Populate Dies Festus Mortourum | SO Populate of Tellyr Prime

[Gerwald Lechner]

WEARING: xxx
WEAPONS: Wolfsbane | Ferrum Solus | Blodmåne | Strømafbryder
TAG: Naedira Darcrath

Fine, for the moment, was a plausibly reassuring answer to the wolf. It would not calm his nerves per se. Part of him would always be concerned where the woman was concerned because she was his to protect. It was different with them. Gerwald was not simply human, and neither was she. Where some would consider the possessive thought to be a toxic trait or quality born of a baser or animalistic tendency, Gerwald would completely own it.

He was an animal.

HIs attire did not completely separate him from that fact either. The gold was intended to match Naedira, and also tie into a more autumn version of the bright color most associated with is rise and sigil. A former Acanthus practitioner of the Knights Obsidian, Gerwald had embraced the hallmark color in full. Yellow was more than just a bright hue which was often associated with summer or sun, but it was the designation of what made Gerwald who he was.

“I will feel it, yes, but I do hope that we can simply enjoy the night. Despite my nerves, I promise to remain festive.”

They walked through the gardens, and the pathways which wound around it before settling in where the others had gathered. The wolf had to brush up on his Sith history as many of the fallen leaders he could not claim as his. A little part of him was curious if the Sith Lord and Alchemist which had made his kind would be among those buried on Korriban. He still did not have a name, though Gerwald had still not finished reading through his ancestors journal.

The Lupo, the particular variant of Lupine which he was, had been made to be a more stable and viable drone, a soldier, for Sith armies. Where the Lord had thought he failed, a successful accident evolved and created life beyond what had been expected. Gerwald was living proof of it all, and he found it ironic that he now served the same philosophy which had seen his kind birthed. He wondered if the Alchemist would have ever imagined one of his creation finding the position Gewald, and accomplishing what he had.

Perhaps Naedira would feel his musings, but he had not shared the journal yet. The woman had learned to do everything again, that included speaking, reading, walking…

…and dancing.

A coy and playful smile pulled at the wolf’s lips. She remembered, and not because the memory had been the place he kept her the night her wolf had tried to escape so violently. Gerwald could tell the memory had resurfaced, which gave him hope that she would regain others. The gaps his own memory filled would become less and less as they made new memories together, such as this one.

The smile faded as he reached for the whiskey only to find it gone. Naturally she had taken, and the wolf feigned protest. It was a short lived containment as Gerwald chuckled and took a sip of the fruity cocktail.

“Thief,” he said before kissing her cheek.

Her whisper, the lips brushing against his ear, stirred something within. It was always something the woman was in danger of doing. Gerwald desired the woman as much as he loved her. She was easily able to get under his skin, and recently he was more convinced she was doing it on purpose.

His eyes fell to the amulet around her neck. The back of his hand grazed her flesh as he reached for it.

“You wore it,” he said of the gift he had given her. “The color suits you, as does the dress.”

He leaned in to whisper in her ear as well, drawing out his words and intent.

“For you, I will dance. I will do anything. You will find me a willing participant in whatever schemes you can imagine.”

He kissed her forehead before motioning to the dance floor.

“Shall we?”

 

[Mazrith Drihl]

​

Location: Korriban
Intentions: Observe and Interact
Tags: Open

Mazrith observed the many guests as they entered, so many members of the Sith's high society. He knew that in this environment, any wrong moves could be disasters. However boldness was still necessary to get anything done.

He saw many prominent figures which he recognized, members of the Sith Order as well as Sith society in general. It was a grand event, the likes that Mazrith thought he would never see again.

Mazrith moved his way through the crowd, placing his hands behind his back in a respectful manner. He noticed his first acquaintance on Korriban, Madrona A’Mia enter the hall, but he continued forward to his intended destination. Perhaps he would talk to her latter. Few made notice of him as he approached a group of other acolytes.

He bowed before Darth Nwul and the Acolytes present as a sign of respect. I hope I am not intruding, but I am a newcomer to Korriban, and I wish to introduce myself.

Mazrith stood straight again and observed the group in front of him.

 

[Srina Talon]

Location: Korriban [Palace of Vardin]
Attire: XoXo
Tag: Darth Empyrean | Arkryion Malachar | Vector Monk [OPEN]
______________________________________________________​

The twin thrones that had been erected at the Palace of Vardi for the imperial pair both lifted them on a slightly raised dais and cradled their position as if they were sovereigns of the shadows. It wasn't with any disrespect to Darth Caedes whom, on this planet, was King—But a testament to an observation of decorum. Srina felt it to be a touch unnecessary considering the festivities but it could have been considered discourteous to ignore such an obvious show of deference. The Sith Order had many Kings but regardless their standpoint: Empyrean, was Emperor.

It wasn't a matter of ego but fact.

There was one voice, one banner, designed to keep their people from fading into obscurity…And whether they loved or hated it remained entirely irrelevant. It was the duty of the strongest of them to lead. Not, to be liked. This left fear their tool, loyalty, their currency. A carrot for the wickedly intelligent, for those who saw the bigger picture, their greatest enemy, and a stick for those that languished in failure. It was an exhausting game…But it was a game the Sith had played for a millennium.

How she longed for that cycle to break. It was a futile longing, but, she felt it nonetheless.

Empyrean's gaze cut through the crowd with all the weight of an impending storm. They might not have known what his eyes were capable of…But Srina, was more than aware. The court would all find themselves unwittingly entangled in a dangerous dance, for the most part, oblivious of the perilous waltz they stepped into. She did not flinch but leaned into the swirling energy that her husband exuded…Finding him in the darkness. Finding, home.

"I've only ever needed one promise from you, meldanya."

Eternity.

From the moment he made his vows to her and they entered what some assumed to be an unholy union…She had only ever asked for one thing. That he be with her. Regardless his current state it was a promise that he had for the most part kept. It would have been much easier to give in to the Worm during the ritual that created him. Yet…He had fought to retain some semblance of himself. Enough that he had stopped the forces within him from beheading her for her impudence. He'd fought harder than anyone she had ever known and his wife would never forget that.

