ᴼᴺᴸᵞ ᴾᴿᴱˢˢᵁᴿᴱ ᴹᴬᴷᴱˢ ᴰᴵᴬᴹᴼᴺᴰˢ, ˢᵂᴱᴱᵀᴵᴱ. [Xendiss, Krox, and any other Sith wanting to steal Apprentices]

[Slade Xandir]

"If it feels good, tastes good, then it must be mine," he sang with more emphasis on 'mine' than every other word in that lyric. Blood finished polishing the hilts of sabers, placing the dragon scale encased hilts both back in their respective holsters. He had no plan, no means of doing this and getting away from it, unscathed. But one thing he did know was this was going to go either way; being alive and walking out of this, or being dead, and rotting away in the hellfires of Ziost's slave-run furnaces. Or he might end up being kept a trophy aboard Kroxata's ship, smiling that wretched grin of his next to Nexxu and Krayt heads.
The future was a delicious expanse of possibility.

There was an obvious problem with this decision, something that irked Blood to the core. Don't do it. But why not? What was the worst that could happen? Death? He took on the possibility with every spar he ran against Tormentous, with every mission he took on, with every acquaintance he had with Imperials, Jedi, and Bounty Hunters. Death was something he didn't fear. In fact, he still had yet to come across any other fear of his, other than him losing the battle of controlling this body. Blood had goals, and be damned Slade for trying to stop them.

He marched intentionally to the armory, he had within the abode of Tormentous in the wicked planet his Master called his own. Moraband, such a luscious plane of despair and omen. Very few could make it to this planet and not be corrupted. Blood thought back to a famous soul, one who's thread in the Force was an untarnished ivory, bright, and pure white. The Jedi Master who took little Zorua from his hands without launching into immediate combat and killing him where he stood. Could he come to this planet and remain so blessed? Or would the Verpine succumb to the agony of the salvation that only the Dark Side could offer? Slade missed Zorua to a slight degree, but Blood missed what she could have became if she hadn't have been given up. What became of that little fairy girl?

Blood slid into his draconic armor, the depths of the scales radiating their slaughterhouse shade of scarlet within the shaded cracks of the internal folds. The armor was alive, hungry, craving for something worth their taste to be spilled across their protruding scales. Clawed gloves were slid onto waiting wrists, and a controlled flex brought life to the obsidian armor. Boots fitted well on his socked feet, and the spiked front of the boots promised evisceration to any and all who would get caught in an abdominal kick. Finally the helm was pulled across his skull, the crown of horns and imposing image a sight many below would cower from. The black veil before both eye sockets was see through, allowing him full sight of those before him, but no one could return the favor. He was a Nightmare, walking.

Mirror, mirror, on the wall...

From there, he left the armory and strode through the seemingly endless halls of dark grandeur, until he walked cleanly out of the castle's front. From there, Wrath turned and greeted him with an ember flaked growl. A smirk returned the greeting, and Blood leapt onto the back of the ebony monster. From then, he tethered his bond to the Cursed Arkanian Dragon, and together they flew to the hangar where his ship was stored.

After landing in a tremendous swirl of blood-shaded ash, the Sith dropped from the back of the winged beast and sent it away to patrol the rest of the world, whereas he boarded his ship and began to set cords for Kroxata's ship. Ironically enough, the beast of a man was not too far, thus taking less time for the Master Tamer to arrive at that massive docking ship.

[Xendiss Rayne]

Xendiss' personal quarters was nothing short of her master's - the Beast's Lair - when it came to the very aura and chill of the place. Whilst it was a general temperature that was sustained with, it almost felt as it the lack of light and complete shadow that shrouded most of the room was consuming not only light, but warmth, too. The added swirl of Dark Side energies from Xendiss' minor level of control over tenebrous, shadowy Force was far from welcoming, too. The apprentice was young, mostly inexperienced with the Dark Force, yet she held great potential. She was like a magnet for it - at least, her vulnerable mind was. It was scattered across the room from her aura and minimal hold over the galaxy's lifeblood that was contorted by sinister punctures of void anomalies.

