Golden Age of the Sith

[Zilfer]

Scar stood on the balcony of his home, or what he considered to be his home. In truth his Master, Arlkresh owned the building. Things were calm on Ziost after a massive wind storm had just washed over most of the city. He was a young Sith Sorcerer. He had barely reached into adult hood, being the age of 22. Yet he felt his life was being held back by those around him. He was born human, and thus almost considered lower than the most sith Sorcerers, or that's how they seemed to act around him. He had lived and learned his life lessons from the planet of Korriban, and he was as much more at home on Korriban than the natives. Here on Ziost however, things were much different. No dry and hot temperatures. No this place held tree's and moisture. Very much the opposite. He prided himself on being around the same level if not stronger than most Sith Sorcerers, yet inferioratingly, even those he considered weaker than himself acted as if they were above his station. True he wasn’t high, amongst the order as a whole but a Sith Sorcerer was something to be feared and Scar knew he’d show everyone sooner or later what he was capable of.

His thoughts drifted to his Master, who everyone also considered a fool. Only in the confines of his house did Arlkresh unleash his brilliance. He understood this deception, though in his youth he believed his Master’s manipulation was too slow. Patience was not one of Scar’s virtues if he had any at all. He did admire that his Master was able to move more freely about as long as those around him considered him a fool, and unworthy of attention. It provided a freedom that most did not have the luxury of here on Korriban in the main city of the Sith Empire. While he respected Arlkresh, it didn’t mean Scar liked him. He would often test Scar not only in the force but politics, geography, star maps of the Sith Empire, and even possible ways to kill him. Perhaps, he was trying to drive home a point. Scar didn’t care he went through the hoops to learn from his man, it was one of the few people who had perked an interest in a human able to conjure Sith Magic. As rare as Sith Magic was.

Scar looked over his shoulder as he heard the door begin to open. It was the servant girl Ali, it seemed she was ready to clean the door. He watched as she entered, she was a half breed. Human but the half of her Sith lineage made her skin a hue of red like the dust of Korriban. Scar just walked past on out the door. Her presence had reminded him that he was spending too much time thinking again, he didn’t want to wind up like Arlkresh.

He headed out into the street, his black skin felt the cold chill of the morning mist on Ziost. It wasn’t going to be a very hot day today. He could already tell by the morning clouds beginning to hang over the sky. Street’s were just starting to get crowded as he moved up to the main square. He wanted to catch up on gossip going around the square. A speeder sped past him kicking up dust along the road.

‘I wonder where there going in such a hurry…’ thought Scar as he continued forward. He reached the square and it was busy as usual. Not just people talking but also selling things. He walked over and bought a dried fruit as he listened. There was nothing new, some were still talking about Marka Ragnos’ strange disappearance as of late. Rumor was he was ill. He had lived for hundreds of years ruling this Empire, not once had anyone come close to snatching the throne from him. Scar doubted it was a poisoning, no there had to be something going on, but just what he had no idea.

He reached up running his finger along the long scar that ran from just beneath his right ear down to the corner of his mouth. It always gave him the appearance that he was smirking a sinister smirk. He wasn’t sure how he had gotten it either, but it had remained with him since childhood. If it was anything like most human families it wouldn’t have surprised him if his father had tried to kill him, or try to put obedience into him at a young age. Sometimes it was better to stamp out disobedience early. Those who didn’t would usually wind up with a worse fate later on. He threw that line of thought away, he didn’t care who his parents were. The only think they had given him was probably this scar, his dark skin color, and looks.

The sun was starting to rise into the sky, but the storm clouds were close behind it. Scar had about two hours or more before Arlkresh would want him back at the house. He was planning something, but never hinted as to what. Perhaps it was something important, more than likely however it would just be another test to ‘keep his mind sharp’ as Arl always said. He continued to search and listen amongst the people trying to find something to occupy his time.

[Roku]

Gray eyes, a sickly earthy tone to his skin - He was a frail man, slouching forward with each step. He wore a rather torn Sith robe, the veil over his head. A few long greasy strands of lifeless black could be seen dropping over his wrinkled face. His beady eyes shifted back and fourth, scanning the commoners of this wretched planet. He glanced down at one of his gloved hands, pulling it further up his arm as though it wasn't on tight enough. He hissed slightly as a young girl walked by with her brother. They both jumped and glared back at him, but he continued his slouchy walk forward.

