Faction Ascended Splendour - [Dark Court]

[Lyras Valein]

"Finding Footing..."

Tags - Objective 1 - Open!

The Feast was louder than she'd expected.

Lyras Valein felt nothing in the galaxy compared to this. The Dark Court shimmered like a living storm, its members radiant and terrible beneath the violet light. Everywhere she looked, armor gleamed, laughter cut like knives, and whispers curled like smoke. And here she was, apprentice of Darth Virelia, emissary of the deep, standing alone with a half-empty goblet of bloodwine that she wasn't entirely sure she was supposed to drink.

She had rehearsed a dozen introductions on the flight from Nathema. "Commander Valein, Manaan flotilla—no, former flotilla. Apprentice of—" No. Too formal. "Lyras Valein, servant of Her Majesty, voice of the tide." No. Too dramatic.
Now, surrounded by dukes and assassins and beings who could kill with a thought, all her lines fled like fish startled from the reef.

A servant passed, offering a tray of crystal fruits. Lyras smiled politely, took one, and immediately regretted it — the juice burned like plasma. Her gills fluttered open with a soft gasp. "Right," she murmured under her breath, "don't eat the glowing ones."

She drifted toward a column, trying to look like she belonged there, not like a cadet waiting for orders that never came. Her empathic senses, usually so sharp, were a riot of sensations — ambition, lust, hunger, pride. It was like wading into a whirlpool of emotion; her focus flickered as she tried to find one current calm enough to swim beside.

Two courtiers nearby were arguing about who would receive the first Knighthoods. She tried to join the conversation.
"Excuse me, did either of you serve on—"
They turned, blinked at her, bowed curtly, and returned to their scheming.
"…Right," she said again, smiling faintly. "Perfect."

She adjusted the small command circlet at her brow, feeling the hum of its empathic attunement steady her pulse. Somewhere far above, thunder cracked through the storm that never ended. The hall fell momentarily still, candles flickering violet.

Lyras looked toward the empty throne and felt something tighten in her chest — awe, anticipation, belonging. For all her nerves, for all her failed small talk, she was here.

The sea had given her life. The Queen had given her purpose.

And as the great doors began to close behind the last arrivals, Lyras straightened her posture, set down her drink, and whispered softly to herself —
"Alright, Valein. Just… try again."

 

[Asaiah Celwik]

Outfit
Tag: Lyras Valein

So. This was what she had gotten up to. Serina. Or well, Virelia it appeared to be now. This feast most definitely beat the swamps of Dagobah in Asaiah's opinion as she weaved her way through, sneaking her way in just as the doors closed, taking in as much as she could. In another life, this would have been what she had wanted to destroy. When she had been childish, and assumed that being good or evil was a binary system. No. In her mind, it was something biological. In the blood. It had been what she had been testing for so long. Yet now the scientist found herself at a feast. A wrinkle on her nose as she clearly wasn't dressed for once, but alas that never mattered to her. She was used to being seen as...Quirky for lack of a better term.

She stood for a moment, taking in what she could. There was no-one familiar to her. It made sense to her. She had always been a bit of a hermit herself. Though Asaiah's eyebrows peaked as she seemingly spotted someone who seemed to be...out of their element. One could say a fish out of water. A wampa out of its cave. And so she made her way over towards Lyras Valein

"I am unsure as to what you are attempting, but perhaps a change of approach is necessary. Only someone who is insane would repeat the same approach, expecting a change to the results."

At that, Asaiah reached over to pluck the stranger's drink, swigging it down it one, ignoring the rather...unique taste before plopping the glass back onto the counter, as the woman's eyes flickered between the rest of the people in the room, a frown still on her face. Asaiah's own insanity had...somewhat settled over the past few months.

"Asaiah."

That was it. Just a simple introduction. Almost as if she was talking to someone else. Her gaze didn't even flicker to the stranger. Asaiah's focus was on the people mingling. Whispering. By the Force...How much she'd relish in being able to take blood samples.
​

 

[Carisma Rostu]

[]

Objective: Feast of Ascension
Tag: Qyssiyana / Darth Virelia / Iskera Valest / Aaliyah
Directly: Mika Tai En

Both faces from Carisma and the Ambassador looked up jointly at the newcomer, a female sporting wine-colored hair girl whose disposition, in Carisma's opinion, was one of innocence. She was not familiar with this girl, a newcomer to the ranks, perhaps? "Yes," Carisma replied to the girl's proposed question, turning toward the Ambassador, she said, "Leave us." The Ambassador, clearly shocked by the disrespect from the young girl, moved to speak only to be silenced when Carisma held up her hand, preventing the forthcoming protests to remain entombed. "You're just a guest, Ambassador, a guest I presume holds in his heart greedy motives from which you seek to exploit from my Queen, my Master. Your importance has waned, sweet Ambassador Jonesy."

Furious, with the shades of it present on the Ambassador's face, stood up with preparations of responding to this child when his eyes caught others of the Dark Court watching him, wisely walking away in silence. Motioning with her hand, Carisma said, "Please, sit." Carisma watched, with keen interest, the fluid motions and angles and features of the girl when she moved to take the vacant seat. It was an observation not born from physical interest, but one born out of curiosity. Carisma wondered why such an innocent looking mouse wanted to walk with cats.

"Tell me, pretty thing, why have you come to the Dark Court? Seeking riches, power, knowledge, a purpose in life, perhaps? You can find all that here, and more. Have you met the Queen? Some say she is eccentric."

Spoiler: Gear Loadout

• Melee Weapons​
  • Basic Lightsaber​
• Armor​
  • Black Caskan Wolf-Snake Armor​
• Accessories​

 

[Lyras Valein]

"Finding Footing..."

