Private Katabasis

[Ala Quin]

The wind whispered low, like a voice buried under ash and stone. Even before Ala had stepped from her ship, the air pressed against her skin with the weight of something ancient and unloved. Pillars of blackened basalt rose in broken symmetry from the scorched earth, casting crooked shadows across the fractured path that led toward the heart of the ruins. Once, perhaps, it had been a temple—now it was a carcass of obsidian bones and forgotten rites.

She exhaled slowly, letting the chill pass through her without resistance.

“It’s just a site,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else. “Not a threat. Not yet.”

Still, her bootsteps were soft as she moved forward, careful not to disturb the silence too much. The Force around her trembled faintly—like water disturbed by a whisper. No creatures stirred. No wind carried birdsong or insect hum. Only the dry rattle of wind through crumbled stone. It felt like the world had been holding its breath here for a very long time.

Ala closed her eyes and placed a hand over her heart.

The darkness in this place didn’t bite or pull—not actively. But it lingered, coiled and patient. She let herself fall into the current of the Force, not resisting, not pushing back. Instead, she let her own light rise to the surface. A soft warmth spread through her aura—gentle, calming, like the hush of a sunrise after storm.

“I’m not here to judge,” she whispered into the stone, “only to understand.”

The entrance to the inner sanctum loomed ahead, flanked by statues worn faceless by centuries of sand and time. Somewhere beyond, she knew, the truth of the site’s history waited. Perhaps a Sith tomb. Perhaps just a shrine to ideology long dead.

She hoped so.

But the Force rarely let hope pass unchallenged.

Below her feet, faint vibrations pulsed—slow, deliberate, like the beating of a slumbering heart deep within the planet's crust. Not mechanical. Not natural. Something older. Buried chambers, maybe. Or something deeper. Somewhere beneath it all, the world remembered being worshipped.

| Outfit: Crimson Naboo Jedi Tactical Attire | Tag: Darth Malum of House Marr | Equipment: Dual yellow lightsabers |​

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

Darkness suited this place.

Thus, it was likely why the darkness had not faded, even as people had long forgotten the place had existed. Red eyes glinted against the replica mask he wore as he circled one of the dusted pillars. Even made of pure white marble, age and tear could seemingly always bring flickers of grey.

It was made by the Sith, that much he was confident of. Though he was perhaps arrogant enough to claim that only the Sith were capable of such majesty, he did not even need to. There may have been many a Darksider cult out there in the galaxy, the loving embrace of such poisonly sweet enlightenment was not restricted to only those of which had broken from the Jedi Order and set forth for great pilgrimage to Korriban, but it was little wonder why the galaxy whispered the name of the Sith in great hushed tones, while barely remembering the existence of the rest.

Even far from Korriban, the Sith had touched nearly every system in this galaxy, one way or the other.

And the hex charm sitting upon the underground hateway into this ever so mysterious structure, was enough evidence that this construction was another touchstone of the Sith's providence.

"Which Empire though?" Malum wondered aloud, his feet taking itself to the archway, as his gloved hand parted along the rocky crevices. It was ancient, that much discounted every Sith state since the Gulag Plague, a hundred years hence, even if impossible for him to truly grasp his mind around, and seemingly within this century more had happened than in any other... still, did not make for ancient.

Vitiate? Revan? Ruin? Krayt?

The names ran through his mind, but none seemed to fit... not because of anything real, but simply a lack of knowledge on his part. A student of history he might have been, but that did in some regard only make him... an amateur archaelogist. There was also the startling possibility that the architects of this place may have been outside of the traditional listing of Empires.

When those like the Sepruchal had been active for millenia, who could know for certain?

He ceased his ponderings, as he felt a presence, stilted, as his masked face turned, ruby red eyes narrowing, as his breath caught.

He was not alone...

...And it was not a fellow Sith in his presence.

Jedi.

It was instinctive, as his signature flickered out of existence, the place so basking full of darkness that his own presence's disappearment hardly registered, as soon his body followed suit, and he took his position by the entrance to the cave he had taken a mere few hours ago.

