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​

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Rewards..."

Tags - Evangel

Virelia rose the moment Evangel's voice filled the hall. The sound of it — that steady, reverent intonation — rolled through the chamber like a tide washing against her will. Shadows bent toward the throne as she descended its steps, each movement a deliberate act of possession. The air seemed to tighten around them, rich with ozone, incense, and the scent of scorched metal.

"Captain," she murmured, her tone both praise and hunger, "you've brought the whispers of Malachor to every corner of the Outer Rim. I feel them when I close my eyes — the fear, the fascination. You have done what no order, no creed, no army could: you have made the Mandalorians listen."

Virelia circled Evangel where she knelt, her cloak brushing the Mandalorian's shoulders like a lover's breath. Gloved fingers traced along the back of the woman's helm, down the ridge of the neck plating, pausing at the collar's clasp. "You've recruited well. Warriors. Fanatics. Believers. Each one an ember drawn from the ashes of the clans — and all of them burn for me because of you."

Her hand slid around Evangel's throat, claws dragging over the sigils carved into the leather of the collar. "You've been my will made flesh. My instrument. My shadow. Every strike, every whisper, every body you've delivered to the Court — all of it sings of your devotion."

Virelia leaned in close, her voice a low current of smoke and silk that brushed against Evangel's ear. "You've pleased me, little storm. Even your wandering, your restless searching, your jealous vigilance — I see it all." A faint laugh escaped her, dark and intimate. "And I find it… endearing."

Her other hand came to rest on Evangel's shoulder, squeezing with an almost affectionate possessiveness. "Malachor watches because you watch. It endures because you guard it. You are my blade, and my leash in equal measure."

Then she stepped around to face her once more. The faint light from the braziers caught the amethyst gleam of her eyes behind the six-eyed mask. "But loyalty without renewal grows brittle," she whispered, the smile behind the mask audible in her voice. "The bond must be reminded. The leash must be seen."

Her claws hooked gently beneath Evangel's chin, lifting it until the golden visor faced her directly. "Present your chain," Virelia commanded softly. "your Queen is waiting."

 

[Evangel]

"I humbly carry out the Will of my Mistress," Evangel replied dutifully to Virelia's acknowledgement of her service. Had she accomplished so much? Satisfied Virelia to such degree? Punishment was its own reward, but there was no denying even a monster preferred indulgent affection now and again. Evangel would have to make sure the Queen's Guard continued to please their Dark Lady.

Yes. Yes they yearned for Virelia's praise. They would carry out any order. Crush anyone. Die because she asked it of them. Evangel would make certain they would obey; obedience brought strength and purpose.

Her breath caught as Virelia's touch drew to the collar. Evangel didn't wear it when she masqueraded as an outside, but for Virelia she wore it; she looked forward to a commanding touch that made certain her Captain never forgot who she served. "Always," she breathed. Yes, her devotion to Virelia. A unquenchable desire to by nearer for any reason. The Dark Lady could roar or purr, flog or caress and it would be enough. No one else truly understood. They couldn't. They believed in individualism and freedom -- in isolation! It was comforting to be in Her embrace.

It was that sort of comfort Evangel sought to bring to the Queen's Guard. So that they would appreciate the Dark Lady's affection should they receive it directly -- as much as it would stir jealousy to see another so favored.

There was an urge to deny Virelia's words that Evangel's loyalty would grow brittle without renewal or reward. An urge, but she seemed so happy and commanded that moment so exquisitely she bit her tongue to remain silent. How could she ever serve another? Just the hem of her cloak would be enough. Her boot...

Virelia caught her chin and forced Evangel to meet her eyes. With steady hands, the Dark Mandalorian unclasped the chain and lifted it up for the woman to accept and do with it as she willed. "I am yours."

Darth Virelia​

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Rewards..."

Tags - Evangel

For a moment, the Dark Lady said nothing. She only stared — violet eyes blazing from behind the six-eyed mask, her breath slow, deliberate, almost indulgent. The leash gleamed in her grip, taut between them, and the faintest smile tugged at her lips beneath the mask.

"Mine," she whispered, so quiet it might have been mistaken for breath rather than speech.

Then she moved. A single, graceful motion brought her forward until the hem of her cloak brushed Evangel's shoulders. The leash snapped tight, dragging the Mandalorian down fully. Virelia placed her boot upon the armored chestplate, pressing firmly, pinning the Captain of the Queen's Guard to the floor. The sound of the pressure reverberated through the stone — deliberate, dominant, obscene in its calmness.

