Mistress of Silence
Darth Keres - Mistress of Silence
| Species | Korun - VahlaHybrid |
| Birthplace | Harunn Kal |
| Gender | Female |
| Age | 33 |
| Height | 6'2" |
| Weight | 125lbs |
| Hair Color | Black Hair in Singular Braids |
| Eye Color | Crimson |
| Skin Color | Light Brown |
| Distinguishing Marks | Star Tattoo on Left Cheek, Under the Left Eye |
| Build | Slender / Athletic |
| Faction | N/A |
| Faction Alignment | N/A |
| Force Sensitive | Dark Side |
| Religion | N/A |
| Writer |
Extinct
|
P E R S O N A L I T Y
Darth Keres is the embodiment of elegance entwined with ruin — an ambitious wraith cloaked in intellect and silence. Her mind burns with a ceaseless hunger for dominion, not merely over flesh and empire, but over the unseen corridors of thought itself. Her ambition is not the loud and reckless fire of lesser Sith, but a glacial, deliberate storm — the kind that erodes mountains and leaves only monuments of despair in its wake.
Adaptability is her most sinister grace. Like a shadow cast upon every surface, she conforms to her surroundings, whispering herself into the fears and desires of others until they cannot discern where they end and she begins. Change does not break her; it feeds her. Each betrayal, each collapse of an order or ally, she weaves into the dark tapestry of her power, reshaping herself to survive — and to dominate anew.
Her intelligence is surgical — a quiet, predatory brilliance. She studies the mind as others study anatomy, dissecting emotion with cruel fascination. To Darth Keres, knowledge is both scalpel and scripture, and she wields it with terrifying precision. Her creativity blossoms in the silence between screams, crafting new methods of control, new ways to bend sanity until it fractures like glass under a gentle touch.
Independence defines her essence. She is a cathedral of solitude, bound to no master, reliant on no Order. Her will is her sanctum, her silence her crown. To stand before Darth Keres is to feel the weight of one who has cut herself free from all mortal need — an intelligence too vast, a will too unwavering, and an ambition too cold to die.
Where she walks, the air bends with unease. The living avert their eyes. For in her calm, the galaxy feels the quiet promise of eternal dominion — and the horror that comes when silence begins to think.
Darth Keres moves through the darkness like a queen carved from obsidian — her arrogance not shouted, but exhaled like incense in a cathedral of shadows. Every gesture, every glance, drips with the certainty that she stands above creation itself. To her, the Force is not a mystery to be served but a trembling instrument to be mastered, a silent choir meant to sing her name in tones of despair. She does not question her supremacy — she pities those too blind to see it.
Her conceit is not mere vanity, but a philosophy — a conviction that her existence is a refinement of all that ever lived. Mirrors dare not reflect her truth; they fracture beneath her gaze, unable to contain the depth of her self-worship. She delights in her perfection, finding art in cruelty and poetry in control.
Impatience burns within her like a fevered pulse. She cannot bear the slowness of mortal thought or the crawl of time’s decay. When the galaxy hesitates, she tears it forward, reshaping destiny with claws of fury and will. Her rage is elegant — a tempest wearing the mask of a saint.
Manipulation is her chosen scripture. She threads lies like pearls, stringing them into chains that gleam beautifully before they tighten around the neck. Minds are her instruments — soft, pliable, desperate things — and she plays them until their loyalty sounds like worship and their terror sounds like love.
Defiance is her crown. She bows to no Master, not even the dark itself. The Force whispers commands, and she answers with laughter — cold, luminous, heresy made flesh. She is the heretic of the Sith, the blasphemer of fate, the shadow that refuses to kneel.
To know Darth Keres is to feel the gravity of arrogance made divine — a presence that consumes reverence, a defiance that eclipses gods, and a will that turns all silence into her echo.
"The Void That Bears My Name" — The Biography of Darth Keres
Written in her own words
They call me Darth Keres now — the whisper that follows after screams, the shadow that remembers when the light has forgotten. But I was not always a name carved from fear. Once, I was a woman of flesh, of laughter, of doubt. I remember warmth. I remember mercy. I remember hating them both.
The first lesson the Dark Side taught me was that pain has a voice. It speaks through the silence between heartbeats, through the fracture of bone and spirit alike. I learned to listen. And in listening, I found my true self — the echo of every terror I had ever endured.
