Faction The Darkness Is Revealing [TSE]

[Velok Brokentusk]

As Ellie Mors spoke, Velok looked back and forth between her and his datapad with growing excitement. One massive claw trembled as it pressed a strategically placed square marked BECAUSE I AM A THOUSAND YEARS OLD.

The datapad chimed. Irrepressible excitement boiled over. A 900-lb Whiphid leaped to his feet in the gallery with a roar that set off any nearby seismic sensors.

"BINGO!"​

 

[Valessia Brentioch]

Gunther looked over at his mom, and gave a nod toward the exit. "The party hasn't started and look, the Whipid just yelled Bingo." Valessia pointed out and sighed, "the party hasn't started, oh you know, we should take bets see who swings first."​

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"Mom."​

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"What?"​

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"You can't just take bets like that."​

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"Sure I can, I mean look at that scarecrow guy over there, he's just radiating hate - he's like a bomb waiting to go off." Valessia gestured loosely in Vaulkhar 's direction. She sighed again when Gunther only remained firm on his stance. "Fine, we'll go, but I'm still taking bets remotely, and where is your sister?"​

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"I don't know mom, Ale's half a Galaxy away and if she has a brain left after Atrisia she'll stay that far away from here, c'mon. I'll call her from the ship, alright? Now let's go."​

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"You are such a spoil sport."​

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"I like to live, and this room is going to get more heated before it cools down."​

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Valessia sighed again this time with disappointment as she grabbed her purse, "honestly what's an assembly without a Force Storm or three."​

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"Mother!"​

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She shrugged and rolled her eyes as she rose from her seat and looked to her personal pair of guards to aid in escorting her and her son out toward the exit so they could remote back into the meeting and watch from a safer distance. ​

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Alessandra Creed​

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[Darth Bellum]

The ghostly image of the Lord of Assimilation would flicker to life in his corresponding seat as one of the few to arrive later than the rest, the Anzati General leaning back in his seat with one arm propped up on the rest with his titled head resting on a closed fist. Behind him the image of the recently appointed Lord General Irveric Tavlar also appeared, allowed to sit in and listen at the Pyramid of Military Command's request, having acknowledged the non-Force Sensitive as having proven worthy that his previous station was deemed unfit for him and promoted to the appropriate rank. A competent man who proved to be more intelligent than some of the Sith in the Empire.

Once more the Dark Lord had called a pointless meeting of the Sith to which Vexen who had yet to ever set physical foot on Bastion appeared from a remote position in the galaxy bordering the territories of their enemies waging war; pointless to the man responsible for all of the Sith Empire's military who preferred action and conflict over bureaucracy and policy. His expressionless gaze wandered about the assembly, glancing from unfamiliar and unnoteworthy faces to ones that he acknowledged existed, and the small handful that piqued his interest. Warriors, assassins, politicians, brutes - all were present among the members, though for what purpose was yet unknown.

For the time being, the Anzati Sith remained a silent observer, only present to gauge the worth and merit of any individuals he saw any potential in or had words worth speaking.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

The Emperor sat, quiet and observant as the divergent personalities of the Sith Order made themselves known to the congregation. As with any gathering of the Sith, there were bound to be those whose boisterous nature could not help but declare themselves present, and with some modicum of chagrin, the Emperor found one of his apprentices among their rank. Regardless, he had weathered countless conclaves of Sith throughout his lifetime across two Empires and there was little that surprised him, although Velok's little game hadn't been seen in some time.​

​

He held up a hand for quiet, fully expecting to get none. The gesture was more superfluous than practical. Despite that, the Emperor's amplified voice drowned out all manner of auxiliary speech as it encompassed the entirety of the hall. "Brothers and Sisters," he repeated, "My friends, old and new..." His dark eyes drifted back and forth across the congregation, committing to memory every face that came under his purview; noting the absences and premature departures. "I see you, and I see your incongruity of thought. We have come far as an Order, clawed our way back from the brink of extermination too many times to count. We fought tooth and claw to carve out a kingdom where we could rule, despite all of those arrayed against us. In that time, the bonds which strengthened us have weakened... Unity has given way to tribalism, those who believe we have strayed too far, and those who have believed that we haven't strayed far enough."​

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The Emperor gestured around, "We are the descendants, the heirs, of a line of Lords and Ladies dating back over seven thousand years. Our forebearer was Ajunta Pall, his comrades were Sorzus Syn, Karness Muur, XoXaan, Remulus Dreypa, Broodica, and others. They were visionary, bold in their heresy, for they had seen the weakness of the Jedi Order they had belonged to. An Order which refused to explore the Force to its logical conclusion, and dared to condemn those who were brave enough to traverse such dark waters in search of knowledge and power. This clash of ideology; traditionalists and progressives, fracture the Jedi Order and led to the creation of the Sith." He paused a moment, letting the reverberations of his words echo out across the wide hall, "We are all the children of this legacy; brothers and sisters of the Dark Side, and though we may quarrel we must remember that if we are to remain strong and united we cannot let ourselves fall victim to the same failings that weakened the Jedi Order."​

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Another sweeping gesture, "It is in this part, among other happenings, that I have again called you all here. If we are to survive, we must mend these divisions." His voice grew heavy, the deep curves of a frown marring both sides of his face, "One way or another."​

 

[Avernus]

Darth Avernus had arrived alongside Darth Voyance and a few other of his fellow members of the Qotsisajakaar. Avernus stood out immediately with what some could have considered a questionable choice of attire. The repugnant display of opulence was egregious enough that it might even come off as offensive to some.

