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Post by Whill Shaman Erevis on Apr 9, 2013 11:15:36 GMT -8
The Sith Arts Academy was a Sith academy established on Thule sometime prior to the Battle of Naboo, and presumably before the Seventh Battle of Ruusan. The fallen Jedi Drevveka Hoctu was once its headmaster.
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John Tien
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Post by John Tien on May 1, 2013 13:08:14 GMT -8
*Since the attack on Hurom by a group of Wampas almost a year ago, Imperial troops became a more common site around Thule, any non-Imperial Navy ship that could carry any sort of dangerous creature was immediately searched before heading to the surface. Also in that year, Moff John Tien had fallen out of contact with the Imperial Remnant, not sure if it even existed anymore, he constantly debated with himself on whether or not to go to Aargau to find out. At the moment John was in the force training room at the former Sith Arts Academy meditating, contemplating how the Empire would proceed from this point, he then hears the door open behind him, his force sense told him that it was Miranda Tien, his wife*
=Miranda=
I thought I might find you here.....
=John=
I assume our security has still found nothing?
=Miranda=
Yes, that seems to be the case, it's like the Wampa's masters gave up on the planet, and we still have no idea of what those "Valkyrie" were or where they came from
*John nodded and Miranda paused before continuing*
=Miranda=
Our security teams have heard roomers that the Imperial Remnant is still alive......
=John=
Really? Well then.....*Gets up off the floor*.....it's decided. I am going to get over to Aargau to see if that is the case
*Miranda nodded*
=Miranda=
Good, I've been itching for something to do
=John=
Alright, take care of Sara and Jan while I'm gone
*Miranda nodded and turned to leave, John then headed to the Academy hanger where his TIE Phantom was waiting he entered it and took off heading for orbit*
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Afansé
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Post by Afansé on Mar 7, 2014 2:47:59 GMT -8
Darkness once again enveloped the Sith Arts Academy of Thule as new Sith Warriors were now being trained instead of Imperial Knights, the new headmaster of the Academy, a former Sith Marauder under Tien's command now going by the name Lord Dagon, had converted the Knight recruits to the Dark Side of the Force and killed any who resisted the change in management thus quickly becoming an adviser to Governor Afansé. Of his original 100 recruits, only 15 were deemed worthy enough to become full fledged Sith, the rest were ether transferred to the Commandos or killed. Now the Sith Lord was meditating in the main chamber of the Academy when his comlink beeped.
=Dagon=
I don't care who you are, but if you disturb my meditations again I will have your head!
=Afansé=
Is that how you greet all your superiors? Or just me?
Dagon rolled his eyes, of course it was the Governor, Dagon would have killed him months ago due to his overly ambitious tendencies, but the man had his uses
=Dagon=
My threat still stands......now what do you want?
=Afansé=
We have picked up an Imperial signal coming from Bastion, if our wayward leader is still alive, he would be there, also we need to send a representative to declare the new change in management.....
Dagon was surprised, offering Dagon his one opportunity to best the man who ruined the Academy
=Dagon=
Very well, I will go to Bastion
He shuts off the comlink and proceeds to the hanger where his new ship, a Sith Infiltrator, had been built for him in the underground shipyard, after a short check of the systems he takes off and flys out of the hanger toward orbit
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Jul 18, 2014 15:03:59 GMT -8
*The Sith Arts Academy . . . once headed by the fallen Jedi, Drevveka Hoctu, but even more recently so by the estranged figure that waded through it's shadowy depths today. Today, the Sith Lord, Darth Massacre, roam these once proud, yet now lonely halls. Dark. Cold. These halls cried out in pain, suffering and death. The Dark Side of the Force was strong in this place; it's pressure could be felt pulsing through its decrepit chasms. A moist, heavy air hung low here and cobwebs now stretched through the structure.
It had been several years now since Lord Massacre had returned here, his home of a long time passed. His last experience here, a planet he had spent many of his years on, had been being the headmaster of this very Academy. Here, the planet of Thule, is where he had been born those many years ago. It was here that he had been transformed from innocent child to disciple of the Dark Side of the Force. A long, painful history and sorrow and hatred, fortune and misfortune was what this planet offered the shell of a man that had once again come home. This was 'his' planet. No matter the number of times he had left here in the past, he had always managed to return. Something unexplainable drew him back here. Even when he had uneasily joined various Sith affiliations in the past, he never truly left this place for an extended tenure, the longest being his very own training in the ways of the Sith and the Dark Side of the Force.
