Your Right to Breath in My World

[Teynara Jeralyr]

| [member="Darth Prazutis"] | [member="Darth Vitium"] | [member="Darth Carnifex"] | [member="Matsu Xiangu"] | [member="Aria Vale"] | [member="Lord Ajihad"] | [member="Avedia Lacroix"] | [member="Korog Zordaal"] | [member="Sumiko Tanaka"] | [member="Darth Imperia"] | [member="Lyra Naerys"] |​

​

Others were gathering in proximity to the fortress, drawn to it as if by some strange magnetism, present to watch an ancient rite maligned in deadly combat. Life would be lost here, and the Sith ever had a terrible habit of seeking to observe those moments, tall figures dressed in funereal robes, ready to escort a coffin that it might be burned, the occupant thereafter forgotten. Like vultures, we swarm, ready to feast on death. And, as was so often the case, the more that arrived, the less likely a more amicable outcome might be observed: death became more and more certain with each Sith present, since neither of the two would care to lose face in the presence of their peers and subordinates.

"You're witnessing the ancient rite of the Kaggath," he observed conversationally, turning his head slightly so that his grey eyes might settle upon his young apprentice, the girl so recently brought into his company. "One Sith challenges another, believing them unworthy to rule, and thus, with the death of their opponent, claims their titles, domains, properties, servants and so on." True, it had been more of a political tool in former times, when the strict hierarchy of the Sith had meant that a Kaggath had often been about personal gain: one of the few means of moving up the ladder. This was something else.

Of course, it did not mean it was the right course of action. Prazutis smelled blood in the water and had chosen to try and take another bite out of a wounded predator, striking out at the moment of his greatest advantage over one that would otherwise stand unchallenged. It was opportunistic, but the timing was excellent in that respect: he was never going to get a better shot at claiming Silara's power base. The fact that it was a foolishness did not diminish the master stroke that it appeared to be. Unless he loses. That much would ensure he was remembered for all time as a fool that attempted to punch above his weight.

"Of course, few remember that the true Kaggath was designed to expose and root out those who could not truly serve the Sith," Tirdarius remarked, his eyes now focused further upon the duel before them, Sith against Sith. "It was designed as a means of safeguarding our domains against instability and incompetence: were a ruling Sith mad or incapable of protecting those under their rule, they would be removed forcefully." That much required that a Sith acknowledge their role in leading their people: not merely tyrannical oppressors, but beings who were meant to preserve their lives and create an ordered society in which they might prosper. "If you wish to rule, it is your duty to serve those beneath you. If you die in Kaggath, clearly you prove yourself incapable of doing so, and those domains are rightfully stripped from you."

The sad reality was that such was not the case here: what they witnessed now was the corruption of the rite in order to elevate one to a stronger position. No doubt if Prazutis claimed Silara's life, he would be in a position to claim higher status among the Sith, absorbing her territories, armies, wealth and power, which in addition to his own would place him very close indeed to the pinnacle of Sith authority. If he lost, of course, even Kaine would not be able to prevent Silara taking his life and removing all memory of his name from history, erasing every inch of his identity and removing his power from hands too incompetent to wield it effectively. And so, our chess game ends with a piece removed, and all memory of their presence stamped out.

It could never be said that the Sith weren't thorough in how they dealt with perceived failures...

 

[Ras'kala'han]

~​

The Lord's call to bear witness was unnecessary. Clashes like these - clashes of will and power, of hate and passion - they were a call unto themselves. This was the way of the Sith - to demand the attention of the Galaxy and receive it. The peers of the clashing Darths flocked to the sky like vultures around a starving man, golden eyes peering down. Each a being of power to shake the galaxy, with will to crack mountains into rubble.

Where there are vultures, there will also be rats.

In upper orbit bobbed a junky, hashed-together surveying pod - the size of a fuel tank, and far from aerodynamic by any stretch of the word. Not too far off, held at swordpoint, a commercial shuttle pilot stood ready to leap into hyperspace at the slightest sign of danger.

At several minutes live delay, grainily, the footage was broadcast.

Some might call this one's obsession with the destructive cult of the Sith suicidal, to peer where he wasn't meant to be - following half-whispered rumors of fragmented signals.

