Faction Under the Shade [Warlords of the Sith]

[Lúthien Tinúviel]

Under the hallow moon of Tash-Taral, Nur'Vele sat cross-legged in the opening at the bottom of the hill. While upon the surface of the planet, a dust filled planet in which was dangerous to all kinds of life, it was rather safe during the night. A time in which most slept. Refreshing their energy and continuing their efforts in the survival upon the planet. It was this quiet, this peace upon a dangerous planet, that would only be disturbed by those who needed an extra hand in strengthening themselves. As a Warlord, Nur'Vele was given the task to lead by example to any and all of the Dark Brood. Members of the Warlords who have not obtained Lordship, and thus may need a hand, or require more teaching. Not just strength in the physical sense, but that of what will best suit them. For this, Nur'Vele had been given the official sanction as "Taskmaster" with the Warlords.

This title of Taskmaster was a designation to find the best among the Dark Brood, to train them, and prepare them for what may be ahead of them, or to take the weakness within the Sith before him, and bring an end to their lives. Under the watchful eye of Vora Kaar, Nar'Vele was up to the task. For years it seemed that he was without purpose. Just trying to stay alive. But now, as a being who was trapped within the very shell he had taken, now found a reason to be with others of the same mindset. With the Warlords, as nearly the right hand man of Vora Kaar, he found a good place to find himself as a being of the universe other than jumping from host to host.

To take this to heart, in a figure of speech, Nur had invited all of the Dark Brood to show up. Proposing any to question him, seek answers for what they seek, or just to simply aid others of their brethren and sisterhood to become stronger not just as individuals, but as one of the Few Sith to have the chance to rise as Lords of the Sith.

Upon hearing some draw close, Nur stood from his place. Yanking a rather heavy Sith Sword from the ground into his hands, and holding it aloft.

"Come my Brooding Sithlings. Come to learn what you seek. Answers, questions, or combat. Take your pick!"

Darth Perfidiae Dasam Kal Velok Brokentusk Ihsan Romund Sro Alina Tremiru Ceri Amali Mustra Maestus Jacen Novastar

 

[Amali Mustra]

Lúthien Tinúviel


Amali had appeared during some free time from the nomadic fleet, Admiral Lâdâs assured her that the fleet would be fine without her for a short time. When Amali was in a coma with her badly damaged body, Clan Mustra more or less became an Authoritarian Regime, losing its Monarchy, but the Admiral stayed honor-bound, only progressing the clan as much as necessary to bring the royal family back, which was why Amali had only cybernetic limbs, arms and legs, and replaced eyes. He was a bit of an uncle figure toward her, and she trusted him, which more or less allowed her to attend these Sith Warlord gatherings without guilt. She would appear without her synthskin disguise, showing her true Pureblood face to those while in the company of the Warlord of the Sith, only wearing her disguise when with outsiders and those she didn't trust.

After finishing what was needed before leaving and being prepared for what conflicts or struggles may be shown to her, she stayed quietly as she waited for the event to begin with Nur'vele, out of respect for his rank within the Warlords of the Sith. Her rank of Sith'ari was only the rank within Clan Mustra, and within the Warlords of the Sith, she was merely a Lord, a given, more so grandfathered in because she controlled her Clan. She raised her personal Obsidian sword, "I, Amali Mustra, Monarch of Clan Mustra, present myself as Sith Broodling of the Warlords of the Sith!" She was ready to prove herself to the Warlords, when before she was just a desperate unintelligent girl, seeking refuge with the Warlords, where Vinaze granted her safety. Now, she has rebuilt her little empire, and was ready to prove herself.

 

[Alina Tremiru]

A lesson was a lesson, it didn't matter who was in charge. Alina stepped before Lúthien Tinúviel as many other Broodlings would. Grant it, the name for these acolytes nearly made her roll her eyes when she first heard it. It was not a term she would ever use for herself. Her eyes flicked over curiously to Amali Mustra . Were they supposed to introduce themselves?

