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

[Kadann]

As soon as the saberstaff was unclipped from his belt, the twin blades casted a bright crimson glow that illuminated the entire VIP box.

"Stay your hands!"

Kadann sighed. He was tired of the wheel turning. Of tricks and plots and schemes. Malum had provided his own plans in the event of his death to his lover, but Kadann had been given a more simple instruction.

Keep those dear to Malum, such as his family, safe.

Kadann stood carefully, turning his back on the battle below as a myriad of coloured sparks flayed between the combatants.

He had been a Jedi Battlemaster in the old great wars. Then had come his brutal path of vengeance against the former One Sith who had chased him into hiding. That had led to his fall to darkness.

Kadann walked in silence to enter the area where the ambush had begun. The shadow hand had thrown herself at the attacker.

"What a waste," he muttered.

Snap-hiss

His amber lightsaber snapped to life.

 

[Velda Nar-Donna]

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

She let his words linger in the silence, as if they were hanging in the thick, oppressive air of the arena itself. Her gaze remained on the brutal spectacle below, where Malum and Strosius were locked in their due. A violent storm of blades and brute strength. Yet, for Velda, true power was not in the brash display of force, but in the subtlety of its manipulation.

Then Her lips slowly curled in a slow, unseen smile beneath the shadow of her hood, as she listened to his response. He spoke of mountains, of bigger fish, of climbing toward a distant summit. He thought the climb was upward, toward some distant, untouchable apex.

How quaint...

To Velda, it was not the violence that held meaning. It was the undercurrent of power that rippled through the air, the unspoken truths that lay hidden beneath each strike, each parry. This Kaggath was a reflection of the endless cycle of Sith ascension.

She leaned back into her seat, the slow grace of her motion masking the coiled tension beneath, Her voice came as a whisper now winding their way toward Jonah like a predator. "I see inevitability." She let the words settle, like a soothing cool poison. before continuing. "The battle before us is not merely one of might. It is one of will. They are not only fighting each other; they are fighting the very essence of weakness itself."

Her hidden eyes drifted toward him now, shadowed and inscrutable, her presence cloaked in mystery. For a moment, she regarded him as one might a storm gathering on the horizon—charged with potential. "But beyond that... I see the truth of power. It is not in the clash of blades or the roar of the crowd. True power is in the quiet moments, in the whispers that can turn enemies into allies, in the choices that reshape the galaxy while others are distracted by the flash of lightsabers."

He seemed like so many she had seen before—hungry, restless, and teetering on the edge of realization.

"You misunderstand the nature of the pond. There are no fish, no predators. Only illusions. The moment you reach for power, it slips away, like water through your fingers. Power cannot be reached; it must be claimed, taken as one takes a breath, as one claims life itself."

"You see a mountain you have yet to climb," her whisper echoed softly, her tone both amused and laced with something darker, something ancient. "But there is no end to the climb. For the peak is ever-shifting."

She allowed her words to settle in the air between them for a moment. "Still, if you wish to ascend the mountain, then understand this. The mountain is a lie. There is no summit. There is only the abyss. And for those who embrace it... they are the ones who rise."


Her words filled the space between them, pressing upon him, challenging his conception of what it meant to wield power. "Power is not a peak to be reached. It is a void to be filled, an endless abyss that you must descend into. And in that descent, you will either find the strength to rise as something greater, or you will be consumed by it."

 

[Xander Blackmoore]

WEARING: xxx
WEAPONS: Lightsaber
TAG: Open for Interaction

The White Assassin watched from the shadows. He kept his presence hidden. It was laughable that he watched as the legacy of the Pale Assassin had become the Kaggath taking place below. If only he had made himself known when the two had devised their plan to kill Ophidia. Xander had remained absent from the affairs of the assassins, and it was purposeful. How many times had they changed their loyalty, their service from one Sith Order of one kind or another. They should have been their own movement which was structured to capitalize on the desires of Sith which refused to do their own dirty work.

They had become something far less than what they were, and Xander was certain this display would only showcase it.

His eyes scanned the crowd and landed on the familiar face and figure of Velda Nar-Donna . She was with another… young thing. Despite his appearance, Darth Vizios was well over eight centuries old, a trick of the force. His quest for power had not turned out as well for him as he had desired. Xander was alone in the galaxy, though there were certain acquaintances which made it less lonely.

For now he would keep his distance. Xander would watch and observe everything from his perch in the shadows. He was curious, far too curious for his own good. Whether it be Darth Malum of House Marr or Darth Strosius who emerged victorious, the assassins would change once more.

Would Xander be correct and would they become something far worse, or would they rise from the ashes and be something far more powerful?

 

[Kasir Dorran]

Tags: Ansisa Kadann

Kasir’s body shifted slightly to the side, a stance that displayed both his determination and intent in the VIP box. His slender digits curled tightly around the hilt of his saberstaff, a mixed grip that would also hint at his readiness. As expected from the many Tsis'Kaar, their blades seemed to ignite in unison. He embraced the challenge presented to him at that given moment; their numbers did not intimidate him. He felt a tug to extend the invitation, to allow them a chance to test their mettle against his own.

As the Chiss called out a command, it was a pitiful sight to his eyes. To Kasir, they appeared as nothing more than obedient dogs, waiting for a pat on the head of approval. His lips curled into a sneer as he let out a scoff.

His gaze turned to the speaker, his mind immediately going into calculation mode, observing the slightest movement. He then coiled like a serpent. As she came forward, he raised his saberstaff, just in time to intercept the blow aimed at him. The impact sent a shock through his arms. With a slight flick of his wrist, he redirected the attack, smoothly pivoting on his heel, and feeling the railing press briefly against his back. Finishing up with a careful step backwards, he shifted to the other side of her. He remained calm, their deadly dance just beginning.

His eyes narrowed, flickering with a fiery hue. Instead of retaliating with a rushed attack, he chose patience, allowing the moment to stretch. It would provide an opportunity for her to reset any form of defense. The box offered little room for maneuverability, making him careful not to expose his back to the others. It also made it difficult to release the full potential of his power.

“The duel outside is but a prelude to the fate that awaits you–traitors in the making, unworthy of the power your new master possesses." His voice remained calm, barely above a murmur.

As Kasir shifted his weight, he took a single step forward. The long hilt of his saberstaff extended, propelling a single blade forward at her midsection, utilizing the length of his weapon to his advantage. The strike was not intended to be fatal, but rather a simple move within a more complex sequence, potentially giving him an opportunity to search for any weakness or vulnerabilities she may have.

 

[Jonah]

For the second time since his departure from the Expanse, Jonah's understanding of the universe was challenged.

