Faction Feast of Shadows || SO Friends and Allies

[Darth Nefaron]

Pathetic.
​

It appeared to the Corpse Lord that the Sith had forgotten what the word "terror" truly meant if this gallery of children's frights was the best that could be offered. He had not intended to attend this macabre celebration, but he had his reasons for appearing from the shadow of the Anoat sector to join the greater Order once again. While his apprentice, as childish and full of ego as ever, joined the celebration, Nefaron had taken to the estate's treacherous halls to explore the collection of relics that had been turned into a guided series of scares. While many a noble Lord and Lady had taken to the path together to see if they could endure the barrage of terror, the Corpse Lord walked the path alone for a time.

He was, in fact, disappointed. ​

Illusions of terrible beasts, memories of the past brought to life, and even the sight of viscera were not nearly enough to move Nefaron. He might have hosted this celebration of his homeworld if not for the distaste that many Sith felt for his realm. Did the sight of thousands enslaved turn their stomachs? Or was it the endless abominations that lay in dark chambers, waiting to be unleashed? Or perhaps it was the Corpse Lord himself, magnificent in his terrible visage, that warded them away from the dead world of Anoat? Regardless, they would all endure the realities of Nefaron's kingdom one day, and then they would understand true terror.

Nefaron was about to turn back in disgust when he caught sight of something, a luminous being at the corner of his dead sight, lingering in a hall that did not seem part of the guided attraction. It took time for the being to take true shape, but its pale face was clear as day for the Corpse Lord.

"Hello, mother. Death suits you."

The woman's face did not change, bearing the same sad and mournful expression despite the nearness of her only son. Of course Nefaron knew this to be an illusion, for the woman who brought him into this galaxy died centuries ago at the blade of the man Nefaron considered to be his first teacher. Any nightmares that haunted him regarding his mother had long since dissipated, for the Corpse Lord no longer needed to sleep, nor feel bound to the false concept of love. Still, he stood before the apparition of a dead woman, his dead eyes meeting her ghostly orbs; perhaps they at last matched each other after so long, one of them long dead and the other stranded between life and death. Of course the illusion could not last, and soon enough the spirit was gone and the doors from which Nefaron entered slammed shut behind him, as did those at the other end of the hall. It appeared this was a trap of sorts, one that was not intended to be a part of the estate's offerings.

That was made abundantly clear when figures emerged from the shadows, cloaked and wielding various weapons.

Assasins.

"So who has sent you to die? Was it the Witch Queen of Korriban? That fool Strosius? Or did you simply see an opportunity to put an old man in his grave?"

Of course none of them spoke; they only moved to surround him and prevent an escape if he actually sought one. It had been no secret that Nefaron had been severely weakened following the battle of Thyferra, to the point that some even thought he had died as a result of the Jedi's pathetic weapon. It appeared someone wanted to finish the job they started, which explained the blade that plunged into the Corpse Lord's back, driven through so cleanly that it appeared out of his chest. Had this occurred a few weeks prior, Darth Nefaron might have truly died his final death.

But it was not. Nefaron was now more than a man.

He was a living blight.​

In one swift motion, the Corpse Lord's arms began to groan and snap as bones shifted and muscles tore. Before the assassin knew what was happening, the Corpse Lord's arms reached behind him to grab hold of his assailant's head, all but crushing his skull as the now-lifeless body crumpled to the ground. The other assassins, perhaps half a dozen, took a step back, realizing that the target they had been led to believe was at death's doorstep was reborn in terrible glory. Before they could react, the force flowed again through Nefaron's body to force the blade all the way through his flesh and out of his chest, flying with terminal speed into the chest of another assassin, the force all but pinning him to the door at the end of the chamber as he slowly expired from blood loss. Already, Nefaron's flesh began to heal, the horrid sound of flesh twisting and squelching as the Terror Lord's body repaired what little damage he had endured.

"Go on. Try again. He only hit my heart; perhaps one of you will deliver the final blow."

