Private Let's be Friends [Srina]

[Darth Nwul]

The Restored Palace, Gardens
Thule, Esstran Sector

Only a few days before, Nwul had been standing before a crowd of people, swearing an oath that hadn't been sworn since the time of Darth Marr and Darth Malgus. Since the last great Empire of Sith. He'd sworn it on the promise of undermining the current Emperor. Replacing the walking corpse with the vision of himself in the hearts and minds of the people. In fact, he explained that he intended to continue to serve the Empire and even follow orders to the best of his abilities. He would play by the rules, until the time came. Nwul had made it clear, there would be no civil war so long as he had a say in the matter. Rather, he wanted to rebuild the Empire before even making a single move. The people would know who to side with, that was how it should be.

It had only been a few days, but now he felt a familiar presence in the air, and it drew a smile to his face.

He wandered through the gardens, the flowers given to him by Darth Xyrah lined the path and provided even more color to the grand atmosphere of the dark stone walls edged with gold and furnished with crimson tapestries. This was only a temporary home of convenience, yet it already felt like the domain of a royal. Nwul snorted at the thought, how strange it felt to even think that way. He let out a sigh and waved a hand at one of the droids accompanying him, turning instead to the living attendant who he gave a telepathic command to. The attendant hurried away ahead of him, leaving him alone for a moment.

"You know, you could just say hi," Nwul teased, drifting forward on light steps. He cracked a wide smile at the open air, his golden eyes twinling with mirth, "Your fragrance gives you away, your Majesty."

Since the ritual after his first encounter with them, he'd changed. While he had been quite powerful then, a man who called himself a Sith Knight but wielded powers that let him rival most sith Lords. He had felt as a frog in a well to the two great beings he'd seen in that dark place as they loomed over his dear friend Darth Malum of House Marr . Now, though, he had consumed the memories, experiences, and emotions of millions. The Jensaa had become a legion of neural relays for him, each one adding even more processing power to his mind. His body had been rebuilt by the ritual, the agony of the experience now just another memory to use as fuel for his powers. He could keep up with his nigh-encyclopedic knowledge of saber forms now. He had grown strong... but still... he knew it wasn't enough yet. Empyrean would crush him as he was.

Nwul had already forseen it...

Regardless of how he felt about his personal strength, it really didn't matter, because he had absolutely zero interest in fighting this woman. When he'd met her, he'd felt a strange kinship, an understanding that he couldn't express properly or sensibly. Only that he 'got' her, if that made any sense. He snorted out a laugh and finally stepped into the gazebo where the attendant had run to. The two cups of tea he poured were accompanied by a smattering of treats. Nwul pulled a chair out, calling out to the invisible presence, "Your seat, miss?" He teased.

Srina Talon

 

[Srina Talon]

Tag: Darth Nwul
Wearing: XoXo
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She could have.

Rather than to interrupt his leisurely stroll with a banal greeting that would have been half empty she waited for her host to take note. It didn't take long, considering, she wasn't hiding. Her presence was wrapped in a luxurious sheathe of the Dark Side that could only be likened to a silk sheet. Some wielded the Force, compellingly, and with great zeal. Some wore it like a second skin. The alabaster woman was the living embodiment of one who had learned to accept what the shadows had to offer. Had learned to blend, become, and change in order to manifest what was required. In a resting state—she was electrifying to behold for any force sensitive. Simply, because she was never truly still.

Ever in flux, like atoms, in a state of perpetual motion that came together flawlessly in complicated patterns and shapes. It made the impossible, possible. The more those around her thought they knew about the depths of her deeper well…The more they were mistaken.

"You needn't call me that, Steward.", she murmured quietly as she pulled herself from the glom so smoothly that it seemed as if she had always been. As achingly beautiful as the Echani warrior was within candlelight and onyx chandeliers, ambient illumination, it was doubly true during the day. Everything about her seemed to have come to life. From the faint rouge to her cheeks to the way her waist-length hair seemed to hold every ray of sunshine perfectly dear. She was a child of the moon…But the sun was a welcome cousin. "I would prefer to hear my own name. So often, titles replace it…I may forget the sound…"

The almost whimsical statement was met with a modicum of truth. She had been referred to as the Dread Queen long before Empress had ever come into play. The slender creature had never expected any special treatment before and despite the will of the Sepulchral—She didn't expect it now. Their wayward Lady Sith was a great disappointment. So much power in the palm of her hand.

And…A lack of will to use it to excess. A lack of will to turn her husband toward their targets, make him a weapon, and whisper that he take vengeance on any and all unsuspecting dissenters. No doubt they assumed that her primrose lips to his undead ear would cause him to unleash hell like the Southern Systems had never known. Such wanton devastation would bring a new war.

A final war.

The Sith Order could not survive another.

The white of her clothing willfully betrayed her heritage, combined, with a sweeping bloody red panel that bespoke her allegiance to the Sith beneath her hand. Whether this newly made Lord accepted her unspoken gifts or not—He would find only sage counsel that lacked any sort of political movement. She was a warrior before all else. A military strategist who could use her innate predictions to map out a battlefield months before ships left the port. An assassin, a combat specialist, the Pale Rider, and the White Witch so many whispered about…But never knew.