And unlike the brutality unfolding before his eyes, the challenge was not made by saber or by Force. It was made with the grace of a paintbrush dancing upon a canvas. It was made with the subtlety of a knife in the night. As the woman's voice sounded in his mind, Jonah offered a slow nod. He had heard this perspective before, but from a culture far removed from the Empire which surrounded him.

An Elder on Dathomir had told him plain. Nations rose and fell, but true power existed beyond the fleets and the armies. True power existed in the shadows. Those who could pluck at the strings of fate long outlasted those who built monuments to themselves. Now, the words of the mysterious Sith were reminding Jonah of these words.

"...So one who is capable of breaking a mountain can be weaker than one who can hardly wield a lightsaber? Power isn't just who can sling the most lightning? Interesting." he began. Jonah's thoughts were a blur. From the moment the Kaggath began, the man felt outmatched at every level. Before him were two Titans who could break every bone in his existence with ease, and yet...that was not all there was to power. At least according to two souls he had encountered thus far. Two drastically different cultures were preaching the same truth.

He would be the idiot of the century not to listen.

"So tell me...those who descend into the abyss, embrace it, and rise from it...those are the ones called Darth, correct? The title isn't a-" Jonah paused, his dominant hand rotating as he attempted to find the right word. "-an open challenge to the Galaxy as I once thought it to be. It's not someone saying 'here I am, I can take anything you throw at me', it's that something more you were letting on about." Jonah chuckled ever so slightly before continuing.

"Every day, it seems I learn that I know very little in the grand scheme of things. But." The embers of ambition began to color the words which whispered back to the veiled Sith. "I want to understand. And I'm happy to dive into the deep and claw my way back to the surface. Now, if you'll humor me...why tell me this? You could have said 'I see two mean beating the piss out of each other' and gotten a laugh. But you painted a picture about how the world really is."

"What do you get out of this?" After all, if power was defined by plucking the strings of fate...what was the mysterious Sith up to? Jonah wondered what she stood to gain from telling him all this. Was she simply attempting to see another piece enter the dizzying chess match that was the Sith?

Or was she after something else?

Tag: Velda Nar-Donna

 

[Leven Jeyd]

O B S E R V I N G​

TAG: Open for interaction~

From her high vantage point, Leven continued to observe the spectacle with a discerning eye, her thoughts a careful weave of calculations and possibilities. Every swing of a lightsaber, every dark flourish of the Force, was a piece of the greater game unfolding below—a game she was determined to understand.

She had no interest in blind loyalty to any of the factions she was getting first-hand impressions of today; for now her ambitions were only her own. The Tsis'Kaar, the Inquisition, the Kainaites... Leven did not care who would win this battle today. What mattered was the aftermath. The potential nestled between the roar of victory and the cry of defeat. All she was certain of was that she would need to find the right spot where to establish her footing, and then cultivate herself until she grew into something of unimpeachable authority. It had only taken one glance at the combatants to take note of how long she still had to go. The annoyance, the impatience, were quickly overshadowed by her hunger.

Her attention shifted briefly to Jonah , who was deep in conversation with a Sith Lady. Leven's smile turned into a smirk. She trusted Jonah to know what he was doing. If he was playing his cards right, perhaps they'd have one more thread to pull in the grand tapestry of their schemes.

She let her gaze wander over the crowd one last time, her eyes settling on each key player she could identify. The Dark Council members, the military leaders, the apprentices—all of them were watching, calculating, plotting their own next moves. And she would be watching them all. When the moment came, she would have to be ready to make her own. A coldness settled in her heart, finding a way to move freely across the board, untouched and unbound by the rules that governed lesser pieces, would be more challenging than she had expected.

Suddenly, the air in the arena seemed to shift, a palpable change as the duel below reached a fevered pitch. Around her the crowd's roar turned into a thunderous crescendo, as both Malum and Strosius unleashed their full might against one another. The raw power of the Dark Side of the Force rolled over the arena like a storm, its dark energies sending shivers down Leven's spine. She watched intently, her eyes narrowing as she sought to glean every ounce of information from the combatants' techniques.

​

 

[Darth Nefaron]

He was beginning to understand. Just a boy, young Veradun could see the rotting corpse that the Sith Order had become, and the galaxy mocked them openly for it. The Emperor could butcher 10,000 worlds and he would still lack the power he needed to rule even the slice of the galaxy controlled by the Sith. Carnifex, Malum, Strosius, are just a few of the potential tyrants who seek to take hold of the galaxy, even if they deny it. Nefarons dead eyes gazed up at the stands, to the private boxes for the respective Lords who would use their own power to further their own goals, not the Emperors. Nefaron could not judge them for that, he was actively doing the same, even if he wasn't quite as open as Darth Strosius. But Nefaron did not seek to take hold of the current power structure, he needed a cleansing, a great flame that would wash away these pretenders and restore the one true nature of the Dark Side.

Fear. The One True Master.

So let those false Lords play their little games, let them play at being the masters. One day they would be little more than corpses paving the path to true galactic unity, an Empire guided by those who know only fear, for that is the only way to ensure true dominance.

"You have only begun to see, my apprentice. Deceit is the way of the Sith, why send a fleet of starships when you need only mention the Emperor's name? There is power in perception, and if all believe the Emperor to be a God in mortal flesh, why bother resisting?"

Nefaron paused only for a moment, the crowd roaring as the two Lords clashed, before continuing

"But we are true Sith. We will not be swept up in the lies; instead, we shall play these fools against each other. One by one, they shall fall, whether that be by their rivals' hands or our schemes, it matters little. The throne I speak of is not Empyrean's."

Again, the Corpse Lord paused. He inched closer to the boy, a withered hand resting on his shoulder as he gazed out at the roaring crowds.

"The entire galaxy will be yours. A feat not accomplished since the days of Darth Sidious. But more than that, once we have the galaxy, you will be more than an Emperor."

The crowd only grew louder as the battle between the Sith appeared to be nearing its end, the call for blood was on their lips and that same electric energy filled all those who mastered the Dark Side.

"You will be a God."​

Tags: Veradun Sharr ​

 

[Velda Nar-Donna]

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

Velda's gaze lingered on the spectacle before them, the clash of Malum and Strosius was now a distant symphony against the weight of her thoughts. His words drifted into her mind like tendrils of smoke curling from a smoldering ember, his questions brimming in ambition but still laced with a youthful curiosity. How often had she seen men like him? So certain they grasped the contours of power, only to discover how little they understood its depths?