Had it not been for Voyance, his attendance would have been little more than a hologram with only a grain of attention to what was going on. He had always disdained large gatherings of Sith, especially when the Chwayatqo were involved. He remained mindful of his facial expression and body language to avoid showing any tells of his disgust and vexation.

The chamber in which the gallery took place was a roaring ocean of emotion that assaulted him with an empathic sensory overload. He did his best to close himself off from feeling every sentiment and inclination that floated around the irksome auditorium in which the meeting was held. The constant readings were so distracting he had managed to miss about every piece of conversation up until the point where he finally managed to distance himself within the force enough to focus on his surroundings.

Darth Quercus was a familiar face that he did not mind to see, or a familiar stamen and pistil rather. He'd offer a nod of respect but had no way of being able to tell if the vacant-minded instrument that Quercus used as his eyes had noticed or not. For a mere blossom confined to a pot, Quercus had proved to be a pleasant and sophisticated company in the past.

Darth Voracitos was someone Avernus had heard about but had yet to meet. The tales he had heard of Voracitos' sheer mass didn't do the girthy lord justice. How putrid, Avernus thought, he's like a Hutt with legs. He'd heard him called the Pillar of Knowledge, but Pillar of Heartburn sounded much more fitting to Avernus.

Darth Pteron rivaled the circumference of Voracitos, but unlike Voracitos she invoked no disgust within the Pureblood. He had found her pleasant enough after their first meeting to bankroll many aspects of her armor. It would be a stretch to call her friend, but she was at least someone whos presence it did not pain him to be in.

Velok Brokentusk was new to Avernus in both name and face. Though he found Whipids to be repulsive and dimwitted beasts in his limited experience with them, Velok's advocation for The Kaggath was admirable. It was admirable enough that Avernus could have changed his mind about Veloks people. He didn't, but he could have.

Valessia Brentioch wasn't anyone he recognized or recalled the name of, either. The way she addressed Voyance upon their entry gave him the impression that she was a deceptive fraternizer. He'd guess that she'd use someone just as soon as look at them. This was an assumption though, it had no basis in anything besides an impression. Had he not distanced himself earlier to maintain some kind of social coherency, he'd have probed her mind for the truth by now.

Taeli Raaf had always been spoken of in high standing. It was rare that he had heard anything bad about her, and given her alchemical achievements, he assumed she could be pleasant or otherwise tolerable. Though, while he had no actual knowledge of her standing, he'd guess she was of the Chwayatqo, which has almost always a dealbreaker in the social department.

Kaalia Pavanos was the one he guessed to be the source of all the doubt he had felt earlier. Did she not feel pride in having such a position? It disgusted him to think that someone so high on the chain would allow themselves to linger in such weakness.

Something about Vaulkhar always struck Avernus in an odd way. Even since their first meeting, Avernus could tell there was something different about him. Something with a great amount of potential as Avernus had recently come to understand. No negative thoughts came to Avernus as his eyes passed over Vaulkhar Zambrano. Nor would his eyes linger for longer than they needed to.

Darth Bellum appeared with Irveric Tavlar just as Avernus turned his eyes from Vaulkhar. He'd yet to meet Vexen, and couldn't reasonably make much of an impression from a silent hologram. The Lord General was a different story. Avernus had taken it upon himself some time ago to meet The Lord General, as it was necessary to understand his most recent apprentice on a deeper level. Avernus and Tavlar were very different, near opposites even, but despite their differences and what interactions they may have had before, Avernus couldn't help but feel some semblance of respect for the Lord General. Far more respect than any other non-Sith had ever earned with him.

Darth Ophidia sent signals that Avernus could not understand at first, and he hadn't taken the time to study them before he distanced himself. An odd feeling like something wasn't right, a feeling like something was out of place or didn't quite fit. The first time he laid eyes upon her during his entry gave him an odd sensation of his skin crawling. It was either an empathic response, feeling what she could feel, or an instinctual response on how much they probably wouldn't get along.

Darth Carnifex himself, Dark Lord of the Sith, the previous Darth Vornskyr, Emperor of The Sith Empire. There was much that could be said about what Darth Avernus thought about his Emperor, and less than half of it would be safe to say out loud. His power and achievements were undeniable, Avernus wouldn't strip him of that. His ideas, however, The Rule of Order was deniable.

Oh, how Avernus hated The Rule of Order and looming stagnation it brought along with it. If Avernus could live for two millennia, the amount of hate he would feel for the majority of the people in this room within that two millennia would not equate for one quadrillionth of a hypothetical hate-atom that makes of the energy of his emotions. If you took every photon that will reach the retinas of every person in this room over their combined lifetime you would only begin to barely fathom the amount of HATE that Darth Avernus feels every instant for The Rule of Order.

Perhaps one could blame his upbringing as a Pureblood on Athiss for such hate. The Sith Purebloods were traditionalists after all, and The Rule of Order was contrarian to nearly every aspect of those traditions. Perhaps some would call such feelings and overreaction, but Avernus was nothing if not a vessel for hatred seeking to be unleashed. Wasn't every Sith the exact same thing?

This hate was never misplaced and directed towards Darth Carnifex himself, however. Though Avernus was very much a traditionalist and many of the things he could say about how the Emperor fulfills his role were better left unsaid, this did not detract from the respect Avernus had for him. It would sound contrarian to some that Avernus could have respect for the man while also having little positive to say about him. The explanation was Strength, of course. 'Sith' meant 'Perfection' in Avernus' native tongue, the ancient language of the Sith; ur-Kittât, and strength was synonymous with Perfection when seen from Avernus' perspective.

