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

[Revna]

She was aware of others as they made their appearance into the Kainate box, but she ignored them all, except for another woman who came to stand shoulder to shoulder with her. Ember eyes slid over to Lina as she bowed her head respectfully to a member of the House of Zambrano. She knew Lina would never have required such a thing had it been just the two of them…but she was within sight of others who watched her carefully.

Revna tensed as the fight began in earnest in the ring below. Her gaze remained glued on the duelists, watching their every move. As much as she hated to admit it, this was a learning opportunity for her. And she was never one to pass up a chance to learn something, gain some further insight.

The atmosphere within and around the Kainate box shifted, both in the physical and in the Force, as the Dark Lord drew in strength and emanated power from his great form. She had to steel her nerves, as she always had to, when being anywhere near the brute. It was no easy task, but she refused to bend or bow before his might. It would need to be forced from her. Always. Nevertheless, she cast a wary glance in his direction as the railing under his grip cracked. She kept her own emotions deeply buried, under tight control. She would not add to the power and energy whipped up by the bloodthirsty crowd all around them, and feed into the monster’s power.

But she couldn’t ignore his thunderous voice as he spoke to one loyal to him who had entered into the Box, before he spoke to Revna once more, and she dared to turn her face to look at him.

“Then they will be humiliated before the entire Order for displaying such weakness, now won’t they?” she replied coldly to him, before turning away to resume watching the fight below.

Darth Prazutis // Lina Ovmar // Pom Stych Tivé ​

 

[Kaila Irons]

KAINATE BOX​

Kaila's presence was a small one among the gathering Kainites. One of the many accompanying the master of their order, Darth Carnifex .
Few knew her name nor face, which had become almost unrecognizable during her absence from the Kainate and even the Order itself. Too far removed and too long spent pursuing her orders on dreary Dathomir for her name to be remembered now.

Such a waste, she thought. Such a failure on her part.

Perhaps the only saving grace of the whole ordeal was that in the end, her mission was not entirely a unsuccessful. Her dark master had received what he wanted and not opted to simply decrainiate her body and turn her into a lobotomized servant like the others gathered around now.

The master of which, Darth Prazutis emerged in a fiery spectacle before too long, earning a customary curtsy from the young woman, as did Pom Stych Tivé and some others of sufficient rank and title above the apprentice's own.

Although her attention would rest upon the Nightsister's flashy entrance just a moment longer. Kaila had nothing against the witches in particular, save that it was best to approach their ilk with caution. It was just that it all reminded her of Dathomir still, the things she had seen and done there still fresh on the mind.

The thought made her glance down at her own lightsaber, wrapped in the red cloth that clearly had connections to the Nightsisters or even Nightbrothers.

When it was all said and done, she turned away from the small crowd, taking a deep breath as she leaned forward against the rail. She felt so small around these people. So insignificant even despite all she had overcome to get this far. She was nothing before Darth Carnifex and Xyrah had found her, or that's how she saw it at least. A scared little thing, no memory of who she was or how she got there. Fate itself seemed against her until she was brought to Malsheem, even her soft little Vahla bones seemed dead set on failure before she had them all replaced.

She owed everything to them. So why was she a whirlwind of anger now that she was by their side again? Maybe it was the atmosphere of this arena, or just that a spectacle seemed so... beneath her.

You hate it, don't you? Bowing.

She looked up, hearing a voice clear as day. There was no one there.



Darth Malum of House Marr Revna Darth Prazutis Lina Ovmar Pom Stych Tivé Darth Carnifex || Kainites

 

[Avel Som]

---

Avel Som sat on the wall of the stadium at its highest point, watching the fight through the eyes of Darkwing, his ebonhawk friend. He still didn't exactly understand how the bird was able to send his sight into Avel Som's mind, though Darkwing kept implying that it was actually something he was doing, not the other way around. Avel Som was skeptical. He had never found himself using the magical abilities Darkwing was able to use, though he had also never really cared enough to try. There was no point in worrying or trying too hard on anything. Life for him was all about taking it easy and enjoying freedom. He leaned back, his left leg swinging over the empty air underneath, and enjoyed the wind blowing by at this altitude.

Darkwing soared back up to the wall and perched beside him. "So, what do you think? Who do you see winning this?" Darkwing gave a flutter of his wing with a low-pitch screech. "Really? Maybe. Guess it's too soon to tell, though." He had met the masked Strosius guy, though he had not seen his face. The other guy, the one called Malum, he had not met yet. "Wonder what it's like to fight either of them," he mused. Darkwing replied with a mental image of both of them standing looking very triumphant over the unconscious bodies of the two combatants below. Avel Som could not help but laugh at the hawk's confidence. "Yeah, nobody could ever beat us, buddy."

Darkwing looked down toward one of the platforms and shuffled his talons before looking at Avel Som. "Sure, I don't see why not. Let's go get you some food. It's free, right?" Not bothering to sit up, Avel Som just rolled off the ledge. Darkwing dived after him as he fell. He fell past the platform that held an interesting guy on a throne. Avel Som gave the man a wave. One thing about the Sith Order was that there were plenty of odd or disfigured people here as well as extremely attractive people. Avel Som didn't feel like such a freak around them. He was seen as just another person, which was an odd feeling to be sure, but a comfortable one.