"I seek only to form my own power base, but how is why I am here." She forewent the introduction. The question, if there was one in what Nur spoke, was what they wished to learn. So she answered.

 

[Aazena Ban]

To be a Sith is to taste Freedom and to know Victory​

The right of Strength, the Survival of the Fittest, the Hunt of the Kill, these are the foundational understandings of the Sith Code of the Ban family. There was a simple truth to be found through this understanding, that the Sith naturally held the right to rule, the right to dominion over others and to enforce their will upon those that cannot resist, the Sith held the natural right of dominion. It would be them alone that could guide the Galaxy out of it’s fog, it would be them alone that could cast out the Lie that is the Light, and it would be them alone that could achieve all of this.

Not through the machination of Empire, however. That had been tried, that had failed. Time and time again the Sith of Old would turn to the same solutions, the same ideals, while the toxic ideology of the Jedi became household prayers and common sayings. The Sith had done an amazing job at excluding themselves from the Galactic stage at large from tearing at one another.

That was the Sith way, afterall, slaughter your betters and claim their place upon the ashes.

She would never wish to change that.

Now, united under a loose confederation, the Sith could press forward. Not as a single government, a single nation, clan or even culture, but as a civilization. As a way of life, as an ever existent presence to toil the masses into their proper place.

Under the heel of those that controlled them.

Thus did the Broodling arrive to the summons of the Taskmaster, in order to shift through the dredges of the Old Sith, the remnants of Empire, and find what lessons were worth teaching.

The first step on the ages long path to claiming the title even her ancestors failed to hold.

Darth.

~~

She had left her Interceptor ages away on a settled section of ash, a clearing in the insanity of the moon, riding a speeder the rest of the way before that too was left behind. Coming upon the gathering with her robes clattering against her from the occasional sweeping wind.

She approached, the same sense of awe dawning over her that Yuthura felt upon entering the Korriban Academy for the first time.

Upon drawing close to the Taskmaster, she took a kneel, bowing her head before standing back up.

“I am Aazena Ban, I am here to learn the lessons that collapsed our forebearers. To learn to command the Force to our Will. To fulfill our role in nature.”

|| Lúthien Tinúviel | Darth Perfidiae | Dasam Kal | Velok Brokentusk | Ihsan | Romund Sro | Alina Tremiru | Ceri | Maestus | Jacen Novastar ||

 

[Darth Assimilus]

" Your all so fucking formal." The voice from which the words originated sounded from behind everyone. A large figure emerged stepping into the scene with heavy footsteps. " We have all come to learn from one. When it is more likely we can learn more from each other. Here and now we could achieve both." The voice of this new figure was severely altered. Heavy in bass from cybernetic enhancements. There was a blunt openness to the cyborg but also something else. Something well-guarded and hidden. The cyborg spoke again, only this time in query.

" Does the darkside of the force belong to the sith?" His photoreceptors scanned over Alina Tremiru and Aazena Ban with a keen interest. He gazed down at them taking in the backside of their features, yet the question was directed toward the taskmaster Lúthien Tinúviel

 

[Lúthien Tinúviel]

The fiery-formed helm of Nur twisted as many of the much younger came forward. Introducing themselves with names, and what they wished to become. So formal, while respected, was likely not necessary. If Nur did desire formality with the exchanging of names, he would have offered his at first. While some may have already known of him, he didn't expect everyone to know what or who he was. Instead of voicing this, it was done for him by way of a clearly modified Borg-like human species. Massive in stature, even Nur had to tilt his head up just a hair to see the top of his dome.

"You are correct, yet also you are wrong."

Directing it back at the absolute unit that this man was. Planting the tip of his sword into the ground, and correcting his posture to be more formal just for the hell of it. Eyes looking back and forth over the variety of people here today.

"Learning from one, can give you details of what is. Learning of a group will give you the wider picture. What you question today, and hereafter, will determine what form you need."