And yet, amidst the shadows, she could sense a far more familiar presence. That stirred something within her far deeper than the savage spectacle below. Xander Blackmoore

His presence felt like a whisper on the wind, almost imperceptible to those untrained in the intricacies of the Dark Side. But to her, it was unmistakable.

The revelation was a welcome distraction. Behind the obsidian shadows of her hood. Exotic brown eyes faintly lowered as she lightly bit her lip in thought of him. And within her mind, she reached out. <<Why hello! So lovely of you to join us, how are you finding the contest thus far?>> Her thoughts carried to his mind like a smoky ethereal caress.

Her attention returned to the man curious about the mysteries of The Force. The shadows that cloaked her seemed to deepen, as if they too were alive, listening. His eagerness to embrace the abyss amused her. He seemed to speak of the title of Darth as if it were a prize to be won, as though it held some inherent meaning. In truth, the title was merely a mask, a symbol of what lay beneath. For the sith that the title was bestowed upon.

"You're now starting to realize," she replied, her whisper drifting to him through the heavy air, soft yet with meaning. "Power is not in the strength to break mountains, nor in the ability to withstand all the galaxy throws at you. It is in the ability to move unseen, to influence without detection. You could shatter bones, burn worlds, and they will fear you for a moment. But when you control the currents of their fate... their fear will be eternal."

Her whispers spiraled around him, with the intention to tug him deeper into the dark tapestry she was weaving. "Those who descend into the abyss and rise... yes, they are the ones who earn the title of Darth. But not because they have declared themselves invincible. That belief has resigned many a Sith's bones to forgotten tombs." Her gaze shifted, though she remained still. "No, the title is not a challenge, but a recognition. It is given to those who understand that power is not taken by force alone, but also by bending the very fabric of reality to their will."

Velda's whisper dropped, imbued with an eerie intimacy, as though she were sharing a secret carved from the bedrock of the dark side itself. "To embrace the abyss is to embrace the truth. Power is not a flame you carry; it is the darkness you become. And when you rise from that abyss, you will no longer be what you were before. You will be something other, something beyond—and that is what the galaxy fears most."

She let the silence between them grow, stretching like a shadow across the space of their shared thoughts. Just what exactly did she get out of this? "Perhaps you think I am playing a game, moving pieces on some grand chessboard. Perhaps you believe I see you as just another pawn to be manipulated."

She paused, considering him once more, this time not as storm but as something more nebulous, unformed. "You are no pawn. You are... a possibility. And in that possibility, there is the promise of power."

Her gaze turned back to the arena, where the battle continued to rage. "What I gain from this, is an ally, and a potential weapon to unleash upon those that deign to threaten my designs and plans." she continued, her whisper now even more dark, more velvety. "And also the pleasure of watching an ambitious soul teeter on the edge of the abyss, wondering if they will fall, or rise."

She allowed her words to sink in, knowing they would take root in the fertile soil of his ambition. "True power is never free. It demands everything. Your strength, your fear, and your very soul."

Her eyes, hidden beneath the hood, gleamed with dark amusement as she spoke. "The question is... are you prepared to pay that price?"

The silence that followed was thick with promise, with danger. Velda's words had planted the seed. Now, it was his choice. Would he let it take root, or allow the abyss to consume him?

 

[Jonah]

You're now starting to realize...

One would think that, with a hurricane of darkness duking it out before him, the Kaggath would be all Jonah could feel. And prior to this conversation, that was true. He could feel the brutality within his bones. He could all but taste the Dark Side rejoicing at the contest. Yet...as the woman spoke, the whispers were palpable. They wafted through the heavy air, resuming with a gentle touch.

The Voice in the Dark confirmed that he was beginning to understand the reality of power. It was not about who could throw their weight around the most. Nor was it about the frivolity that the Galaxy presumed Sith followed. Jonah held onto every word that the dark lady spoke. After all, he would be a fool not to hearken to this wisdom. And as he took it all in, the whispers...intensified? It felt as if he was being drawn in. This was more than the embers of his ambition - the Voice painted a vision and he couldn't look away from it.

She shared with him the truth about the mantle of Darth.

She shared with him the truth about the abyss.

And in the wake of bestowing these gifts, there was a momentary silence. Jonah's question was, seemingly, the source of the pause. What, pray tell, did the woman get out of providing such precious truths to an absolute stranger? Jonah waited on baited breath until she shared an answer. In her eyes, he was no pawn - but nothing in the world was free. Even true power, as described by her whispers, was far from free. Tangibly? The woman did stand to gain something.

This was an investment. Sowing the seeds of a potential relationship that could see his blades turned against her foes. But beyond that, it would give her something entertaining to watch. His success or failure, well, that would indeed be quite the show. Now, it was his turn to be silent. The Voice in the Dark had done a beautiful job of placing seed in eager soil. Hell, his presence here today was a testament to his hunger...

But was it worth the price?

"You've given me much to consider." he began, uttering the understatement of the century. "...I can only presume, then, that it would take one who has risen from the abyss to recognize the rise of another. Darth being recognition and all." The man was doing many things as he spoke. Processing, partly. Stalling, mostly. Jonah could feel his partner-in-crime's presence nearby and thought to ask her thoughts...but refrained.

For one, he had a pretty good idea of what the Jester's opinion would be. After all, she came to see what sort of ripples and vacuums would be made in the wake of the Kaggath. To approach her with this conversation would result with her hand going upside the man's head. Jonah smirked at the visual, but focused on the decision at hand. Though he could guess at her own thoughts, it wasn't her call to make. This was his life. His path. His rise or fall.

Following a deep exhale, he spoke anew. "You spoke true, I am no pawn. A potential ally? Sure. A potential weapon? Absolutely. Those are shoes I'm happy to fill. As far as paying a price goes, well...I didn't start walking this road expecting a free ride. Everything has a price. And for this? I'll pay whatever it takes."

There was a brief pause before Jonah continued. "By the way, my name is Jonah. What should I call you?"

Tag: Velda Nar-Donna + Leven Jeyd (Mentioning)

 

[Veradun Sharr]

The boy tilted his head towards his master slightly, indicating that he was listening as the other spoke - despite his eyes being glued to the clashing Sith below. The gleam of rising excitement could be seen in the pale gaze of the Nagai; despite his own clashings with enemies and other Acolytes prior to his removal from the Academy, he’d never actually seen two Sith Lord combat each other.

It was both a terrifying and exhilarating sight. The expression of power, both physical and through the Force, brought a hungry glint into the boy’s gaze.

How long before he had that kind of power himself? Could the Dark Lord standing beside him help him achieve that? He supposed only time could truly tell.