He'd served The Sith Empire loyally for so long despite his hatred for The Rule of Order. He at least though it less ridiculous than the ancient Rule Of Two. Respect for the Emperor's strength and the overall might of the Empire had kept Avernus' faith in it for this long. Being in the presence of Emperor Carnifex didn't do much to reinforce many of Avernus' views on his strength. His presence was disappointingly overwhelming. Maybe Avernus was just being arrogant. Maybe the vexation of being in such a large group was agitating him to the point of being irrational and angry.

Avernus shrugged this off for the time being. It was irrelevant to even bother with such thoughts at the moment. His eyes scanned the rest of the denizens of the room, most of them Apprentices and Knights and thus below his attention. Those above them whom he had not acknowledged to himself weren't anyone he cared to think about, especially now that he had caught himself getting carried away in his hatred.

For now, Avernus would remain quiet, lingering on the edges of the Sith who had gathered.

Watching.

 

[Vaulkhar]

"Mend divisions?" Vaulkhar's words echoed from beneath his mask. His father's words pushed an agenda of peace among the Sith Brotherhood and sought to bring those in line, much like himself, who desired the outright death of the Sith Empire. The words acted not as a unifier for the fallen Jedi, no, nearly the opposite. It fueled the flames of hatred and anger, threatening to burst from within him. No one within the chamber could question the intent of the emperor's bastard as laughter bubbled forth from within his chest. Whisperings of inane madness giggled elsewhere in the room, filling the space between each gurgling, wheezing sound presented from the wound in the force. "Tell me, Dark Lord," the title spat from his tongue as he called out to Kaine Zambrano. "How would you aim to mend this empire?"

The fallen Jedi backpedaled from the throne, his hollowed, crimson gaze locked on his towering father. "Your Rule of Law is not the way of the Sith. It is a means of bastardizing the Sith Brotherhood as a whole. You act as if you do not view your council and the hundreds of Sith beneath you as anything more than the whores you drag into your bedroom. This empire is as devoted to the ancient Sith teachings as the likes of the Silver Jedi Order," he waved around him as lesser cultists and acolytes near him stepped away, likely in fear of the dark lord's wrath, once his son finished his tirade. "You surely feel the foundations of your empire crumbling beneath you. It is why you have called us all here. You know what is coming, and you fear them, for you do not know who will end your life and send your thrice-damned soul tumbling into oblivion for the last time. With all your foresight to maintain the illusion of omnipotence, those with any backbone and common sense can see through the smoke and mirrors you've constructed to blind us all."

A hand rose, finger extended to point directly at the emperor. "What do you expect to happen here, Dark Lord? Do you believe the true Sith will throw themselves at your feet in worship as your Dark Council has? Perhaps we will all disrobe for you as well, presenting you with what you lust after most? Flesh, blood, and wealth. That is all you are, Kaine Zambrano. You are a weak-willed, old, dying man, fighting tooth and nail to maintain the power those beneath you have built up in your stead. This empire has been crafted not by your or your council's hand. No, it has been held aloft on the backs of imperial men and women, while real Sith dug into the muck, ripping the foundations of this empire from the dirt of each planet you parade yourself openly. So many foolishly believe you are absolute, father," he'd tear his mask away, the gold plated creation revealing gaunt, paled flesh. A grotesque smile spread across his thin, blue lips.

"You are not absolute. You are still the scared little boy who bloodied his parents with a knife, clinging to the power you so desperately crave."

Darth Carnifex | Ellie Mors | Darth Prazutis | Darth Bellum | Darth Pteron | Taeli Raaf | Kaalia Pavanos
Darth Voyance | Darth Voracitos | Irveric Tavlar | Avernus | Velok Brokentusk | Valessia Brentioch
Darth Quercus | AMCO | Grrwunhoooll Agaburry | Darth Empyrean | Gunnr Zambrano | Isaiah Dax | Darth Ophidia
Aren D'Shade | Sere Reene | Taresa Kae ​

 

[Darth Carnifex]

"Ah."​

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The tut that passed from the Emperor's mouth was like that of a scolding parent, which wasn't too far off from the mark. Carnifex's bright molten eyes swung over to the source of the disturbance, the sight of his wayward son Vaulkhar in his rictus mask amidst the crowd of Sith. Many of the nearby Sith shrunk away, or at least put as much distance between themself and Vaulkhar as they could in fear of what the Emperor's retaliation could be. No doubt they envisioned strands of electricity bounding from the podium, the Emperor frothing at the mouth for such an insult and outburst.​

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Yet, he remained seated where he was, though he leaned forward to further glare at his bastard. "Vaulkhar," the words crawled out of the Emperor's mouth like a curse, "I am not surprised you are here, you have always found a way to make a fool of yourself within full view of your peers. It is the one trait you retained throughout all of your indecisive rebelliousness." Though the Emperor had spared his son, even bringing him back and returning him to some semblance of life even though he should have been left dead on the fields of Kintan, there was little holding back the venom in his voice.​

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"This bickering, however," spoke the Emperor with a great measure of finality, "Is pointless. Your disruption serves nothing except to waste all of our time, you would do well to remember your place, boy. Lest I send you back to that wretch, Rathira."​

 

[Imperius]

