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There is an old adage in this galaxy that reminds us that the way to high office is by winding stair. You have been rebuffed in the past for your singular drive, your thinly veiled ambition. The traits that make you a Sith threatened to be your ultimate undoing. And yet, you have suffered. You have been made whole by the limbs I and others have riped away from you.
You have risen above your limitations, the net I would have trapped you in has been broken by your loyalty.
And loyalty is to be commended. I have given you your life many times when I would have been praised for taking it. I have given you power untold in the Empire. I have let you make decisions that have brought both ire and acclaim.
So from this hour henceforth, I declare Marix to be dead. The Sith that shall emerge from this chamber shall be held to a higher standard, he shall be an example for the worlds to see. He shall be given the ability to study the higher mysteries of the Force. He shall be a fellow in the most mystic arts of our Order.
Now rise, my Dark Lord of the Sith. What name do you wish to assume for this journey?
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That, that is, is; that, that is not, is not.
Today's Evil Overlord Mood/Thought Process of the Day: Gungan opera
The Realist Party. You can't repel appeal of our magnitude.
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