"That is true. Perhaps not too much, then.", the graceful creature at his side generously acquiesced in regards to Arkryion Malachar even though, she knew, he did not scare easily. Srina had seen him stand tall in the face of unfathomable Sith Alchemy. The skeletal visage of the Emperor could be exceedingly jarring all by itself, let alone, when he actually meant to invoke terror. It was true that Arkryion did bear some resemblance to Maliphant…But it was only from a distance.

Her eyes knew differently.

When Captain Vector Monk knelt before them, a shard of history revealed itself. Silent gold-hewn eyes took in his arrival and obeisance while the mention of Ossus created a distant echo of remembrance. She had been in the Shiraya Expanse during that time but her lack of recall mattered very little in the moment. Srina did not forget a face and for better or worse… This one lived in her memory now. The platinum-haired Echani lifted her hand from that of her husband for the moment in order to properly accept the greeting offered. "…Well met, Captain."

"I am certain that your efforts on Ossus were most esteemed. I have been at court for quite some time but we haven't crossed paths…"

He seemed to be in good spirits, good health, regardless his absence but she felt intrigued by his stated profession. She spent more time than any one person should among the Archives of Jutrand and the Malsheem reviewing ancient texts and documents. Gaining both perspective and wisdom from Sith that existed in another era…A time where, perhaps, the Jedi were not so bold.

"Have you any discoveries that might be of interest?"

 

[Lord Kalrath]

Korriban
Tags: Diodoros , Madrona A’Mia

​

“I guess I’m not the only one. I knew I’d sooner burst from a water balloon before I felt a buzz from grape juice they’re serving here.”

<Unfortunate indeed,> Kalrath spoke into the mind of the stranger.

His voice was still to be reserved. It's power was not something that was to be released in normal converation, thus the ever-present mask over his face. The time certainly would come, but it was not here. For now Kalrath was simply happy to not be alone in his fruitless endevors to become inebrieated...

Or was it fruitless?

"If our more mundane offerings do not suffice, it is my duty and pleasure to offer you something more to your taste. Would you care for some alchemically enhanced tea?"

What appeared to be a Neti woman drifted over in an etherial manner, offering something... alchemically enhanced. Drugs, Kalrath assumed, the kinds of psychodelics that were reserved for only the most intense of ritual. It had been centuries since he had last partaken in such an observance, connecting his minds with and sharing a vision of a great terror that was to befall the Sith Empire, far too late to act ultimately. Still, he was familiar with such oddities. For a man who found amusement looking out into hyperspace, where most would go mad, Kalrath most certainly found pleasure in pushing the mind to unusual extremes.

<I would love nothing more,> He decided, giving a cordual half-bow. <I haven't felt the thrill of intoxication in thousands of years... I very much desire to do such again.>

He was in his twilight years after all. A man of class, perhaps, but Kalrath saw no need to dance around partaking in obsene indulgences. After all, he wasn't getting any younger.

 

[Venn Kolis]

The Sith Order
Dies Festus Mortourum | SO Populate of Tellyr Prime

​

Now, this was a party.

​

As he stepped into the opulent palace, Venn felt as if he were a Neophyte once again. The intense emotion in his heart shone like a beacon in the Dark Side of the Force. Some of the crowd would certainly think that his blazing aura was meant to impress or intimidate the assembled Sith, but Venn could not control the flame in his soul anymore than he could keep the grin off his face.

Relief to be among his own kind, to not be alone in a forge or brooding at a war table. Pride to visit Korriban not as an interloper, but bold and free. Excitement at the decadent crowd, the whirling dance, the passionate music. Nervousness that some of his friends might not have taken his extended absence well.

Joy to be in the presence of his master once again. And alright, a little smugness at the dance partner at his heel.

His 'dance partner' was an enormous monster, with skin like obsidian and eyes like fire. It stalked obediently behind Venn, its size and visage causing a path to open up in the revelers. Cruel claws opened and closed its many empty hands; the simple beast missed its swords. The heat coming off of the Anthroghast warmed the bodies of those who stood too close, but every Force Sensitive who looked upon Venn could feel his warmth and mirth down to their bones.

Despite the incredible scene all around him, the young man's gaze could not waver from the raised platform he approached. There they were. Freedom Incarnate and the Lady Eternal.

Like his master, Venn wore no mask tonight. He wore his helmet so often and smiled so rarely that he might as well have been wearing a costume. Before reaching the Imperial Couple, he realized that the Empress was in conversation with a petitioner. Not wanting to interrupt, he moved to the side, standing before Empyrean's throne. Mutely, he knelt, his bold eyes now downcast in reverence. From his knees he drew a broken longsword out of his robes, setting it gently on the floor before him. His every movement was slow and smooth, practiced and careful.

Finally, he bent at the waist to prostrate his kneeling form. His forehead and hands came to rest on the flat of his blade, and only when his body was entirely still did his mind speak through the Force.

~Hello, Master. It is so good to see you.~

Darth Empyrean Srina Talon Darth Malum of House Marr Madrona A’Mia ​

 

[Naedira Darcrath]

OBJECTIVE: Masquerade
WEARING: Gold | Ulveand
TAG: Gerwald Lechner

Naedira's deep brown eyes glinted with a mix of amusement and affection as Gerwald spoke, his words resonating with the sincerity she had come to accept. His possessiveness, born from perhaps a more primal instinct, definitely required a little adjustment period…But she accepted it as part of him. She, too, felt the weight of it, not as a burden, but as a shared purpose. The want to keep him safe from harm was almost overwhelming even though there wasn't any danger to be found…

As they strolled through the gardens and the red sun of Korriban cast a bloody hue on their surroundings, Naedira listened to Gerwald's concern. A distinct sadness swept through her because as much as she wanted to pretend like everything was as it should be…She was not the person she had once been. In this era—She wasn't even fully human. "We must accept the good and bad Gerwald…I am imperfect. Alive but…Imperfect. You need to be prepared for that. Come what may." The auburn-haired woman sensed the layers of history, the intricacies of his origin, and the unspoken curiosity about the Alchemist who had given rise to his kind. His past, a puzzle, that lingered between them, a silent conversation awaiting its time.