"Sith Spotters". Juvenile obsessives lurking the Holonet for the most part, but they'd come through for him this time, at least.

In a way, the figure - helmeted, with a black bodysuit, sitting in the dark of the void - figured they wouldn't mind his watching. The "Ka-gat"... or whatever, needed an audience. That was the point. These two? They wanted everyone to bear witness to their enemy's utter humiliation and defeat. To air their deepest pains and fears for all to see, then confirm them.

Under his mask, he licked his lips. "How kind of them." He eagerly awaited the bloodshed, reclining in his perilious position of voyeur as his hostage getaway driver whispered prayers in vain.

~​

[member="Korog Zordaal"] | [member="Darth Imperia"] | [member="Sumiko Tanaka"]

 

[Darth Prazutis]

​​[media]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uGIu6-WtwEs[/media]​

In this contest between the raging storm of [member="Darth Vitium"] and the unstoppable juggernaut of Darth Prazutis, both were seemingly even matched as they raged against one another. While Vitium was indeed more nimble and agile that couldn't be helped, her size gave her that advantage. However the Destroyer was nightmarishly quick for a man of his size, a trait honed over years of constant training and work especially alongside [member="Darth Carnifex"]. Yet one had to wonder: What was his play? Did he truly deign that anger against anger, the rage of a mother scorned versus the fires burning in his furnace of fury would be the true win? Did his poison laced words foreshadowing the deaths of her favorite porcelain dolls serve no goal but to drive him further close to the edge of death? Was the Leviathan truly the upstart trying to dethrone the Living Storm?

​It was all a lie.

​To the most clever, the most manipulative, and those who truly knew the Sith Lord watching doubt would seep into their minds. This wasn't the play of a mad dog fueled by rage to try and strike down the great storm he previously angered. In truth it was all an elaborate lie, a rouse to draw just the right reaction from the Sith Lady who now abandoned all control, all rationality in hopes of trying to strike him down and obliterate the slayer of her daughter. Darth Prazutis was a stone cold foundation of control amidst the violent storm raging around him. Each well placed strike in the mastery of Djem-so carefully planned and executed, every move brought to bear with purpose. To the unobservant and those truly without the experienced minds of the gathered lords it might've come as a surprise when the blast of telekinetic energy made its mark sending him stumbling, before...

​Strike.

​Hot plasma burned through the Sith Lords black robes and paling skin searing into the muscles and tendons below as it burned a streak from his shoulder down past his pectorals, the smell of burning flesh wafted into the air from the cauterized wound. The blow should've knocked him down a peg or two, it should've elicited a grunting, snarling response from the Dark Titan who stood as a nightmarish demon.

​Nothing.

​There wasn't even a reaction on the Destroyers face as the strike fell except the intense focus and wide eyed hungering glare boring holes through Darth Vitium. The Sith Lord simply launched forward immediately bringing down swing after swing of the large blade, each steeped in mastered technique and form. Unbenownst to the watchers his mind was steeped in crucitorn and detached from the physical sensations of flesh. It was a laser focus that sought to carve Darth Vitium to ribbons like a life day feast. The mans focus was like the grim reaper that wouldn't be denied, the harbinger who would have the soul he chose to claim.

 

[Korog Zordaal]

[member="Sintel Kay"] | [member="Lyra Naerys"] | [member="Darth Kentarch"] | [member="Darth Imperia"] | [member="Sumiko Tanaka"] | [member="Lord Ajihad"] | [member="Tirdarius"] | [member="Aria Vale"] | [member="Matsu Xiangu"]​

​

​

"Not entirely accurate, my friend." A voice would whorl towards the relatively tall Sith Lord, [member="Tirdarius"], piercing the conversation Master had been holding with Apprentice.

Above his station, the unfamiliar face, may have loomed dangerously. But Korog Zordaal could do little to help himself when he felt that well known caress of lore, legend, and tradition harmonized in spate of such convincingly sure syllables. A pallid cadaver, thin of limb, wan by glance, eroded the distance between itself and the two.

With skeletal hand, did Korog carefully grasp the ball of [member="Tirdarius"]' shoulder, a harmless gesture of no foreboding structure. "To compare this with the sacred ritual of Kaggath, " The tall Muun began, his voice well measured, but of a very vile sort. "Sublime as it may, presumably, be. You stretch, perhaps, awkwardly. . . " Odd eyes of black, with a dot of white snow serving as pupil unleashed gaze from the man and lazily rolled towards the girl, thin lips curling over pointed teeth.