One way or another?
The Emperor presumed much- But such facetiousness was the way of the Sith, was it not? Imperius was beginning to find himself so terribly entertained. All these amateurs, and dare he say, punks, were squabbling among themselves, blind to the machinations of the world around them. So self absorbed, so self-centered, so...foolish.
And then the dark Jedi launched on a tirade, insulting not only his own sire, but attempting to shame the empire as a whole. Imperius cared not about his insulting ramblings- who cared if a little upstart insulted the Sith while being surrounded by them? Such false bravado hardly meant a thing in the real world.
But then this Vaulkhar insulted the emperor-and he insulted the empire.
Imperius was a sith because he believed in their goal of uniting the galaxy under a single, strong ruler, not because he loved to participate in the atrocities that most Sith reveled in. An insult to the empire was an insult to his goals, his beliefs and everything that determined his actions.
Imperius had been about to confront the little brat who loved to play warrior, but then the emperor began to speak.
And Imperius listened.
Darth Carnifex Vaulkhar Darth Ophidia

 

[Ellie Mors]

Violet eyes glanced up towards Kaine and then down towards his offspring, widening with both disbelief and mild amusement. This wasn't what she had in mind when she had scolded him on Concordia, but it was still satisfying nonetheless to watch the drama unfold - or at least it would have been were this not something that had less to do with Kaine the untrustworthy and everything to do with Darth Carnifex their emperor. Her brow furrowed as her momentary display of astonishment faded, setting a cold gaze on who was, for all intents and purposes, a nephew to her of sorts. "Is this really..?" She muttered, seemingly still somewhat surprised by the outburst and response.

She crossed her legs, then uncrossed them, fingers clenching tight against the place she'd rest her arms against as she contemplated whether or not she'd be involved. On the one hand she found some amusement in the discord between Kaine and his children, but on the other hand she was not willing to sit in the middle of a hall among several dozen Sith as decorum broke down into chaos. It certainly did not help her nerves that, rather than silence the issue immediately, their emperor entertained his son and engaged him in pointless humiliation. 'Why do I put up with this family?' She caught herself wondering within her thoughts, glancing up to the seat of the Shadow Hand to remind herself why she even bothered in the first place.

To make matters worse, she was more than happy to scold Carnifex in private - she was essentially his aunt at this point - but to do so in public meant a lot more complications that she certainly did not want to deal with - like the fact that such a public display of contempt was considered sedition, a crime within the empire that she'd been made known of the first time she'd made her grief with him known. So, for now, Braith found herself silently cringing at this father-son display of mutual loathing, wondering if she would find herself stepping in if things progressed any further.

Darth Carnifex Vaulkhar

 

[Darth Empyrean]

Overseer Seki

Seki listened quietly as the Son and Father began to go back and forth in the toxic way only family could. Zambrano were notorious for their spreading darkness, and now the room stunk of their Zambrano ways; but Seki couldn’t help but smile and readjust her blackened hand to support her chin. Charred, small bits of ash falling from her skin, he couldn’t help but watch this youth with some enjoyment.​

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He was undeniably, outrageously stupid.​

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But he was confident, and Seki could appreciate that much. She made a quiet note in her mind to inform Maliphant of this situation; but more importantly the sudden disparagement of the Sith. It’d been a long time since they showed cracks in their unity - and this only showed the growing issues the Sith dealt with day by day.​

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“What a cute happenstance.”, she mused.​

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“I for one, am curious about this ‘Rathira’.”, Seki prodded, hoping to instigate the fight further.​

 

[Valessia Brentioch]

Valessia opened up the Holo and carefully began to send information privately to those in attendance. She pushed the send button and the betting pools would be open. The bets were for various things but among them, they were going to be betting on the likely hood of a 'wrist-rocket' moment. As in which Sith would lose their cool first, how much damage would there be, overall. Her son only rolled his eyes as he double-checked the connection. Once he was satisfied with it he gave the thumbs up and the betting pools were officially opened.​

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Funds will be paid out in chosen currency.​

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Betting Pool 1:​

Who will pool the wrist-rocket move?​

1. Scarecrow Zambrano​

2. Daddy Zambrano​

3. Braith the 1000% Done With It​

4. Sith Lekku Spice​

5. Dark Lady of the Lake​

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Betting Pool 2:​

How much damage will be done?​

1. Hall goes boom​

2. Hall is partially gone​

3. Hall doesn't get touched​

4. Hall gets some spittle ​

5. Hall gets a little blood and spittle​

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[Cara Dorniarn]

It wasn't that she was late, the Sith met on the wrong galactic schedule.

At the moment her eyelids grew heavy from revising blueprints did a holo flash for an updated weekly timetable. Cara had no excuse to not be present in the flesh and metal; there were no battles to win, no wounds to heal. She held doubt that actual good could come from such a meeting. The Sith were magnets for the Dark Side, and in that singular pursuit did they manage cohesion. But force them to occupy the same space? They would rip each other apart, separate, and seek their own paths. It was inevitable.

Cara didn't have a good feeling about this.

- - -

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While she lurked near an entrance of the main room did she feel it. The bonds of the Sith were tattered, small islands of like-minded individuals maintained isolation in the ocean of seats.

Cara kept close to the top row during the Emperor's initial speech, his words making her feel... fraudulent. One need only spend time with the woman to realize being Sith placed third, perhaps even fourth in her life. She held no regard for its spirituality and took interest in only what it could offer. Loyalty was a cheap price for the resources and opportunities given. Render them time on the field, in the workshop--whatever paltry pursuits they deem fit--and your possibilities were endless. They funded her ideas of efficiency, even if Sith worked better apart.