Ala Quin

 

[Ala Quin]

Her fingers traced the edge of the stone altar, worn smooth by centuries of exposure—but it was not the weather that had shaped it. No, the groove beneath her hand was deliberate. Too precise. Too consistent. A channel, she realized, and her stomach tensed despite her calm exterior. Not for water. Not for incense. Something more ritualistic.

“It could still be harmless,” she reminded herself quietly, her voice little more than breath against the vaulted hush of the ruin. “Aesthetic choices. Ceremonial art. Cultural residue.”

But the Force around her seemed to hold its breath again, and that told her everything.

She unhooked the small scanning drone from her belt and sent it aloft. A soft whir of repulsorlifts broke the stillness as it hovered upward, lighting the chamber in dim flashes while mapping the layout. A second device—her datapad—was already recording.

The Assembly would want everything.

So she documented it all: the structure of the walls, the unusual metallic inlays that spiderwebbed under layers of volcanic dust, the long-forgotten inscriptions worn down until they looked like the last desperate cries of a lost language. She captured stills and readings, collected samples where she could, careful not to disturb anything that might be… sacred. Or cursed.

Something about the architecture struck her as subtly wrong. The scale was just slightly off—arches too narrow, thresholds too low, symbols carved at angles that didn’t align with gravity or sense. As though the builders had designed it for something that only pretended to be human.

Still, Ala remained composed. Her presence in the Force remained bright and centered, a steady pulse of calm in the subterranean dark. If something lingered here—if something once called this place home—it would find no fear in her.

Just curiosity. And light.

| Tag: Darth Malum of House Marr | Equipment: Dual yellow lightsabers, datapad, scanning drone, sample kit |​

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

Red eyes narrowed as the first visible sight of the foreign presence made itself present. Narrowed his eyes, as it became altogether evident who she was, a Jedi. Narrowed his eyes, as his heart skipped a beat, as hidden rubies met shining tiger's eyes, though as she scanned the wall at which he stood, they remained as ever their alert, but unaware self.

His mouth dried, even as he swallowed, the protrusion by his throat bobbing, as ever... beautiful women were always to be his weakness, hmm?

He watched with interest as she ventured into the temple, casting her hands carefully along the precipice of the altar, as it seemed to set the pattern of her future acts, it was not desecration... though... her presence here could be considered, he supposed. Yet, that presence seemed to be in a strange way... respectful, her droid went off documenting the structure, while she herself undertook a more written documentation. He could see it in her stance, though, see it in the way she wrote.

She saw how odd the place was, how strange it was.

How... malevolent it could be.

She had proved herself true thus far, but that could change with the tides. His hand grasped along the side of armoured plate, a dagger of black glass curled between his fingers, as he ran through the scenario in his head. A masked red gaze, ever enraptured by the one before him. He could make it quick and merciful, she deserved that much.

...Yet, he was still.

It took two to enter the temple, the ancient Sith of at least this place, believing that there required sacrifice to be worthy. Of course, the fact that they required that a Lord of the Sith would need to bring a living Jedi here... it was a sacrifice far more grim, than what otherwise might be expected.

That the Force had brought to him a Jedi of all things... was it a sign?

The dagger slipped away back beneath the armour, as the mask followed suit. Thankfully, her curiosity, the very fact she was a beacon of light burning against the darkness that seemed to seep out of this place, gave him plenty of time, and plenty of warning for all he was to do. The armour came off next, leaving him in the dark robes of his Order, as the Sith Sword was laid gracefully onto the ground, all of it hidden away into some secret alcove.

As he willed the Force to his command.

He felt his eyes shift, red eyes that glowed like rubies in the darkness shifting to diamonds, oceanic depths, as his darkness was hidden away and replaced with that sickeningly sweet light. He allowed a breath to pass his nostrils, his chest sinking in at the sensation, as he threw away nerves, and played the role wholly unsuited to him.

Yet... strangely right.

He crept along the darknesses' edge, coming to take up position right behind her, and resisting the urge to turn his eyes downward, he brought his hand to his side, a lightsabre that had been claimed on some battlefield long ago found itself in his hand, as the cloak and camoflague fell away.