He let silence seep over them, words not wasted on the cool breeze of wind that broom snow across ankles and breathed life to the warming embrace of each fabric it would rustle. The growl and grunt of combat mere static to the background whispers of Khar Shian's chilling breath.

"Kaggath, " Korog huffed, half in laughter, mostly with distaste. The saga of Steel and Lightsaber that told it's tale, blow for blow, already striking a stale and pungent taste on the tongue. Of course, Korog never found much flavor in contests of grit and brawn. "No, I'm afraid what we, here, are witnessing, is simply another duel." For a moment longer, the Muun watched on as [member="Darth Vitium"] played directly in to the strength of [member="Darth Prazutis"].

You never chanced hazard directly in to the clear position of dominance your enemy held over you. It was elementary.

She was agile, graceful, quick.

He was muscle, might and intensity.

Break his vigor, press his bulk towards disadvantage, exploit his fury.

The fight was still young yet, perhaps there was still time for this game of Checkers to transform in to a proper match of Chess.

"Ancient Rite, and Ritual, that is correct. But it was every bit as much a game of the mind, as it was a duel of the fates." He'd returned gaze to the Darth whose shoulder he still held. "A sport developed to showcase where the true power lay. It took every bit as much Networking, Political Intrigue, and games of War as it did the final unfolding of blade versus blade." Slowly he eyed over Tirdarius once more, then [member="Lyra Naerys"] a final time. "Ragnos, Kressh, Hord, Qalar, Victun, Tormen and Kallig. These were all proper examples of the sacred act. Vitium and Prazutis?" A sickly chuckle wheezed from breast, "But another cog in the machine that is the Sith Story. Blood for bloods sake."

 

[Darth Ayra]

| [member="Tirdarius"] | [member="Darth Prazutis"] | [member="Darth Vitium"] | [member="Darth Carnifex"] | [member="Matsu Xiangu"] | [member="Aria Vale"] | [member="Lord Ajihad"] | [member="Korog Zordaal"] | [member="Sumiko Tanaka"] | [member="Darth Imperia"] | [member="Lyra Naerys"] |​

​

Wind swept along the top of the arena where Darths Prazutis and Vitium clashed, sweeping the long cloak that hung from Vupua's slender frame up in the air like a specter caught in the eye of a brewing storm. The dark side of the Force swirled around the gathered, creating an unnatural chill that one felt whenever they walked the surfaces of Korriban or Ziost, as if the dark side itself was touching onto one's skin. Feeding on the power of the dark side, drawing on the raw emotions that she felt around her, Darth Vupua's fingers continued to caress the Saberstaff that hung from her left arm, concealed beneath her sleeve, as she itched to use it on Prazutis' himself.

Oh, how she would have enjoyed to run the blade through the challenging Darth in the face of his watching nephew. Vupua would have savoured the feeling of watching Prazutis die to her hand, feeding on his death so as to announce herself to the watching Sith that she would one day do the same to Darth Carnifex, for all that he had done to her during the One Sith Wars. Envisioning her revenge upon the younger member of the Zambrano family, it escaped Vupua that the source of her need for revenge came from an illogical place. That she wanted to kill Carnifex for the deaths he had caused during the conflict with the Galactic Republic and the role he had played in it's subsequent downfall, when she, Darth Vupua, sought to do the exact same thing to the Galactic Alliance and her former comrades in the Jedi Order.

As she watched Vitium's blade pierce through Prazutis' shoulder, Vupua fed on the pain of the man as he unleashed a torrent of strikes at his opponent. It was in that moment that Vupua realized that she would one day kill the victor of this duel, regardless of who it was, so as to satisfy her revenge against all those that had caused her pain. Whether it was Prazutis, so as to hurt Carnifex, or Vitium, who had robbed her of the chance to harm her enemy, Darth Vupua cared not, for the dark side only awarded individuality. Walking the lone road of a Sith Lord, all that she had once stood for as a Jedi Knight was dead to her, and as she watched the Kaggath unfold, Vupua knew that somewhere deep inside of her, Ella Nova, the Jedi she had killed to become Darth Vupua, was screaming at what she would do to those that had voluntarily or involuntarily cost her.