Alone, reclined in the seat with fingers steepled near her chin, Cara kept the clink of metallic fingers near muted. Aidee, not wanting to miss the events taking place, bobbed at shoulder-length. The "maintenance droid" was permitted under threat that a faulty servo may need adjustment, and how embarrassing would that be to interrupt a crucial delegation with janky whirs? It wasn't a hard sell to security.

Ah, the drama had begun. A bratty son back-talking the father. Cara inhaled then closed her eyes, an attitude of "I told you so" lying thick on her person. Aidee leaned forward as if watching a soap opera. The faintest whir of a camera zoom; Aidee was beginning to record.

Cara placed a finger over the lens and whispered, "The less to remind me of this chitshow the better. Cease."

The droid spent two and a half seconds in dejection before turning back to the theater below.

- - -
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The miniature datapad buzzed in her pocket. She watched as blue text scralled the options. A bet? A faint smirk managed to crease her lips. She cast a glance to those speaking below then studied the choices. One for Scarecrow at 20,000 credits then five for blood and spittle at 40,000 credits.

Maybe she was wrong, perhaps some good could happen.

 

[Darth Bellum]

The Anzati General remained stoic in his seat, his holographic image flickering sporadically before smoothing itself out as Vaulkhar spoke out against the Dark Lord. His posture remained the same as the bastard son of the Dark Lord spoke out with venomous words that poisoned and tainted the unity of the current system. Vaulkhar's words held much merit to them, despite the Dark Lord trying to marginalize the resurrected Jedi's presence in the assembly. It was a known fact by this point that Sith within the Empire had differing ideals and goals - complete unity among the Sith was a pipe dream and made as much sense as pacifistic Mandalorians or Jedi who lacked morales that had presented themselves to the Galaxy. ​

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Vexen would lift his head from the fist it rested on as his vocoded voice boomed, deciding to break up the monotony of the suggested purpose of the assembly, " Let the boy speak... If this assembly was simply called to promote peace and order within the ranks of the Sith it is already a waste of our time. Consider the opposition and how best to work hand in hand with them if order and stability are what you seek... " Vexen's posture would shift in his seat as the Pyramid of Military Command made a dismissive wave of his hand that he had rested his head on before continuing, " Or do what is expected of a Sith and silence one's enemies with more than meager words. "​

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Vexen though not outwardly displaying any emotion was irritated. If the entirety of the Dark Council, the Triumvirate and all the Sith had been summoned simply to speak of getting along with one another, his time had already been completely and utterly wasted - and surely this sentiment would be shared among some present. At least with Vaulkhar's presence, some grievances could be heard and dealt with in whatever manner was seen fit.​

 

[Khel]

While multiple of the Sith surrounding Vaulkhar did shrink away after his outburst, there was one who stood resolute—though it had nothing to do with any wish to support the man against his father, and more to do with the fact that he simply didn't care to show such weakness in the face of so many others. His status was already tenuous enough; a relative unknown, only recently unveiled as a knight and installed on the Ebion after its original captain's reported demise.

Foolish bravado, perhaps, to stand firm in the face of potential accidental annihilation if father and son should come to blows. More foolish still to demonstrate cowardice of any level when surrounded by the opportunistic jackals he called brothers and sisters in the order. Just as Vaulkhar's outburst was foolish, in a meeting such as this, and just as the meeting itself was paramount foolishness—conflict was the strength of the order, and the constant denial of it was weakening the order.

The Dark Side was weakest when spread so thin among so many who had abandoned their striving against one another and subsumed it with the desire to better their empire over all else, to serve their emperor over all else, with none—not even that emperor himself—taking on any true challenge.

For what more fitting enemy was there for a Sith than another Sith? They were both blade and grindstone for each other, and it would only be right to ensure a battle arose in some manner.

"Your father is right, Vaulkhar," he said relaxedly; not so loud as to overpower any supposedly-important discussion occurring, but neither so quiet as to go unnoticed. Anybody whose attention was still drawn to the upstart spawn of the Dark Lord would hear him quite clearly. "It seems you learn your lessons best when they come from outside our order."

Vaulkhar's indiscretions in consorting with enemies of the empire was old news to most in the empire; even Tsisaar Taral had kept tabs on it, leaving all the information easily available to Khel to make note of. "Is this hatred truly your own, I wonder? Yet, if it were true to the core of your being, how would you have fallen so easily to be made that which you have become, how could you resist the urge to draw your blade and strike at Lord Carnifex in righteous anger?"

Khel's face twisted into a sneer of derision, an expression still alien to the face that had once been worn by a Jedi Knight. "Or does it come from the teachings of that Jedi, Sar'andor? The one you clung to so closely he could scarcely swing his weapon...or, perhaps, were you hoping to handle his blade yourself, and make up for the acknowledgement you could never earn from your father?"

 

[Lord Venari]

The crown jewel of the Sith Empire, Bastion, was a world Lord Vendari avoided at all costs as of late. The gleaming throneworld was a remarkable accomplishment, and the pride of Imperial pseudo-civil engineering. In years past he would have sat with the Sith'ariqo, though even then he didn't envy those above his station. The entire chamber was a stage and Venari never had a taste for theatrics. He opted for archaic tombs and temples, or the carnage of the warfront.