However, it was not completely strangled by pitch black. There was a violent, alarm-esque red light that gave a dim vibrancy to the room, glowing a bloody hue over the walls and ground, emphasising the shadows on her small body.

In the centre of the room upon an embroidered, square carpet of scarlet and trimmed aureate sat the girl, warriouress of hatred. A scene to the simple eye as serene, albeit sinister and hiding horrific implications, but absolutely chaotic to others. Xendiss struggled against her own aura, twitching in light spasms as each wave of black crashed across her mind, where she fought a sempiternal battle against its tug, seeking to consume her and warp her into a slave to darkness.

No. Determination reassured that she would become no thrall, but instead, a harbinger of wrath and a dispenser of justice.

Despite that, many a subject played upon her mind. The death of the Miraluka's parents - no, their slaughter, played over and over in her mind like a stuck, looping video. Her stolen youth, her freedom and lust for adventure. She sought means to heighten the pace of the vengeance she would dispense either in the near future or the far, distant days to come. Whatever it was and whenever it would be, she would be ready, and she had to leverage what she possible could in order to gain the advantageous sway in battle and rise triumphant over Kroxata. And what minor fraction of good intent did remain assured her that she would obliterate the entirety of the rest of the Sith order not until it was in crumbs, but until it was in absolute ruin - in absolute non-existence. Wiped off the face of the universe.

Though the other massive amounts of her mentality dominated darker, more warped desires. A particular arrow pointed at a previous master on the ship at Ziost to be her key. Yet part of her wanted to please him with her ability as a warrior - manipulate, and gain exclusive access to further training in alternate fields over the restrictive hold of her current master. Through using them as steps for a ladder, Xendiss didn't have to become destroyer of the Sith - she could become its ruler, and rise to enormous heights of power over the galaxy with entire matrixes of the Force at her fingertips and will. She could swallow the Sith whole. Become an ironic figure of Darth Nihilus. No, greater than that.

A weeping sounded in the back of her head. It was herself. Calling for mercy.

No love. No affection. This girl was stripped of what it meant to be female, to be a free sentient being. What was she now... a pawn. To rise upon reaching the other end of the board, sure, but that liberty to have emotions of love over aggression and rage-riddled hatred. Gone.

[Kroxata Akhoi]

He knew this time would come, it was why she was so concealed in secrecy to begin with, thr second he saw the small spark within the two, Kroxata’s worst fears had come true. A sense of curiosity, affection in some way, to the Dreadlord it was seen as a weakness in the eyes of the Champion. This affection made both vulnerable to each other, they would develop a fear that could not be overcame by any godly power, even the Force could not stop this. But once a report came through of a certain Lord Blood docking inside the Naga-class Dreadnaught Maul, Kroxata’s flagship to his menacing fleet, there was no stopping the Sith lords next actions.

The Beast of the Red Cauldron rests in his throneroom, elevated far above the metallic ground in a stone throne carved from the very rock of Korriban itself, various tombs and insignias depicting the times and places of the many victories the Dreadlord had achieved through his time as a Sith. And now he had a craver creating a small tapestry upon the left armchair of the throne, the latest victory over the last stain of Caeclils failing Empire, the Red Cell. Kroxata in the meantime follows the local security monitors, watching as the Sith Lord Blood departed his ship marching through the hanger, to think at one point this powerful Sith was once a puny bounty hunter. The Dreadlord was very impressed with his master’s work, seeing him as the shining example of what the new Order will bring, but he also knew of the man’s lust, his needs.

His brow tensed with every thought, every feeling ther conflicted man had through him, understanding such struggles but not allowing any to surpass his motives and morale. Kroxata was bred a warrior, he would not let feelings be his priority, instead glory, and infamy as a conqueror, he will not leave a mark on someone, he would leave a mark on the galaxy. And then there was Xendiss, the Miraluka, his apprentice, her mental instability mader her a threat to almost everything around her, unpredictable, untamable, with the loss of her own family before her very eyes, by the hands of none other than the Dathomiri Hammer, the young girl used her hatred towards Kroxata to further her own power.

He brought up the small monitor of her living quarters, watching with great interest, did she even know? How would she react? He would not allow what he deemed the true successor to fall when she is so close to reaching her potential, to finally being classed as worthy to a much higher power, to stand side by side with the conqueror, honoured that one day she would take the mantle.

