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.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Revna Marr Varin Mortifer Gerwald Lechner Irina Jesart Darth Carnifex Naedira Darcrath Irina Jesart Taeli Raaf Silara IX | Open​

The Obsidian Spire's yawning archway swallowed every footfall the instant Lysander passed beneath it. The air was similar to a warhound greeting its old master.. a fortress welcoming him home. Returning behind the Black Wall meant entering the very space that forged him. Fingertips brushed the heavy wool of his peacoat, drawing in the Dark like incense. Leather boots clicked upon tiles. This pilgrimage to Jutrand was more than nostalgia.. though he hadn't forgotten Woostri, his first war under the Order's banner.

Among the face in his peripheral vision, Mercy 's presence, or it's echo, hovered at the shoulder. A shared journey from the Core, perhaps strange, this companionship, if he sought to place a name on it. Stranger still, how he'd grown to appreciate it more, beyond rank or power. One might've expected knighthood to sunder whatever thread bound them, yet something twisted in the Force had woven them closer. Even those who stuided the Dark arts were allowed to admit appreciation when it sprang forth from something genuine..

He inhaled the charged air, subconsciously siphoning feral energy from the crowd, fitting in this Golden Age of the Sith. Many silhouettes were commanding, some even familiar.

A silver tray and servant materialized along the way, proffering a crystal glass. Grace guided his hand and the wine sloshed against the bowl, dark scarlet as spilled blood. Aromatic tendrils rose before he sipped; the tart burn was indeed a welcome pleasure on thy tongue.

Moments later, steps closed the final distance. Recognition flared. Lady Raaf and shared ambitions in the Core. Irina from Voss, Gerwald of Stewjon and the legendary hunt. The godlike Kainite. Timing proved impeccable, as he caught Varin's warning of backstabbers, a notion that should've piqued his interested. Mayhaps some sliver of optimism had taken root after that night with Isobel Serraris on frigid Ilum, stoked by a rekindled flame, lending light to the young Sith's outlook.

Lysander moved soundlessly behind Revna first, inclining his head in greeting. "Cousin," intoned with softness. "You've been missed. I should've found you sooner, but duty has a way of stealing time." A smile found the corner of his mouth. Those who truly knew him understood that family trumped every hierarchy. When Taeli mentioned Darth Strosius , his interest sharpened; he planned to seek that name at some point tonight. Turning back to Varin, he offered a casual, "Brother." His verdant gaze drifted, acknowledging the others with the lift of one hand. "A strong circle tonight." Afterwards, silence reclaimed him, drink cradled in the palm, simply savoring the moment.

 

[Darth Sycophantia]

​

[]

Comfortable Liar - by Chevelle

Tag: Sophia of House Marr

I listened to the black-haired girl speak, though the sound of her voice drifted through my thoughts like smoke curling through the ruins of a dead temple; noticed, yet meaningless. My crimson gaze remained fixed upon her face with the hollow patience of a predator enduring the chattering of prey, while my mind wandered elsewhere, toward matters of consequence and selfish rewards.

She spoke with conviction, perhaps even desperately trying to educate or sway me, perhaps even sought to offend me with a miniscule of subtlety, but I found no value within her words, no sharpened edge worthy of my full attention. Alas, I allowed her to continue only because I found this moment ripe with amusement.

I allowed a faint smile to creep across my lips at the woman's questions, though there was no warmth within it; only the cold amusement of someone who had survived centuries of empires rotting into dust around her as she lay entombed in a frozen casket.

"Darth Sycophantia," I answered at last, my voice smooth with feigned civility, yet edged with challenge beneath every syllable. My eyes drifted briefly toward the towering portraits that lined the ancient wall, their painted gazes forever trapped in hollow immortality.