Tags - Objective 1 - Asaiah Celwik

For a moment, Lyras wasn't sure if she'd just been insulted, advised, or rescued.

Her first instinct was defense — shoulders back, posture perfect, the faint shimmer of command energy threading her tone. But the woman beside her didn't feel hostile. Her presence in the Force was… curious. Analytical. Like static humming just above a melody.

Lyras blinked, watching as Asaiah downed her half-finished drink without ceremony. "…I was—well, I am—attempting to socialize," she managed after a second, her voice smooth but uncertain at the edges. "It's… going about as well as a deep-sea vessel without pressure shielding."

It came out before she could stop it, and she laughed — quietly, almost embarrassed. The sound startled her; she hadn't expected to laugh tonight.

Asaiah didn't seem to notice, or perhaps she didn't care. Her eyes were everywhere but on her. That in itself was oddly comforting. Most people who looked at Lyras either stared too long or not at all — unnerved by her eyes, her voice, or what they'd heard about her Mistress. This woman seemed more interested in the air molecules.

Lyras tilted her head, studying her with that gentle, aquatic curiosity that always betrayed her empathy. "Asaiah," she echoed softly, tasting the name like a note in a new composition. "I'm Lyras. I was trying to find someone to talk to, but apparently, everyone here has already picked a side or a rival." Her gaze flicked toward a knot of courtiers whispering behind jeweled masks. "You'd think power made people more sociable."

Asaiah muttered something about blood samples. Lyras' lips curved into a small, conspiratorial smile. "You're a researcher, then? I was a commander once. Which is, in a way, also a kind of science — predicting reactions under pressure." She hesitated, then added, with an amused tilt of her head, "Though I admit I've never considered applying that to literal blood samples. There's probably a paper in that somewhere."

Her empathy reached outward instinctively — not invasive, just a soft ripple. What she sensed was a mind like quicksilver: fragmented brilliance threaded through fatigue, a thousand thoughts jostling for hierarchy. It reminded her of the ocean floor after a storm — disturbed, but alive.

"Thank you, though," she said, voice lowering into something more sincere. "For the advice. I think I was starting to look like a statue." She mimed her earlier stiff posture, chin up, shoulders back — a perfect impression of a ceremonial guard. "You may have saved me from eternal awkwardness."

A beat passed.

"Would you, ah—" she gestured vaguely at the room, "—prefer to stand here and quietly judge everyone together? Or shall we make a doomed attempt at conversation with someone who's at least pretending to be less terrifying than they actually are?"

The faintest glint of mischief danced behind her crimson eyes. It wasn't confidence exactly, but it was momentum — the kind that made social awkwardness almost charming.

 

[Iskera Valest]

"Dead things and dry facts," Iskera repeated softly, as though tasting the phrase. Her tone made it sound almost affectionate. "You undersell it. The past is the only thing that ever tells the truth."

She remained standing for a moment longer, then took the seat opposite him, folding into it with a quiet, deliberate grace. The movement carried no pretense of seduction or threat, just a simple practicality — if the Court was a storm, then she preferred to weather it beside another creature who didn't flinch at thunder.

"Darth Dreer," she echoed. "A historian. Then you must know better than most that empires rot from memory long before they fall to war." Her gaze drifted to the goblet between her fingers, the faint gleam of violet liquid painting a reflection across her face. "The Court thinks itself eternal. The Queen will say as much, soon, I imagine. But I've dissected enough organisms to know — everything alive decays. The only difference is whether it rots slow enough to call it legacy."

There was no mockery in her words, just the calm dissection of a truth she'd already made peace with.

Her eyes lifted again, and there was something sharper there — not challenge, but curiosity. "If you unearth what's left behind, then I study what's still clinging on. My work concerns the living — or at least, the still-breathing. How to refine them, distill them, push them past the thresholds that evolution abandoned."

A pause. Then a wry smile. "In less poetic terms, poisons and antidotes."

She took a small sip of her wine now, just enough to wet her lips, and let the silence between them settle — comfortable, not cold. "It's refreshing," she admitted, "to meet someone here who doesn't introduce themselves by title and threat. You're not trying to impress me, and I find that... efficient."

A beat. "Just don't expect applause."

Tag - Darth Dreer - Objective 1

 

[Asaiah Celwik]

Outfit
Tag: Lyras Valein

There was a small tingle in the back of Asaiah's mind, as Lyras spoke. The stranger's voice seemingly sticking in her mind, alongside the jumble of Asaiah's own thoughts, fighting for control.

"Socializing can ultimately be a fruitless endeavour. Or it can strike rich. You never know what you might get."

It was why Asaiah had focused on her own followers. Her creations. Of course, they were doing their own things these days. Asaiah had set them on their own path, whilst she went down another. As she was a mother, watching her children walk their own road. In a way, she was at least the mother to the creations she had made.

"Though, I would say that power does not make for good company. People will do whatever they can to hold onto it. To climb further up. Most expect a knife in the back. They await that moment. It is far better in my opinion to carry on, as opposed to standing still."

The concept of betrayal was not something new to Asaiah. There were those you could have upmost faith in perhaps, yes, but in Asaiah's eyes, sooner or later someone would take your spot. Even having the upmost control of people couldn't be trusted. She shook her head for a moment, letting her gaze fall upon Lyras for a moment, where Asaiah's lips twisted into a small smirk for a moment.

"A commander, hm? Interesting. I was once a Goddess."

No elaboration. No explanation as to what she had meant. Because for Asaiah, that was the past. The future was more important. Life was not something you could waste. It was vital. Important. There was only so much time you could put towards studying. Researching. That was ultimately what pushed Asaiah forward. In a way however, it also made her ignorant. To things she deemed unnecessary. Social cues. Beauty. Social awkwardness. Why dilly dally over something as needless as that, when you could focus on your own path?

