March of the Kingslayers

[Slade Xandir]

He was appearing to be casually focused on the matters taking place currently, but Blood was drifting from the happenings with the wafting mind atop a silent breeze. A solace of incredible silence, lack of responsibility, and nonexistence coaxed him from reality. The master huntsman did not fight back; this was a respite his mind truly needed. Words were passed in front of him, behind him, barters being made all around the group, he heeded nothing. Nothing until a hushed and demanding sentence snatched his attention and yanked him back into the blissless existence of real life.
"I trust this information to be kept between 'us', understand?"

That miraculous hand swept overtop the group, and Blood was taken aback how quick glee found itself to his gut. The Agent's finger passed over each and every one of their forms- all of them, but Kroxata, the topaz prickled pickle who chose his own route of unattendence. Now the Zabrak could have joined up with Dastan later and they exchanged words, however in this moment of unity, Blood relished the Zabrak's lack of presence within the group. So undoubtedly, he nodded, all while restraining himself from revealing a Cheshire smile which more than likely, would have split his face in two.

The ships themselves were tastefully designed, classic colors lending the ships a slight advantage of camouflage in the dark trenches of space background. They had a perk of being Ion equipped, which not only allowed them to be considered unique amongst other ships, but more useful in evisceration of attacks from other ships. Ions disabled electrics, and with these speedy things, they were more than likely going to be useful in the field of swiftly ending an onslaught.

Blood throrughly enjoyed his aerial sights, and he started growing a bit of attachment to being overtop the action. As many times as he had ridden various beasts, the thing he could apply himself to the most was having a sky-view of things, whether it be him riding with his flock of Bonecrushers, or atop his personal mount, Wrath, the Arkanian Dragon.
Most definitely he would partake in this event.

Another insight he had was getting gear for Mercy and Fox, hence why he had sent Fox here by himself in the first place. Despite Mercy having her rebellious streak, he wasn't going to cut her off from her having protection, regardless of her behavior. Numbers heightened survivability, and he rather her serve him than him simply kicking her out from under him. The trio were a pack, and now with the inclusion of his two spawn and two more Apprentices, he was growing. Why would he take away from that? All of this, every one of them, they were here to help him learn how leadership ran, and with him learning leadership skills just form their existence, he was actively taking what he learned from Tormentous, and using it to better himself. One day he would be able to take over, and overthrow Tormentous. And if this was a lesson he would have to learn on his own, so be it.

The meeting seemed to be concluded, and only after it was confirmed, Blood walked off to examine the weapons the Agent had mentioned earlier. Fox was particularly impressed, trying out several of the heavier models of weapons, and after noting how his aim seemed to be on parr enough for the ex-Corvione to properly use them, Blood purchased a few and the pack moved to prepare for the morrow.

The next day seemed to arrive much sooner than usual, and Blood sat up from the bunk. Applying a shower and other personal grooming methods to himself, he dressed into a fresh pair of casual black attire, then pulled the rest of the lightweight scaled armor over the clotheing. The 'ssssch, ssssch' of the scaled cape snaked behind him as he finished brushing his long black hair behind him, braiding it into a single tail, and made his way down the lodging area. Knocking on the three doors he knew Lilith, Raphael, Fox and Mercy would be residing in. Mercy's door was slightly ajar, and on a note pinned to the durasteel frame.
'Left early,wanted a bit of headstart.'

Seriously with this woman?

Shaking his head and balling up the note, Blood finished his trek to Docking Bay 2A, as he was joined by the others. There, he saw War who had already made his way there early as well. Mercy too was there, standing by Dastan. Had they formed a truce of sorts? Last he remembered, they had a massive blowout at the Red Cell meeting. From his understanding, the two had keen disagreements. What was happening?

[Raphael Xandir]

Vanity was in full effect in this showroom as Raphael gazed around. He didn’t have much experience dealing with these kinds of people, but he knew he wouldn’t want to given the choice. Slimy individuals walked the showroom here, selling their weapons and starships. Although some of these items were a necessity, he would rather have his sister or father do the talking for him.

Following his master around the showroom as he inspected the many weapons and armor, he found it interesting that Mercy was still being provided for. Raphael questioned his father and why he would keep a member of the pack that follows from a significant distance. He generally liked Mercy as far as he knew her, but he was starting to grow tired of her lack of respect. Leadership wasn’t one of the young mans strongest characteristic and didn’t prefer it, but he knew he would do away with Mercy as fast as possible if he had the chance. She was a disease and was giving his father too many problems.

The meeting or stroll through the showroom didn’t seem to last very long as they were already headed out. Raphael continued to wonder the point of being here on this world, he would much rather be on Sojourn or Moraband. What was the true meaning behind them being called there? Surely it wasn’t to test out weapons and starships. Regardless, his mouth would remain tightly locked as he continued to dissect the other Sith around his father.

The following morning came fast, much faster than he would of hoped. Mercy and Fox got their own room, while he had to share a room with his sister Lilith. As close as they were, Lilith still got on his nerves very often. She was easily distracted and often bored, which meant Raphael had to deal with the brunt of her not being entertained all the time. As hard as it was for her to go to sleep late at night, it was even more of a challenge to get her up on time to leave.

Raphael was up in the early hours of the morning as he prepared himself for the day to come. He dressed himself in his usual black attire with boots and his robe. The young acolyte was ready in a timely fashion while his sister still remained fast asleep. Attempting to jostle Lilith awake was a hard task as she tossed and turned groaning at each attempt he made.

A knock came quickly after he began to wake her, which was quickly answered by the young man. Peaking out of his room revealed his father who seemed quite displeased yet again. What it Mercy again? Not much thought went into it though as he had to hustle and hurry along his sister to catch up. Dragging Lilith out of the room they quickly fell behind the stride of Blood and Fox, yet Mercy could not be seen.

