Who Am I?
"Even when I was an acolyte, the Sith always treated us as expendable. Life that could be thrown at the wall until something survived enough to break through. It is the grinder in which the powerful are born from. Many Sith just use this as an excuse to torture and kill those weaker than themselves. When they themselves started weak. To waste life is the most foolish thing a Sith can do. We've lost many before their time. Too many. But we don't leave them behind. Our allies, brothers and sisters, family. We, who are bound by the blood we've shed, do not abandon our comrades."
Shiva IV, Inquisitorius Headquarters. The Space Station set just in the orbit of the black hole. When an artifact or a person couldn't be properly contained, into the black hole it went. That was their task, their duty. Collect the dangerous to use as a weapon for themselves, or destroy them. It was Alina's little castle just above the planet. She sat on her throne, dressed in the black silk she'd always worn. Beside her, her personal guard, dressed up for the occasion in suits and dresses of their own.
Before her, her Inquisitors. All of them. From the lowest perch to the very numbered who reigned above. Both living and dead. Caskets of the dead lined the halls. Thousands. The Inqusitorius never turned down those who wanted to fight. To learn. It was always a shame when they died.
But their death was never meant to be the end. A different figure, dressed in a full suit and mask, stepped beside her. She offered a smile to them before looking back towards the crowd.
"And they do not abandon us. We can no longer exist in the tentative alliance of the Triumvirate. Today, the Inquisitorius takes it's last breath, as we all knew it would. Be reborn, so we might stand a chance against the coming change."
Beside her, the figure removed their helmet. A skull was all that was revealed. Hollow sockets flashed red as they raised their hands.
"Let rise the Mors Vitra."