Work In Progress Fortress

[Darth Keres]

[Fortress of Silence]​

OUT OF CHARACTER INFORMATION

• Intent: Personal Home
• Image Credit: Link
• Canon: N/A
• Permissions: N/A
• Links: N/A

SETTING INFORMATION

• Structure Name: Fortress of Silence
• Classification: Fortress
• Location: Soto'lok Winda'nia
• Affiliation: Darth Keres
• Accessibility:
  • Access to the fortress is deliberately treacherous, designed to test resolve as much as to deter intrusion. The stronghold, situated between jagged cliffs, hovers over molten fissures, its obsidian towers piercing a sky choked with storm clouds. The only approach is a narrow causeway of black stone, suspended above rivers of lava that pulse with an infernal glow. Each step across it feels watched—by sentry droids, by hidden turrets, and by something far older, lingering in the air like a curse. Massive gates bar the entrance, engraved with Sith runes that shimmer faintly when approached, reacting to the presence of the Force. Only those strong enough to withstand their psychic weight can cross without faltering. Beyond the gates, winding corridors and fortified checkpoints ensure that no intruder passes unnoticed.
• Description:
  • The Fortress looms like a monument to darkness—an immense structure of obsidian and durasteel rising from a desolate landscape scorched by fire and storm. Its jagged spires claw at the blood-red sky, their tips wreathed in lightning that never ceases. The air around it hums with the oppressive weight of the Dark Side, thick enough to make every breath feel like inhaling power itself.
    
    The outer walls are seamless and cold, carved with ancient Sith runes that glow faintly with malevolent energy. Defensive turrets and watchtowers stand at perfect intervals, each one manned by silent sentinels who move with machine-like precision. Rivers of molten rock flow through channels beneath the fortress, their glow casting flickering reflections across the black stone, giving the illusion that the entire citadel is alive and breathing.