Perhaps, perhaps this request could be in good will, all of that would be revealed, waiting potentially in the darkness, for a brave knight to enter the Lair of the Beast, to either fall, or leave with a trophy...

[Slade Xandir]

Anything but delicate could describe his entry. It was hurried, no seconds being wasted on checking in cargo or anything he had. Hell, if they wanted to search the ship, so be it. Every weapon he had aboard? Take them. He had what he needed right against his waists. He had what he needed covering every aspect of his body. He had what he needed right inside of his skull. Nothing they would take from him would render him weak, as his motive was forward, his goal was simple.

Blood was focused, his mind keen as he walked further and further through the Maul, his destination felt, not seen. He followed that wire, that thread within this web whos beating pair of hearts awaited his arrival. Kroxata knew; Blood knew he knew. He could taste the anticipation, a melody of flavors akin to what he shared with War when the two sparred in that terminal so long ago. A pleasant aroma of 'Don't take too long'. It was something the Sith Lord wouldn't pass up, for the world.

The hallways seemed to stretch longer and longer as he tracked down the Dathomirian, almost taunting him to retract his patience and lash out with the barbaric irritation that plagued his lack of calm. It coaxed him, trailing trickles of sensation down his respiratory until his lungs sped and his heart's beat quickened. Anticipation, arrogance, and irritation blended into a cocktail he was forced to choke down. However this medicine was not meant to be ingested, and with haste, the Dark Side took to the presented opportunity.

Begin Shadow Walk App


Blood felt ill as he walked through the darkening corridors, his chest pumping a tempo akin to a war beat. The ship began to swim around him as though he was in a holographic film being flushed into a dark hole, seamlessly taking his perception of reality to a whole other situation. Fear of this ruining his objective, it flooded him and notched vicious fangs into his mind, pumping his system with the inability to stand. It was a matter of seconds before the Sith Lord was brought to his knees against the nearest wall to his right, slumping against the hallway with a hefty 'schritsh' as his armor bladed against the shadowed corridor.

He started to sweat, his stomach doing acrobatics in ways he didn't deem appropriate, and soon it felt as though it too tried to remove itself from the situation. Everything did, in fact, as it felt as though the Master Tamer was being dismembered, mauled aboard the Maul and being saved for a meal later on. Blood's vision began to go as he tried to understand this incomprehensible assault upon his senses.

Blood pulled his fragmented mind into a single heap of strings, working out the threads until the ball became recognizable as his personal web within the Force. As he began piecing himself back together, his Sense of self attuned to how his Control over himself was diminished significantly, and rather than standing and trying to get his bearings, he allowed the Dark Side to show him what it was it was trying to keep hidden from him until he released the reins for once. The sticky tar of negativity slid over him, engulfing him, and seemed to be attempting to suffocate his entire form. However, despite this, Blood could clearly see he was breathing, alive, and stabilizing.

'It's gonna hurt, It's gonna hurt...'

His vision was warped as the Dark Side murmured in his ear exactly what was going to happen, what he needed to do to make it happen. And how badly it was going to hurt the first time.
Blood was going to break himself down, and rebuild himself, atom by atom. And teleport himself through a lack of light, truly like the stuff of nightmares. Just like...
her.
Before Slade could interject, Blood's mind had already gone to snatch up the opportunity, to calculate how much quicker this would bring ruin to his weaker alter persona. How much sooner he would reign after committing to such an act. He sneered at the fact, already his ego boosting him to his senses faster, allowing the Dark Side to command him rather than fighting against it. He was growing, and with this partnership he had with the vile Force, he would soon be the only one to rule this form.