"I have, by no fault of my own, lived among these stars longer than most of the Sith Lords entombed in those frames have existed in memory. My era was not this…" I gestured lazily toward the ordered halls and gathered aristocracy around us, "…structured illusion of unity. Loyalty was a weapon then, traded like credits, broken like glass. The lines between ally and enemy blurred so often that trusting another soul was little more than elegant suicide."

I stepped closer, my cloak dragging behind me like a living shadow as my expression hardened beneath the dim crimson light. "And no disrespect to YOUR Empress Talon, but I do not hand my loyalty over so freely. Such things are a two-way street, earned through understanding, through shared purpose, through survival." My tone softened then, though only slightly, carrying the weary cadence of someone ancient enough to remember galaxies long dead.

"Perhaps one day she and I shall walk that road together and find some acceptable middle ground between us." I folded my hands behind my back and exhaled slowly, feeling the currents of the Force coil through the chamber like unseen serpents. "But you are correct about one thing; I will listen, and I will learn. The galaxy has changed while I endured in darkness, and if I intend to reshape the galaxy to fit my selfish needs, then I, too, shall change with it."

I turned my gaze toward the gathered Sith briefly before looking back to the girl. "The idea of a 'real' Sith is little more than ego wrapped in arrogance," I said, my eyes narrowing slightly. "Are we not creatures who seek to rise above limitation through individuality, or has that changed since my untimely setback? The Jedi cling to rigid doctrine, shaping themselves from the same tired mold until they become indistinguishable from one another; obedient little replicas reciting the same philosophy like malfunctioning droids. But we Sith…" I paused, placing a hand against my chest.

"We define our own model. When I speak of a 'real' Sith, I mean myself, my will, my path, my interpretation of knowledge, wisdom, and power. And you should see yourself differently, even superior, from the next Sith standing beside you. The moment you stop seeking individuality and allow yourself to be sculpted into a carbon-copy imitation desperate for approval, you cease to embody the very spirit of the Sith."

My lips curled into a cruel smirk then, venom lacing my next words. "You know the kind I speak of, the groveling sycophants, forever clawing for favor like starving wretches at a banquet table. Ass-kissers wrapped in black robes pretending ambition is the same thing as devotion. And yes, I am that arrogant and my ego is unmeasurable, but I will never lower myself to begging for recognition."

 

[Horus Rhyne]

Sophia of House Marr

He was spending more time rubbing elbows with the Sith.

To some point Horus still considered them a huge waste of resources. He was over the fact that they had completely demolished Tion and Lianna in short order. Not like he had any personal stakes in those planets, so it was easy to set it aside, but sometimes he was still uncomfortable moving in their midst. At least until his eyes found the one sole thing that made the Sith perfect.

Her hand already reached out and Horus' fingers curled into hers without comment.

As Sophia pulled herself in, Horus' arm went around her waist instead and squeezed tightly and the Lord listened curiously at the debate between the two. Most of it went beyond him, in truth, but that didn't truly matter.

"It would be wise to listen to Lady Marr, ma'am." He drawled as he pressed a kiss against Sophia's cheek. "She is brilliant. Sharpest mind that I have had the pleasure of knowing and for some reason she always is looking to help the people around her." The irony of that statement would probably only be known to the two of them.

Horus looked from Darth Sycophantia back to Sophia.

"Wow." Horus finally said after Sycophantia was done. "She reminds me of one of those Sith Academy lecturers, darling." He stretched there and glanced out to the crowd.

"Those who are in attendance here tonight do not care about centuries of experience, Sycophantia. They care about the blood you spill in the present. Past glories are meaningless in the face of current hostilities."

Then a smile to Sophia.

"But she speaks with a lot of certainty, don't you think so, dear?"

 

[Mercy]

Tag: Quinn Varanin

Lysander von Ascania peeled away at some point to find his own business to attend to. Her eyes tracked his movements for a while, before returning to her own scene.

If the boy got himself into trouble he knew enough now to get himself out of it too.

Hopefully.

"Interesting seeing you more and more at events like this, Knave."