This placed had laid the foundation and saw the finishing touches of the monster that had been created in the shell of a man once known as Vandook of the surname Lithage.*
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Jul 21, 2014 12:38:19 GMT -8
Rage, an intense emotion that granted unrelenting power. Unequaled focus. And Strength. If controlled and not allowed to control its wielder, rage could send a mortal to new heights, possibly even a taste of the recipe that was immortality. The Jedi considered this natural act of personal nature to be wrong, truth being they feared it. They feared loss of control. Yes, fear. Another emotion that the Jedi preached was wrong in nature. Truth was, though, the Jedi lived in fear. Constantly fearing the emotions, the natural acts, that they deemed unjust and wrong. They were afraid that, in their frailness, they would not be able to handle the power these would give them. Pathetic. The Jedi Order . . . an Order built upon falsehoods, lies and jealousy for they condemned that which they were incapable of being. Vandook allowed those perceptions to fester and brew in his mind, laughing coldly about the pretenders that had the audacity to call themselves warrior, even if it was in the sense of defenders of the lie known as peace. He spit, the warm saliva splattering on the cold, hard marble that made up the flooring of the abandoned academy. He ran a hand through his long, graying hair while the fell to his hip, tightly closing around the hilt of a lightsaber adorned in black, red, silver and even the bone of a Krayt Dragon. The blade, when struck, glistened in a crimson red. Brown robes, tattered and bloodstained, draped over his figure, an athletic frame greater than six feet in height and more than two-hundred pounds.
Anger began to grow in this man, now. An anger that soon boiled. This remnant of a Galactic Empire that had settled here after his departure had now left this place in ruin. Once a outward rippling school of dark arts, this academy now looked as though it were condemned for demolition. They may have left, but they left what seemed to everything. Weapons, munitions, vehicles . . . if was all still here, only now collecting dirt and grime. Pathetic. They come in, run the place for a bit, then vanish. Hell, Hurom was probably influenced by these excuses for men during their short lived tenure here and they simply could not be tolerated. No, Hurom must be purged. Cleansed of the filth and misleads of this pathetic so-called empire that vanished just as quickly as it had sprung up.
What Vandook had accomplished here years before had been an Empire. A true planetary empire. Not a soul would have attacked it then, and not a soul did. There was not one rebellion. Not one hand that would have sprung up in defiance had vote been cast. No. The people, then, would have done nothing but have been obedient for they knew the consequence of insolence. Of treason. Of rebellion. A fear of the power with this Sith had been so deeply ingrained into the people of this world in that time it would have been something of a miracle in they had slept soundly at night. It was a demonstration of power that he was now set to show again. Thule would be restored to its former self. Any falsehoods that had been taught, would be struck from memory. The City would be burned and from its ashes all would be born anew. The city. The people. Himself. Vandook Lithage had returned and he would see his will done to absolution.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Mar 22, 2015 7:10:05 GMT -8
This was not a nice place. Evil billowed from every crack. Every crevice. Every deep, dark corridor and chamber. The air here was heavy and sick. It was dark a twisted, screaming for death and chaos. Only the clad of his feet striking down on the cold, damp rock of the floor broke the eery silence that filled this place. This place pulsated with evil intent, no doubt festering from the Dark Side's strong hold here. Old torches burned is a pale blue flame, dimly lighting the pitch black of the Academy of Sith Arts. Long had this sanctum stood, through thick and through thin. Long had it served him and his needs, only ever temporarily to be claimed by someone or something else, each time to only return to its proper master.
This place had served this man . . . no, this monster . . . for many years now. Decades. The planet had been his place of birth not once, but twice. Not twice, but three times now. It had been where he'd been birth by his parents who were murdered before his eyes. It had been the place that had been his birth as a Sith under a title he had since shed. And it had most recently been the host to his being reborn as a Sith again, now beholding the title of Darth Abaddon, the Lord of Extirpation and now it would continue to serve him further.
He was the self-proclaimed Governor of Thule. His rule casted a shadow that ruled over it in terror. The fear of the city to his name and his will. What would happen to those that stepped to treason and moved against him scarred the memories of those that lived there now. He was powerful. More powerful than any other on the world. More feared. More respected. Both loved and loathed as a person and a ruler. It was quite the bitter sweet remedy here. A concoction of of masterful skill and a Sith's favorite delicacy.
