Public Drowning In The Dark

[Warpriest Prime]

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O B J E C T I V E | Mingle & Negotiate With Dark Siders
L O C A T I O N | Jutrand Social Lounge
G E A R | Gjallerhorn | Beskar'gam | Glyphscript Anvil

OOC THREAD

Eira Dyn | Xan Atropus | Skadi Lightbane ​

Jutrand was a world of velvet shadows and perfumed sin, where power whispered behind every jeweled curtain and the Sith Empire's aristocrats floated through life on a river of menace and luxury. Tonight, however, the sinful jewel of the city, the Onyx Social Club, held a far rarer sight than a thousand noble-blooded Darkborn. Prime, the Warpriest of Mandalore, brushed in gold accents and wrapped in ceremonial furs, carving a path through the crowd like a comet.

The air buzzed with speculation and veiled concern. She moved through the obsidian interior with a swagger born of war and divine certainty, shoulders back, four arms relaxed yet predatory, chin lifted with that impossible mix of Mandalorian arrogance and preacher's heat. Her reputation had clearly preceded her; entire tables subtly shifted, conversations tapered into whispers, and more than a few Sith looked away as though making direct eye contact would brand them.

She was here under the newly forged, surprisingly cordial alliance with the royalbloods. Mandalorians had gotten rather close as of late to those who held motion in these kinds of places. Namely Srina Talon and most recently the Red Crown of Eshan Quinn Varanin . A handful of other powerful Darkborn who saw the value in associating with the children of Ha'rangir, and those who were brave enough, House Prime. The Empress's patronage had opened doors that had previously been welded shut, yet the danger, and opportunity, hung thick in the club's incense-heavy atmosphere. Those who dared to meet with Dima did so with equal parts ambition and fear; she was fire incarnate, a creature whose faith sharpened her smile and whose god sharpened her purpose.

Dima tipped her chin toward a group of Sith nobles reclining on a balcony booth, their eyes glittering with curiosity. She approached them like a priestess stepping to a alter, her voice a low melodic purr that rolled into a thunderous sermon-cadence as she spoke of conquest, unity through strength, and opportunities that could be born from shared enemies. She sipped from crystalline cups, traded veiled threats with velvet words, and laughed, too sharp, too bright, for anyone to forget she was a weapon sculpted by doctrine and war.

Yet in the midst of all the elegance and predation, she was utterly at home. A wolf in a den of jackals. A zealot spinning deals with devils. Dima Prime basked in it, moving from conversation to conversation with that intoxicating blend of holy fervor and battlefield swagger, shaking hands with one set of arms while the other folded with regal menace.

Jutrand's elite had come expecting a brute in ceremonial armor. Instead, they found a warborn prophet dressed for high society and she left them wondering whether they had just met an ally, a herald...or the first tremor of a coming storm.

 

[Morta Izanami]

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Disobey - by ODDKO

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Location: Jutrand Social Lounge
Tag: Warpriest Prime

Lady Izanami crossed the threshold of the Jutrand Social Lounge as one might enter a consecrated ruin, her presence stirring the air into a subtle, nervous hush. The Dark Side gathered here in layers; old grudges clinging to the walls, whispered ambitions pooling beneath low lights, the taste of hunger and deceit steeped into every breath.

She paused just long enough to bask in it, letting the unseen currents coil around her like familiar serpents. This was not a place of leisure masquerading as decadence; it was a crucible, and she felt its heat welcome her home.

She moved through the lounge with unhurried precision, her gaze flicking from face to face, carving them into memory with ritualistic care. Eyes too eager, hands too restless, smiles worn thin from overuse; each detail was cataloged, measured, weighed. Above the din of music and conversation, whispers bled into her awareness; half-formed plots, quiet confessions, desperate bargains muttered to no one in particular.

She gathered them all, storing voices and intentions alike, knowing that secrets were the truest currency in any dark exchange.

At times she drifted close, allowing herself to mingle just enough to invite interest. A word here, a glance there; she let people believe they had captured her attention, that they were moments away from something rare and valuable. Then, without warning or apology, she would turn away mid-sentence, severing the exchange as if it had never mattered at all.

Confusion followed her like a scent, offense blooming behind her steps, but she did not slow, nor care. Courtesy was a luxury for those who needed allies.

Lady Izanami had not come to this Jutrand Social Lounge to make friends. Friendship was weak mortar, crumbling under pressure. She was here to make pacts; binding, merciless, and enduring, and only with those she deemed worthy of her time, or if they possessed something she could exploit.

