Making the Blood Boil

With Korriban, the ancient home world of the Sith, destroyed, the Sith Order have retreated to the sanctuary of the frozen realm of Zoist.
Jacobi Wylcott
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Making the Blood Boil

Post by Jacobi Wylcott » Tue Oct 20, 2020 9:24 pm

---MORABAND
---SITH CITADEL
---ONE WEEK AFTER THE EVENTS OF SCORN

Darth Tormentous.

He had come to a world ruined by war, ravaged by the Imperial Navy in an attempt to erase the Sith Order for good. He had come here to the destroyed ruins and without dismay he uncovered the caved in tomb of Darth Bane himself. Researching and studying from the greatest of them all he left Korriban to assemble a work force never yet seen. Then Imperial Gala and Lucazec fell - captured by the Sith Armada. It wasn’t long before labor camps formed by the hundreds and every loyal Imperial Citizen of the Empire was interred as a slave. From there they were sent to create massive mines to power the war machine of Tormentous though by the thousands they were ferried from these worlds to Korriban where Tormentous spilled their blood through hard labor and forced the Empire’s own citizens to undo what their Navy had wrought. The vicious irony was only too delicious.

Tormentous’ rise to prominence was at hand and he became a conquering champion. Where stagnation lingered it was the boredom of the Sith that had them flock to his name to join in campaigns across the galaxy. It was a glorious time of fire and bloodshed.

When he returned as a titan among lessers he slew the Dark Council of the Sith and then the Sith Emperor whose name had since been stricken from memory for the weak were unworthy of note. Darth Tormentous came to fruition and he returned to Korriban to see the product of the lives of a thousand slaves and more.

It was a new Citadel of the Sith. A pyramidal structure of massive almighty proportions and it dominated the scape of the Valley of the Dark Lords. Vast statues adorned great avenues leading to the temple proper - all visages of Tormentous’ past apprentices whose names had been lost to time save for a precious handful.

It was here where Darth Tormentous took his stand in the face of an entire galaxy and gave it the finger.

This was where he took Korriban and molded into his image - renaming it Moraband.

This was where he was betrayed by his own.

And through it all he had returned.

Orbiting the world of Moraband between the third and fourth moons sat a defensive perimeter of space stations, it was the gateway to the surface. Out beyond the gravity well of the world sat a small fleet of Sith ships - Warhound Command with one massive Nightfall Destroyer smack in the middle. The Harbinger. The new flagship of Darth Tormentous.

He stood upon the bridge and glared down upon the world of his dominion.

It was time to go home and take back what was rightfully his. He set down his glass on a certain carbonite slab with a certain Dragon King within. The condensation of the cup pooled in Blood’s dormant and frozen left eye socket though Tormentous didn’t pay any attention. He retrieved his cape from the carbonite table and donned it and draped the hood over his head once more. Turning then to the Blood table he unfurled a map of the Gordian Reach and set down some paper weights to pin it in place.

For long moments he looked upon and studied his Empire.

Soon, the reckoning would be complete.
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Re: Making the Blood Boil

Post by Kell Sangros » Wed Oct 21, 2020 12:41 am

Warvanus had carried out his mandate, He had secured Kroxota and came to Moraband but he did not leave him in their medical wing. Not yet at least, He kept him for now aboard the Magnetar in his Medical Bay, he did not know if the Dathomiran Hammer would be an ally or another rival. He had also posted guards in and out of the bay. It was better this way until circumstances changed. He had taken it upon himself to take a shuttle down to the surface. He stood behind the pilot and co-pilot, arms folded behind his back clad in his armor. He had summoned the heads of Moraband and had ordered them to assemble that he was escorting them to the new flagship of the Armada, The Harbinger.

He had touched down without incident, and gathered the Overseer of the Orbital Stations, Overseer of the Star Port, Academy Head Taskmaster and the General of the Sith Army Base. Most obeyed some grumbled but once all were aboard the shuttle took off again.

I demand to know the meaning of this” the Academy’s Head Taskmaster demanded. “Yes whats going on Lord Warvanus” said another Warvanus had stood in the passenger cabin facing the gathered masses while the others were seated.