"Never doubt it, my Captain," Virelia purred, voice rich with dark satisfaction. "You are mine. My first. My finest. The others will learn through you what it means to serve the Court — to serve me."

Her foot slid higher, heel grinding lightly against Evangel's collarbone. "You've done well. The Guard grows. The galaxy begins to murmur of the Queen's warriors — Mandalorians who wear no sigil but mine. But we are not yet an army; we are still a whisper."

She leaned forward, the leash taut between her fingers. "So tell me, Evangel. Should we remain the hidden dagger — infiltrating the clans, corrupting them one by one — or should the galaxy see us? Should the Mandalorians wake one morning to find its daughters wearing my colors openly, flying the banners of the Dark Court from their warships?"

The boot pressed harder; Virelia tilted her head, tone soft and seductive, almost conversational. "Perhaps we take a world of our own. Not Malachor, not Mandalore — something in between. A forge-world, maybe. Somewhere we can craft weapons and warriors alike in my image."

Her claws flexed, dragging slowly along the leash. "Or perhaps we go further. We could sow dissent among the clans. Make them question their leaders. Promise strength unchained by honor — freedom without creed. There are some nearby planets which could use our hands, directly near Malachor and away from the protection of the Mandalorian Empire." She laughed softly, a low, sinuous sound. "A civil war born of whispers and temptation. A galaxy of warriors tearing each other apart in my name. Tell me, Captain, which sounds sweeter to you?"

She crouched then, one knee pressing into Evangel's chest beside her boot, her hand gliding along the Mandalorian's helmet as if petting a hound she adored. "You've earned the right to speak. Advise me. Tell me where our Guard should march next — into shadow, or into flame."

Her voice dropped to a velvet whisper, dangerous and inviting all at once. "And remember, my Captain — whichever path you choose, you'll lead it. The Guard is yours to shape. Their loyalty is your reflection."

She gave the leash one more tug, firm and possessive. "Make sure they never forget who commands them — or who commands you."

 

[Evangel]

Evangel craned her head back to look up at Darth Virelia as the woman loomed over her. The leash soon commanded the Dark Mandalorian down; the sharp wrenching pain was crushed beneath the strangulation of the leash about Evangel's throat. Virelia wasted no time in planting a foot atop the armored chest either to drive home who was in command.

Every day Evangel dreamed of slaughtering everything and everyone. It was part of what she was. It never stopped. Never rested. It clawed at the discipline that'd taken so long for her to learn and which Evangel spent so much time maintaining. It yearned for release. And that was what made Virelia's domination so enticing. Evangel didn't need to fight. To hone her will into a literal blade to fend off the monster within. Submit and Virelia would do it for her. Give her purpose and direct that hunger toward creatures deserving of both their ravenous desire.

A gloved hand reached up to stroke the back of a calve as Evangel lay on her back staring up at her Dark Lady. Her fingers pressed a little deeper as Virelia's foot did the same to the collar of her armor; a slight tremble to reflect the demonstration of authority.

With a grunt, Evangel felt the strain on her neck as the leash was held tight while the Dark Lady's pressure bore down on her chest. Then her hand fell away as Virelia shifted to bring her full weight down on her Captain. Everything was as it should be. The pain was a blessing; a sign of Virelia's unending domination. Even if it would be difficult to answer her Dark command in such a state, Evangel wouldn't ask her to arrest her gentle, pressing assault.

"Mistress," Evangel forced the words out under her sweet administration, "many Mandalorians will not be as... understanding as I. Duty, honor, creed are all things ingrained into them. It is not freedom they seek, but fulfillment. Some are dissatisfied with Alors content to bounties and mercenary work; they desire war and tests of strength. If my Dark Lady wishes to set them against one another, promise them conquest and glory unchained by maintaining 'good relations' with others."

How hard it was not to reach up with both hands to touch Virelia as she knelt there. Evangel clenched her teeth for a moment before she added, "Desevro, Mistress. A failed world in need of your order. One that could craft all things in your image. Let me take it in your name. Let the Sith Order, the Mandalorian Empire, and the Imperial Confederation know of your magnificence. Give them this chance to supplicant themselves before you." Granted, none of them were likely to simply bow to Virelia because she asked; but they could still entreat with the Dark Lady and find a mutually beneficial understanding. Until one or all betrayed each other. If Darth Virelia had an eye on expanding her influence, Evangel doubted they would simply claim a few planets and leave it at that.