Veradun pondered on his master’s words; deceit was just one of the ways of the Sith, that much he knew. Though he did not find it to be honorable to be deceitful to his family and allies, he had no real qualms about being deceptive towards others outside of that sphere. All those that he was not close to, meant nothing to him. And therefore, the young boy had no problem lying to them - especially if it kept him from being used and discarded by those around him.

He was about to speak when the Sith Lord paused, but held his tongue as his master continued, though this time he tore his gaze away from the crowd and the fighting men to look at the one he had sworn himself to. Another frown creased the boy’s brow: Darth Nefaron may have made an all encompassing remark, but the boy really did not like his High Priest, or by extension his sister, being lumped into those referred to as ‘fools’.

He would not scheme against his own family. If anything, he would have them share in whatever victories he may achieve in the future.

…unless they pit themselves against him. That was a different matter altogether, and the boy didn’t want to entertain such a thought. Not right now, at least.

He tilted his head slightly as his unhappy frown turned into a more curious one when his master hinted that the throne he spoke of, was not that of the Sith Emperor’s. His pale blue eyes glanced down at the withered hand that was placed upon his shoulder, and he felt a chill trickle down his spine as he suppressed a shudder, and when the Dark Lord continued, Veradun forced his attention back into the crowd, though he focused on nothing and no one in particular.

To hear that he would be more than just an ‘emperor’, perhaps even seen as a god by those beneath him…now that was hard to believe, though the idea did make for a fun train of thought. But it did make the young Nagai wonder…could such a thing even be possible for him?

His master certainly thought so.

The words of Darth Strosius came back to the boy, then - as he recalled being told that an apprentice was an extension of their master. If that was the case…then so long as he had a master, then it wouldn’t just be him ruling the galaxy, or even the Sith themselves, alone. He would simply be a proxy.

“I'm not stupid; I know that it wouldn’t really be me being the emperor, or having dominion over the galaxy, or even being seen as this ‘god’ -it would be you, Master." Veradun said softly in a tone of voice that might have been a little too impertinent, before turning back to look at Darth Nefaron for a moment.

"And from what I read, Darth Sidious only finished a thousand year's worth of careful planning, and he operated in secret, which we can't really do. Forgive me for doubting you, Master. I just don't see how such a thing could even come to pass now; we don't have a thousand years, and others would know what we - you - are doing, wouldn't they? They would just undermine you." He looked back into the arena once more, as he sensed something shifting in the atmosphere, an energy rising up around them all. It made his heart race a bit faster in his chest.

"However...it is a fun thought to consider and to imagine."

Darth Nefaron ​

 

[Darth Nefaron]

​

It appeared that the boy was just as clever as Nefaron had been led to believe he was. Any other acylate offered the same might immediately indulge in dreams of grandeur, but not young Veradun. He saw through the dreams and clung to the current reality, recognizing that he may be made a mere puppet should the future Nefaron described come to pass. Perhaps that was the truth, perhaps not. Regardless, the Corpse Lord was pleased with his Apprentice, though there was that hint of disrespect that would need tending. As Veradun turned to look at his master, Nefaron met his gaze with a smile, though the hand that still rested on his shoulder gripped him just a bit tighter, though it was only for a moment.

How easy it would be. I could rip out his throat and watch that insolence poor out.
​

But that would do little more than stain his robes with blood. The boy still needed a proper demonstration of Nefaron's power, which would come soon enough. For the time being, the master chose to congratulate the boy on actually considering just how they were to proceed with the plan Nefaron had laid out.

"You continue to exceed my expectations, apprentice. A lesser being might have fallen for such sweet words, having failed to see just what would become of them."

Nefaron's hand fell from the boy's shoulder, moving to join the other behind the Dark Lord's back as watched on.

"They did at least give you a proper history of the Order, I will concede that to the Academy. But you have not grasped the unique position we find ourselves in, far more favorable than even Darth Sidious had during the years preceding the Clone Wars. Allow me to provide a demonstration:"

Nefaron turned away from the area, looking at the pair of soldiers that protected the entrance to the private box. For a moment, he looked between the pair before setting his sites on one and beckoning.

"Come forward. Kneel."

The Legionnaire did as commanded, his head bowed in application to the man who had utterly broken his mind. Often, members of the Corpse Legion were often mistaken for the undead, when that was only half true. They lived, and yet they were drained of life at the same time, the only emotions left to them being rage and fear. Yet the Legion feared their master, the man who broke them and served as an idol for their blasphemous worship.

"The Sith operate openly. Sidious took great care to remain hidden, projecting himself as a beacon of hope for the galaxy. He took a galaxy ravaged by a war that killed billions and made it into an Empire. Impressive, if not for the fact his servants were not utterly loyal to him. Yes, some served faithfully until Sidious died for the final time, but they were few and far between. I have solved that issue entirely."

He glanced to the boy for a moment, before his gaze fell on the Legionaire once more.

"Cut your own throat."

Without a moment of hesitation, the deed was done and the broken human lay on the floor of the private box, blood spilling from an open wound as Nefaron watched with wicked glee.

"Make no mistake, apprentice. We will not need a thousand years to accomplish our goal, for most of the work has already been done for us. The galaxy bleeds, the Dark Side has never been stronger across all worlds and in the hearts of all sentient life. Will we make alliances with other Lords? Certainly. But when they have outlived their usefulness..."

Nefaron trailed off, his gaze again falling on the dead Legionaire, blood had pooled at the feet of both master and apprentice.

"Our galaxy will be one of fear. I will make you into a beacon for the craven, the desperate, and the downtrodden to rally around. But you are correct, apprentice, my vision will be the only path forward. You may sit the throne, or you may be cast aside. We shall see where you end up in time."

Nefaron, feeling as if his point was made, beckoned for the remaining Legionaire to clean up the mess that had been made as the Sith Lord returned to the battle in the area, his enjoyment of the battle having only grown as a clear victor seemed to be emerging.

Tag: Veradun Sharr ​

 

[Darth Ultramar]

Jutrand, Arena
902 ABY

A shiver of reality, tearing apart what was visually possible, matter dissolved in the air before it imploded into black, purple and crimson mist. He did not so much appear as he materialized and manifested on the ranks of the arena. The Red Wake stepped out, the boots hitting the floor echoing with satisfying clank even among the cheering crowds as the off-shoot of an ancient spectacle claimed blood below. The unreality of black, purple and deep red behind him crumbled into itself within a heartbeat.

