Private Devotion Has Perks

[Darth Virelia]

"Rewards..."

Tags - Evangel

The throne hall of Malachor was alive with silence. The braziers that ringed the obsidian dais burned low, their violet light licking at the carved pillars and washing the chamber in a haze of half-shadows. Every flame seemed to bend toward the figure seated at the summit — Darth Virelia, the heart of the storm that had come to remake Mandalorian steel in the image of the Dark Side.

She reclined upon her throne with the patience of a predator that already owned its prey. Her fingers drummed once on the armrest — a quiet rhythm that echoed through the vastness like the ticking of a blade being sharpened. Before her, the marble floor gleamed, empty for now, but soon to be filled with the sound of armor.

The Queen's Guard was taking shape. What had begun as whispers and promises was becoming something real: a legion of Mandalorian women forged not by clan, but by will. They were her experiment and her declaration, the perfect fusion of discipline and devotion. And at their head stood Evangel — the first, the loyal, the broken-beautiful creature who had chosen servitude over freedom and found power in the choice.

Virelia thought of her now, of the way she had knelt on this very floor, the collar gleaming around her throat, the leash humming in Virelia's palm. Most called Mandalorians stubborn to the end, bound only by their code. Yet Evangel had cast off that creed like a worn shell and replaced it with one name, one purpose. The Dark Lady found that amusing. Admirable, even.

Tonight would be the first of many reckonings. The Guard had begun its work — infiltration, corruption, conversion — but their reach was not yet what she desired. That would change soon. Rewards were to be given, punishments perhaps dealt. Loyalty needed fuel, and Virelia was a generous fire.

A faint tremor stirred the Force, a ripple of heat and intent that slid through the hall. She straightened slightly, violet eyes flaring to life within the mask. She's here.

Boots struck the stone beyond the doors, a rhythm she knew as well as her own heartbeat. The Queen smiled — a slow, predatory curve of her lips that no one alive ever mistook for kindness.

"Enter," she called, her voice low but resonant, a melody that carried command in every syllable.

The great doors groaned open, letting the torchlight spill against the black floor.

 

[Evangel]

Evangel found herself wandering the complex at times. Virelia would at times dismiss her, and then the Dark Mandalorian wouldn't have anything to do. There were few she was charged with personally overseeing. There were only so many lower ranked denizens of Malachor she could accost without causing too much of a stir.

If anything, haunting Virelia's places of residence or power occupied Evangel's time. The excuse was ensuring security, of course. Keeping nosy minions and spies away from details large or small about her person or intentions. Having a Master again had her feeling possessive. Virelia should pay attention to Evangel; she was a creature designed for slaughter, what Dark Lord or Lady wouldn't cherish her? What could she do to earn such attention?

With that in mind, when Evangel was off-world she kept an eye open for others that could serve. People to train. People to worship Virelia. Not because Evangel had become a religious zealot suddenly, but solely to please the woman. To be noticed. Praised. Given tasks to lay waste to the Dark lady's enemies. Reasons to exist.

At last, Evangel drew near the hall where Virelia resided. What would be asked of her today? Was she pleased? Angered? Whatever the Lady wanted Evangel was prepared to give. The madness and yearning only grew stronger in her presence. Give her the command, it cried.

The doors swung open and the black-armored woman strode through them at Virelia's blessing. "Great Mistress, your Captain comes before you and awaits your word," Evangel intoned as she stopped and knelt before the throne.

Darth Virelia​