Darth Blood has been defeated, you are summoned to swear your alligence to the new Sith Emperor” He did not need to add anything more these beings knew the drill. The only one who was silent was the General. He expected this much, being a military officer his training drilled into him taking orders.

The others expressed outrage and disbelief at the news of their former Emperor’s defeat. Warvanus did not add any information they would all know soon enough. He turned his back to them and returned to the cockpit, where the co-pilot was requesting permission to board the Harbinger. When granted the shuttle began it’s final approach and landing which all happened without incident. Once the shuttle’s landing sequence was completed they disembarked. The gathered heads of Moraband, Warvanus and a seven Sith troopers. Three flanking to each side one standing in the back, an officer leading the way. “In here” the officer had gestured, the door hissed open and the troopers broke formation, the gathered heads entered the room followed by Lord Warvanus, the door hissed shut behind him. Only Warvanus moved closer to the throne and when he was at a proper distance bent the knee and spoke.

As you have requested my Lord Emperor the heads of Moraband” he kept his head bowed. When bade to rise he did so and moved behind the assembled guests.

Audible gasps could be heard when the heads of Moraband recognized the new Sith Emperor.
===========================================
Darth Warvanus
=Lord of War=
-=Emperor's Hand=
=The War Bringer=-
-=Master of the Warhound Battlegroup=-
===========================================

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Slade Xandir
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Re: Making the Blood Boil

Post by Slade Xandir » Wed Oct 21, 2020 3:55 am

Raven looked from her corner of where she stood, silent and almost ominous if she had been adequately felt out within the Force. She had been Blood’s Phantom, the Intel and reconnaissance head of the Cerberus, his three headed council. Karliah stood not too far from Warvanus, her allegiance as the Archanist already sworn to the battle hardened male and loyalty secured until anything foul would have been brought to her culture’s last Champion. Khairo the Battle Master stood with the General, his own pair of personally trained guards unknowingly secret military under Warvanus’ own command. They had already complied with the transition, their own determinations and goals set behind the continuation of the Sith. Neither Khairo nor Karliah had been too fond of Blood for their own personal reasons, but Raven kept her feelings shut within a prism for now. She was stoic, and as her title entailed, a watchful being.

They leave you, as they all have.’ Slade’s voice lulled mockingly from the ebony void of his mind. It floated as everything else did in the dark. Drifted, but roved only close enough to sound directly in Blood’s face. Hateful vehemence was spit in the voice’s direction, but nothing came of it. Slade did not drink acid. He did not frakk off. He did not die. In fact, he spoke more. As he always had. ‘How does it feel? Being, well, useless. Where do you see yourself in a few years?’ Blood did not like being deprived of his senses. He did not like being stuck with this bastard. It was madness. How long had he had to listen to this? How long had he been in this tomb? This silent holding cell, this place where the sun was silent? His mind wandered. But his body stayed. And it was terrible to the budding Force Nexus parasite. ‘You’re making me look bad. My hands, my hair- I used to work out. I enjoyed my youth. Now look what you are. You’re not scaring anybody, bud.

Blood couldn’t even eat him. He was unable to do anything. He couldn’t push Slade’s cocky casual voice into a blender, nor put himself in a place far away. He could not leave this place and it hurt far worse than death. Was this what Mother spoke of? There being fates far worse than death?..
Wish you could ask her, huh?’ Blood only wanted to slaughter the voice- was that too much to ask? To shut Slade up, to just hush...
Hush...

Hush...

How many days? Weeks? Was he just put here? Had it been years? His mind boggled. ‘Does it matter? We need to get more acquainted. Don’t be so quick to leave.’ What an awful thing to say to a thing that wanted to rip your throat out with it’s teeth.
Try! I insist. I’ll stand still for you.
Blood’s temperature had to have skyrocketed- could it not? Surely his...
blood boiled?
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Re: Making the Blood Boil

Post by Silas Karn » Wed Oct 21, 2020 6:34 pm

The hollow echo of footsteps sung through the stale air as the High Priest arrived at the bridge. Adorned in platinum silver raiment encased within etched obsidian blood forged armor with his helmet attached to his back Silas once more joined the company of Tormentous. “It has been a full cycle since I bore witness to Moraband.”