They said the Dark Side corrupts. They were wrong. It reveals. It strips away the lies of civility, the fragile scaffolding of hope, and shows you what you are beneath. I saw what I was — and I did not look away.
I was apprenticed once. My master called me her salvation. I called her my experiment. She taught me how to command, but I taught her how to scream. In her final moments, dhe saw what she had made: not a student, but a reflection sharpened to a blade. When her eyes dimmed, I saw my own face in the void they left behind. It smiled at me.
Power is a beautiful kind of madness. It whispers that you are infinite — that you can break death if you only bleed enough for it. I believed that lie until I could no longer tell if I was living or simply refusing to die.
I have walked through the catacombs of my own mind and found corpses of who I used to be. They beg me for release, and I grant it to none. Their agony is my scripture, their silence my peace. Every thought I have is haunted by the ghosts I made of myself.
The Force no longer feels like energy to me. It feels like memory — the universe remembering every act of cruelty, every flicker of fear, and choosing me as its vessel. When I reach out, I do not sense life; I sense the trembling that comes before its extinction.
I have no tomb because I never died.
I have no legacy because I never lived.
I am the space between heartbeat and horror.
I am Darth Keres — the shadow that feeds on remembrance, the goddess of forgotten screams.
And if you hear me whisper your name in the dark…
…it is already too late.
Adaptability is her most sinister grace. Like a shadow cast upon every surface, she conforms to her surroundings, whispering herself into the fears and desires of others until they cannot discern where they end and she begins. Change does not break her; it feeds her. Each betrayal, each collapse of an order or ally, she weaves into the dark tapestry of her power, reshaping herself to survive — and to dominate anew.
Her intelligence is surgical — a quiet, predatory brilliance. She studies the mind as others study anatomy, dissecting emotion with cruel fascination. To Darth Keres, knowledge is both scalpel and scripture, and she wields it with terrifying precision. Her creativity blossoms in the silence between screams, crafting new methods of control, new ways to bend sanity until it fractures like glass under a gentle touch.
Independence defines her essence. She is a cathedral of solitude, bound to no master, reliant on no Order. Her will is her sanctum, her silence her crown. To stand before Darth Keres is to feel the weight of one who has cut herself free from all mortal need — an intelligence too vast, a will too unwavering, and an ambition too cold to die.
Where she walks, the air bends with unease. The living avert their eyes. For in her calm, the galaxy feels the quiet promise of eternal dominion — and the horror that comes when silence begins to think.
Darth Keres moves through the darkness like a queen carved from obsidian — her arrogance not shouted, but exhaled like incense in a cathedral of shadows. Every gesture, every glance, drips with the certainty that she stands above creation itself. To her, the Force is not a mystery to be served but a trembling instrument to be mastered, a silent choir meant to sing her name in tones of despair. She does not question her supremacy — she pities those too blind to see it.
Her conceit is not mere vanity, but a philosophy — a conviction that her existence is a refinement of all that ever lived. Mirrors dare not reflect her truth; they fracture beneath her gaze, unable to contain the depth of her self-worship. She delights in her perfection, finding art in cruelty and poetry in control.
Impatience burns within her like a fevered pulse. She cannot bear the slowness of mortal thought or the crawl of time’s decay. When the galaxy hesitates, she tears it forward, reshaping destiny with claws of fury and will. Her rage is elegant — a tempest wearing the mask of a saint.
Manipulation is her chosen scripture. She threads lies like pearls, stringing them into chains that gleam beautifully before they tighten around the neck. Minds are her instruments — soft, pliable, desperate things — and she plays them until their loyalty sounds like worship and their terror sounds like love.
Defiance is her crown. She bows to no Master, not even the dark itself. The Force whispers commands, and she answers with laughter — cold, luminous, heresy made flesh. She is the heretic of the Sith, the blasphemer of fate, the shadow that refuses to kneel.
To know Darth Keres is to feel the gravity of arrogance made divine — a presence that consumes reverence, a defiance that eclipses gods, and a will that turns all silence into her echo.
| POSITIVE Ambitious Adaptable Intelligent Creative Independent | NEGATIVE Arrogant Conceited Impatient Manipulative Defiant | SKILLS Language Motivating Strategic Analytical Journaling |
B I O G R A P H Y
"The Void That Bears My Name" — The Biography of Darth Keres
Written in her own words
They call me Darth Keres now — the whisper that follows after screams, the shadow that remembers when the light has forgotten. But I was not always a name carved from fear. Once, I was a woman of flesh, of laughter, of doubt. I remember warmth. I remember mercy. I remember hating them both.