The gaze of the helmet falling once more upon the altered Mechu-deru artisan.

"The Dark side can be used by anyone. Even Jedi. It belongs to no one individual or group. However, it is the Sith, who on a mass scale, have a better operation upon its properties. Jedi can fall to become Jen'jidai through the usage of the Dark side. These Dark Jedi, Rogue force users, even Nightsisters from Dathomir can all use the darkness within themselves."

The others who came here, asked for knowledge of the fallen ancestors of the Sith. To recollect all of that would take a long time. Time that even someone like Nur'Vele, would not waste upon. Another wished to build their powerbase. To become stronger with their operations. While the leader of Clan Mustra was already here, and open to pretty much anything it seemed.

"Knight Ban. the knowledge you seek of the past, can be found through holocrons, Sith tomes, and other such. To recollect all of the past, would take many years to study it in its entirety. I suggest researching some of the great Sith Lords. Tulak Hord, Naga Sadow, Darth Momin, Darth Sidious, Revan, Treya, all are rich with knowledge. Through them, you will discover your own path to fulfill. Be it as the hand of a Sith Lord, or to become one of such infamy."

Turning to the being who had long hair, pointed ears, and seemed to be... altered. Something was different about them. A woman who gave no introduction, but could easily be seen as an "eyefull."

"A power base can be formed of anything. Cohorts you ally yourself with. Crime Syndicates, Cults of varying types, and creeds. Darth Voyance herself has used the shadows, information, and subterfuge to get into the pockets and ears of individuals. Performing her deeds through nefarious means. Vora Kaar, sought to bring others like himself under one "Rule." Finding those with strong hearts, minds, or body that can be useful for his crusade. Some such as Kascalion sought power from technology or biological oppression. Creating beasts or technology constructs as war machines. How you choose to form such a powerbase is completely up to you. However, going to these people, Lords of their Ittsutoi, Warlords, or even High Lords and convicing them to aid you is always a start."

It was finally, that the plated armor turned its entire frame and form to that of Amali Mustra. Her form changed with cybernetics not unlike the previous Knight, but much less so than him. Indicating with a headnod into her direction, the floor was opened for her.

"What do you seek o'child mine? Questions? Power? or just to learn of those you may be working with?"

Darth Perfidiae Dasam Kal Velok Brokentusk Ihsan Romund Sro Alina Tremiru Ceri Amali Mustra Maestus Jacen Novastar

 

[Amali Mustra]

Lúthien Tinúviel

Amali grinned as her bulging eyes looked over towards Darth Assimilus, pulling her sword back and sticking it into the ground before her. She waited for Nur'vele to finish before she spoke up, "Being formal never killed anyone, in fact, if you're properly respectful, the High Lords may even favor you. Either way, a sore attitude surely has brought a dangerous few towards the brink." Amali reached up with her newly minted cybernetic hands, provided by Nakaioma, brushing the hair from her dark skin as her head turned to Nur'Vele, "I have come to the Warlords of the Sith seeking assistance for my clan. Our last battle was hard fought, and my parents, through their dangerous and blind greed, lost their lives. I was meant to take up the mantle, yet I don't know how to do so. I am a weapon, by pure definition, and nothing more. Admittedly, I am an incapable leader, but I have come to learn not only how to be a leader, but what it means to be a leader. How I can keep my Clan from the brink of devastation, and bring them back to the power they once held with pride. Even perhaps, one day returning to our old home of Atrisia. Or... a most bold wish, to return to Korriban or Ziost, where my ancestors once lived."

She paused a moment, adjusting her standing position as she retook her blade, slinging it over her back, "I am here, now, to pay back my debt to the Warlords of the Sith for their support of rebuilding the nomadic fleet which Clan Mustra calls home. If I may aid in teachings, as I learn either leader proficiency or the abilities of the Dark Side, I would be most glad to participate either way. Thank you, for this opportunity." Formallity was just natural for her, being the daughter of what her people personally came to call the Sith'ari, she was still trained in the arts of nobility. Akin to a criminal syndicate towards the end, Clan Mustra was, and always will be, a Monarchial society that followed the traditions of the ancient Sith Purebloods.