With a too calm, almost lazy step Darth Ultramar descended down the steps between the ranks, his mask unmoved as it looked at the pair of gladiators. Were they not? He did not know either except by distant reputation, but both were fighting to break free and fighting was their profession. His glance below the mask looked towards the Emperor, the rotten corpse claiming godhood. Then to the lodge in front of him, where the parents of the Eternal Rule sat aloof of their surroundings. There was no alternative to absolute power and no transcendence beyond the political stage without eradicating the competition.

Thats why he was here. The Sith corrupted themselves with decadence and complacency, a petty game of thrones that was fighting over the crumbles dropped by previous Sith Orders and Empires and yet they claimed to be above that.

The fight below was an indicator of how well it went. He spotted the struggle of one and the ambition of another. He saw who was potentially victorious and who deserved it. Doubt, hesitation, second thoughts, emotional bonds and fond memories were anchors to weigh one down. There was no place for such weakness among the Sith of old, no room for petty and weakness.

With some more steps he reached the edge of the viewing area, a hand resting on the railing while another rested on Drach'arys, the dark sword at his belt. He observed this mockery of a Kaggath with faint curiosity, to see who would emerge as the next target for the Eternalists and Kainates.

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

There was a single most wonderful pleasure that none would ever speak of, it was a pleasure greater than the most successful of plots, it was a pleasure greater than the grandest of highs, a pleasure greater than the most sensual of nights.

It was the pleasure of a blade slicing through flesh.

To admit to such was an admission that even amongst the Sith might have raised an eyebrow. There was joy in all of the above, there was joy in the art of warfare, but to admit to this, that within him held a monster deep within his bones that cried out in utter glee as the crimson plasma tip made purchase against Darth Strosius' arm. To admit to such was to admit to the weakness that had taken command of all those who had become slaves to their own darkness, wherein the only elation they held was to their own chains and madness.

It was ironic in some sense, for although the one opposite him was the Sangnir, and despite all that could be said of Darth Strosius' recklessness in all the acts he had undertaken during Malum's time in the Order.

It might have indeed been the Scion of Darth Marr who held the most bloodlust, it made sense they supposed, this form was all the more willing to allow desires to rule them.

Red and gold eyes glimmered through the mask, watching keenly the cauterising wound upon his arm, the blood had not yet fallen. Their breath was heavy, their vision hazy, the phrik gauntlets held them back from taking an arm that was theirs by right of conquest, but the tide had turned, they could take what was owed soon enough.

"Old tricks, I do so hope that you have new ones," The shared voice mocked one hand pressing down upon the beskar hilt, to strike while the iron was hot, and capitalise upon the agony already struck, to have one's flesh exposed against the heat of a kyber crystal was to expose one's fingers to an open flame, to have one's hand grip a hot coal.

To have Sith Steel slice through one's flesh was to feel a fire much colder, much harsher, the burning of frostbite brought against one's skin, the liquid in one's form both melting, drying, and freezing away, leaving nought but...

Nought but death.

Their eyes narrowed as the Sangnir's boot broke the ground beneath them, the sand flying up in the air, as they felt a great pull upon the blade pressing ever dangerously against the wound. An inhuman strength had latched upon the lightsabre's edge and was now all the more willing to take advantage.

The possessed lord allowed an exhale, a grunt out his lips, as they felt the pressure build. He had not expected this. He could not maintain his hold long either.

A hiss broke the air, red and gold caught it, the Inquisitor's free hand gripped around still the blade, lightning suffusing its edge as it barreled forth towards him, any hope that a second hand might join the first struggle thrown aside, as time seemed to slow down.

It was instinct which saved him.

Metal and plasma crackled against each other, in the younger Sith Lord's off-hand now rested a second lightsabre, holding the blade at bay, as his own blade was pulled inch after inch closer, and closer towards Darth Strosius' person. To be locked like this, it was to be on the defensive, such did little but delay defeat.

Indeed all it promised was defeat.

But even still, a moment of pride broke out across hissing breaths.

Ali- Darth Strosius, had drawn out his second blade, and watching intently as the lightning warped out from his fingers, coiling up his blade, the colour was not familiar to him, neither the blue of his creed, nor the white of theirs... indeed it was purple, a royal purple that befitted the irony of the revolutionary.

So he did have a new trick.

And as Malum's tendrils continued to search, continued to drain away the surface layers for his own strength, his hairs had begun to stand at their backs, straight. The query he looked for, the half of a whole that had been split upon Fiviune... it was here... yet...

It was not.

He had little time to ponder it, as their struggle continued, as he continued to desperately search, his theory, his plan, crumbling right in front of him if he was unable to find what he needed to find.

Yet, as the- he felt one presence leave his mind, a presence born of a bond that had been as much a mistake as much as it was unnatural, the singular other presence lurking in the- his mind that only sought to offer him comfort in his darkest days, who even in this battle to their demise watched over the- him in silent encouragement, his focus turned away from the battle, towards Ansisa .

Gazing through oh-so-familiar red eyes.

Finding a hooded man, that he knew.

Realisation sickened him.

His vision saw through red and gold, as his breathing hollowed, as his grip tightened on respective hilts, he felt the Force swirl about him. An impending sense of doom came upon him, as the gold faded from one eye, and he could truly breathe. Through ruby orbs he saw thunder strike a mountain, he saw waves crash against sandbanks, he saw a blizzard overtake the entire arena they stood in, covering all in a blanket of thick white snow, that none would ever be able to stand in.

How ironic.

Through eyes that saw beyond the physical, he saw the personification of the Force kneel before his command, he felt it flow through him as easily as the blood in his veins. It was a spark, that ignited the inferno, a blazing orange flame overtook his sword, as it seemed that the sparks were flying off the very armour which he wore.

A beat passed, and the flame had become a blinding white.

Another beat passed, and the flame had settled a pale blue.

Masked faces stood opposite, as the flames continued to burn on, the masquerade replica of Darth Marr beginning to smoke, before without warning nor ceremony it was burned away, through the depths of the darkness red eyes glared with a fire that was reflected upon every surface, his expression was twisted, his lips parsed, his nose turned up, and his eyes.

A murderous stare that could kill.

"...You sent someone to kill her." An accusation was laid simply between them, an aquiline and noble face revealed, framed by long raven locks.

Malum gave his once brother no opportunity to respond to the accusation, the roles of judge, jury, and executioner having long ago been usurped.

As the flames finally had their chance, the wind buffetted against the walls of the arena, stealing away the sound of all those who spoke, compressing around their lord all which was necessary for what would come, as Malum's ring began to glow their warning tone. The pale blue flames continued to pour out of him, as if he was some chalice pouring out wine.