Avel Som turned, placing his feet below him. He deadened his nervous system so that, as he landed, he would feel no pain as the bones in his legs shattered into billions of pieces upon landing. Despite the shattered bones, his muscles held. He stood up straight, his bones immediately beginning to piece themselves back together. Darkwing landed on his shoulder, and he strolled into the Kainite box, neither knowing nor caring what a Kainite even was.

He gave a polite nod to the others in the room as he went over to the feast table. He fed Darkwing pieces of whatever the ebonhawk picked out. Avel Som didn't take any food for himself. He had only eaten a few times in his entire life, mostly just to try it out. It was all the same to him, and he derived no pleasure from it, so he just didn't eat. He did, however, notice an interesting drink that piqued his interest. He helped himself to some and drank. "Huh..." Yeah, it did nothing for him. He shrugged with a sigh and finished what he had poured, so as to not be wasteful. "Same as everything else." He was glad at least Darkwing was enjoying the food, ripping into some kind of meat.

---

TAGS: OPEN​

 

[Firrerreo]

If there was one thing he absolutely adored about the First Cohort, it was the food.

At least when it wasn't poisoned. It only took one for him to realize that his fellows would even try to poison his feasts. Which, given his obsession with food, was a quick way to earn the Firrerreo's ire. Even now he frowned as he had to have his familiar test the food to ensure all was well. It was, so, naturally he started munching down on the fruit.

It was exquisite. So much more than the fruit he'd scavenge on Tattooine.

"So, who are we rooting for?"

His gaze shifted to another. Zarava. It'd been a bit since the maze, but she'd made it through. She'd earned her spot, whatever it might be. He had no horse in whatever this race was that was unfolding, so, naturally, he was ever curious on if others did. That'd be useful information down the line.

Zarava Dekki

 

[Darth Carnifex]

"Triumph or defeat, the outcome matters little."

The voice from the entryway carried like the sound of grinding stone, the crushing weight of glaciers flattening whole continents. A large Shadow loomed, a voluminous robe of roughspun zeyd-cloth cascading down from a wide, muscular frame. Everything about the Shadow was concealed, His face hidden beneath a veil of midnight suspended by a halo of hammered iron that rested upon His brow. The amorphous shape moved into the viewing box, appearing to almost glide across the ground as His cloak trailed in His wake.

A hand emerged from within the cloak, bare fingers coiled around the much smaller hand of Pom Stych Tivé as He loomed over her. Sharpened nails glinted in the light, while every inch of the Dark Lord's bare hand had been etched with black tattoos so tightly intricate it appeared, from a glance, that it was simply a uniform color. But the trained eye could see the runic symbols wrought into the skin, how they fed into one another and spiraled on endlessly in all directions.

"Our enemy remains the same, those who would seek to disrupt the Sith's destiny. Whoever survives shall be made to heel," though one could not see it, the gaze of the Dark Lord fell squarely on Lina. "Or they will be destroyed. I have grown weary of entertaining those who do not learn."

Darth Prazutis | Pom Stych Tivé | Lina Ovmar
Revna | Kaila Irons ​

 

[Gerwald Lechner]

​

WEARING: xxx
TAG: Open

The Kaggath was upon them. Gerwald still wondered about the intentions and motives of Darth Malum of House Marr . His words had been as silver tongued as they always were. For the moment the wolf supposed he needed to allow the young serpent to think he had been successful. In his youth he was pushing far beyond his station. Gerwald remembered what it had been like to be his age. He had made his fair share of mistakes. The difference was, Gerwald had not been in a position where those mistakes would have the dire consequences as Malum’s would.

His own box had been secured. As a member of the Dark Council the wolf was not there as the executioner of the emperor, but rather as his own Sith. Where Malum and Strosius had inherited their forces, Gerwald had built his over time. He was no longer the lone wolf he had been upon his arrival. His box was full of those loyal to him, and others of his agency were scattered among the crowd. Gerwald did not expect the Kaggath to remain peaceful.

The Sith Order was fragile. It needed to remain strong in appearance, but the wolf knew that under the surface of what seemed to be a stable and unified Order, a powder keg was poised to explode.

Blue eyes flitted over to the Kainite booth. Darth Carnifex was there, and Darth Prazutis was there as well. It had been some time since he saw the Mountain. His oath to Naedira Darcrath would prevent him from challenging the man. Perhaps she was correct in her assessment. It was not worth it. Revenge was not worth it. The respect he had gained from his duel with Carnifex was also not worth tarnishing over a quarrel with the Mountain. For now Gerwald would leave it be, but he acknowledged the Epicanthix all the same.

His attention finally went to the battle below. So far it was posturing. Words were bandied back and forth. Whatever the outcome would be, the wolf was prepared.

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

KAINATE
​

Revna | Darth Prazutis | Lina Ovmar | Lily Rhodes | Kaila Irons | Darth Carnifex

"Thou art the enigma from which all Darkness stems, my lord." The Nightsister rendered a shy smile, which Prazutis would perhaps be the only one to ever witness such a glint cast from her essence. She has ever been aware that Carnifex and Prazutis' energies are deeply intertwined, and rarely divided. Between she and them, she is the only one without a single secret.

