Asharad Graush
D A N G E R O U S
It had been some time since A'sharad had actually closed his eyes and had gotten rest. The life of a Sith Lord was filled to the brim with expected and unforeseen obstacles and threats. One night one could be closing their eyes with only a handful of enemies, to having an army of Sith wishing harm upon them for no other reason than holding more influence than them within whatever hierachy they were in.
Opening his eyes, rolling out of bed, undoubtedly it was only a matter of time before the Knights of Ren sought to undercut each other, if they hadn't already begun to do so. The Dark Side of the Force was a temptress, even if they had already given themselves to the Ren, to the service of the Supreme Leader, the unexperienced members of the Order were likely unprepared for the continued whispers of power and ambition under the guise of something else.
When it came to his own ambitions of power and even greater strength, it was... It was a journey he knew could only be achieved through murder and war. An armistice with the Galactic Alliance wouldn't help his drive for power, and for a moment, before his thoughts could even continue while his feet hung off his bed, he was beset by visions of a slightly familiar location.
Rocks, mountain ranges for the most part, but within his mind's eye he got closer to a specific location, and then there was the most familiar location of all, and that was his home on Prakith.
Darth Acarus.
His father's establishment, that A'sharad has forced his family to abandon after he had slain his father.
His home on Prakith hadn't been returned since he had abandoned it so long ago, he had made no plans to travel back to the planet, yet it haunted his dreams all the same.
There was a shake of his head, hand raising to brush through his mess of hair with his cybernetic hand before he rose up to his feet.
The room, per usual, was sparse, files for his responsibilities as Supreme Commander, a desk where they were all held. Lots of signing, though they were typically transferred onto digital copies by his underlings so that he may review them while on the move. And even with a heavy suit of armour, he did lots of travelling around in only a day.
Performance reports are what typically brought the Sith Lord from his office and home and allowed the armed forces to lay their eyes upon the force wielding Supreme Commander that was whispered to fight 'like a demon' whatever that translated to in the minds of these servants to a greater purpose they couldn't comprehend, he had no idea - Or simply didn't care.
The stygian armour that sat upon a stand within the centre of the room looked other worldly in the dim lighting of his chambers. The recent finish of the dynasty armour gave it an impression that it absorbed light, rather than reflected it, on the account of how black it was. However, he knew that with more use it would eventually lose that appearance.
Peace on the horizon with the Galactic Alliance sought to prolong that...
Soon enough the armour was covering his body. Hydrastaff wrapped comfortably around his waist, asleep likely, an array of lightsabre hilts on the belt hooks that laid just below the hydrastaff. There was another spot for an actual sword in his belt, for there had once been a time when he had sported a Phrik sword, acquired in a 'giveaway' of sorts... Though that was beside the point. There was an opening for a weapon in his belt, and there'd come a time when it'd need to be filled, he knew. Until one came up that was worthy of the position, it'd remain empty.
Hmph.
"Lord Graush," came over the comlink as he placed the piece in his ear like clockwork.
Already the day began.
"Mixius," he recognized the voice immediately. He saved the man from the Blackwing Virus, and now he owed him his life. A native of Mephout, or Seoul, the man had sworn his life to the Epicant-Hybrid to do as he saw fit. Luckily for him, he had a background in military, and as A'sharad ascended through the ranks of the Imperial Military, as did Mixius along with him, to the point that even he sat at the Command table with him. It couldn't be said that A'sharad didn't reward those that remained loyal... "What is it?"
"Atrisha is relocating the Tsawak into the Red Nebula."
"Per her orders, yes - Her actions do not concern you, Akai."
"I had merely sought to ale-"
"The Nebula is the perfect place to conceal a ship of its size."
"Y-yes, My Lord." There was a click, and then the line was closed. For the mans overbearing flaws, he was loyal to his Lord Graush to the point of seeing all of his other peers, those who A'sharad had also raised alongside him as rivals, or worse yet, threats to his saviour. He held suspicions for all of them, though Atrisha appeared to be the one that got under his skin the most often. There was a faint twist of A'sharad's lips before he exited his chambers, helmet being lifted from its stand before sliding down over his head.
"The Red Nebula requires your attention, Supreme Commander, Sir."
There was a twist of the head from the Sith Lord as he marched down the hallway. Behind him, there was a being taller than him garbed in a suit of black armour, not unlike his own, but his looked more akin to that of a stormtrooper than the Sith Warrior's. A Deathtrooper, he knew, and thanks to the authorization implemented into his armour, he saw him for who he was. DT-317.
"DT-317 - You are due to be on a journey to the Northern Borders to watch over the inspection of the Alexandrian Auxiliary."
"Of course, Sir, I just thought you would be the best person to notify," and with heavy steps, the Death Trooper marched off, longer strides taking him away from the presence of A'sharad after delivering a sharp salute that could cut through durasteel. And then, he was gone, and then he was heading for the Hangar Bay. It truly was another day in the life of the Supreme Commander.