 

[Ellie Mors]

Ruiner

The moment that [member="Darth Prazutis"] shrugged off her strike, were Silara in a more stable state of mind, she should have realized what was amiss, corrected her strike even as it happened, and distanced herself from a foe that would have most certainly capitalized on such a fatal error - as he did, even as the glinting sheen of silver crossed over her vision. They were two masters of the force, even if their peers did not consider them as powerful as the great Sith of their era - if such a thing could even exist. Those who gathered watched with vulturous intrigue, feigning disinterest in effort to appear more elitist than they already were. It was truly because of their meager measure of skill, their lack of ability - of power or strength - that they were forced only to engage in the battle of minds and wills, and it was their ignorance of the root of this duel - of what spurred it, of what had been spun in the background without their knowledge, and the many plays on the chessboard that led to this confrontation between two principal pieces on the board.

In a true duel between masters of saber combat the only moment that mattered was the present - the moment that your saber was cutting through the wind, the moment it struck the electromagnetic field of the foe's blade, and the moment it cut through the enemy's flesh. It didn't matter what happened next if you died, it didn't what happened that led up to death if you fell prey to it, and battles of this nature generally lasted minutes at best, seconds at worst. A dotard Sith Lord that was out of practice, speaking from a throne of irrelevance, might consider long matches a sign of even skill, that two opposing forces might be so skilled, so great, that they proceed to fight until one's stamina fails them - succeeding only because of outlasting the foe. In reality, however, two duelists that reached the height of their skill strike to kill with every blow, and every strike - every countermeasure, block, and evasion - is paramount importance to survival. To slip once, even if only by a hair's breadth, is to resign one's self to fate, to fall victim to the enemy's blade and die.

One fatal mistake, one accident, and it was all over. Duels were clumsy, they were imperfect, and they were far from glorious - there was no flair, not a spot of style to be seen with each desperate strike meant to kill the other. It was her anger, so blinding, so white hot, that kept Silara from realizing what she otherwise would have, so antagonized by a foe that was finally able to best his better through shrewd cunning and merciless force. A sharp pain shot through her right hand as her grip failed her, releasing the saber from her fingers as all feeling in their tips left her - the tendon at the back of her wrist severed even as she leaned into the blow and shrieked. But the blow was not without an accompanying strike, Prazutis's blade traveling down and piercing her knee - driving her down to her knees on the ground - and then lifted up, back like a scorpion's tail before it was driven down without pause or mercy through the center of her chest.

She had no words for the victor, not that she could breathe enough to speak, and, even as the blood rose from her lungs through her throat, she smirked. Twin orbs of fire stared up at his, prepared for the worst that was yet to come, and, rather than succumb to death as a lamb, she spat with open, final, defiance.

 

[NightSister]

To her mind, Silara was a perfectly accomplished fighter. This was a statement only supported, of course, by the knowledge that the Sith Lord could make easy work of a Padawan without much meaningful experience, but nonetheless, Aria regarded her as completely capable of taking out whatever opponent she was pitted against. On the other hand, the girl hadn't a clue who the other Sith Lord was, or she might've been forced to look at the duel from a more neutral perspective, if not outright putting her money on Silara's failure. As it was, though the fight was certainly distressing to watch, she was certain she knew how it would end.

Slowly, then very, very fast, she stopped being so sure. Aria missed the exact moment in which that one costly error was made - she'd always been prone to diverting her attention at the worst possible moments - but she couldn't fail to see Darth Vitium fall to the ground, smiling as she died.

She didn't move. She didn't rush to Vitium's side, didn't so much as speak; she just stood, eyes unwavering as they locked onto the dying Sith lord. The breath she drew in was labored - shock set itself into the lines of her face and her gaze, hurt and angry, had just a little more of that ominous shade of amber that had started, recently, to show.

For once, she had no hard time determining how she felt about this turn of events. She would mourn [member="Darth Vitium"]'s death greatly, there was no doubt about that. Her anger towards [member="Darth Prazutis"] was nearly unparalleled in any she'd ever felt before - thanks to Vitium's amulet, poetically enough. There was a flicker of anger at Vitium herself for dying - leaving right as Aria finally began working towards the Dark side as the Sith lord had encouraged - but it wasn't as strong. A sense of loneliness was weighing down on her, too, but that wasn't what stuck out the most.