In the beginning she kept much of her cultural magick skills to herself, to have the upper hand as every woman should. So much knowledge had been gifted to her by the Sith right from the start. In unified effort the Kainate included the Wanica Coven's magick in mastering eternal life, and Carnifex singlehandedly harnessed the power of the Nightsister's Fanged God taking his place as superior. The birth of her perfect daughter tipped the scales of every honor bestowed upon her for her willing participation in their experiments… a gift for which she is immensely grateful and one that she felt she could never repay Fate.

Then there is Lug also born of Carnifex, the exact opposite of Zeptepi Zambrano , an ever thirsting husk of flesh, pesky and always following her around, tucked away beyond the veil of the Nether realm for most of his existence because of his persistent needs. Oddly the babe is useful to the old Lord, for some grand concoction he is brewing.

She gave all she had to this family, and gained far more from her induction than she ever dreamed. Just existing in the presence of her god, whose power she utilizes for personal gain… and he shows her respect.

For a long while Pomstychtivé kept herself from forming opinions based on matters of the Sith. She did not participate in the recent campaigns of the Sith except for those which the Zambrano family directly approved. She worries mostly about what another shift could mean for Dathomir. Although Dathomir is well known as no place any jedi apostate wants to venture; the planet exists under a thick atmosphere of magick generated over eons, that it can actually take care of itself, her Bone Temple a prime example of the planet's ability to autonomously eradicate intruders.

The Matriarch nodded to the young Sith who greeted her respectfully. She would teach them anything they ask, if they only would ask, having a tad more patience for children than Carnifex.

The energy of the room shifted even more and her heart leapt at her beloved's appearance. She accepted his hand in greeting, repeating her affections shown to Prazutis. The Wanica curtseyed to their benefactor. Pom rose to give Carnifex the seat immediately next to his Uncle, allowing the men to enjoy the sporting festivities without her interference.


​

​

 

[Veradun Sharr]

Veradun did his best to listen as his master spoke while also watching the events which were unfolding in the arena beyond. The boy had never been to such an event before, and the energy of the crowd pressed in on him. He could feel it, crackling against his skin like an invisible electrical pulse. It was difficult to restrain the growing anxiety he felt that bubbled up from his center and into his throat; he was nervous about what would transpire here. The very real possibility that he could watch one of the most important people in his life die. But there was something else lurking underneath that fear, that anxiousness. And it drew him back to watching the scenes unfold before him with an almost twisted fascination.

He truthfully didn’t know how to process that; it wasn’t something he could really comprehend right now.

The young man turned his attention back to his master briefly as the cloaked and hooded figure continued to pass on the historical knowledge of the Kaggath to Veradun, who couldn’t help but wonder why this duel was being considered such a thing if it didn’t involve all of what Darth Nefaron spoke of. He frowned, a crease forming on his pale brow, as his gaze traveled back to the fighting figures of Darth Malum and Darth Strosius.

Could this display really be considered a Kaggath, then? he wondered to himself.

Clearly, his master didn’t think so, even calling the whole event a joke. Veradun didn’t want to disrespect or dishonor the effort his High Priest or Darth Malum were putting into this fight, but he couldn’t help but agree, if this was a far cry from what a Kaggath was supposed to be.

The boy did shift a bit uncomfortably when his master said that they could use the ambition of Darth Strosius for their own gain, their own purposes. He didn’t really know how he felt about using his family and their struggle for his own gain. But he couldn’t deny that drawing in supporters from the losing side would be advantageous for his Lord.

Veradun turned his attention to the Dark Lord when he was asked about what he was feeling in the moment.

“I…I feel anxious, for the outcome of this.” the Nagai said quietly as he looked back to see the arcing of lightning and the flash of crimson blades. “I feel uncertainty for the future, I fear for what will happen should the High Priest fall, what will become of his followers, his Order. My family.”

Veradun paused for a long moment, debating if he should speak the rest of what churned through his mind. He had been given the permission to speak freely, he knew he should take advantage of that while he could. But some of what he had to say felt almost like a betrayal of his loyalties, his care for his loved ones.

“I…I would be saddened by it, certainly. But I don’t think it would affect me as much as it would affect my sister. But something about the fight, the atmosphere, makes my heart beat faster. Not in fear…but in excitement. It stirs me to want to fight as well, to see blood spilt freely.” he murmured, glancing back at his master briefly. “Is…is it wrong for me to feel this way?” he asked, a hint of vulnerability in his quiet voice.

Darth Nefaron​

 

[Kasir Dorran]

Tags: Open

For a brief moment, Kasir was entranced, unable to look away from the intense duel as it unfolded. Every swing, every move, was a reflection of their ambition and mastery of the dark side. Beneath the intrigue he was consumed by turmoil, a stirring of emotions the Sith so often called upon—conflict, desire, and perhaps a tinge of hate. Every clash between the two Sith Lord’s threatened to make his pulse quicken. Yet, he resisted the urge to fan those very flames; he understood the risk of revealing himself, especially here, and drawing the attention of those who were capable of sensing the flicker of power that he fought to keep hidden.

Despite his firm belief in the outcome, he was certain that it would still be a prolonged duration of both skill and violence. Feeling like a wolf amidst sheep at the forefront of the crowd, there would soon be something pulling him, each step allowing him to melt further back into the mass of spectators. The sounds of gasps and murmurs enveloped him. The Darkseeker would soon become a predator in this urban jungle, a ghost among mortals.