The hiss of a lightsabre's ignition filled the air, pointed at the back of the Jedi, stood another Jedi. Blue eyes narrowed in suspicion, blue eyes held on an aristocratic face, thin-lipped, an aquiline nose, with a stubble freshly shaven, tall, and proud.

"What are you doing in a Sith Temple?" A hushed voice hissed.

Ala Quin

 

[Ala Quin]

The hum of her scanning drone had just returned to a low idle when the hiss of a lightsaber snapped through the gloom.

Ala didn’t flinch.

She turned, slowly, with one hand raised in calm openness—not surrender, not threat, just... stillness. Her other hand hovered subtly near her belt, but she made no reach for her weapons. Her curls shifted with the movement, catching what little light the crystal sconces in the stone gave off, and her deeply brown eyes—so often filled with warmth—now watched the stranger with measured steadiness.

The blue blade was held well. Centered. Defensive.

But something didn’t fit.

He looked the part, certainly. Jedi robes, a noble face, a voice carried in a whisper as if afraid to wake the dead. But the Force, while not screaming, felt oddly… tuned wrong. Like a chord struck slightly flat. Not enough to ring alarm bells—just enough to make her trust her instincts more than his words.

“Cataloging,” she replied evenly, her voice quiet and clear as temple water. “This site lies near a developing trade corridor. If it poses any risk, the Naboo Assembly needs to know.”

She let her gaze linger on him a moment longer—enough to show she was studying, not accusing.

“You’re alone,” she added softly, tone almost gentle. "Either we're both very brave... or very foolish."

The Force stirred gently within her, rising not as a shield but as a light against the dark, illuminating her presence with that same signature calm. Ala Quin—wholehearted, curious, and quietly resolute.

She turned back to the altar, deliberately giving him space and trust—small gifts, but revealing ones.

“You can lower your saber,” she said without looking at him. “I won’t harm a fellow Jedi unless I have cause. Do you?”

Her fingers brushed the channel carved into the stone once more. It felt different now—like something unseen was watching them both.

| Darth Malum of House Marr |​

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

The raising of his brow, though part of the act, was only incidentally so. Equal counts; surprise, curiosity, and impressedness flickered across blue eyes, before it was blinked away to the act of guarded Shadow. As he felt his mouth begin to dry, this close... the clothing left little to the imagination, and yet was still so revealing that the temptation to gaze...

...Well, certainly the temptation was there.

He towered over her, like he towered over most. Providing sight to... a proper man might have gazed away, a noble man should have, but...

...For all which nobility coursed through his very veins, at this moment, playing this act, doubled with an urge to swallow, he did not feel as one. Certainly did not enjoy this... did not enjoy gazing upon chestnut curls that followed the audible wind's sways, did not enjoy gazing into those tiger's eyes made forged upon her, did not enjoy this stillness, that overtook him, simply gazing at the face that bid him no harm.

But belonged to one of the enemy.

She studied him, too, and he could not help but wonder what she saw.

What she was thinking.

He offered a non-committal grunt at her answer, realising he was becoming too lost in his thoughts as his blade still steady in its grip, as the blue hissed against the air, it fell, her second round of words, "It takes both traits to handle the threat of the Darkness, training that I believe you lack," He riposoted, even as he resisted the urge to hiss, as she blowed her light towards him like some sort of kiss of death, yet, holding his ground, as it wafted over him.

Accepting him as one of its own, none the wiser.

Only for him to blink, as she drew distance between them, and most shockingly...

...Turned her back.

Distraction aside, once more the opportunity presented itself, and still, he hesitated. Sure, he was not blind to the motion she had made to her own blade, but she had not yet drawn it, and the old adage remained true: the one who struck first, struck last. How many times had he lambasted those great figures of history for not taking the opportunities presented to them, for some greater impossible objective, for some personal matter, and now, on this microchasm of that great turning point of history.

He was doing the same.

"...It depends, I serve Ashla, you serve Shiraya, can you really be called a Jedi?" He countered, even as the blade lowered itself, pointed to her, yet, withdrawn, "It is my duty to make sure sites like these do not corrupt the naive of my own order... let alone those who have broken orthodoxy with it." His hiss returned, as he recounted plausible explanations from his mind, built on the intelligence Tsis'Kaar had gathered long ago.