His tattered, black, bloodstained cloak drug the across the cold stone as he stepped deeper and deeper into this abode of utter malevolence. The faded black robes that caressed his body also held true to a tattered appearance, casting evidence of harsh times of the past and the length of time to which they had been worn. For some forty plus years now, he'd been a Lord of the Sith and a proven Darth. Forty plus years he'd been the feared governor and ruler of Thule and its people, forming somewhat of an Empire here of just a single planet though insatiable thirst for more power had never wavered. Had never died. Had never lessened. No, that thirst only ever grew. More and more, he would want power, but even then he wouldn't branch out past Thule.
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Post by Deleted on May 18, 2015 11:45:46 GMT -8
The padding of footsteps echoed down cold, dark halls where a heavy, wet air lingered on the fringe. Cob web shown through the wavering light of torches that lit these deathly hallows and within them a new order had begun to rise once more. It was similar to one's of eras long past as students clung to the darkest of devotions. The goal was to kill, to gain power and to ascend through the ranks of the Sith. An ancient religion that tackled to the darkest facets of the Force, such abilities that feeble Jedi considered unnatural and/or undesirable. Powers that even they who preached against such ideals and natural occurrences such as fear itself, feared. Yes . . . these dark halls that billowed forth from the darkest chasms of Hell were now open again and even had students once more.
Among the teeming number were nine of note and among them, three sang out toward desired elevation. One was a Sith pureblood whose race has long dwindled on the edge of extinction. Another was of the Rattataki species and an advent practitioner of Sith Magic. And finally, the last was something of a protege. He was a blend of two species, both with string ties to the Dark Side of the Force: Zabrak and Sith, and the blood fusion had produce a product of a menacing figure. His skin was black as a moonless night, broken only by the blood red color of some tribal design imbued upon him in some ritualistic format. Sith tattoos served as a more proper name now.
Today . . . the menacing figure of Aitir Kor'sa stood toe-to-toe against the only other man on the planet that shared a bloodline with him, Liqo Towil. The latter of the two named stood as a tank, forcing through with more power and pure strength while the other banked on speed and precision, though he had the power of brute strength if he were to need it.
Sitting atop a throne-like chair across from them was no more than the Sith Lord himself, Darth Abaddon: The Lord of Extirpation, who would be watching the bought of the two combatants once it were to unfold in front of him.
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Darth Andor
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Post by Darth Andor on May 22, 2015 19:36:29 GMT -8
Some time after the events had taken place in orbit, the YT-1300 freighter carrying Andor and his two apprentices cruised into the Hangar Bay of the Sith Arts Academy. Slowly, it approached its designated landing area and touched ground in a hiss of steam.*
*Inside, Andor's eyes opened from his meditation, sensing the power of a fellow Sith Lord, no doubt the ruler of the Academy. Even at this distance, the Sith Headmaster and the Grand Inquistor's auras clashed against one another like two lightsabers striking in combat. During their journey from orbit to the academy, the Force had shown Andor a series of possible events, a glimpse into the current future. The Inquisitor learned that drawing Thule and its academy into the Empire's grasp would not be an easy one, and that the Headmaster of the Academy held a strong reign. He had seen lightsabers clash between himself and the headmaster. He had also seen his two apprentices in combat with nine figures, two of them already dead on the cold, rock floor of some inner chamber. Although they were nowhere near combat-ready, it currently seemed that they wouldn't have time to learn: but to act.*
*Andor did not shy away from the seemingly difficult odds. He welcomed them, having not been opposed in quite longer than he cared for. He wanted a challenge. He craved to feel the adrenaline flowing through his veins like they had during his time with the Dark Tide.*
*He stood up, beckoning his apprentices to follow suit. He looked at them, one at a time before he addressed Valerie. Time had escaped the Sith Master and he had not yet been able to knight his second apprentice, granting her with the title of Darth. And although now was not the ideal time, he knew that in the face of ten new sith, she would have to hold her own. And without a proper title, there was no chance for proper respect. "Valerie, kneel before me. We must hurry before we are met by a representative of the Academy." He started as he shook his right arm, releasing his lightsaber from its straps. The black hilt slid smoothly into the palm of his skeletal pale hand, and it ignited with a hiss. The crimson blade hummed as it lit the small room of the shuttle in an eerie light. "From henceforth, you will abandon the name of Valerie Ritz-Parr. You will leave your past behind, as it only serves as weakness in your quest for power. The title of Darth is granted when a partnership is created between two beings: Master and Apprentice. It is a tradition of the Sith that signifies the true beginning of your training." His lightsaber moved