As he shifted his gaze above the sea of faces, he began to scan the grand boxes that loomed overhead, reserved for those who felt the need to revel in some form of perceived importance. It didn't take much time for the one belonging to the Kaainite to appear. Their black banners were unmistakable. Even with their grand display, they still felt the need to huddle behind guards.

Continuing his surveillance, his eyes narrowed, landing on the distinctive box of the Tsis'Kaar. It was then that his keen and enhanced senses detected a flicker of movement at the railing. The figure had blue skin, unmistakably a Chiss. Betrayal ran deep within the Sith. Despite their ability to feign loyalty, it was almost a certainty that they would be the first to betray the High Priest should Darth Malum meet his end today.

Kasir found himself melding into the shadows, now becoming one with the darkness. Each strike with his boot was a whisper, and he began to ascend a staircase with fluidity. With a flick of his wrist, he tapped into the Force once more, conjuring a ripple of silence that wrapped around him like a second skin. The thrill of the hunt was awaiting him, and he could practically taste the excitement building within. He could still hear the duel raging behind him, but his focus remained steadfast—someone had to become his prey. His current actions didn't necessarily come from a higher authority; rather, it felt like a personal pursuit with everything that had been happening recently. While he usually fixated on one target, today it seemed he had multiple choices.

 

[Darth Strosius]

​

Before he could connect blades to flesh, or at least blades to armor, a thick and impenetrable cloud sprang up right in his face and blocked the Heir of Marr from view. A temporary hurdle of course but one that made him growl with frustration nonetheless. "Because now I see that you can't be saved, dear Malum." He gathered his focus and prepared to expel the smoke cloud with a push through the Force but he paused, instead choosing to take up a slightly different tactic.

Just as the cloud obscured him from view, he obscured himself from the Force. In an instant the swirling pool of wrath and power simply vanished from all senses, withdrawing into itself so swiftly that it seemed as though he had managed to somehow escape the arena altogether. But of course it wouldn't quite be that simple. While he might have been harder to track the spears of darkness certainly were no less insistent, plunging through the smoke towards him given that he had yet to really move from where he had last been when Malum saw him.

Darth Strosius took in a breath and closed his eyes as the spears pierced the smoke and seemed to slice through the very air itself in order to reach him faster. Right as the first spear would have struck him, he moved. Just barely missing what would have been a very grievous wound as the spear moved just past him while he twisted to avoid another incoming one. With a serious of careful movements that would make any ballroom dancer envious at how fluid it looked, not that anyone could see it of course.

What would be seen however was when a spear flew out of the smoke and he twisted out after it, standing across from Malum once more as he let his presence spread out through the Force once more. "I wish you enlightenment, actually. Allow me to grant it to you." Just as spears had been hurled at him he chose to return the favor, a spike of aggressive and sharp power lashing out against Malum right before he pushed off the ground into another sprinting charge.

"You were always so focused on what was right in front of you, never looking at the bigger picture! Never able to see what had to be done!" Arcs of lightning traveled up the blade of his sword while the crimson blade of his lightsaber was held in front of him as he moved forward. Once he got within striking distance the lightsaber would be the first to lash out in a simple slash, seemingly only to act as a distraction as the sword was stabbed forward and loosed the arcs into a flurry of bolts towards the other masked Sith.

Darth Malum of House Marr

 

[Leven Jeyd]

O B S E R V I N G​

TAG: Open~
( Jonah - Viviane )

The arena was a living thing, a beast of sound and fury that threatened to swallow all who dared to stand within its maw. Leven Jeyd could feel its pulse reverberating through her bones as she slipped through the shadows, weaving her way past oblivious guards and preoccupied attendants. The thrill of sneaking into the grand spectacle undetected brought a sly grin to her lips—a fitting entrance for little old Jester.

She had arrived on Jutrand and the arena alongside Jonah and Viviane. The three had blended seamlessly into the throngs of spectators flooding the stadium, each playing their part to perfection. But as the crowd's anticipation reached a fever pitch, Leven had drifted away, her curiosity and hunger for insight drawing her deeper into the colorful crowds and away from her companions.

Now, perched atop a narrow ledge high above the arena floor, she had the perfect vantage point. Her crimson eyes danced over the unfolding duel between Darth Malum and Darth Strosius, two titans of the Sith Order locked in a deadly ballet for power and dominance. Every clash of blades, every burst of Force energy was a treat to her senses, each note revealing more about the combatants - and the intricate web of loyalties surrounding them.

Leven's fingers absentmindedly toyed with a small vial hanging from her belt—a recent concoction from her alchemical experiments deep within the mines she now controlled. Acquiring and reforming those mines had been no small feat, but the wealth of minerals and rare elements they provided were invaluable to her work. Work that, if successful, could tip the scales of power for her in ways most of the people around her could not fathom.

She scanned the crowd, her keen gaze dissecting the myriad expressions and subtle gestures among the assembled Sith. To one side, she noted a cluster of acolytes garbed in the crimson and black insignias of the Tsis'Kaar, their eyes alight with fervent support for Darth Malum.

On the opposite end, a contingent of the Inquisition stood tall, their presence as imposing as the armor they wore. Faces concealed beneath dark helms, they watched Darth Strosius with a reverence that bordered on zealotry. Leven's lips twitched into a smirk; blind devotion was such a fun thing to toy with.

Amidst the sea of spectators, she also spotted other influential figures—Dark Council members, military leaders, and ambitious apprentices—all watching intently, each undoubtedly calculating how the outcome of this duel would affect their own standings. The entire arena was a chessboard, and every individual a piece waiting to be moved. Her very skin seemed to crawl with excitement.