The trick behind this trick was letting go. To release, to embrace the release, and to welcome the difference of senses it would bring. Blood began as he wobbled to his feet, his clawed hand grasping the wall for support. It wasn't about reality that made you terrifying...it was how you twisted others to see the world you see. The Dark Side gave him what it was he wanted, to not only bend the rules of normalcy, but to break them and make your own. It caressed each limb, and with every touch he felt, Blood went to work on getting rid of it. It began with the hand he had against the wall, muddled and fazing Dark Side energies warping the limb into something that seemed to fade from spectrum. Blood summoned the experience he had with crafting darkness, and he hissed in a breath as his own memory went to work with adding to his might. He distinctly recalled how the Shadow Pup went to address the lighting, pulling the light from everything, including any of the reflection bounced off by the Tattooine sands, that night. So he followed her example as he expanded his Control from his body in that grew in visibility against the naked eye. One could see the light fading from the corridor where he lay, as he felt and made the rays not only yield, but disappear. He absorbed the light section of energy that was being allotted by the beams up above, and with it, the heat dispersed with ease. He pulled the energy from the light, the colors, the tenacity of the energy itself, into him, and it was added to his own. The corridor went from a stark white, to grey, and finally to an midnight as he expanded his reach down a bit more of the hallway. As he did, he noticed how some areas were protected by back up circuits that allowed excess energy to prevent their own shutdowns. No type of energy could be pulled from these, leaving little patches of light speckled uniformly down the hallway.

'No matter...'

Blood went back to focusing on himself, and once given the signal, began work once again. He took a deep breath as he relieved his arm of feeling, his intentional release of control damning his limb to fall quiet in the Webs of his Force. It numbed, and his Sense alarmed him, trying to tell him to wake it back up, that something morbid was going to happen. That itself, he quieted. He needed to lose control, to relish and welcome the release. The release...

Blood was hit by gentle vibrations that began slow then rapidized. It was almost like being massaged by the whirling hilts of a blender. The vibrations sped up until he couldn't keep track to the ration of count, and he watched with more awe than horror as his arm's composition unraveled.

'Do it...'

Blood leapt in the fray, his eagerness to speed this process up and acquire a new power breathing life into him. He could feel the manipulation the Force was pounding on him, and after judging what it was, and how it effected him, he took pieces of the knowledge and mimicked it. It seemed the Force was pulling different pieces of his essence apart, but it was purely physical, and it remained consistent and concentrated. In other words, he was replacing his composition and dropping it off an another presentable and comfortable area. As he witnessed with the child, he would replace his being in the shadows, as it seemed as though the decomposition within a shadow and recomposition in another was essential to making this work.

Alteration keyed in when he kept a steady hand on his falling apart, removing his arm and walking into the void of what was the darkness he casted in the hallway. The wall he leaned on just called to him, felt right and he leaned further and further into the shade. It felt as though the more he pushed himself into the shadow, the easier it was for him to unravel the threads that brought him together, falling apart much easier, much faster. Efficiently. Blood took it upon himself to wrestle through the nausea as he had surpassed his arm making it through the darkness, and was now reaching the marker where his chest had been, where it began, along with the rest of his body. Different sensations coursed through him, his body's Danger Sense going haywire, but as he did with his arm, he numbed them, and proceeded. Like stepping into a pool of gel, or making the mistake of taking your mask off in the bacta tank, it was near suffocating him as he pushed through the shadow and fully immersed his head, his chest, his legs, as he stepped through the void. A pressure like being below sea level pressed down on his chest, and began to slurp up the oxygen he had left as he pulled his other arm through the shadow.

'Release...'

And with himself fully absorbed in the abyss, he let go.
And opened his eyes.

He was still in Kroxata's ship, but with what he say, it was nothing but darkness. There were little beacons of light flickering through the tar, but he didn't recognize them. He was still locked away in darkness. Blood crawled up through strandes of different things, things that alternated between feeling like wire, beams, smooth surfaces, rubble? He crawled until he was just before that pool of light, above him, welcoming him, releasing him from the thick oil-slick of darkness....