Ala Quin

 

[Ala Quin]

The air was thick with mossy damp and the scent of stone left too long untouched. Faint rays filtered through cracks above, catching the rise of dust stirred by her breath. Ala’s curls clung slightly to her skin, damp with the weight of the planet's heat and ancient air, her sleeveless top clinging close—functional, not inviting, though she felt his gaze treat it as if it were the latter.

She didn’t have to see his eyes to feel it. The way his silence dragged too long. The shift in his posture. The way her skin prickled in that subtle, unmistakable way that told her she was being looked at not as a Jedi, but as something to be admired... consumed.

Her stomach knotted—not in fear, but in that cold, specific discomfort women learned young. She squared her shoulders, resisting the urge to fold her arms. Let him look. She wasn’t the one with something to hide.

“You say bravery and foolishness are both needed to face the darkness,” she said softly, turning her body back toward him with quiet poise. “But only the arrogant assume they can tell the difference in someone else.”

Her fingers rested lightly at her belt—not on her sabers, but near them. Just enough.

“And for the record, I don’t serve Shiraya. I serve the Light. Just as I once served the Ashlan Crusade. Just as a Jedi in the old halls of Coruscant. I was a Jedi long before I protected Naboo.” Her voice lowered, not in threat but gravity. “I don’t follow the names. I follow the light. The living Force. You can call it Ashla if you want—but don’t confuse words with truth.”

Ala’s amber eyes met his, steady and unblinking.

“Now... if you’re really what you say you are, then I have to ask—why is your saber still lit?”

The glow cast long shadows against her skin, painting warm light over the dust and sweat and exploration-worn tears in her trousers. It reflected off the faint freckles across her collarbones, catching in the gold strands hidden among her dark curls. She was a spark in this temple of stone.

“Because if you’re not here to threaten me... you don’t need it.”

And though she didn’t move an inch, the Force behind her stilled like a lake gone silent—waiting, poised.

| Darth Malum of House Marr |​

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

He had the good grace to blush, the pink dusting his cheeks, as blue eyes shifted away down to the cracked flooring. She had noticed, for all that he imagined himself subtle, he had let his guard down, and she had noticed... "...My apologies..." He offered with slightest hesitation, as he took a step back, bashfulness fluttering through his words, and his entire stance.

Her continuing words, gave him the merest confidence to turn his diamonds back to her amber, a gaze that was poignant in holding firm on simply her eyes, never straying, never drifting, "The arrogant assume it so, but it is my duty to investigate any threat to the Order, and investigate, I will," He stressed the word, even as the grip on the hilt of his blade remained firm, as the lies ever easily passed his lips as balefully as the truth, "The sad fact is, in the history of our Order, it is most commonly those investigating old Sith tombs that succomb to the darkness." He challenged her in his words, those names that the galaxy remembered well, the greats and terrible, Revan, Malak, Exar Kun, all of them Jedi once, but remembered as Darths.

There was pride in that accomplishment in his mind.

His eyes narrowed at the answer she gave, "Do not believe yourself so superior, so arrogant, that you are above such distinctions, as much as I respected those of the Crusade, they were equally as heterodox as those on Naboo." The scathing in his voice thankfully fit the character, for it was genuine, even as the lie fell easily.

He hated the Crusade for all that they had done to his people.

"Each fool that fell to darkness believed they followed the light."

By the end of her words, the sabre remained still lit, even if held in a far less threatening manner, even as he shifted it to point away from her, a minor concession, still, it remained lit in implicit message.

"There is no threat, my lady... a Shadow is required to be cautious, and you have alerted every instinct that I should be cautious..."

Ala Quin

 

[Ala Quin]

“Do you always keep your saber lit around women you don’t trust?”

The question hung in the air like incense. Ala’s brow arched with the faintest glimmer of amusement, lips curving into something just shy of a smirk—a knowing smile, equal parts charm and challenge. She let it land and linger, just long enough to see if he’d blush again.

Then, without fanfare, she began to move.

Her boots whispered across the stone floor as she circled slowly to the other side of the altar, fingers grazing its edge. The surface was cool beneath her touch, etched with marks too ancient to read, too precise to ignore. Her eyes never fully left him, though they drifted now and then to the carvings, as if weighing what had been done here before—and what might be done again.

