โ Ghost, Kethโronโ. Iraklix stated; he never raised his voice, but the flat iron-like tone which infected his words caused dust to fall from old masonry. But it was his demand to Tremel which set the Sithโs ambitions.
โGive me a blade, Overseerโ.
โ slipping from his lips as frost cast itself across the walls around them. The Acolytes all longed at him in disgust, an expression more comparable to panic. Kethโron, looked at Iraklix with eyes imbued by the Dark Side, golden hues glaring forth. โYou look like youโve seen a โ