Somewhere within this gathering, amid the noise and shadows, were souls sharp enough to cut themselves on destiny.

Until she found them, she would continue her silent harvest, leaving bruised egos and unfinished conversations in her wake, a quiet reminder that power never waited politely to be heard.

 

[Varin Mortifer]

Outfit​

He usually did not have the time for leisure talking or drinking. Bouncing between two academies and several planets, missions, and general time for training left little for him to do for himself. But tonight, Jutrand gifted him the time to breathe. So breathe he did. He did not dress for the occasion but opted for a more comfortable but tactical approach.

He sat in a corner booth, his glowing eye giving his body away in the low light around him as he rolled a glass in his hand. The glass mostly empty with a darker liquid. Intoxication did not come easy to him, due to the nature of his body literally burning it away, so he was able to relax and drink a bit more than most.

His stature towered over most in the room even while seated. A black cloud of smoldering smoke clung to his back and shoulders like a cloak, the continuous essence of the creature that resided in him.

His eyes traced any who walked in, the glowing eye piercing any force illusions, he would see everyone for who they were, none hiding from his sight.

His other hand flicked his thumb slowly over and over, producing a small flame over the quick of his nail, and snuffing it back out again, a slow inhale filling his lungs and slowly exhaling, taking in the scents of the room.

Conversations on multiple subjects happened all around him, occasionally he would listen but then tune it out when he showed little interest.

The way his posture sat at the table signaled that he had a hard time just relaxing and enjoying public outings. There was a stiffness to him that was ready for any sign of combat, almost like he itched for it. Try as he might, he did not hide it well. The position he chose to sit in even gave him the clearest view of the entrance and exit.

He took another slow sip of the dark amber liquid, the bitter sweet taste burning down his throat.

Tags: Warpriest Prime | Open​

 

[Tamsin Starfall]

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Theme: Ode to Joy
Location: Jutrand Social Lounge
TAGS: OPEN

A small figure entered the social club wearing a white mask covering the face. With Black robes covering the rest of the body. Not an inch of skin showed, the hands covered with black gloves. No one seemed to bat an eye or even notice, this was sith society after all robed masked figures were commonplace. Black as the abyss itself eyes stared out through the eye slits of the mask.

It wasn't often the figure in Tamsin Starfall's skin came to Jutrand these days. The face it wore wasn't exactly welcome here anymore, though it wasn't like she would be killed on site for it. Still it was best to stay covered, a former Inquisitor, Marshal, and sister of a former planetary governor of the sith order who had both fled wouldn't be exactly well received.

Not that the being that was Tamsin had any ill intent or even disdain for the order. It existed and so did she from time to time their paths would have to cross. It was best just to keep your head low and not bring attention to yourself in those times. She had come to Juntrand to seek information on the where abouts of something left behind when her and her sister left.

That is what led her to this social club, the person who had the information was to meet her here. Unbeknownst to her there was a cult gathering happening, and that damn fire monkey was here too. She began to move towards the bar as her dark eyes kept on the lookout for her informant. As she came up to the bar just barely being able to look over the top of the bar counter, she looked up at the tender.

"Gravdinian Ale." She spoke softly as she looked up at the bar tender. The tender looked down at her questioningly for a moment but thought the better of it as he turned to go get her the drink she requested. Tamsin knew that look Gravdinian was possibly the most toxic and dangerous ale in the Galaxy.

 

[Warpriest Prime]

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O B J E C T I V E | Forging Bonds
L O C A T I O N | Juutrand Social Lounge
G E A R | Gjallerhorn |

Morta Izanami | Tamsin Starfall | Varin Mortifer | Eira Dyn | Xan Atropus | Skadi Lightbane​

The Juutrand Social Club pulsed like a living thing, velvet shadows stitched together with low laughter, polished malice, and the faint thrum of Force-sensitive awareness. Chandeliers of cut obsidian and plasma light turned every movement into theater. Sith nobles drifted in slow orbits, predators pretending to be patrons, alliances forming and dissolving between sips and glances.

And in the middle of it all, Domina Prime did what she always did best.

She mingled like a holy riot.

Laughter rolled from her in rich, unashamed bursts as she clasped forearms, exchanged ritual insults, praised scars, and spoke of war as though it were weather. She leaned in close to whisper promises of armaments and opportunity, then pulled back just as easily, tail swaying, presence filling every corner she passed through. Sith noticed her. They always did. Some stiffened. Some smiled too quickly. Others watched from behind veils of practiced indifference.