to hover an inch above Valerie's right shoulder. Normally, as he had down with Luxeria, he would touch the blade to the skin, giving the apprentice a memory of pain to use in combat, amongst more symbolic meanings. But now, he couldn't afford for Valerie to be more injured than she already was: not with the visions he had seen through the Force. Like a King knighting his servant, the crimson blade moved from one shoulder to the other. "Valerie Ritz-Parr is no more. I hereby grant you the title of Darth and therefore, claiming you as my apprentice." He took a step backwards and bowed his head Rise Darth Lura. Take your place at my side and embrace the will of the Darkside."He would pause to allow the newly risen Darth Lura to speak any remarks she may hold before continuing, deactivating his lightsaber and restarting it to his arm, beneath the cloth of his red tunic."My apprentices, come here. I have a gift for both of you." He turned around to face a small drawer that was attached to the wall behind him. Pulling the small compartment open, his two hands grasped a pair of identical, silver lightsaber hilts, inlaid with a black trim. He previously had them stored on the ship for this specific moment. Before their departure, Andor had spent days in the Inner Sanctum at the Estate of the Ten to construct the lightsabers. He extended his arms, offering one hilt to each apprentice. Both weapons were built using a rare Qixoni crystal, which would allow the lightsaber to produce a dark red blade, while increasing the users Force abilities and having a "stronger-than-average" blade. "A lightsaber is the weapon of the Sith. Carry it with you at all times. May it strike fear into the hearts of your enemies and may you relish the deaths that you deal with their crimson blades."Once again, he would allow any remarks from his apprentices. Now, he turned and made his way to the landing ramp, which had already extended upon their arrival. His black boots clicked on the metal as he stood in the doorway, gazing into the hangar bay. He took a deep breath, pulled his black hood onto his head, concealing his face in shadow and began his exit. His black cloak flapped lazily behind him as he, Luxeria and Lura approached any sort of welcoming/escort party that had arrived to greet them.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on May 23, 2015 19:13:54 GMT -8
The hangar as it stood was mostly empty, housing a single Scimitar on the closest landing port to the entrance to the Academy and now the newly arrived YT-1300 freighter. Simple droids - protocol, astromech andsome kind of maintenance model - sparsely populated the are, weaving through cargo containers and control panels scattered across the vast chamber. The lighting of the area wavered as the flames of torches danced with unsung life, their smokey exhalations gathering and forming an eery layer along the ceiling of the place before eventually dissipating and finding their exit. Cold, hard stone was inlaid along the ground like tiles and their age only shown through cracks that would split on into two.
On a far side of the hangar was a single door positioned narrowly and vertically, serving as the only gate to and from the main complex itself from the hangar. It hissed and snapped then slid hastily upward, revealing four ominous looking figures. One by one they filed into the dimly lit chamber ranging in size from a meager five feet and seven inches to around six feet and two inches, though not varying nearly as much in their builds as they had in size.
The first on the left, as the outsiders to the academy would see them, was a Rattataki female of the smallest in height of the group, though she would carry the greatest strength in the Dark Side of the Force among them. For many years she had studied under the tutelage of the keeper of this Academy, relishing in the many wonders that the Dark Side had given to her. Her appearance was unique and menacing to a point. The cloak she wore over here tattered black robes was black as night with a trim of blood red on color. Over her face, a mask was worn - needed because of years of self mutilation and an immersion within the Dark Side of the Force. Her eyes were a mixture of orange, red and yellow and seemed to glowing creepily in the poorly lit chamber.
Next to her stood a Kiffar man a good six inches taller in height. He wore no cloak over his robes and no hood over his head to shroud any of his facial features. His head was shaven on the sides and the back, leaving only hair to cover the top and a pale tattoo painted an eery design across his face. Clipped along his left hip was the hilt of a single standard lightsaber.
Next to him stood a woman, four inches smaller than the Kiffar man. Her apparel was far different than the other three, being completely white in color and she also wore no shoes to cover her pale white feet. Wrapped around her face and covering her eyes was a piece of white cloth as was standard for her species for she was a Miraluka. A white hood was pulled over here eyes and a large lightsaber hilt was hung from her right hip.
The final figure stood on the far right and was the tallest of them all standing at six feet and two inches in height. He was clothed completely in black and with the hood of him cloak pulled over his head, it made it impossible to make out any distinguishing features of him, much less his species which was a very common one at that.
Together they all approached, their strides unintentionally in step with one another, before stopping some ten feet from where the ramp of the freighter touched down to the ground.