"How much longer sire?" A muffled voice called from his cloak. He grumpily punched his own gut, and the voice cooed in pain. "Not in public, Dudley..." he whispered back as he headed into a tavern.

"You..." A large man put a fist up to Memnoch's chest. "Yuh Kinds not allowed in 'ere boy..." He announced, with a rather aggressive push. Memnoch, the light bugger he was was thrown back quite a ways, and the larger gentleman walked outside to ensure that the sith would not be back. Memnoch smirked a little bit, and raised a gloved hand.

"You're starting a fight with the wrong man I think..." He corrected. "Oh am I now, runt? Lets see this sith magic people always go on about... I doubt you can surprise me...I've seen it all..."

"Have you?" Called a voice from deep within Memnoch's clothing. Memnoch frowned a bit at this, Dudley was absolutely forbidden from blowing his cover like this, but there wasn't much Memnoch could say at this point.

"What the hell is going on" The large bouncer asked. "That cloak isn't big enough for two people..." He said, inching forward to investigate. "It's ventriloquy!" Memnoch announced. "I can throw my voice and make it seem as though it's coming from somewhere else! Isn't it great?"

The larger guy just scratched his head. "That trick is pretty good, just for that, I'm not gonna bust your bones up. I'm going to give you five seconds to get your cock stinkin ass off my client's property..." He grumbled.

"I don't recommend that..." Dudley called, once again, and it began shuffling around in the robe, clearly visible from the outside. "Ok, that was funny the first time..."

"Oh just get out of my damn way..." Memnoch growled, before throwing the man backward in through the door and out through the wall at the back of the tavern. "Some people can be so uncivilized..." Memnoch grumbled, before walking away. He'd already made too much of a scene to have a drink here. "Dudley you really do need to shut that big jaw of yours..." he said, punching himself seemingly in the gut again. The creature cried out awkwardly...

[Crazy O]

A red sith in his forties was standing in the center of the square next to the statue of Marka Ragnos. "People of Ziost rejoices. Our time weakness created by Marka Ragnos draws to a end and Naga Sadow well lead us into a new era of expansion. He is willing to share in these spoils with all people o this mighty empire. All he ask is for your support." The man shouted. It was clear he was one of the supports of Naga Sadow for the next dark lord.

Astas walked through the crowd of people which moved out of the way of her. As she approached she pulled out her two sith swords. "Watch your tongue lacky or I will cut it out. Marka Ragnos is not dead yet." She said as she pointed the sword in her left hand at him. The shorter sword, only seventy centimeters appeared to draw in light around them. The hilts which were inlayed it silver had eligant gaurd. They were weapons of the highest caliber and one could easily say there would be the most valuable position of any Sith.

The man that at the center of the square pulled out his own sword. "If you can not handle the truth then I say you move along, I have a right to speak and express my opinion as a Red Sith." He said.

She continue to walk towards him slowly. "Last chance. If you do not retract your treasonous remarks about our Dark Lord then I challenge you to a duel to the death right here for the honor of Marka Ragnos." She said. Here yellow eyes did not show fear. It was as if she already knew that the man did not stand a chance.

The crowd in the square slowly backed away from both of them as the red sith extended his hand at Astas. "Then you will die." He said as Force lightning arced from his fingers at Astas.

Astas crossed the two swords in front of her. The lightning struck the swords and arced up and down the blades of the swords. As she pulled them apart the energy arced across them. She then quickly spun the blades around her causing the lightning to slide off the blade right back at the red sith.

The red Sith was shocked, he never seen one use their swords to redirect there attack. He put his hand up and deflected the lightning up into the sky. However he did not notice that following right behind the lightning was Astas. Astas brough down the saber in her right hand and with ease seem to chop off the red Sith's hand which her had shot the lightning from and used to deflect the attack.

The red sith let out a yell as he tried to stab Astas with the blade. Astas however simple stepped to the side and as the blade passed by she swung down and chopped off his other hand. It was clear that he was not really much of a Sith. Astas then spun around and with one clean cut removed the red Sith head.

