Private DAGGERFALL - Embers to Flames

[Kali'ka]

Tag: Serina Calis Sable Varro Ellissanthia
​

Kali'ka had slid into the role with trained ease. The persuader, the seducer, the voice that flamed hearts to act. It was delicious, to see the soldiers bend to her influence, catch the virus of her lies until it became a plague in the barracks. The skills learned at the feet of Serina, tainted with the acolyte's magic and the power of the Dark Side, and then, the presence the Mistress herself, whipped up the unwitting soldiers into zealous militants, bent on purging an evil that did not exist.

Then the Kiffar sorceress felt the pull, like a satellite captured in the gravity of a strong planet. Serina was drawing close. With anticipation Kali'ka awaited that sweet invasion of her personal space, where the Dark Jedi's power sparked the most raw elements of Kali's being... lust, dread and greed.

The heat of velvet words again warmed the acolyte's ear, as Serina stood impossibly close. Kali'ka heard approval in her master's words. The brush of that leather across the tier of her bottom lip elicited a soft sigh and a brief closing of her eyes as she relished the intimate contact. Every fiber of her being scintillated with the touch, as if the end of every nerve was lit on fire.

The acolyte had offered herself as a pet, a lowly servant. But the mistress had taught, and her graphic words reminded Kali, that in her surrender of will would come incredible, terrible purpose. To have the power of that purpose, to taste of that crumb of Serina's power, was a craving that made Kali'la eager to submit. Even the cruel promise made, should she disappoint her mistress, how it displayed Serina's deliciously wicked nature, made the prospect of serving the Dark Jedi even more viscerally exciting.

A picture was painted by the provovative Serina of the night to come, Kali'ka's place in the events, and prophecy of what she would see unravel before her. Kali'ka would be there, a part of it. Her performance, should their goals be achieved, might earn her special favor. Oh, though vague, the promises that played upon luscious cruel lips stirred Kali to strive to prove herself again, to strain for what always seemed out of reach, the next reward, the next gift of approval from the Mistress.

Their plan, Serina's plan, had completed a phase. How Sable and Elissanthia fared in their mission, Kali'ka was not privy. But the turning of the 43rd Legion against the governor had begun. The troops called to assemble.

Kali'ka stood next to Serina as the ranks formed. They were made to follow, and it took little more than a darkly woven ruse to turn their might against their master. Again, Serina drew close, igniting all Kali'ka's senses, setting her being to quiver with anticipation. The touch, oh, how the subtle, trailing touches set her core to tighten with heat. She did this, Serina reminded her. These troops would serve Serina's cause, but crave to obey Kali'ka, to the death.

With that terrible torment that came with Serina's sudden retreat, the acolyte composed herself as her Mistress addressed the troops. And then, her acolyte was given command.

With a trace of a wicked grin, Kali'ka glanced at her benefactor, striding forward with unhurried steps, carefully trained physique udulating in a gait of power and seduction as she climbed atop the lead transport. From beneath her cape she produced a thick phrik rod, her weapon, and her vocie rang out over the hum of the vehicles.

"On! On to cleanse this world! On to glory in victory!" She cried out, Darkness tainting her words with power as she turned and commanded the unit to move out.

They moved swiftly through to the undercity, leaving a wake of alarm and unease amid the population who saw them. Kali'ka urged them on. It was not a parade, it was an assault, and they arrived at the gates of House Rendix' fortress. It took a simple wave of that iron rod in her hand, and the mounted heavy blasters on the lead transports roared to life as they blasted against the duracrete gates. Soldiers poured out of the transports and blaster fire erupted as the syndicate grasped what had befallen them.

Serina leaped down to the street, stalking amid the scrambling troops. Without a word, a cadre of soldiers gathered around her. "The gates! Take them down and rid the world of the vermin within!" she bellowed over the din of blaster fire as soldiers surged forward fearlessly.

 

[Serina Calis]

"The inexorable march to triumph, begins today."



