath his robe of layered night silks. His gate appeared eerily still, as if floating rather than walking, suspended in a ghostly levitation with toe-tips dragging across the ground in his passage. A veiled cowl shrouded his face in deep shadow, a shadow within which molten eyes bore through like twin scathing suns. He trailed behind Darth Carnifex, merely the shadow of a shadow, unassuming in his comparative modesty.

Darth Caedes, King of Korriban, spoke not with nor even seemed all too concerned about the conversations actively transpiring around him; these belonging to Carnifex and his Sith constituents. Instead, he opened himself to the wealth of the Force and let it dominate his focus. The Dark Side was strong here; here where its Lords and practitioners gathered.

Once inside the viewing box, Caedes took to one corner and let pale burnt fingers grip the far side’s decorative ‘safety’ bannister as he watched…

 

[Darth Strosius]

​

Were it any other moment then the strike would have landed, Malum was still reeling from the assault on his mind and he should have never been quick enough to block or counter the unstoppable force that was barreling his way. But he did. Or, rather, they did. The masked man felt his fangs grind together as he growled in frustration at the sudden clash of blades, immediately recognizing how and why the Heir of Marr had recovered and been able to intercept so quickly. "Leaning on that crutch won't save you." He hissed as he pressed their blades together. "She couldn't even save herself!"

As lightning arced around the joined blades he pulled his lightsaber back as he prepared another stab, trying to force Malum's blade to the side to give himself a clear shot. If he could pull it off then either this little affair would be over in seconds or a matter of minutes, depending on whether or not it would be immediately fatal or just a grievous wound that would hamper his ability to fight. Either was fine in his mind.

The lightning and plasma made him wince and reflexively pull his head back as well, the intensity growing bright enough that even his mask's visor did little to dampen how it hammered against his vision. That little reflex would prove to be both a mistake and a well timed move within the next moment. For when the blade exploded with energy he had just enough time to tilt his head to the side and let it impact his hood and the more armored side of his helmet rather than having it direct right into his visor.

But of course, that didn't mean that he didn't feel it.

Darth Strosius stumbled back and let out a hiss that was difficult to determine whether it came from mouth or from the now slightly smoking scorch mark on the side of his hood. Hopefully the ringing in his ears would dissipate quickly because at the moment it simply served as another source or irritation. He fixed the man across from him with a venomous hidden glare, slightly surprised that he hadn't taken the chance to strike, as he hissed out a retort full of vile hatred.

"You expect me to wait!?! For how long?! Until we are in the middle of a war with the Core? Until we are dragged down and defeated by the same failed tyrants that ruined us the last time?! Until the Alliance are knocking on the gates of Jutrand and Dromund Kaas!?" He knew very well that he was hurling his questions at two foes at once and neither of them would have the answers to satisfy them. One had already been felled because she couldn't answer him, now it was time to get rid of the other.

His sword's dark blade was gestured towards where Empyrean himself was seated. "I see the corpse there," Then the crimson one was pointed at the proudly displayed Kainate booth. ", and the cancer in there! Why bother waiting?!" He took a heavy step forward, one that cracked the tile beneath his boot as he all but roared at his opponents. "I am a Sith! I do not wait and wait and wait as my foes grow stronger! I drag them out by their throats and crush them!"

As if to emphasize his point he exploded forward in a blur of movement that dragged up the flooring in his wake, crossing the short distance between them far too quickly. He unleashed a flurry of slashes and stabs but surprisingly not all of them seemed to be aimed to kill as the previous had been. Instead he seemed to be probing, sensing and searching for weak points that he could exploit. Of course this strategy hardly made the searing and electrified blades in his grasp any less threatening though.

Darth Malum of House Marr

 

[Darth Nefaron]

He’s already entranced. Perhaps gratitude is owed to the High Priest should he carry the day.​

Of course, Nefaron and Strosius might have different ideas of what makes one worthy of the Dark Sides's full attention, but that was mere semantics. The boy understood that, unlike the accursed Jedi, true mastery of the force could only ever be held by a select few, even still the will of the Dark Side could only be carried out by a single Lord with vision. Naturally, every Dark Lord claimed they held the one true mastery, that they have become so powerful and wise as to take hold of the Dark Side and make it their own, as is the goal for all Sith to strive for. Yet none have succeeded, though a few have come close.

But to say any of the fools who occupied the area were on track to true ascension was a little more than a joke. How many False Emperors would arise? The Empire already had at least four contenders for ultimate power, far too many to ever see the Sith triumph over the Jedi and the Alliance. Young Sharr couldn't see it yet, but a great darkness is to fall over all the galaxy, its citizens given one glorious belief as they cowered in fear before their new masters. But before any of that could happen, the false Lords of the Sith must be brought low. Thankfully, they seemed to be doing just that for him by openly challenging their rivals, gathering vast legions to their cause. Even as they watched on, Darth Strosius was kind enough to rebuke the Nagai's remark, showing the boy how ridiculous the Academies training had been. The Emperor was openly challenged on his own throneworld, and the entire Empire was watching. Could he interfere? Certainly, Nefaron had little doubt that such a battle would be over quickly. But during a Kaggath? That would be a most shameful display for one so powerful.