POINTS OF INTEREST

• Alchemy Lab
  • Deep within the obsidian heart of the fortress lies the Sith Alchemy Chamber—a place where light dares not linger. The air itself feels heavy, charged with a sinister energy that hums through the stone walls like a pulse. Crimson sigils, carved into the basalt floor, flicker with faint, blood-red light that seeps upward as if the chamber itself were breathing.
• Training Facility
  • The Sith's training room is a chamber of controlled chaos—a place where fear, anger, and power intertwine. Its walls are forged from dark durasteel, scorched and pitted from relentless combat training, for both Darth Keres and her personal guards. Dim crimson lights bathe the space in an eerie glow, casting long, jagged shadows that seem to move with a will of their own.The air hums with the faint vibration of the Dark Side, thick with tension and the scent of ozone. Along the perimeter, ancient Sith runes pulse faintly, feeding on the energy of conflict. Training droids stand dormant until summoned.
• Meditation Chamber
  • The meditation chamber is a sanctuary of darkness—silent, oppressive, and alive with the pulse of the Dark Side. Its walls are hewn from black stone that seems to drink in the light, broken only by thin crimson lines of energy that crawl like veins across the surface. The air hangs thick and unmoving, carrying the faint scent of burned incense and decay. At the chamber’s center floats a circular platform suspended above an abyss of shadow. Around it, jagged Sith runes glow faintly, their light shifting in rhythm with the user’s heartbeat. Here, the Force feels different—dense and violent, whispering promises of power to those who dare to listen.
• Religious Chamber
  • Hidden deep beneath the fortress, the chamber exudes an unsettling reverence. The air is thick with incense and the faint scent of iron, as if the stone itself remembers old sacrifices. Flickering candles cast restless shadows across walls carved with symbols no living scholar dares translate. Each sigil seems to twist subtly when unobserved, alive with quiet malice. At the room’s center stands a raised altar of blackened stone, where prayers, rituals, and sacrifices are conducted to her Triple Crones.
• Grand Hall
  • The Grand Hall looms like a cathedral of shadows—vast, silent, and steeped in power. Its towering pillars of obsidian rise toward a vaulted ceiling veined with crimson energy, pulsing like a living heart. The floor, polished to a mirror sheen, reflects the glow of suspended braziers that burn with an unnatural red flame, their smoke curling into ghostly shapes that whisper faintly of ancient sins. Along the walls, colossal statues of long-dead Sith Lords stand guard, their hollow eyes watching all who enter. Between them, carved reliefs depict wars, betrayals, and rituals—moments of cruelty immortalized in stone. At the far end, upon a raised dais, rests Darth Keres' Throne of Shadows—a seat forged from the remnants of fallen enemies and bound by the will of the Dark Side itself. From here, the Sith overseer gazes down upon her guests, with judgment and power entwined.
• Secret Tunnels
  • Beneath the fortress lies a labyrinth of secret tunnels, nearly forgotten and thick with the scent of damp stone and decay. The walls are slick with age, their surfaces etched with strange markings and even stranger symbols that seem to shift when glimpsed from the corner of the eye. Each step echoes endlessly, swallowed by the oppressive silence that clings to the air like a living thing. Cold drafts creep through unseen cracks, carrying whispers that slither around the ears—soft voices speaking in languages no one remembers. Flickering torchlight dances on the edges of vision, revealing fleeting shapes that vanish when faced directly. Sometimes, the tunnels seem to breathe, the air tightening as if the passage itself resents intrusion
• Lava Pool
  • The lava pool churns like a living wound in the center of the fortress—molten rock bubbling and hissing as waves of blistering heat roll through the air. Its surface glows a fierce, pulsating orange, veined with streaks of yellow-white light that twist and fade like the breath of a dying star. The smell of sulfur hangs heavy, stinging the nose and throat with every inhale.
• Sith Art Gallery
  • The Sith Art Gallery is a place where beauty and cruelty coexist in uneasy harmony. Dim crimson lights cast shifting patterns across obsidian floors where every step echoes through the silent gallery, where art is not meant to inspire—but to intimidate, to remind all who enter of the glory and terror of the Dark Side. Massive sculptures carved from volcanic rock depict scenes of conquest and agony—warriors locked in eternal struggle, faces frozen in silent screams. Murals of deep red and black swirl across the walls like living shadows, painted with pigments rumored to contain traces of blood and ash. In the center, suspended in stasis fields, float relics and artifacts of forgotten Sith Lords: shattered masks, cracked holocrons, fragments of lightsabers that once burned through empires.
• Sith Grand Library
  • The Sith Grand Library is a cathedral of shadows, coldness, and silence; where knowledge hums with malice and every whisper seems to echo with forbidden truth. Towering shelves of blackened durasteel stretch toward a vaulted ceiling lost in gloom, packed with ancient tomes bound in cracked leather and the hides of creatures long extinct. Red flickering candles burn in sconces along the aisles, casting a perpetual dusk that turns every motion into a ghostly blur. In the deepest corner, chained books rest upon altars of stone, their bindings sealed with sigils that shimmer like fire when approached. Here, study is not enlightenment—it is survival. Knowledge itself is a weapon, and every page turned carries the risk of corruption or revelation.
• Guest Rooms
  • The guest rooms are quiet sanctuaries tucked behind heavy doors of polished stone, offering a rare sense of calm within the fortress’s walls. Each chamber is minimalist yet refined—furnished with sleek, dark metals and deep crimson fabrics that echo the Sith’s austere sense of power. Soft lighting emanates from hidden sconces, bathing the room in a subdued amber glow that seems to swallow shadows rather than cast them. Every detail, from the cold precision of the decor to the faint scent of ozone lingering in the air, speaks of restraint and control. The guest rooms offer comfort—but never warmth. Even in rest, one is reminded that this place belongs to a Sith Lord, and peace here is a courtesy, not a promise.
• Grand Bed Chamber
  • The Grand Bed Chamber is an opulent sanctum of shadow and power—a private throne room disguised as a place of rest. The vast space is cloaked in deep crimson light, cast from hidden sconces that pulse faintly like a heartbeat. Heavy draperies of black and scarlet silk hang from the high ceiling, their folds stirring gently in unseen currents of air charged with the Dark Side’s energy. At the center stands an immense bed of carved obsidian and steel, its frame inlaid with crimson crystal veins that glow softly in the darkness. Sheets of fine, dark fabric shimmer faintly, absorbing rather than reflecting light. Behind it, a towering wall mural depicts scenes of conquest and ascension—Sith victories immortalized in strokes of fire and shadow. Along the room’s perimeter, relics of past power lie displayed under protective fields: broken lightsabers, ancient armor, and fragments of Sith holocrons that hum with dormant energy. The air is warm, heavy with the scent of incense and ozone, each breath laced with the faint taste of electricity. This chamber is not a place of comfort, but dominion—a reflection of the Sith who dwells within. Here, rest is secondary to possession, and even in sleep, the Dark Side watches.
