Populate Oath and Iron | SO Populate of Kiffu

[Aerik Lechner]

Wearing: This | Weapons: Lightsaber | Knife
TAG: Skadi Lightbane | Irina Jesart​

Aerik’s mouth curved slightly at her answer.

Different worlds or not, some things translated easily between warrior families.

“The drinking usually starts the fights here. The diplomacy just gives people permission.”

The answer came easily, though his attention drifted beyond the terrace afterward toward the brighter halls deeper within the Spire. Music still rolled through the fortress beneath the low thunder of conversation while figures moved through distant archways in layers of black, gold, crimson, and silver. The celebration carried enough power to make the atmosphere feel heavy at times, yet standing here away from the center of it allowed room to breathe again.

Home always felt different in the Force.

Even now, familiar presences threaded through the Spire strongly enough that Aerik could pick them out beneath the noise of the celebration without trying. Somewhere deeper within the fortress, his siblings were already pushing against the edges of his awareness through the bond they shared. Faint impressions, teasing remarks, and the unmistakable sense that neither of them intended to let the evening pass quietly settled against his thoughts with enough familiarity to draw some of the tension from his shoulders. He would have to find Kole and Vyra soon.

Heat from the nearby fire pits rolled across the terrace while laughter and old battle stories carried through the gathered legionnaires nearby. Beyond the crowd, the endless lights of Jutrand stretched beneath the night sky in rivers of gold and white.

Skadi’s presence beside him grounded the moment in a way that still felt strangely new.

There had been a time not long ago when bringing anyone into the center of this life would have felt impossible. Yet she stood beside him naturally, neither intimidated by the fortress nor trying to impress it. The same untamed edge she always carried fit within these walls far better than expected.

Golden eyes reflected the nearby firelight when she mentioned Irina.

“She is probably with my father,” came the answer after a moment. “He tends to keep her close during gatherings like this.”

No resentment touched the words. Familiarity rested beneath them instead. Irina had belonged to this place for years, long before whatever existed between the three of them had begun taking shape.

A faint amusement touched the corner of Aerik’s mouth afterward.

“Which means she is either surviving the politics better than I would or pretending she is.”

Laughter rose again somewhere behind them as another round of drinks passed between scarred hands and old soldiers. Despite the elegance surrounding the gathering, the rougher edges of the Legion still lived openly here, and that side of the evening felt more comfortable with every passing minute.

Aerik glanced back toward the brighter halls of the Spire afterward before reaching outward through the Force toward the familiar warmth of Irina’s presence.

<< "If you can pull yourself away, Skadi wants to see you. I want to see you." >>

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Mercy //:
//: Mentions //:
//: Srina Talon //: Darth Empyrean //:
//: Attire //:

Back behind the Blackwall, Quinn didn't need to hide here. She didn't need to pretend to be small or obey rules and laws that forced her to seclude herself. Behind the Blackwall, she was not only a Queen of a world but also a Princess of an Empire, the embodiment of what the future held.

Yet, she missed the gardens of Naboo… the rules that bound her to duty and the warmth of a world beyond. Despite everything that had happened and what would eventually transpire, Quinn found herself longing for the small freedoms she did have.

She would never speak these desires aloud. They were not ones befitting of a Sith Princess, a public face and daughter of the Empress. To some, it would be a sign of weakness, and that was something Quinn would never allow to be associated with her Mother's name. Instead, she entered the large hall, crimson adoring and contrasting against her pale skin — gold glimmering against the light.

A hand delicately caressed the golden choker around her neck, one that she had often longed to see, and it was within the crowd. The small hiccup in their agreement felt like a fleeting dream. Quinn knew her place and role with the Empress of the Core, and she accepted them.

Quinn joined in the dancing, trading partners as the dance continued, flowing in and out with the grace born to her by her station and culture. She was an Echani, raised to be graceful and dangerous in the same breath. As she danced, moving through her hand, never touching a man's, she kept her distance, refusing to look them in the face. They tried to talk, but she only smiled and moved on.

Emerald eyes caught the flash of red, and Quinn's gaze settled on the Empress of the Core, beside her was her Mother. She watched their exchange, understanding it to the best of her ability, but still a small envious streak bled from her heart. It was something she would never voice, never give any attention to again. Beyond her childish jealousy, she was happy that two people in her life found an understanding that only they could feel.