"It seems your High Priest disagrees with you, apprentice. The Academy failed you, no true Sith would allow such weakness to continue unchallenged. Even now, parasites come to grow fat off the Emperor's power before they seek the throne. It is inevitable."

Nefaron rose, though he said nothing he expected his apprentice to follow him as he approached the edge of the private box, both hands resting on the safety rail as the Corpse Lord watched the duel with renewed enthusiasm. In retrospect, he should have expected a bit of a challenge to those in the stands, not just Malum. This was all the proof that was needed that the Order was about to shatter, and war between Sith was all but certain. If so, Nefaron would have to accelerate his plans, which meant his apprentice would be kept close, and his training would begin at once following the conclusion of the duel, while his emotions were still fresh.

"Do not deny it, you desire a throne of your own. If we prevail, you might have the entire galaxy at your beck and call."

Tags: Veradun Sharr ​

 

[Zarava Dekki]

ZARAVA

Location: Jutrand Arena
Tags: Firrerreo

It didn't take long for the battle to start. It was nearly impossible to keep track of it all. Malum was the one that attacked first, lightning striking toward the other Sith Lord. Zarava had no idea that was possible to wield the elements in such a way. Did all Sith have that ability once they were considered Lords? She didn't know, which wasn't much of a surprise. Even after acquiring her rank in the third cohort, there was still so much she didn't know. One might have even considered her lucky to have made it this far with such limited knowledge in the first place.

The lightning didn't matter though, as Strosius seemed to dodge it with the use of his armor. It happened in just a blink of an eye. The reflexes both of them must have had to dodge such fast attacks were startling. The words that they threw at each other confused Zarava even more. She didn't know the name that they spoke about, Ophidia. Strosius launched a similar attack, lightning arching from the Sith Lord toward the other. Then in another blink, he was right next to Malum ready to strike him down. Zarava started to come to the realization this was how the Sith fought against one another. It was brutal, and yet she couldn't keep her eyes away from the fight itself.

Zarava wouldn't be able to see whether or not Malum dodged the strike, as black smoke began to fill the arena. Where did that come from? The redhead narrowed her blue eyes in an attempt to see anything amongst the smoke. She could barely hear Malum speaking amongst all the chaos that was happening in the arena. It was then that a voice spoke out next to her. The young acolyte couldn't hide her flinch as she turned to look at Firrerreo. She had almost forgotten that he was there. Her hands had been clasped with her elbows positioned on her thighs as she had been watching. She tried her best to keep a neutral expression on her face as she turned back to look at the arena.

"Darth Malum," Zarava stated curtly, before pausing for a moment. How much information did she want to reveal? At this point, it was probably known who her sponsor was, especially after what happened in the last meeting that had happened. She couldn't help but clench and unclench her jaw before she spoke again. "Darth Strosius is a threat to my sponsor." And to me, the words went unsaid. The clashing Sith Lords continued to rattle the entire arena. Debris went flying in all directions. It was difficult to tell who was winning with all of this, and as it continued, she realized now that she couldn't hear them speak anymore. What had happened there? Did one die already? Zarava leaned forward, her brow knitting in confusion as the battle commenced.

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

They watched with unrestrained satisfaction, as the lightning burrowed through armour, the juxtaposing nature of the white light burning a smoky black burn upon his armour. Indeed, his instincts might have preserved his head from what would have otherwise been a fatal blow, as the mind though filled with electric charges, would have been unable to handle the energy of the ancient gods themselves striking down upon the earth.

His hiss, still, was music to their ears.

The beat, and the tempo of the battle had been established, and as the chorus sang around them the rising cheers and cries of plebeians feasting for blood, the silent eyes of those who felt they had any right to judge them.

"You won't have your little trick this time," The masked visage mocked, "You might have stabbed through her heart, but I took her head." A beat passed, as the words were hissed out, both in sayance, but too, a pain cutting through the voice, as two voices whirled between cooperation and competition.

The grip on the beskar hilt was as firm as ever, the Sith Steel, both materials together a paradox unto themselves, held at the ready angled between the high heavens, and towards the masked demon before him. An irony, that both of them held demons within. Darth Strosius had certainly noticed that Malum still held himself at bay.

The aggressiveness which he always preached was not yet present.

For Malum's purposes still resided in the inky invisible tendrils, having made their purchase on the robed hulk before them, venom, rage, anger, pain, along with a multitude of other flavours of those similar feelings drenched the man, as with heavy breaths he took his steps forward, each seemingly the epicentre of a quake that rattled all around them.

The tendrils searched ever deeper.

Looking for her.

As Darth Strosius' distracted himself with his own voice, as Malum himself confirmed that none could hear what words were exchanged. Though he imagined the drumming roar of a thousand voices gathered could achieve that with ease.

"Until we could win," The form of Malum replied, a voice filled with spite, a voice finally free to speak of all which had made them suffer ever since Fiviune, "What point would there be of a victory that left us defeated?! What would be the point of killing ourselves in the attempt if we could not succeed?! You cannot kill me! How will you kill them?!" Malum's form ceased their idleness, circling his foe as stepped forward as well, foolishly pointing his weapon towards the powers that were, the powers that could not yet be toppled.