• Commander Salinas' Chamber
  • The Commander’s bed chamber exudes discipline and authority—a reflection of the life it shelters. Every line, every surface is precise, purposeful, and free of excess. The walls are made of cold metal and reinforced stone, adorned only with banners bearing the insignia of past campaigns and medals from days past displayed in perfect alignment. A sturdy bed occupies the center, built for practicality rather than comfort—its frame of brushed steel, its sheets crisp and immaculate. A small desk sits nearby, strewn with perimeter charts, training reports, and a single datapad still glowing with unsent orders. Soft light filters from overhead panels, casting subdued shadows that emphasize the room’s austerity. Even here, in the rare hours of rest, the air carries a sense of vigilance. The space feels less like a retreat and more like a command post—ready, efficient, and utterly controlled. This is not a sanctuary. It is a strategist’s den.
• Theatre System
  • The theatre system stands as a marvel of design and immersion, a seamless fusion of art and technology. The room itself is built to command attention—walls lined with sleek acoustic panels that absorb every stray echo, creating a cocoon of perfect sound. Soft ambient lights trace the edges of the ceiling, fading to darkness when the system activates, allowing the display to dominate the senses. At its heart lies a vast holographic projector capable of rendering lifelike scenes in three dimensions, its image clarity sharp enough to blur the boundary between fiction and reality. Surrounding speakers emit a layered soundscape—thunder rumbling from unseen skies, whispers gliding just behind the listener’s ear, or the deep resonance of orchestral power that shakes the floor. Control panels rest within easy reach, their surfaces glowing faintly with intuitive controls that respond to Darth Keres' gestures and voice. Plush, reclined seats are arranged in perfect symmetry, designed for comfort without distraction. When active, the theatre system transforms the space into something more than a viewing chamber—it becomes an experience. A portal where light, sound, and emotion converge, drawing every observer into the story until the outside world ceases to exist.
• Observatory
  • The Observatory crowns the fortress like a black jewel set against a blood-red sky. Its domed ceiling, carved from obsidian and streaked with veins of crimson crystal, opens to the void above—a perfect window into the chaos of the galaxy. Within, the air hums faintly with both mechanical precision and the low thrumming of the Dark Side, intertwining science and sorcery in equal measure. Massive holo-projectors float in silent orbit around a central dais, displaying constellations, hyperspace routes, and star maps that shift and pulse as though alive. Red energy lines trace across the projections, marking worlds of conquest, forgotten battlefields, and places heavy with the echo of the Force. Books of star-lore rest on black stone pedestals, whispering their secrets to any who dare approach. The faint scent of ozone and burning incense lingers, a constant reminder that this is no mere study of the stars—it is an act of domination. Here, Darth Keres does not gaze at the stars for wonder or wisdom; she looks upward only to calculate, to claim, and to command. The galaxy itself becomes a map of ambition—each star, a future conquest waiting to burn.
• Landing Pad & Hangar
  • The landing pad sprawls across a windswept plateau of dark stone, illuminated by thin lines of red and white guidance lights that cut through the perpetual gloom. Scorch marks mar the surface—ghosts of countless arrivals and departures—while automated turrets track each movement with cold precision from their perches along the perimeter. Beyond the pad, massive blast doors slide open to reveal the hangar—a cavernous expanse of steel and shadow. The scent of fuel and ozone fills the air, mingling with the echoing clang of tools and the hum of droids performing endless maintenance.
• Sanctum of the Order of the Silencers
  • The Sanctum of the Order of the Silencers lies buried deep beneath a dead and forgotten world, its existence whispered only through madness and nightmare. Hewn into the bones of the planet itself, the halls breathe with a pallid mist that weeps from the black stone, thick with the echoes of silent screams. Every surface bears the touch of shadow — engraved with sigils that writhe faintly under dim, bloodless light, and floors paved with obsidian that reflect no shape, no soul. At the heart of this subterranean tomb stands the Chamber of Still Voices — a cathedral of silence where the Force itself seems muffled, suppressed beneath an ancient and malignant will. The air hangs heavy, pressing upon the mind until thought becomes pain. The walls pulse faintly with whispers too low to be heard, yet too piercing to ignore — remnants of those who once sought to defy the will of Darth Keres and were forever unmade. Monolithic statues of faceless Silencers guard the corridors, their presence suffocating, their eyeless visages seeming to watch all who pass. No torch burns within the Sanctum; illumination comes from the slow decay of unseen energies, casting everything in a wan, spectral glow. Even the Force bends here — not as a servant, but as a prisoner, bound and gagged by the same power that sustains the Order's dreadful silence. It is not a place built for life. It is a tomb of obedience, where words are treason, sound is sacrilege, and silence is the only prayer the living may utter.
• Black Mediation Sanctum
  • The Sanctum of the Black Meditation is the spectral heart of the Order of the Silencers, a place where silence becomes a living entity and the Dark Side bleeds through the walls. Buried far beneath Darth Keres’ fortress, it is said to exist between worlds — a hollow where sound cannot survive and time stands still. Its obsidian walls pulse faintly, as though breathing, and faint whispers drift like ghosts through the air, never reaching the ear yet stirring the soul. Here, initiates are unmade and reborn. The Sanctum serves as both tomb and womb for the Silencers, where the final threads of self are stripped away in the Ritual of Black Meditation. The silence within is so absolute it takes on weight, pressing against the mind until thought itself begins to dissolve. Some say the shadows that cling to the walls are the remnants of those who failed — minds broken and absorbed by the Sanctum’s hunger. To the Order, this place is sacred beyond words — the still heart of their faith. It is here that silence breathes, where Darth Keres’ presence lingers like a phantom, and where every Silencer is bound eternally to the Void. The Sanctum is not merely their temple; it is their grave, their birthright, and their everlasting silence made flesh.