Then her attention drifted.

Five eyes slid across the lounge, catching on motion at the threshold. A pale witch entered, Morta Izanami . light bleeding off her skin in a way that made the shadows lean toward her. Dima's grin bloomed behind her mask, slow and knowing, ears giving a pleased flutter before she turned away as if she hadn't noticed at all.

She moved toward the bar instead.

A bubbling ale was set down in front of a woman already there, the liquid alive with chemical shimmer, popping softly like it wanted to bite back. Dima appeared at her side without warning, towering, close enough for the heat of her to be felt. A deep, pleased chitter rolled from her chest as she waved a claw toward the bartender.

"Ohhh, that looks lovely," she purred. "I'll have what SHE'S having~"

She dipped her head toward Tamsin Starfall , giving her a playful nod, then wiggled her fingers in an almost bashful little wave, as though she weren't a warpriest capable of reducing cities to sermons.

Her gaze slid again, catching movement along the edge of the room. Lady Izanami drifted through the lounge like a rumor given shape, half-seen, half-feared. Dima angled her head, the bladed end of her tail lifting to point her out with unmistakable fondness.

"And a glass for the lovely lady skulking about like a predator," she added smoothly.

The drink arrived. Dima didn't quite sit, merely leaned into the bar's space, lifting the glass toward her mask and tilting it thoughtfully. The liquid glowed faintly. Promising. She glanced around the room once more and caught a single bright eye watching from a corner booth. That did it.

With an impish grin, she removed her mask and raised the glass in a silent toast to the stranger Varin Mortifer before throwing the drink back in one smooth motion.

The burn hit her tongue like a challenge.

Her tail rattled with delight as she licked her lips, a low hum of approval escaping her throat. "Ohhh...that's nice. That's real nice."

She turned back to the woman beside her, five eyes gleaming with curiosity and intent. "Say," she asked, voice warm and genuinely intrigued, "what's this concoction called?"

Already, somewhere deep in her mind, a place on The Ark's shelves was being cleared.

 

[Eira Dyn]

Location: Jutrand Social Lounge
Outfit: Casual
Equipment: Lethal Pursuers
Tag: Warpriest Prime | Morta Izanami | Varin Mortifer | Tamsin Starfall

Eira stretched her figure after her long shower. The training session had been particularly rough today, with Eira focusing more on Lightsaber fighting techniques, learning how they worked and understand the ways that the body moved. It was a necessary next step since the assassin style fighting was only effective and useful when she was working as one. There was going to be times that Eira needed to be the Sith version of herself. One that used the crimson blades that she had secretly been working on.

Something that needed more time since she was attempting to acquire certain items that would allow her Lightsabers to be of the highest standards. Nothing basic would ever work for Eira.

Wearing something casual, the day's training and studying had flown by her. Her body was tired and somewhat sore. Mentally, she was glad to be finished with everything and she figured now would be a good time to go and work on some relaxation. A way to wind down and just take in everything that had happened in around her. The galaxy was in a constant shift and it was important to notice the changes, see where alliances were forming and learn of the present political movements so she could prepare for what the future might hold.

Leaving her dorm, she headed to the social lounge, while she was never someone of high born status or background, Eira had somehow found herself being trained by some of the highest status in the Sith Order. It was a luxury that Eira didn't fully understand and Eira was not hating the fortunes that found themselves in her life now. She was just remaining acutely aware that with this attention came the importance of her maintaining a level of skill and dominance that meant she could never truly relax.

Entering the lounge, she looked to the bar, there was no temptation for an alcoholic drink. Such beverages addled the mind and she desired to remain focused and sober while surrounded by tentative allies. Sith were infamous for backstabbing and utilising any weakness. Eira desired to show none. There were people that she noticed, some interesting, others bland. But her keen eyes and training told her not to appear too obvious in her observations and Eira simply sat with her legs crossed and pulled out a datapad with some news on it. Idly scrolling it while letting her ears listen in on the conversations around her.

 

[Morta Izanami]

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Disobey - by ODDKO

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Location: Jutrand Social Lounge
Tag: Warpriest Prime ... Eira Dyn ... Varin Mortifer ... Tamsin Starfall

The serving droid glided to Lady Izanami with the faint hiss of pneumatics and oil-warm circuitry, its photoreceptors dimmed in a posture that mimicked deference. It inclined its chrome skull just enough to suggest secrecy, and in a voice filtered like a chant through a cracked vocabulator, that her next indulgence had already been paid for; bought and offered by another patron, on the house.