Finding themselves in Docking Bay 2A they met up with the group they had seen the day before. This time though Mercy stood with another man, an interesting sight to behold as he watched his fathers reaction. Surely this meeting would be an interesting one as he stood in the background.

[Dastan Imatari]

The Enigmatic Lord Blood had a sizeable retinue. His practicals were quite skilled- Mercy having been one of them- he knew that the man had a great knack for locating talent. There was another that Dastan hadn't seen before- nor met or knew about. That was something he didn't care for- not knowing. Though unpredictable as it was- it was another number potentially by his side.

The one under the name of Warvanus had also risen in favor since the battle in the valley. Capable fighter- and slowly breaking out on his own. A runt without a master, turning into a lone wolf. Honestly it wasn't unlike Dastan's own beginning. Taken under the Dark Lord of the Sith, only to have them go off into hiding, or try to reach the unknown reaches of space. Which seems to claim more dark lords than anyone would like to admit. Ever since Darth Revan took to the unknown regions ages ago- it seemed to be a tantalizing tactic to reach for more power when everyone else around the territory


He finished up a few deals, checked in with his security head- keeping tabs on a few individuals' whereabouts, and left for the evening for his usual training retinue.



**The next morning**


Making his way to the docking bay, he made a few quick holocalls to the Sugi dealer- Maajah, making sure Everything was going as planned. Which it was- the Sugi had an excellent reputation for a reason. He also made a call to the Vigr company, and Admiral Dorven to confirm their involvement.

As always, he stood outside waiting to usher everyone into his ship, his apprentice by his side- Mercy. He had sent her back to Blood to slowly garner his favor- or incept the idea of what they were about to undertake was the best or only option. A large move in the large game they all played as members of the Sith Order.

This was the second time Dastan'd be doing this for a large group of Sith. His flat Yt-2000 sat beneath open air on a large landing field that looked like a runway with pads spaced about evenly. It had the space for about 12 ships- six on either side of an access lane- for speeders, loading crews and vehicles, the like. There were only two other freighters there spaced our randomly- having no business with one another. Crews loading and unloading large crates. Far enough away that even a yell would be hard to understand.

Once everyone would arrive he'd make things quick. Making a quick greeting to each as they came- he'd address them and tell them to head inside by going up the loading ramp, taking a right around the circular hallway to the dead end door- which would open up to the autochef room and crew lounge. Every other door would have a red 'locked' indication above the frame.

The 3p0 droid- basically Dastan's gunmetal and silver protocol droid was treated like an administrative assistant and butler- would handle personal requests of refreshments while Dastan spoke to the group. He would do so openly now- as his ship was as secure as an imperial dreadnaught.

"I'm sure you all know that this is slightly more than just testing out prototype weaponry. This is lubricating a deal I've brokered over several months for the dealers to provide the entire Order with more upgraded weaponry. we've been living in the Civil War era for far too long. There's plenty of change for us happening on the horizon." He stood and paced a bit as he addressed everyone. So maybe he wouldn't be 'super' open with everyone. At least not yet. Telling half-truths for now.

"We're to be suiting up for flight as we get there. The operation has already been planned- so you won't need to worry about going through a boring several hour briefing and planning session." he huffed. "Those of you who don't 'have your wings' yet," Indicative of those who aren't experienced or accomplished in a pilot's cockpit- "is urged to get fit and test out the new suits of medium weight armor, and go into live trials." he tilted his head back a bit, "Something of a test to prove the durability, fit, style, and functionality of the protective systems. It will be like a sparring match with wardroids" He paced again- "Also getting to test out some of the personal small-arms. Pretty handy stuff, really." he smiled. Dastan was a warrior at heart- every but of this gave him a sense of joy. His lightsaber was his love, but all instruments of death had a special place in his heart- as long as it required some amount of skill to use.

"Any questions before we unload? I'm sure by now we're almost there,"

And as if on queue, the RX droid's digitized voice crept over the speaker.
*"Master, we'll be arriving at the hangar in about five minutes. Landing preparations are already complete."*

Good, He thought to himself, though said nothing.

--
*post convo*

The Hangar they were to land in was a large rectangular building- enough to handle a small fleet. As it did, indeed have a fighter wing's worth of aircraft inside.

An enormous door would allow the ship to pass inside and land within. The YT-2000 would set next to a few other angular freighters here. Vigr company ships colored in gunmetal and dark blue accents. The things looked heavy enough to be full-on snubfighters. Not to be trifled with.

The landing pad sat before a long stretch of two rows worth of these razorfighters, sitting nose-to nose with each other with a lane between them all. There were also several heavier looking craft, as well- though half as many. Several Duros and sugi were walking around supervising the droids and lifters, making sure everything was going well. At the far end, there were several crates stacked near a makeshift firing range, and an area 'walled in' by 8 foot tall portable deflector walls- looked like the 'test' area for the new gear.

Along the Vigr company ships were several of their members talking, and casually loading their ships with a few crates. Some were wearing the new flight suits for the Razorfighters. Sith Imperial black and gray asymmetrical zip flightsuits with leather reinforced areas and durasteel hardpoints on the knees, elbows, and shoulders. A sleek garment with minimalist features, and a built in g-suit. A single hard back- pack clipped into the harnessing that had several days rations, first aid, emergency survival kit, as well as hookups for the helmet to make it a sealed breathing unit. Speaking of the helmet, it looked rather handsome tucked under one jockey's arm, Similar black and grays with a simple design, but a full duraplast-looking face in case of possible need for environmental control if ejecting within a planet's atmosphere. [i[High-speed[/i] looking stuff, indeed.

Others were wearing the armors that the sugi had provided. Some stalking around in full armor, others in lighter configurations. All black jumpsuits, with charcoal and black armor plates and weapons. It didn't seem like a test session upon close inspection- this would feel more like staging.