Opening his eyes, rolling out of bed, undoubtedly it was only a matter of time before the Knights of Ren sought to undercut each other, if they hadn't already begun to do so. The Dark Side of the Force was a temptress, even if they had already given themselves to the Ren, to the service of the Supreme Leader, the unexperienced members of the Order were likely unprepared for the continued whispers of power and ambition under the guise of something else.
When it came to his own ambitions of power and even greater strength, it was... It was a journey he knew could only be achieved through murder and war. An armistice with the Galactic Alliance wouldn't help his drive for power, and for a moment, before his thoughts could even continue while his feet hung off his bed, he was beset by visions of a slightly familiar location.
Rocks, mountain ranges for the most part, but within his mind's eye he got closer to a specific location, and then there was the most familiar location of all, and that was his home on Prakith.
Darth Acarus.
His father's establishment, that A'sharad has forced his family to abandon after he had slain his father.
Retrieve.
A single word spoke to him through his dreams, barely understood. Occurring for weeks now, sometime after the armistice, though he had ignored it. His home on Prakith hadn't been returned since he had abandoned it so long ago, he had made no plans to travel back to the planet, yet it haunted his dreams all the same.
There was a shake of his head, hand raising to brush through his mess of hair with his cybernetic hand before he rose up to his feet.
The room, per usual, was sparse, files for his responsibilities as Supreme Commander, a desk where they were all held. Lots of signing, though they were typically transferred onto digital copies by his underlings so that he may review them while on the move. And even with a heavy suit of armour, he did lots of travelling around in only a day.
Performance reports are what typically brought the Sith Lord from his office and home and allowed the armed forces to lay their eyes upon the force wielding Supreme Commander that was whispered to fight 'like a demon' whatever that translated to in the minds of these servants to a greater purpose they couldn't comprehend, he had no idea - Or simply didn't care.
The stygian armour that sat upon a stand within the centre of the room looked other worldly in the dim lighting of his chambers. The recent finish of the dynasty armour gave it an impression that it absorbed light, rather than reflected it, on the account of how black it was. However, he knew that with more use it would eventually lose that appearance.
Peace on the horizon with the Galactic Alliance sought to prolong that...
Soon enough the armour was covering his body. Hydrastaff wrapped comfortably around his waist, asleep likely, an array of lightsabre hilts on the belt hooks that laid just below the hydrastaff. There was another spot for an actual sword in his belt, for there had once been a time when he had sported a Phrik sword, acquired in a 'giveaway' of sorts... Though that was beside the point. There was an opening for a weapon in his belt, and there'd come a time when it'd need to be filled, he knew. Until one came up that was worthy of the position, it'd remain empty.
Hmph.
"Lord Graush," came over the comlink as he placed the piece in his ear like clockwork.
Already the day began.
"Mixius," he recognized the voice immediately. He saved the man from the Blackwing Virus, and now he owed him his life. A native of Mephout, or Seoul, the man had sworn his life to the Epicant-Hybrid to do as he saw fit. Luckily for him, he had a background in military, and as A'sharad ascended through the ranks of the Imperial Military, as did Mixius along with him, to the point that even he sat at the Command table with him. It couldn't be said that A'sharad didn't reward those that remained loyal... "What is it?"
"Atrisha is relocating the Tsawak into the Red Nebula."
"Per her orders, yes - Her actions do not concern you, Akai."
"I had merely sought to ale-"
"The Nebula is the perfect place to conceal a ship of its size."
"Y-yes, My Lord." There was a click, and then the line was closed. For the mans overbearing flaws, he was loyal to his Lord Graush to the point of seeing all of his other peers, those who A'sharad had also raised alongside him as rivals, or worse yet, threats to his saviour. He held suspicions for all of them, though Atrisha appeared to be the one that got under his skin the most often. There was a faint twist of A'sharad's lips before he exited his chambers, helmet being lifted from its stand before sliding down over his head.
"The Red Nebula requires your attention, Supreme Commander, Sir."
There was a twist of the head from the Sith Lord as he marched down the hallway. Behind him, there was a being taller than him garbed in a suit of black armour, not unlike his own, but his looked more akin to that of a stormtrooper than the Sith Warrior's. A Deathtrooper, he knew, and thanks to the authorization implemented into his armour, he saw him for who he was. DT-317.
"DT-317 - You are due to be on a journey to the Northern Borders to watch over the inspection of the Alexandrian Auxiliary."
"Of course, Sir, I just thought you would be the best person to notify," and with heavy steps, the Death Trooper marched off, longer strides taking him away from the presence of A'sharad after delivering a sharp salute that could cut through durasteel. And then, he was gone, and then he was heading for the Hangar Bay. It truly was another day in the life of the Supreme Commander.
Leave.