Mercy's head tilted and for a moment she paused in her story-telling. Taking in the Princess of the Sith with a bemused smile. "You are lucky my Graspborn are off chasing their tails elsewhere." Knave. She was fine with that teasing little nickname, but if her Graspborn heard word of it, they'd be besides themselves in rage.

Maybe she ought to invite them, because that did sound amusing.

"Oh, I enjoy these events. As long as its about the drinking and the merriment. And nothing about the business." Mercy drawled lazily, taking a step to the side to give Quinn room to join their little group of ambitious Lords and hungry Knights.

Quinn was correct, of course.

Mercy enjoyed having the light shone on her. Being the center of attention. It made it more ironic that she loathed being Empress so much, since one followed the other rather easily. But just as Mercy was about to be smug about it and tease Quinn, she realized the Princess was no longer listening to her and her gaze was elsewhere.

She had missed the murmured words but did not miss the fact that Quinn was so easily distracted.

Amusement piqued immediately and Mercy reached out, flicking Quinn over the head with her fingers.

"If you want to hear my stories, you do have to actually pay attention, darling."

 

[Srina Talon]

​

TAG: Darth Empyrean
LOCATION: Obsidian Spire [Dance Floor]
ATTIRE: X

The body of the Empress went completely still.

The music continued around them in orchestral swells while conversations drifted beneath ambient light and false laughter, yet the world narrowed with frightening precision the instant golden eyes met her own. She breathed with the ease of one who knew exactly who they were, where they were, and that there was no one higher than she in the Spire. This was merely…Unexpected.

Rhysion.

The name that she had given to her husband on Eshan so many moons ago. For an Arkanian that had once been known as "The Slave" it was quite the upgrade to be referred to in her native tongue as "fierce" or "passionate" when most of her people would have rather seen him hang. Not for anything in particular that he had done, but a shared history, in which his people had seen fit to genetically modify her own in their image. No one would know that name.

None but the Echani Elders who still held their marriage records. After all…

Srina Talon had not wed Darth Empyrean. Srina Talon had wed Rhysion Talon.

Even if they were one and the same.

The pale woman looked down at the Emperor Reborn, where he bowed with one delicate hand still resting lightly against the wrist of her former dance partner before she released them without so much as a glance. Poor thing. They looked a cross between infuriated that their time was cut short and relieved that they could escape her attention unscathed, unaware that they had narrowly avoided standing between predators that had been recently reunited after decades of starvation.

Her expression did not crack, and the wintry hellscape of an expression that she was known for remained intact, frigid, and unholy. She had survived too much to be shaken a second time by the surprise of his presence. She had attended too many funerals. She saw too many ghosts wearing familiar faces. Seen too many clever imitations sent by enemies, hoping to exploit old wounds. True or false this time…

She would remain untouched and unbroken.

But…Her body did betray her in smaller ways. The slightest tightening of her jaw. The squaring of her shoulders while she, though smaller, came to her full height with an undeniable presence. From beneath layers of composure so refined that they bordered on inhuman, something unknown and violent recoiled, awake, from inside her chest. It was from the way he looked at her…

The way his homecoming still felt like a dream.

Rhysion looked at her correctly. Not with fear, ambition, or reverence. There was a touch of possession, but overwhelmingly…There was recognition. He knew her.

He always knew her, even if she could only barely sense him through the Force Bond that had burned brighter than any star. Where once there had been a gravity well capable of swallowing worlds, now, there was silence. But…It was him. Her beloved. Her husband, in the flesh, and that was the horror of it. This was all she had longed for…But now? It was her weakness.

Golden eyes lingered on his offered hand before finally rising to his face again, cold enough to freeze entire oceans. The gathering carried on blissfully unaware that the Empress of the Sith Order stood one heartbeat away from either embracing the former Dead God or killing some insolent fool in full view of the entirety of the court. "Rhysion…", she repeated, soft, but there was a purr of barely spared violence in her tone. They had spent an evening together once, but he was still on thin ice.