"Hm? I do not judge anyone. Nor am I a jury. I am simply...the Witness."

For a moment, Asaiah seemed to be caught off guard, turning her gaze fully towards Lyras, letting it focus on the stranger, before she continued to speak, void of any emotion.

"It is our blood that judges us. That decides our crimes. Our worst traits. Our best traits."

Yet afterwards, Asaiah seemed to snap out of it, breaking out into a wide grin. Holding her arm out towards Lyras, before nodding her head over towards the rest of the room, as a sense of...wonder and joy seemed to come to her voice. A small flicker of light in her eyes, surrounded by a visage of insanity.

"Lead the way, "Commander."
​

 

[Darth Dreer]

Objective I
Tags: Iskera Valest ​

Dreer found her directness refreshing, if nothing else. That merited a little honesty in turn. He shifted in his seat a little as she sat down, placing his dusty elbows on the table in a manner more fit for a tavern than a high-society gathering.

"It can be honest." He agreed. "But the past just as often lies to us. It doesn't yield up its secrets easily, and when it does, much of the meaning is lost, distorted by bias, incompetence, or just the ravages of the years. Something might be treated as fact for years, even decades or centuries, until fresh findings turn the whole thing over, and we must fumble again for the truth."

He still hadn't partaken of the bounty before him, neither the food nor the drink. Dreer wasn't especially worried about the possibility of poison. More that the wine wouldn't be strong enough to give him any proper buzz. That was the joy of his nature: the fun poisons didn't work either.

Dreer tilted his head to one side thoughtfully at her appraisal of the Court, and her explanation of her field of study. "A chemist, then. I'll admit my ignorance in the field, except insofar as it relates to interrogation. Many buried secrets are held only by a few. Some are even held only by one. Rarely do they give them up willingly."

"Consider, then, that the past is a particularly intransigent subject. Too much force, and you risk breaking your new toy. Too little, and you're just wasting your time."

His eyes flickered toward the still-empty throne, then gave a curt nod of agreement. "No worse liars than empires, it's true. Only a state drunk on hero-worship could come up with so poisonous a trick as 'forever'. Any statement or ideal that contains that word is nothing more than a lie, agreed upon by all parties involved. Everything trudges on toward its end, where it then falls into my hands, or those of someone like me."

"One can't stop the march of history. Only document it, maybe learn from it if you're lucky. I'd hope everyone here is objective enough to understand that something doesn't need to be eternal to be meaningful." He folded his arms and leaned back in his chair, relaxing a bit.

"I'd hope still more that Virelia herself carries that objectivity. I suppose we'll just have to see. The future isn't my domain. The present is plenty confusing enough for me."

That thin little smile once again marred his features. He was the stereotype of his sort in every way: thoughtful, disdainful of nonsense, and obscurely pleased when someone else was too. Meeting another scholarly type, even if one of a different forte, was just the icing on the cake.

"Impressing you would require being impressive. Or, with all due respect and no offense intended, holding your opinion in high enough regard to deem you worth impressing. We've only just met, after all." He ran a finger along the edge of the table, studying the dust particles at his fingertip. Yet again, he seemed to find this minutiae fascinating, and was silent for a good few moments. "I'm not overly interested in putting on airs, least of all to someone who'd see through them in an instant. Simple honesty will do, much as the word is a heresy in these circles."

"Like I said, I'm a simple antiquarian. Not a warlord, not a warrior, certainly not an emperor. Plenty of those behind the Blackwall, maybe even a few in this room. That is my worth and status. I set it myself, lest others set it for me, so we each know who we're dealing with."

He leaned on the table again, finally picking up a glass of his own and taking a sip. Bitter. He'd have expected nothing less. "To the contrary. Deeming me efficient is the grandest applause you can give me. Efficiency saves time, and as we've agreed, there's no currency more precious or irreplaceable."

"Would that our host shared your appreciation, but there's a certain power in making others wait. Expending that irreplaceable currency second by second. I can think of no other reason to do it. Unless she forgot, of course."

 

[Lyras Valein]

"Finding Footing..."

Tags - Objective 1 - Asaiah Celwik

A goddess? The thought echoed with equal parts awe and disbelief — and, if she was honest, a flicker of admiration. She wasn't sure if Asaiah was joking, reminiscing, or simply mad in that brilliant, terrifying way some geniuses were. But there was something strangely endearing about the way she said it — not proud, not delusional, just… factual. As though it was as mundane as saying she'd once been a librarian.

"Well," Lyras said softly, lips curving into a small smile. "If you were a goddess, that explains why I feel like I should be offering you a prayer instead of a drink."

The faint shimmer of humor in her voice came naturally this time. Asaiah's presence — for all its unpredictability — loosened her composure in a way she hadn't expected. It was… freeing, talking to someone who didn't bow, didn't posture, didn't weigh every word for advantage. Just spoke.

Her red eyes followed Asaiah's gaze across the hall — to the scheming nobles, the careful smiles, the jeweled monsters who mistook stillness for power. "You're right, though," Lyras admitted, her tone thoughtful. "Power isolates. It makes you defensive, paranoid, cold. I've seen officers ruin entire fleets because they couldn't trust their own crew. They mistook control for leadership." She glanced back to Asaiah, expression softening. "Maybe that's why I prefer currents to ladders. In water, you can't climb — you can only move."

There was a pause — the kind that invited honesty.

"I used to think command meant being unshakable," she added, fingers tracing the edge of her glass. "But the Queen says strength isn't rigidity. It's awareness. To feel the tides, even when they hurt." Her smile turned rueful. "I think I'm still learning that part."