Fear. Tore could already sense it though she could not determine exactly which of and how many of the ship's occupants were consumed by it. Fear. They, would surely all have it at some point during their for they made inevitably need the power in may bring them for whenever another Lord of the Sith had fell upon this world in the past . . . well, let us just say, they had know fear reincarnated.
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Darth Andor
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Post by Darth Andor on May 23, 2015 19:46:28 GMT -8
His face was hidden in shadow, but his electric blue eyes scanned the four incoming strangers as they marched forward. He took in everything his eyes picked up, his mind acutely studying the auras of each individual. Obviously, since they were all residents of the Sith Academy, Andor sensed the Dark Side radiating among all of them, but none of them held the power he sought... None of them were the master.*
*They stopped about ten feet away from the end of the shuttle's landing ramp. Silence enveloped them as Andor and his two apprentices stood there, an unspoken tension raising between the two parties. The Grand Inquisitor maintained his composure, expertly masking his uneasiness in the Dark Side. He held no fear. No, it wasn't that. The only reason he was uneasy was the because of the visions he had observed. He was in unknown territory, outnumbered and surrounded by strangers: fellow servants of the Darkside. Andor knew not to underestimate any of the people who stood before him, as they were Sith and should never be trusted.*
*Individually, Andor had no doubt that he could end their corrupted lives with a swing of his crimson blade, overpowering them with the sheer force of the Darkside. But with four of them together, and the other five he had seen hidden among the unknown, Andor had to play his cards strategically: not just to bring Thule to the Empire, but for his own survival.*
*His back was straight, his chin forward. He took a step forward to meet his greeters, his hands hidden in sleeves, inches away from his twin lightsaber hilts should the need to draw them arise. He did not bow, nor incline his head, for these Sith did not deserve the Inquisitor's respect. "I am Darth Andor, Grand Inquisitor of the Galactic Empire. These are my two apprentices, Darth Luxeria and Darth Lura." At the mention of each apprentice, Andor turned his body slightly to his left and then his right, differentiating the two females who stood slightly behind him. "I believe I have an appointment to meet with your Master."
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on May 24, 2015 8:56:58 GMT -8
To meet with our Master? Oh what, oh what could this poor misguided fool mean? Walking around with the head held high, two little girls and a fancy title meant nothing here. You were what you had proven yourself to be and thus far this man had proven nothing. Little girls tugging at the his entrails and proclaimed titles for an Empire that to this point, the Grand Master of this academy had seen nothing but weakness from was not appealing enough for a meeting, much less one this man claimed he had an appointment for. But . . . perhaps he did.
= Tore Forinde =
Tore sneered sharply, the mask covering her mouth and nose contorting slightly in the process. When she would speak, her voice would be dark and cold, and would hold a mechanical ring to it as he got distorted by the mask she wore. "There have been no such appointments made with the Master of this Academy . . . " She paused, smiling menacingly beneath the cover her mask before the other would woman among them would speak.
= Lokai Triveln =
Lokai's voice as she would speak would be almost angelic - soft and sweet, though filled a with a bitterness and hatred that would rival that of her own beauty which to the majority of people was beyond any else they had seen among this world. "But we shall take you to him . . ."
= Boruin Jhinge =
"And have him be the judge of whether you're worth his time." Boruin's voice was youthful and headstrong, though carried the same bitterness and coldness about it that his Master's, Tore Forinde, voice carried. He spit in disgust as his eyes shifted to the apprentices on either of this "Darth Andor's" flank. Oh how the Sith that came out of the Empire these days looked more pathetic by the day.
= T'Ran Varn =
"Now come forth and allow our Master to deem for himself whether or not you are worthy of his presence and time . . ."
= Tore Forinde =
". . . And should that be the case . . ."
= Lokai Triveln =
". . . You shall have your said meeting."
= Boruin Jhinge =
"And if not . . ."
= T'Ran Varn =
"Let us hope . . ."
= Lokai Triveln =
"For your sake . ."
= Boruin Jhinge =
"That is not the case."
= Tore Forinde =
"Now come!"