They didn't dwell for too long on her health and for that she was grateful. She was already swept away in the mood and grandeur of the evening and could scarcely handle any more excitement. Her eyes were alight with flecks of topaz when she saw something new. Some…Strange novel thing, new ghost, a new world that was just…Waiting. Korriban made her feel alive. It was strange, considering the fact that it should have reminded her of death…It was a Day of the Dead, after all.

The kiss on her cheek caused an instant flush to move over her skin while her eyes swept low. Finding the gold of his clothing very interesting whilst waiting for the rumblings of the she-wolf that was wrapped around her spine to settle. There were moments when they could be near and the beast slept…But there were moments where there was no appeasing it. Whatever had taken place to bring her back from the Nether had left her with a curious and ferocious passenger that she could neither please nor fight. The playful smile that graced Gerwald's lips when he teased her about the drink caused her to shift and sip at the whiskey carefully.

When he mentioned dancing… It warmed Naedira's heart. Memories of their shared moments were scant and few so she held on to each one, so tightly, afraid it might leave her. His chuckle melted her and mauve-painted lips curled good-humoredly in response. The stolen sip she took next was a defiant and playful theft, more confident, than when he had chased his accusation with a kiss.

As his hand brushed against the amulet at her neck, she met his gaze with a soft nod, a silent acknowledgment of the significance of his gift. "Should I not have?", she murmured, so softly, that it might have gotten lost in the wind. The gold of the amulet mirrored the gold of her dress but it left her feeling some measure of contentment. It kept Gerwald with her at all times and made her she-wolf a little less likely to lash out. "And...Should I take it that you find everything…Acceptable, then?"

The clothes. The shoes. Her hair—Was it up to his standard?

The whispered words Gerwald offered next, intimate, and filled with promise, sent a shiver down her spine unbidden. Perhaps she had started this game but she was ill-prepared when he rose to meet her challenges. Everything was still so new to her. Naedira felt the warmth of his kiss on her forehead, a gesture that spoke volumes beyond words. It soothed her…So easily that it felt rather rude. She frowned but it slipped away from her easily enough. Gerwald just knew her, very well. Everything that made her happy, sad, and all that fell to the wayside of the in-between.

"Yes, let's dance…", the auburn-haired woman replied, after a moment, her hand finding its place in his. She let the whiskey go to an empty tray and allowed the lupine to guide her to the dance floor where there were already so many twirling and turning before the eyes of the Emperor and Empress. Naedira…Didn't know what to make of the royal pair. Only, that the echo of power left an unfathomable pit in her stomach. The music enveloped them and Naedira let Gerwald guide her.

It was with a touch of heartache that she realized…She didn't remember the steps.

 

[Arkryion Malachar]

Masquerade
Tags: Srina Talon , Darth Empyrean , Darth Malum of House Marr , Sophia of House Marr , Adeline Noctua , Open

---

The smooth-black floors of the Palace, like the obsidian depths of some Stygian abyss, stretched out in a nightmarish expanse. Illuminated only by the eerie and sinister glow of crackling torchlight, they seemed to undulate, as if the very ground itself pulsed with a malevolent sentience.

Shadows danced upon their surface, conjuring grotesque phantasms that writhed and twisted in a blasphemous danse macabre. The floors absorbed the footsteps of guests, as if the very palace were an entity that hungered for the souls of those who dared to tread upon its dark expanse. The air itself seemed to grow heavy with the oppressive weight of history, and the floors bore the burden of countless generations of Sith Lords and their malevolent legacies. With every step, a disconcerting chill crept up from the ground, a spectral breath that whispered of forgotten rituals and eldritch ceremonies conducted in the depths of Korriban's darkest past.

Above, the vile specters of Sith Lords, long-lost to the annals of time, cavorted in the ethereal ballet of the damned. Their translucent forms, ghastly parodies of life, swayed to an otherworldly melody; a haunting cadence audible only to the cursed. Their spectral eyes, aglow with ancient malevolence, observed the living mortals below, their chilling whispers intertwining with the garrulous rumble of the numberless conversations shared between the patrons of this Masquerade—forming an unholy hymn of forgotten nightmares just barely detectable over the thrumming pulse of music that permeated the air.

Arkyrion, a spiring figure of spindly frame, ventured through the surrealistic splendor of Korriban's ancient palace, cloaked in robes of obsidian black and royal blue, his form melding seamlessly with the grim shadows that clung with stubborn disregard upon the ballroom. On his head, the interwoven coils of his hair formed an elaborate knot of otherworldly braids, cascading like the tendrils of some unfathomable creature. Each strand bore the weight of countless hours spent crafting this baroque coiffure, a symbol of his of Master, @Srina Talon—wrought by her very own hand.

His presence in the grand hall was a subtle contrast to the revelry around him. Masked guests cavorted in elaborate and aberrant disguises, embodying their most hidden desires. Grotesque but beautiful, like creatures of the abyss. The ball was a whirlwind of colors, masks, and forms, and Arkyrion couldn't help but feel a sense of discomfort; a newcomer to this strange world.

Yet, despite the unease that brewed within him, he concealed it with a practiced affectation of indifference. With every step, he exuded an air of cool composure, an embodiment of the regal poise his robes suggested. His tall frame glided through the shifting shadows and the murmurs of the ghostly figures who danced above. He observed the intertwining of Sith Lords, Apprentices and Acolytes—all reveling together in eerie unity. His tanzanite eyes, watching and observing everything with a sense of detached curiosity. A solitary figure, navigating the sea of distorted desires and hidden motives. He observed with keen interest, recognizing some, as they would doff their masks in favor of food or drink—but being unpleasantly unaware of most of the individuals that surrounded him.

