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."