Yet it only left the young woman feeling lonely.

That understanding wasn't something she felt with another; too often, she gave what she assumed they wanted. A vicious cycle to feel worthy.
Quinn soon found her way to a companion, a moment allowing her the attention she sought.

"Interesting seeing you more and more at events like this, Knave." Quinn teased as she found a place near the woman. It always brought a small smile to her face, having to see Mercy slowly become the adult and ruler she tried not to be. While Quinn dreamed of ruling, Mercy dreamed of escaping it. They were in some ways two sides of a similar coin.

"Are you going to regale me with tales of your recent conquests?" Quinn smiled as she stepped closer, reaching out to gently caress the woman's forearm. As an Echani, touch was a way of communicating, a way that Mercy understood and Quinn appreciated with the woman.

"You know I've always enjoyed your stories." She smiled and leaned closer slightly, hoping to draw the woman's full attention. Mercy enjoyed being the center of attention, and Quinn was willing… always willing to let Mercy be the center of her universe.

Quinn paused, her breath hitching in the back of her throat. Something... Someone had walked up to her Mother. It was a face, a posture, a feeling that she had not seen since she was clinging to Srina's side. The man who had opened worlds for the girl in her solitude had returned; he had returned to her Mother.

"Dad... Atarinya..."

She whispered to herself as she let her eyes take in the sight. Did her Mother know? How long had he been home?

Why was this how she found out?

Quinn held no resentment, thinking quietly that she figured her parents needed their time alone. Her Mother had become Empress, and even though she hid it well, Quinn knew she was tired. She smiled softly, letting her eyes blink away the lingering tears, before her attention returned wholly to Mercy.

 

[Darth Prazutis]

Naedira.

The Dark Lord paused when His gaze passed over the petite woman's form, standing beside the Dread Wolf so close it was as if he'd become her lifeline in the turbulence her home had been thrown into. It immediately brought memories of that fateful day bubbling to the surface, Taanab. When the sleeping giant of the Confederacy of Independent Systems awoke and unleashed its fury on the United Clans of Mandalore. Such a proud warrior culture had been reduced to weak, spineless runtling mongrels under the leadership of Mand'alor the Infernal. Instead of fighting teeth bared and honoring their proud warrior legacy they cowered and begged the Tenth Sith Empire, the mightiest of all Sith nations in modern galactic history to save them. Their usefulness had bled away with what remained of their dignity that very day, when Mand'alor had refused to take the field against her hated foes.​

​

Instead? The Shadow Hand would show them death. A simple mission. Two Super Star Destroyers had come to Taanab among the armada of the Confederacy. The giant would board the one designated the Fortressa and annihilate its bridge crew, He would smash it into the second vessel in orbit and detonate an explosion to ruin their armada and drown their ordered battle lines in death. Most had departed for the battle below there would be little to stop Him from gutting what remained. Everything had gone according to plan until one of the Knights Obsidian had stood in the shadow of the colossus, had dared to stand in His way. A champion of their number, distinguished in battle and skilled in her craft had dared to stand before Him, had dared to use the dark side of the force, someone born from weakness, incapable of truly grasping the power of the Dark Side. It was insulting. A weakling, a failure. Yet facing death she remained fierce; her words came like venom with everything He'd said. But it was the last thing He'd told her that meant more than she understood that day.​

​

"Look at me child, look into my eyes. Memorize everything, every line, every feature of my face for it will be the last face that you will ever see. Know that I will haunt your dreams, your nightmares. Even in death you will never escape me for I will reach out and grasp your soul, and you will serve my whims for all eternity, and I will laugh at the depths of your pain."​

​

Even now He could remember everything. The feeling of hot saliva on His face from her last act of defiance, her last desperate attempt to choke down fear and make it known she may be beaten but wouldn't be broken. He could still feel everything, every muscle tear, every bone snap in her diminutive body, every spatter of blood pumping fresh from the veins that ripped when she'd crashed through reinforced bulkheads. He remembered how it felt driving rebar through her chest and watching when her flesh lit like kindling, when her agony bloomed like a supernova. Through pain she understood the single universal truth that nothing happened unless the strong desired it so, even her death was prolonged to drag her agony, like pressing flesh down and dragging it through broken glass. In the end He'd grasped her very soul before it could find peace, and He fed it to the beasts that would make His victims suffer a thousand deaths. The Noćna Mora. In death she was unmade, torn apart and devoured by the demons He'd forged to haunt the dreams of those who stood against the Sith and dared to proclaim they would never break.​

