Underneath.

[Syra]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mauV2NdCs60&index=5&list=FLuap6D97Ak_a2qDeGaVJe_Q​

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- Coruscant, Midnight Hour. -​

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- Black Mass -​

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"We of the chosen have a duty, brothers and sisters. Thou art blessed and divine in the ebony waters that ripple with your fortitude and strength, and that ripple shall become thine wave of fury. Let it not be forgiven or forgotten those that have wronged us, those that do not deserve an existence above us as royalty to a throne. ​

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We are that royalty, we are the deserving body that splinters to prick the flesh of the wretched naysayers whom are not descendants of holy writ, but the mockery of the devout blades and fists that earned their share. ​

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We... are... enlightened..."​

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Syra stood before a small gathering of cloaked figures, all clad in black and crimson. Some with hoods drawn, others with faces exposed and sickly smiles carved from ear to ear. The nobleman himself donned his typical wardrobe of an all-encompassing mantle and cloak pinned together by a peculiar durasteel chain and insignia, one that possibly hearkened back to his own lineage.

The setting itself in which this ceremony took place was a rundown, abandoned warehouse located within a sealed off sector of Courscant's underbelly. A rather befitting location, as this was a mass of Darkside worshipers and the like.

Behind the nobleman was a sizable cage. In that cage were four alleged Jedi Padawans, all unconscious and awaiting to be used as resources for a ritual. One that would bring power to the Darkside, and a further creeping death to the Light that swore to eradicate it.

"My fellow brothers and sisters... soon the celebration shall begin, but let it first be known that we are the true salvation of this broken galaxy. Wealth may be an option, but it does bear fruit as a foundation to act as an absolute. We must embrace the sweat upon our brow, the ache in our spines...

For through our pain, we find purpose. And through our purpose, we find absolution."

A cacophony of cheers and agreement made the dilapidated warehouse come alive with the spirit of corruption. A foul aura beginning to take hold as a ghost, drawing pleasure from the wicked hearts of its servants.

And soon, the small numbers began to multiply. More and more gathered, all joining in unison to lift the praise of the Darkside.

A den of devils.

[member="Satia the Cruel"]

 

[Poe]

​Deep beneath the rotting city of Coruscant, where the Jedi preached their diluted philosophies, the witching hour was upon the gathering of dark souls; each one prepared to dedicate themselves to the crusade. Some had arrived by choice of will, whilst others had been drawn by the summons of the Dark Side; all unified into a singular entity. The energy inside the abandoned structure swelled like a bloating corpse, threatening to burst; spilling it's putrid fluids when the first words were spoken. Mass was in session.

​As the man spoke with passion, his words flowed out like hooks, digging into the minds of those gathered at this meeting. He was undoubtedly a silver-tongued devil, but not all gathered were easily mesmerized by his collection of words.

​Standing among the sea of black, I listened with skepticism whilst observing the others as they hung on every dangling syllable. I had heard similar speeches before, when I walked with the Primeval for a short time, so cultist mentality was familiar to me; easily swayed and easily dominated, thus making for great loyal pets. What fascinated me were the caged Jedi, and their roles for tonight. I didn't hate the Jedi because they were Jedi, my hatred ran deeper than ancient rivals of dark versus light, but that was my secret to harbor.

​The speech concluded, with the man garnishing praises and applauds from the summoned; all but from me. "You speak with education," ​I said drawing eyes upon me from those closest to where I stood. I even earned a few scowls as if my words where offensive, or that I spoke out of turn. Ignoring them, I continued. ​"Words might rally the less willful and uneducated, but I'm Sith and words are meaningless if there is no action to support them. So tell us, what horrifying design to you have for those Jedi?"


[member="Syra"]

 

[Syra]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ErKg6U_aEiY​

A disgusting, toothy grin widened behind Syra's mask as he slowly revealed a gloved hand, pinching the brim of his hat and tilting it gingerly in the individual's direction. A sigh mixed with amusement escaped the nobleman as he walked over to the cage of Jedi. Silence veiled the man as he tilted his head, pondering. What useful method did he have up his sleeve for these guests? What could he do to display his sincerity?

Syra never saw himself as a liar, but in fact it was part of his very existence. Lies weave webs, and unless one is the spider itself, all are bound to become stuck and entangled in despair.

First, an exchange of words. "Ah, a Sith. I've always been employed by your kind, and such a grand investment that was. I recall the day I stumbled upon a man of great wisdom, a keeper of tales, he was. He relinquished to me information that would forever transform my existence as more than a man with materialistic flare, but a humbled servant of a greater cause that all should serve..."

Syra reached into the cage slowly, pulling on an arm of one of the stil unconscious Jedi.

"You see... some may not understand themselves enough to be bold, so I make that decision for them. Be it they're daft or simply uninformed, I am the necessary link that will bring all into a glory of achievement. Those that stand before you and I are assets that are gifted and blessed, true examples of what it's like to grasp the calling..."

Gently caressing the arm of the Jedi, Syra swiftly activated his dated lightsaber and lopped off the still sleeping Padawan's limb just below the elbow. Now awake and shrieking in pain, the other hostages subsequently came to life from their slumber. Confusion and dread filled them, this much was obvious just by gazing upon their shocked expressions.

Now turning back to face the outspoken woman directly, Syra tossed the hand to the ground.

"A piece of a whole isn't worth as much, wouldn't you agree? A whole implies fulfillment, and that is exactly what I intend for my buyers. My wares are of flesh and blood, my creed is of the shadow and all that glimmers. But now since this item is no longer a whole, it is damaged and useless to me and any potential clientele."

With another swift movement, the sobbing Padawan was impaled through the skull. Deep, crackling crimson jolted and scorched the bone and skin. The others simply turned away in disgust and sorrow, unable to stomach the sight of a lost friend.

"Now... what say you, stranger?"

[member="Satia the Cruel"]