Leven reveled in the possibilities. The death of either combatant would send ripples through the Sith Order, creating vacuums of power and opportunity. She had no allegiance to either Malum or Strosius; her loyalties lay solely with herself and the grand designs she envisioned.

As sparks flew and the crowd roared, Leven allowed herself a moment to close her eyes and inhale deeply, taking in the scent of ozone and bloodlust that permeated the air. This was the essence of the Sith—a relentless struggle for supremacy, a dance of shadows and blades where only the cunning survived. She thought briefly of Jonah and Viviane, wondering how they were faring among the masses, when a sudden surge of energy from the arena drew her attention back to the fight.

Let them tear each other apart. There were always those ready to collect the pieces.

Malum had unleashed a barrage of spears forged from pure darkness, only for Strosius to evade them with a grace that belied his imposing form. The exchange was mesmerizing, the power both wielded even more so. But power alone was never enough. Strategy, foresight, and the willingness to embrace the unpredictable—that was where true strength lay.

Leven's mind raced, already formulating plans for after the dust had settled. After all, in the aftermath of such a monumental clash, who wouldn't be in need of new alliances? It seemed they had picked the best possible time to come knocking.

As the battle intensified, Leven settled back against the cold stone of the ledge, her eyes never leaving the combatants below. The arena was a crucible, and the Sith within it were being tested in ways she had not witnessed before. But for Leven Jeyd, the Jester in the shadows, this was merely the opening act of a grand performance she intended to one day, direct in her own manner.

For now she was well entertained, and when the curtain fell, it wuld be her turn to decide her role in this.

Leven was nothing if not an opportunist. The Kaggath was just the beginning, and she was more than ready to play her part in the saga that would unfold. After all, every great play needed a jester, and who better than she to bring a little madness into this merry band?
​

 

[Jarek Voss]

TAGS: Anyone in the Acolyte box​

---

The air in the stadium was electric. You could feel the excitement, the tension, the blood lust amongst the crowd. The young acolyte Jarek scanned the people, spotting everyone from common citizens to members of the Dark Council. His station at the Academy afforded him the luxurious box that has been granted to the students, but it's rich, exotic food and drink mattered little to the acolyte. He was carefully watching the Kaggath below. Jarek had fought alongside the Lord Inquisitor before, but had only a few conversations with Darth Malum.

Jarek unclasped his hands that were resting behind his back, and grabbed a simple glass of water. Taking a small sip, he looked over the higher ranked Lords and Master, sitting in their boxes surrounded by their followers. Some seemed incredibly complacent, swallowed by the hollow pageantry before them. Jarek made mental notes, easy targets for the future.

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

"What did you intend to save me from? When it was I, that saved you in every epoch of our relationship." Malum spoke from the outskirts of the smoke, even as his masked eyes narrowed, the tendrils had found nothing, indeed gazing through unseen eyes, it was as if Ali- Darth Strosius was not even in the cloud at all. Such was not impossible by any means, he could have done it too... but he had not realised that the Lord Inquisitor was capable of such a thing, one moment he had been there, clear as day, his voice transmitted clearly after all... but now...

Why had he not told him...

...This could be no recent discovery...

...How long had their relationship been fraying?

The Darkshears threw javelined themselves deep into the unknown darkness, and every moment that went by that no agonising scream erupted out of the black, was more and more confirmation that his co-apprentice was not there.

His vision focused on the peripherals of his sight... no... no... he was not in any other place in the arena, he had not risen above him and was plummetting down at frightening speeds.

The Darkshears dissipated, one after the other as they came out of the smoke, they had not found their query, and as the inky tendrils searched, they had not either.

Had he truly retreated?

The thought was immediately dismissed, not only for how impossible the idea that the cultist would retreat now of all times.

But as the fog dissipated, and the final darkshear emerged, it was followed by his fellow heir.

Gazing at him, from the bottom of his boot to the darkest depths of his hood, there was a slight ease of his breath. His battlebrother was not unduly harmed. As he felt his presence again, as the invisible tendrils of his Consume Essence, attempted again to latch onto the spectre before them, now finally a target they could see in all senses, to begin their master's plot.

Ali- Darth Strosius, did not give him time to do much more. Before Malum could even consider the meaning of his opposite's words. He felt it.

Invisible, but the charge of power through the Force was impossible to ignore, their distance too narrow to evade, their gap too short for him to throw up a defence, there was only course, and there was only singular relief, the amulet burned warmly against his chest, but not hotly. Whatever it was that was racing towards him, as instinctively still, his feet slung him back, it would not kill him.

But as it did strike.

He did wish for death.

A high hiss broke out across the grounds, as his knees instantly wavered, almost falling on his hands when he landed from his failed evasion. His mind was wracked in utter and full agony, as it felt like an army of fire ants was biting and tearing through flesh, it felt as if his brain was thrown out of his skull, only to be cut and smashed by blade and warhammer in equal measure.

His breath broke.

A beat passed.

He felt her emerge.

As one masked eye turned gold.

"You fight with one arm tied behind your back." Her voice whispered in the back of his mind, as she went forward, providing needed relief, bearing the brunt of what he now realised had been a mindshard. Had he known what his plan had been, or had that been mere coincidence?