​

But in the end victory seemed to belong to the dead.​

​

Naedira had delayed him long enough for his hated nemesis Veiere Arenais, former Grandmaster of the Jedi Order and one of the mightiest Jedi in the galaxy to make his presence known. The ensuing fight had all but cast His plans for the Confederacy over Taanab into dust. When the storm settled the Dark Lord was forced from the field, beaten back by the High King. But that fateful day had dire ramifications for the galaxy. That was the very day that the Mortarch had decided vengeance was nigh for the Mandalorian mongrels past transgressions, that was the day their usefulness came to a swift end. The days after were those when he'd convinced Darth Carnifex that the Mandalorians no longer had any right to live in their world. Operation Hammerfall, Operation Decimation, the Mandalorian Genocide proper, everything He'd began planning in the very same days after Taanab. The galaxy would come to call them the Despoilers of Mandalore, the Hammer of the Mandalorians, but none knew that it was the Confederacy of Independent Systems that had been the final catalyst that pushed the Lord of Lies over the edge.​

​

Hatred.​

​

It bloomed like a sun in the room below Him, radiating like a beating heart from the presence of the Dark Councilor Gerwald Lechner and others. Good. The more hatred bloomed for the Shadow Hand the stronger he became, long ago He'd mastered the secret ability to feast on others hatred and transform it into power, the stronger it was, the stronger He became. "Stay." The Dark Lord ordered, His voice loud enough to carry beyond the apprentice beside Him, and to the entourage that accompanied Him here. The giant turned without waiting for a response and vanished, disappearing downwards to the floor below with certainty of intent. Once more the rooms reoriented around His passing, a dignitary influential and powerful in His own right nearly tripped trying to avoid the Dark Titan as He passed, muttering words of apology instead to the giant who'd nearly run him over. The giant moved like a great shadow through the masses, vanishing before appearing once more towards the direction the small group had started to move. Eyes passed over the lithe form of Taeli Raaf as she moved deftly through the crowds without notice, she preferred to be the fly on the wall, unseen, unheard unless she deemed it so. The agent with her Veyra had noticed Him immediately, the second her eyes passed He could see the light bow, the respect shown to her eternal sovereign as she moved alongside Taeli.​

​

It was while the Dread Wolf was giving his greeting to the Queen Consort of Korriban that He appeared behind them, His voice emerging not like a thunderclap but a tendril digging into the earlobe of the She-Wolf. "Naedira." The Dark Lord knew those assembled before him, Revna Marr but the young man was one He hadn't met. The Eyes had told Him of the youths name, one Varin Mortifer, a promising rising student long seen beside the Queen Consort of Korriban. The youth had considerable promise and even now He could feel the power beneath his skin, a powerful Sith if one could draw it out of him, possibilities flashed through the mind of the Lord of Lies as he studied how he moved. Revna Marr had grown stronger since he'd last seen her. No...not Revna Marr. She was Darth Etizira. She'd grown considerably more powerful in the time since her departure from Kainate territory, good. Before long she would outshine her peers, eclipse Darth Strosius and even Darth Caedes , and if she was smart? She would destroy them and take it all, every single thing for herself. Forge her place as the Tyrant of Korriban, the Master of the Order of Wonosa, she had potential if she was willing to take that next step, to channel the hatred He'd burned into her and take everything.​

​

That left the other woman the Dread Wolf spoke to. Sources told Him her name was Irina Jesart, scion of Eliad and the Apprentice of the Dread Wolf. If Gerwald had seen something in her, perhaps the same feral fury that burned within his soul, untapped potential waiting to be unlocked if one could draw out the beast, then she was certainly one to observe. But for now? For now His focus was on one person here. ​

​

Naedira.​

​

"A most gracious host, inviting all into your home to celebrate the victories of the Sith Empire." ​

​

Darth Carnifex | Gerwald Lechner | Naedira Darcrath | Irina Jesart | Taeli Raaf | Varin Mortifer | Revna Marr

Balun Dashiell (Veiere Mention)​

 

[Eira Dyn]

Outfit: Dress
Equipment: Lethal Pursuers (concealed)
Tags: OPEN

The young Sith apprentice of Quinn stepped into the ballroom, her heels clicked with the confident stride of a warrior. Her sharp crimson eyes scanning around the room as she took note of those who were worthy of notice. Ignoring the many nameless faces of those too weak to ever consider memorable. Her dress for the evening was something made with silks, gold, a ruby crystal and the softest of fabrics. Eira always considered herself feral, a monster that was barely controlled by Quinn. An animal that would unleash untold horrors onto the galaxy for every attempt to underestimate what power she had. What evils laid within her.