Srina drew a thin bookmark between the pages of the paperbound novel that she had brought with her to Thule. It found a place on the edge of the gilded table, steeped, in elegance that she would have thought beyond that of a humble priest. The Steward, the Sith Lord, was much stronger than when she'd last set sight to him while having a pleasant visit with Malum of Marr. She didn't need to reach through the Force to know that. Merely, to breathe him in.

All that he was. All that he was not.

Interesting.

Her own strength had not been unlocked through ritual and invoking long-dead Sith for their unholy blessings. She had carved her way through a pitiless galaxy for decades. Fighting. Not because it was all she knew but because it was required. She could not lay her head down, her arms down, for even a moment lest the thrall of some new enemy decide to test her fortitude. Every breath was one of battle-made readiness. Every beat of her heart—An echoing drum beat in a space as black as the distance between stars.

Her power, her knowledge, remained pure. It was her own. There were no ancient spirits to contribute toward the endless ocean of midnight that lingered behind golden eyes. There were no minds but her own, no heart, no hand that kept her steady—But her own potential burning in cold and calculated expression. Therein lay the largest difference between them.

Srina did breathe deeply, however, at the mention of a fragrance. A touch perplexed because she wasn't wearing anything… It was the subtle scent of night, of jasmine and rain, that the Steward had noted. It was an aroma that always flowed where she went…Not perfume. Power. He was sensing her rather distinct flavor in the Force where he hadn't been cognizant of it before.

Golden eyes flickered before she accepted the offered seat from her host.

"…You've changed. Swiftly."

Few could boast such rapid changes and live to tell the tale.

Even more, interesting.

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[Darth Nwul]

Nwul smiled coyly at the comment about her name, his golden eyes flickering a bit as he awaited her next to the chair in the gazebo. He stood without moving an inch, though his face showed a measure of mischief on it. Whether it was intended for her or not was a good question but not one that would be answered easily. His smile broke into a toothy grin when he laid eyes on her, her beauty unlike that of any in the cosmos. There were none like her and few he would call her equal quantifiably. He let her sit down and he caught the scent of her power again, tilting his head with his unflappable grin.

"Srina it is then, if I might be so bold," Nwul drawled, pushing the seat back in with a small gesture and stepping around to find his own seat. The attendant bowed as he placed one cup of tea in front of Srina and the other in front of Nwul. Nwul sipped his tea once before snatching up a spherical cake and popping it into his mouth, he made a delighted sound and sipped his tea again to clear his palate and his mouth. "The tea is Miralukan, I found the most amusing little teamaster during one of my outings into the galaxy. He's a remarkable fellow," Nwul admitted, sipping again, "Divine..."

His gaze flickered down to his drink for a moment before looking back up at her, her comment giving him pause. He tilted his head and he didn't answer for a moment before he spoke again, the swirling vortex-like hurrican of emotions that walled him off from the rest of the galaxy making it difficult to pinpoint his thoughts or feelings. It would be some time before he finally confronted Carnifex, and all that power became his to govern. For now, he was but Sith Lord wondering at the cliff that was ascendancy. Still, he had grown swiftly, she wasn't wrong. His teeth showed a bit more and he chuckled.

"Let's be friends," Was his non-answer to her comment. "I think we'd get along famously."

The Lord of Passion set down his drink and leaned forward, one could almost see the gentle left right swish of a cats tail as he eyed her with a cheshire grin from across the short distance. "It would be nice to have someone to gossip with."

Srina Talon

 

[Srina Talon]

Tag: Darth Nwul
Wearing: XoXo
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"I would not have requested it if I did not wish it.", her words were made of satin, smooth, while they flowed. Srina was made of water, or, so her family had always claimed. It seemed like a strange sentiment when so much of her remained ice and stone. For some Echani? Especially for Clan Talon where they heralded the desolate moon as their symbol of providence?

She was too emotional by more than half.

"Boldness is a virtue—Not a sin."

As she settled fully into the offered seat, the ambient sounds of the garden filled the air—the subtle rustling of leaves, the distant hum of insects, and the delicate melodies of nature. The ambiance, however, couldn't completely drown out the palpable energy that surrounded the Empress and the Steward. It was an inherent presence woven from the mottled and profane fabric of the Darkside itself. It never slept…Ever in stage of stasis. For Srina it was reminiscent to a tiger coiled around the base of her spine. No matter how harmless it seemed when it slept…No matter how content…

It only took the span of a heartbeat for things to change. For fangs and claws to manifest with a roar that could shake even the strongest of foundations.

While Lord Nwul wore mischief as easily as one would a cloak the seemingly innocuous Echani wore something else. It was pure, untouchable, and constant. Where some Sith wavered in the faintest breeze the pale creature that sat at his table seemed to be a pillar of steadfast continuity. It gave both the appearance and sensation of eternity and timelessness. She was an anomaly among the Order and despite her matrimonial duties—She remained without strings.

Srina Talon was no puppet, despite, what the Dark Council, the Imperial Senate, and the Sepulcher longed for. They expected filth, corruption, and sheer malevolence from their Empress.