Sovereign allowed as he set down the goblet of rare wine he had been sipping on the most ornate of tables. The platinum chalice nestled comfortably just above what seemed to be the head of a beast. Looking out at the jewel of the Sith empire old memories assaulted the senses of the Sovereign. “What a waste, Silas the fool, all his efforts for naught. It had been better had he never arrived on Thyrsus.”

Though the words carried a sentiment of regret they were delivered as if the orator was distanced from the subject. Unlike Blood or Tormentous there was no alter ego, persona, or wholly divergent spirit to conflict with the Sovereign. The life that was lived as Silas was passed. The man who was born on Eshan, fought with the Empire, united the Echani, struggled to safeguard all that he held dear even if it meant the darkest of deeds, that man was no more.

Voluntarily the former Voice of the Echani had inflicted a schism upon his own mind and partitioned away all that was Silas. This vile forbidden art was passed down only through oral tradition within the Echani and only possible through mastery of their combat arts. Despite this Sovereign knew Tormentous likely would offer little in return to such words it was not the story of Silas or even the remembrance of their last meeting that held his interest.

“So you have returned from the brink and are all but assured to reclaim all that was taken.” The priest paused to grant greater importance to what would follow. Looking out at the glory that was Korriban Sovereign continued, “What is you aim now?” As a battlemaster Silas had always been able to gain glimpses of what may be. However, no amount of intuition could see beyond this moment. Tormentous had every path reopened to him and the necessary power amassed at his call to see them through.

Lifting his goblet from the very sturdy table once more and indulging in the ancient liquor Sovereign continued, “With Warvanus’s obvious increase within the Force it would seem the remaining Sith will have little hope of denying your return.” Satiating his thirst with another sip Silas looked down to the calcified brood. With a smirk he returned his chalice before turning for the first time to meet Tormentous’s gaze. “At this point I only wish the galaxy to burn.” The one aspect Sovereign had not severed from Silas truly shown through, seething indignation.

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Re: Making the Blood Boil

Post by Slade Xandir » Thu Oct 22, 2020 2:27 am

If blood could have paced, he doubt the floor beneath him would be absent of the rake of his feet's nails. Considering the majority of his vulnerable flesh was left to bear the teethy marks of the orbalisks, he doubt his foot pads would be unscathed from how much pacing he was mentally envisioning himself committing. But he could not. And already an impatient thing, he loathed all of this situation. 'Guess it sucks more to be you then, huh?' the Hunter mocked him. This same man had been locked in this dark place, and now Blood was isolated in the same tomb. The Void atleast offered him freedom as he Shadow Walked. It offered him the peace, the absence, the silence, unlike this place that was polluted with -
'You?' He couldn't even growl at the heartfelt and reply. Toxic heat grew in his newly fueled hatred for Slade, and it only served for him to stew longer in the miasma. For what else could he do? 'Could talk back. It's so lonely being the only conversationalist here, friend.' The utmost disgust could have sapped from every pore of the Sithian. If only he could drown the Hunter in it. 'If only,' the faceless voice chuckled in faux agreement. 'I would have gotten lucky getting rid of you that day from the mountain, but Kressara was too tunnel-visioned on who i used to be. Not what I had, or well YOU had MADE me become. I almost had you.' Blood remembered that tumble from the mount on Sojourn that overlooked his resort. The depression and anguish that stabbed him after his rage and shock from an illusion of his traitorous bastard Son Raphael sent him off the edge. Blood couldn't put his emotions aside quick enough and Slade had used them to mentally clip the draconians self-preservation, instead pulling him under the waves of woe and letting him plummet off of the tall perch. Everything in him had been broken, hemorrhaging, snapped. But Kressara, still blinded by her duty and belief that Blood had some good left in him had dragged the dying Dark Lord to Karliah, the same Dathomirian Witch who awaited Kroxata's release, whose thin lipped smile welcomed the returned Dark One to his prior place above them all. Karliah had healed him, but in consequence, he had lost his massive Sith-Sorcery altered form for a colder and less human version of who he used to be. Horns, mass, tail, strength lost. He had retained his wings, claws and in reality, that was it. Unfortunately that left the excess of Dark Side energy much more raw in him, and it affected his decision making. Impulsive, more than less patient, quick to serve someone up on a plate rather than use them for later reasons. He had much less ability to keep himself in the analytical lane of thought, and instead he became a possessive and urge-filled-