Determination. Though Aria was delusional if she truly thought herself of any great importance to Darth Vitium, that the Sith had made any sort of effort to encourage her towards a better path before her death was all that was needed to make her certain that she absolutely would accomplish it. Regardless of how hard it was, of how different it was from what she was used to, she would work towards Darksidedness with the same drive - with greater drive - that she'd worked towards being a Jedi with. She, too, could be powerful. She, too, could be strong. And now she was determined that she would be.

But for now, she could only watch as Darth Vitium's final moments ticked by, and mourn with quiet regret.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

The Dark Lord watched the duel in silence, his attention completely focused on the images that were being transmitted to his warship by the myriad of probes he had dispatched to monitor the entire affair. It was a quick affair as well, a short spastic duel brimming with intense anger that culminated in fatal error on behalf of [member="Darth Vitium"]. He finally allowed himself a chuckle at the sight of [member="Darth Prazutis"]' blade piercing through Vitium's chest, the resounding shockwave of the fatal blow reverberating through the Force like a tidal wave.

"So much for all that plotting and scheming, eh Vitium?"

There was some disappoint in his voice, he thought of Vitium as a talented Sith but in the face of his own she was reduced to dust. Truly, it was a pity. He raised his right hand to absently marvel at the hand that shimmered a glossy black, flexing the fingers as the memories of his own little spat with Vitium rose up to the surface. That had not been a duel to the death, not even from the beginning, or so Vitium had professed.

Whatever the point of that skirmish no longer mattered, Vitium would soon be one with the Force.

And Kaine would outlive another one.

 

[Darth Prazutis]

​​The briefest moment of peace afforded to [member="Darth Vitium"] before his renewed assault normally would've been enough for the Sith Lady to correct her mistake after realizing what had happened. But how far had Silara Kuhn truly fallen? Once she stood the eye of the storm and now an inferno of black, blinding rage. Again she threw herself at the Destroyer in a frenzy desperate for her blade to find flesh once more, and each time she was blunted by the storm of blows raining down from the massive man who stood before her. Every exertion planned, every strike calculated and precise, steeped in countless decades of training and experience backed the near endless barrage brought down on her. There was no retreat no repositioning to attack her from a different angle, there was only forward. Prazutis charged ever forward like a steam locomotive his every movement augmented through the force.

​Theirs was a fast and incredibly lethal duel where one mistake, one miscalculation or overextension and it was all over. When two rivals power had achieved such heights, and when they were truly closely matched one foolish move could cost them the duel. Memories from years of training with [member="Darth Carnifex"] flooded his mind as he could see them play like a movie. He saw as the Butcher-King yanked on his wrist, pulling him into a sharp elbow that shattered his nose into several places before tossing him to the ground in the shadows of their great citadel on Thule all those years ago. "Focus. If your focus slips in battle even for a moment, a single mistake is all your enemy needs to end you. The next mistake you make in our sparring will be your last." ​They were harsh and unforgiving lessons learned what felt like a lifetime ago, but lessons that he took to heart. They changed him and forged him into the lethal warrior he stood as now. The epitome of focus and control that blunted the ferocity of a mother scorned, a mother whos fatal miscalculation would cost her...

​Everything.

​A fatal miscalculation was all that was needed for him to bring the blade down across her wrist severing its tendons in one swift strike, stepping towards her he brought down another strike to her knees planting the Sith Lady before him before plunging the blade deep into her chest from tip to hilt a feral growl escaping his lips as she fell. The Destroyer released the hilt leaving the blade in her chest while he commanded the force, calling her fallen lightsaber to his hand before leaning down towards her. "Do you feel it Silara? The cold, the blackness of the void seeping into your heart trying to rip everything you care about away? That is your soul being torn away from you. You will not become one with the force, you will not achieve peace and join the fallen Sith in the Netherworld to await your inevitable, prophetic return. Your soul is mine."​ Prazutis said as he switched the saber to his off hand while he gripped the blade again. "You will join your daughter with all of the other victims. But there is good that comes from your death." ​Prazutis said leaning in to whisper so that only Vitium could hear "The Sith Order will rise from the ashes, your death will be the turning point of our ascension." ​Suddenly he ripped the blade right out of her chest and swiftly swung it to sever the head clean off.