Exceedingly thin.

She stepped forward, not into the dance, but into him. Far too close while hawkish eyes bore holes into the center of his being. "You are arrogant—Cutting in line. It was not your turn.", the wintry woman spoke, standing so close, that the white silk of her dress brushed black formalwear. Only he would feel the subtle pressure of her fingers settling against his arm with enough force to crack bone if she wished it. Echani precision, affection, through intimate violence.

Or…Perhaps she was just going to break his arm.

"But…I will allow it."

The words were cutting, but there was the faintest thread of something warmer beneath them. Something infinitely more dangerous than dislike or hatred. The one thing that seemed capable of undoing them all. Her eyes searched his face as they had that night, not so long ago, and she found herself tracing all the details she despised herself for remembering. The tilt of his grin. The infuriating amusement. The way…

Damn him.

Her hand slid up his arm before delicate fingers wrapped around his, and she pulled him into form. The action was sharp, an opening volley, where deadly beauty masked complex emotions and hid them with inherent grace. Her husband would know what she was doing. Empyrean, would know the fight in her and would also know exactly how to respond to the challenge.

He wanted to dance? Fine. They would dance.

 

[Darth Empyrean]

Oh, how he adored her violence. How he missed her lethality. It only made him smile more.​

​

"I apologize, my Empress. I have been called many things, impatient among them."​

​

When she took up his hand, he could feel her fury in the grasp. He met it, not with the violent force he would have for anyone else who dared touch him - but he held it firm and carefully. Echani were creates of combat, they communicated through physicality in ways other species, other cultures, only used violence as a tool. Fortunately, he had long since become fluent in the lingua franca of carnage.​

​

So he pulled her in, and the tense exchange began - not as two lovers, but two fighters, building momentum and pulling and tearing and gnashing of teeth all in the span of a few steps, littered with a shallow breath as he closed the distance and held her close. Improper for a random man of the court, but that was only for everyone else to consider. For her, he must prove he is not something to protect, with or without the Dead God reputation behind him.​

​

"This is quite the celebration. Does the Order often enjoy these gatherings?" - a pointless comment, one made in sarcastic laden flourishment.​

​

The real communication was in their movements. The violence of the step, the casual adjustments unbefitting a dance. For most, it would look like just that - an odd dance with a equally odd cadence, but for the trained observer they could see the forms and steps they were taking. Makashi, Juyo, Sho-Chii - even more traditional forms, like the Echani martial arts. The placement of their feet was not happenstance, it was deliberate and purposeful in every single motion.​

​

And it told her everything it needed to, like a man spilling his heart.​

​

In a lower tone, as he spun her around him, and the crowds made space, he offered a small jest of his own again;​

​

"Isn't it ironic that none have recognized their master has come home? How long do you think it will take?"​

​

Srina Talon​

 

[Darth Sycophantia]

​

[]

Comfortable Liar - by Chevelle

Tag: Sophia of House Marr / Horus Rhyne

I turned my full attention toward the man called Horus, allowing the silence between us to sharpen like the edge of a vibroblade as my crimson gaze settled upon him with cold patience. "There is a Darth before Sycophantia," I said in measured, almost polite tones, inclining my head ever so slightly, "but you are forgiven for your slight miscalculation when speaking to me, Horus." The faint curl of amusement upon my lips carried no warmth within it, only the restrained elegance of a Sith who understood that ignorance, unlike betrayal, was a flaw that could still be corrected.

Now, letting my gaze sharpen with deliberate slowness, while a faintly mocking glance flicked toward the black-haired girl as if she were an inconvenient footnote in a lecture I had already mastered. I allowed the silence to linger just long enough to become uncomfortable before speaking again, my voice smooth and edged with amused condescension.