[Kell Sangros]

Warvanus was indeed a lone wolf, shown the gateway to power by Darth Tormentous only to be abandoned to his vices in the terms of his training. Warvanus had done well for himself so far. He was growing stronger in the Force and more fierce and deadly as a warrior. Warvanus was not the type to take an apprentice. If he ever did it would be someone who would be a successor to his experience and knowledge and power. “One to Embody the power, the other to crave it” How outdated the rule of two had been, precious few sith lords followed it in any case. The Rule of two served its purpose in a corroded version of the Empire. Darth Bane had done well in ridding it of the weak and misguided.

When he arrived at the landing pad he once again boarded the ship. He gave a greeting to his host. He remembered the way and took a seat accepting a drink from his protocol droid. He took a long slow sip from his drink. The droid had called it a Iced Mocha he did not know how to make one but he would have to make it a point to find out. As people filed in and took their seats he gave nods of acknowledgment and once everyone was gathered and Lord Imatari began to speak did Warvanus show any real attentive interest. He had a feeling this was more than a inspection and test, they were going to be doing an op and what’s more Warvanus would once again be behind a cockpit of a fighter. The anticipation of this quickened his blood much more so than the anticipation of a upcoming battle. He did wonder where the target would be and who were they going to snuff out? Given their location and everything it was going to be a internal operation, as the Sith occupied this world, a Lord who had fallen out of favor perhaps? Maybe a Lord who had gone rouge perhaps? Either way if it was someone who was compromising the Empire then it was a just move.

===After the Landing===

It did not take Warvanus to suit up in the flight suit provided, he was ready. He was gazing at the fighters in the hanger, they looked brand new. He could not wait to be behind the cockpit of one again. Now he just needed further instructions. He glanced around and observed the various going ons. For a brief moment he wondered if he should help lead the ground forces but quickly squashed it, He belonged in the air. He could feel it as strong as he could feel the Force. Not only that this was an opportunity to show his quality among the other Sith Lords. It was good to make connections and Warvanus was sure that down the road he would need them. Such was the way of things.

[Slade Xandir]

"I'm sure you all know that this is slightly more than just testing out prototype weaponry. This is lubricating a deal I've brokered over several months for the dealers to provide the entire Order with more upgraded weaponry. we've been living in the Civil War era for far too long. There's plenty of change for us happening on the horizon."

At these words, Blood picked up a fruity drink from the tray the Personal Droid had offered out to the group. Fox picked up something that looked like a slushy, but what the other Acolyte of his chose were lost on him as his eye contact met that of the Agent. Civil War era? There was nothing civil about what war they had just embarked and gained victory from. As far as Blood was aware, they were heathens, living in a delusion of iconic regality that was not theirs. It fully belonged to Tormentous, and rightfully so. The Alpha and his pack only delivered those meager peasants to the revelation of such out of pity, surely. Blood saw himself even still as Tormentous' Left hand, the hand for treachery, unseen and only used when an enemy was needed to be hunted and shown a path that either damned them to the Void, or brought them under kneel of Tormentous. Their weapons were quite old fashioned, however, and the Agent had a point with it. But Blood's own prowess laid in mischief. Debauchery was Blood's strongest suit, manipulation and cunning with not only words, but illusions that pulled one in and held them captive, made them dance in his strings as they thought they were the ones who independently did so. Never was it the case.

Taking a sip from the fruity drink, Blood swirled around the lovely taste across his tongue as his tasteful palate picked up and deciphered the blend of berries and other juiced fruits that went into making this drink. He counted three different berries and 2 fruits when he cast himself back into the circumstance they were in.

This deal was going somewhere, and this horizon was not a common one. Something new brimmed against the dull surface of today's Red Cauldron, and Blood was growing ever more curious in what it was. Almost so to straight up ask Dastan what it was that held not only their attention, but Mercy's own fury at him, in check.
But another time, perhaps.

Soon they were within the YT, he and his pack, Mercy excluded, loading themselves into the ship. Blood could feel through their connection Raphael's distaste in Mercy. Rightfully so, it seemed. Blood was growing more cautious of this off-touch he rubbed in he and Mercy's connection - there wasn't one, anymore. That's what got to him. Almost as if after their little spat on the ship, Mercy severed what they had.

The next meet up dealt with the trying on of different pilot attire, and Blood noted how resourceful it was. He observed and prodded each outfit, the jumpsuits not only fashionable, but useful with multiple pockets and such. Taking one from the stands, he chose his size and a matching helmet, then proceeded to try it on. Comfortable, lightweight, and fitting, this suit was meant to keep you focused on your piloting.

Returning to the group, Blood, as well as his own pack, were well equipped in these outfits, awaiting the next steps in this trial. He was a bit pleased he would get to hone his piloting ability; he needed it. Far too long had he kept Valkyr piloting for him. Surely he was rusty, at this point.

[Raphael Xandir]

Fading to the back of the pack Raphael watched as the others gathered around the agent aboard the ship. Lilith was more awake now; eager to see what all of the commotion was as she pushed towards the front to get her eyes on the speaker. Keeping a watchful eye on everyone, he gazed around dissecting his or her body language. The personal droid made its way around the group offering a tray of drinks. When it made its way to the young man he simply waved him off, he was trying to maintain his focus.

Glancing up towards the speaker, Raphael’s silver eyes caught those of Mercy’s. The two made eye contact for a couple of seconds before she hastily looked away. His hate for the women grew by the day, and he hoped she knew it. Given the opportunity, Raphael would quickly terminate her. She was nothing but a deserter, defecting from the pack the he was bound to for life. The young acolyte only hoped his father saw her treacherous ways as he did.