The lifeless body of the sith fell to the ground and Astas turned to the crowd. "Marka Ragnos still lives and as long as he draws breath we will follow him. Does anyone else dare to challenge this fact." She said as the blood of the Sith slowly dripped off her blades. No one in the crowd seemed to challenge the fact and she leaned over and picked up the Sith Sword to add it to her collection.

[Gamov]

The tortured screams of the Sith Lord's victim echoed off of the cold walls of the Sith Citadel. His pleas for mercy were ignored, met instead with another lance of searing pain in his ribs accompanied by the melodic recitation of words and phrases that he couldn't even begin to comprehend. The pain raced through his body, infecting his every nerve and causing his blood to boil in his veins. His wrists and ankles chaffed against the metal shackles binding him, his skin torn and rubbed away from his repeated attempts in vain to escape from the torture being inflicted upon him. He could feel the blood seeping through his pores, trickling from the corners of his eyes as he grit his teeth and tensed up beneath another agonizing wave of dark side energy.

Though his muscles were weak, his body malnourished and his strength all but bled away, still he fought against the will of the Sith Lord. At times finding the resolve to speak through the pain to utter various curses and insults to his captor, vowing a revenge that he knew he could never have. Other times, the sensations were simply overwhelming, eliciting little more than an involuntary convulsion within him that forced his body to twist and contort in ways that were unnatural to the human eye.

But still, his tormentor disregarded his suffering, taking a measure of sadistic satisfaction in his gruesome work as he continued to poke and prod at his helpless prisoner with the Force. Commanding the powers of the dark side at his fingertips, the Sith Lord conjured an illusion on the man, chanting an ancient Sith ritual as he directed the Force to consume his victim's mind.

The effects took a moment to coalesce, but soon they became evident as the man's tormented screams rose up even higher now, his voice growing hoarse from the hours of torment as painful welts and legions began to boil up on his skin. Though his body had been subjected to relentless abuse over the past few hours, much of him growing numb, unable to differentiate one pain from another, this new sensation was nearly impossible to bear. His skin swelled up in places, leaving painful red blisters scattered across him as the feeling of a slowly rising heat began to build inside him. His blood seemed to run hot and his lungs seemed to be filled with smoldering ashes, choking him of breath and stealing the air from him.

He opened his mouth to speak, but a hot dry air was all he could manage as he tongue swelled and his throat dried out. Tears may have been present on his cheeks, but he could no longer tell if his body was incapable of producing them, of if the sorcerer had made it impossible for him to do so. As more welts sporadically found their way to his body, he made one last attempt to deny the Sith Lord his victory. He moved feebly beneath the weight of his restraints, which seemed to be as heavy as starships to him by this point, but he could accomplish little and gradually surrendered himself to his fate. Slumping forward, he let the chains bear the weight of his decrepit body now as the Sith Lord's words grew ever more distant in his mind. Slowly he let his eyes close, plunging him into a world of darkness, his pain and the Sith's melodic incantations his only companions as he allowed himself to drift away slowly.... Into nothing.

Finally sating his rituals and breaking from his meditation, Naga Sadow regarded the withered husk of his victim with contempt. He had not lasted as long as his last prisoner had. How disappointing. Still, even this experiment had yielded some useful results for the Sith Lord. Indeed the power of illusion was a remarkable tool to have at his disposal. It had taken years to perfect the art, and even longer still to invent creative avenues for his application, but the results had been satisfactory.

Studying the corpse of the prisoner, Sadow was keen to note any physical changes that he had been able to inflict on the man. And they were bountiful. Everything from blisters and scratches, to burns and puncture wounds. The dark side had allowed him to inflict horrible wounds on his victim through the mere power of thought. An impressive feat perhaps rivaled by only the greatest and most wise of the Sith generations before him. Even so, there was always room for improvement in Sadow's mind. One's path to learning the arts of the dark side was never truly complete.