He did not respond to the voice, as Darth Strosius shouted, running forward, not simply content to sit upon his laurels, as the very balance of the battle shifted. Together, they held down absolute grip on the beskar hilt, and with a speed familiar to both once apprentices, a speed they had only witnessed upon Fiviune, Malum's form seemingly flew, dodging the feinted lightsabre as it thrust, only for the blade to collide with fellow blade. A clash of such cataclysmic potential echoed around the arena three times over, as they were locked frigidly into place, mask facing mask, as dirt and sand ratcheted up from the energy thrown behind them flung away.

An old piece of technology activating, no sound escaping the duelling Lords.

"For one who thinks of himself as so enlightened, how are you so blind?" He hissed against their opponent, as by the end, it was not only Malum's voice which held purchase.

Lightning conducting between both conductors, blue becoming white, as the dull throb of his mind was a constant reminder of the first blood drawn, a reminder of the utter agony that Darth Strosius had always put him through, now, and for every moment of their cooperation.

"How do you not see your hypocrisy?! You who were so impatient for victory you threw away every advantage we had! It was you who could not see the big picture, needing your victory now, even if it was entirely impossible!" A familiar voice, familiar to them both, an echo of a bygone era.

The Force swelled around him, as the lightning travelled along the Sith Steel, and crimson plasma revealed out from the tip extending the range, threatening Darth Strosius' mask.

"How could you know what needed to be done, when you cannot even defeat me!" A voice melding with another, creating something entirely else.

An explosion boomed out of his blade, swirling webs of white lightning shot at point-blank range, aimed at the Sith Lord's head. Agony, for agony, as Malum leapt away, readying for the next step.

Darth Strosius

 

[Darth Nefaron]

"My boy, what you feel is your truest self begging to be released. It is a raw expression of the darkness buried within all beings, but the Dark Side calls out to those it sees as... worthy."

Nefaron understood what his apprentice was feeling, the crowd's chanting and roars filled the air and drove even the most reserved into a frenzy. Two of the greatest Dark Lords of the modern era battled it out for all of the Order to see, such a thing was not easily brushed aside. But the masses lacked a personal connection to the ongoing conflict, a connection that the young Nagai openly confessed. Fear and excitement mixed openly, the bloodlust of a youth who had long been denied the primal urge that was all too natural in one destined for the darkness. This feeling was to be stoaked, he as to be given his opportunity to spill blood, but not today. He must learn to wait, to contain his urge for the proper moment. He needed to take in the raw emotion and let it build for when he needed to unleash his wrath upon his enemies.

Upon Nefaron's enemies​

But he was young. His time would come, but what was needed now was for him to be reassured, to allow that feeling of exhilaration to take hold and wash away whatever pathetic loyalty he might hold to the High Priest. Sharr's sister would be a different story altogether, Nefaron's agents had informed him that she was now in the... possession, for lack of a better term, of Darth Prazutis and it was best she stay there, out of reach of her dear brother so that Nefaron might ensure that foolish family bond does not poison him. It sickened the Corpse Lord to see so many Sith choose family loyalty over their own ascension to power, bloodlines had been proven to be cancer on the Order as pompous little Lords sought to inherit power instead of taking it properly. What was worse was two Dark Lords choosing to trust one another enough to play at being in love. But at the very least that provided a weakness the Master of Fear might later exploit.

Nothing hurts like losing one of the family.
​

That thought brought a cruel smile, one that only grew as the duel in the area carried on, vile words exchanged between two men who might have been true brothers in another life. Though they might not admit it, whoever won the day would forever lose a piece of themselves. Both men had begun their own downfall the second they entered the area, though one would experience that downfall rather quickly should they prove to be the lesser Sith and actually perish. Still, the power being unleashed was utterly raw and it was hard not to find one drawn in rather than considering potential futures. Many stand to gain from the fall of either of these Sith titans.

None more so than the boy sitting next to him.
​

"Worry not for your sister, I am told she is rather resourceful. She would survive the fall of the Darth Strosius, but you will be empowered regardless. In truth, this is a moment of joy for us, apprentice. This is the shedding of dead weight, the Sith will be better off without the one who falls today. In truth, many of those who watch on are begging to see our Order collapse so they might rebuild another in their own image. I do not blame them, for that is the path we find ourselves on even now. But for today, we need do nothing but watch on and see who will reign supreme for the time being."

Tags: Veradun Sharr​

 

[Avel Som]

---

So far, it seemed nobody had notice Avel Som, a complete stranger, enter the viewing box. Maybe they simply did not care. Either way, Darkwing was having a fine time at the feast as Avel Som watched the fight down below. It was interesting, to say the least -- certainly not like any fight he had ever witnessed. Still, it didn't seem to him like either was really all that fast or strong like people seemed to be exclaiming. Then again, maybe it was just a matter of the excitement getting to them. It was something he didn't really understand.

"Triumph or defeat, the outcome matters little."

Avel Som could not help overhearing the tall man with his booming voice. The slender, almost rail-thin form of Avel Som turned to regard him. He could not see the giant's face. That and wearing black and red seemed to be a common theme amongst these Sith. It was actually kinda cool, and each had different enough tastes in styling that it didn't really get old. It was a stark contrast to the old cloth and leathers he himself wore. Clothes tended to get torn or wear down, so he went with whatever was cheap. He'd never really cared much about clothes. Except his cowl and goggles, the most recent set having been destroyed on Abraxes. He was still rather upset at that. He did still have on the blood-stained bandana, so at lest he had something on his head.