The discovery of an ancient holocron created by a powerful Sith had only further distanced him from the political scene. That same holocron imparted him with an eidolon. An aspiration. A newfound purpose, as well as liberalized Sith philosophies near identical to Darth Carnifex 's Rule of Order. So, with a newfound respect for the Sith-Imperial system, he had begrudgingly suspended his hunt for those artifacts left behind by the venerable Dark Lord of the Sith, Darth Animus, and attended this gathering convocation in person.

Venari fiddled with his datapad as frivolity and discordance washed over the chamber. While the crowds bickered, he tended to his pursuits of primeval knowledge and the power that accompanied it. Captain Lorund still aboard his Destroyer, The Reclaimer, was monitoring all of Venari's assets and relaying any intel his feelers around the galaxy came upon. No traces, no rumors, nothing. Dust and echoes. Venari's fingers danced across the pad sending some final orders, then turned his attention back to the affairs at hand.

The congealed mass of raw dark side energy filled the air with an electrical charge one could feel in their blood and bones. A living, breathing torrent of power. Yet it was all a mess, riddled with many he hadn't recognized and others he knew only by reputation.

Sith politics were never clean. Never simple, but as Venari watched from his seat at the edge of gathering Chwayatgo, he could see how brittle some of the founding pillars of the reformed Sith Empire had grown. The Emperor's son apparent was making a show of things. Open mockery of both his father, and the Empire. Why tolerate this squabble? Kill the whelp and end it, Venari thought to himself. The younger of them, Vaulkhar was truly powerful, a manifestation of the dark side, but the Emperor stood as the dark side itself. Should he fail in quieting dissidence by edict, only strength would suffice. As forward thinking as Venari had grown, that tenet of the Sith need live eternal. Power above all else.

The Emperor had called for a gathering of the most powerful entities in the galaxy and just as Venari expected, it had only taken moments to develop into a circus act. Two things were needed to breed unity in division, strong leadership, which their Emperor would need to soon demonstrate, and the emergence of a common enemy. Those the Empire had in spades, the Sith simply needed to be reminded as much. "As powerful as we "Immortal Sith" are, we're all still so mortal," he muttered to himself pulling his datapad back out and eyeing a series of bets, "meanwhile our enemies gather their strength." With an irritated sigh, Venari peeled his attention away from the wrangling and scanned the crowds for all those, outside of the Emperor and his council, that truly had a say in the future of the Sith.

 

[Valessia Brentioch]

There was a silence on the ship, a quiet hush that followed, Gunther looked over at what he was seeing what he was hearing. "What do you think?" He brought over a chair and sat beside his mother. Gunther was always a soldier, he followed his orders and never once questioned them. He believed in fighting for order and bringing that order to the galaxy. He was never, interested in the politics of an Empire. Give him something to shoot at, and send him on his way. He regarded his mother as someone who hadn't liked the politics either and thus she stayed out of it.​

​

"I think this is going to be interesting, and entertaining," she replied but there was a stop, "but we don't owe our lives or our loyalty to the Sith Empire, let alone the Emperor."​

​

Valessia turned to her son and looked at him, "do you hear and understand me?"​

​

His brow furrowed, he wasn't confused just at a lost. He had been raised to respect the Empire, to do as it said. Then again, he supposed that was his father talking and not him. "I-"​

​

"You are a smart and loyal man, you would never betray your duties or your loyalties Gunther." She stopped again her voice was quiet but firm and in the hollow sound of rewashed air from the ship's ventilation he hadn't expected what she would say next. "You owe them nothing, if anything, they owe you and your men a great deal for the service that you've carried out."​

​

"The Empire is a means to an end, it will fall, just like the others - what matters is ensuring our safety and our survival as a family."​

​

The man cleared his throat and looked over at the viewscreen, at the display of what the scarecrow son had made. That man, that man seemed to have no loyalties but the response from the Emperor was just as daunting, but for different reasons. "You're right," Gunther replied his mind made up after the small interaction. He returned his attention to his mother, "what matters is us, dad always said that we come first."​

​

Valessia gave a small, slight nod of acknowledgment, "Sith are a naturally treacherous and deceitful lot, most have their own plans and their own ambitions."​

​

"Like yourself."​

​

She smiled, "like me." Valessia drew in a breath and exhaled, "which is why you don't see me around the Empire much. I have my own work, my own goals, I do not need to work for the goals of an Emperor who serves only himself. I've seen smiles such as his in the boardrooms of Brentaal IV, in the clutched waves of laughter of the Ministries in the First Order. There is always an ulterior motive, and all I see are so many poor unfortunate souls who have lost their way."​

​

Gunther looked carefully over his shoulder, he gave the viewscreen a sidelong glance. "They are indeed, poor unfortunate souls. You once said that the Sith were tools, did you mean it?"​

​

"These Sith? Oh yes, well, there are but a few exceptions but in general, these Sith are nothing but tools. Yet, perhaps, there is still hope for them after all. Come, we'll miss the show, it seems there is more happening."​

​

Wordlessly Gunther joined his mother in watching the drama within the Assembly Hall unfold, from the safety of their ship. ​

​

 

[Kascalion Giedfield]

Kascalion Giedfield, Darth Abbadon, the Pyramid of Scientific Advancement, Lord of Ash, The Devil Lion, and True Heir of Noxis. A thousand and one titles befell the man who looked down upon the congregation huddled within the Ascendant Hall like a dark ooze, his muscular arms crossed and the red face of his Proxy Prime cracked into a hot scowl that could wilt any attempt at flattery or complementation. Of course, looking from face to face, individual to individual, sensing their power compared to another, the Devil Lion could safely conclude that very few could possess the verbosity that he would request for any such minute endeavors. He was a man of refined tastes after all.