There were moments he felt, perhaps, it'd be best to retreat to the solace of his Master's side. To go and properly greet her and the Emperor, @Darth Empyrean—the very man she so lovingly cherished. But for now he did not, upon their arrival, when the two had taken to the roosts of their twin thrones; the young man offered only a reverent bow of his head towards the pair. He knew how perilously little the time was, that they got to share. He knew, before long, that the vultures and sycophants would swarm them. In this regard, he'd gladly stand on his own, let them enjoy what meager moments they could muster.

It was then that Arkyrion's gaze alighted upon a familiar face. A voice had cut through the cacophonous echoes of the celebration, drawing his attention like a moth to a flame. He saw her, the youngest of House Marr, Sophia. Her mask partially concealed her features, but her essence radiated familiarity and intrigue. Hers was a face, and a figure, one could not so easily forget.

His memories raced back to their days at the Jutrand Academy, even then, her aura had resonated with a blend of allure and unyielding strength; qualities characteristic of House Marr—or so she had quite often told. He watched on as he approached from the shadows, his silent steps guided by an unspoken curiosity. As he drew closer, he noticed the pout that adorned Sophia's lips, the unmistakable familial concern that hung within the gaze of her crimson eyes—even from behind that domino mask.

Beside her, a figure appeared to be in the throes of distress. A man, by reason of deduction, that must have been her brother, Malum. His panic attack, or whatever afflicted him, seemed to be quite the tumultuous tempest of emotion, and it was evident that Sophia was trying to reach out to him, to draw him away from the storm that raged within his soul.

His presence was a silent intrusion into this private moment, surely. But he continued his approach, nevertheless. His eyes, like gleaming tanzanite stones, locked onto Sophia's—fleeting for only but the briefest of moments as he took a closer look at both Adeline Noctua , and then Darth Malum of House Marr , before they returned only on to her.

" Sophia of House Marr , as I live and breathe. " His voice resonated like the melodious chime of a distant bell, its timbre reaching deep within the listener's soul, stirring dormant emotions and long-buried memories. "I suppose this, then, must be your brother, Lord Malum. Or am I mistaken? " He said, his face bared for all to see, cheek reddened by an abrasion left by the swift hand of his Master.

Arkyrion's sapphire eyes flitted from Malum to Adeline, from turmoil to tranquility, his gaze like a painter's brush capturing the contrasting moments of the scene. He lingered in silence briefly, a quiet observer, as though drawn into the ebb and flow of the Marr siblings' emotional upheaval.

"Perhaps for now, I could steal you away, " When he spoke, it was as if he drew from the very core of his being, each word emerging as a profound declaration, rich with nuance and imbued with a sense of solemn purpose. "Give these two some time alone together. Unless, you've forgotten how to dance? " His lips curled into a gentle smile, his long, alabaster hand extending towards Sophia, as his eyes returned once more to warmly cradle her gaze.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

"Perceptive, my young lord."

The figure appeared to straighten some, their hunched appearance gradually disappearing, and they even seemed to appear slightly taller than Alisteri. Still, nothing about their identity could be gleamed, and all their features remained shrouded in darkness save for the pair of piercing yellow eyes which cut through the shadows. There was something familiar about them to Alisteri, as though he'd seen them before, but he couldn't exactly recall where.

Though they would radiate with bone-rattling dread.

"The Sith have fallen far, oh so far. The greater the zenith, the deeper the abyss. All those counted among the leadership of the Sith have had their chance at ultimate power, and thus so lost it. Even Darth Empyrean, the Corpse-God, writhes upon a throne teetering on the edge of destruction. Thieves conspire in the shadows, to snatch away his throne, and rule the Order for themselves." The figure again looked to the palace. "They are up there now, those thieves and their minions, dancing and drinking amidst revelry and delusion. Darth Empyrean will be there to, to incite challenge, and inspire fear."

The figure looked back to Alisteri. "But not you, young lord, not you. You reject such decadence, you surround yourself with the dust of the ancient dead, and steep yourself in what wisdom they may impart. You reject the façade, the mockery." There was a narrowing of eyes, a slimming of perception. "Why not seek the throne yourself?"

Darth Strosius ​

 

[Teresa Pelles | Darth Pellax]

Apparel: Dark Valkyrie Armor, Mask
Weapons: Old Lightsaber , Revans Lightsaber , Svikin hjörtu
Tags: Tarus Undara [open]

"I probably should be watching and listening." she quipped and let a soft chuckle out. "It's a difficulty when I am placed in these situations, simply I do not belong in here and I feel physically drained afterwards." Her head turned to the side looking at Tarus more closer. "Rather like you, I'd prefer to be out there. Though, my enjoyment would be getting the views few can truly experience." Thinking of her initial flight over, how the chants reached the skys, the fires casting picturesque sights.

Her head turned away again now actually scanning the crowds. Honestly she was glad someone gave a hint of what she should or could be doing. Yet no matter what it was hard to find interest in something Teresa had avoided. There was perhaps one she recognised and herd the name spoken a few times in her time wondering Malsheem, Srina Talon . Often near the place with vast amounts of texts and scriptures.

In a way she missed the ones on Panatha, least the ones she had access to getting basic education. There was many good texts she enjoyed, well they were more pictures with detailed instructions. Now that time is spent enjoying training or stretching her wings some place. Her eyes scanned around a little more yet no other face seemed recognisable.

Given it would be a long evening, it was time to get comfortable. Silver bracelets began to turn liquid trailing along the woman's forearm. Now trailing from her fingers a thin wire was formed moving to the back of the chair. It bored in and cut with ease as it vibrated through. The two corners of the backrest floated down under the table as Teresa sat back. The silver liquid came back to her hands creating different shapes out of the metal. "So you know why I am trapped in here, what's your reason?"

 

[Anak Darkstar]

Objective: Witness Eclipse

TAG: OPEN

The Lord of Perdition had come to Korriban to see the Great Eclipse, which held omens and messages from The Void. Anak had come at great risk, an apostate, a devotee of the Dark who had applied the disciplines of the Sith’s chief enemy, The Jedi, to control his Passion. Now here at the hallowed tombs of the Dark Lords he made pilgrimage, standing up on one of the great graves, his long crimson cape flowing in the wind. His visor fixed upon the sky as the Sith World was astir with the arrivals of the Great Lords and those dedicated to The Order.