Then Asaiah said the Witness, and something about the words tugged at Lyras' empathy — the way it sounded both profound and lonely. The notion that blood itself judged, that fate ran through veins rather than choices, felt alien to her… but beautiful, in a melancholic way.

She tilted her head, her voice dropping into something tender and teasing all at once. "Then perhaps I'm lucky, Witness. I'd rather be seen than worshiped."

Lyras couldn't help laughing, the sound quiet but sincere. She hesitated only a moment before taking the offered arm, the gesture both polite and playfully formal.

"Careful, though," she murmured, her crimson eyes glinting as they turned toward the crowd. "If I lead, we might end up in the wrong current. I've never been particularly good at pretending to belong."

But her tone was warm now, her earlier awkwardness fading beneath the strange comfort of companionship. Together they began to weave into the flow of the hall — a goddess and a siren, walking through the noise and light as though the Feast of Ascension existed only for their conversation.

Lyras smiled sidelong at her companion.
"Still," she said softly, "I think I've struck rich."

 

[Iskera Valest]

There was a saying she once heard on Denon: Truth is like glass — you can polish it, fracture it, or hold it up to the light, but never drink from it without bleeding.

Iskera smiled faintly at the thought, tracing a slow circle around the rim of her own glass as Dreer spoke. His words were deliberate, neither boastful nor self-effacing — an intellectual's rhythm, marked by pauses that asked to be filled with silence rather than applause. She found herself appreciating that. In a room where most sentences were unsheathed like daggers, his felt like scalpels — cutting precisely, not cruelly.

"Then we agree," she said at last. "The past lies because people need it to. The present lies because they can. I prefer the body — it's incapable of deceit. It reacts, it decays, it endures. If a toxin works, it tells the truth; if it fails, it doesn't. There's a purity in that simplicity."

She leaned back in her chair, posture relaxed but eyes sharp. "I envy you, in a way. You deal in ghosts of certainty. I deal in certainties that die screaming." A dry hum of amusement followed. "And yet, both of us keep looking. The Court calls it curiosity. I call it compulsion."

The sound of the crowd behind them swelled again — laughter gilded with venom, promises wrapped in perfume. Iskera didn't turn. "You said something important," she went on. "That everything trudges toward its end, where it falls into your hands. I think that's why Virelia waits. She knows the worth of anticipation — how time dilates when attention sharpens. This entire hall is an experiment in patience. Every second she delays, the hunger grows. When she arrives, they'll devour her words like starving dogs."

Her eyes met his, calm, unflinching. "If she's wise, she'll feed them little — just enough to keep them hungering for her next command. That's how immortality begins. Not in denial of death, but in addiction to delay."

She took another measured sip of wine, then added, quieter, "But perhaps I give her too much credit. Even queens miscalculate."

Dreer's last remark drew a genuine, small laugh from her — not loud, but warm in its honesty. "If she forgot, then the universe has an exquisite sense of humor." Her gaze drifted toward the throne, its glow faintly pulsing like a dormant heart. "And perhaps that's the only god worth acknowledging."

Turning back to him, she said, "You call yourself an antiquarian. I believe you. But don't mistake understatement for safety, Darth Dreer. In a place like this, simplicity draws more eyes than armor. Those who play small are often the most carefully watched."

Her smile thinned into something almost kind. "Still — I'd rather be watched for being efficient than adored for being loud."

A beat passed, then she raised her glass, her tone light but edged with truth. "To the liars, then. The past, the present, and the ones who pretend not to be either."

Tag - Objective 1 - Darth Dreer

 

[Asaiah Celwik]

Outfit
Tag: Lyras Valein

For a moment, the smile flickered off Asaiah's face. Her gaze flicking back over towards Lyras at the same time, the small amount of light in her eyes immediately dying out as her gaze darkened.

"It is always best to save your prayers for yourself. A divine being will never truly help anyone. And those who do are false."

Perhaps a hint towards Asaiah's comment on why she used to be one. Perhaps her own personal opinion. Neither would be made obvious. Instead once again, it was as if a lightswitch had been flicked as a wide toothy grin spread across her face once more, the sparkle coming to her eyes once more. A small smug tone coming to her voice as Lyras spoke of how Asaiah was right about power.

"It truly does isolate one. Though, do not be too confident with the idea of swimming. Even the strongest of swimmers can be dragged into the dark depths of the ocean. And even though those who can breathe into those depths can not survive if they become tangled in what lays beneath the surf."

Her eyes flicked over towards Lyras' neck for a moment, keeping a quaint smile on her face before nodding at Lyras' words. Queen. So that's what Virelia went by as well. Very intriguing. Much had changed since Asaiah's, for lack of a better term, exile. It was fine in her eyes however. People grew. People changed.

Yet then came the comment about how Lyras would prefer to be seen rather than worshipped. Taking a step back as if to actually...well, grant that. To let Lyras be seen as Asaiah looked her...companion for the feast up and down. Asaiah could admit there was a beauty there. But like previously stated, she did not have much of an interest in the beautiful. Not in the same way as others. Others desired for beauty, some may lust for it. But Asaiah was content to see and move on.

"Do not pretend to belong."

She kept her gaze fixated on Lyras. It was a simple statement. Not so much an order. Asaiah didn't do ordering people.

"You are here Lyras. That means you belong. If anyone does not, it is I. Now. Let us be on our way. Let me see where this "current" takes me."
​

 

[Qyssiyana]

Location: Grand Hall, Shadow Spire - Malachor V
Attire: Dress │ Shoes
Objective: Feast of Ascension
Tag: Aaliyah

My love.