"If the outcome doesn't really matter, then why are they even fighting in the first place?" Avel Som asked. "Why not just, I don't know, whack 'em on the head and make them behave?"

It was an honest question. He really did not know all that much about the Sith yet. He wondered if Noctua or Athora were here in the stadium anywhere. Still, the Sith had been pretty welcoming of him so far, so maybe he could try making more acquaintances. After all, what better place for him and Darkwing to be but amongst fellow freaks?

---

TAGS: OPEN​

 

[Kaila Irons]

KAINATE BOX​

Kaila tried to ignore whoever or whatever had spoken to her so vividly, attempting to instead focus on the battle far below. A lot had happened in the few minutes since the Kaggath began, from Darth Strosius achieving flight to Darth Malum lobbing a smoke bomb to cover up his own presence and that of incorporeal spears or tendrils, all abilities that Kaila had yet to train in. Though that smoke at least was within her scope, and a clever move that brought a sly little smile to that previously dour face. She'd be stealing that one for certain.

Even so, Strosius seemed unaffected by the hidden barrage, practically dancing his way out of the smoke once she'd caught sight of him again.

It was a shame they had made themselves enemies of the Kainate really. Both seemed equal parts creative and skilled, qualities that she appreciated in a person. Creativity especially had kept her alive long enough to be here even.

"Triumph or defeat, the outcome matters little."

"Our enemy remains the same, those who would seek to disrupt the Sith's destiny. Whoever survives shall be made to heel,

She felt the familiar presence before even hearing the voice of Darth Carnifex that boomed over all others even as the crowd cheered for the clash below, Bringing Kaila to a sudden turn as her dark master entered the viewing box. It was the first time her wide and golden eyes had beheld him since returning, having been kept within Darth Xyrah's estates until her recovery was complete.

She watched his every move. Watched as the titan of a man approached Pom Stych Tivé with tender care. It seemed almost unnatural to see him so gentle when her earliest memories were inflicted by his hand.

Nevetheless, He had shaped her into something more than the frail little girl brought to Malsheem that day, and so Kaila took a deep breath and approached. Not close enough to insert herself into the dark lord's conversation unless bid, nor did she say much in particular to distract her lord. Just a enough to make her presence known and her continued loyalty plain.

"My Master" was all she said while taking a respectful knee, her adopted imperial accent seeming a little more crisp than when they last spoke. Her signature in the force too was... different. Much more hungry among other things, and feeding off the energies of this arena like so many others.


Darth Carnifex | Pom Stych Tivé | Darth Prazutis | Lina Ovmar | Revna | Kainites

 

[Darth Prazutis]

There was a deeper change in the atmosphere of the Kainite Box as the Dark Dyad united in true form. The coalescing power magnified tenfold, hundredfold even multiplying over itself. The foreboding words of the Butcher-King rang like a gong that set hairs on edge, shivers down the spines. Out from the Mortarch came a foreboding, threatening sense of impending violence, explosive killing fury that felt like it was about to erupt. "Meddlesome gnats who haven't learned their place in the world will be ripped from it." The energy continued to build as the twin Dark Lords stood as one. The giants' eyes were locked forward on the ensuing battle between trained killers, Lords of the Sith who fought without restraint, two enemies locked in battle. But his mind viewed an entirely different world.

All he could see was her.

That day when he stood with Quinn Varanin to pull Vesta back from the brink, amidst a world coming apart at the seams through bloody warfare. The moment played over and over when he saw the blade strike home, the sound of ripped flesh, torn muscles, and spilt blood. Last words being spoken pushed his hatred, his rage over the edge into fury that shone like a star. The words of the Queen of the Nightsisters rang true then as he surged with all the inevitability of an event horizon. To her fate he'd blamed the cruel reality from which all life spawned, he blamed everything. "They may play their games, slither around in the dirt like the mongrels they are, plead for a reprieve, squirm to find some escape. Nothing will save them, everyone, and everything that's ever bore their influence, their very touch will burn." It was the fate of entire bloodlines, planets, innocents, to so completely and totally vow to erase something from history. The memory of an immortal was long reaching and extended throughout the centuries, it wouldn't matter how long it took. It would all burn.

Darth Carnifex Pom Stych Tivé Revna Kaila Irons Lina Ovmar ​

 

[Veradun Sharr]

The words of his master drifted over him as he pondered what was said. Even now, his gaze was drawn back to the scenes unfolding in the arena - the clashing of two Sith Lords, using might and blade to try and cut down their opponent. Watching them fight now reminded the young boy of his recent fight as well, when he had to fight off pirates and defend himself. The raw emotions that flooded his entire being were both frightening and exhilarating. He had never felt more alive than in that moment.

Did the Sith Lords fighting one another feel the same? Did they feel alive in this moment, when both were so close to death? What went on through their minds?

“...worthy?” Veradun murmured, almost in a trance-like state as he finally tore his gaze away from the duelists to gaze back at Darth Nefaron. “High Priest said the same thing…sort of. He says the Dark side blesses those who are worthy for it.”