The Son of Perdition’s glowing red eyes like crescents to match the ones that would form in the vacuum of space. He sought answers from those moons, as the Ancients did on Bogan long ago. His great hope was to know from the oracles that would come together what the future holds for himself and those he cared about.

Looking down upon the entourage of Dark Ones walking the festive roads of the Tomb World. It was as if a great dirge was taking place, the Valley of Kings graced with all manner of characters in great dress. Peering at them, Anak crossed his arms underneath his great robes. His sickle eyes blinking as an owl. One waiter heading towards The Vardin Halls passed with an assortment of food, The Son of Darkness levitated a Selkath puff up to him and held it floating In front of his mask as he saw some meteors skip across the sky, they were like the rain of sparks when sabers crossed, fireworks provided by The Galaxy itself.

 

[Darth Strosius]

Darth Carnifex

Beneath his mask an eyebrow quirked up as he watched the mysterious figure straighten his posture and noticed the only visible features underneath his hood, the eyes, to become more noticeable. There was something oddly familiar about the figure, whether in stature or in the yellow gaze fixed upon him. Perhaps he had crossed paths with them before at one point or another? Regardless it seemed as though this figure had no qualms about commenting on the current state of affairs without censoring any of the more shameful details. Something that he did appreciate.

Darth Strosius had never been one for beating around the bush after all. His gaze narrowed slightly as the figure's speech returned to regarding him in particular, but when the question was asked though there was a pause. A moment of stillness and silence. Then laughter. Bordering between sarcastic and genuinely amused, the masked man threw his head back in laughter as his response to the question.

After a few moments the laughter died down into chuckles, as well as him idly gripping his abdomen with one of his hands to steady himself, and his gaze fixed to the hooded figure once more. "Because unlike those decadent blasphemers I am aware that I am unworthy!" He chuckled as though it was some obvious observation. "And unlike the great betrayers and heretics such as Empyrean and Carnifex, I can actually see the Sith Order without me in it. I work towards that goal in fact. Towards a Sith Order where I am not needed, as we will be pure and freed of traitors and tyrants. Free to be let loose upon the galaxy, one ripe for our taking."

It would be a glorious day but one that he doubted he would ever live to see, given how distant that prospect was currently. There was so much to be done between then and now after all, so many corrupt fools in need of culling in order to save the Sith as they knew it. "I have no desire for a throne, and if it should ever come to where I must be the one sat upon it then that will already be a quite bleak day for the Sith Order indeed."

 

[Alina Tremiru]

Wearing | Mask

They were late. Mostly on part because of Alina, if she was the honest sort. A preparty celebration, as it were. But they were here regardless. The Sangnir smoothed out her jacket, smiling behind her mask down to the woman on her arm. She reached up, patted her hand before looking out at the party within. All manner of revelry. And even the dead walked among the living. What a clever way to utilize the fallen.

"I will have to ask Lord Caedes how he accomplished all this. I can see quite a bit of utility here. Though I doubt I'll be able to ask him tonight. It's a night of anonymity after all." She again turned her glowing eyes towards the party below.

"Shall we dance?"

Quinn Varanin

 

[Anak Darkstar]

Objective: Witness The Eclipse

TAG: OPEN

As the moons begab to converge, the Son of Perdition felt the tomb upon which he stood began to tremble, he heard muffled moans. The piece of Shelkath meat he held suspended was met with hands of green gangrenous color reaching from all sides, Anak moved to the middle of the roof when one by one the Undead rose, their faces pale and eyes rolling about as lose marbles, their mouths ajar with jaws that had rotted. They pawed at the Son of Darkness, drawn by the smell of Fish. Such a scene would have terrified cirizens of Coruscant or those on the core worlds, on Korriban it was as common as shooting stars. Anak had wanted to enjoy his meal in peace, alas these creeps desired tp spoil it as they themselves were spoiled. Anak grabbed at his two saber hilts, he kicked one off the roof and it made a splat near a lantern. He then in spin motion, his cape furling around him like red swirl of calligraphy stroke, ignited his ruby and larimar blades, the glow bathed the Dark Warrior in purple when the two sabers crossed as he cut down those clawing at his hors d'oeuvre. The piece of fish meat stayed perfectly untouched as it floated with each stroke of the twin blades, the corpses of the undead fell, limbs of rotted arms and legs strewn on the roof. Some of the arms kept moving, the hands inching like green arachnids.

Anak leapt into the air as all the hands reached up to grab him, his cape acting as a sail as he floated away from the tomb, below he saw the dancing flicker of lanterns and the pilgrims who carried them. He landed next to a kid who looked at him in his armor and long cape. His eyes growing big at the sight of the Son of Darkness. Levitating the Selk Puff, he gave it to the boy. With that he walked on, passing those chanting and offering supplication to the Immortal Gods of the Sith. There were peddlers too, selling amulets, supposed relics, and bread from Sadow’s Last Supper. He was amused at their trade on gullibility of the masses, how some really believed they had a holocron from The Golden Age or one of Vitiate’s silver hairs. Such superstition was very Sith, the power of belief made the most insignificant member of the Order feel in that moment as if they too were a god, that their destiny was to be great like those dark lords they revered.

For Anak this worship’s true design was theater, to keep those small cogs in line with magic and awe, the entire show was to ensure they remained complacent, placated, with bread, games, and unholy shrines. It was masterful, and essential, the Order had suffered too many schisms from infighting, unity remained elusive. This was the weakness of the Sith, the devouring of one another under the claim that it was culling the weak and raising up the worthy. In truth is meant less hopefuls for the battlefield. This is where The Son of Darkness saw wisdom in The Jedi, who rather their cut down rivals made them partners in their quest for supremacy. And yet they did not possess the resolve to do what must be done, The Light made them soft, like the paper of the lanterns all about.