Pink fire ignited across Qyssiyana’s alabaster cheeks, her triocular gaze widening as a soft, girlish gasp escaped her lips. The cappuccino-skinned singer leaned forward then, towering over her as she spoke. The mention of private lessons and opportunities sent an ecstatic shiver through her lekku. In that, her thoughts first interpreted the proposition as singing lessons.

However, it was then that something akin to realization struck her like a lighting bolt.

Did she mean lessons in aerovocalics?

Qyssiyana cocked her head. Had whispers of her neuropsychic talents already woven their way through the Dark Court? Her thoughts on the matter were not unpleasant. The idea of being known as a siren held a certain dark allure. Even if people were already aware of what she was capable of, her true art went beyond persuasion, but rather going under the will entirely by leveraging her encyclopaedic neuroscientific knowledge to hack the brain as a slicer might a computer.

Regardless of the kind of tutelage that the woman meant, Qyssiyana could not imagine turning down the opportunity for private lessons. After all, singing in and of itself was a lovely skill to have. And she already had the physical tools to be good at it!

“Yes, please!” Qyssiyana replied, the words escaping in an eager, almost musical squeak. “Where are my manners? My name is Qyssiyana, by the way.” she continued, a demure smile gracing her lips. “I admit, I have never sung in the artistic sense before, although...” Qyssiyana stroked one of her lekku as she angled her form towards the woman, eyes sparkling with equal parts excitement and playful delight.

“I do have experience as a dancer~”

 

[Aaliyah]

Qyssiyana sounded quite eager to explore the possibilities. Aaliyah liked that. Someone with her potential should be eager and ambitious. They should be discontent with merely 'enough' and strive to claim everything that rightfully belonged to them -- everything they could snatch from the galaxy using their own power. Whether this pale lekku-sporting woman chose to become consumed by greed was immaterial. Aaliyah's purpose wasn't to 'corrupt;' though she would gladly make use of people that thought as she did to reshape the galaxy. Bit by bit.

But of course Aaliyah was positively beaming with the way Qyssiyana reacted. Who wouldn't be smitten with the potential of taking in an enthusiastic woman under their wing as a mentor?

"I am Aaliyah, Qyssiyana. I am absolutely delighted to meet you." No need for her to drop a ton of titles on her new friend. Those were the politicians and nobles in chamber, not a darling like this temptress standing in front of Aaliyah. "I have no doubt, at all, that you will be an excellent singer and dancer." There'd be many that would desire to enslave Qyssiyana for her dancing aptitude, no doubt, but that was another thing they'd address. Presuming the young woman hadn't already learned a thing or two about self defense. Beauty came with risk, after all.

Palm up, Aaliyah extended a hand out to Qyssiyana at a height-suitable level. "Would you care to walk with me through the crowd until the Lady of the Hour arrives? I would hate for us to part too soon, and would love to hear more about you. Your ambitions?" It never hurt to know where someone wanted to go while you sought to chart out the course of their life.

Qyssiyana | Open​

 

[Lyras Valein]

"Finding Footing..."

Tags - Objective 1 - Asaiah Celwik

For the briefest instant, Lyras saw it — that flicker in Asaiah's eyes, the momentary eclipse when warmth gave way to something cold and ancient. It wasn't fear she felt, but recognition. A woman who had carried her own divinity like a wound.

She didn't recoil. She only nodded softly, her voice quieter now, the cadence of her words dipping into something more genuine. "Then I'll save my prayers for the sea," she murmured, "—and for those who still think they can change its tide."

There was a faint, wistful smile there. Maybe it was a defense mechanism; maybe it was honesty. Either way, the tension slipped away like foam from a wave as Asaiah's grin returned, sharp and alive.

Lyras listened as the scientist spoke of the ocean's dangers, and despite herself, she laughed — a soft, melodic sound that caught a few curious glances from nearby courtiers. "You sound like my old navigation officer," she teased. "He once told me that all drowning starts with confidence. Then he fell overboard trying to impress a senator." Her eyes gleamed mischievously. "The senator was not impressed."

The humor broke the last of her stiffness. When Asaiah's gaze lingered on her gills, Lyras didn't hide them — instead she let them flare slightly, breathing in the charged air of the hall. "You're not wrong, though," she added after a beat. "Even those who can breathe the depths aren't immune to what hides there. I've seen ships vanish in calm water. And people, too."

The words were almost poetic, but her tone softened at the end — not quite sorrow, not quite acceptance. Just awareness.

Then Asaiah's voice shifted again — that strange mix of sincerity and detachment, her command not to pretend to belong landing like a small, unexpected kindness.

Lyras blinked, the faintest warmth creeping into her expression. "You're very strange, Asaiah," she said with quiet amusement, "but I think I like that."

Her hand brushed lightly against Asaiah's arm, a small guiding gesture as the crowd parted before them. The feast was alive now — laughter, music, and the hum of alchemical candles painting the air in violet hues. They passed a pair of armored knights boasting about campaigns on Nathema, and Lyras tilted her head toward them conspiratorially.

"Rule number one of the Dark Court," she whispered, leaning close enough for her voice to tickle Asaiah's ear. "Never stand still long enough for someone to measure your worth. Movement confuses predators."

As if to demonstrate, she steered them smoothly into a new flow of guests — a passing group of alchemists discussing crystalline resonance. One of them, noticing Lyras' circlet, offered a polite bow. She smiled back, poised but unassuming, then turned to Asaiah.

"See?" she said softly, her grin playful. "Current's not so bad once you stop fighting it."

And with that, the siren of Manaan and the mad goddess of science disappeared into the sea of shadow and light — two misfit souls adrift together in the dark tide of the Court.