Gathering up his personal effects again, the Sith Lord's attention was drawn to a commotion outside the citadel as the loud voice of a single citizen wafted up to the room and through the open window. Typically such things would have never drawn his notice, but when his name was spoken he had to investigate. Striding out onto the balcony, Sadow watched the gathering below him with great interest as the speaker was challenged to a duel by another Sith loyal to the ailing Marka Ragnos. The duel was only marginally entertaining, with the speaker having been slain effortlessly by the challenger who assumed the mantle of the deceased Sith and instead asserted her loyalty to Ragnos, openly challenging anyone who dared to question it.

Sadow allowed himself an amused chuckle at the spectacle. It was no great secret in the Empire that Ragnos' health was beginning to fail him, his recent vacancy from the public eye only lent to this inevitable truth. Though his followers would cling to him for as long as he lived, Sadow could see the failure in their ways. The refusal to embrace progressive notions in a time such as this would doom the Empire to wither and die.

"Of course we all follow the wisdom of our great leader Marka Ragnos. But it is a fool's errand to think he can cling to this Empire forever. We must be progressive if we are to thrive as a people." Sadow spoke, raising his voice to echo over the crowd gathered in the square as he addressed Astas' challenge, "there is no denying what he has done for us. But the cycle of life must be nurtured with the blood of kings and servants alike from time to time."

[Crazy O]

Astas flipped the swords around causing the blood to flip off before slipping them back into there holsters. She then gave a slight bow of respect to the Sith Lord. "Lord Sadow." She said respectively. She was just a Sith not a Sith Lord, it was a matter of time before she would be recognized by the the council for elevation to such a rank. She believes that when her master died she would be given his empty seat. Her skill with the Force was not on par with say Naga Sadow or Ludo Kressh; the two most likely successors to Ragnos, however she was at lease if not better with the blade. She was often compared to the great Tulak Horde when it came to her swordsmanship.

She looked at Nada Sadow in the eyes. She knew what her master told her about what was going on in the council, how Naga Sadow was trying to gain allies among the Sith for a more aggressive war. "Strength come from within." She said to Naga Sadow with respect. She was not trying to provoke him "Only through strengthening ourselves will our mighty empire survive the vengeful wrath of Jedi Order or have we forgot the lessons of the past. When our ancestors fought the Jedi Order but were cast down and exiled after losing. They lost because they did not understand the Darkside to its full extent and were driven by their dark impulses. We must continue to strive for understanding and strengthen ourselves. Through these means only then can the ultimate victory be achieved." She said to the crowd like Naga Sadow.

Astas thought that she was most likely playing into Naga Sadow hands. He was a master of manipulation, a schemer. He did not do thing which did not progress his goals. However she knew this debate was more or less pointless. Few red sith were in the crowd and most were not much more then apprentices running errands for their masters. This did not mean she was going to surrender victory easily. If she could not stand up to Naga Sadow now, she would never be able to achieve the title of Lord which she so desired.

[Gamov]

Sadow allowed a thin smile to crawl across his face at Astas' response to him. "Of course, strength does come from within. It is what separates us from the weaknesses and trappings of the Jedi and their vaunted Republic. But we cannot gather strength as long as we allow the hands of the weak to guide our Empire."

It was clear that the Dark Lord's words spoke to the feelings of his followers gathered in the square, echoing many of their personal feelings as they reciprocated Sadow's words with a round of applause. Of course, such petty grovelling fell below Sadow's notice, he would only placate himself to these people long enough to make his point and attain the power that he truly sought.

Sadow calmly gave Astas time to speak her piece, continuing on to recount the lessons learned by the Sith of generations past and their ultimately failed struggle against the Jedi and Republic. Yet even as she claimed her staunch support for Ragnos, Sadow could detect the doubt in her words.

"It seems you would share in these sentiments with me, young Sith. Perhaps it is you who has ultimately forgotten our teachings. The teachings that we must cast aside our connections in order to attain greater strength. As the Empire exists now, Marka Ragnos is the connection which we must sever. For the good of the Empire, for the good of the Sith!"

The crowd reacted to the Dark Lord's words with a resounding cheer, many of them raising their weapons into the air above their heads to proclaim their allegiance to Sadow.