The Son of Perdition could only sigh, the cycle as a gear rotated through history. One had to accept it. All attempts to reform it had ended in abject failure, The Rule of Two, The Rule of One, The Acolytes of Darkness, and so on. Each futile change ended in the same way, those with power tried to keep it, those without remained slaves. It did not matter if the model was few or many: A Singular Dark Lord, a Triumvirate, or Dark Council, it all ended the same. The nature of the dark side was thus, a life being as a great pyre that burned bright and the next was soot and embers. The answer was not to resist the cycle, but to accept it. It was better to “burn out, than fade away.”

 

[Ashka Tamas]

TAGS: Open For Business

The opportunity to make a killing was too great. The Dark Jedi set up his booth to sell relics, charms, and other sacred junk that he’d convince pilgrims and passersby to buy. He hung necklaces with the Eye of Bogan that glowed red, he had fixed some kyber in them and put a battery with a microscopic light to keep it lit. Two kids approached with a chaperon, begging to buy them. Ashka sat a brass bowl out that was filled with gold coins, the Sith traded in better currency than credit, and that was the other reason he had come.

The venue was some Eclipse, such phenomenon were of little interest to him. Soothsayers were claiming on the Pilgrim Road omens and that it would foretell great things. The Dark Jedi scoffed, that was always their way, vague ramblings that caught the insecure, stupid, and gullible by the ear. As Ashka set up some statues of Markos Ragnos, Freedon Nadd, and Naga Sadow, a Officer approached with a demeanor most unpleasant. He held out a datapad and spat at the booth’s edge.

“Do you have permission to sell these trinkets?”

Ah bureaucracy, that made the galaxy flow. Pulling out a document, which he forged, The Dark Jedi handed it the scrutinizing Officer, who looked carefully at the Worm Seal.

“Hmmm.. this looks in order but..”

Ashka levitated some coins to the Officer’s pocket. He felt the jingle. Looking at the Silver Masked Peddler, he gave the document back.

“Very good.. all is in order. Enjoy the festival.”

Ashka breathed a sigh of relief. Most jams could be solved with a little monetary incentive, greed and power was usually the motivators of most, particularly Sith, some though dealt in love and devotion, those scared him.

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Alina Tremiru //: Darth Malum of House Marr //:
//: Srina Talon //: (mentioned)​

Fingertips brushed against the length of her neck, and Quinn could feel the thickness of emotions on the planet's surface. The dead and the living all wanting to be heard. Closing her eyes, Quinn focused her mind, blocking everything that threatened to crawl in. She had become accustomed to the recent visions of the dead. They wanted to be seen and heard, and the young Princess suddenly became their beacon. She wondered if it had to do with bringing Alina back. Did something cling on to her? Or did she awaken something? There were stories, ones that her mother would tell her about visions. Each story felt like a warning of the powers that were latent within the children. Spencer could see the dead, communicate, and even live their lives in the past.

It terrified Quinn.

Alina's voice was muffled until the Sangnir's distinctive touch brought the Princess from her thoughts. "Oh," Quinn answered, buying her time to mentally digest what Alina said. "Lord Caedes? He's responsible for this?" She hadn't heard the name, or perhaps she had and didn't draw the proper conclusions. The dead made her uncomfortable, but maybe it was all in her head. Quinn smiled, looking at Alina, her silver mask not leaving much to the imagination as to who she was. "A dance would be nice; we missed our opportunity the last time we went to a party." They had missed the opportunity to dance at the Gala, but knowing the hosts and the state of the dance floor, she didn't mind missing out.

As they walked towards the dance floor, Quinn spotted familiar faces, quickly noting those she needed to address. Namely her Godmother. She couldn't remember if Srina had ever met Alina outside the tales the Princess would tell. Since Quinn already had her heart set on eventually marrying the Tremiru woman, it would only be polite to introduce her to the most influential person in the Echani's life.

Something ripped through the Force, scratching against Quinn's mind deeply. It was a familiar thread, but she hadn't prepared for the sudden burst of emotions through the previously made connection. It caught her off guard, causing the woman to turn and bury herself against Alina's frame. Quinn felt the voices that haunted the man, each wave hitting harder as she struggled to push it out. She caught her breath, and the hand that gripped tightly onto Alina relaxed. Surprises such as this weren't expected, and Quinn scolded herself for letting any bit of her defenses down.

"Sorry about that," Quinn pulled away, forcing a smile as she blinked, trying to get her vision to focus. Once she felt okay, she pulled slightly away and returned to Alina's side. Her thoughts focused on one man in the room; his mind would soon find a soothing feeling surrounding his consciousness. The voices would calm for a moment, and he would have a chance to breathe.

"It feels odd being back on Korriban," Quinn stated, "It feels so different now, but the planet is home again. Have there been any remnants of the unwanted?" She was curious about the process; if she remembered her history correctly, the Ashlan Crusade had put their boots down on the Sith planet. During that time, her mind was elsewhere, busy with her own personal hell. "Also, my love, could you remind me who this Lord Caedes is? I don't want to embarrass myself if we meet him."

 

[Alina Tremiru]

"I believe so. From what I've heard, he brought the dead to life to expel the Ashlans." It paid to know who her political acquaintances would be. Especially if they'd turn out to be a friend. Even more so if they turned out to be an enemy. Her eyes rarely left Quinn, though, as she spoke. Worry. She hadn't noticed it at first, not while she was still trying to piece her mind together, but something was clinging to Quinn. Something she hadn't told her yet. She didn't blame Quinn for keeping whatever trouble she was facing close to her chest.

Alina had only just returned from death. The Sangnir had much to prove on just what she was capable of now that she was returned. Though as they walked and she felt Quinn suddenly shy away against her such thoughts changed. Perhaps she needed to be the one to bring it up first. Later. Perhaps after the dance. "From what I understand, the only remnants of the Ashlans are among the corpses currently serving us. A fitting fate for those who sought to subjugate the Sith, I figure."

Would there be any she might know? She'd crossed blades with a couple Ashlans before her death, but there was no telling what might've happened to them. "Lord Caedes is the ruler of Korriban. King, if I remember correctly. I have yet to meet him myself, but I hear good things. Though, I also hear he's a changeling, so it's very possible we've already crossed paths and I'm none the wiser." What a fun thought that would be. She chuckled before reaching down to take Quinn's hand. Pull her into the dance. For now, at least for this moment, it'd be best for them both to smile.