​The Destroyer carried the blood soaked runeblade that now held Silara Kuhns black soul traveling down its length while he walked toward the rocky mountain face of the ruined citadel. Prazutis glanced toward the Sith Lords in audience then as he clipped the first saber to his side. Once he closed in on the rocks he called the second lightsaber Vitium had thrown away, that fell down the cliff side to his hand before clipping that as well right to his belt. A monumental change rocked through the Sith Order on this day, waking something within the Dark Titan. While he slid the black hood back over his head sheathing the weapon of destruction his eyes passed over the spectators and the probes all around. Darth Vitium would be the first to fall but she certainly wouldn't be the last to fall before the Sith Order was restored to greatness once again...those who couldn't be reasoned, convinced, dealt, or allied with would join her in the vault of the Reapers victims.

 

[Darth Libertas]

[member="Korog Zordaal"]


The duel had come to a close rather quickly.


It appeared that most players had departed. Like a hungry carrion, a sleek, stealthy vessel swept down towards the snow-covered surface, sweeping past mountain crests and ruins of ancient Sith glory. Staring out of the viewing port, the Sith Lady could gaze upon the ruins of Naga Sadow's once proud, ancient citadel. The moon was bathed in darkness, but amidst the swirling power of the Dark Side, a certain presence called to her.


She could imagine how the Zambrano Prince intended to commemorate Vitium's death, but if the Force was with her, there would be something left to salvage. Little did she know that there was an enterprising spirit on this dark moon who had beaten her to the punch. Or that this would open a door towards more intriguing possibilities.


Not far from the outskirts of the citadel's ruins, the stealth transport touched down upon the ground. The hatch opened and the robed figure of Sumiko Tanaka stepped out and breathed in the cool, dark side permeated air of Khar Shian. A frigid, icy wind blew her way and her breath frosted around her, but the cold did not bother her. Souldrinker was at her side, contained in an elaborate scabbard engraved with Sith runes.

 

[Korog Zordaal]

Such fanfare, putrid pomp, sickening grandiosity. Darth Vitium. The Muun felt a certain sense of ill revulsion send his stomach in to spiral. This. inept flab of nought, this was what a Sith Lord was these days?! THIS!? His fingers sought a tighter clutch on [member="Tirdarius"], but only for a moment. A grasp that meant to help steady his gangling legs as he nearly sank to the ground with utter disregard and disgust.

No wonder the Sith had fallen in to disarray. One of it's greatest Masters just fell to the onslaught of a brutish Zambrano as if she were but a simple twig snapped in the pudgy fingers of some cruelly curious child of heft and girth. It wasn't to knock [member="Darth Prazutis"], he fought well, he battled exactly as Korog believed he would.

Strong, mercilessly. Like the water that withered a stone to pebble.

It was something he shared in common with his nephew, [member="Darth Carnifex"]. Beasts of oppressive might.

Unfortunate this, waif, this thing, that did not even deserve a name, had not proven itself more worthy. Well, at least she wouldn't be as entirely worthless in death as she was in life.

"Excuse me, M'Lord. " The Muun said with that scathing gnarl that signified his voice. "I'll be taking my leave, " He continued, removing palm from the mans shoulder. "Pity the contest hadn't lasted longer, sour note to end the conversation we could have had. Farewell."

A vultures work was never done, especially one as skeletal as he. Korog collected all things, obsessively, never knowing when an ingredient may be needed for some cutting edge display of Alchemy that he had been promising. Thus far he'd created nothing, but the Muun had indeed scavenged an impressive hoard of raw additives.

No surprise then, sans Darth Vitium's Head, which Zordaal delivered personally, and respectably, with bowed head, to [member="Darth Prazutis"]' feet. Now spent his time prepping the body and skull of Vitium's Daughter, as well as the Corpse of the feeble Mother. So engrossed in his work, was the Muun, that as per the usual, [member="Sumiko Tanaka"] was happening up directly upon him, with the tall Sith none the wiser!