TAGS: OPEN
MENTIONED: Veradun Sharr Darth Strosius Revna Marr ​

 

[Veyla Krinn]

Objective I: The Black Masquerade
Location: Feast of Shadows, Thyferra
Interacting With: Siv Kryze | Garo Vevut-Varkor

Veyla raised her glass toward Siv in a small toast, amused by his assessment of the Sith's hospitality. So far, the evening had been considerably more pleasant than she had anticipated, and she was perfectly content to let that continue. His admission that he couldn't entirely abandon his habit of observing everyone hardly surprised her. She had caught herself doing much the same, though the wine and his company made it easier to see the festivities for what they were.

"I wouldn't expect you to stop watching everyone. I'd probably start worrying if you did." She took another sip of wine, her smile lingering as she considered his question. It was a thoughtful question, especially coming from someone with plenty of responsibilities of his own. For a moment, she glanced toward the dancers, gathering her thoughts before answering.

"I've been doing well, actually. Busy, certainly, but that's hardly anything new." She shrugged slightly. "The forge keeps me occupied, and there's always something that needs repairing, improving, or making from scratch. I enjoy the work, though. It's good to have something worthwhile to put my hands to." Her expression softened as she looked back at him. "And House Kryze has given me something I didn't realize how much I'd missed. A place to belong. I don't take that lightly, Siv."

She hadn't expected their conversation to get so personal, but she didn't mind. Siv had earned her trust, and she appreciated that his interest extended beyond whether she was fulfilling her responsibilities. "What about you? You spend so much time making sure everyone else has what they need. I hope you occasionally remember to look after yourself." The gentle teasing in her voice did little to conceal the sincerity behind the question.

As she glanced across the pavilion, her attention caught on a familiar sight among the extravagant costumes. A young Mandalorian with green skin and blond hair had found a relatively secluded corner, apparently preferring the quiet to the activity around him. His facial markings were distinctive, and she recognized the fellow Mandalorian beneath the unfamiliar appearance. He seemed rather out of place among the revelers, although she could hardly blame him for seeking somewhere less crowded.

"Speaking of people who might need rescuing from all this excitement..." She inclined her head toward the young man, a faint smile returning. "I think we've found someone who appreciates these gatherings even less than we do."

Veyla lifted her free hand in a friendly greeting, making no attempt to draw unwanted attention to him. "Su'cuy, vod! There's room over here if you'd prefer some company." She glanced back at Siv with an amused expression. "Perhaps we should make a habit of collecting Mandalorians who look like they'd rather be anywhere else."

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Objective I: The Black Masquerade
Location: Feast of Shadows, Thyferra
Interacting With: Varin Mortifer
Mention: Veradun Sharr

Seren's smile widened at Varin's suggestion that combat might be the best way to judge the costumes. She could already imagine the consequences of such a competition, particularly given the questionable practicality of some of the ensembles surrounding them. "I suspect that would eliminate half the contestants before anyone even drew a weapon. Some of these costumes look as though sitting down would be a considerable undertaking, let alone fighting." Her amber gaze followed his toward the more extravagant guests before returning to him, amusement lingering behind the crimson filigree of her mask. His questions about wine earned a more thoughtful expression, particularly the mention of a golden variety she had never encountered. "I tend to prefer reds, although I'm hardly opposed to trying something different. That golden wine sounds intriguing. Perhaps we should acquire a bottle and see whether its rarity is justified." Exploring unfamiliar vintages with Varin was certainly more appealing than spending another evening buried in ancient manuscripts, even if she would never admit the latter remained a perfectly respectable pastime.

She noticed the subtle change in him before he apologized, the brief tension in his expression and the way his attention shifted toward something beyond their conversation. Seren knew him well enough to recognize when something had disturbed him, though she didn't question it immediately. Instead, her awareness expanded almost unconsciously through the surrounding gathering, brushing against the overlapping presences of those enjoying the festivities. Dozens of unfamiliar signatures were there, some carefully concealed and others radiating enough power or emotion to stand out despite the crowded pavilion. Among them, however, was one she hadn't encountered in about a year. The recognition came unexpectedly, bringing back memories of a very different time in her life, when she was still finding her footing among the Sith and had briefly entertained the possibility of something more personal with Veradun Sharr. They had never quite crossed that threshold, and whatever might have developed between them had been left behind long before her relationship with Varin became what it was now.