He was told not to worry about his sister, and what his master said was true: she was resourceful. Veradun knew that, even if her Master fell here, she would carry on. As much as he wanted to see her, clearly their paths were diverging. His mother and father had passed some wisdom to him when he was younger, when he had tried to follow his big sister everywhere she went: She had her journey to walk, and he had his. And he couldn’t always follow her, for his presence may one day hinder her more than it aided her. He hadn’t truly understood then.

But he was beginning to now.

Another frown creased his brow slightly; he didn’t like hearing those he was close to being called dead weight, even if one of them did lose. His expression darkened slightly as he glanced at his master. He almost said something, but decided against it - keeping his mouth shut, and choosing instead to look back into the arena.

...and ponder on the other statements the Sith Lord had made, about rebuilding the Order. The boy was young, and the idea of being involved in such a thing was hard for him to fathom or imagine. There was still so much for him to learn yet.

“The Emperor is the one who reigns supreme.” the young Nagai murmured - a statement that had been drilled into his skull the moment he had set foot into the Academy - before he once again became fixated on the fight at hand.

Darth Nefaron ​

 

[Akhuul Sautra]

Tags: OPEN
Location: Arena on Jutrand, In the Space Between Boxes
Equipment: In Bio

Such a momentous occasion to return to scene of the galaxy! Truly, it has been ages since I had witnessed a Kaggath. Shameful that this was unable to be held on Korriban alongside the legacies of the others. This truly was my insight to the state of the current Sith. It was an illusion of grandeur. There was respect to be had for the honoring of this old tradition in at least name. Yet, I remembered the days when the competition of Kaggath meant a true battle. It was not just personal might. That was the final stinger at the end of an explosive symphony that came from a battle of power bases.

This Kaggath paled in comparison to the epic struggles of might that characterized the history of the Sith. Yet, there was still plenty of weight to this battle. The pageantry was rather predictable. I still had yet to make a full reveal. These past times saw me skulking in the void at the edges of systems and lurking in the tombs of Korriban as a squatter on the world of my birth. Darth Malum of House Marr knew of my existence when I intruded his home system some time ago. Had I known he might have thrown his power away over a squabble with a "battle-brother", if such a relation could exist among the Sith. A part of me was disappointed with a newfound acquaintance. However, if my new potential ally to secure my return to the scene of the current age prevailed against this Darth Strosius , that certainly would be a rightfully prideful moment. Pride certainly belonged in the heart of a Sith.

In this grand arena was where I stood. It was a spot above the common rabble, and between the private boxes where prestigious parties of the Sith of this age lounged in luxury. I could only hope they earned the right for such laxed hedonism. I stood in shade and shadow observing the fighting grounds below with eyes that burned like coals in the sockets of my mechanical death mask. My chassis only glowed so slightly. It was a neglected corner removed from the merriment, yet capable of having a proper view all the same. Mechanical legs made lounging about in luxury unnecessary anyways.

Do not disappoint me, young man of the Sith., I thought to myself from the shadowy perch in regards to Malum below. It would be so much work to find someone prestigious enough, and obsessed with history enough, to be another living acquaintance. If Strosius were to succeed, it would complicate plans of mine, but not render them impossible. However, one can certainly hope to avoid such frustrations that come from the revisal of schemes. Skulking in the dark had become too boring to return to. A mission to preserve the culture of my people so these Sith of flesh and blood could continue to understand what it means to have such a title also seemed to be becoming more and more impossible to accomplish while in hiding.

Yet, all this disdain was somewhat swept aside in my digital mind. While the schemes I had hatching whirred away in my automated sub-conscious, there truly was something to enjoy with this scene. A sight like blood sport certain was quite the excursion, even if it left me vulnerable to be away from any possible retinues. Such was the life of a Sith, I suppose. How would a walk in the Dark Side be worth it if not for the risks and rewards. It certainly would have had my blood pumping back in my days of flesh and blood.

No matter. Their blows were beginning. The show was on. It was time to behold the grand spectacle of this modern Kaggath.

 

[Jonah]

Where one saw opportunity, the other looked in the mirror.

It was easy to see why Jonah looked to Leven as being his opposite. Where she held a fondness for theatrics, Jonah tended to be more straightforward. And, where she saw opportunities opening in the wake of the fabled Kaggath...Jonah had to look himself in the eye. Up until this point, the man was able to hold his own quite comfortably. For months, he had taken jobs which pitted him against all manner of man and beast. He knew how to kill silently. He knew how to paint a building in blood.

But as he sat in the arena, eyes glued to the battle, he realized how insignificant his strength had been. Where he thought his might was an inferno, in truth...he was much closer to being a bonfire. Meanwhile, the two titans duking it out before the entire Empire were wildfires threatening to consume it all.

It was difficult for Jonah to focus on anything other than what came next in his own life. He departed everything he knew to carve his own way among the stars. To truly be the master of his fate. But if he ran into someone like Malum or Strosius, what destiny would he be able to shape? He damn sure couldn't stand against them, not in his current state. Thus, there was only one solution. He had to get stronger. He had to get to the point where such men were not seen as wildfires in the Force.

Jonah had to grow enough to be worthy of the word Darth.

The journey to the heart of Darkness itself had already proved insightful. There were many bigger in the pond, and Jonah had no desire to be swallowed. He had a goal in mind but the question was now how to go about it? The man folded his arms and continued to watch the battle, quietly stewing over what the future would hold.

Tag: Leven Jeyd + Viviane + Open