'Animal?' The Dragon King could rip a hole in Slade, to just feast-
'Like an animal?'

He could almost taste him. If only he could manifest, to merely take another body, a healthier body, and eviscerate this one. 'You can't leave yet- I thought we were getting close. Hopefully you don't...I'm not exactly done with you yet, whelp.' Blood could've spat fire.
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Re: Making the Blood Boil

Post by Jacobi Wylcott » Sat Oct 24, 2020 7:13 am

Sovereign had joined him just before Lord Warvanus had arrived with the heads of state in tow. Of course the Echani Lord prattled on about his past and if the Dark One had desired to visually apprehend his lesser rival with an annoyed look he did not do so. He didn’t even glance in the Priest’s direction for his own thoughts dwelled elsewhere though he did not ignore the man - he was too invaluable to ignore - and equally as treacherous - to ignore him invited one’s doom. “Had you not tread Thyrsus,” his voice a growl of venom as he graced thoughts of yonder - “then events set into motion would have never corrupted your heart and soul.” This time he glanced sidelong, his dead eye vaporizing the Echani with hatred. “You’d still be herded along by Kraiov and doing - good things for the Empire.”

Leaving the subject open ended it moved on to other events. “My aim now - Priest - is to rule over the weak and burn those that deserve death. For a galaxy that dared to think me swept away like dirty refuse - I shall rend their hope from clenched hands once it has reached its zenith and they’ve the furthest to fall. My goal - is to find the true point of revenge and to reveal it to all for it was all who had condemned me and so I shall do to them as well.”

---PRESENT

Warvanus arrived and silence ensued as the quarry he’d brought with him stood before Tormentous and he glared them all to remain just that - silent. Warvanus knelt and the Dark One wasted not the War-Bringer’s time, “Rise, Lord Warvanus, stand aside to the right and stand at the ready as my Executioner.” His eye left Warvanus and ventured to the gathered audience. “Those that do not abide by my will, there shall be no place for you here in this life and let it be known that your house will go with you. I shall not suffer dissension in any regard or aspect. I desire to avoid a war among Sith and so I command you all - kneel and be humble in my sight.” As he spoke he clenched his fists while gracing the minds of all those before him as he sought hesitation, duplicity and treachery.

It would be natural that these thoughts and emotions of defiance would surface but it was those that failed to master their minds and overcome these thoughts that would suffer his wrath. His eye scanned the faces before him and he looked upon them without disdain but necessity.

“It is essential for the future of the Sith Order that these Heads of State are not to be culled. We need experienced individuals that know their duties - to replace you I would not do lightly. Though I assure you all that I would do so in a moment’s breath to prevent a rift of loyalty from the Throne.You have value and so I say that you also have further tenure if you only snuff your pride and do as I say - kneel, or embrace oblivion.”
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Re: Making the Blood Boil

Post by Slade Xandir » Sat Oct 24, 2020 11:22 am

Karliah, matriarch of her culture’s last, and conduit of her gods, listened as Tormentous riled his words from his barrelesque chest. She focused fully on his goals and felt them out from within, as common as it was to her kind she ‘looked down on him’ sightwise. It wasn’t snobbish whatsoever, but to see a ruler who truly had a purpose and a mindset to achieve rather than preserve- it was invigorating to the Sith Council’s Archaness. She accepted this offer, and though the male ruler said he’d replace any one of them, she also noted he valued their wealth of knowledge. That he’s rather not replace them. Fine. She would transfer her apparent loyalty-
So long as Kroxata was able to return to her, unharmed. The regal Dathomirian Witch knelt, her scarlet and sigils lacing the floor in a classic fashion of regalia. The Archaness would take to whatever to preserve her people, and most especially her god’s chosen Champion.