*"Master, we'll be arriving at the hangar in about five minutes. Landing preparations are already complete."*

Ringing throughout the halls of the ship, the droid announced their impending arrival. Surprised at how close they were already, Raphael quickly moved to the side to see where everyone would go. Surely most would gravitate towards the new weapons and flight suits. The student intended on just fading back and keeping mental notes on everyone. He wanted to know what weapons they preferred, what company they kept, and how they carried themselves. In the long run, he hoped this would greatly improve his odds if he were pitted against one of them.

As the YT-200 docked in the massive hanger, the group eventually went their different ways. Raphael gazed around the room as he noticed multiple sentient specious he had not been accustomed to seeing before. As he continued to stare at them, they became very aware and gave a viscous back. Not wanting to cause any commotion, he caught up with the rest of his pack.

The pack continued to outfit themselves in the flight suits; they were a sleek black and grey. Zipping up one of the suits around him, Raphael began to make sudden movements. He approved of the tight fit as it allowed him mobility and it also felt lightweight. Snatching a matching helmet, he carried it around the hanger under his arm like the other pilots tended to do.

Examining all of what the hanger had to offer he came up upon a table of weapons with only a few men around it. Raphael examined the table and found a small blaster he admired, maybe he would need this in the near future. Next to it a few vibro weapons could be seen, of which he took a small knife. Thankfully the flight suit came with a set of holsters as he placed the blaster on his right hip with the knife sliding in on the back of the suit.

Striding over to the side he noticed another group of men standing at what seemed to be a firing range. This range was a makeshift one but it seemed to be doing its job. Blaster fire rang out as the men shot down range, giving each other grief when one missed. The sea of men parted once they noticed the young acolyte approaching. Steeping up to the spot, Raphael quickly unholstered the blaster and sent a few beams down the range toward the target. Most weren’t that accurate, but he was simply testing how the weapon felt in action.

Reconvening on the shooters spot, the men continued to carry on as Raphael departed the range. The acolyte noticed a peculiar sight on the other end of the hanger as he began to stride towards it. A mechanism set a couple feet off of the ground with a ladder leading inside. It seemed to be a cockpit of some sorts, one similar to the Razorfighters they were about to fly. A pilot stood below the ladder as the young man approached.

“A simulator?” Raphael inquired.

The pilot simply nodded and motioned for young Raphael to enter and try his luck. Placing his helmet at the bottom of the ladder he climbed it, stepping over and gracefully landing into the comfortable seat. The controls were a little bit different than that of his own Z-95 Headhunter that he was used to flying on occasion. A wide screen covered the windows of the ship to mimic the exit of a hanger bay. Buckling himself in, Raphael began the simulator as he began to pilot it into simulator space.

Piloting was close to being natural to him, as he had learned much from being around his father’s cyborg. Yet, he had never seen space combat before and that worried him a bit. Taking the Razorfighter simulator for a bit of a spin, the mechanical cockpit moved with his controls. This satisfied the young man as he began to press buttons on the dashboard to discern what the weapon capabilities were.

Back into the atmosphere of the simulator planet, Raphael piloted the ship low trying to avoid any obstacles. He was satisfied with how he might fare in a few moments when the test the actual thing out. He might be a little hesitant though towards space combat, hopefully it doesn’t come to that. The simulator landed in the hanger again and the silver-eyed man moved down the ladder to pick up his helmet again.

A striking glance from his sister Lilith was all the young man needed to rush back towards the pack. Fearing he might have been away too long he again found his spot in the back of the pack. All of the members were finally dressed and suited up for the adventure that lay ahead. Lilith gave him a curious look; Raphael came back by giving her a shove back to pay attention. The young man was finally prepared for what would be ahead.

[Dastan Imatari]

Everyone seemed to get out and get along just fine. For now, Dastan had some calls to make, so as everyone departed, he went to his holotable.

Calling two of the highest commanders of the Sith Military- The holotable hummed on, and fizzed a blue glow. Entering data for Commander Naeus Colonicus of the Harrower Group Fleet, and Commander Bardac Fadaratah - Naga Battle Line fleet, he had some final deals to broker. He had Admiral Dorven's support firmly in hand, but the other two still had apprehensions.

Two figures erupted in full Empire regalia, rippling into view- "Lord Imatari." They both seemed to speak at the same time. "Commanders." Dastan replied back. They'd see his bust as he spoke, but he got full body from the two of them. "I've got Admiral Dorven here on site, as well as the Vigr Company's full support. I think the deal we discussed is everyone's best option." The last three words he spoke were very clearly, and slowly spoken. Illustrating a point.

"I'm not so sure. Harrower fleet is nearing Ziost now from patrol. There is a defense fleet there already..." Colonicus spoke.

"Need I remind you, you supported Caecilus in the schism of the order? You were spared because of your experience, and ability- not because you swore fealty to the next new Dark Lord. Those that remember you know you as a coward, and a slave. Follow the plan, and things will change for you."

"Naga Battle Line will be arriving within the hour, Lord Imatari- and you have our full support." Commander Fadaratah spoke quickly- trying to change the subject.

"Good." He inhaled, and exhaled slowly- "You see, Colonicus-" he gave a pause, "The favor is beginning to mount. Plus- With a company lead by full on, 'named' members of the order: you will not stand a chance."

"There is more than just the Emperor's guard- you realize that-" Colonicus began to argue. "You are smart, Lord Imatari, I'll give you that, but your arrogance over-reaches your-" His voice was cut short with a slight gag. Dastan's heart was pumping in his ears, and the man began blinking quickly, throwing a hand up to his neck- like he was trying to relieve something throttling him. Dastan had begun force choking him-

"Listen very- very carefully, Colonicus." His head tilted toward him, "Arrogance can be mistaken for self awareness. Do you really want to be on the wrong side of figuring out 'which' I am?.... " he scoffed, "You go behind our backs on this, and you won't just be tried and executed. You will be tortured. You will be brought to the brink of death- then nursed back to health to relive it all over again. You will scream for death. You will weep for release, but you will be given nothing but more excruciating pain and suffering." The man continued to make quiet gagging noises, fruitlessly trying to relieve his throat with his hands. "Traitors to the Order are dealt with extreme prejudice.... But traitors to -me- are dealt an exponentially worse fate... Never underestimate the power of the dark side of the force."