In the silence that predated the booming proclamations and loquacious statements of the Black Iron Tyrant that sat upon a throne of thrones, Kascalion took the time to ensure that his appearance reflected such a status of refinement. On this day of days, the Lord of Ash had taken to wear an outfit uncharacteristically colorful of him, one perhaps better fit to the titan he called a brother, whom was strangely absent from the day’s proceedings as of that moment in time.

His shirt was of gold silk and was double-breasted, buttoned entirely up the right side and drawn taut across his body to showcase the perfected physique of the Proxy Prime produced by weeks of gene therapy and experimental torture on two unlucky subjects who had failed his tests. His pants were of a similar color and textile, although distinctly less tight, and ended just above the middle of his ankles, which were hidden along with the rest of his feet in a pair of polished black boots tipped with steel. The most intriguing and visible part of his attire, however, was the red silk, long sleeve jacket draped over his torso emblazoned with his personal insignia on the back, the same insignia that could be seen threaded into the back-left pocket of his trousers.

Even in this fanciful attire and even amongst even the other Dark Councilors and Triumvir, the Devil Lion looked big enough and “don’t-kark-with-me” enough to earn a considerable distance from the rest of the Sith around him. He hoped this would be kept until the end of the meeting, but considering that Sith are...emotional at best, he knew his hands would be dirtied by nightfall. Perhaps even bloodied.

The speech of the Emperor came as expected and went on as expected, with proclamations made here and there, ramping up the crowd, inspiring the young and old, intelligent and stupid, brave and cowardly. Many faces lit up as the man they deemed leader, perhaps some deemed a God, began the proceedings according to plan.

What was not according to plan, yet not wholly unsurprising, was the interjection of the boy who once turned his back on his kin. Vaulkhar Zambrano, another one of the Tyrant’s soiled ilk. Debate ensued, naturally, and the Proxy Prime's eyes furrowed in thought as the masked child ranted against the Emperor and his supporters. The venom in his words, the belief in his heart, the wholly anti-Carnifex system that was Vaulkhar drew the gaze of the red-skinned Sith standing at this throne. There was no wonder left in the Lord of Ash's heart as to why Lorale absolutely despised the boy.

“Always so swift, Son of Carnifex...to challenge thine patriarch and his supporters,” the Devil Lion lightly chortled to himself, unfurling his arms and lowering to his knees at the base of his seat in intrigue, watching in glee as some of the Sith began to engage with the spawn of the Tyrant and wondering if he himself would join in on the festivities.

 

[Emperor Immortuos]

Bickering. This was not mere bickering.

The corpse that wafted forward approached with feet barely touching the floor. Head tilted to one side in interest as to what was going on. There was much to say about this interruption of supposed father and son. His rotten visage gave ear to both their words. Then more words were heard causing Immortuos's mind went rancid.

" Are you aware that silence in the virtue of fools?" Red eyes stared down at various acolytes that had retreated and then to the rest of the sith within the chamber. " Vaulkhar, my boy. Your ambition and mere exuberance in your words are a sheer delightful waste. And yet your words have a the foul stench of truth. I enjoy you. For now.. " Immortuos spat with a crude smile and shifted rapidly to the the Dark lord himself Darth Carnifex "I concur with Kor. For i have I not attended this meeting to listen to the babble of ignorant children. I will hear-" His head turned to look at Vaulkhar but Mid sentence Immortous was caught off guard by the babble of another. Another sith perhaps? Whatever their devious plans were if they could be called that, the Undead sith lord had tasted and seen through a cracked perspective of the past. Interesting.

" As the disciple of a crooked deity, Do you find solace in the same tainted histories, lies and subversions that the rest of this miserable batch of sheep do? Let this unfold." His question was rhetorical in nature. A long bony finger pointed accusingly at the men attempting to silence Vaulkhar further. ( Khel Kascalion Giedfield )

" Our Emperor has not addressed any of the topics at hand presented to him. Mere remarks in an attempt to silence his son is not the promise made for the empire and sith he manages. A division stands before us, My Emperor." Immortuos's smile grew wider than physically possible. " Show us how you would mend thisss. "

Frail limbs presented the Zambrano bastard like a pig waiting to be slaughtered. Opened wide for all to see.

 

[Telis Taharin-Zambrano]

“They do not see the idiocy of their own questioning. All revolution does is bring stagnancy… stagnancy means death.” The words were uttered beneath breath bated by wariness and discipline, two things that Telis Taharin had that Vaulkhar , so shamed by his bloodline that he hid under a metal mask, lacked. It was almost embarrassing to stand in the same room with the shunned child, and while perhaps such anger could’ve been directed more appropriately with the right training in etiquette towards something productive, but all it did was stir up the crowd of the gathering, like a vast amphitheater full of bees. He could feel that each person was more than anxious to fight for or against the Emperor or their other beliefs. To Telis, however, he much preferred it to stay peaceful - charred ash and blood simply never washes out of Kushiban fur, and he couldn’t stand having to throw away the outfit he so meticulously prepared for the event. T’would be quite the shame indeed.