 

[Alina Tremiru]

There were many different kinds of people, though many who spoke smelled more of oil than blood. Heavily altered. In a way she was no different, just instead of cybernetics she used the Sangnir. The vulgarity that fell on her ears as Darth Assimilus came over was one that quickly earned her ire, however. Her glowing yellow eyes glanced to the mechanical giant, completely unamused. Though Amali Mustra summed up her thoughts on the matter entirely. Her gaze turned back to Lúthien Tinúviel , taking in what he said. There were many different forms of powerbases.

The starting point seemed to be the same. She did not enjoy the idea of grabbing scraps from the Lords that loomed above her, but that's what it was to be Sith. Though. What was the lesson now? The number of questions, the different lessons. It'd be chaotic to try and address every thought the group had. Answering questions was well and good, but any Lord could answer them, if they were willing. This was just wasting time, in her mind, when something truly unique could be learned.

"How is it you exist?"

 

[Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt]

​

The heavy durasteel door roared shut on the rail, the crimson soldier at the ramp looking on warily before the transport locked; his own rifle now fit snugly in her own hand. The disgust rolled off the man in waves and her visage remained placid as she stared back; daring him. The rifle was stuck on safety, it was embarrassing. The escort’s mission was nothing more than to carol her and keep her. Something unsettled crept up the back of her spine as the woman watched long after the repulsors had kicked back. Artificial lights cut beams through the dark, flickering across the transport.

As if they could try, but she knew when to pick her battles. The ebon transport disappeared into the night, leaving her nothing but the whipping wind and silence. There had been a final bid from the servants of Maledictus, as they left her there-assimilate. It wouldn’t be the first or last bid on her, if the Monster himself wanted pure obedience he’d have to dig the scalpel a little deeper next time.

“They’re going to eat us alive,” Lyra had muttered under her breath, her words torn somewhere between humor and observation. A dark figure stood at the helm of assembly, speaking down-A sith. The hall of the academy was a hive of black uniform, banners slashed with red, and keen eyes. The young man on her right didn’t seem to appreciate the sentiment as the class stood at attention; how else would they make a Legionnaire after all?

The memory passed in a series of images as the woman turned around to face the barren waste; stalking off. The reverie spanned a wall of disconnect, and though the memory of her formative years stirred something... What had been imprinted over it all was simply apathy.. The word rested on the top of her tongue as her eyes roamed over the valley.

Assimilation only meant submission. How the Pureblood would balk and sing songs of songs to torment her about it as Kascallion tried to bend and snap each bone into place until she forgot. Measured footsteps lead Sybila down the path, gravel rolling under boot as she approached the midnight assembly. The rifle made a heavy click as she wretched the powercell out, inspecting the weapon down to the output. It was cathartic and Sybila gripped the stock as she hefted the strap over her shoulder; the weight of the gun felt right still.

The pursuit of knowledge had been fleeting in service, she was a woman of physical indent on the field now something unnatural but conventional still. Her robes tangled around her legs as she spied the faint outline of the acolytes, the voices a faint murmur that grew. Indignant questions caught her ear and the woman waited just beyond the group, punctuality wasted on her internal clock. Sybila's arms laced before, shunting her weight on her right foot as she watched. Where was the attention and shine on the bar? Where her service had tempered and refined every muscle. This was simply about letting go, plying a warrior rather than a soldier. Sybila still felt snubbed, it was worse than the army.

---

Lúthien Tinúviel Darth Perfidiae Dasam Kal Velok Brokentusk Ihsan Romund Sro Alina Tremiru Ceri Amali Mustra Maestus Jacen Novastar