“Yes, Jedi have fallen to the dark in places like this. But that wasn’t because they asked questions. It’s because they didn’t like the answers they found.”

She crouched for a moment, brushing a vine aside to study a broken panel. Her tone was thoughtful—no heat, no defense—just the gentle certainty of someone who had stood in the dark before and refused to let it claim her.

“The Crusade wasn’t perfect. Neither is Naboo. Neither was Coruscant. The only difference between ‘orthodox’ and ‘heretic’ is who writes the doctrine.”

She rose again, turning back to face him. The altar stood between them now—a relic of blood and belief—and she stood before it like something forged in defiance of both.

"You say you're investigating a threat to the Order." She moved with ease around the altar, gaze lingering on a glyph half-swallowed by moss. "But you also said I reminded you of the ones who fall. That you don't trust me. That you're here alone, without coordination. You lit your saber the moment you saw me."

She looked at him now, fully.

"That's not caution. That's fear."

A breath of tension filled the long second.

"Or guilt."

Her eyes dropped briefly—gloved fingers gesturing lightly toward his weapon. "That hilt isn't standard issue. Jedi Shadows prefer practicality, not obsidian flair. And the way you held it? You weren't ready to defend. You were deciding whether to strike."

And then that slow, deliberate smile again—knife-edged with quiet insight.

Her tone hadn’t shifted. She didn’t accuse.

But her gaze narrowed with subtle focus. Her senses stretched outward—not in the Force, but in observation. His stance. His cadence. His restraint. All of it painted a picture too carefully drawn.

She tilted her head slowly, curls brushing her shoulder.

“So, what role do you play among your Sith brethren?”

| Darth Malum of House Marr |​

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

"Only the ones that might be as dangerous as they are tempting," He returned coyly, the ghost of a smile upon his lips, as the pink faded from his cheeks, the misstep long forgotten, as if it had never occurred at all, tripping over his feet as he might, he always landed on them, recovering from the worst of setbacks.

Setbacks, after all, seemed to plague him like an epidemic of sores.

He banished the thought from his mind, as his gaze rose back to her, confidence, subtle, but present, seemed to radiate out from her. She had seemed... aloof at first, and he supposed this in some regard was not too different, but it was different enough for him to note it still. Aloofness, but from... as if instead of her light simply reflected from the moon, her light had now found the radiance of the sun.

He did nothing as she made her withdrawal, putting the altar between them, as he tilted his head in a simple note of her actions, "Semantics, if there is nothing to question, they would never find those answers; it is these places that make them wonder about matters beyond them." He countered ever still, believing hardly a word that crossed his mouth, yet delivering it with a conviction that rivalled the priesthood. He raised a brow at the continuance of her words, all the while resisting the curving of his lips, "What remarkable cynicism... do you not imagine the difference is as simple... as the truth?"

He asked as much rhetorically as genuinely, for all the Jedi he had met... he did not think he had met one that so whimsically entertained conversations like these. Yet, the ability and willingness to have that conversation was married to... a defiance that he expected of those of their creed.

He tilted his head to the side as she approached, narrowing his blue eyes as she continued to speak; in exchange, he offered nought but silence. To say he was intrigued by her words was an understatement, even as his mind ran counters to each new point she raised, he offer her continued silence. Even as his gaze flicked to the hilt, only to return upon chestnut eyes.

Her final proclamation brought a certain chill to the room.

That... was an accusation he was not certain how he, as a Shadow, would respond to. Her theory was founded on circumstantial evidence entirely, he was confident he could counter each and every one of them. Yet, even still, regardless of that, she was... correct.

He allowed himself a sigh, as a wry smile came across his lips.

"I do not see how any of that contradicts. You are potentially an extremely dangerous threat to the Order; your comments hardly do you any favours in that regard. I would say a lightsabre is certainly appropriate, unless that can be established otherwise." His smile stood, as the wind brushed against both of their faces, bringing the hilt of the blade to his face, the obsidian mocking them both, as the blue blade began to flicker.