Dastan released him from his phantom grip that disobeyed the laws of physics. He huffed and gasped for a breath- though trying to remain dignified. Dastan gave him a moment, and the other officer watched on in an awkward display- unable to speak, or afraid- it wasn't clear.

"Then it seems clear." He growled quietly, situating the collar on his military uniform. "We will be in orbit soon."

"Colonicus, you are dismissed." Dastan hissed, and brought his attention to Fadaratah as the man's figure wisped away. "You will keep an eye on him, and since your coordinates will drop you nearby on it's flank- the Naga battle line will be responsible for dismantling the Harrower fleet should we suspect the slightest bit of betrayal."

"Yes, my lord." The man dutifully saluted.

"Good. Dismissed, and All Glory to the Sith."

"All glory to the Sith." The man replied, and fizzled out.
----


Exiting his ship, he watched as the group seemed to be assimilating quickly. The Sith all had easy motivations. Mostly it was thirst for blood, violence, brutality and skill. The promise of these things were easy to rise, and meet with in the group. The Dark Side prayed on passions, and power- and the strong would remain victorious. Proving oneself was coming closer to their 'gods'.

They all had no idea what this was- but at the same time, He hoped they had their ideas.

Marching from his ramp, the champion of the sith surveyed the area. The Vigr company folk began to muster around commanders.

Admiral Dorvan gave order to his commanders to do the same. Everyone wound up in formation nearby in open space in the hangar- what little there was- even in the building's majestic size.

Dastan would walk around and do the same- gathering all the actual Order members before the lines of Razorfighters. The few elite pilots milling about wearing similar flight suits also gathered around in a loose horseshoe around Dastan's group of force sensitives.

"Gather 'round. I'm hoping you're finding yourselves pleased with what we have provided. It seems most of you have already even suited up! Good. Good...." He swept a look across the group. "We're going to be running Trials for these beautiful craft. Trials for the fighters, and also trials for some of your piloting skills, i'm sure." He smirked to himself. "Each one of you-" he pointed out each force user, "Will have charge of two wingmates in this operation to help guide you and make you feel more comfortable on this operation. They've been at this a long time, I've hand-picked every single one of them. They already know you, and will introduce themselves when we're all done here. They may not be gifted with the use of the force- but they don't need it." they were rather good men and women - though majorly human, and only a few alien about. "I will have a wing of four behind me. This is going to be pretty easy- and very straightforward." He waited a moment,

"This is the most straightforward I'm about to get with you. So listen closely.... ALL of you."









Dastan stepped forward, and stood in an almost aggressive posture. Dark force fell off him in waves.

"This trial is to test out these craft, yes. But this is also a shell operation to seize what is rightfully ours. Yes- I may have pulled the wool over your eyes up until this point- but I think all of you- one way or another- saw this coming." He let that sink in.

"The significance of this being on Ziost- The fact that we have a well known- and gods damned expensive- mercenary corp here, our very own Admiral Dorven behind us... Think. All of you." his whole body tensed. Preparing himself for the slew of words he hadn't even prepared- though knowing he should have.





"My Sith brothers and sisters- the Dark Lord has forsaken us." He casually lifted a hand, clenched into a fist. "The one everyone revered as a god? A titan?" he scoffed and shook his head in passion- "Gone before our eyes-" his hand fluttered in gesture to etherealness. It then slashed through the air- "Nowhere to be found. We marched ourselves to victory in the valley- while he complacently worked his magics around us...." He paused. "Yes- cutting the chaff when all the loyalists to Caecilus were torn asunder- but then what? Leaving us in the ashes, to sort things out- most of you- still following blindly in his absence." he shook his fist in anger, then pointed down to the ground with a whip of the hand- "But today: We take. The Order. Back!" Both his hands drew up in fists. "Tormentous is- was no god.. He was flesh and blood- like all of us...."

He nodded- "Years ago- I found him deep within a sith temple, and we fought side by side against the jedi who came to slay him in his eternal sleep. I helped him, and carried, and drug his wounded body from the fight once we were finally able to drive them off. I've seen him bleed." his hatred deep in his voice- he then shook his head, "Even if you do still hold some shred of loyalty to that man" Making sure it was clear they were not to revere him as something more- "Would you think he would want you to sit idly by, and let our order crumble?"

He gave the audience a single second to think. "If he were a true sith- the answer would be 'no'.... NO.... No True sith would cower away from any chance to seize power- instead of holding his name in fear because 'one day' he 'might' return?" his face hard beneath his mask, "Never. We are Sith, and that is precisely against the tenets of our order." He took a heavy breath.

"Brothers and sisters. I am going to take the Mantle of Dark Lord of the Sith, and none will stand in my way. Tormentous may have been strong alone, but I will make us strong as a whole!

"We will fly to his palace with flaming wings, burn his defenses to the ground, and march up to his front door- cutting down everyone who holds a weapon against us! I will lead you to his throne room, and prove to you all without a doubt- that the rightful claim as the Dark Lord of the Sith belongs to none other than myself." His head lowered darkly, staring everyone down individually. "As the Dark Lord, equality will not be given, but power will be recognized. Lend me your hands, and you will be rewarded. Lend me your lives, and you will be recognized. Lend me your swords- and I promise you- you will fight not only for your own glory- but for the glory... Of the Sith."