Her smile curved playfully, knowingly, a crescent moon drawn across her lips as her gaze flicked toward tables where intention often hid behind generosity.

"Then fetch me something from the bottom shelf," she said, her tone light but edged with ritual command. "Brand and name don't matter."

With that, she drifted toward the direction of Warpriest Prime , her steps unhurried, each one a deliberate invocation of presence. Behind her, the droid chirped an acknowledgment and scurried away; as it proudly set off to fill her order.

When she arrived, the witch slowed and came to a graceful halt a few feet from this unfamiliar personality, a brief glance, a quick look around, and the distance was measured with the precision of a circle drawn for summoning. "Generosity," she began, her voice like a lullaby, playful, threaded with a smile you could hear, "is such a rare and endangered quality these days. It's refreshing to see it still alive."

Her eyes glimmered with amused interest as she inclined her chin in thanks. "You have my gratitude, for the drink, and for the intention behind it."

At that moment the serving droid returned, its servos whispering, it presented a glass cupped in steel fingers, within which a cold, blue liquid swirled faintly, luminous as bottled moonlight, mist clinging to the rim as if reluctant to let go. She accepted it with elegant ease, the chill kissing her skin.

Her smile deepened, a soft, conspiratorial thing, as she let her gaze linger just long enough to be impolite in more honest company. "Now then," she said lightly, her voice wrapped in silk and half-truths, "how do we perform such formalities?" She gave a quiet, almost bashful laugh that rang entirely unconvincing. "Some say my social skills are, what's the word; ah, yes, fascinating."

A lone, dark-nailed finger began tracing the rim of the glass in a slow, deliberate circle, claw grazing crystal as though inscribing an invisible arcane spell. "Do we exchange names," she inquired, eyes flicking up with playful curiosity, "or is this the part where we pretend they don't matter?"

 

[Varin Mortifer]

Varin watched as many faces traced around the area, taking note of each one, committing force signatures to memory as they waltzed around. He noticed the larger woman raise a glass to him, and he very slowly raised his back to her in acknowledgment. He would not be one to be rude to such people around him, though he was trying to remain inconspicuous, unfortunately the glowing prosthetic within his eye socket made that difficult.

He tipped it back taking a small slow sip as another individual walked in.

No drink, calm collective tone in her body, even her force signature gave way to a feeling of hiding in the dark. It intrigued him, someone trying to look unnoticeable tends to draw eyes, he would know this from just a moment ago when the larger woman toasted towards him.

He looked down at the bittersweet amber that whirled in his cup, the ice clinking inside. He gave sigh, it was time he stopped being a wall flower. He decided to approach the one who tried to seem unapproachable, walking towards Eira.

He stood towering over her and her table as she scrolled through her datapad, not good with social interactions or even social cues his eyes flicked over to her datapad then to her.

“Long night of training?”

excellent conversation starter, flawless even.

He looked at the empty seat near her.

“May I sit?”

He waited for any response, silently as his gaze looked around the unfamiliar room. It was not often he went out to bars or cantinas, he usually kept to himself meditating or training.

Eira Dyn | Warpriest Prime | Tamsin Starfall | Morta Izanami​

 

[Eira Dyn]

Location: Jutrand Social Lounge
Outfit: Casual
Equipment: Lethal Pursuers
Tag: Varin Mortifer

Someone approached Eira and she looked up. It was the man with the unusual eye. She wondered if it was blind on that side or something that improved his vision. Something that let him now see in ways no normal eye could. That was usually what strange eyes like his meant. It was the same when it came to limbs, and other body augments. They rarely were just cosmetic or functioned as standard.

"Hello there." Eira spoke with her usual husky, sultry tones. Her eyes studying him more than her book now. He had made himself the most interesting one in the room for approaching her. No one else had therefore, Eira could only assess that he was impeccable taste. "Training?" She tilted her head, acting all confused on the matter then smirked widely.

"It was as good as it gets any other day. I didn't die, therefore, something must have gone right." Eira leaned back and narrowed her eyes when he asked if he may sit. It was a good selection of the question, could, can and others offer jabs and teasing. May I sit... Nothing teasing came to her mind immediately.

Then she found the response.

"What happens when I decline this request?" There was a teasing glint in her eyes, showing that there was no intention of refusing Varin but she could not help but make it a challenge to remain in her presence. To prove he was worthy of her time.