"Still, you would be wrong, after all, I did take this blade from a Shadow." The smile turned upwards, a smirk finding itself prominent upon his features, as the very room began to cool, the light that once emanated out from him, like a heater brought to the end of its life, began to still.

Before turning in the opposite direction.

Darkness began to seep, greeted with open hands by the presence that existed within the temple. A darkness overwhelming, a shadow that blotted out the light, as it crept along the walls, and sank its fangs into all life. The blade began to bleed, as red began to protrude out from the hilt, and grew in lethargy toward the tip, emblazing the once oceanic blue sabre, into a bloody red facsimile.

Blue eyes flickered back to red, diamonds glimmering dangerously in the dark, stolen away into shimmering rubies, as the Sith Lord offered a simple bow.

"Dark Councillor of the Sith Empire, Lord of the Tsis'Kaar, Darth Malum of House Marr, at your service, and now, may I have your name, my lady?"

Ala Quin

 

[Ala Quin]

Ala’s brow lifted, her head tilting as the blade flickered—and bled. She said nothing at first, only watched. Watched the facade melt from his face. Watched the room darken, as if the temple itself exhaled with satisfaction at his honesty. Watched the brilliant blue saber decay into its true nature.

And then she sighed.

“Oh, so it’s just women you find dangerous and tempting?” she said, raising both hands in a fluttering wave of exasperation. “Stars help me. And here I was worried you were different.”

Her smile was there, but tight. Tired.

She took a step closer, gaze dropping to the saber he now held freely—its new crimson burn casting him in the truth she’d already suspected. The sight of it—of that hilt—made her jaw clench. It was subtle, but real. Her eyes lingered on it too long.

“A Shadow, huh?” she said quietly, eyes narrowing as the blood-red hue reflected across her cheek. “Do you even remember their name?”

Ala’s fingers twitched slightly at her side. Then, her gaze snapped back to his face—fiery, alert, unimpressed.

“You said ‘the Order’ like it was the only one that mattered. The Order. Singular. Sith, then. Well.” She gave a little nod and stepped around the altar again, shoulders relaxing just a touch. “Glad to know you finally consider me a threat. I was beginning to worry the Sith weren’t paying attention.”

She moved with purpose now, crossing back toward the side where she had first stood, her boots brushing across gravel and dust, her voice keeping pace.

“And cynical?” She turned sharply to face him, arms spreading in a sweeping gesture of theatrical disbelief. “Heretics write heresy. That’s not cynicism, that’s just... structure.”

A shrug followed, along with a helpless little grin that curled with her usual dry amusement.

“You can paint over it with purpose and prophecy all you want, but some Sith temple scrawling ‘truth’ on a blood altar doesn’t change the fact that they’re just trying to keep their version of the story in power.”

She stopped walking. Stared across the room at him. Then bowed. The same way he had. Just a little deeper.

“You have a lot of titles, Darth Malum. House this, Council that.” Her hands fell to her sides.

“I’m just Ala.”

| Darth Malum of House Marr |​

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

The smirk remained in place as he watched her reaction, remaining ever affixed as the first words of her reply fell out of stout lips, even as he raised an eyebrow, "Ah no, I can find men and women dangerous in equal measure... as for tempting... while most often women, sometimes, rarely, there are men that fit the bill," For one who spoke so often, but truly said little, such easy admissions passing through his lips were out of character to anyone who knew the man.

But for the man himself, considering either in the next few minutes this Jedi before him would be dead, or knowing the information would give her little, it seemed in their aloneness in this dark temple, the risk analysis had favoured her.

He watched carefully as she took a step closer, his ruby eyes locked upon her form, while her own chestnuts sought fit to gaze upon the blade that was at her present the most dangerous object in the room for her, still, had none of her masters taught her to not take her eyes off the enemy?

He tutted, as the blade extinguished, hissing back to its hilt, "I would have liked to, alas, Shadows even in death are not ones to divulge information, their last doomed attempt at victory, I imagine." He mused, remembering the fight so long ago on some frontier world of the Empire, it had been a good fight, he remembered that well enough.

A pity, that he could not be convinced from his own indoctrinised folly.

"Do you remember all those you have killed, my lady?" He questioned, matching her advance with his own, ceasing as her eyes found themselves on his again.