"Stand against me-?" He stepped forward again with his right foot, and somehow his lightsaber was in his right hand already. It ignited instantly with a deep electronic 'boom', the firy blade babbling and growling hungrily. His left hand lifted in a fist in fury- "And we will see how worthy you really are." his voice both a hiss, and a growl. Many say Dastan as a spy- an intelligence dealer- and a torturer. Only those who had dealt with him before know that those are the least of what he was.

[Kell Sangros]

Warvanus glanced around those gathered some of these Sith he knew some he did not. He could feel something big was about to happen he could not only feel it in the Force but in the air. It was electric, technicians and pilots seemed a bit anxious. Warvanus himself felt anxious but he always felt this way when about to go into battle, it was a anxious that quickened his blood not nerves but anticipation of the glorious battle to come. Despite being a member of the Empire he felt like he was an outsider, he glanced in Lord Blood’s direction and observed his pack , his underlings, He had noticed Mercy who was of Blood’s pack standing beside Lord Imatari. He did not know their history or circumstances but he filed the observation into his memory so In all essence he was a loner. The Lone Wolf as it were.

He then noticed Dastan stepping forward and began to speak. He listened as he spoke, about the wingmates, about the pilots and then he listened closer as he dropped a bomb on the whole group. He listened to his words. Yes Tormentous had abandoned them, abandoned him. Most of his power he had acquired through self training. Yeah he had learned things from both Lord Blood and the Dreadlord. Who he noticed was absent. The Empire was stagnant, deteriorating in his estimation. He had been abandoned he did not know if it was part of his training or growth as a Sith. If this had been Tormentous and not Dastan making this speech would he not expect him to do what was good for the Empire? He had things to lose but the gains were much more. Wasn’t part of being a Sith seizing power for yourself. He was no god but he was powerful but he really never seen him in real action.

These thoughts weighed on him as Dastan continued to speak. Power as a whole, this made sense, the Sith were an Empire not a collection of lone wolf darkside devotees. The others gathered here had served Tormentous longer than he had. In essence he had very little interaction with his former Master. He did not feel the bonds of loyalty and brotherhood with Tormentous that he felt. He resented his former Master for abandoning him. He resented and hated those who preyed on him who sought him dead. It was the nature of the Darkside but he still hated it. Hate , such power it would unleash when needed. Inwardly he smiled at that. Let them prey on him, let them feed his power. Make him stronger. Did he feel any loyalty to Dastan? No not yet but then again he did not really know him. Was he ready to throw his support to the new would be Dark Lord? He would be a fool not to. While he did not know him personally he knew of his exploits and efforts to benefit the Empire as a whole and that alone earned him Warvanus’ respect. Not to mention the power he embodies.

He had not overlooked Warvanus for this operation which he knew was a Lord who fell out of favor he just didn’t know it would be Tormentous himself. Power, recognition, reward, glory, all things he lusted for all the same, and all would benefit the Empire as a whole. For far too long the Sith have been stagnant. Far too long has the Empire been without a Dark Lord to rule. Warvanus knew what he had to do, what he was going to do. He could feel it in his being, in the Force as if it was nudging him to throw his hat in with Dastan.

Warvanus was snapped out of his thoughts with the sound of the snap hiss of a activated lightsaber, he was making a decree Does he stand with him? Or against him? What would Tormentous do this he knew, he had usurped the one called Cacelius. It was the cycle of the Sith. The time of Tormentous was done. Now began the time of Lord Imatari. When he was finished speaking, Warvanus took a step forward towards Dastan his eyes locked on the future Dark Lord. Then he took another step and after the third step he bowed his head to the Dark Lord.

“I will stand with you M’lord”

[Slade Xandir]

Blood watched the different shipments come and go, and it was less abrupt than usual his attention being taken by the Agent with words. These words however, held a familiar acid to them, a vat of toxin only being just covered by a little thin sheet. Blood, master manipulator, knew this flavor, this burning flavor of words. Deceit prepared for reveal.

It was then the sheet was pulled and shown to the front of the crowd, Blood listening but not hearing what was being said.
"We're going to be running Trials for these beautiful craft. Trials for the fighters, and also trials for some of your piloting skills, I'm sure."

The words past listlessly through one ear, through the dome, and out the other matching orifice. They danced around in dull and null quartets, paired with the wrong wine, atop a shineless platter. The sheet, this bland sheet, was flaunted to and fro, and to pass the time, Blood listened to the drum of his own heart,
as it pounded,
and pounded,
away.

But on the 42nd beat, the sheet was pulled cleanly from the vat, and the bubbles brimmed the surface.
"This is the most straightforward I'm about to get with you. So listen closely.... ALL of you."
It was then, Dastan began to tip the vat, the spoiling slew of hidden plans he had held for far too long.

Behind him from the ramp of the Agent's own ship, Mercy walked down in a gait that bespoke more volumes than words should ever dream to touch. Her walk was one of confidence, not stalking. She was proud, holding her head at an angle that swore she was meant to be where she was going, but where she was going led nothing but a sharp vibrodagger to the midsection of his heart.
She stood just next to Dastan, one left hand perched on her hip, and another holding her saber in a casual grip in the right hand. Within her light hazels seared something more alphess than what he could have seen in all the time she served under him. And with no words shared, she locked eyes with the Dragon Master, and it was made all too clear.
She was Dastan's.
All along.

He felt betrayed, enraged by the crossover, by him harboring a wench who planned and schemed behind his back. A bedswerver who served another Master, rather than the man who took her in and nursed her mental injuries. A Master who showed her there was a better way of life to live while remaining and even capitalizing on emotions, rather than letting them control your mind. Blood had made progress with her, saved her from being regarded as the "Woman who reaped lives out of Scorn". But no student could serve two Masters, and it was evident she had chosen the one who sated her.
How long had this been going on? How long had he remained ignorant of her detachment? He had known something was up, but what caused this masquerade to unfurl?
Karma? He had, after all, given away a perfectly good Apprentice to a Jedi, Stolen an Apprentice from a Sith Dreadlord, and kept nothing but intent to murder the latest Apprentice of his own former Master...
Could karma have come for him so soon?

