The scoundrel turned darksider steps into the council chambers, padding softly on barefeet, long strands of black hair hang in his face. The raised thrones of the sith masters encircle him, their occupants engulfed in shadows, eyes scrutinizing him no less. The scoundrel is clothed in but a single black robe, throwing his head back reveals a slightly maniacal grin, his pale eyes roll across the masters seated directly before him. Roth had expected a cavern with lit torches but this dimly lit chamber is pleasing nonetheless.
He finally speaks, "Great Council of the Sith, I am Rothmar Dujek and I am requesting to be accepted into apprenticship of this great empire!"
Pivoting in the center of the chamber, his eyes drift over the raised thrones and the darksiders seated upon. Within the shadows of some of the seats are twin burning embers, eyes red with slain innocence. For the first time he notices the frost of his every breathe, while waiting for the council's judgement...
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