SECURITY

The security for the Fortress is Medium.

The fortress of Darth Keres stands as a bastion of terror and paranoia, a citadel where intrusion means obliteration — or worse, possession. Hewn into the blackened spine of a dead mountain, its walls are alive with Sith alchemy and spectral machinery, their surfaces pulsing faintly as if the fortress itself breathes. The air hums with the constant low vibration of the Force, dense and suffocating, woven into every stone like a curse.

The outer perimeter is guarded by legions of silence-bound sentinels — soldiers whose tongues have been severed and whose minds are shackled by Darth Keres' will. They patrol without rest, guided not by sight or sound but by her psychic command, reacting to disturbances before mortal senses could perceive them. Intruders do not merely die here; they vanish, their consciousness unraveled and absorbed into the fortress itself, adding to its malignant awareness.

Turrets of elaborate design lie dormant beneath layers of stone until movement stirs within their radius — then they awaken in bursts of crimson energy, guided by intelligence rather than programming. Each weapon feels alive, its beams screaming like tortured souls as they fire.

The inner gates are labyrinthine, opening only through sequences of thought encrypted within the Dark Side. Passage requires more than keys — it demands surrender of will. Should one falter, the walls constrict and the corridors shift, reshaping themselves to swallow the intruder whole.

No alarm is ever heard within her fortress. Only the stillness of perfect control — a silence that kills thought, breath, and defiance alike.

• Commander Salinas
• Order of the Silencers

HISTORICAL INFORMATION

Long before her reign of silence, the mountain that would cradle Darth Keres’ fortress was a grave — a volcanic tomb where an ancient race was believed to cast their failures to burn and rot. When Darth Keres came, the fire no longer consumed; it obeyed. She reshaped that place of ash and ruin into her dominion, a monument to isolation and fear. The fortress rose not by mortal hands but by her will — black spires tearing through the mountain’s flesh, stone fused with bone, metal grafted with memory.

In its earliest days, the citadel was said to pulse with the heartbeat of its mistress. The walls, slick with shadow, would whisper when touched, repeating fragments of thoughts stolen from those who perished within. Every corridor was an echo of agony, every chamber a confessional of madness. Her servants built in silence, their tongues carved out in ritual, their voices sacrificed to consecrate the stronghold as a temple of wordless obedience.

When the fortress was completed, the skies darkened for seven nights. The lava flows that once screamed in molten fury cooled into black glass, and lightning danced across the spires like veins of the dead made to glow. The locals came to call it The Keep of Still Minds — for no sound escaped it, and no one who entered ever emerged sane. It was said that even the wind refused to pass its gates, breaking itself against the silence that radiated from within.

Over time, the fortress became a relic of whispered terror. Empires fell, wars shifted, and stars burned out — yet the citadel endured, untouched by time, feeding on the despair of those who dared to seek it. Its stones drank memory, its halls thick with psychic residue. The shadows grew deep enough to hold shape, and the silence itself became sentient, watching, waiting.

Now, the fortress of Darth Keres stands eternal — a mausoleum for the living, a cathedral for the dead. It is not merely her home, but her reflection: a structure of perfect control, beauty, and damnation. To look upon it is to feel time stop — to understand that it was not built to house her, but to become her.