"Tormentous is- was no god.. He was flesh and blood- like all of us...."

Blood revered him as a god, but ultimately he knew what Tormentous was. He bled, he broke, he had emotions, and felt things. Blood knew he did, but even moreso connected with the Dark Sire, Slade knew more. It was Slade who connected with Tormentous on such an astoundingly personal level that permitted him to understand the mortality that plagued his Maker. It was confirmed even when he had such conversations with the Shadow Lord Xavius himself, that Tormentous was no god. Gods did not lose battles. Gods did not limit themselves to equality. So this made neither Tormentous nor Xavius gods. They were great men, who were made great, not born great.

"Years ago- I found him deep within a sith temple, and we fought side by side against the jedi who came to slay him in his eternal sleep. I helped him, and carried, and drug his wounded body from the fight once we were finally able to drive them off. I've seen him bleed."

Was this true? Or was this something just to rally, propaganda that spilled from arrogant lips? His hackles rose as Dastan ruined Tormentous' image, his reputation, his mannerisms, all with swift words and seemingly careless consideration of his Maker's hard toils. Tormentous had saved them from the weakness that was born to normal men, women and children. Tormentous was who brought them to the threshold of power and secured them in endless spars, graceless and real truths! This slander heated Blood almost incomprehensibly, and his hands began to smoke, the glass of half-full juice beginning to bubble and boil into a berry-scented perfumed mess. He led them here to garner their trusts, and Mercy herself had even spoke of Dastan as though he truly was a good guy. But facts came crashing through as Blood began immediately piecing together pieces of this story.

If Dastan was who had come across Tormentous first, then that meant Kroxata was not the First Met. It meant that Dastan, by right of Life, was the true next in line for this Throne, if no onslaught aimed for his life. Blood reeled in his aggression as he put more pieces of this elaborate puzzle together. The drink cooled, steam running lazy wisps above the glass rim.
It meant Dastan knew Tormentous in his weakest of moments, before he had pride, skill, and confidence. It meant he knew even less of Tormentous than he originally thought.

It was then his heated mind dissipated the remaining fury as Dastan rolled another stroke of acid down their throats.

"No True sith would cower away from any chance to seize power- instead of holding his name in fear because 'one day' he 'might' return?"

This venom only brought one image to mind; a lurking hulk of brainless muscle. Kroxata. Honor held his staff idle, and Blood felt a bitter taste welling up against his tongue. Disgust.
Blood considered himself still doing the bidding of Tormentous even without direct rule, growing in power, enhancing his skills, and bettering his pupil's level of knowledge so that they would too follow in his footsteps. He was equipped well to teach others, as his mindset never faltered from delivering the ignorant from their sin of being stupid. But indefinitely he knew; he was no leader. He could amass all the students in the world and teach them to advance themselves into legacy, but to lead the entire realm of Sith was beyond his grasp. Even if he had slain Dastan, he would not be the heir, as he lacked those leadership qualities. And the only way he could learn them was by following a leader, and actively learning from them until he had the chance to kill them.

If the Master Huntsman truly wanted to beat Kroxata to the throne, he would have to side with Dastan and continue his pursuit of mastery. Putting aside the hurt he felt from losing a member of his pack, and all.

"As the Dark Lord, equality will not be given, but power will be recognized. Lend me your hands, and you will be rewarded. Lend me your lives, and you will be recognized. Lend me your swords- and I promise you- you will fight not only for your own glory- but for the glory... Of the Sith."

Good; Blood loathed the element of equality. That was something he and Slade had unanimous mindset on. Everyone had their place, and if they settled for stagnancy and eye to eye treatment, they were not people to keep on a battlefield. They would be slaughtered like the sheep they were. He was no sheep, and since Blood had realized there was nothing he could do in finding his Master, he began his own training and recruiting. His own Mastership. But if Dastan spoke truly, would they be recognized for such feats? Would he be recognized for the hard work he had put in to see the Sith grow not only in quantity, but in quality, as well?

Why the destruction? His statue was one of the three erected on Moraband, his plate reading of his loyalty and relentless nature to hunt down and stand against the foes of his Master with extreme lack of mercy- Would his name be erased? Would he be starting over from the ashes as runt all over again? If he were to commit to this, he would simply be destroying what he had helped build.

The Master Tamer had thought this over, his mind racing over the possibilities of every aspect. He had more to lose, especially with Mercy being with Dastan now. She knew where Sojourn was, and if she felt inclined she could easily spill the location to one of the most well informed men in the Sith. His hard work to give himself not only respite from the rest of the galaxy, but thousands of rare and last of their kind species could be obliterated just from his decline to stand beside this man.
Blood felt his pride evaporate as he considered the pros and cons.

It couldn't hurt. If you can't beat them, follow their lead until you can.

A solemn nod brought his agreement to the Agent. And he settled it at that. His control of words was not as tight as it should have been, so he kept the silent gesture at that.

[Kroxata Akhoi]

The Dreadlord saw little he could gain fr5om the collection of various traders and opportunists who saw only credits as their one and true virtue. Seeing no need to stay any longer than he could, Kroxata had made way for the Dark Citadel, located at the very centre of the Sith capital city, its daunting size shrinking another building to mere insects that crawled around its feet. A modified Sand Skiff, capable of maneuvering through the hardened icy ground pulls up to the entrance of the hanger, with a guarded escort of Sith troopers all cast in their pitch black armour. “Dreadlord Kroxata, you have been requested at the citadel.” “For what purpose?” Kroxata responded with a tone of anger and astonishment, he had not been summoned like this in a very long time. The Sith troopers looked to one another as to see if they knew of its purpose, all ending with a confused mess, the Dreadlord rolls his eyes reluctantly accepting this request, “Fine, take me to him.”