Thoughts evermore thirsted to spill from Raven’s mind on this event, but she was too disciplined to let that happen. Her mind and her heart were silent. She would think and feel later. Right now, she still had to gather as much information as her role existed to be just that, as the Phantom of this Council. The miraluka hybrid felt almost overwhelmed by the tyrant’s power, and as an innately sensitive alien to these powers, he was a vibrant and deathly thing to behold in the Force. She felt Blood’s signature within the Carbonite. Her search ended. She had work to do. Thus, silent as a spirit, she knelt, her indigo violet cloak bled over the floor as though she wanted to escape this room through it. If she wanted to, she would have-
But not without more information.

Khairo, as a non Force-Sensitive, did not understand let alone receive indications that the other Force-capable Sith had. The Shistavanen was more tied to his primal notifiers and it told him a lot of pressure was in this room, as though a blanket was laid over it and weighted. The Master of Battle could understand that, since a new liege has stepped to the throne. He hadn’t spent enough time with Blood to know his Master’s Master, nor who or what he was capable of. But he could see this man for what he showed visually, and furred lids narrowed as he shamelessly eyed the one eyed warrior back. As the Master of Battle within the Cerberus heads, this was his duty. He needed to know that this idol was not false.
Scars were abundant on this man, and yet here he stood. Fresh ones had even lay bare on his Iradicator armor, but here, alive and able, he stood. This was the man to lead the Sith to battle worthy situations, and with the remarkable level of experience the aged lycan alien had no problem submitting. Physically, at half best, he clutched a massive palm into a fist, crossed it over his armored chest to his adjacent shoulder, and took a knee.

Blood didn’t know what scandal was trespassing in the same room he was within. He had no clue so many had so willingly gone to forsake his name and take up a new banner. But that was the tragedy of it all- no one other than Raven and Mnami knew his reasoning for what he had done and why he had done it. He had kept mum on it. Otherwise, revolts everlasting would barge through, and his rule would have been that much more difficult. The civilizations more readily accepted Tormentous’ Apprentice to take the head of this faction, rather than Tormentous’ bester. They would have attempted trying his strength much more as a whole, should they have known Blood had brought Tormentous’ half-hearted rule to a halt. However as the most vicious had made another, the people were not so willing, and thus accepted this newness with less fuss.
Surely this would all be over, now.

The age of Preservation was over. The Sith could rise from it’s defensive pupae and crack open a fresh and much more dominating beginning.

Good.

Isnt it?’ Blood was so annoyed.
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Re: Making the Blood Boil

Post by Kell Sangros » Sat Oct 24, 2020 3:39 pm

Warvanus took his designated place, his eyes studying those gathered, he gave a barely perceptible nod towards the one called Sovereign as he then turned his attention to those gathered his hand itched to spill blood to anyone who would defy Tormentous, he had longed hoped that he could have personally ended the entire Dark Council but his hand would be stayed unless of course they would not swear fealty then he would enjoy slaughtering them before his Emperor.

First the Dark Council had sworn their fealty one by one to the returned Dark Lord, The Warhound did not show it but he was disappointed but he had need of them and had value of them so therefore they would live until they fell out of favor with the Emperor and in turn Warvanus would stay his hand for now.

Next came the heads of Moraband. The Commanding General of the Sith base on this key world had known and served under Tormentous in the past and had been the first to take the knee and bow his head. “I am yours my Lord” he had said to him.

The Head Taskmaster of the Academy was next he too then took the knee and bowed his head much like the General only he said nothing but he had humbled himself before his new Emperor.

The Overseers of both the Starports and Orbital Stations remained standing, defiant they both spat on the ground. They both were not Devotees of the Dark Side. They owed their positions to the generosity of Lord Blood and to Lord Blood they would remain loyal as far as they were concerned Tormentous was the usurper.