Closer, and closer, it drew, more and more energy pressed together, as Malum held his enemy locked into place. A limit was being reached, but if that limit was for his own capabilities, or simply the fundamental rules which governed, he could not yet say.

There was an eery silence between them.

Before the great explosion whipped against all of them.

The entirety of the arena grounds was aflame.

Darth Strosius

 

[Darth Strosius]

​

His gaze narrowed and his fangs ground together as his sword was blocked by the swift reaction of his opponent, his blade locked against a crimson one that not only kept his coming strike at bay but also halted any lightning from lashing out against the other Sith. So if speed wasn't going to win him the day then he resorted to another measure. Strength. While he continued to pull the sword out of his arm and away from Malum, his own would batter against the lightsaber.

Each strike was quick yet somehow heavier than the last, seemingly aimed at bashing the crimson blade right back into its wielder rather than simply trying to push it aside. Both arms were put under siege. Either Malum would be forced to let go of his sword in order to keep his lightsaber steady or he'd have to drop his crimson blade in favor of the one already embedded in his foe. Either way he would be left open on one flank and whether by blade or lightning Darth Strosius would take full advantage of it.

Attrition was a battle that the Heir of Marr simply couldn't win in this instance, not when the Lord Inquisitor held every physical advantage needed to outlast him. Time and initiative was on his side and whether by swift strike or slow grind he would crush Malum beneath him. So long as he could hold his own against the younger Sith's more developed powers and abilities then there would be no chance of failure. Even with the telltale drain of his power, a rather slow process given how distracted he was keeping Malum at the moment, he had no doubts of victory.

However he did start to feel a rather natural panic whenever the sword that he was attempting to rip away from its wielder suddenly erupted in flames. Out of sheer instinct he let go and took a step back, silently cursing himself at having given up his position of advantage so easily. He clenched his fingers together on his wounded hand and summoned his discarded lightsaber back into his grasp, both Sith now donning the same armament of sword and sabre. Albeit in opposite hands.

The flame was more than enough to keep Darth Strosius from moving in for another strike, having to fight against his own instincts of retreating away from the sight of it as it changed colors. He needed to move. He needed to attack. To pull back. To do anything but stand and wait. Yet his body and mind couldn't agree which direction to move, one motivated by pride and victory and the other by caution and reflex. A stalemate that lasted far too long as he watched the mask seemingly burn away from Malum's face.

"Kill who-"

An explosion of flame stole away any further words or questioning remarks, with him thrown back as his dark robes took the brunt of the burning wrath of the flames. Panic and hysteria occupied his mind as the flames ripped over him and the arena, any rational thought giving way to a pure feral reflex and response as he drew in a breath and with it his previously expansive presence. With an exhale he loosed a storm of wind in response, a vortex that fanned away the flames expanding out from around him as he briefly hit the ground and stabbed his blades into it in order to stop his momentum.

A series of shallow, hurried breaths escaped him as his wild eyes blinked and attempted to rein in his panicked mind. With the wind stealing away the flames that had just been licking at his robes he was able to steel his nerves and reassert himself, letting out another deep exhale as he slowly rose to his feet and drew his blades from the ground. There was still a great inferno across the grounds of the arena, the wind having dissipated the further it was from him, but he had some breathing room at least.

With a few new holes in his robes that showed the darkened metal plating beneath he frantically searched for his opponent, scanning over the flames as he raised his blades defensively. He knew that he had been moved back and out of position so he had to get his footing back beneath him, figuratively, and get back in the fight before his weakness allowed him to be cut down or injured significantly. The pain still throbbing in his arm as flesh knit itself back together there was more than enough of a reminder of that.

Darth Malum of House Marr

 

[Revna]

​

Revna shifted almost uncomfortably when Darth Carnifex made his appearance into the Kainate viewing box; both Dark Lords of the Kainate were present now, and the power they emanated together was near crushing. She glanced briefly at Lina, though she didn’t dare reach out telepathically - not when so many of their enemies were around them and more than capable of detecting such things.

For a moment, Revna wished for the comforting and cold presence of Lady Talon, but she cast that desire aside. She wouldn’t use the Empress and their connection as a crutch; she wouldn’t hide behind the woman or use her as a shield to deflect the discomfort of her current situation.

The young woman listened as Carnifex stated his thoughts and opinions on the fight at hand, though his final words seemed more direct, a thinly veiled threat that passed as a general statement. She took note of them, as anything her captors said was important to her and her continued survival while she remained under their heel.

Of course, Prazutis followed up with his own comments and she took note of them too, suppressing a shudder when he said that all their enemies touched would burn. His words brought back memories she didn’t wish to relive, and she clenched her jaw tight as she pushed them down and locked them away once more.

Her fiery eyes snapped to Lina when the other woman spoke up against what Carnifex and Prazutis had said, and she could only admire the woman for her boldness. Of course, Lina played her part in appearing to be against Strosius, against all those who were not Kainites - though Revna knew otherwise.

The little Sith separated herself from the majority of the others, moving to a more empty place against the railing that looked out over the arena and the bloodthirsty, roaring crowds within the stands. She wanted to be away from the others, as much as she could be in the space that was quickly beginning to fill with more bodies and powerful presences in the Force. She shut everyone out, her gaze fixated upon the two men fighting below.

The outcome of this fight mattered much to Revna. On one hand…she could very well lose a family member, one she had so recently gained too. On the other hand, she could lose her Master and have to find a replacement to finish her training. More than likely, she would remain with the Kainate - unless Malum decided to try and take her back from them, which for some reason she doubted he would. With either outcome would come pain and disappointment - but such was the Sith way, she imagined.

The fight continued back and forth, and as the energy within and around began to build, so too did Revna’s anxiousness. The fight seemed to be nearing a crescendo, and when it did - the fight would surely come to a violent finish. Her Master struck the first blow, but then Malum’s blade found purchase and sliced into flesh.

A flash of crimson in the stands at or near the Tsis’Kaar side pulled Revna’s attention away from the fight to try and see what was going on, but it was hard to tell for sure. But someone had ignited a lightsaber, and this made her grow very tense. If someone had become bold enough to give in to their bloodthirstiness, then what was to stop others in the crowd from doing so as well?

The situation in the stands seemed to distract Malum for a moment, but then the situation shifted between combatants almost instantly, as fire erupted to scorch Darth Strosius, forcing him to give up his advantageous position and forcing his hand to try and keep the hungry flames away from reaching him. She knew fire was particularly dangerous to her Master, and she knew why. It made her grow far more tense, her hands gripping the rails tightly as her eyes remained fixated on the scene playing out before her, at the awe-inspiring display of raw power between both Sith Lords.