"The Council would have us remain hidden in the abyss of the galaxy, a mere speck beneath the notice of the Jedi and the Republic. I say the Council has lost its ways, their fear has dictated their actions. This is not the Sith way. A true Sith fears no adversary and has no equal." He turned his attention more towards Astas now as the crowd continued to applaud him, hanging from his every word, "so what say you, young Sith? Has the Empire provided you with the understanding you have sought? Or have they stymied our people with their complacency?"

[Cain]

There were few things Cain despised worse than traveling to Ziost. Being locked in a tiny room with a Tuk'ata in labor, maybe. Truth be told, Cain didn't care much for his adopted home on Korriban either, but with the nature of Cain's work, the union between he and these planets couldn't be helped. What irritated Cain more than anything was the time wasted in traversing the Sith Empire's twin capitals. Time, above all else, was precious to Cain. Time was the basis of Cain's work as a Sith Alchemist, and it was a commodity he couldn't afford to waste.

On this particular trip to Ziost, Cain left his "master" Vassek Noir behind on Korriban. Their research was taking much longer than expected, and the reports of any kind of progress had long since ground to a halt. The powers that be on Ziost were not renown for their patience, and understandably they demanded an update on the project known simply as "Anemos". Being the spineless snake that Noir was, he sent Cain to bare the wrath of the Sith Lords. That was the only reason Cain ever traveled to this festering pit, and anyone who has had to report to the Council of Lords on Ziost can understand the longing for a rabid Tuk'ata to cuddle with.

Cain arrived in the capital, dressed in plain dark robes very similar to most of those that mulled around the Sith Citadel. Cain's arms made an almost inaudible mechanical whir as he folded them across his chest and surveyed his surroundings from beneath the veil of shadow cast by the hood of his cloak. Most of the inhabitants were of the Sith species that hailed from Korriban. They hissed at each other in that repugnant language of theirs, completely convinced of their own superiority and each visibly itching for a chance to prove it. It didn't take very long for all the Sith machismo posturing to bear fruit.

One of the red skinned Sith reptiles was shouting about Naga Sadow, and a young Sith female seemed to take offense. The argument ended as most do, with blood. Cain couldn't be bothered to lift a finger either way, though he was inclined to agree with the view of the red skinned Sith. Of all the detestable wastes of life that had the balls to call themselves Sith, Naga Sadow was the only one, in Cain's estimation, that truly deserved the honor. Cain did not know Sadow personally, but he had heard him speak on many occasions. He was even fortunate enough to have seen the Sith Lord in battle. Naga Sadow's powers were as awe inspiring as they were terrifying. In the near fifty years of his life Cain had only known one other to wield such strength...

As if summoned by Cain's own train of thought, Naga Sadow himself stepped out from the Citadel and onto the streets. Cain stayed back, listening to Sadow with the rest of the crowd that naturally flowed to him as he spoke. Then the woman spoke back. Cain didn't hear a word she said, all he could think was what arrogance this schutta must have to lecture one such as Naga Sadow. Her ignorance toward the man's power was apparent in this matter, but unlike the vulgar masses, Sadow showed restraint when it came to his powers. Very few knew the true extent of his abilities, not even Cain could claim this, he had only been given a taste. It struck Cain as a very shrewd and wise tactic, one he would not soon forget.

[Crazy O]

Astas listen to Naga Sadow speak. It was impressive if not full of half speak and false truths. She cleared her throat and unsheathed on of her swords. "Understand is not something you can be provided my lord. It is something all must strive to achieve on our own. For if it was just give by a group of men it would not have meaning." She said to him rebelliously and a hint of spite.

Astas then turned to the crowd."Remember that in the abyss one can not see the true threat of the enemy. Out here in this great expanse we can grow to a size that not even the great Republic or their complacent Jedi gaurdians could withstand. And while we remain forgetten by our enemy we can grow out there among those uncharted stars." She said pointing to the sky with the blade. "For destroying an empire to achieve victory is still a defeat. And it is only through victory that our chains are broken." She said quoting the Sith code. This seem to ring deep with the crowd as many had heard it.