The trouble Quinn faced they could do so together after.

"But, enough politics. Lets celebrate simply being alive with such good music."

Quinn Varanin | Darth Caedes (Mentioned)

 

[Deyanira Draco]

( Ulysses Renoux )​

In all their years, Deyanira had rarely -- if ever -- approached Ulysses first. He had to come to her; it was simply her way. Even in the crowd, his presence stood apart from the rest. No doubt, he'd sensed her, too. She would turn her back to him as he made his approach, but her masked face would turn slightly to acknowledge him over her bare shoulder.

"Yes," she answered, and sighed.

Deyanira turned slightly, appraising the Duke's appearance. He cut quite a strong and stately figure clad in white. And the devilish mask, horns and all, seemed quite fitting. The widow did appreciate that the man had taste, which she wished was true for everyone in attendance. At the grand masquerades on her own home world, there was a dress code.

Her cold demeanor was ever-present. But here, where no one knew her, did any of their posturing truly matter? No, of course it didn't. For Deyanira, at least, it was very much a matter of pride. Her dark eyes found his, "And do I have you to thank for the invitation?"

​

 

[Gerwald Lechner]

WEARING: xxx
WEAPONS: Wolfsbane | Ferrum Solus | Blodmåne | Strømafbryder
TAG: Naedira Darcrath

Imperfect.

Gerwald hated when she used that word to describe herself. Whether he could disagree with her stubborn view of herself in an articulate way or not, Gerwald did not have to accept it. To him she was beautiful, and it was her imperfections that made her so. Was she the woman she had once been? No. Did that mean the wolf loved her any less? No. How could he have, especially what he had given to have her in his life. It had taken the insight of his Echani mistress to help him realize his desire had been the exact definition of what it meant to be Sith.

They took what they wanted, and Gerwald had spent more than a decade pursuing her. Now that he had her, he would not allow her to use the word imperfect, in a way the was derogatory or self deprecating.

He smiled, a wolfish grin exposing his white teeth.

“You are different, but not imperfect. How different, we are still learning. I did not spend nearly 10 years in finding ways to bring you back only to abandon you because of it. I accepted whatever would come when I let Srina take the ring.”

She knew that. They had discussed it. Still Gerwald knew that more than anyone SHE had to live with who she was, what she was, now. The she-wolf had been unexpected. Even with the warning Srina had given him, Gerwald had never expected part of his nature to birth something else in her. Perhaps he was not the only creature born of alchemy he knew any longer. What the Mountain had, what it took to bring Naedira back, at the most basic level it was alchemical.

Gerwald could accept that at least.

The banter between them had always been easy. Even before their bond had been recognized or fully formed they found a casual flare to their interactions. His first memory of her was also their first mission together. Their flirting had begun even then. Perhaps he should have seen the signs then, that he was hopelessly in danger of falling in love with her, but the mission came first. They had had limited interaction after, but the bond which had lingered after the battle meld kept them close.

They were still close now, close enough that he knew she felt his thoughts and musings. He would have to tell her one day, but tonight they would dance. It was about them.

“You should have. It looks nice on you.”

His eyes wandered as she asked about the rest of her appearance. The dress was beautiful, her make-up perfect, auburn hair framed her face in a way which kept his attention. There were other things he noticed, how her the dress accentuated her curves. The parts of her flesh which showed called to him in a way that had yet to be sated. When she whispered against his ear he could feel his wolf stir, and when her beast moved, he knew it.

“Acceptable? There will never be a day that I find you anything less than the most beautiful woman I know.”

His kiss withdrew from her forehead, but how he could he not calm her. Gerwald wanted everything he promised, the intimacy his words implied. He wanted more.

His eyes floated to the dance floor when she agreed. They moved almost as one. It was not their timing or cadence which was off. Moving on a battlefield had been their art and form. Dancing would not have been different. It was not the first dance they had shared. His mind still played it over and over, even if the song and tempo was not the same. Her smile was bright. His was equally so. He only frowned when he felt the loss.

She had forgotten the steps.

Gerwald locked his eyes with hers. They were alive, a colorful and deep shade of blue. Everything she needed to know could be found just by looking in them.

“Take the steps from my memory.”

His eyes floated to Srina Talon and Darth Empyrean . They were looking on, but it was Naedira’s musings which drew his attention to them. Gerwald smiled as his head inclined to the wintry pair. They would dance for them, to their honor, and they would dance for themselves. Sapphire orbs would turn back to find the topaz jewels of his partner. She was happy. He simply knew it.

“And what about me hmmm? Am I acceptable? Are my loyalties and friends… acceptable?”


Whatever he answer they would dance. As the music played the wolf would guide the woman in rhythm and time. For a few moments they could lose themselves in the moment. His feet carried them, guiding her along the right and then to the left. A song or two would pass before they stopped and faced each other. His eyes said it all.

 

[Velda Nar-Donna]

WEARING: xoxo | xoxo
WEAPONS: Lightsaber
TAG: Xander Blackmoore


Sometimes, more often than not, it should be said masquerades held mystique and depending on who it is that happens to be attending, an aura of royalty. Mixed among the Sith in attendance, many dignitaries and socialites were among the crowd. All under the banner of regality of the Sith Order. And on one of the holiest of the holy worlds of the Sith no less. Korriban had returned to the Sith under much overdue reclamation. It is no secret that the storied world held much knowledge of the dark side and power.

Velda found herself on the arm of Xander Blackmoore as they had entered. Xander was every bit an enigma wrapped in an air of mystery. And with that, Velda was completely fine. even though she still held a discreet curiosity about the fellow.

He spoke of the upcoming eclipse. In a measured, smooth voice, which was one thing that was familiar to Velda about him as it befitted a noble. She found it to be a rather soothing, yet exciting, mix. All at the same time and that could be dangerous.