We will never follow you” they said pouring as much venom as they could muster.

Warvanus did not need the order or the signal from the Emperor to carry out what was to happen next. Warvanus approached them, they did not back down. This waste of space was not worthy of the effort but now they and their families lives were forfeit and Warvanus would carry it out to the letter.

With lightning speed and deadly precision Warvanus he withdrew a dagger from its sheath the blade pointing down-wards as Warvanus moved his arm as if he was going to bring it to his chest plate what the common eye did not see was that in that movement Warvanus had slit the throats of both overseers with one fluid movement and then had sheathed his dagger again and stepped aside and watched as the two men clutched at their throats with blood spilling out their cries gurgling as they desperately tried to breathe. It was not long before they both dropped dead. Warvanus not only studied the Force but he was a warrior and studied any lore that fell under the subject he was not only the Emperor’s apprentice turned Lord but he was a student of Battle and Warfare.

They would have to find a new Overseer of both the Orbital Stations and Starport ones loyal to Tormentous. A mundane position but had they been allowed to remain they could have hurt supplies being brought when needed and stunted traffic in short they had the power to cut Moraband from the rest of the Sith Empire. Warvanus had known all this as did His Emperor. Shortly after the bodies fell a pair of troopers came in and removed the bodies from the room. When it was cleared Warvanus returned to his position.
===========================================
Darth Warvanus
=Lord of War=
-=Emperor's Hand=
=The War Bringer=-
-=Master of the Warhound Battlegroup=-
===========================================

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Silas Karn
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Re: Making the Blood Boil

Post by Silas Karn » Sat Oct 24, 2020 11:48 pm

"Ever so hasty," a cold serpentine voice interrupted the proceedings. As the shadow from such utterances revealed its source Warvanus would be the first to be alarmed. The trash the troopers had meant to dispose of, instead dragged back into the room by an unseen hand (Telekinesis).

"Truly even I am surprised any were so lacking in intellect as to deny Tormentous. Yet, death is such a crude tool for instruction." The High Priest allowed a vile grin upon his countenance as he paused to survey the reaction of those that had gathered. "I'm afraid service unto our lord lacks such a swift exodus."

Stretching out his right arm Sovereign called out upon the void commanding the darkness to recall the souls of the only fools willfully ignorant enough to be loyal only to Blood (Sith Sorcery). The shrill cries of the departed soon filled the chamber as luminous shadows emerged from the void. As if by cue the High Priest bound the specters to the corpses he had retrieved from the troopers.

It was a vile act, beyond the mere sentiment of evil, repulsive and repugnant event to the cruelest of hearts. More than a few gathered scoffed aloud as the Sovereign lifted the once falled Sith with the might of the Force. "We lack the numbers granted the Empire or the Alliance. It would be folly to waste such a resource." It was obvious that few grasped Sovereign's aims save for perhaps the Dark Lord.

Yet what was revealed was the manner to which the High Priest viewed those beneath him, as mere play things. "Life is but another subservience and Death a transient state." Giving a signal to a pair of troopers that had followed him a slave was swiftly brought to Sovereign. A unsettling laugh left the High Priest's lips as he stared back at the ornate table sat before the throne. Violet bolts soon pierced the wounds left by Warvanus's execution seering shut the wounds (Repair).

"Allow me to offer an alternative..." With a snap of his fingers the most damned of Sovereign's vast knowledge in the Force manifested. Crimson volleys of energy departed the slave's body seeking the levitated corpses at each side of the High Priest (Manipulate Life). No utterances were to granted from the pair as they were lowered to standing position yet they did not collapse no longer under Sovereign's hold. The slave however, granted only feeble cries as their life was drained away in its entirety. Soon they rightened their own stance and turned to Silas awaiting commands. Looking back to Tormentous the High Priest offered, "So much for the sweet release of death!"