"If your mask has not yet blinded you, you would see that they hold the Order in their hands, you would see that alone, you do not have the strength to overcome them. Why bother waiting? Because you might have become strong enough to actually achieve it." The time for talk was coming to an end, but talk was so often able to bring the exact result they desired.

Darth Strosius shot forward in a blur, in a moment existing in one location, and in the next being right in front of them, both blades roaring, they could not help but remember Fiviune, the blur in which the fighting had taken place, as if the air itself had stilled in the face of their movements.

And though Darth Strosius was an apprentice of Darth Ophidia.

So was Malum.

They flung themselves back, every step with the grace of a dancer, as blades were dodged, blocked, or parried, Darth Strosius was being slower, careful, and more precise with each strike, a memory from their last duel, an ability used to counter the darkness. Every moment that passed, the Lord Inquisitor's weapons grew closer and closer to purchase, the armoured form's hairs standing to attention as the heat of plasma and electricity grew closer and closer to burning skin.

Until.

Time seemed to slow, as masked visages stared down each other, a trap set, the heir of Marr's chest left exposed, the Sith Sword overextended.

Lightning crackled, as life flashed before his eyes, as breathing quickened, and his heart beat faster, every instinct demanding that he do something, that he did not let his mortal chains be cut short now, the faces broke through his mind, his family, his loves, his children he had not even known he had. As his body attempted a rebellion, trying to command that he do all that was necessary to preserve what was most precious.

His life.

But the trap was set by them.

It could not be stopped.

As Darth Strosius' blade clinked upon the armourweave, with the energy and momentum bearing through him to cut right through.

Their appr- co-apprentice, phased right through them.

The momentum swung decisively in a single moment, as Malum's form, gripping about the beskar hilt of and with muscles straining demanded both speed and power, as his entire body shifted about itself, red and gold eyes burned, finding their foe staggering, at the cusp of victory.

As their blade swung, the Sith Steel sliced through the wind, a whistle heralding blood and death, a crimson point, hissing as it kissed the air, aimed to tear one entire arm off, and then go even further, deeper.

Darth Strosius

 

[Ansisa]

Ansisa's knuckles tighted on the railings as the fight began, as she found herself almost leaning over them so as to not miss a moment, her eyes tracking every move, every strike made and missed, her jaw clenched.

She was oblivious to movement in the box behind her, uncaring for the conversation they held, drowned out by the raucous cries of the rest of the crowd beyond the box walls. There was only the fight beforenher that mattered, the on in which their fate would be decided.

Her focus on the battle would make it easy for Kasir Dorran to slip inside. Hubris, and the belief that no one wiuld be so foolish as to try something would make his hunt all the easier, but even so, these were the Tsis’Kaar's elite, the moment blood was spilt the tables would turn.

 

[Lily Rhodes]

The crowd shifted and surged around her, their heckling and jeers as they bayed for blood from the fight below made her feel sick. She wasn't a stranger to bloodsports, she'd seen her fair share in the under city of Coruscant, but never seen the joy in them. And now? With someone she cared about...with her family, in the fight?

Lily swore under her breath, she needed to get out of here. She couldn't watch it, she couldn't stand to see Darth Strosius trying to tear her cousin apart. Getting to her feet, she squeezed past the other sitting on her row into the aisle finding it a little easier to breath here than it was with sith pressed against her.

What was she even doing here? These were not her people. These weren't people she ever wanted to call her own. Yet as the distinct sound of force lightning rendered through the air she found herself rooted to the spot, breathing hard. Panic rising in her chest.

She couldn't leave. What if he died? Who would tell her? Who would even know how to find her? She moved down the steps to the railing brushing tears from her cheeks. There had to be some of her family here somewhere...

 

[Veradun Sharr]

Above the roar of the crowd, Veradun could hardly make out anything being said between the two battling Sith Lords; occasionally he would hear heated words and angry snarls, scattered between vicious blows. But he heard clearly the words of the High Priest to Darth Malum, speaking against the very words that the young boy had just said - though Veradun knew the Sith Lord hadn’t heard him.

His new master was quick to use the moment and the spoken words to cut through what the youth had said about the Emperor’s rule. Of course, the boy already knew just how much Darth Strosius despised the Sith in leadership; he made it no secret. And Veradun also knew that had the High Priest heard what he had just said, he would have been sharply rebuked.

His pale gaze looked to Darth Nefaron who had risen from his seat and moved towards the rail. Veradun hesitated for a few moments, before he rose as well and silently stepped up to the edge of the private box, glancing cautiously at the robed Dark Lord before looking back out to the arena.

“You do have a point. I am thankful he didn’t smite my High Priest at the Assembly, though…” Veradun paused for a moment, as if trying to figure out what he was going to say next, or if he even should say his next words aloud. “...I do find it to be a bit strange that he would tolerate such disrespect, especially before others of the Order. And I’ve heard, or been told, that this hasn’t been the first time he’s let Lord Strosius get away with such things - even others who have spoken up against him, defied him, or disrespected him.” The Nagai paused once more, his pale brow dipping into another frown, as he turned his attention once more to his master. His next words were spoken low, so only the one standing beside him could hear him.