Tag - Kali'ka Ellissanthia Sable Varro



Serina stood like a goddess at the edge of a battlefield carved from lies.

The undercity trembled around her, its darkened corridors alight with blaster fire and the screams of men who had no idea they were dying for nothing. The crimson glow of the assault bathed her in a molten light, licking up her form like fire worshipping the pyre, painting her silhouette in tones of blood and divinity.

And oh, how glorious it was.

Her cloak whipped in the heat of the detonations as House Rendix's fortress began to buckle under the barrage. The gates cracked like brittle bones, spilling defenders into the street, their resistance panicked, disorganized—an orchestra of chaos already playing to her rhythm.

And there, at the tip of the spear, stood Kali'ka.

A shadow in motion, radiant in her malice, her voice laced with the kind of power that makes men believe. She was a banner raised high—not cloth or sigil, but flesh and fury and dark promise. The rod in her hand was not a weapon. It was a scepter.

And Serina watched her with the intensity of an artist beholding the moment her sculpture first breathed.

She stepped forward slowly, her boots crunching against shattered stone and broken bodies, her movement unhurried even as the battle surged around her. The chaos made room for her, as if even death knew to part before she passed.

She said nothing at first, letting the screams and detonations speak for her, her attention fixed upon her acolyte with a heat that could melt phrik.

Finally, when she reached her—when the thunder of the gate's destruction became background to their private symphony—Serina stopped at the edge of the carnage and spoke.

"Mmm… listen to them."

Her voice was syruped sin, smooth and heavy with indulgence, her lips curving into something that couldn't quite be called a smile.

"They scream as if it matters."

She moved behind Kali'ka again, the way she always did when she wanted to test her—when she wanted to ignite her. Her hand slid across the back of the girl's hip, barely touching, an impossible whisper of leather against armor, a reminder of who owned her body and who would one day claim her soul.

"You've done this." The praise was quiet, soaked in promise. "You've fed them lies so sweet they begged to taste more. Now they feast on fire. They die for you."

A pause. Then, more cruelly, more intimately:

"Tell me, my darling little pyre—does it make you ache? To see them kill at your command? To feel them burn beneath your lies, all while they imagine your name will be carved into banners of honor?"

She stepped in closer, pressed behind her now, her breath brushing the edge of Kali'ka's neck.

"Does it thrill you?" she whispered. "To seduce the living into slaughter, and be worshipped for it?"

Another pause. Then, soft again—softer than she'd ever spoken to anyone, a tone reserved only for Kali'ka, and only when she had earned it.

"Does it make you, satisfied?"

The words fell like silk onto a dagger's edge.

Serina's gloved hand slid across the edge of Kali'ka's back as she stepped forward again, toward the carnage. She watched as another wave of soldiers breached the collapsed outer wall. Blaster bolts whizzed past them, but none dared strike her. As though the Dark Side itself twisted the path of death to avoid her.

And she raised her voice.

"Sons and daughters of the Empire!" she cried aloud, her voice rolling through the alleys and catwalks like thunder clad in velvet. "The worms within thought themselves immune to judgment. They feasted while you starved. They drank while your brothers bled. They sold their loyalty like gamblers in a casino—"

Her eyes found Kali'ka's again, and she raised a hand—not to halt the assault, but to direct it, to command it like a conductor raising her baton before the crescendo.

"—But you are the flame. And tonight, you burn them all."

She dropped her hand.

A heavy explosion punctuated the command as the final barrier inside the Rendix estate detonated in a roar of duracrete and fire. Troopers surged into the compound, a tide of obedience drowning the last whimpers of resistance.

Serina turned back to Kali'ka, walking slowly toward her once more through the haze of smoke and flashing light.

"You seduced them perfectly."

Her voice dipped again, private and purring.

"But if this is what you can do with a battalion..." Her hand reached out again, this time cupping Kali'ka's chin with gentle possession. "…imagine what I'll have you do with a world."

She leaned in, her lips barely apart from her acolyte's, a breath, a promise, a threat all wrapped into one decadent moment of almost-contact.