 

[Darth Libertas]

[member="Korog Zordaal"]


Evidently, she was not alone. "Well, well, what have we here?" the voice was haughty and possessed a strong Atrisian accent. There was venom, like the poison of a snake, but it was not belligerent, though Sumiko felt a measure of annoyance. But she kept it contained.


"Are you a vulture, I wonder? A scavenger poking in the midst of corpses whose bones are not cleaned." In the light of the fact that she'd had the same intent as the enterprising Muun, these words were remarkably ironic, but it was to good a meta reference to pass up.


"Slay the welp and take the bodies. I have not yet tasted blood," Souldrinker hissed when it touched her mind. The thought had crossed Sumiko's mind. "No, at least not yet. We are not berserkers, after all." Depending on the other Sith's words and intent, he might be of use. Claiming the prize by force was on the table, but unless her instincts betrayed her, the alien was a vassal of a Sith Lady she had ties to.


"You're Xiangu's student." It was a statement, not a question, when her dark eyes focused upon the Muun. She noticed that Vitium's body was headless. Pity. She could imagine what would happen to the dead lady's head. "I see all the birds have flown out after this...short bout. Tell me, what do you make of the outcome and what would you do with the bodies?"

 

[Korog Zordaal]

The arrogance of [member="Sumiko Tanaka"]'s voice struck the Muun like a clinched fist, forcing him to abandon his desiderate task immediately, though the surprise lasted but a few scant moments. At first, as Korog continued to secure and seal the slain, he hadn't ventured much heed towards the Sith Lord. These limbs, freed of their mortal coil, were his.

It was almost animalistic, primitive, in some way. His covetous eyes for the freshly dead.

But, as Sumiko spoke onward, his eerily thin hands paused, and once more he would press gaze upon her. An abusive smile clutching the cockle of his features, displaying those inhuman teeth that rest beyond the veil of lip.

"I am, a student of [member="Matsu Xiangu"]." He validated her assumption, letting gaze linger a mere two seconds longer before he sank eyes back down to the futile trash that rest beneath his stooped posture. "And you are Sumiko Tanaka, a Lord, an Inquisitor of a fallen Empire. Hmm?" His voice rasped sickeningly.

Curious, perhaps, he knew so much about those around him, and the exploits they had placed behind their names. But no one knew exactly who he was. That alone made him dangerous.

"[member="Darth Prazutis"] fought altogether as one may expect of him." Zordaal began to reply with answer to her first query, "Solid, forcible. A brute that, while lacking nuance, has clearly Mastered the use of his size, and it's capability with a Blade. . ." He trailed slowly off from the conversation, listening to the rustle of his cloak and the thick securing sack that his spindly fingers took to zipping fully closed around the pair of women.

Satisfied with the packing, he rose to full height, a towering creature whose height almost comically mismatched his meager weight.

"Vitium. . . . clearly her Rank and Position among our kind was earned on her back." His coarse pitch oozed with a venom no less potent than Sumiko's. "But, she's just become a far more valuable commodity in death, than she ever was in that miserable extenuation she called a life." Korog was heartless! "Don't you agree?"

 

[Darth Libertas]

[member="Korog Zordaal"]


The almost animalistic possessiveness that radiated from Korog did not escape her attention. Sith could be compared to apex predators, or at least that was the self-serving analogy they were fond of. In other words, it was like two jungle beasts sizing each other up to determine who'd get the piece of meat.


In this particular instance, that analogy could be taken quite literally. Claws were out, fangs were bared. Neither predator had launched the first blow though. The Muun's response made her chuckle. The sound was less than pleasant.


"My, my, you are well-informed and have a good eye, apprentice." Praise from the Witch-Necromancer? Sumiko being nice was like a crocodile smiling while it eyed you. The Dark Side slithered and coiled around her like a serpent, her aura glowing with corrupted power.


"The Zambranos are brutes...and very good at being that. Vitium was complacent and never paid the iron price. She already fell once, on Ziost. Kerrigan brags about it incessantly, no doubt to get her ego stroked by her harem of strumpets." Coming from Sumiko, this was probably slightly hypocritical.