For a moment, Seren wondered whether the familiar presence had anything to do with Varin's reaction. She knew the two men had met before, though she had no reason to assume Veradun's presence caused the momentary change in her companion. Nor did she intend to let an unexpected reminder of her past intrude on their evening. A year could alter a great deal, and she was hardly the same woman she had been when she last knew Veradun. Curiosity, certainly, about what had become of him during that time, but it carried none of the anticipation that might once have accompanied the prospect of seeing him again. Seren let the awareness settle without pursuing it, her attention returning to the man standing before her as the music swelled around them.

"You never need to apologize for wanting to dance with me, love," she answered warmly, accepting his invitation with a graceful nod. Their considerable height difference had never kept them from finding ways to be close, though she suspected the elaborate gown would need a little more attention than her usual attire. She stepped closer, letting the folds of crimson and black silk settle around her legs before placing one hand on his offered arm. "And since you've already demonstrated such excellent judgment in choosing the wine, I think it's only fair to give you the opportunity to impress me with something else." Her smile turned mischievous as she looked up into his masked face. "Though I should warn you, I have rather high expectations of a gentleman who claims dancing with me is simply part of his nature."

As they prepared to join the dancers, Seren let herself appreciate the unfamiliar pleasure of being here, with no obligation beyond enjoying Varin's company. The last time they had stood upon Thyferra, uncertainty and pain had overshadowed nearly everything else, leaving questions neither had entirely resolved. Tonight offered something different, a chance to share music, laughter, and the sort of ordinary intimacy that had become increasingly precious to her. Whatever complications might eventually arise from the familiar faces scattered throughout the masquerade could wait. She gave Varin's hand a gentle squeeze, her expression softening beneath the ornate mask. "Come then, my lord. Let's give everyone something considerably more pleasant to watch than another Sith trying to navigate the room beneath an enormous headdress."

 

[Sylor]

X
Kurayami Bloodborn Kaela Voss​

"A high bill amongst a gathering of Mando'ade and Sith come for revel and drink? Impossible." He joked, though the tone was flat, behind the rebreather mask the Corellian's signature smirk was in place as always. "My name? Kurayami Bloodborn. And yourself?"

Sylor smirked, giving him a simple nod. "We shall see by the end of this." He laughed, shaking his hand. "Kurayami, its a pleasure to meet you. Name is Sylor."

“Wait, is this not an open bar?” Kaela asked, not quiet seriously as she slid down the bar to the two human men, overhearing the comment about the open tab and emboldened by seeing that at least one of them was openly wearing the crest of the Mandolorian empire on his lapel. “I haven’t paid for a drop and no one’s stopped me yet.”

Sylor turned as Kaela had approached them, inquiring about the open bar, and how she's been drinking and hasn't been stopped, or charged.

"An open bar of sorts its seems, clearly if you haven't been stopped then, you seem to be doing well for yourself." He chuckled lightly looking between the two of them. "I'm Sylor, its nice to meet you?" He inquired as he extended his hand towards Kaela.

He looked towards Kurayami, raising his glass towards him. "You expecting anyone this evening my friend?"

 

[Nysa Veilwalker]

Tags: Veradun Sharr CC: Varin Mortifer / O P E N

Dark greens snagged on the way he smiled, as though he had found a little secret and was deciding whether to share it with her. She wondered what it might be. Perhaps it had something to do with the way his eyes had lingered on her neck, though she couldn't imagine what there was to find so interesting about it.

"Do you think I ought to be frightened of you?" she asked, without any particular accusation in her voice. It was a genuine question, offered with the same mild curiosity one might have for a peculiar-looking moth.

Her gaze drifted briefly toward the refreshments before returning to him. She offered him a faint, rather absent-minded smile.

"No, I prefer brewed teas. Warm drinks. They make the hands feel less lonely, don't you think?"

"I am Nysa, by the way. It seems a shame to have a conversation with someone and not know what to call them. Even if they do look a little like the sort of person one ought to be careful around." For a moment she looked as if she were peering through him. Across the room of dancers and party goers. Through the ghosts only she could see with the wandering restless spirits, she caught the look Varin Mortifer sent their way. She felt it, too.

"Oh, do you know each other?" Mossy eyes flickered to the masked giant of a man then back to the tall one before her with those eyes like Hoth at first light. "He's like a brother to me. Though I admit, I have yet to meet more of the Covenant Sith. I was curious to see what other sith were like across the expanse. Are you part of the Order?"