Darth Virelia​

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Rewards..."

Tags - Evangel

Virelia's laughter rolled through the hall like velvet smoke — rich, low, dangerous. "Desevro," she murmured, tasting the name as if it were a fruit offered on a silver blade. Her voice carried a measured delight, a promise of terrible things made beautiful. The leash tightened once more in her hand, her weight still pinning Evangel beneath her. "A dying world. Industrial husks and choking skies… yes. I remember it. A failed world can be remade. A failed world is a hungry one."

She leaned forward until the gleam of her mask nearly touched the Mandalorian's visor, violet eyes burning like twin stars through the slits. "And hunger, my dear Captain, is the only language worth speaking."

Her foot slid from Evangel's chest to her shoulder, pressing down again with calculated pressure. Her other hand followed the leash down, coiling it around her gloved wrist, tightening it slowly with each word. "You understand the clans. You know their marrow. That is why you will be more than my sword; you will be my mouth in their darkness. Promise them war. Promise them victory so complete they will forget the meaning of restraint. Tell them that under my will, they will never starve for battle again."

She paused, letting the words hang between them, the leash humming taut. "But whisper, too, that those who resist will be consumed by their own brothers and sisters. Turn them upon each other. Let conquest be their religion, and me their silent god."

Virelia's fingers traced the edge of Evangel's helmet, soft and obscene. "Desevro will be the forge — a new Mandalorian heart, black and perfect. Factories will burn sigils in my name, and the Guard will oversee it all. You will command them there, Captain. You will build me an army of the faithful. Mandalorians reborn, stripped of creed, drunk on my doctrine."

Her tone softened, sultry and cruel all at once. "And when the Confederation, or the Empire, or the Order come sniffing at the edges — when they send their diplomats and soldiers — you will let them see me. Not with banners or fleets, but with fear. Let them kneel and call it negotiation."

Virelia's hand slipped from the leash to Evangel's throat, thumb dragging slow circles against the pulse there. "Do you see it, Evangel? A galaxy that believes it is choosing between war and peace, never realizing both belong to me. The Queen's Guard as my bridge — Mandalorians who are not Mandalorians, Sith who are not Sith. The perfect paradox."

She leaned in closer still, voice dropping to a whisper that carried the heat of command. "Take Desevro. Build it. Bleed it. Make them love me, fear me, serve me. You will be my hand there — and if the world burns, so be it. Ash makes the finest soil."

Her claws tapped once, gently, against the Mandalorian's collar. "Do this for me, Captain, and I will make you more than a weapon. I will make you legend."

 

[Evangel]

Hunger. Yes. Evangel was hungry to satisfy Virelia's every desire. Anything to stay by her side. Anything.

Why, even the Dark Lady's venomous words toward the Mandalorian people did not engender revulsion or hatred -- not even merely anger. Her Dark Mandalorian gazed up into those violet eyes as Virelia spoke of her expectations and issued her commandments. Bring the Dark Lady's Word to them. Offer them what they desperately yearned for. And if they did not yearn for it? Make them. Or set them against those that did to spurn chaos amongst their kind. It was so obvious once the Dark Lady said it.

As for worshiping Virelia... Yes. Yes! Of course, their Dark Lady was a Dark Goddess. She would bring them everything if only they were devoted enough; if they carried out her Will perfectly all things would come to them. Evangel trembled beneath the woman's heel from excitement.

Until that moment Evangel had been prepared to create a Guard of Mandalorian dedicated to Virelia. As she spoke, however, it became clear it hadn't been enough. It wasn't ambitious enough. Worthy enough. No, she desired those drunk on her very being. People as consumed with her every thought and desire as Evangel herself. It was an impossible order, but it didn't matter. The 'resistance' earlier regarding setting Mandalorians 'free' of creed was only to ensure the Lady's will would happen. Evangel would make an army of devoted followers. They might not be as consumed, but they would pass muster -- it was not something she would dare refute. She was worthy was she not? If not, who? What? Only her.

"Yes," she breathed as Virelia's fingers caressed her throat. She could see it. See it all. Everyone would bow down before Virelia. By choice. By force. They would bow.