 

[Asaiah Celwik]

Outfit
Tag: Lyras Valein

"The tide can be changed. Perhaps not naturally. Not easily. But a river does not always flow downstream."

Asaiah nodded...Though considering she still had the little grin on her face alongside the light in her eyes, it was clear that she was mostly just trying to act sagely. Yet an eyebrow raised at Lyras' laugh. It caught Asaiah off guard because of how much she...enjoyed it. It brought a warmth that she didn't quite recall the last time she felt that way. It made her more curious as to what was going on as well, as she looked to see that others were looking in Lyras' way. Intriguing.

The Woman of Science found herself...lost for words. For a moment of course. But it was still strange. To be dwelling on something as simple as a laugh. Though eventually she shook her head to snap out of the daze for a moment, taking her gaze away from Lyras to watch those discussing things amongst themselves. She was never much for eavesdropping. Gathering intelligence and the like in the way of a spy was not her way. She gathered intelligence by getting her hands dirty.

"I am rarely wrong. I can be. I am not one to act as if my logic is flawless. I used to, when I was far more childish. When I believed myself to be a Hero who rescued the downtrodden. The weak. The innocent. I was wrong."

And with that, Asaiah left that there. That part of her had been left behind. Asaiah had finally recognised that insane part of herself. In a way, she was embracing it. It was the switch that kept being flipped. The insanity being turned off, and then back on again. The question is, which part was the insane part? The giddy girl with the light in her eyes? Or the grim seriousness that seemed void of emotion. The side which always had a smile on its face, or the side which ultimately seemed bored of life.

"But yes, I am also quite strange. Most people are, if you look beneath the surface. Look more than skin deep. It's why I know you are strange yourself Lyras. Though I won't complain."

The grin turned into a sly smirk, as Asaiah raised her hand to just...tap Lyras on the nose out of nowhere. There was very much...a lack of care about fitting in with the rest of those in the feast. In fact, it partly played into the advice that Lyras had given Asaiah. It was why Asaiah had embraced her insanity. Leave people guessing as to what she was going to do...and what was she going to do right now?

She was going to enjoy the company of her new companion, as they disappeared amongst the crowd.
​

 

[Kyber]

Objective: 1
Equipment: 3 hidden lightsabers, Cloaking Device, Holographic disguise matrix
Disguise:

Spoiler

Tags - Engaging: Vharra Theskar Calyx Sundrift | Indirect: Darth Virelia

Kyber listened carefully to what Vharra said, not because he agreed or disagreed with her but instead because it told him exactly what type of person Vharra was. Clearly she was a person who was quite direct and did not waste time mincing words and her statement about how rulers shouldn't sit idly but instead lead by example meant she was most likely a warlord and not the armchair general type, potentially in charge of a mercenary group. Another potential possibility was that she was some sort of freedom fighter/revolutionary but considering where she was right now that would not be the case.

"In This Ones opinion a Ruler who can sit comfortably and grow fat on a throne is not using it correctly. The Throne is both a symbol of power and a burden to Those Ones who use it correctly."

Kyber was slightly taken aback when Calyx spoke. Whoever this man was his approach was undetected by Kyber which infuriated the shard not that his hologram showed signs of this. Listening to Calyx, Kyber tried to figure out what type of man he was. Without the ability to sense even his most basic thoughts with the force the best he could figure was this man had played the game of politics before. Both Vharra and Calyx were dangerous and Kyber could see why Virelia would want them in her new empire.

"This One is Professor Kybon." Kyber would do a slight bow as he introduced himself "That One who has claimed Queenship like many Dark rulers does not seek an empire that would Outlast them." Kyber could be wrong about his assumptions of the Dark Lady but if history had shown him anything it was that Sith Empires die with their Emperor.

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Here starts, the Dark Ages..."

Tags - Kyber Calyx Sundrift Vharra Theskar Lyras Valein Asaiah Celwik Mika Tai En Qyssiyana Aaliyah

The scent of alchemical fire and bloodwine rolled toward her as Darth Virelia entered the Grand Hall of the Spire. The storm beyond answered in kind — thunder cracking once, twice, as if to mark the rhythm of her stride. Her armor gleamed in violet and black, its living veins pulsing with faint bioluminescence that echoed the heartbeat of Malachor itself. Each step struck the obsidian floor like the tolling of a bell.

The courtiers fell silent. Thousands — nobles, commanders, adepts — turned as one. Every whisper, every shuffle of silk or scrape of plate ceased. The music faltered. Even the torches seemed to bow their light toward her.

Virelia ascended the central dais slowly, deliberately, her gaze sweeping across the gathered elite. She saw them all — the architects of her new dominion: once-rivals, exiles, scholars, slavers, soldiers, alchemists. She saw hunger in their eyes. Fear. Devotion. Pride. And she savored it, because she had built it.

When she reached the throne, she did not sit. Not yet. She turned to face them — tall, unflinching, haloed in the stormlight refracting through the Spire's open apex.

"Once," she began, her voice resonant and cold, "there was nothing."

The words hung like iron in the air.

"Only dust and ruin. The remains of empires that promised eternity and found only extinction. The Sith became hollow, the Jedi rotted into myth, and the galaxy — the galaxy forgot what strength looked like."

She took a step forward, her gloved hands lifting slightly, palms open. "From that void, we built something new. Through sheer will, through sheer force. Against an entire galaxy which bemoaned us, which wanted us gone and forgotten. Through the clarity that power is not a gift of gods — it is a function of control, precision, and purpose. Through the loyalty and dedication to be here, to be still standing where others wavered, failed or surrendered to their base desires."

Her eyes glimmered faintly, twin amethysts in the gloom. "The Dark Court has conquered. It has survived the fire. And tonight, it ascends."