“I find it intriguing that he would allow such things to continue. I am admittedly young; I do not know about the Emperor’s exploits during his reign. I’ve heard that he death incarnate on the field of war, that millions die with a single command, or word he speaks.” The Nagai’s eyes narrowed as a dangerous thought came into his mind. “Is it possible…that he is not as powerful as he has made us all to believe? Maybe he is using fear of what he will do to those who challenge him, to keep his position - which is why no one has attempted to rip him off of his throne yet? Perhaps he is waiting to see if someone rises to the challenge. And then we will all get to see just how powerful he is…or just how weak he might be.” the boy murmured further before falling silent and looking back out over the crowd, his icy eyes flickering over different individuals, before looking back at the fight, his heart surging in his chest when the first true blow was delivered - against Darth Malum. The fight certainly was far from over, but the boy felt excitement crawl along his spine. He did want his High Priest to win, afterall.

He went very still when he heard what his master said to him next. He let the words sink into his mind as he considered and pondered what he had heard. Sitting on a throne was nearly inconceivable to him. Impossible, even.

…or was it?

Veradun glanced at the Sith Lord. “It has truthfully never entered my mind to have a throne to myself. Until now, that is. But…thinking about such a thing would only lump me into all these other Sith who want a throne for themselves, wouldn’t it? You said they are all parasites growing off of the Emperor’s power. Wouldn’t I be the same as the rest of them, if I desire having a throne too?”

Darth Nefaron​

 

[Velda Nar-Donna]

WEARING: Black Cherry colored sith robes
WEAPONS: 2x Lightsabers and The Dark Side
TAG: Jonah

It seemed like the arena pulsed with the anticipation of violence, like the crowd was a living beast breathing in unison, feeding off the tension in the air. Velda sat within the depths of it all, her poise regal, unmoved by the restlessness around her. She leaned slightly to one side, as if boredom might have begun to tug at the edges of her interest, yet her every motion was deliberate, elegant. And beneath the surface of that elegance, there was something darker—a sinister mystery.

Her features, concealed beneath the heavy shadow of her hood, were not visible, the shroud hanging like an abyss that refused to give up its secrets. It was a void, yet, a silhouette of power, and within that blackness, her eyes gleamed, twin lights in an endless sea of darkness. Delicate and exotic, they watched Malum and Strosius as they clashed in the savage dance of the Kaggath.

But to Velda, it was an affair both intriguing and crude. The ritual, designed to settle scores and prove dominance, had its charms, yet she found that there was something inherently brutish about it. There was an irony that their battle served to entertain those within power in the Order that they sought to destroy.

Her eyes, still veiled in the shadows of her hood, drifted to the left, landing on a figure nearby. His arms were crossed, his gaze locked on the battle unfolding before them. But more than his posture, it was the turbulence within him that caught her attention—a flicker of doubt, the subtle weight of uncertainty pressing down on him. It was palpable, like a thin crack running through his otherwise stoic demeanor. Doubt, she knew, was the first step toward ruin or revelation.

A smile curled at the corner of her lips, slow and deliberate, as she savored what she sensed from him. There was a hunger in this one, a need to measure himself against the storm of power he witnessed. Yet, within that doubt was cracks that power either bloomed or withered, and she would be there to witness which way he would turn.

Without moving, her voice slipped from the darkness of her hood, soft, almost a whisper and yet it might seem like she was whispering in his ear. "As you gaze upon them, what do you see?" Her words, draped in both curiosity and menace, were an invitation, a challenge wrapped in silk.

She did not need to see him react to know her words would sink deep. He seemed as if he was searching, this one, trying to find his place in a galaxy that only respected power. And here, before him, was a display of two Sith vying for supremacy. But what did he see in it? What reflection of himself could he glimpse in their dance of violence?

In her mind, she thought of Xander Blackmoore the man whose presence lingered like a shadow on the edge of her awareness. She could only imagine how he might have answered that same question, yet Xander, was not here, at least not at the moment. So this young one had to face the question alone.

Velda's eyes returned to the arena. Malum and Strosius were locked in the throes of their battle, but to her, they were merely echoes of a much larger game. The Kaggath was not the point—it was the consequences, it was the ripple effects through The Dark Side,that mattered. Power was always shifting, always in flux. And she wanted to see if the man beside her understood that, or if his vision was still clouded by the spectacle before him.

 

[Jonah]

There was so much Darkness surrounding the man that her presence had gone unnoticed.

Between the literal clash of titans occurring before his eyes, or his physical proximity to walking deities, Jonah couldn't feel the shrouded soul. Perhaps that was by design, as it afforded the opportunity that she took advantage of. In the worlds that Jonah had traveled thus far, it was a rare thing to come across another wielder of the Force, let alone one who favored the Dark Side. Yet here? It was like walking through a fog of Darkness.

And within the black, there was a voice.

The feminine tone seized the man by his collar and pried him from his storming thoughts. He blinked rapidly, yet resisted the urge to whip his head around to see where the words had come from. Judging by where he sat, if the one who was speaking to him wanted to be immediately identified, they wouldn't have chosen this means of being introduced. Jonah exhaled, placing his eyes back on the brutality unfolding him.