"They will sing your name and fall before you when you walk among them," Evangel pledged beneath the Dark Lady's intense gaze. The people of Desevro would do these things by the time the Queen's Guard was finished with them. Any that failed to show proper reverence would be re-educated at best, and disappeared at worst; and those stupid enough to endure until Virelia herself appeared would be disintegrated on the spot. Evangel would have to contemplate how else to punish them. Family? Person next to them? Something to make rebellion too costly for them to bear. In time, they would embrace it without reservation.

Darth Virelia​

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Rewards..."

Tags - Evangel

The Dark Lady smiled, slow and terrible, as Evangel's vow trembled through the hall. Her amusement deepened into something hotter, something almost reverent. "Look at you," Virelia murmured, voice like poured wine, "my perfect storm, finally learning the sound of devotion."

The leash wound tighter around her palm as she bent over the kneeling Mandalorian. The motion was deliberate, slow, indulgent; her shadow fell across Evangel like a cloak. The faint rasp of leather against beskar filled the stillness. "You speak of hymns sung in my name. Then let me teach you the first verse."

Her glove traced the edge of the helmet, following the curve where metal met flesh beneath. Sparks of energy shivered from her fingertips — the faintest touch of the Force, heat without pain, control without restraint. "Obedience," she whispered, "is its own pleasure. You've shown me loyalty unbidden, and that deserves… acknowledgment."

She leaned closer, her words brushing the vocoder slit like breath. "You crave approval as others crave air. Very well, breathe it." Her thumb pressed lightly to the collar, releasing a pulse of warmth that rippled through the sigils etched inside. The runes glowed faintly, binding and rewarding all at once. "Do you feel that?" she asked, purring. "That is my mark accepting you. A reminder that even pleasure is a command."

For a heartbeat she simply stood there, every line of her frame exuding authority, until she finally drew the leash upward and forced Evangel to rise with it. The Dark Lady's voice softened, but it never lost its edge. "You have earned the right to walk beside me— for a time. The Guard will see, and they will know: obedience brings power, disobedience brings oblivion. You will be my example."

Virelia's hand slid to the side of Evangel's helmet and lingered. "You have pleased me, Captain. Your hunger, your faith, your brutality— all of it is mine to wield. Desevro will be your crucible. Return to me with a world kneeling, and I will show you what it means to be cherished."

She released the leash but let the collar stay humming, still warm with the echo of her power. "When you leave," Virelia said, straightening, her tone suddenly regal again. "Take my blessing. Carry it like fire in your veins. Spread it to every Mandalorian fool enough to think their creed can save them."

The Dark Lady turned back toward her throne, cloak whispering across the floor, her final words drifting like a caress over her shoulder:

"Now, I do have another demand."

 

[Evangel]

Evangel's fingers and toes curled desperate for some manner of sensation. The pressure was relentless, but she wanted more. Something personal. It didn't matter what it was, only that it was her's. And Virelia sensed it. The need for recognition. Her lips parted behind the helm from the desire to speak; to cry out whatever it would be that would please the Dark Lady. Heart pounding against her chest and the underside of Virelia's foot, Evangel yearned to bask in her presence.

And so Virelia filled the leashed Sithspawn with her power. Evangel shook under her weight. Yes, yes, she cried. But she wanted more. Why should her armor get all the affection? She would need to do more. Something that would have the helmet torn free. Evangel was too safe swaddled in beskar. There was pressure and pain, but not near as much as Virelia desired, Evangel was certain.

At Virelia's command, the Mandalorian hastily forced herself up to rise with the Dark Lady. "They will, Mistress." Her voice softened as if daring to utter the words, "My goddess." Strength returned instantly to add, "I will make certain of it." Would it be difficult to be their leader trodden upon by Virelia? It didn't matter. Whatever Virelia desired was her's to command. Evangel would make it work even if that domination was displayed in public. Darth Virelia could do no wrong.

"Thank you, Mistress. Thank you," Evangel breathed, as she gathered up the chain and bowed. It had ended so soon. But there was promise of more. She just needed to accomplish more in Darth Virelia's name. Convert more. Yes. More. Evangel would have to redouble her efforts.

Then she spoke of a demand and the helmet turned upward in order to look at Virelia's back. "Your Will, Mistress? Anything." A demand? Was not every word a command? What would make this different? Why did it carry a tone that Evangel might dare not fulfill it? It was just a word, she told herself. All would be made clear shortly.

Darth Virelia​