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Re: Making the Blood Boil

Post by Jacobi Wylcott » Tue Oct 27, 2020 6:02 am

Such was the fate of those who denied Darth Tormentous. The execution was swift and relentless. Warvanus, Lord of War and High Executioner of the Dark Lord had swept forth with ruthless precision - the two men hadn’t even realized they’d had their throats slit before it was too late. The first man crumpled and seemed to embrace his fate while the other desperately tried to catch his life blood which only squirted through his fingers. Both their eyes flared in fear - no one wished to see the Reaper come for them. Slowly in expanding pools they expired. Warvanus had produced a message to the rest - there was only one way out of this room. His craft of the murder-make was exceptional - it was perfection.

Typically not the patient one, Tormentous waited and watched these men die. It was slow. It was pathetic. It was well. But it was not yet over. Sovereign then had his own way and Tormentous watched dispassionately as the souls of the slain were thrust right back into their bodies and forced to endure a constant state of dying.

Their minds told their bodies that they hadn’t the blood to continue and their organs tried to seize yet Sovereign denied them for long moments. Panic and horror engulfed the men - Tormentous disregarded their discomfort with utter callousness. The nightmarish conduct with the way they were just treated would haunt them for the rest of their pathetic days. Likely it had broken them mentally and then to have then continue to serve the same man they’d just denied - it was awful. Truly. Yet Tormentous had ceased to consider a further thought to these men. Had Sovereign a purpose for them then so be it. Those under the word of the High Priest did not survive long anyway.

While no real introduction was necessary, this moment would make it crystal clear where the lines of authority and service lay. “Lord Warvanus is to be my General. He will not answer to the Dark Council - as the Hand of the Dark Lord, his word is to be considered mine own. Defy Warvanus and you defy me.” He eyed the Council with a warning that was equally promise. “From this day forth, the next being to call him Lord shall die - he is henceforth Darth Warvanus.”

"This is Sovereign. He is the High Priest of the Sith Empire and he will oversee your faithfulness to the cause. Though he is beyond your command, neither is he in a place of authority over you. He answers to the Dark Lord and the Dark Lord alone. However, should my Priest find you wanting or any other for that matter - then he will come calling upon your very soul and extinguish the element within you that lacks," he dramatically paused and glared at them all, "enthusiasm. In this he has my sanction."

“Let it be known.” He began - though they had already knelt before him and devoted themselves, he needn’t push the point home. While they were his lessers this was a delicate situation. It was time to build - not to tear down. “Those that defy my word shall be given not a single mercy. Those that obey, they shall be rewarded ten fold. Be it knowledge, lands, title, slaves or more freedoms. There is no limit to what I shall grant. For now - continue to serve as you had yesterday until I choose to alter your daily actions.”

It was over.

He observed them a moment longer and then he tired of their presence. “Begone. Forget not your mandates.” With that the audience was over and it was for Darth Warvanus to usher the Dark Council out of the chamber, once outside they were free to resume their toils. Warvanus was needed back in the chamber.

Once the chamber had once more fallen silent and the doors sealed shut. Tormentous, Warvanus and Sovereign all three looked upon the last item in the room of note. It was time. With but the movement of his finger the carbonite slab was activated.

Minutes passed as the device warmed and thawed the chunk of dragon out and permitted the beast its first breath for several long days. In time Blood the Dragon King was unceremoniously dispensed onto the deck in a pile and from here he was permitted all the time to recover that he would need. It would not be for many hours that he’d be able to fully see again for he would suffer from carbon sickness, but it would heal faster than normal thanks to the surviving orbalisks. Even the ones that Sovereign had ripped off would grow back - it was the nature of the creatures to thrive and replicate.

There was one final knee that needed to be bent here today.

The faster Blood knew his place the better. Also the sooner that the Sith could move on without threat of some ridiculous civil war. There were foes of the Sith out there that needed to be slain and butchered. Internal struggles were counter productive - and Tormentous didn’t have the time or the patience for it.

Blood had been beaten and struck down in single combat.

He now had either the last choice he’d ever make - or the first of many.

Kneel and serve.

Or be swallowed up and erased from history just like those that had gone before. For there was only Tormentous - there would ever only be Tormentous.

Tormentous was inevitable.
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