The question was surely a loaded one. Whomever had taken the time to reach out probably sought something deeper than two Sith are trying to see whose lightsaber is bigger. So he took the time to think about it. What did he see when he looked upon them? Jonah's voice was a whisper in return - a missive ferried by the Force for her ears only. The man wasn't a fan of putting his laundry out on display, after all.

<< I see that they are on top of a mountain I've yet to climb.>> Hell, it was a mountain he didn't know he could climb until coming to the Sith capital. << I see a reminder that there's always a bigger fish in the pond. >>

Satisfied with his response, Jonah paused...before posing a question of his own. After all, when would he next have the opportunity to pick the brain of a bonafide Sith? Or, rather, one he presumed to be a bonafide Sith.

<< I'm much more interested in what you see when you look at them. Up for sharing? >>

Tag: Velda Nar-Donna

 

[Karanxul]

Firrerreo Zarava Dekki

---

902 ABY

Jutrand; East Stadium Side
​

Some things never changed.

That of universal constants. Oh, sure, many could claim peace was perhaps a factor - but that was a lie. Conflict always existed, wars, battle, duels, Kaggaths - all of them were no different to the wizened Harch when compared to his experiences across his nearly five hundred years of life. Indeed, the subtle clack of his cane signified age as much as his graying fur, blue-black with hints of grey and snow-white decorating it. The thick mustache, once fabulously dapper-blue, now aged to its purified coloration that threatened to grow lighter with time. But in spite of this, those six orbs of sapphire hue still shone with brilliance and determination. He may have been aged, yes, and no threat to the myriad numbers of Sith here in personal combat, not by a long shot...

But that was not why they had recruited him.

Anybody could pick up a blaster or vibrosword and kill a man. But it took a competent leader, a statesman, a military-minded figure, to tell those men how to tell so with the utmost precision and focus. He, Karanxul, Aristocrat of the Harch Ruling Nests, Hero of the Andoan Wars, Terror of the Outer Rim, Admiral of the Confederate Navy, Survivor of the original Confederacy of Independent Systems, Mercenary Commander, and now, Admiralty in the Sith Order's ranks, was the Harch they wanted and needed for the job. Too many Sith here seemed to prioritize the Force, their blasted "Dark Side", or some fancy lightsaber, over common sense and military acumen. Sure, they were fantastic in personal combat - but give him the old Confederacy-era armies and fleets with the current-day modern improvements, and he would win these wars easily for them.

He was still a loyal son of Secundus Ando first, of course, though.

But yet, the fascination was there, if morbid and fraught with the kind of curiosity that came from seeing a Reek ram itself repeatedly into a durasteel wall. How many "Sith Orders", or Empire, or... well, anything, had there been. The Republic had fallen a few times, yes - but not nearly as much as the Sith did, who continued to cannibalize themselves like a starving group of juvenile Acklays in the Petranaki Arena upon Geonosis. Indeed, this Kaggath was called for all of the wrong reasons - either imprison or discipline the imbecile, but throwing away potential manpower was a good waste as well as inflaming tensions. He didn't exactly want to have to deal with an internal civil war and play political guessing games with who he was to declare for on top of already retaining a fair share of neutrality. These... political power games, as much as he could work them, weren't his comforting cup of tea he drank.

No, war was in his blood, as it was in the blood of Secundus Ando's countless industrial factory-forests. He may possess avarice and a hunger for ambition, but even he recognized that such things had been tempered by time and his own experiences. Still, there was the Stadium to wander about - and his Bodyguards, of course. He didn't really care for the new, fancy technology of the Sith Order beyond what was needed to modernize his forces - why spring for some absurdly expensive war-droid with a glaring red button weakness, instead of the tried-and-trued. And thus, this is why his little cabinet of followers accompanied him. Namely, four IG-Series Magnaguards - phrik electrostaffs clutched in hand as easily as their swirling capes and headscarves adorned them.

He was a creature of nostalgia, after all.

The cane gently clacked as the ceremonial sword at his sword was gaudy and ornate - gilded much like the old Kepi he wore, if modified to fit the symbol of the Sith Order upon it. The Kepi still retained its plumage of spotted-red Nemoidian Pylat Bird feathers; his custom-tailored uniform pushed slightly out, though never damaged by, his bulk. His weight was something to always accompany him, to grace him, but he didn't mind. There were strategy conferences, meetings, intelligence he cultivated and learnt from. Zarava and Firrerreo were no exceptions, and there was a seat practically next to them, as well as enough room for his bodyguards to fit in the somewhat-crowded stadium. The soft clack becomes a hard thud as the Harch sat down upon the seat next to them - fanged maw graced by chelicerae and mustache alike. But it is those eyes, ruminating with curiosity, as well as his sternum practically covered from just below the collarbone to where his protruding "belly" was with medals, that were liable to drew notice.

A hand carefully stroked his mustache; a hint of wry curiosity and piqued intrigue inflaming the usual mask of emotions he kept upon himself. The chittering chelicerae accent his words - mustache twitching every-so-often. The Harch definitely imposed a sense of regal authority, needless to say - that of living, breathing history to himself.