It bled from the floor, as Blood drew his own need to be free of it. Clawed gloves ripped through the film around this light, tearing jagged holes around it, his need to breathe forcing him into a flurry of desperation he hadn't meant to have. It was potent, strangulating this Sith as he needed the air, to breathe, to live. Darkness in the overworld, but light from below to him, seen as the hypocritical mind would see it, but not to him; definitely not to him. WHat he saw as light from above was the darkness he brought with him from the void, his gloves ripping darkness into the floor of Kroxata's den. His desire trailed him to this very room, the distance wiping clean the slate of strength he had, and his instincts to simple be free of this dark realm. His Control was skyrocketing beyond anything of, and he knew if he hadn't gotten back into the plane of the living, he would be lost in the world of nothingness. Sense led him to Kroxata's room, and Alteration surged the congealing pool of Darkness manifestation. He crawled, claws now grasping metal, stone, durasteel and rock, the floor of the Den, as he heaved himself back into reality piece by piece.

His arms were bled from the bubbling pond off shadow, then his horn-helmed head, torso, and lower half were pulled from the inky slop of viscus midnight shaded floor. The wisps of shade tried sticking to him, the Dark Side whispering of it's wonders it could provide, but the wicked words were wasted on Blood, as he was finally allowed to breathe. As he pulled himself up from the abyss, he made his way to standing up straight after just crawling out of Kroxata's floor like some sort of summoned atrocity. It was then he took his first breath back, his lungs kicking into gear, and he sucked in air as if he hadn't ever had any. As if he had been born, again.


[End App] [1,752/800 wc]

It was intense getting his self back unified. His perception of everything magnified as he was welcomes back into the real world with an array of noises, sounds, sights and feelings. As the darkness beneath him began to fade, he felts the chill of the room, the frost conspiring against him even through his armor. The room was quite dead, full of many stuffed heads of the various creatures seeming to glare down at him, though that was their intended purpose. They were far from him, but with each greedy breath he took, it was almost as if they lay right under his nares, collected dust and scents of wild fury dancing just before him. Through the gloom, Blood could properly lay eyes on the waiting Zabrak, his posture and armor gleaming through the dark of the Den, visible even though it was not meant to be seen in its fullest glory. Blood could see each link, each chain, each hammered staple, every fabric tied, knotted, dyed. He saw it all, as his eyes knew true darkness now, and this mockery of shadows was nowhere near it.

His arrogance returned as he was brought back to who he was, where he was, and what he was meant to do here. Blood appreciated the experience, and though it gave him a run for his life, he simple added that to one of the many things he would get over. But the best bit of it all was that he had learned a new power, and with it, and with practice, he would get stronger.
And that was what an Apprentice needed, most.

[Xendiss Rayne]

That smell...

That fine, familiar scent. It disturbed her focus, sending a rippling sensation down her spine. Another extremely strong aura had entered the ship. One her finely attuned senses was familiar with.

It was the dreaded Sith, upon the ship. The one named Lord Blood. A fitting name, for her recollection of him made her own blood tingle with a sense of excitement, but also a sense of dread. The elevated level of focus with the Force allowed her to perceive that his arrival was not on good terms. As he dipped and melded with shadows, he was carrying lethal intent. Danger tingled in the back of her mind, sending another disruptive sensation quaking down the sensitive nerves of her trailing spine, inspiring a warm, melting feeling of an acidic concoction of hateful yearning and fearful apprehension... what was he doing here?

Alas, he could have simply been here for a mere conclave. It wasn't her business to leave her own den and pry. She tried settling back, but the ominous nip in the air spoke of potential danger in his rapid advance through the ship, which Xendiss followed with the sharp, precise tracing of her perfected senses... an act of precaution dragged both vibroblades over her knees as she continued to rest in the sitting, dipping her head over once more to shroud her face in silken black.

[Kroxata Akhoi]

The disappearance of Lord Blood from the monitors brought some concern to the Dreadlord, he no longer was shown heading to Beast’s Lair as a knight in shining armour. But through the Force a great disturbance was felt, something far stronger flowed through empty hall of the throne room, an eerie presence passed through Kroxata, an aura that indeed felt strong and familiar, as if a being was pulling through the very fabrics of the Force itself until a small cluster of shadow burst into existence. Being slightly startled due to the main factor of much more bizarre experiences happening around the Dathomirian, journeys through many Sith tombs could be thanked for that.

The cluster then begins to take shape, making out the physique of the bounty hunter he had met long ago, the Dark Side had completely taken over his mind, turning him into what he had been destined to become. This being full of hatred, rage, it was what Kroxata had seen long ago in the young man, he relaxes back on his throne, marvelling at the work Tormentous had created almost feeling pride in taking the bounty hunter in, to be transformed into a worthy warrior, but he could tell Lord Blood did not see the same in Kroxata.