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Darth Andor
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Post by Darth Andor on May 24, 2015 9:33:15 GMT -8
Andor rolled his eyes at the quartet before him as they fluidly finished one another's thoughts. He'd seen that one before. As the third one spit, Andor's anger engulfed his thoughts and he had the urge to catch the oral fluids with the force and fling them back in his face, humiliating the youthful Sith in front of his peers. But Andor held his actions at the last second, not wanting to spark rage into those he sought to bring into the Empire.*
*His right, skeletal pale hand emerged from his sleeve as he flicked his hand toward them in a common gesture usually interpreted as a dismissal. "Enough with your tricks, they do nothing." He hissed, his voice an ice-cold whisper but it still echoed through the empty and silent hangar bay. "Standing here does nothing but waste both of our time. I have been granted permission to have an audience with your Lord Abaddon, and you will take me to him now. And if not, let us hope for your sake, that is not the case." As he spoke his final sentence, exact verbatim of what the strangers before him had spoken, Andor fueled his words with anger and malice, the darkside coloring them and bringing them to life. It was simple usage of Dun Moch, meant to playfully tease and anger the group of Sith.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on May 24, 2015 10:10:44 GMT -8
= Tore Forinde =
"Your attempts to provoke us to strike out against you are done in vain. Should you have used your ears and listened, you would have heard that I said to come. Tore paused now, analyzing the man that stood in front of here, clearing reverberating in anger toward how he'd be received. She could sense that he wished here apprentice punished or killed and his rage may have quickly been taking control of his body, his mind and his actions. "Now come and see who you wished to see upon your arrival or stay here and bask in the warmth of your own anger and fury. I do not care which you choose, nor do the others, just heed the warning you received in orbit of what should happened should the cards reveal a not so pleasant end in time."
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Darth Andor
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Post by Darth Andor on May 24, 2015 10:59:15 GMT -8
*Andor smirked beneath the shade of his cloak. They cowered in fear of a larger power and thus refused to fall for his mockery. In that instant, Andor realized they were not Sith, but only puppets of the Lord Abbadon. These beings before him would never know what it meant to be Sith until they broke away and overpowered their master.*
*Andor did not respond but only began to walk forward, his hand sliding back into his sleeve. He and his two apprentices would follow their escort to meet Lord Abbadon. Only then would the negotiations begin and the first steps of the resurrection of an order long lost would begin.*
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Post by Darth Lura on May 24, 2015 14:53:34 GMT -8
At Andor's command, she had knelt before him, accepting the hasty ceremony with grace and her typical silence. She smiled ever so slightly as the Sith granted her a title, "Darth Lura." She liked it, though she was a bit curious as to why he had chosen that name. Perhaps he had seen something of the future that would make sense to her later.. She trusted in her master's foresight.
"Thank you, Master," she remarked, standing back up again. Her brown eyes gazed up at her master, following him as he turned to open the drawer and retrieve two lightsaber hilts. Valerie -- no, Darth Lura -- reached out to accept the gift, running her fingers along the hilt, feeling its weight, in an attempt to get to know it better before they would have to use them. She knew from hearsay that it helped one's combat abilities to know one's weapon, and if she was being presented with this blade, then she knew there would come a time when she would have to use it and use it well. She clipped it on her belt, then moved to her master's side.
She stood by Andor as they walked down the ramp, not deigning to respond to anything the Sith acolytes were saying. Her master summed it all up quite effectively, and though she still knew fear, it was not directed at those before her. She knew that Andor would keep her safe.
More importantly, as she was quickly learning, the dark side would keep her even safer.
Andor's promise on Nar Shaddaa was starting to be fulfilled.
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Post by Deleted on May 24, 2015 16:35:33 GMT -8
The Sith apprentices, Darth Aamon (Aitir Kor'sa) and Darth Interitus (Liqo Towil), were about to engage each other when the quartet of Sith acolytes rounded the corner and entered the training room opposite of where Lord Abaddon was seated. Each of them bowed to the one true Sith Lord of the Academy upon entering, their fear taking hold, sensing his displeasure in them. They would be taken care of in time, but for now nothing would happen.
Darth Abaddon sat as though his seat were a throne, with an arm on either side. His tattered, brown, bloodstained robes, caressed the contours of his body, the dark hood pulled over his head and shrouding his face in shadow. His arm rose, his hand clinched in a fist, but no words were spoke. Immediately, the two Sith disengaged one another and the blades of their lightsabers extinguished with a hiss, leaving just two menacing standing across from one another before turning to face the new arrivals to the cold chamber.
Still, no words were spoken. Not from Darth Aamon. Nor for Darth Interitus. Not even from the Lord of Extirpation himself. Just a few sharp changes in movement was the entirety of what took place and Darth Abaddon continued to observe, his dark side aura radiating and engulfing all before him. The Dark Side energies that flowed through his veins was far beyond that of any other resident of the Sith Arts Academy and the power he held here was enough to make even the strongest of Sith tremble - not all, but the majority. The Force was strong in this Sith, much stronger than the average one. Strength that had been gathered and proven through the years.