"Greetings - you are Acolytes, I presume. Pray, tell, have you found a master yet, or have you merely come to watch the blood sport in full? No shame in indulging your youthful wonts to enjoy such spectacle; I fear, however, I've grown indisposed to such enjoyment of blatant waste."

The Harch hid his expressions, though never his tone - there was that smug sense of superiority; a dipping of his words in intellectual knowledge and in worldly wisdom. He knew they were of important connections, and it was best to make potential allies. If nothing else, at least if the Sith Order decided to fall apart, he could avoid getting caught up in the ensuring flames and survive. He wasn't going to go down with the ship of this cause if it meant having to become a zealot's bootlicker. But.

These two seemed... decent, enough.

Hopefully they were not cultish, though. But for now, Karanxul merely nodded to his bodyguards, who remained on guard, as well as studying the two for their reactions and replies...

 

[Zarava Dekki]

ZARAVA

Location: Jutrand Arena
Tags: Firrerreo Karanxul

Zarava's eyes remained glued to the brutal fight that was happening below. Would Taeli be able to teach her the techniques that the other Sith were using? Most of the moves certainly seemed beneficial, especially if she planned on making her way out of her sooner rather than later. She would also need them if she was going to take down the likes of her mother. Right now, her mother's location was unknown to her. Zarava doubted that would last long, as she continued to gain power, she would also be able to gain knowledge at the same time. The young redhead at a lot of potential to grow in this world, and she wasn't exactly sure where her path was leading her yet.

There was a point in the fight where she watched Strosius bearing down on Malum. The young Acolyte started to hold her breath as Malum was forced to try and block, but it seemed no matter what he did, his opponent's blade seemed to draw closer. Then, time almost seemed to slow as she watched Darth Strosius's blade slice through Darth Malum. Zarava immediately felt her heart sink into her stomach, and it took a couple of seconds to realize that the other was completely unharmed. The blade had phased through him as if it wasn't even there. How was that even possible? The more of their abilities were used, the more confused she became about how it was physically possible to acquire such feats. Her eyes remained on the fight as she watched Malum prepare to strike until a voice spoke to her.

The leader of the Third Cohort hadn't even realized that someone had sat next to her. Her head immediately snapped in their direction, her eyes landing onto someone's chest, before having to slowly move upward to look at the towering figure that easily dwarfed her. What. Was. That. Her eyes grew wide at the sight of the Admiral, this being the first time that she had seen someone of his species in the first place. The sound that he was emitting was entirely new to her as well and was incredibly unsettling to the young Acolyte. The shock only lasted a couple of seconds as she realized that he was speaking to both of them. Her attention would flicker to Firrerreo for a moment, before returning to Karanxul . She had no clue who he was, as she didn't recognize him. Not entirely uncommon, as there were several individuals among their ranks that Zarava knew nothing about.

Zarava's blue eyes looked at the medals that were spread across his clothing. To her, they meant little as she didn't know what any of the medals meant. Even after he had finished speaking, the redhead didn't answer him immediately, her attention drawn to the droids that seemed to be guarding him. Magnaguards. She remembered seeing them in her research when she had been looking at droids when she had first arrived at the Academy. From what she knew of them, they were powerful, but also, fairly dated as far as she knew. She wasn't exactly sure of the model of them from this distance. The Acolyte's attention would then return to Karanxul, tilting her head slightly. A neutral expression was spread across her facial features, hiding the annoyance that felt.

"And who are you?" Zarava questioned back to the Admiral. She spoke in a monotone, a genuine question. She wasn't about to give information out to a stranger. Considering the enemy that Taeli Raaf already had, she wasn't sure if this was one of them. Zarava made sure to sit up straight, her hands clasped onto her lap. Her body language showed confidence, as she tried to hide the uncomfortable feeling she had.

 

[Firrerreo]

"Then may Darth Malum of House Marr succeed."

Not that Firrerreo particularly cared. His gaze fell on the far booth of Sith Lords watching this as entertainment. Those in the ring weren't their equal, that much was obvious. Their bout was just a show to the Sith who mattered.

The Sith Firrerreo would prefer to serve. At least until he was strong enough to flip that script.

He leaned back comfortably, idly munching on the various snacks he brought. His gaze shifted briefly to the approaching Admiral, where he gave a simple, respectful nod. He didn't know who the man was, but he knew enough that there was reason to be respectful. Zarava at least seemed to ask the question on his mind, which spared him that awkwardness.

Good.

Zarava Dekki | Karanxul

 

[Karanxul]

Firrerreo Zarava Dekki

---

It wasn't entirely surprisingly to the old Harch that they didn't know who he was - though it still ate at his ego as if the unintended insult compared itself to acidic residue in his mind. Did he start needing to wear a name tag with his list of accomplishments upon his chest? Oh, no matter - it's not as if these youngsters, at least in his mind, are going to even know how exactly to understand the aged experience he offered them. Perhaps breaking it down into simpler terms may help - they were Sith anyway, not intellectual statesmen who cultivated a hunger for knowledge as opposed to a lust for wanton violence and random massacres. The Harch calmly adjusted his collar as he peered at them both, before his chelicerae clicked together once. Then? A reply in Galactic Standard Basic - perhaps they were deaf if they hadn't caught what he said the first time.

