Throne Room of the Sith King
The smell of rotten flesh was always the worst part of these engagements. No matter what was going on around the Nautolan, he found himself constantly occupied by the thought and kept bringing a hand to his nostrils to shield his senses. Yet, as time carried on the stench would return; a waft at first and then it would rush to fill Raiju’s nose.
“Enough.” The Consul choked out, he quickly hacked out a bitter taste from his mouth, wavering back the source of his discomfort. “Samael, I’ve heard enough. You’ve presented your case well enough and I will deal with this issue immediately. Send me your apprentice.”
Flesh and cloth both sagged from the body of the Umbaran when Samael bowed, and Raiju winced at the sight of the gruesome displayed. Slowly the disfigured Archpriest turned and hobbled away from the Throne of the Sith King; while the doors of the chamber created a heavy clang as they shut confirming the Umbaran was gone - the smell of the Krath hung in the air. Disgusted, Raiju threw a glare at the Rollmaster; whom stood at the base of the stairs to the throne.
“Should I ever have the decency to see you raised above your status, Farrin, I expect you not to bring decay into my throneroom.”
“Are Sith senses so delicate, sir?” The Krath Priest was quick to respond, a smirk could be seen creeping across the side of his face yet he never looked up at the Battlelord and remained focused on the datapad in hand.
Sith like I have better sense to leave dead things dead, Priest. The Consul thought to himself, dismissing Farrin’s mockery. The Nautolan had been one of Castle Tarentum’s defenders when a collection of Keepers had attacked the clan, and to this day his left hand remained discoloured from their corruption - a minor feat for the masters of death. With so many years gone by and a new generation of Tarenti growing more arrogant, old themes seemed to be leaking back into the foundations of the clan and castle. Preparations would need to be made.
A thunderous knock on the throne room doors announced the arrival of the apprentice. A sharp, annoying creak accompanied the doors’ swing as the Consul’s guard allowed the Obelisk enter, yet where one might’ve expected the young, fresh face of a wide-eyed Jedi Hunter instead there stood the Falleen Jalen Ramz. Raiju wasn’t exactly xenophobic, but he hated dealing with species that could survive centuries - it made it harder to read their life stages and maturity.
Yet, Samael had already vouched for the Jedi Hunter and the decision had been made.
“Ramz, step forward.” Farrin waved the Obelisk before the Consul. Where Raiju had expected the Falleen to nervously bow before the Prince of Yridia, unfamiliar yet with the customs of the chamber, the Obelisk instead swiftly knelt before the throne and held his head down is respect. Obelisk were good soldiers, but Raiju needed warriors. Launching himself from the seat of power, Raiju trotted down stairs until he stood directly above the kneeling Falleen.
Tension filled the room when, without word or warning, the Battlelord snatched a hilt from his belt and activated his orange lightsaber. Yet, where one would’ve expected the blade to move over the Falleen’s shoulders, Raiju planted a heavy foot and shoved the Falleen back onto his ass. A single command echoed through the chamber, and the fury held within it drew a crowd as the guards outside the chamber came barreling in to defend their charge.
“Defend yourself!” The Nautolan spat, and around the Battlelord the guard withdrew back to the edges of the chamber and all eyes fell upon the Obelisk.
A lesser being would’ve nervously looked around for support, they would’ve refused to challenge their Consul, they would’ve plead for mercy or begged to be spared - all things a Tarenti wouldn’t do. Ramz didn’t hesitate, his momentum carried him over his shoulders before he propped himself up on his feet. A blue blade shot from his clenched fist, his long, braided hair flung over his shoulder, and a roar of defiance erupted from the charging Journeyman.
The fury in the room was displayed upon the chamber when blade struck upon blade, casting a wash of white light over the stone walls. The crackling of lightsabers, grunts, and curses filled the room quickly in a chorus and before long the stone walls were lined with spectators holding their breath as combatants exchanges strikes. When one combatant seemed to get the advantage over the other, momentum quickly changed as their foe found seemingly impossible parries or escapes. Back and forth the conflict tittered until a crimson blade spilled from the Battlelord’s other hand and he unleashed the training of Darth Aeternus.
Overwhelming the Jedi Hunter in a barge of attacks, when the Falleen finally attempted to counter he found his attacks falling on the defense of the Battlelord’s second saber - leaving the Sith’s primary weapon posed to strike. In a matter of moments the conflict faltered, as the orange blade of the Consul clipped the Obelisk’s right arm and a heavy boot sailed into the Falleen’s midsection. A croak erupted from the Jedi Hunter while he fell to the floor, kneeling once again, and the swift boot of Raiju smashed the Obelisk’s weapon from his injured grasp - skipping the hilt across the stone floor.
Tension quickly overwhelmed the excitement that had grown in the room, many left wondering what fate awaited the Journeymen. A creak of happiness, perhaps it was suppose to be a giggle if the owner had lips, came from the corner of the chamber where Samael stood with a beckoning head nod to the Consul. Those standing next to the Archpriest could hear his whispers of “I told you, yes, I told you.” while the creature rocked in excitement. Yet, a collective breath was released when the Consul deactivated his weapons; which he wiggled both in his hands towards Ramz.
“I haven’t had the need to use these yet.” Raiju stated plainly, before he proceeded to clip one to his belt. “Samael bet me that I would need to against you.”
From across the room, the Jedi Hunter’s hilt leapt to the call of Raiju’s outstretched hand. Rather than hand it back to Ramz, the Nautolan was quick to turn on his heels and begin climbing the stairs to his throne again. Halfway up, the Consul paused.
With a sudden and swift strike, the hilt of the Falleen’s armory weapon was cleaved in half by one of Raiju’s reactivated lightsabers. Rattling filled the room, as the pieces clanged down the staircase and came to rest by Ramz’s feet. When the Obelisk gazed back upon the Prince of Yridia, a reassuring smile creeped across the Consul’s face.
“Go now to the Herald, and tell her you need a new lightsaber - one more fitting of a Knight.”