For a few moments, she held her breath. She refused to look away, sensing that the end might be near.

Oh how she hated that it had come to this.

Darth Prazutis // Darth Carnifex // Lina Ovmar // @Kainites​

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

Red eyes revealed themselves back upon the world.

And they saw blue.

It crackled and it spluttered, but as his heartbeat in his eardrums, as he felt the blood flow up and down his skull, there was nought but the sound of his own body, and that of the flames that licked so close to the nearest edge of his skin, attempting to find succor in the black hairs which had risen to attention, as soon as every muscle in his body had tensed.

The flames had engulfed the entire grounds, but there was limited feed for it here, and though all that he stole from Ali- Darth Strosius would continue to feed the ravenous blaze, such was not a hunger that could be fed forever.

It mattered little, through the Force-fed flames, Malum knew that his once brother still drew breath, he also knew that he had brought the fear of Bogan deep within his bones. He had not wished to use fire, for after all, for all the many invulnerabilities and strengths which the Sangnir held, and truly, there were many, the flame was perhaps their most well-known failing.

At times, he doubted that the flames were any more weakness to them than it was for any mortal life... still, he supposed there was one way in which it was more weakness for them.

The regeneration they so relied upon was gone, as their flesh was scorched.

He had missed his mark now, but as the wind threw itself against the flames, holding it at bay for now, it was enough proof of all that he knew. Yet, that mattered entirely little at this moment, his vision turned towards the Tsis'Kaar stands, through the flames, it was impossible to see, yet, as he felt their bond still stand.

As through the red eyes of another, he saw another come to her side, Kadann , a mentor, protector, the Tsis'Kaar all stood around, her order echoing in their ears, as masked visages looked on, ready, and all the more eager to be allowed opportunity to defend their Shadow Hand, when they had been denied the right to defend their Lord.

She was safe then.

His Kara...

His...

She was safe.

His vision turned back towards the one who had ordered such a thing, the only one with the utter gall, the only one with the perfidious foolishness to even believe such an idea was sound.

A loud hiss alerted the deactivation of his lightsabre as the hilt was interned again at his side, raising his now free hand, as the Force swelled around his fingers, commanding its call, as the ring upon his fingers still pulsed outwards in dark energy, his entire form pulsing as more flames flowed out. A fiery orange transitioning to a stark white, before settling upon the pale blue which burned with such a magnitude that even protected from his own spell.

He knew, that if he lost control for even a moment, then it would be him, that the flames brought under to ash.

To ash.

If necessary, he would bring him to ash.

The wind changed, heralded by the banners hung down from the arena growing silent, the flutter of the flags above stolen, the air rushed down from the high heavens, as the flames surged upwards, a veritable wall of fire sailing higher, and higher, all preparing to crash down upon the sole ant below them, that dared to resist.

As Malum began to take steps forward, each momentous, each feeling as if fate itself bent around his boot, each feeling as if his destiny was soon to be determined, the flames pressed against the barrier of his form, with the same adulation of a subject gazing upon the sovereign, as each stride, he felt his breathing tighten.

As if earthquakes were breaking the ground he walked.

Through the wall of the flames, with one hand still gripping around the beskar hilt of his Sith Sword, as the other hand glew the light of his ring, coiling around his fingers both wind and fire, an armoured figure appearing through the spluttering and burning blue, raven locks swaying back and fro, as his eyes burned as brightly as all he commanded.

There was a silence in the air, as he gazed upon that mask.

Tried, to gaze through that mask, for the man he knew stood underneath.

It had been so long since Fiviune, yet, still, even now, how much had they been haunted by it?

The tear burned away before it could be formed.

The command was given, and as a tsunami raced to crash over all that lay underneath, the inferno rushed forward, past his ear with the speed of a ship escaping hyperspace.

To ash.

All to ash.

Darth Strosius

 

[Kaila Irons]

Little was said as she greeted her master, and in fact she felt quite ignored. It seemed the only Kainite who ever regarded her since her return was Darth Xyrah, which to her said a lot about where she stood. It was natural, she supposed, given her failures on Dathomir. The ghost of Darth Parasideus made her look weak, delay her work by years.

It may take more then just years to make this right.

In truth the thought hurt, but it also made her blood boil. She had spent so long being tormented in that tomb so that she could hand over knowledge to her master that she may never fully understand herself. And for what? Was it part of her training? Some kind of test that went horribly wrong? Would she ever even know? She gained nothing! If it weren't for Xyrah she'd still be living in quarters that resembled more of a cell than an actual living space, all while surrounded by lords and ladies who her master seemed almost... affectionate towards. She was little more than a ghost to the rest of the Kainate.

She quickly bowed her head and dismissed herself, returning to the railing which she clenched in her grasp just as her jaw clenched while she was left alone with her thoughts. Always so alone, even amidst the sea of souls.

Parasideus was right

She sighed at the thought, slowly releasing her grip and breath

I'm nothing without his powers.

Her gaze began to drift lazily about the Arena, taking in the sight of so many imperials who seemed to be enjoying themselves. More Sith lords appeared in between the crowds of common folk, some sitting on thrones or arriving through flashy portals, some even materializing. She never stopped to think just how many there were now, always observing her people through historical texts or data. It was different, actually being there to see them all with one's own eyes. She wondered if they all had apprentices, and if they all felt the way she did.

Then something else drew her attention elsewhere, to the Tsis'kar box.

"Does anyone else that?" She pointed directly them. At lightsabers, of many colors even.

"Fighting! in the Tsis'kar box. Is someone interfering with the-"

The arena suddenly exploded in fire, obscuring the scene from Kaila. It danced around the arena, threatening to consume the combatants and perhaps even the front row audience if they were not careful. Blue flame danced in her eyes, consuming her attention and thoughts. But who? who could do such a thing? It was then that she beheld him, truly saw Darth Malum of House Marr . Not just as a gladiator, but truly a Lord of the Sith. She had seen power before, She was a student of what she believed to be the most powerful Sith of their time, But never had she seen another that could capture her attention through a display of such magnitude.

Before he was a mere enemy of the Kainate, blood to be spilled and then forget about. But now?

She couldn't look away.

Then all went quiet, the wind in that hellish pit swirling, fighting to consume the flame only to fail and become like coiling dragonsnake as the Marr raised his hand and all the flames with it.

She nearly threw herself over the edge to get a closer look, The innate pyromancer in Kaila bewildered by this continued display, and then all in instant-

Hell was let loose.