"One day, little flame… I'll let you choose which cities burn in my name."

She pulled away—again, always that cruel retreat—and turned back toward the fortress now brimming with screams and blaster fire.

"Come," she said over her shoulder, as casually as a woman inviting someone to a decadent party. "Let's see if any of them are worth torturing before they die."

And she walked into the fire like it had been built to worship her.

 

[Kali'ka]

Tag: Serina Calis Ellissanthia
​

The battle spilled into the streets as the defenders fled like ants from the conflagration consuming their shattered building. Others had come from the maze of warrens, only to wither under the fire of the elite forces. Kali'ka reveled in the violence and destruction, knowing she, under the careful tutelage of her Mistress, had instigated the assault, the slaughter. The Kiffar inhaled of the stench of burning and blood as her ears were filled with the screams and curses of the enemy, the sharp blast of explosions, the air itself hissing with blaster bolts. Flakes of ash stuck to her tattooed skin, the smell of smoke clinging to her dark mane as it billowed around her in a wind created by the raging flames.

"The fires of purging burn!" She bellowed to the fighting soldiers. "The blood of the corrupt cleanse the streets!" Her voice called out.

Through it all, she felt her, Serina, lingering at the edge of the chaos, a thread of stimulus that fed the acolyte as she moved amid the combatants, crushing the skull of a dying rodian with the heel of her boot. Then she paused. A grin touched her lips, the Mistress approached.

The sound of another detonation and the twisting of steel heralded the defeat of the gates. As satisfying as that was, it bore no comparison to the soft, slippery words she heard from behind her. Then... the gloved hand glided across her hip.

The sensual contact caused Kali'ka's lips to part, the sound of that voice leaving her eyes half-lidded with desire for the one who owned her. The praise offered elicited a flutter in the acolyte's belly. The dark jedi's question, poignant as always, licked at the core of the dark sorceress even as that hot breath against her hear sent electric waves through her body, the heat of her core ignited.

"Yes, my Mistress... its intoxicating..." Kali'ka murmured as another caress grazed across her spine. She watched hungrily as Serina slipped past and into the fray. Inspired, the acolyte listened as the call was made for the final assault. Fearless, the soldiers stormed into the fortress amide flames and fire.

It was delicious and glorious to see the soldiers charge forth under the command of the Dark Jedi and her Acolyte, Serina confirming Kali'ka's part in the deception and influence that initiated her machinations.

And then Serina returned. Her presence hotter than the burning fortress. The grasp on her chin again caused plush lips, now stained with the grime of battle, to part with a soft gasp. Oh, the tempting venom Serina spoke, promises of power beyond expectations. They caressed and taunted Kali'ka's ambitions. Serina's lips were so close, Kali'ka ached for them, desperately tempted to close that tiny space to taste them. But she was obedient, even as she ached. A pang of pain gripped her as Serina cruelly retreated. As always, she left her acolyte thirsting, panting for more.

Serina turned and stalked towards the building. Kali'ka answered the summons, following behind. With the flinch of her thumb, the rod in Kali's hand extended into a haft, a thick, red plasma blade humming at it's tip. Into the melee she followed, teased with the promise of exacting pain from some hapless soul.

 

[Serina Calis]

"The inexorable march to triumph, begins today."



Tag - Kali'ka



Serina walked into the carnage as though it were a ballroom, each wail and scream a note in a symphony composed for her alone. The world around her burned and bled, and yet her stride was the picture of effortless poise—a dancer gliding between corpses, untouched by the chaos that licked at her boots. She did not run. She never ran. Queens do not rush into their conquests. They arrive.

The gates of House Rendix hung twisted behind her like the mouth of a beast forced open to accept its own death. The smell was intoxicating—burnt metal, blaster discharge, and the coppery perfume of fresh blood staining the streets. Soldiers pushed forward ahead of her, already deep within the compound now engulfed in fire, hunting like hounds unleashed. And still, the most dangerous thing on the battlefield walked calmly through the wreckage, her cape fluttering in the smoke like the wing of a descending angel of sin.