She then pointed sword at the grow were the red sith she had just killed laid. "What good is anyone when they are dead. What secrets of the Darkside can they uncover. We can not let our lust for combat or our near sight run us or we may end up with nothing." She said. She could hear whispers of others in the crowd that started to question Sadow, but she knew that she was fighting a battle she could not win. Naga Sadow was saying everything the people wanted to hear but none of the truths they didn't. She could not compete in such arena. She needed to find a way to retreat which would allow here to retain as much respect both with Naga Sadow and the crowd as she could.

[Zilfer]

Scar was a bit surprised at the events of what was going on. A day lurking in the market had turned into a display most would probably be talking about for days. Even Naga Sadow turned out after a quick battle. He was impressed with how the events were turning though it seemed like they were talking like Marka Ragnos was dead. It seemed that this could all be solved if Marka Ragnos wasn't going to die. That wasn't going to happen. He looked over at the man next to him, his arms had made a metallic sound when crossed. He but lifted an eye before returning to the spectacle. He had no pity for those stupid enough to lose their arms. It seemed that the two were in debate but Naga Sadow was in the popular side.

"Code, who cares about the code. We lie, cheat and steal anyways. The ones to play outside the rules are the ones who win, because as long as you play by the rules someone can always predict your moves," muttered Scar to himself. The argument seemed like a pissing contest to him, though he felt the need to raise his voice an add it to the mix. Perhaps he wasn't thinking or it was just annoyance getting on him.

"Actions speak louder than words, let time tell who is true sith here. I dare claim that neither of you are the Sith'ari, and I doubt you believe you are either." said Scar out of the crowd. He got some looks from around him, and that's when he thought maybe that wasn't the best idea. In fact he realized how idiotic it sounded only moments before it left his mouth. 'Blast it all out the airlock, wasn't Arlkresh just telling me not to draw attention to myself!'

He stood resolved against the tide of stares that were now upon him. He had no doubt there was a rebuttle forthcoming, one flung with insults most likely. He would probably be dismissed as someone beneath notice as he usually was. Brushed under the rug. How that ticked him off, but that didn't stop it from happening. He crossed his arms, his sith gauntlets clearly marking him a Sith Sorcerer. Of what skill was questionable.

[Roku]

Memnoch heard some telling signs of conflict about a block over, and he couldn't help but be drawn into the amusement that was unfolding with Astas, and the dead Sadow supporter. Killing over political technicalities - Memnoch could care less who lead the Sith, because, quite frankly, Scar's later argument was correct.

"You had better be careful girl about discounting the value of the dead..." Memnoch cackled, spinning around and prancing forward just in front of her. He clutched a gloved hand, stared at it for a second. He once again adjusted the leather gauntlet as though it wasn't covering enough of his arm, pulling it up and pulling his sith robe's sleeve as far down his arm as he could. "The dead often have more value than the living..." He told her sternly, before slowly glancing up from his hand. The crowd turned to Memnoch, many staring at his robe, which seemed to move unnaturally around his gut.

"Stop it..." he whispered to Dudley. "Who are you talking to?" One man asked, pointing a crimson lightsaber at him. "I mumble to myself, okay? I'm sure you have weird habits too!" Memnoch growled, before walking toward the lightsaber-weilder, and not even arming himself. "You put that shit away now...How dare you point that at me, Memnoch...Don't you know who I am!?"

[Gamov]

It seemed that the discussion was drawing something of a crowd on the citadel grounds now. Amid Astas' passionate rebuttal about the Empire's future in the galaxy, the minds of those weaker and less visionary individuals began to turn against Sadow. It was an amusing spectacle to him though, watching as the minds of the people gathered in the square could be so easily swayed with a few eloquent words. Whether it was fear or a more rational power such as logic that drove them to claim their allegiances, it hardly mattered to Sadow. For him, the fate of the Empire rested firmly in the hands of those willing to face the risks entailed in such a perilous task, not with the quivering masses who were all too willing to swear their fealty to the first creature that could promise to coddle them and keep them safe.

Sadow was content to let the discussion fade away, this pointless debate doing little to decide the fate of the Empire, when another voice rose up from the back of the crowd.

"Actions speak louder than words, let time tell who is true sith here. I dare claim that neither of you are the Sith'ari, and I doubt you believe you are either."