"I am quite certain this Order is overly familiar with lectures," I said lightly, almost conversationally, "but it seems you've found yourself on the receiving end of a rather ill-timed correction, like a backhanded slap, simply because you arrived late to a conversation that was already in motion between this girl and myself."

My posture remained composed, almost indulgent, as I continued, the faintest trace of humor threading through my words like a blade hidden in silk. "She asked me a question," I added, with a small, dismissive tilt of my head toward her, "and I answered. So as you can plainly see, nobody here is boasting; though I understand how easily the inexperienced confuse participation with performance."

 

[Delvin jeth]

Attire: x weapon: lightsaber
Tag: open

Delvin had arrived a little later than everyone else but had managed to slip in without being noticed. The arkanian wasn't sure completely why he got an invitation he only had indirect or purely transactional interactions with the sith empire. But he was here directly anyway he was in-between experiments either way.

He looked around not recognizing most of the faces here he recognized a few from previous missions but didnt know them personally enough to approach as he weaved his way through the party to get a drink with effortless ease.

 

[Revna Marr]

Tags:
Taeli Raaf // Lysander von Ascania // Varin Mortifer //
Gerwald Lechner // Naedira Darcrath // Irina Jesart // Darth Prazutis ​

Revna did not glance towards her Apprentice as she awaited his response, though nothing about the way he moved, or the way he looked into his own wine glass, was missed by her. He walked with a slight limp these days, a reminder of his time in the Box.

How ironic that he too had been captured, chained, broken down - and then freed. Much like how she had been. And now they both bore limps - though she had long since learned how to conceal hers, or perhaps it was just that she had learned to live with the tingling nerve pain that remained behind after her body had healed. Varin would learn to adjust to his own pains in time, he would have to - otherwise, it would get him killed.

Eventually, the young man answered her questions. Revna listened in silence, offering neither acceptance nor correction towards his observations. He was her student, yes, but he had to form his own opinions about the world around him and those that inhabited the proverbial shark infested waters that was the Sith Order.

A presence slipping through the crowd caught Revna’s watchful gaze, just as a familiar female voice reached her ears. "The Great Game, as I like to call it," Taeli Raaf said as she approached Revna and Varin, garbed in robes overtop a dress of sable and crimson. A younger woman bearing the uniform of the Kainate trailed behind Darth Arcanix, eyes watchful and sharp. Revna briefly studied Taeli’s tag along, before she turned her focus to the woman before her.

“Lady Raaf,” Revna greeted the amethyst eyed Sith Lord respectfully with a faint dip of her chin. “And yes, I would agree with you - it is indeed a Game that we play.”

Another voice, a rather familiar one, slipped in from behind Revna and the blond presence of her former Apprentice and her beloved cousin, Lysander, appeared from the shadows to join the little circle. Revna gave him a genuine half smile, seeing how much he had matured - not just as a young man, but as a Sith as well. "You've been missed. I should've found you sooner, but duty has a way of stealing time."

“As it always does, Cousin. It is good to see you again.” Revna replied, before her attention was drawn back to Lady Raaf.

"I sense that congratulations are in order, Revna." the Dark Councilor said to her, and a faint smile pulled one corner of Revna’s lips upwards.

“Thank you, Councilor. It was about damn time, if I can be honest.”

She watched as the purple eyes of Arcanix drifted to the tall young man beside her, taking stock of Varin for a moment. "And you've chosen your student well. Others require my attention, but I do hope to have a longer conversation sometime later in the evening with you both. Until then, do make sure that these predators don't take a bite from you."

Amusement flickered in Revna’s ember eyes. “I welcome their attempts to do so. If I find myself free of engagements, I will come and find you.”

As Taeli stepped away and back into the crowd, she had one last thing to say to Revna that made the young woman sigh and partially roll her eyes. Of course Darth Strosius was here, brooding in a corner somewhere.