The chamber answered with a low, collective breath — a wave of tension breaking. Servants retreated to the walls, the crowd leaned forward, and the storm outside flared.

"Seven flames," she said, her tone softening but carrying farther, as if the Spire itself amplified it. "One Throne."

At her gesture, the banners along the hall's pillars shimmered. New sigils appeared — seven geometric emblems wrought in alchemical gold, each blazing briefly in its own hue before stabilizing in violet.

"The Exarchate," Virelia declared, "shall stand as the spine of this empire — the structure upon which dominion is built. It will bind philosophy to function, and ambition to order. Its seven arms will extend my reach to every world, every fleet, every whisper of power in this Court."

She raised a hand, and the first sigil flared red. "The Exarch of Wrath — the blade and hammer of the Court. War is our language, and Wrath shall speak it for me."

A second sigil blazed gold. "The Exarch of Greed — the keeper of wealth, of production, of debt and tribute. Through Greed, our coffers will never empty, our forges never cool."

Green light pulsed from the third. "The Exarch of Gluttony — hunger for knowledge incarnate. Alchemy, science, and creation — all progress feeds through their hand."

Then silver, gleaming like starlight. "The Exarch of Lust — diplomat and tempter. The weaver of alliances, the mistress of influence. They will ensure that desire itself serves us."

Blue light rose next. "The Exarch of Pride — law, rank, and order. They will define our nobility and keep the ladder intact — every rung polished, every fall recorded."

The penultimate sigil shimmered black-green. "The Exarch of Envy — shadow and knowledge. They will see what others cannot, and ensure that betrayal dies unborn."

And finally, a deep indigo hue, almost invisible. "The Exarch of Sloth — not indolence, but endurance. The keeper of our archives, our memory, our continuity. When the stars themselves fade, they will remain to remember what we were."

Her gaze swept across the hall again — searching, measuring. She could see the tension ripple through the nobles like a current. Each one wondered: who will she name?

She smiled faintly.

"Seven Flames," she repeated, "One Throne. Each Exarch will rule a domain — not merely of territory, but of principle. Their strength will shape the empire's balance; their rivalry will sharpen it. There will be no peace among them, for peace is death. There will be vigilance, motion, evolution."

Her tone sharpened, each word deliberate. "And remember this: the Throne is Absolute. Power is Service. Ambition is permitted — disobedience is annihilation."

The storm cracked overhead again, white light lancing through the chamber and reflecting in her armor like living fire.

Virelia finally turned, her back to them, and placed one hand upon the basalt throne. The living light beneath its surface pulsed once, then steadied — the Spire itself recognizing its sovereign.

"Now," she said at last, without turning. "Send for your desires, name the positions you seek, our proving begins..."

 

[Evangel]

Objective 1​

In the Great Dark lady's wake followed a Dark Mandalorian whose purple sigils and glyphs glowed faintly. A beskar spear was held in the crook of their left arm. Every step was precisely measured and timed with that of Darth Virelia so as to draw neither closer nor further from her presence. Three strides back to allow all eyes to be fastened to her countenance and glory; but not so far out of reach should a cur think to accost such magnificence. Smile all they like. Fawn as they should. But no one touched Her without her leave and lived.

Unlike Virelia's steps, Evangel's were silent as the grave. She was a specter that existed in the Dark Lady's shadow. A Jealous guard, and always watchful.

Once they reach the dais, Evangel separated from Her path and took station a step off center. She pivoted and the spear snapped out to the side as Virelia's Captain of the Guard took her place. No one touched her without leave. No one approached the throne without leave -- they could petition at a distance. All assembled fell before Her will was the unspoken commandment -- it need not be said for Evangel to know it.

As Darth Virelia addressed the crowd, Evangel scanned those in attendance from behind her purple visor. She search for anyone that looked out of place. Uncomfortable. Upset at anything that was said. This was the Dark Court, but that did not mean an odious presence wouldn't try to hear Her words. Jedi. The very title incensed Evangel. She had been taught to kill them above all, and that they would try to undermine her Master at ever turn. The Master had changed, but not the purpose and certainly not the Jedi. Vigilance.

There was also the matter of the Spire's foundation, where a number of valued assets had been dispatched. It would not do to have the Lady's gathering disrupted. Though, if there were a plot, Evangel would see Virelia to safety at any cost -- even that of every other soul in that chamber.

Darth Virelia​

 

[Vharra Theskar]

"Exile didn't break me. It burned away what was weak."

Tags - Darth Virelia Calyx Sundrift Kyber

Her eyes flitted towards the blonde who joined the group, masking her expression of annoyance. He believed most here would be in agreement to her? Doubtful. Most here were here for their own goals. Their own aims. Vharra was no different of course. Even if he believed that there were people who would look beyond their own personal gain, Vharra was slowly but surely starting to see how greedy the Galaxy was. How much others put themselves first. How much Rulers put themselves first before their people. It was greed that lead to suffering. It was a simple solution. And no, it was not to share out things evenly. No. It was to keep your people busy. Idle hands had idle thoughts. Either way, she stayed silent as Calyx spoke.

Then her gaze fell upon the old man. Well. She hadn't asked for his opinion. But Vharra was not going to be externally as rude as her own thoughts were. Experience at home had taught Vharra how important manners were in these types of setting. Even if people looked down at you, you did not act out. You did not say your own opinion in response to their own. Instead, you were meant to say what you thought they'd want to hear...but Vharra was not like that either. Instead, she let silence fill the air. She only spoke when it came to introductions.

"Emberveil. Some may call me The Emberveil. Call me whichever."