Scanning the back of the crowd, Sadow searched for the unidentified speaker, "then perhaps you would be bold enough to back your claim and demonstrate your point to these people here." He finally called out, challenging the speaker to step forward and face him.

[Zilfer]

Scar scowled at Sadow who was most likely trying to discredit his argument with the cheap tactic of having the one who said it demonstrate it. Most would have lacked the courage or some would say would have had more sense than to identify themselves. He walked forward towards the base of the tower, tossing his hood down and looking up to Sadow. 'Up, yeah I bet that makes him think he's superior.' thought Scar as he motioned to Sadow with his gauntlet to show clear that he at least commanded some respect of Sith Sorcerery. The gift was rare, even among Sith. The ability to bend reality was something one knew not to contend with.

"Lord Sadow, Remember this. When once a young man stood before you, and made a vow that words reshape the world easily as a Sorcerer bends the force to his will," said Scar before turnning to the people. He wasn't going to back down in the face of Sadow who was probably pretty smug right now, well watch when that smugness was taken right off Sadow's face. "On the third day after Marka Ragnos' death, I shall complete a ritual that will bring our glorious Lord's wisdom back to us. On that night, Lord Sadow and on that night alone you will have the right to call me a fool. On that night, I will defy death itself."

No doubt the boast was large coming from a Sith Sorcerer that few knew, let alone bringing back the dead had usually ended up with the Sith dying or giving up from the futility of it. He had a plan for it, and didn't know if it would work but Marka Ragnos wasn't going to die today. He had time. He looked up to Lord Sadow. 'I just wanted to see him squirm beneath that cool gaze that his future rule could be threatened. It is not set in stone, that there is the faint possibility that he could loose his grand race.'

Most of the crowd probably wondered if he was smirking then, he had a bad habit of smirking with the side of his face that had the scar which made it almost impossible to tell if he was indeed smiling or if it was a trick of the eye. Scar waited for the reaction but he didn't care if the mob turned on him, booed, cheered, or jeered. He kept his eyes on Sadow looking him straight into the eyes for once he wanted to get the satisfaction of seeing one in a higher station sweat if just the littlest bit.

[Crazy O]

Astas looked around and wonder what was going on. What with all the lower castes getting into this debate between her and Naga Sadow. She looked over at Naga Sadow. "My Lord, if you will excuse me, I must be on my way. My master requires me." She said giving a bow. It was copping out of the argument, but she could not take the chaos that was beginning to form. She had to fight the urge to start to kill people, specifically the coreslime that though to lecture her on death. She slipped her sword into its sheath as she made her way to the crowd.

As she walked past Menmnoch she leaned in and whispered into his ear. "Next time if you wise to challenge me you better have a sword in your hand." She said to him as she walked by. She had her hand resting on one of the swords hilts just in case he tried something. As she continued to make her way through the crowd she looked at Scar more closely, she would need to ask her master about him. She noted that he wore a ring with the cress of Arlkresh. She throught it was strange he would take a human apprentice, then again Arlkresh was not very infulental among the Sith Lords. He was always plotting but his plans were always to far in the future. The lightest changes meant he had to plan again. She did note that Scar did not share this trait with his master and thus could be a powerful allie for an up and coming Sith which was even more of a reason for her to do some research when she returned to the Citadel.

[Roku]

Memnoch smiled, and raised a single hand upward. The corpse of the man Astas had slain quivered about, shaking violently. It floated upwards, and landed on it's feet - for a few seconds held up by it's own strength. "Perhaps you should understand who it is you're talking to..." It hissed, before falling back over and smashing it's tender head on the street, dead once again. Memnoch turned around, away from the man with the lightsaber, and faced Astas.

"I don't fight with swords. They're dangerous. Took off my bloody hand... Besides...I seek not to harm you, I am more of...an educator..." The sickly sorcerer explained. "You're a heathen necromancer!" The man declared, before taking a swing at Memnoch from behind. Once again, a hand was raised, and the hand wielding the lightsaber stopped in it's place, staying put even as the rest of him moved forward. He screamed as he dislocated his shoulder pulling against the force. Memnoch casually turned around to face him one more time. "What do you think you'll accomplish?" Asked a voice from within memnoch's robe.