Many times had he been challenged and every time, his challengers had either seen their end or found their place kneeling before him. Jedi had tried to convert him from time to time, only to find their own demise or they themselves converted to his dark teachings. Planet wide genocides had come in his wake, only to be followed by complete and utter annihilation. Millions killed and hundreds in not thousands of territories completely and utterly destroyed. Razed and burned to the ground so that all that would remain would be nothing more the ash. He was powerful and there was no denying it. And he had never been defeated.
To this point, Darth Andor and his apprentices had been being tested and so far, they had passed though there was a fear that came with them. A fear that could destroy them if they did not properly know how to harness it. He could feel it, but until this point, the fear had not been of him; that was sure to change. They would all fear him, just as those of this world did, however, that was not necessarily a bad thing. Only time would tell what would come to pass. Only time would tell how this would all end and where Darth Abaddon's, and Thule's, loyalties would end up.
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Darth Andor
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Post by Darth Andor on May 24, 2015 20:30:34 GMT -8
Andor and his apprentices arrived inside an isolated training room, and immediately, Andor heard the unison deactivation of the combatants' lightsabers. His eyes scanned the room, taking in the sights of Darth Aamon and Darth Interitus, sensing the darkness within them, swirling strong in their veins with the heat of combat. Andor siphoned off the emotions that poured from their being, letting them energize the Grand Inquisitor in this stressful moment. His aged body felt warm as his muscles relaxed and his power augmented.*
*His eyes focused past them, piercing the man who was perched on a chair, the posture of his body asserting a sign of dominance over those in the room.... Except Andor. The Grand Inquisitor was unfazed as Darth Abaddon's aura of darkness crashed against his own, keeping it easily at bay. Their eyes met as Andor walked forward to meet his host, his hands exiting his robes, reaching up to remove the black hood from his head. It fell behind him and the dim light revealed his aged face: white wispy hair that was long enough to just barely brush the top of his ears, pale white skin pulled tight across his face revealing pointed cheekbones and creating a strong contrast against his thin, dark, blood-red lips, a slightly crooked nose from an injury long ago.*
*His electric blue eyes gazed upon the throned Sith as he stopped about seven feet away. He inclined his head-but only by a fraction- in a sign of greeting and respect to a fellow Sith Lord, unlike the mere servants that he had first encountered in the hangar bay. "Darth Abaddon, thank you for allowing me an appointment on such sort notice." He began, his voice was cold but it projected with confidence, "My name is Darth Andor, Grand Inquisitor of the Galactic Empire and these are my two apprentices: Darth Lura and Darth Luxeria. I have come as a representative of the Empire to initiate friendly and diplomatic negotiations with the planet of Thule." God, he sounded like a damned politician. Although the two reasons Andor had come here were indeed diplomatic, Andor still cringed at the thought. His version of diplomacy usually ended with his crimson blade severing his opponent's head from his body, and then having the meat served on a silver platter for dinner. These sort of negotiations were an uncommon matter for a Sith, but Andor knew they were essential if he were to revive Dark Tide and to unify the Sith once more. "Would you be willing to hear my proposal?"
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Luxeria
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“Even the strongest mind can be manipulated. It’s simply a matter of finding its weakness.”
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Post by Luxeria on May 24, 2015 20:58:45 GMT -8
Luxeria opened her eyes as Andor spoke and began the ceremony with Valerie. As she watched, something stirred in her, though she couldn't tell what it was. Her own ceremony had been a bit different, his words holding more darkness, not to mention the lightsaber bearing on her shoulders. Was she upset or jealous that she had not recieved the pain she did when gaining her new name? Perhaps a sense of pride that she went through it, showing she was seen as the greater apprentice? Maybe it was nothing more than a sense of wonder to why Andor did it this way and if there was a purpose for it.
The thoughts and feelings were faint and quickly faded as they arose, giving no real sense that Luxeria had felt anything. Instead, she stood to her feet as Andor presented each of them with their first lightsaber. She didn't yet know the fullness one could gain with creating the saber and tuning the crystal, so no other thoughts came to her other than knowing she had just gained the weapon of a Sith, the next stepping stone to greater power, and in time, respect and control. She felt the hilt over, just as Lura did. She went on to ignite the blade, the blade emerging straight up before her before she moved it around to gain a greater feel for it. It felt nearly the same as the training sabers they had used during their spar on the ship. This was good since she didn't have to gain any new bearing on holding it, only needed to keep track of it so not to hurt herself.