And then out came the "Queen". Discussions of Exarchs. Roles to be passed on to others who nominated themselves. And Vharra kept herself quiet. None of this was what she desired. She sought her own personal gain. Not to uplift the Dark Court in one of those roles. Of course, she would owe them for any aid that is rendered...but as of this moment? There was no favours owed. Nothing she needed to give. Instead she held her tongue, folding her arms along her front as she took in the others around her.

​

 

[Zyna Morthus]

Ascended Splendour

Objective: Introduce House Morthus to the Dark Court
Location: Spire, Malachor V
Tags: Darth Virelia | OPEN

Mor'zyna'thus strode into the gathering with confidence. She was here for only one purpose. And that was to be recognized as the upper tier of this Dark Court. This had to be the case. If she was not then she would be forever shamed for allowing the system her grandmother had grown into a secret Dark Chiss haven, to be sullied by the boots of outsiders. It was still a mystery to Zyna how Darth Virelia was able to find her people and the territory they had dominated for over a century. The reports that had been run on the stealth generators that had kept them secret for all that time were working correctly. It must have been the Force that drew Virelia in. That was something that Zyna could deal with. But not all of her people would.

In order to keep her grip on the people and resources of Xer'cyn, Zyna had broken the most sacred rule of the Dark Chiss. She had left the system. She would attend the ascension feast of the Dark Queen who had seen through the veil that had kept her people tucked away from sight for so long. There was hardly anything to lose. If Queen Virelia refused the conditions of Zyna's service, there was little hope that they could coexist.

Zyna was raised to be a ruler. It was not something that was given to her freely, however. Her sisters had every opportunity to take it from her. She learned to be calculating and ruthless. Teachings that were applied both in politics and her other inherited skill, the Force. As her grandmother and mother before her, Zyna took those lessons and became the Matriarch of Xer'cyn. Literally fighting her sisters when necessary to maintain control. The Force elevated her further and she commanded the other Houses of Xer'cyn to continued growth.

Though she had come out victorious against her sisters, Zyna was not as confident when the Dark Queen had seen through their technologic shadows made herself known. The Dark Chiss were no longer a secret. The galaxy would need to hear from them. And Zyna would use the science they had developed over the last century to gain power and prestige even as she pledge her service to the Queen.

Zyna and her honor guard had arrived very shortly before the arrival of the Dark Queen. One of Zyna's guardsmen gasped at the Queen's arrival and received a quick glare from the Matriarch. Zyna respected the Queen's power. Zyna knew where that power came from. The Force had given Virelia a power that Zyna had no choice but to bow to. Virelia sat at the top of the totem pole of power. That did not mean there was not more power to be had.

The Queen's speech was exactly what it needed to be. It was not too grandiose, but it exhibited the weight of the moment. It also set up the structure of power that would branch out from below the Queen's throne. The two G's stood out to Zyna. Which was the right station for her to hold? She was wealthy for sure and she managed the resources of her home system with ruthless precision.

Finally at the end of the Queen's speech Zyna stepped forward. Her guards took a step with her as well, though remained at her back. She cleared her throat and dropped the base of her scepter/staff on the floor. "Most of you hear don't know me. Don't know where I come from. That is by design. Until recently my people flourished on the edge of the galaxy. Paying no mind to the politics of the day and being forgotten by those who played these games. The Dark Queen found us. And she invited us in. I am Matriarch Mor'zyna'thus of the Dark Chiss from Xer'cys. I claim right to the title of Exarch of Gluttony. My people have the means and ideas to create a good many things that will help this Queendom rise where needed and remain shadow where required. The Dark Chiss are eager to serve, Dark Queen."

 

[Mika Tai En]

Ascended Splendour

Objective:
Location: Spire, Malachor V
Outfit: Feast Attire
Tags: Darth Virelia | Carisma Rostu | OPEN

​

The girl spoke with a power that made her seem quite formidable. Mika knew that she was supposed to speak like this as well. That she was better than this ambassador who was being verbally smacked down was not a question in Mika's mind. Still, it took a bit of courage for someone so young to take such a stance. Of course, Mika could not remember being so young. Perhaps it was youth that made the girl act so decisively.

With the ambassador dispatched, Mika was offered a seat next to the Queen's apprentice. To think Mika was innocent was not too far from the truth. Naïve was probably more accurate, but the two were not far apart. Mika would kill without a second thought. She had been taught to do so should have purpose, however. Taking action for selfish gains was something that she hadn't grown accustomed to yet. In that manner Mika had much to learn and was the student of the Queen herself. However, she was a fully trained Imperial Knight. Mika could apply the Force quite well, when and how to apply it was something that she was just learning to decide for herself.

Her training had Mika notice the appraising look that the girl gave her as she sat. In most settings Mika would have done the same. But this girl she could tell was more than just what she looked like on the outside. If that was not the case she would not be the apprentice of the Queen.

There was a bit of a blush as Mika was called "pretty thing". She had never much cared for how she was perceived physically before. Being a knight aesthetics of beauty weren't supposed to matter and that had been hammered into her. Now she was standing on her own and she knew that being attractive had its own advantages. She would need to learn to play into those as well.

"The Queen called to me…almost literally. She set a trap that I was sent into. The Queen sees something in me. I have pledged my service to her in order to learn more how to properly wield power. Order and 'the greater good' has been thrust upon me for as long as I can remember. She showed me what it was to act for myself. She has promised to show me more. What about you? How did one so young get noticed by the Queen?"

While conversing with the young woman the Queen made her arrival. The announcement of the Exarchate was an interesting development. Mika was not here to take a place that close to the Queen. She had too much to learn. Her eyes shifted to the girl. She wondered if the girl would put herself up for one of the seven honors.