Location: Ancient Sith Library, on the surface of Krayiss II
Objective: Reclaim the Library for the Sith Empire
Allies: [member="Darth Lykos"]
Enemies: [member="Darth Kentarch"]
"How much time do you have?", that same cold, calm, disdainful voice repeated, mimicking the words of the red-clothed being who had thought to defile the ancient Library. "Surely you understand that your time here has wholly expired? It's quite evident that you're overdue, but I'm afraid the fines are beyond your ability to pay," the voice added, a faint touch of amusement inflected within those carefully-enunciated Coruscanti tones.
Others were coming - Tirdarius could sense that clearly indeed. One trained in arts subtle enough that even I barely detect them. Very few among the Sith were trained to that extent - he could count the number of one hand. And, other than Taeli, the others reside amongst the assassins. The one that had dared to brazenly steal from the Library, planning to simply cut and run...perhaps he had little true conception of the danger he was in now.
"Not to worry," he observed with a touch of gentle sympathy. "Your companions are even now coming to the end of their own chapters. You're quite alone here, but for what little company we can offer." A faint smile in the darkness carried along with his words, a silent promise that held little prospect of a positive end for the recipient. "Time you checked out."
The other being sought to hide, but shadows alone were not sufficient concealment from a Sith: they lived their lives in the dark, and found it easy enough to perceive. Beneath that cold veneer that the other being projected, Tirdarius could sense emotions bubbling to the surface. That pragmatic will to survive, dominant among all the members of their kind, intensifying slowly until it had kindled a raging inferno that none could conceal. Only when one applies true discipline of mind is it possible to simply fade away. This one was too set on surviving to concern themselves with that, it seemed.
And there it was: the cold, calculating intent towards violence. A weapon drawn, though not activated, merely held in anticipation of a battle to come. Naturally. This wasn't going to end any other way. For all their use of troopers, heavy weapons, explosives, ships and armoured vehicles, the Sith invariably always tended towards personal combat: a means by which to assess raw strength, skill and cunning within the space of a few heartbeats. Adrenaline would pump, tensions would rise, heart rates would elevate, anger would surge and death would stalk the field until it could claim an offering, whether whole or in pieces. However it comes. Death tends not to be choosy.
"Had it merely been a matter of stealing, this could be forgiven," the Sith Lord remarked, dismissing the illusion around himself and pushing his senses outwards to once again taste of the Force energies that surged within the room, invisible but potent. "What is taken can always be retrieved. But that desecration is not enough for you, is it? You would bury this place and complete your sacrilege."
Tirdarius shook his head, grey eyes staring coldly at the one responsible for the foolishness committed here: indeed, for another Sith to act this way towards something once built and maintained by others of his kind, it was nothing short of heresy. The Inquisition would normally deal with such, but they were rather busy at present. Perhaps we can put them to work tracking the few who escaped, when all this is done. There would be enough work to go around, undoubtedly.
"You have but a single choice open to you now: you can surrender, and submit yourself to the Dark Lord for judgment," the Sith offered calmly, his words conveyed as though they were merely having a polite conversation over dinner, absent the menacing note that had been present before. "Otherwise your actions demand that you be condemned now, and buried within this tomb of your own making."
Mimicking the actions of the other Sith, Tirdarius reached across his body to the black-and-silver hilt that rested on his belt, drawing it and activating the blade in a single smooth motion, a dark-blue blade of meter-long energy bursting forth from his hand with a simple snap-hiss of sound, a menacing gesture that underscored the seriousness of the offer made. Choose wisely, while choice remains to you.
Summary judgment was the right of the Circle, per Kaine's decree. If Kentarch chose to avail himself of [member="Darth Carnifex"]'s mercy, then he would receive justice in a fashion far more final.
