Viscera stood in the now-emptied discussion chamber. The room was dark; it was late, and the Sith had long since retired to their chambers.

Viscera could not sleep, was restless, preoccupied by thoughts of his former master's attempted suicide, and his amnesia which shortly followed, the same amnesia that had caused him to completely forget his apprentice's years of steadfast loyalty. The thought of such a thing was...overwhelming to him, and only incited further rage, and so he deemed it best to stow his thoughts.

His eyes burned, and his mind seemed covered in a haze which prevented him from thinking clearly. My my, Lord Viscera, when was the last time you slept? He asked himself. The answer came completely without clarity: It has been far too long.

He spoke, then found his voice a hoarse whisper, cleared his throat, and began again.

"Sith Master Gav Mortis...." he began, yet the Sith was not present.

"....I would be honored if you would do me the service of becoming my master."

Surely, a Sith Master would hear such a plea, no matter the location from which it originated. And so, Viscera waited, yet again, a task he had learned to excel at.