She turned the blade off and clipped it to the right side of her belt, the pouch of her three orbs on her left. She followed Andor on his left as they progressed into the hangar. As the conversation began, her deep forest green eyes looked over each of the four before them, taking in what she could of their appearance. The one that stood out the most was the one woman, Lokai Triveln. Luxeria, herself, held great beauty, the type that many craved, both men and women. But her own voice wasn't angelic, but had begun developing a calm seductive an dark tone. She also could feel their presence, their power. It was easily clear that they had been training for years here. She hoped that no fight would end up happening. She wasn't so much afraid as she was cautious. She knew her power was little as was Lura's when compared to them. However, she wouldn't just back down because they were stronger. She would stand against them and make them respect her, and if it was needed, bring them to their knees before her.
She followed close to Andor, moving easy in her dark blue leather pants and black shirt. She hadn't developed any care for robes or such, only the simplest of outfits, especially if they were to be destroyed during training. Stopping, she looked at the two others that had just ended their combat upon their arrival. She could feel their power, greater than the other four, she lie to say. But even still, she kept herself focused and calm, working to close her mind from being worked by the others. After bearing Andor's power upon herself before ever being taken in for training, fear of facing another's power wasn't anything that took hold in her mind.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on May 25, 2015 5:54:41 GMT -8
Was this excuse for a Lord of the Sith serious? He claimed titles like "Grand Inquisitor of the Galactic Empire," but came to Darth Abaddon in a seemingly pleading manner, or so he perceived it as such. This so-called Empire was truly weak. First they let the throne fall to a man of no significance and no power. A man who wasn't even Sith. And now . . . now they sent their weakness out to other worlds to beg for allegiances; it made him sick. For a "Sith" to bend knee and heed the orders of someone clearly beneath them was a mockery. It was an insult to everything the Sith stood for and certainly showed no power growing from within. No! There should be a Sith on that throne and anything less would prove just how weak this Empire was, now.
He sneered beneath the veil of the shadow his hood cast over his face at the disgrace of a Sith the pleaded to him. With how he cowered beneath a man so weak - it was just pathetic. He leaned forward, an arm still on either side of his throne-like seat where the arm rests were fixed. His hood remained over his head, continuing to veil his features in shadow, with only the eery glow of his red-orange eyes shining through the pit of blackness.
"Tell me this," Darth Abaddon said. He voice was as cold as ice and as sharp as daggers. Menacing was an understatement to the darkness and malevolence that it carried. Even one might compare the voice to death itself. The chill of it as he spoke would be enough to make a man tremble, and it had many times before. "Why hear a proposition from a man who bends knee and heel to one clearly beneath them?" He wasn't speaking of Darth Andor's head nod acknowledgment of himself, but of the puppet of an Emperor that sat upon the throne of the Empire. His own intelligence forces had delivered that information to him. A measly soldier sat there and had Sith follow his orders like an obedient child to their parents.
The tension was rising in the air was rising as one Dark aura collided against another.
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Darth Andor
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Post by Darth Andor on May 25, 2015 12:19:30 GMT -8
Andor scoffed at Abaddon's assumption that the Emperor held a firm control over Andor's doings. He was wrong, it was in fact the other way around. Although Andor had only pledged himself to the Empire only about six months prior, he had successfully made the Emperor his own puppet: much like Abaddon had done with his own apprentices. Nicodemus stood as a figurehead to the public, acting as Emperor, but in the shadows stood Andor, pulling the strings to get what he needed. And the Emperor had never suspected anything, succumbing to the Grand Inquisitor's secrecy and deceit. And now, with this "all-powerful" Sith Lord Abaddon falling for his guise, Andor realized his secret plan had indeed worked
"A Sith stands loyal only for himself." He stated bluntly. "As do I. I am no servant of the Emperor. You see," The corners of his thin lips spread into an eerie, demonic smile as his tongue poked at his gleaming white teeth: sharp as fangs. "I have my puppets, as you have yours." His blue eyes acknowledged the unknown Sith that stood around them. "I may openly claim allegiance with the Empire, but secretly, my loyalties lie with myself..." His smile vanished, and his eyes focused back on Abaddon. "And with Dark Tide."
And so it began. The first card had been dealt.
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