“Oh dear, that means He probably saw us speak, which means I am probably going to hear another long winded lecture of His…”

Revna’s eyes were already drifting towards the pillars that Taeli had pointed out, and sure enough - there He was, her Father. Darth Strosius - the self-professed hater of courtly affairs such as this, and yet He always seemed to find Himself at one, on the fringes.

This time, however, her Father was alone. Was Lina Ovmar late, perhaps? Normally they arrived together, or at least He was with Madrona A’Mia …

Before she could make her way towards Him to inquire into that, another familiar presence stepped into the space Taeli left behind and Revna turned to see none other than the host, Gerwald Lechner, approach both her and Varin, with a beautiful woman on his arm, and a younger woman in tow. He inclined his head slightly towards her in greeting:

“Korriban honors us with its presence; it is good to see someone of like minded interests.”

“Lord Lechner.” Revna responded with a respectful dip of her chin towards the Dark Councilor and his companion. “Thank you for the invite, I am pleased to find myself amongst old and new acquaintances."

Gerwald might catch the faintest hint of sarcasm within her voice, as her eyes flickered over different faces in the crowd - lingering briefly upon the Empress, Srina Talon, who was accepting a dance from a silver haired man who moved with grace.

“I would like to introduce you to my mate, Naedaira Darcrath. Naedira, this is Revna Marr and her apprentice, Varin Mortifer. Irina, I believe you know them as well.”

Revna turned her gaze upon the woman at Gerwald’s side, his mate, and she bowed her head slightly towards the Lady of the Obsidian Spire in a respectful greeting. “A pleasure to meet you, my Lady. Thank you for opening your home to us.”

The Vahla woman allowed her gaze to fall upon the younger, chocolate skinned woman near Gerwald and his mate - Irina, he had named her. She recognized the girl’s face from Brosi, mingling with the others during the celebrations on the planet after the second victory against the fallen Imperials.

“I take it this is your Apprentice, Councilor?” she inquired, while also briefly hearing Lysander address Varin and speak to his battle brother. They may no longer be co-apprentices, but their bond had been forged through shared trials and blood.

A towering figure behind Gerwald and Lady Darcrath caught Revna’s eyes, and their ember depths darkened and chilled. She would shift her gaze to Gerwald for a moment, before she turned into a proverbial stone - her emotions tucked away.

But she couldn’t stop the memories of her time spent under the Shadow Hand’s thumb from flickering through her mind.

Azure flames, the endless black of the Cells, the agony of the cage whose lingering presence she still felt on her spine. The constant push to rise or die, the endless cruelty that had forged her into a weapon.

She owed Darth Prazutis for pushing her past her limits and stepping into the Sith she was meant to be.

But oh how she hated him for all that he had done to her, and his part to play in destroying her home on Formos, and her own family.

The raven-haired Sith woman kept her tongue still when Prazutis addressed Gerwald and his mate. She knew of their history with the Mountain, the violence that bound them all together, and she waited and watched to see just how these two would handle such an intrusion.

She highly doubted Gerwald had invited the Dog of Dromund Kaas to his home, after all.

Varin would sense a brush against his mind from her, a warning to be ready for violence - just in case. ​

 

[Safir]

Delvin had arrived a little later than everyone else but had managed to slip in without being noticed. The arkanian wasn't sure completely why he got an invitation he only had indirect or purely transactional interactions with the sith empire. But he was here directly anyway he was in-between experiments either way.

A leanly built Umbaran in all black and bearing no insignia seemingly detached himself from the shadows and came to stand before Delvin jeth .

"Them," he nodded his head in the direction of the others. "Them I know. Blooded names."

The Umbaran cocked his head to the side, the gesture making him resemble more a featherless prey bird, a bald vulture, than a humanoid.

"You I do not know."

Inclining his head slightly in deference, he said, "I am Safir. What do they call you?"

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

Where I have passed, grass will never grow again.

Seethe and simmer.

Quake thy fists.

Through yon doors did a giant stride, tall and haughty. Hair red as fire. Eyes burning with the intensity of twin stars. The Qhan of all Vahla, or so he claimed. Consort of Hapes. Reaver. Slayer. Lover.