"It would behoove you well to perhaps study the military of your own Order before asking who somebody is - I do believe these rank plaques are given out for that reason. Ah, well - no harm done, no insult offered. I am Admiral Karanxul - though I doubt you'd care for any of my titles or accomplishments. I have been recruited fairly recently in the last few years by your Order, though I have been busy in that time-frame up until now. Working to organize a military is much harder than it seems."

Compared to your Sith training, though the words were left unsaid and non-spoken. The Harch waved dismissively at them both - eyes briefly flitted to study the phasing technique used. That was, ah, new. The Sith violating every natural law with their Dark Side wasn't new, but at least they hadn't exactly been able to walk right through something and ignored it entirely. Ah, what did he know or care - he wasn't a Force Scholar of some archaic, dated organization with more focus on cultivating a connection to every negative emotion imagined as opposed to the doctrines of reasonable, rational logic he employed in his line of work. Again, though, likely why they sought him out if they couldn't handle their own military affairs without resorting to outside help.

Still, at least he got to do what he loved. The dapper Harch's mustache twitched again as he filched his pocket canteen, lifting it up to slightly, daintily, drink from the mixture of liquidized proteins that made up his dietary regimen. He didn't exactly want to go around on an empty stomach - though the smell of iron, if strong and noxious, was not of ill effect to him. Finishing the canteen drinking as he clipped it back to his side, the cane clacked as the Harch used it to shuffle around, hefty weight jiggling gently as he patted his maw with a handkerchief to clean it. Returning it to a pocket, his eyes, all six orbs, fixated on the two Acolytes in front of him, a bemused smile tilting his mustache and chelicerae in intriguing patterns.

"I'm guessing you both have personal stakes involved in this fight, lest you would not be watching so intently I imagine. Or perhaps this is merely just the Sith's passing fancies and the like. Though, I have no care for either of them in terms of societal benefits from them - useful, yes, and the heir of Marr is quite... flashy, with his abilities. I do think you should perhaps focus away from the spectacle and instead concentrate upon the matters of what practical lessons you can attain from this that do not involve simply impaling somebody with a lightsaber repeatedly until they are dead, no?"

The Harch amusingly chittered after his sentence as he motioned to one of his Magnaguards, who handed him a set of sunglasses - the feathered kepi's adornments gently flowing in the breezy air as he protected his vulnerable eyes from the sun with those 'shades. He didn't exactly want to go blind now - he hated the thought of cybernetics as much as anybody with logical brains did, of course. And as the Harch tilted his gaze away from the fight again and back towards them, it became clear to him they were recognizably... dull. Well, perhaps from first impressions - he need not judge an aspiring mute and a girl who seemed as if she was attempting to portray some sort of overt confidence. He wasn't sure what she was masking, though he'd assume it was either the usual xenophobia or at least some measure of disgust. Well, at least they were polite enough to avoid making faces.

It wouldn't do well to upset the Sith Order military and wind up without reinforcement at a key and critical point. Unavoidable accidents did happen, after all.

"With that said, tell me, what do you think you have to benefit from this? On the long-term scale as a group, of course? I am merely curious as to your thoughts - perhaps you are more versed when compared to your peers in such matters?"

The Harch again hid any intended insult, and waited... It wasn't like he was going to get any conversation with the others regardless... Though, as he heard his commlink chime, he sighed, before waving his droids along, and leaving.

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

To say that she'd randomly flipped to the channel airing this fight would’ve be a lie.

Cora tended to work with idle noise in the background. She liked to think that it came from growing up with many siblings - whatever the case was, ambient sound helped her to concentrate.

Except, as the seasonal Huttaburger commercial ended, she'd found her attention glued to the holotv. Her latest manuscript, Passion of the Parsecs, sat neglected.

Kaggath was a word she'd learned in the libraries of Thule. A rite of the Sith, a challenge that had only one end. They were not dissimilar to the duels fought on Ukatis, over land and power and pride.

Jedha was still fresh in her mind from where she'd faced Darth Malum of House Marr . Darth Strosius was someone she'd only known in whispers of his reputation.

Lightning crackled and blades clashed as the story of two brothers unfolded like violent poetry. The arena erupted into raucous cheers with each dynamic show of skill.

"I hope they kill each other," she murmured to no one in particular.

Then again, she still had questions for Malum.

 

[Kasir Dorran]

Tags: Ansisa

Kasir ascended the staircase, each step in sync with the rhythm of the atmosphere. As he pressed forward, the roar of excitement swirled around him, a symphony that masked his movements. Even under the sun, he was an embodiment of shadows in the bright arena. As he reached the upper level where the VIP boxes loomed, he melded into the corners where darkness offered to conceal him.

There was a brief pause next to the nearest box, the faint sound of laughter drifting from within. He carefully sidestepped around the patches of sunlight that spread across the ground; his senses were now attuned to the slightest shifts around him. There were hallways that stretched out next to him. The idea of simply entering from the back door did carry a strong allure. As he began to survey the others, the Kainite VIP box was the first to catch his eye. The close proximity and heavy security made it stand out, appearing impregnable. Unfortunately, it also stood as a barrier in the path to his true objective; the one housing the Tsis’Kaar. Realizing that a direct approach would be suicide, he decided to retreat, his mind now calculating alternative routes. Moving back into the open area, he was forced to take a moment to reevaluate his surroundings.