In his traditional manner of clothing, Telis wore a robe-like black suit jacket, the long tail fitted with a series of fiber-optics that ran up the length of his back and shoulders towards his collar, the optics shining gold in the same manner of his eyes. Every small movement accompanied the jacket with a shimmer of light, reflecting even the dullest amount of open light in the room, and giving his jacket an almost gold and red shimmer overtop the deep, onyx black that made up his pants ants and swooping, hemmed jacket. It was a style that Telis had grown to love - a mix of Coruscant and Naboo traditional styles for formalwear, and only made more impressive with the fact that the entire collar had been trimmed from white Kushiban fur, and underneath the jacket came bright red designs, like fire etched into his skin, shining through his clothing and outlining the subdermal network that raced across his skin, some of the vagrant light escaping through his collar and bleeding onto his neck. He had gone the full length in terms of preparing for the great gathering, and every inch of him displayed the quiet grandeur and desire to be noticed that was synonymous with Telis Taharin’s whole being.

For a while, Telis listened without too much focus as the Sith went back-and-forth after the Emperor’s initial speech, a division between the traditionalists of the Empire and those that remained loyally stalwart to what the Sith were now. With an opinion that was only quelled by his status as a Sith Knight, Telis vastly wished to wholly castigate those that called themselves ‘traditionalists’ - the Sith’ariqo - for the foolish ideals they held. Perhaps there was a semblance of sense in what they wished for, and after all, there is comfort in tradition, but whether they could see it or not the only way forward is exactly that: forward. To spend resources and time moving backwards would only put them in the spot that has led to the extinction of so many other Sith Orders before them. To move backward is to die. To stand still is to risk death. To move forward is to spell survival.

But, Telis, like the good businessman, held his tongue. Insults never got anybody anywhere, even if they were, at times, well-deserved.

The conversations continued forward from there, until Vaulkhar’s interruption and radical bravery, which in turn led to a new focus in argument - a shift that Telis was far more invested in. The matter of whether the Emperor deserved to remain as the leader of the Sith quickly became the focus, and with attentiveness, Telis listened only to dismiss the thoughts of those that went against the Emperor, and agree with the thoughts of Khel and Kascalion Giedfield . As the pair of them made their arguments against Vaulkhar, once more Telis drifted back into absent thought, looking about the room for anybody else to focus on. Above, Telis spotted Cara Dorniarn in her perch, an interest crossing his face that quickly faded as he tried and failed to read that of his partner, before focusing once more on who else he could find to distract him from the boringness of the discussion at hand. When he felt a gentle buzz come up on his thigh, Telis looked down at his choice of high-end communicator, holding back a small chortle as the betting process came up. Of course, Telis was far beyond such childish things (betting only a measly 50,000 credits each on Vaulkhar and ‘Blood and Spittle’).

Returning his gaze up from his communicator, Telis finally landed his sight upon Kascalion Geidfield, observing the Devil-Lion’s proxy with interest and admiration. He was envious of the Sith Lord’s presence and ability to dominate a room. The man was practically godlike in every sense of the word, being not only a genius, but a master in the dark arts and a master in combat. He aspired to reach such a height one day, but for not, it was a thought that laid dormant in his mind, his focus starting to fray as he realized just how many things there were to focus on throughout the whole assembly gathered. Telis thrived in chaos, but this, to him, felt like chaos without any progression or progress forward - it was chaos for the sake of chaos. It was only when Darth Immortuos made his interest that Telis’s mind came back to the present debate at hand, though alongside it came the fear of just how many plagues and illnesses were carried by the shambling corpse of a Sith.

Telis almost had the courage to speak up louder; but fear silenced him. He was afraid of everything that Darth Immortuos was, and so he sat in silence, waiting for the opportunity to utilize his voice if it was ever offered to him by his master or another who opened the way for Telis to verbally strike back against Vaulkhar. In the long and short of all things, Telis continued to sit and listen, doing his best to decide and decrypt the various opinions and voices throughout the room, and deciphering who was misguided in their opinions, and who stood in the right. At the end of the day, Telis Taharin was out for himself, but forwarding the strength of the allies he had and the nation he was in would only serve to better him in the end. Like a rather bright serpent, Telis kept his venom stored… for now.

 

[AMCO]

For this grand a gathering of Sith, some chaos was to be expected, to the point where Adrian had opted to wear a shield talisman as an adornment, of sorts. All the better to keep him alive if things really went downhill.

To his side, Lord Dabo had been pulled away by another recent arrival, while Lady Farr eyed his apprentice much like she eyed her machines... and indeed most people she met - as something in need some fine-tuning. "Ah, indeed. Tell me, what makes you special Aren?"

Sending off a quick rebuttal to the Whaladon - <"Why long for the glories of yore when one has the chance to build upon it in new ways?"> - the young Knight was pulled away from the prospect of further debate by the arrival of a fellow Inquisitor - and the rapidly changing discussions of the assembly hall at large. "Inquisitor Dax, no? A pleasure, and I believe his highness is just about to..."

Quieting down at he listened to the Emperor's speech and found much to his liking, though the familial confrontation that followed was somewhat less tasteful. Much like Darth Voyance 's earlier entrance, really - fallen sons and insane traditionalists. How very last-year.

Smiling softly at the soft ping, he quickly threw some credits at Valessia Brentioch's betting pool - 30 thousand that the Hall gets "a little blood and spittle", sturdily made, you see, and another 60 that Scarecrow snaps first because come on, the man's a walking time-bomb.

Aren D'Shade | Darth Pteron | Isaiah Dax​