The speeder darts its way over the snowy wastes that completely covers the planet of Ziost, the freezing winds howl fiercely battering large waves of hale directly in the way of the Dreadlord, for once he preferred to live on a planet like Korriban Tatooine than this constant coat of white. Over many hills and rising above seemingly endless mountains they gradually come closer to the city with Sith starfighters screeching engines flying over the Dreadlord and his fellow troopers disappearing into the thick cold storm, the metallic base began to rumble before finally the Dark Citadel of the Sith comes into view. The many military buildings and districts follow as they climb the final hill into a deep crater like hole,. Hundreds of transports flood in and out of orbit, depositing their supplies or soldiers before darting off to their next batch, the various flags of the Red Calustron are scattered over every street and highway something the Dreadlord did not look to for pride anymore.

The Skiff passes the surrounding district before reaching a enormous fence that surrounded the towering citadel, protected by anti air laser turrets as well as embedded into the sides of the wall, housing its own guard house of the most skilled of the academy to ensure it is in safe hands at all times. All turrets and guns point towards the oncoming group, watching their steps carefully before noticing the Dreadlord himself aboard. The giant doors creek open, scraping across the hard ice that had formed around the small gap between the metal and the snow, the Skiff glides past stopping at a great monument of Darth Tormentous, erected days after the tyranny and corrupt rule of the Dark Council. A momento to a lost ruler that had simply hidden himself from the whole galaxy. A middle aged man emerged from the golden gates into the Citadel, a familiar face, Kroxata had not seen in many months, the man greeted the arrival of Kroxata. “Dreadlord Kroxata, what a pleasant surprise.” Grand Admiral Lidmor, a man that had followed under Tormentous even before the Dathomirians introduction to the Sith Lord. “Lidmor, so this is where you resided to?” “Yes my Lord, ever since Tormentous’ disappearance, I have had the luxury of managing the planet, and everyone in it…”

Lidmor accompanied his long time friend to the main throne room, remembering the times they had fought together and the doubt they had with one another when the two first met. Tales of victory and tales of defeat, all were welcome and up for discussion until the two entered the main theroneroom that sat at the very top of the Dark Citadel. The throne room was by far the most heavily decorated of any other, the room was glittered in a bright gold tinge that darkened as the sun faded from the far viewpoint that stood as a small attached platform connecting to the tower, with a stone balcony. The throne itself had began to gather dust overthelong extended time no one had sat upon it, Lidmor finally breaks the long silence between the two, taking one more step forward to be in front to of the Dreadlord. “The throne had not been touched ever since the death of Darth Caceilis. For too long has the Sith Empire seemingly been leaderless.”

Kroxata hangs his head low before turning away from the throne “Then we will continue to await for his retu-”

“He -will- not return! Not soon enough to prevent another taking his place!” Lidmor almost ordered top the Zabrak. “You were given the title of Dreadlord, -you- were given ownership of our military, Tormentous ensure that-you- were the heir to take the mantle of Emperor so why do you shun away from it?!” In one burst of rage Kroxata snaps back to Lidmor letting out a roar of words “Because I have not earned that mantle!” The room falls to silence again, Kroxata clams himself prowling back and forth around the throne his eyes forcing themselves not to look at the empty seat “I am not worthy to rule the Sith, my master had that honour, to take it would mean to take away everything that I had pledged myself to. I cannot be Emperor for I will be nothing more than a fraud, a shameful display of cowardness!” Lidmor takes a deep sigh approaching his long friend once more, staring into his eyes with astern face “Then do not rule as the Emperor, rule as the Dreadlord. Rule as the Sith that took command of hisd master own ship to rescue him, as the conqueror you have promised me you would become ever since you were taken under Tormentous’ wing, the Zabrak that has continued his traditions despite his race all but dead.” All the whilst Lidmor spoke words of pride and proudness of the Dreadlord, he slowly began prying his eye to the throne, the temptation began to grow evermore to finally be free from his bounds and began the conquest he had awaited for what had felt like a lifetime.

His emotions were in utter chaos, conflicting with one another, he valued his master more than anything lese in his life, but to have the throne empty would mean anyone would try to scurry their way to leadership, a shameful act, one that would mean everything he and Tormentous hjad stood against would only win once again. Then it hit him, should he take the throne? No! It goes against everything you pledged, everything you stood by, you would lose your traditions and kill the Dathomirians forever! But this would be an act of treason against the true Emperor! He lets out a roar of emotional distraught, a nova of the Force erupted around the Zabrak having him stumble to his knees. Lidmor is in turn jolted backwards knocking him to the ground by accident, the two once again fall to silence, Kroxata’s voice becoming much more quiet and seemingly timid “Is this a test?” He looks to the ceiling seeing a depiction of the mighty battle that resulted in the Dark Council’s downfall, “Of our loyalty? To leave behind everything to simply test who would resist the longest?” Lidmor rises to his feet brushing his uniform of any dirt that had flickered onto him “Neither of us can know that answer, but what we do is not to betray him, it is to continue his vision, and guide his followers to the right path…”

The sound of feet scurrying across the stone floor caught the Dreadlord’s and the Grand Admiral’s attention, looking behind them to see a courier of sorts rush towards them. He stops inches away from the two revealing a small hologram communicator, a holographic image of Admiral Graden appears, with a very concerned look. “Dreadlord, Grand Admiral, I have news that requires your attention.” “Could it wait Admiral Graden?” “The Harrower group Fleet has abandoned it’s post in the Gordian Reach…”