Her eyes travelled over the macabre package, undisturbed when Korog matched her posturing with his own. "I wish to...make use of these bodies. They are valuable commodities. I could strike you down and claim them if I were an unimaginative brute who graduated with honours at Malak's academy, but I like the way you think and I'm averse waste." Besides, the enigmatic alien was a student of Matsu's. Sumiko's alignment was probably Neutral or Lawful Evil in D&D terms.


"Ergo I say we can accomplish...wonderful things with these lovely goods together, don't you agree, Korog?" It was probably more 'an offer you can't refuse' than a real request. There was a cruel gleam in her eyes. Recycling could be such morbid fun. Sumiko was kind of heartless.

 

[Korog Zordaal]

Mindless ferine, she had that correct. An Empire built on tremulous foundation, Korog often chuckled to himself, when the fawning bootlicker's, that confine this Sith Order, bow to caress the fecal sodden tread of Zambrano sole's with tongue. Parasites. Puppet groupies hoping to bear the dotard seed of the crybaby, Inutile-Fraud, [member="Darth Carnifex"].

Had there ever been a more obnoxious, urchin, of a hayseed? God-King, did he frequently pester for the title, like stray gnat on Jungle trail. Funny then, the Muun thought, God's quite rarely found themselves defeated. How many times had [member="Darth Carnifex"] fallen? He had been informed of several. But the most recent, that was, perhaps, the finest tale told.

It was [member="Siobhan Kerrigan"], were it not? Yes, Korog recalled the entire thing quite clearly. As it had been told, the flame-haired champion outplayed, straight calictrate, utterly embarrassed the block-headed stooge. Quite the figure of worship and adoration, what was more shocking, to the Muun, was that the people of Panatha simply did not rise up against the dolt.

Shame [member="Darth Prazutis"] did not lend his blade to ridding one more sponge from false Throne. While Zordaal held little in the way of respect for their ilk. Prazutis was a shining light not yet fully dimmed to anemic glow. Something, might yet, could be made of him.

"Yes, yes I am. " Korog wheezed in reply, his eyes never leaving hers now that the duty had found itself completed. "A piece of wisdom, let me share it with you. . . " He had no intention of allowing her not to hear his voice slash these syllables upon her flesh. "The Fool Speaks, But the Wise Man. . . . The Wise Man. . ALWAYS. . . Listens."

It was a philosophy she may have known, and definitely one she should always adhere to.

"That they are indeed, [member="Sumiko Tanaka"]. . . " Inside that hollow recces of heavy hood his elongated skull nodded slowly in agreement. "If you've a Ship, perhaps I may, indeed, be obliged to sharing these gifts. After all, a friend of [member="Matsu Xiangu"], may too be a friend of Korog Zordaal." That did not go for everyone.

 

[Darth Libertas]

[member="Korog Zordaal"]


Sumiko tended to stay aloof from most of the Sith Order. She was an introverted type and more than that cared preciously little for the hierarchies of old. It was trivial to her who had been what in the Sith Empire or the One Sith. Both empires had been swept aside by the monsoon of change.


Part of her wondered whether Prazutis would now attempt to strike down his nephew and claim his throne. After all, being the heir to a lord who was notoriously reluctant to shuffle off the mortal coil for good and instead kept returning from the dead had to be...awkward.


But that was not really her concern. No, what concerned her were these two bodies. There were so many lovely things that could be done with these prizes. Her lips curled into a predatory smile. Oh, I almost like you. The Muun did not have the deferential, flattering attitude of the apprentices she was used to, but perhaps that made him interesting. Either way, he would merit watching. Even if he was not an Atrisian.


"Good. Then observe and listen carefully when we mould these carcasses to our will and make something beautiful out of them," the words left her lips in a hiss. "I am eager to see what [member="Matsu Xiangu"] has taught you of the Art." She actually sounded respectful when she spoke the Witch-Necromancer's name. Well, as close as someone as narcisstic as Sumiko could be.


"Come with me. We shall depart right away. My vessel is close." The Sith Order did not rule over the Stygian Caldera, though the less subtle Sith had claimed individual domains. In any case, Khar Shian was foreign territory and what the two had in mind required more privacy.


The Sith Lady turned with a swirl of her robes as a cold wind blew their way. Snowflakes dropped down from the heavens and fell upon her cloak and dark, almost black hair, melting. The Revenant, her sleek stealth vessel, was close, and within a short span of time they had left the moon behind them.