A bloodlust that would never be sated with a cruelty that bordered insanity. They expected her to allow a blindfold of luxury to keep her complacent, to bind her, from putting her nose where they "thought" it didn't belong. Much to the dismay of many…They would be left wanting.

She accepted the Miralukan tea with a small nod, her gaze never leaving the Steward as he savored the drink and the accompanying treat. The mention of the tea master intrigued her—Srina had a penchant for appreciating the subtleties of different cultures and their contributions to the galaxy. It was a trait that went beyond her role as a Sith; it was a facet of her identity. One of her closest companions had been of Miralukan descent and they'd shared many a quiet afternoon.

Just like this.

Pondering the complexities of the universe over a pipping hot cup of liquid that sought to scald them as easily as it soothed. It made her curious as to what this Sithling might have had in mind. He was sitting across from arguably one of the most powerful women this side of the Southern Systems even if she downplayed the concept. Surely—It wasn't simply to break bread and reminisce. But…She supposed that anything was possible.

Lord Nwul's reaction to her observation about his rapid changes, though well-hidden, didn't go unnoticed. His enigmatic response and the elusive dance of emotions within him only fueled her quiet contemplation. The proposal of friendship, delivered with a charming grin, was met with an inscrutable smile that lingered at the kiss of her mouth. It was ghostly pale. Barely there…But he would see it if he looked hard enough. Friendship in the Sith Order, especially at the higher echelons, was a nuanced concept. It could mean shared ambitions, alliances, treaties, favors, threats, or merely a strategic connection. In any case, it usually held layers of complexity that extended beyond casual camaraderie.

"Friends…", Srina repeated, slowly, as if tasting the whole of the word while her lips formed carefully around it. She almost seemed amused by the query but such a thing was hidden with a delicate sip from a gilded teacup. Indeed…He was right. The tea was quite good. "Famous or infamous?"

Her attempt at humor.

The notion of gossip, however, caused her head to shake and white-gold hair tumbled around slender shoulders like a heraldic crown. Her wintry amusement continued. She was every bit as refined as an Empress ought to be were the casual eye to make an assessment. Her truth was deeper than that. Buried. "I have never craved that particular indulgence little Lord...But information can be just as potent as any well-placed blade."

"Tell me…What is it that you wish of me?"

What secrets was this Sith Lord looking to unravel or perhaps share? Her metallic golden eyes remained drowning pools of discernment while flecks of mercury ran through them. It wasn't that Srina suspected anything untoward but his arrival during the debacle with Malum of Marr had been…Timely. It was a moment that few could claim to have witnessed, buried, by agenda and agency.

The Emperor had stayed his blade and offered one of the Tsis'kaar something unfathomable.

For treason, for crimes, that were against the best interests and the civilian state of the Sith Order…The young Heir of Marr had been granted a reprieve. A stay of execution.

Nwul had witnessed mercy.

It was not a concept that most Sith would be familiar with. Srina believed that destroying their enemies and tearing them from the earth, root, and stem, was indeed an appropriate course of action…But she disagreed about who the real enemy was. An upstart with a flair for theatrics was not worthy of a beheading, unless, they were fool enough to warrant it. Srina thought frequently of the next generation…Of the legacy, they might leave. That required leadership.

They would have none if all were executed without thought.

"I must warn you…I cannot be bought, sold, or traded. If you are trying to reach for Empyrean through me…You've come to the wrong crown."

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[Darth Nwul]

Nwul tilted his head at her as she repeated the word back at him, experimenting with it. Of course she probably hadn't heard the word used in its genuine context for such a long time. His eyes twinkled as she took a sip, taking one of his own just as she looked up and quipped at him. He snorted, laughing and setting down his cup, resting his chin on the backs of his knuckles and his elbows on the table, "Oh, infamous of course," He said playfully. One could almost imagine the cat-like tail swishing back and forth behind him.

He listened to her laugh for a moment, smiling only for his smile to collapse when she suggested an exchange of information, as if this was some sort of business arrangement.

His eyes locked on hers and he raised an eyebrow, then another, then a look of somewhere between confusion, disgust, and genuine comedic reaction blossomed on his face. He shook his head and took another sip of his tea and staring into it with that 'is this lady serious?' wide-eyed look.

"Somebody's got the wrong idea," He chuckled and glanced up at her, "There's no information I want from you that you'd be willing to give me anyway," He said almost dismissively, "If I wanted to play a game of patronizing I would have opened with that."

He traced his finger around the handle of his teacup, his eyes lingering on her face for a moment, "I came that day to observe two men, one from a dream, to see what the force wanted from me. The other to know whether or not he was who I hoped he'd be," Nwul tilted his head, "I've already got my answers to those questions. I will learn the rest on my own," Nwul said before sipping his tea again and breaking out into an easy smile.

"Srina, darling, I want to queen and moan about courtiers and sip some tea, both literal and metaphorical," He sighed, "How is it that the tradition that embraces passion seems to have forgotten what fun is?" He asked miserably and groaned, "It's so depressing..."

Srina Talon