And behind her—always behind her—Kali'ka followed.

Serina could feel her like heat licking up her back, that loyal ache and longing smoldering just beneath the surface of her perfect obedience. The girl was a blade now—sharpened by devotion, whetted by desire—and Serina relished every aching inch of it. She'd carved her from something weak, something still teetering on the edge of innocence, and now Kali'ka burned so brightly she might one day consume even her mistress.

And yet, Serina would always be fire incarnate.

She slowed as she reached the heart of the compound—an opulent inner sanctum meant for decadent criminals, now bathed in flickering orange from the ceiling fires, the walls screaming under the heat as furniture melted, artifacts shattered, datapads sparked and died.

A survivor lay crawling near a cracked support column—a Rendix enforcer by the look of him. His legs were mangled, his breathing wet and shallow, yet he still grasped his weapon, bloodied fingers clenching it with the reflex of desperation.

Serina approached him with a slow, sauntering grace, like a lover slipping into a room late at night, confident that all eyes would turn to her. Her expression was calm. Curious. And unforgivably cruel.

She knelt—her robes pooling around her like liquid sin, eyes never leaving the man's. Her hand reached out with deliberate slowness and slid across his jaw, fingers blood-slick and gloved, pressing into his terror like one might trace the trembling neck of a violin before playing it.

"Shh…" she murmured, the same way one might hush a whimpering pet. "No one's coming to save you. Not your house. Not your governor. Not your gods."

She leaned in, so close her voice became a whisper against his ear, her lips brushing his cheek as if confiding something intimate.

"Your only salvation now… is me."

And then, with a flick of her wrist, she drove her dagger up through the soft tissue beneath his chin, the blade piercing his brain with effortless elegance. His body seized—and was still.

Serina stood, wiping her glove clean on the edge of his uniform, and turned toward Kali'ka, who stood in the doorway, her weapon blazing in hand, eyes like two suns behind stormclouds.

"You see?" Serina said, spreading her arms in welcome, voice rising above the sounds of crumbling stone and falling beams. "This is what I meant when I told you you'd one day walk through the ruins of your own handiwork. This is the pleasure of purpose."

She approached slowly, the firelight bathing her pale face in golden shadows, her every step a study in dominance and delight. Her eyes found Kali'ka's blade, and she let her gaze trace it upward—along the shaft, over the hilt, to the acolyte's battle-streaked hand, and finally, to the face that still bore the fevered afterglow of command.

"You were glorious," she purred, voice soaked in licentious pride. "A seductress draped in authority. I could feel their desire crawling over your skin like ants searching for a feast. You made them kneel, and they liked it."

Another step. Too close now. Always too close.

Her gloved hand reached up and cupped the back of Kali'ka's neck, pulling her just a little closer, until their breaths mingled again and the fire framed them like a wicked mural.

"But the question is..." she whispered, gaze locked, lips parted with dark promise, "when you kneel..."

Her other hand rose now, fingers brushing the underside of Kali'ka's jaw, tilting it ever so slightly—a familiar hold, a lover's grip, a command in touch form.

"...will it be for power?"

Her thumb brushed her cheek now.

"...Or just to beg for my attention?"

The words were a kiss, but sharper. Hungrier.

And she pulled away again—cruel, practiced, deliberate—leaving that tangible void, the ache that she always left behind.

"You've earned your place beside me tonight, and a reward..." She turned toward the rest of the compound, lifting her voice to the command units filtering in behind them.

"No survivors. Burn everything. The house, the records, the bodies. Nothing must remain but ash and story."

Then, softly again, just for Kali'ka:

"And you, my little fire?" Her lips curled once more. "You'll be my favorite story to tell."

And she strode forward into the collapsing hall, her laughter low and rich as it echoed against flame-slicked walls, drawing her acolyte deeper into the crucible.

The forge was hot. And Serina would see her weapon tempered to perfection.