The Throne Room [One Sith]

[Onrai]

And as Isolda came in, Circe stood there. It looked as though her body was cracking, as though she were an ancient marble statue suddenly exposed to the decay and deterioration. Purplish energy seemed to seep from the cracks, and as she raised her hand, looking at the lightsaber wound now impaled through her flesh, she smiled, her eyes overridden with the power of the Dark Side. Her very body was no longer able to take the strain of Dark Side energy being forced into it by the powers of three Sith Lords, and like Val'Ryss once had, this body's time was nearly ended.

Turning, she looked over her shoulder at Ayra, a sinister grin on her face as her smirk further grew. "See you soon."

Then she exploded. Powerfully. Not enough to do anything to the building aside from shake it, but powerful enough to send some people flying back due to the sheer amount of energy emitted. Ayra's lightsaber, being so close to the explosion, probably would be no longer functional without serious repair, and Ayra herself was near-point blank to the blast - though as her spirit left the area, Circe briefly knew that she would survive. Whether anyone else in the room suffered any sort of injury remained to be seen. However, she was dead once again.

Now she had to wait for her next body. Maybe she'd play chess with Karin Dorn while she waited.

(Tl;dr: Circe's dead and will be back in a new body)

 

[Darth Ayra]

| [member="Darth Carach"] | [member="Darth Janus"] | [member="Enigma"] | [member="Mikhail Shorn"] |

Spoiler

"See you soon." In the brief seconds that elapsed between Darth Ayra's Lightsaber finding Darth Pandeima for a second time in the minute or so since she had begun her assault, confirmed to the Sith Lord two things: she had killed Circe Savan and that in doing so, she had discovered that Pandeima (Circe's Sith persona) had already achieved a means in which to escape death. Something that the two of them had already researched on Muunilinst as two cimmerian shades.

Another trip then, that had been a waste. Why research into something that allowed you to escape death, if you already knew a way?

Before another question came to mind, Darth Ayra found herself blown backwards. The Force that had been around her, used to heighten her own movements and speed, dissipated as she was flung back by Circe's body. She put out a boot to cushion her fall and flipped off it onto a pivot of her other foot, in a display of aerobatics that were normally necessary for someone who practiced Ataru, of which Ayra was well versed.

Smoke rose from the woman's body as she slowly rose back up to her feet. If not for the Force Speed, which had given her a second to get backwards before Circe's kamikaze attack, then she would have fared much worse. The cowl of her robe was still over her head, but had given way a little to reveal some of her facial features. She took a moment to rest on the wall behind her, as the wind filtered in from the top of the spire. Her Lightsaber had turned off in the resulting explosion and had been damaged.

Eyes diverted from Circe's remains to the men who had helped her kill. "Do they know what I know?" she thought to herself silently, as she watched them.

 

[Lord Ghoul]

Mikhail wiped a bit of Circe-powder off his shoulder, expression hidden behind his helmet.

"That's disgusting."

Petulant, exploding Sith chick forgotten - though even had he known of her 'I'll be back' routine he would've still had a mind-boggling amount of apathy-laced-derision toward her - he turned and regarded the remaining occupants as a trepidatious presence rolled over them all. Shorn ignored it.

One down, a roomful to go.

Blue eyes swept to and fro, like a certain stalk-eyed centaur. "Who's next?"

[member="Darth Vornskr"] [member="Darth Janus"] [member="Darth Carach"] [member="Darth Ayra"] [member="Reverance"]

 

[Ellie Mors]

An explosion rattled the room, shook her from her firm stance at the window, the shattering of glass that whirled around her, shredding the excess portions of her dress to ribbons, and her attention was moved from her depression towards the spare skirmish that had broken out in the room, turning with narrowed eyes to see her puppet blown into oblivion. She would have brushed it off as a pity if this had been the time and place for such an interruption, for such a blasphemous intrusion upon her mourning of their Lord. She would deal with the [member="Enigma"] once the time came, but for now her rage, her seething and consuming anger, would be directed on those whom had ignored the events transpiring beyond the murder of their Lord, beyond their loyalties to such a Grand Being. She could feel the presence of their Master across the room in its stagnant and cool atmosphere. Sounds faded to a dim buzzing as her eyes narrowed on [member="Darth Ayra"], a heretic whom had detracted from the loss of their Dark Lord with her own pride and foolishness. Master, Lord, nothing amounted to her as much as their Dark Lord, and her title bore no significance to her when she was less than the mud on the heel of her boot after such an audacious display. "She dare ignore His bodily death and muddy his floors with the blood of the unworthy?" The voice in her head hissed, her fists clenching as she began to turn, ignoring [member="Mikhail Shorn"]'s grand standing. "A common fool whom dares to openly betray that whom took her in for the sake of earning our trust - His trust!?" It continued, not unlike the whisper of a snake's tongue to a languished lamb. The muscles in her arms and shoulders began to flex, as small as they were, and her rage escalated slowly as the shards of glass and permacrete that lay at her feet began to crumble into dust while visible, palpable, wretches of darkness began to gather around her like the serpentine tendrils of something ancient and enraged.

"Standing there so proudly, arrogantly, with a smile that makes us sick. Look at it, that figure, believing herself to have won our hearts, thinking she to be free of persecution. So assuming, so crooked and wrong. She blasphemes our Dark Lord and ignores the traitor, she does not act unless it furthers herself, to make herself shine. She is selfish and broken. Not even evil, merely wrong. You know her to be a liar and a traitor, a plotter in the betrayal of the Sith Lords, an ultimate plan to cease their being, to kill the Dark Lord and all whom follow. Watch as she breathes, taking in his sacred air. Feel it." Came the hoarse whisper, grating and true. She could feel the emotion building up, it was beyond that of rage, anger, frustration and such petty things. It was Wrath. In the coming days, once she had reached her prime, it would be her vengeance to strike down the feeble woman and her pathetic habits for betrayal. Silara would bide her time for now, and forcefully, consciously, dispersed the waves of darkness that had been building up around her with a turn of her head as she faced [member="Darth Carach"] and became aware of the entrance of His eye. "I will do what is necessary to bring Him into physical being, tell me what it is you would have me do, my Lord." She whispered to Carach, her expression becoming languid and cool.

 

[Lord Ghoul]

Mikhail stared at the highfalutin lady, blinking once. The answer came to him quickly. Ugh, nobility.

"You don't all talk like that, right?"

He turned toward one of the only figures in the room he recognized, [member="Darth Janus"].

"Hey, Tyrin, old buddy... you sure you don't want Sith Barbie nobility edition thrown out the window?" He jerked a thumb at [member="Silara Vantai"].

The answer he received was something in the form of a horrified stare. At least, that's how he interpreted it. Then he chucked Tyrin out the window!

Just kidding.

Shorn shrugged and walked toward the exit. Too much politics, not enough killing.