This hatred he felt diverted towards the Dreadlord, he could feel the telepathic pulses aimed towards his aura, upon setting his sight to Lord Blood he could see that he did not alter the view in anyway. He continuously stared to conquer on his throne, “You are here for one purpose, Lord Blood, so tell me, will you ask for what i already know? Or will you actually impress me…”

[Slade Xandir]

Slade could see, could feel, could smell, could even touch anything in the situation if he tried hard enough. However, the only thing Slade, poor, poor man, could do, was smile lightly at the mess he was finding himself in. That was the only thing Blood allowed him to do, and even that was twisted into something much more wicked, a smile that widened into a grin, and that grin to only further more increase until it was display of bared fangs. A near inhuman image of face that stretched to fill the desires that became of Blood's tainted heart.

Blood fully heard the massive beast of man before him, but unlike Slade, if Blood had a heart, he wouldn't wear it in his chest, and damn sure not on his sleeve.

"I want it dirty, dear Krox...I want it with the lights off, filthy, vile, and obscene. I want something done that's going to prove how worthy I am, and how worthy you aren't...Because I am something you can no longer control.

He worked so hard, had endlessly struggled and prevailed. Hell, he just escaped The Void! The frolicking lands of the Shadow Pup. The play grounds of the Gone. He knows the difference between good and bad...but he knows also that he is something much worse than the both of them. He deserved this Apprentice. He wanted her.
And he would not be denied.

"You have forsaken your present, your gift, Kroxata...Do you feel you deserve such a opportunity?"

His clawed digits scraped the dragon bone fanged hilts of his sabers, but did not pull the cursed weapons from their sheathes.

"She's not even your type" he added, scornful sear to his baritone silken voice. He was indignant from choices what could have been his Master, his Sire, his number one star in his own sky...But it was this very illness of emotions where he drew his strength to continue purging the disgusting empathy and respect for this man that Slade stockpiled. Just for being saved.

"No matter whether you live or lose today, Kroxata, I have a gift for you. Something that suits your fancy more than a little girl."

A lilt of temptation slid into the home of his words, honeyed voice singing a promise to the alien. Blood was conniving, a liar, a back stabbing psychopath who had no problem whispering his plans of killing you in your ear as you slept. A tisket, for a tasket...in this bloody, manic basket..

"And it is something I know you'll enjoy."

Burn this world with me...

[Kell Sangros]

Warvanus had remained on the Dread lord’s ship, he was rather displaced with his Master attending to matters of the Empire he had been left to his own devices luckily those devices included study, training, and meditation and exercise anything to further his strength and control in the Force. He was under the impression that the Dread lord was interested in him, to what degree he could not be certain, that or was simply impressed with him, or maybe he sees what his Master saw what felt like another life ago.

He walked down the corridors along the ship, the recent battles still etched in his mind. The only time he truly felt alive was on the field of battle. Getting bored with the endless wandering he decided to head to the gym he would at least get some training in.

[Kroxata Akhoi]

Kroxata’s posture changed from relaxed to that of an animal upon seeing a threat to his safety, his eyes widen momentarily seeing the anger and hatred that was openly directed to him, the talk of dishonour and not honoring one’s skills seemed preposterous to say the least. A claim that brought much disrespect to someone that has been blessed with such a title, for a mere Lord to dare approach him with such claims but this was understandable.

The Dreadlord did not flinch nor react immediately in anger, he simply held onto the single sentence that iterated over and over again in his subconscious “Do you feel you deserve such a opportunity?" Does he -deserve- an opportunity? A question he could literally ask Lord Blood himself, but he thought to take this slow. It was clear Lord Blood was trying to portray intimidation, to fall to such a petty act would make him no different to that of the Dark Council he spent so long to dethrone. The Dreadlord slowly stands from his throne, without speaking another word, one by one he descends down the steps, taking a second stop for each one before finally being on level ground with Blood. The Dreadlord’s glare pierces through Blood, tensing his brow as he places one foot in front of the other, edging closer and closer to the man he had saved long ago. “By that sense, did -you- deserve the opportunity to live? I could have left you to that traitor’s own device, but I kept you alive. Do you deserve the Dark Side? Or did you take it for yourself, my gift is something you have no idea about.”