Darth Carnifex Pom Stych Tivé Revna Lina Ovmar | @Kainites

 

[Ansisa]

Ansisa's first attack was cast aside, her saber sliding away as her spun to her otherside, the railing from which he had gained his entrance still at his back. There was a beat, a moment of contemplation as one assassin recognised another, as she heard the snap hiss of another saber igniting behind her. She held no command over Kadann, if he wanted to join the fray he would.

She felt Malum's gaze, felt him see through her as she set her feet waiting fornl the attack, as she felt the inferno begun to rise within him. Let him use it, let him use her situation to fuel him.

Her lip curled at his words and she let out a low hiss, her eeighting shifting as his did as she brought her own saber up to intercept the searching strike sweeping it to the side she twisted away leaving space for Kadann to move in beside her.

A single blade from the tempest at her back shot forward aiming for an eye.

Behind Kasir, the arena erupted into flames with a fury she felt in her heart as she reached fornhim throught their bond breifly, like a hand grazing his arm as she passed. She would be fine, she had Kadan and the lieutenants at her disposal.

Kasir would fall, just like his master.

Kasir Dorran Kadann

 

[Darth Strosius]

​

The very brief bit of breathing room that he had managed after the explosion was evidently going to be fading faster than he had expected, given how the flames soon began shifting as the wind swirled in an unnatural manner. Unsurprising but no less inconvenient. Darth Strosius winced as the flames moved as one, combining into a great wall that seemed to only grow higher with each passing moment. Far from ideal.

He could attempt to quell the flames in the same way that they were being summoned and expanded upon but such a skill was one that he rarely used and never to this scale, certainly not with the same mastery that he knew Malum wielded it at least. If he was so intent on playing to his strengths then it was time that the favor be returned. His lightsaber was extinguished and returned to his belt alongside his sword as he readied himself, gathering his mind and focus once more.

When Malum stepped through the wall he couldn't help but grin despite the rather imposing and dramatic sight before him, the Heir of Marr never could resist the theatrics. A penchant for flair that he had been counting on and one that had just paid off. He rolled his shoulders and raised up one hand, the one featuring the slightly melted claws, into the air as the other reared back and closed into a fist. His strength centered on both as the wall began to crash down like a wave, his gaze never leaving the other Sith despite the flames soon obscuring him from view.

Before he could be consumed by the inferno bearing down on him he produced a barrier around himself, flinching as the flames battered against it but keeping both his raised hand which it sprang from and his focus unwavering. "Clever tactic boy, I'll give you that." It was a foreign thing really, to be on the defensive as he was, but he knew that it was a temporary measure. Malum had the initiative for the moment but the moment was fading quickly the longer that he managed to keep up the barrier. Time was still on his side.

"But not clever enough." His other hand similarly swirled with power but instead of supporting the shield it was thrown forth and from his wrist leapt a pitch black spear that carved through the flames on a path straight towards Malum. His fingers splayed wide and the spear similarly split into five, all aimed to impale the Heir of Marr as he held the inferno at bay.

Darth Strosius closed his eyes and did his best to block out the roar of the flames around him, kept at bay only by a thin shield of will. "You rely so much on what Ophidia set out for you. As shameful as it is disappointing." For a brief moment he felt disconnected from himself, as though he had managed to escape the dire situation at hand. An odd calm and peace that was evident even in his usual icy and umbral aura. "You never listened when I told you Malum. You never wanted to believe it, but it is true. So listen now when I tell you for the last time..."

"I am beyond her."

One hand joined the other holding up the protective bubble as it suddenly expanded outwards with an explosive force that nearly rivaled the inferno's inception, banners blown back by the shockwave that threw the wall of flame off of him like a geyser. When his eyes opened once more one could almost see the golden glow of his eyes burning through the visor as he expelled the wall with a mighty push and summoned his blades back into his hands with his next breath.

Darth Malum of House Marr

 

[Velda Nar-Donna]

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

There was an elegant, yet inviting, and yet almost sinister aura, that surrounded her visage that seemed like one was peering into a void within this darkened part of the arena. She sat in a seat meant for a commoner and yet her poise within it was one of practiced regality that seemed as if it came natural to her, a very subtle hint of her aristocratic background.

Her brown eyes remained fixed on the brutal dance between Strosius and Malum, the Kaggath promising blood with every heartbeat. Yet her attention was only partly tethered to the battle. Another part of her attention was focused on the fellow that she had been conversing with, whose curiosity, it seemed to Velda, simmered like a fire beneath calm words. Of which he spoke telepathically through The Force.

Her whispers continued as they sang directly to his ears, from a distance. In order to keep esoteric knowledge esoteric. Some knowledge is best kept hidden, for a chosen few. And she found that when knowledge was hidden. It is likely something worth knowing.

"Yes," Her whisper was darkly musical. "It takes one who has risen from the depths of the abyss to see the rise of another. But the title is not always decreed by the will of a Master alone, only sometimes. And then there are times when the Dark Side itself, in its infinite will, channels the title through the Master, if that Master happens to be fully immersed by it."

And at other times, in extremely rare conditions. The title is conferred to the Sith, directly. From the Dark Side itself, This is how Velda's Darth title was born, given by the dark side through Sith magick and ritual. Many, many, years ago, on a distant shore, and under a round moon. A title she has kept to herself, mostly because many of her Sith exploits did not require it to be uttered, until now.

"It will be quite the cost. If you choose to take this road, it will not be easy. But rewarding for those who endure. It is not just about will, although the will is vital. You will wage war, against the Force, against the galaxy, and most of all, against yourself. And every battle will exact that cost. Power is not given, but taken. And anything worth taking, is worth fighting for."

She considered his name as he gave it to her. And he expected hers in kind, which put the hidden noble in a precarious position. Still, she was not so concerned about it. She had her Darth name to give him after all, and no one within the order would be none the wiser, at least, not yet.

"Quite a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Jonah. You may call me...Darth Vexanis..."

She had been aware of the silent invasion of the Tsis'Kaar box. Although she was more curious about how the two combatants in the Kaggath would react. And needless to say, Malum's reaction was…quite spirited. To put it politely, as blue flames spread across the area of combat between them.

"I am sure that you can see and are very aware. That emotions are quite powerful and are a weapon of choice for the Sith. As has been demonstrated by the contestants below. But be mindful, master your emotions rather than leaving them unbridled, for mastering them shall lessen fatal mistakes."

She returned her gaze to the battle. The lesson was clear, and she allowed Jonah to absorb it in silence. This was but the beginning of his journey, and if he were to walk the path of the Sith, he would need to learn quickly that power without control was nothing but a fleeting blaze, destined to burn itself out.