"I would not wish to miss it, it would be such a beautiful sight without question." The forthcoming eclipse would be a display of cosmic nature itself. Velda felt it would be symbolic, where the light slowly and gradually gets snuffed out by a growing darkness. Perhaps, it was symbolism of many things in a grand form. Perhaps, it symbolized the return of the Sith.

She took in his sentiments about not speaking about his identity until he desired to make his reveal. "Suspenseful and intriguing but quite understandable." She would be mindful with the exclusivity of his secrecy between them for the evening, keeping it well under wraps. Even as that exclusivity seemed to tug at the strings of her nightshade heart.

She held a number of secrets herself being formally under the flag of The Maw and more accurately the NSO so even her own past might raise questions among some in attendance here if they knew. Of course, after Exegol she did join TSO, and she watched most of the events within it occur up to the present time from afar. While she addressed more pertinent and personal matters.

Normally, a part of her would feel that Xander could reveal himself whenever he chose but a history with the Tsis'Kaar, whose campaign had been recently laid to rest, could complicate the issue greatly.

"How could I not agree to such a lovely and delightful suggestion?" She took his hand as he led her to the dance floor. And as they began, Xander would lead. The pair smoothly went through an elegant display of turns, and dips in line with the music. And Velda found herself doing something that normally seemed ill-advised considering his trade was that of a sith assassin, and even more so with her status as a Sith Lord. She fully trusted him within this moment, as her exotic eyes gazed upon him from behind her mask. Trust that was not only about the neccesity within their present circumstance and flow of dance, but a trust out of curiosity and interest.

 

[Elmindra Xitaar]

Sith Holy Space
Korriban
The Palace of Vardin
The Masquerade Ball

——————————————————

Spoiler

Tags: Darth Caedes | Rayth | Annika Starfire | Tarus Undara | Deyanira Draco
| Teresa Pelles | Darth Pellax | Lord Kalrath | Gospivost Avgustor | Ulysses Renoux | Xander Blackmoore | Lucia Naberrie | Gerwald Lechner | Diodoros | Darth Malum of House Marr | Mazrith Drihl | Darth Empyrean | Srina Talon | Osisa | Sophia of House Marr | Naedira Darcrath | Darth Nwul | Vector Monk | Madrona A’Mia | Zal Aditi | Adeline Noctua | Venn Kolis | Arkryion Malachar | Anak Darkstar | Ashka Tamas | Quinn Varanin | Alina Tremiru | Velda Nar-Donna

——————————————————​

Beneath the waning light of Korriban's many moons, the Palace of Vardin thrummed with powerful presence. The proximity of so many entities, so potent in the dark side of the Force all gathered together on the night of the eclipse, seemed to breathe essence back into the holy world. The swelling thurm could be felt from deep within each of those gathered, like the echo of a celestial heartbeat that moved ever closer to synergy as the moons above moved ever closer to syzygy.

Despicable decadence and marvelous malefaction pervaded the palace's grand hall as it grew pregnant with bodies, corporeal and otherwise. With the majority of the guests now in attendance and the festivities well underway, several dark figures slipped silently into the crowds to mingle and spread their numbers evenly throughout the space. Each of them was clad in fine yet simple dark robes and shrouded in veils as they slinked about in an eerie unison, as if of one mind. More importantly, each of them was Falleen and brought with them an invisible, scentless cloud of pheromones meant to subtly alter the minds of those exposed. Those they passed might feel their mind loosen, as if suddenly more inclined to make a move, to ask the question poised on their lips, to act on an impulse, especially one drawn to connection with others. Perhaps the effect would compound with whatever substance they had already indulged in, or perhaps it would affect some more than others.

The orchestra eased into silence as the lights throughout the greater hall dimmed and shifted focus to the main stage. Stepping up to meet the attention, as if she belonged beneath its scrutiny, Elmindra Xitaar struck an imposing figure atop the obsidian platform wreathed in torchlight. The attire she'd chosen for the occasion transformed the tall willowy Falleen into a wicked work of art, all sharp edges and dramatic accentuations. The dark gown was intended to encourage the hedonism inherent in such an event while compelling the reverence and respect she was owed. The tall pointed collar that framed her face, the decorative epaulets at her shoulders, and her tall elaborate headpiece made her appear larger than life. Huge crimson eyes looked out over the crowd from behind a fine mesh veil draped over the top half of her face as she prepared to begin her address.

"Esteemed guests,

It is my honor to welcome you to the Palace of Vardin on behalf of Korriban's Ascending King, Darth Caedes, and it is my pleasure to celebrate with you on this fortuitous night.

We gather here, as people have for millennia, to honor and to remember those who have come before us. Within the shadow of the Cardinal Eclipse, the veil between the living and the dead grows thin while the dark side grows strong, empowered by the spirits of the many Dark Lords from ages past.

I call upon one such Lord tonight, Dathka Graush, the Sith King, who's vision to unite the Sith tribes ushered in an era of unprecedented prosperity and prestige for his people. He believed in the promise of standing together as one, the strength in unification.

At the height of his power, he raised an army for his people, the very army of undead that walks among us tonight, now reawakened to serve the one who ascends to King of Korriban once more. Inspired by the legacy of the Sith King, Darth Caedes now ascends the throne. But this is only the beginning.

Since the reclamation of our holy worlds, the King Ascending has been devout in his service to Korriban and its people. He has been committed to rebuilding this sacred place to its former glory after it had been so thoroughly defiled. We could not have accomplished this alone though. It is thanks to our alliance and our devotion to our united empire that we celebrate our victory. Together, we took back our holy worlds. Together, we will take back the galaxy.

So tonight, we shroud our faces, our identities, so that we may put aside our differences, our titles, our associations, our reputations, our ego, and so that we may indulge in the power in our kinship as Sith.

Now that our holy world has been liberated from its oppressors, it is only right that we consecrate these lands…

… with sacrifice."

One by one, prisoners began to filter from the shadows behind Elmindra and out onto the stage. Bound in chains and wrapped in filthy rags, the prisoners varied in age and species but they all shared one thing in common — a palpable sense of dread.​