"Ah Dudley, nice of you to wake up..." Memnoch told him, slyly. "What is it? What fell creature are you harboring, you heathen?" the man asked,, struggling to get his hand free of the lock. "You know... it's been a long time..." Memnoch started, before pulling a human skull out of his robe. The skull had character, long black hair coming out of the rotting scalp on top, but the inside was hollow. Slowly, he moved the skull outward, toward the assailant's hand.

"What is this? You kill this man too, cave dweller?" "You idiot... I own a country home with a pool in the backyard..." Memnoch retorted. "He's hungry..." ... "What?! It's a skull!"

Suddenly the eye holes contorted as though the skull was raising a brow. "I have a name you know! That's a nice lookin hand you got there...Fleashy...oh how I miss havin muscle and skin..." Dudley complained, before taking a ful sized chomp out of it. Despite being a skull, and thus, dead, the magic Memnoch used restored his bones to the original strength from when Dudley lived. The bite was full and painful, and the shrieks of this man howled through the streets as his extremity was dismembered.

"And get this... Dudley is only half revived... he still needs a brain...and facial skin...would you be willing to donate?" Memnoch asked. The man's eyes lit up in horror. The deathly sith grinned a bit, as he pulled the glove off of his hand, revealing that it was only bones. The completely skeletal hand was fully functional thanks to the force, but it freaked people out. "Dudley, may I have the hand you just chewed off?" he asked his assistant. The skull obliged, spitting out the greatly damaged hand. The flesh and muscle vaporized off of it, forming a mist which came down upon Memnoch's skeletal hand, and merged with it. The end result basically being that, memnoch stole this dude's hand for himself. Memnoch casually grabbed the lightsaber from the other hand, and stabbed the man three time in the chest, before releasing him from his grips. Throwing the lightsaber to the ground, he spat on his corpse. "In this case you'd be right, Miss. This man has no use to me dead..."

"And that, ladies and gentleman, is why you don't fuck with Memnoch..." He announced, stuffing dudley back inside his cloak. "His face was far too ugly Dudley...let us find another..." he said, before shuffling back through the crowd, most of which were quite content to get the hell out of his way.

[Cain]

Just when Cain felt the stupidity being spewed at Naga Sadow from the upstart Sith female couldn't get any worse, someone else volunteered their unsolicited opinion. It was a human this time, a man who was standing only a few meters from Cain. This fool had to go and use the "S" word. Clearly he had a death wish, and part of Cain longed to see Naga Sadow grant it, though he knew he wouldn't. Cain loosed a sigh and faded back away from the crowd. The whole situation was starting to give him a headache.

Silently shifting through the masses of Sith initiates and hopefuls, Cain reluctantly made his way into the Sith Citadel. The receptionist was another pretentious scaled creature that eyed the human visitor from across his desk as if a womprat had just scuffled in and started gnawing on the Wroshyr, "Do you have an appointment?" the Sith questioned, his tone dripping with contempt.

Cain bit his tongue. A thousand scenarios involving how to put this lizard in his place flashed through Cain's mind in an instant, but none of which could he indulge, "My name is Cain. I'm here at the request of the Council."

"Ah yesss," the receptionist hissed, "They're expecting you. Please, go on ahead."

Cain elbowed passed, not paying the Sith behind the desk a second thought. He had more pressing concerns now, namely the Lords that waited for him in the Citadel's council chambers.

The meeting was a fairly standard affair. Cain gave his report on the progress of "Anemos", his words intentionally vague and full of double speak. The Sith demanded tangible results soon, or both Cain and Noir were to be disposed of. Cain knew what the Sith asked for was impossible. Time was needed, always more time. There was no sense in trying to convince them of this, the fools had no patience for progress. Instead Cain bowed and nodded and accepted the Sith's ultimatum. He'd get them their "tangible results", one way or another...

Lifting his hood from his shoulders and hiding his brow beneath it once more, Cain stepped back out of the Citadel to find the crowd that had gathered around Naga Sadow still had not dispersed. Instead of the Sith female, however, now Sadow was squaring off in a war of words with the human whose ignorant words were giving Cain the same headache now as they had before.

'Defy death, huh'? Cain chuckled to himself, 'Take a number'.