It was unfair in one sense, he could have lost himself in those orbs.

How she bound together fire with apathy, was a certain skill that one might have killed to gain.

She withdrew back to the shield of the altar, as she gave explanation to silently asked questions, "For the Sith when we imagine our foes, there is only one Order that matters," He countered, whatever doctrinal differences existed between them, whatever disagreements, they were all fools of the Light, the follows of Shiraya or Ashla alike, "As for considering you a threat..." The obsidian hilt of the lightsabre flew up in the air, before falling gracefully back into his black gloved hands, "...I rather more consider you an opportunity, I think," He tilted his head, blinking owlishly at her, "...Now is there a reason that I should consider you a threat, my lady?"

His eyes remained affixed to her, even as she walked, seeming as if the movement was the key to her speech, raising an eyebrow at the theatrics that might have rivalled his own, "Liars write lies, the truth is absolute, the truth is worth pursuing, many inumerable have written what they believed truth to be, but it is heretics, schismatics, liars, that are the danger," He countered, feeling their match was quickly driving off the road to somewhere far more exciting, but far less clear, "Just as the original Sith, visionaries, proclaimed their truth, only to be swallowed by the dogma of entrenched wisened old fools, that imagined the fantasy they taught themselves for generations was the only truth worth consideration, your Order, your Shadows, have had as much a history with dealing with heresy, as us, one could say it is the foundation of our joint history." He was the one to shrug now, a mocking echo, resounded with a smile fluttering across his face.

The same smile that broke and made hearts in equal measure.

He flicked his eyes to the altar she used as example, what a befitting point of comparison, "Truly so? Would you be willing to test that then?" He raised in challenging rancour.

It would take two.

And as was often the case, he so did not wish to need to kill if it was unnecessary, they were misguided cousins, and one did not strike family if it could be avoided.

A genuine sheen shined in his eyes, his lips curved in grin at her answer, "...Lady Ala then, I am charmed." He offered his hand, bidding to take hers and bring it to his lips.

Imagining she would not be trusting to take it, but he knew his etiquette lessons well.

Ala Quin

 

[Ala Quin]

The gesture was charming—well-practiced, precise in its elegance—but Ala didn’t take the offered hand.

Instead, she swatted it gently to the side with two fingers and bowed low, just a touch deeper than his had been. Her curls spilled forward with the motion, the expression on her face utterly serene... save for the unmistakable gleam of mischief behind her lashes. “You’re going to have to try harder than that, Lord Malum.”

As she rose, her shoulders rolled back with the ease of someone no longer hiding how amused she was—though her eyes still tracked his every move with the caution of someone who knew just how deadly that smirk could become.

Her fingers came together with a familiar exasperated clack of her palm to her forehead and outward, “If your truth is so absolute, why does it need blood and stone to prove itself?”

She gestured broadly then, palms lifting to the crumbling temple around them as if the answer was written in the decay. “You speak of lies and heresy, but you sit atop the ruins of a hundred thousand certainties that all fell to dust. I’m not impressed by who carves their truth deepest. I want to know who still lives it.”

Her hands fell slowly back to her sides, her voice gentling just slightly.

“And this ‘test’ of yours... what exactly are you offering?” The question came without sarcasm or fear. Just honest curiosity. It lingered there, suspended between them like the last word in a forgotten incantation.

She stepped lightly around the altar once more, trailing her fingertips across the old stone without reverence, but with care. “I don’t fear rituals,” she added softly. “But I don’t enter them blind either.”

She paused, her finger drawing lazy circles on the altar. Then she turned, fully, hands at her hips now as the breeze tugged at her curls and swept warm grit across the floor between them. The darkness pulsed faintly behind his form, licking at the edges of her senses—but she didn’t flinch from it. Her chin tilted upwards. “So before I decide if I want to ‘test’ anything...you can tell me what, exactly, I’d be stepping into.”

And then she smiled again—something easy this time, unforced. Not defensive. Not flirty. Just honest and bright.

“And for the last time...” she said, brushing a curl behind her ear with a theatrical sigh. “It’s just Ala.”

| Darth Malum of House Marr |​