The Darkseeker then moved forward and crept along the shadowed corridors, blending seamlessly into the recesses beneath the raised platforms. Finally, he reached the one he planned on joining. With precise movements, he edged him closer to align himself with the railing, positioning him on the furthest end from where he had spotted the Chiss earlier. The dark energy of the Force began to course through his veins, and for a moment, he tuned solely into the vibrations of air around him. Everything around him became a whisper. Kasir could taste the anticipation now; it was a mixture of adrenaline and malicious ambition.

Crouching low, he was like a coiled spring, drawing upon his enhanced abilities. Time seemed to slow, staring at the distance above to the railing, which beckoned him forward. He felt the power swelling inside him, ready to be unleashed at last. A heartbeat later he launched himself into the air with a powerful leap. His gloved hands gripped the railing, fingers digging into the surface, pulling himself up with an unnatural speed that defied human limitations. Without a single hesitation, he slipped inside, a phantom entering the domain of the elite now.

He felt like an animal in survival mode. His primal instincts took over; in the blink of an eye, before the figure in front of him had a chance to register his presence, he was already pivoting on his foot to launch a direct and powerful kick that would send him flying back into the group behind. As soon as the saberstaff was unclipped from his belt, the twin blades casted a bright crimson glow that illuminated the entire VIP box.

 

[Darth Strosius]

​

It had been a careful and decidedly brutal dance. Strike, parry, recover, counter. Over and over as the two masked Sith faced off against one another, but they both knew very well how such an attrition would end. Two pairs of the same memory from different angles would no doubt recall a very similar situation in what seemed so long ago, and just like back then he saw his opening and wasted no time in plunging forward to take advantage of it. Malum had been so reliant on Ophidia that he would die just like she did, with a blade through the heart.

Or so it had seemed.

Right up until the blade began to thrust through the first layer of protection only for his strike to pass through Malum as though he wasn't there at all. His burning glare could be felt even through his visor as spared a single infuriated glance at his opponent before his gaze quickly shifted to the rapidly approaching sword coming in on his arm. With an inhale to steel his nerves he wrenched his lightsaber wielding arm back and angled it to try and catch the incoming blade with his armored gauntlet rather than his robes.

For as swift as Darth Strosius might have been though, he wasn't that fast. The blade did hit the edge of his gauntlet but all that did was angle it into his arm just below it, an area still armored enough to not be severed in one strike from a diverted blow but not one that would be able to repel the blade. His fangs ground together as he felt the unmistakable burning pain of plasma dig into his arm, his lightsaber falling from his grasp as he twisted his arm to grab hold of the sword.

"What was that about tricks?" His boot planted into the ground hard enough to crack the tile beneath it as he yanked back on the blade, the phrik claws of his gauntlet growing dull yet holding the lethal edge at bay. Whether he disarmed Malum, threw him over his shoulder and onto the ground, or simply ripped his arm off hardly mattered. So long as it hurt.

Lightning arced up his sword's blade as he prepared to do another lash just in case Malum managed to step back or released the sword before he was pulled with it, deadly azure sparks that were oddly enough starting to become indigo. Within the frustrated man Malum would be able to sense something brewing, lurking beneath the initial swirling vortex of wrath that he guarded himself with. But it wasn't something familiar, far from it in fact.

He was hiding something, and it wasn't the ghost of their master.

Darth Malum of House Marr

 

[Ansisa]

Ansisa was with him, in everything but body, there below the bellowing crowds, pack animals baying for blood without a second thought as to the consequences that would follow. Every adjustment of his feet, every strike and parry every movement of his lips as he and Strosius exchanged barbed words. The box faded into nothing around her, unimportant, as she found herself melding deeper into their bond, relishing in delight as Malum's saber found purchase in flesh, ever the huntress, eager for the kill.

She would have stayed there, lost in the beat of the fight, she would have stayed with them.

But there was movement to her left, a shift in the force as danger prickled up her spine and she pulled back from her love, a sharp intake of breath as she did, red eyes slowly turning to the intruder as his saberstaff ignited. There was a beat, a ripple that rolled out from where he'd struck before the lieutenants began to react, this hiss of blades drawn answering that of his saber.

"Stay your hands!" her command echoed across the box, her hands coming away from the railing as she stepped forward, anger growing from a quiet ember to a roaring flame within her. The Darth Strosius would send one of his his cult to cut them down, when Darth Malum of House Marr had instructed them all to bend the knee... Her own lightsaber erupted to life, unstable and spitting angrily, the crossguard flickering with the intensity of the bled crystal within.

Understanding her intent, the Tsis'Kaar moved, pressing themselves out of the way as the Shadow Hand advanced, with a burst of speed lightsaber flashing as she attacked, he free hand calling her blades free of their sheathes, swirling at her back a raging tempest of steel waiting for her command to strike.

There would be no conversation, no parrying with witless words.

Only death.

Kasir Dorran