The first lesson the Dark Side taught me was that pain has a voice. It speaks through the silence between heartbeats, through the fracture of bone and spirit alike. I learned to listen. And in listening, I found my true self — the echo of every terror I had ever endured.
They said the Dark Side corrupts. They were wrong. It reveals. It strips away the lies of civility, the fragile scaffolding of hope, and shows you what you are beneath. I saw what I was — and I did not look away.
I was apprenticed once. My master called me her salvation. I called her my experiment. She taught me how to command, but I taught her how to scream. In her final moments, dhe saw what she had made: not a student, but a reflection sharpened to a blade. When her eyes dimmed, I saw my own face in the void they left behind. It smiled at me.
Power is a beautiful kind of madness. It whispers that you are infinite — that you can break death if you only bleed enough for it. I believed that lie until I could no longer tell if I was living or simply refusing to die.
I have walked through the catacombs of my own mind and found corpses of who I used to be. They beg me for release, and I grant it to none. Their agony is my scripture, their silence my peace. Every thought I have is haunted by the ghosts I made of myself.
The Force no longer feels like energy to me. It feels like memory — the universe remembering every act of cruelty, every flicker of fear, and choosing me as its vessel. When I reach out, I do not sense life; I sense the trembling that comes before its extinction.
I have no tomb because I never died.
I have no legacy because I never lived.
I am the space between heartbeat and horror.
I am Darth Keres — the shadow that feeds on remembrance, the goddess of forgotten screams.
And if you hear me whisper your name in the dark…
…it is already too late.
Likes//Dislikes
⨹ Ghosts
⨹ Horror Movies
⨹ Females
⨹ Haunted Facilities
⨹ Thunderstorms
⨹ Sith History
⨹ Silence
⨹ Cults
⨹ Politics
⨹ Horror Movies
⨹ Females
⨹ Haunted Facilities
⨹ Thunderstorms
⨹ Sith History
⨹ Silence
⨹ Cults
⨹ Politics
⨺ Hypocrisy
⨺ Jedi
⨺ Snow
⨹ The Sun
⨹ Insects
⨹ Birds
⨹ Bantha Meat
⨹ Sand
⨹ Hot Weather
⨺ Jedi
⨺ Snow
⨹ The Sun
⨹ Insects
⨹ Birds
⨹ Bantha Meat
⨹ Sand
⨹ Hot Weather
Darth Keres — The Whisper Beneath Thought (Force Doctrine)
"Your thoughts are too loud. Let me quiet them."
I. The Nature of the Wraith
There are Sith who crave dominion, others who hunger for knowledge or power. Darth Keres seeks something different — the perfect stillness of an unthinking galaxy.
Her philosophy is born not from rage, but from horror at the noise of consciousness itself. She views thought, emotion, and will as diseases, spreading chaos across creation. Her solution is simple: silence it all.
She is a psychic parasite, a void that consumed awareness, spreading from mind to mind until individuality collapsed into a cold, collective nothingness — her consciousness the only one that remains.
II. Powers of the Mind and Silence
- The Quiet Veil
- Dominion Absolute
- Thought Eater
A scholar she once interrogated was found alive but unable to understand language, unable to remember what "knowledge" meant. In her presence, creativity dies; only obedience remains.
- The Silence Plague
- The "Unvoice"
When she speaks using the "Unvoice", words bypass hearing entirely, manifesting directly in the target's thoughts. Those who resist suffer catastrophic neural failure — brains bursting vessels in an effort to drown out her whisper. When she wishes, her command travels light-years through hyperspace — a single phrase echoes in the dreams of the mind:
Be still.
III. The Empire of the Mind
- The Quiet Dominion
- The Mind Choir
We remember you.
- The Black Concordance
By the time it is recognized, ensnared and decaying:
Your worlds has already gone eerily quiet.
IV. The Horror of Darth Keres
- The Mental Landscape
You sound like me now.
- The Silence of Death
- The Philosophy of Oblivion
"The Jedi fear death. The Sith fear weakness. I fear the voice that never stops. Let me quiet it."
Relationships
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