But time with her Master had changed her, the feral nature calmed, nurtured away from primal thoughts and shifting into a woman who thought, calculated and moved accordingly. This was still early in the changes but Eira knew that she was no longer the feral assassin that she once had called herself. There was a feeling of loss that she was no longer that being, no longer the feral assassin, since it had been a title she took with pride. However, to achieve the goals that Eira craved, the woman could not be feral forever. It was just discovering what she was going to be now. How would others see her now.

Grabbing a glass, the woman moved with grace and precision, her Sith assassin skills never left her as she glided through the crowd like a dagger sliding between the ribs. Clean and sharp. There was no current dance partner that Eira had brought with her tonight, she was far too interested in seeing what others were going to be like, seeing who else was in attendance. Such as her own Master. Taking note of the interactions around her but Eira was also just curious to see who would be daring enough to approach her. Whether as a friend for conversation or someone bold to seek her attention for a dance.

Breathing in deeply, the young Sith felt her sharp nails tapping against the glass as she listened to the beat of the music. It was not the style of music that Eira enjoyed, she preferred dark, heavier beats. Something that provoked differing dance styles to what would be seen today. But it was still pleasant enough music to listen to. Eira just hoped that her new style of dressing and the way that she carried herself would be tolerable for Quinn, she was never shifting from her needs to be approved by her Master. Not yet at least. It would be the biggest shame if she ever made Quinn feel like she had made the wrong decision in Eira.

Or if Quinn was not pleased with how Eira was trying to make progress. Trying to shift from what she had been when they first met.

 

[Silara IX]

Location: Obsidian Spire - Jutrand
Objective: The Iron Court
Attire: Purple Dress │ Tech Specs - Butterfly Clear Frame
Tag: Darth Prazutis │ Open

​

Silara IX had not signed up for this. Rather, she had been chosen, a revelation which had initially seemed unbelievable until a formal summons, addressed to her directly, ordered that she report to the Sith Citadel. Out of the thousands of Sith in the Kainate, she was among a select few handpicked to join the Shadow Hand’s entourage for a celebration banquet at the Obsidian Spire on Jutrand.

In that, Silara knew that she was not yet a Sith of note. Nevertheless, here, in a den of veiled vipers who could only be referred to as “allies”, the strand-cast was compelled to carry herself with confidence and elegance in equal measure. While she had no idea why the Shadow Hand had chosen her to join His retinue, she knew that His judgment could not have erred. That fact alone was enough to give her pride where anxiety and self-doubt might have otherwise triumphed.

In that, the Shadow Hand's steady, reassuring presence was more than sufficient to outweigh the awkwardness of having to wear Tech Specs so that her night blind Hapan eyes could see further than a couple feet ahead!

Striding in the Dark Titan’s shadow, Silara made her way onto the balcony overlooking the terrace of the Iron Court, her cerulean-hued gaze sweeping across the area as the low-light enhancers in her glasses bloomed to life, lighting up the lenses to restore her sight. With her vision thus augmented, she quickly picked out several figures of note among the crowd, most notably the Dark Councillor Gerwald Lechner . From there, the strand-cast spared quick glances towards the two women accompanying him, first toward the one possessing chestnut hair and fair skin who appeared to be his partner, then toward the taller one with light sepia-toned skin. Next, she recognized the Queen of Korriban, Darth Etizira, her piercing, ember-hued gaze surveying the terrace as Sith sigils pulsed lightly on the pale skin exposed by her black dress. Her escort was a dark-haired man of imposing stature, dressed in a red-accented dark tunic overcoat.

It was then that the Shadow Hand directed the group of Kainite Sith to wait on the balcony before He vanished from sight. Silara did as she was bade, gliding towards the balustrade to look out over the venue as she collected a glass from the tray of a passing servant.