His posture changes, his back arches forward, his hands clenching into two fists, the aura around him pulsed around the room, a thump could be heard hitting the air along with the rumbvling of Kroxata’s various trophies, that scattered around the room. “-You- were a bounty hunter that spent his life claiming heads for money, -I- was a warrior that watched as his planet was destroyed before his very eyes, watched as my life faded away by force. -I- was taken in by a powerful force, facing the tombs of Yavin, pushing my limits to become the greatest i could be, and even beheld the audience of the Lord of Hunger himself. I fought the spirits that were trapped inside Korriban, alone, with honour, and glory. My gift has no meaning to what you want.”

The tone of his voice was much deeper than before as if another being had taken over, Kroxata’s already bellowing voice now added with a more demonic background that echoed. However it slowly faded away, “You seek something because I have something and you don’t, you are greedy, lustful, unworthy. I had thought you better than this Lord Blood, I gave you to my master because Isaw something even he could not see, as I do now with my new apprentice. And I will not let the same taint, the same weakness that bewitched the monarch we both spent so long to finally destroy, be leading something of such potential. You will have to prove your worth, but now, I am nothing but disappointed.”

[Slade Xandir]

Blood scoffed at the return, childsplay these words were. If there were something that would haunt him in his already off-head, it definitely wasn't this hulk. He may have had some influence over Slade, but Blood flirted with lunacy, apathy, and calamity on a nefarious basis; this was going to fun very, very soon.

"I didn't ask to be saved, you undesirable wreck of a man. It was simply agreed to serve the Sith."

Blood chuckled as though Kroxata had told something that tickled him, inside. See something even the grand Tormentous could not? This daft fool had truly lost it. Mayhap more than he.

"Tormentous sees everything I have been, am, and will be. That is what keeps us together. And you will never have anything near the loyalty I serve him with. Your honor is subjective, weakened by morals and tradition that has no right to live, Kroxata. Both Tormentous and I grow sick of it."

Blood sneered the words, his own aura being bolstered by his self-rightous mentality. Who was this alien scum to call him anything but worthy? Some mess who felt taking orders from the Agent, hiding a new recruit, and feeling overly justified simply since he was appointed Dreadlord? The Sith grew on power, and conquered it by gaining more than the other. They feasted on dominance, and if this slime wasted his time being stagnant because of honor and traditions, then he could bend the knee to his rank. Consider yourself a Dreadlord still, yes, be my guest. But raise your crown above mine, and there is a problem.

It was something both he and Slade had always wrestled with; an Alpha Complex. The extreme urge to simply dominate, no matter it being a task or a toddler. It was just unbearable, though it was the sweetest ecstacy when accomplished. A euphoria that could almost bring the triumphant man to his knees, and he hadn't felt it in so long. Every now and then he would get his high off of his packmates, but that was so stale, such an everyday whisper of artifical sugar. He wanted a new spice, an original, and if he could conquer this goal over Kroxata, he would get a taste of one of the pinnacles bliss had to offer.

Just thinking of it put him in a more lulling sense of being. It was even more potent in his pied piper of a voice...

"Kroxata, imagine yourself with something that could harvest you more bounty. A fully grown man, just beneath my tier of mastery, cunning enough to keep up with your lessons, but new enough to take your lessons in stride, and make them a piece of himself. Someone who will be back to back with you through your pillaging, your wars, your conquering. The pair of beasts who's legacy would face no bounds. He would be a gift from me to you, Kroxata...even if you lose, I can consider him a gift. I will still take her, yes, but see it as fortune, as oppertunity to redeem yourself. I offer you a blessing, salvation from what you've put me through. Take it, and rid yourself of this little girl..."

His heart hardened at the Dathomirian's words, the word 'disappointed' hitting peskily at his chest.

"You are disappointed in someone who does not strive to impress you, Kroxata. And it will stay that way."