Hasuras na-Gerra.

The warlord's footsteps thudded upon the floor, a slow but steady drumbeat as he approached a gathering of familiar faces. A grin broke out across a face creased by laugh lines, for mirth came as easy to him as wroth.

"Varin One-Eye," he boomed, voice a clap of thunder even as he slapped the one-eyed warrior on the back.

They had fought side by side when his Vahlan warriors bested the might of Coruscant. His gaze shifted, noting Lysander who also had been among his party that day.

And Revna was here too, of course. She of House Marr to whom he had lent his aid in vengeance.

So too here were the owners of this place. Gerwald. And another whom he had heard of, this Raaf woman. Gerra surveyed them both but said no more beyond his ferocious grin.

Varin Mortifer | Revna Marr | Gerwald Lechner | Taeli Raaf | Lysander von Ascania | Irina Jesart

​

​

 

[Neryn Ka]

Woostri had been an entire year ago today, effectively eons by Neryn's reckoning. Like anything else that had occured before his creation, it was likely nothing of any consequence, save as a hobbyist's curiosity. He had little interest in listening to the old and the withered reminiscing, however, and had quickly wandered off deeper into the bowels of the fortress in search of other entertainments.

The creature's ragged leather boots clunked across the cold stone floors, making no attempt to hide his presence. There was no point in doing so here, not where all others wore their true faces so openly.

It was as empty and dreary as a tomb in here, away from the mindless noise and nostalgia of the main event. Neryn couldn't say he approved. He was a thing of flux and dynamism under the flimsy skin and bone of a Sephi, and innately hated all that was static and decaying.

Unfortunately, that was the universe they all lived in. Rotten to the core, and rotten things deserved only the cleansing purity of fire.

Still, it was an impressive structure, and the more sensitive side of his being appreciated the architecture. Neryn was still learning what he liked and did not like, but created works stirred the maimed embers of his soul as few other things did.

He couldn't articulate why, either, only that collecting beautiful things was a slight balm to the open sore that was his existence.

Alas, the ragged spawn could hardly steal an entire building, so he'd just have to try to take in every detail now.

Sometimes memory was the most precious and desirable of all beautiful things. It had an inherent shelf life, fading as time scraped away remorselessly at the finer details. Every day's recollection was an imperfect shadow of the one before it.

It was also poisonous and dangerous, as beautiful things tended to be. It wouldn't do to partake too greedily of the opiate of the past. One didn't need to be a historian to know that glancing ever backward meant moving never forward.

Stasis was the greatest danger faced by the aspiring antiquarian, without question. One could admire what had come before, maybe even learn from it, but gazing too long into those depths risked being dragged there forever. One could be caught up in the spice-dreams of what was gone, lost forever to the phantoms of the past. An unenviable fate.

Neryn had met no guards so far, but that didn't mean he was alone. Occasionally he would pause and tilt his head upwards, utilizing smell when supernatural sight failed. Nothing. For the moment, he was unobserved, or seemed to be. Places like this had many eyes, not all of them things of flesh and blood.

 

[Srina Talon]

​

TAG: Darth Empyrean
LOCATION: Obsidian Spire [Dance Floor]
ATTIRE: X

"You are far from forgiven."

The pale creature moved around Empyrean as if she were made of little more than shadow and starlight. Neither had any weight, but both elements could freeze and burn when applied to the correct set of circumstances. Every turn of her hip carried untold elegance, every step, hiding enough force to cripple the man that drew her inappropriately and hazardously close. To the untrained eye…The sight would have been mind-boggling. Beautiful as it was skillful.

To those who knew Echani well…They would realize that she did not dance at all. She conquered the space around her, while refusing to give her impudent husband time to breathe. It had been a long time since he had been forced to use his lungs for anything more than wicked growls and slamming insults down the throats of the court while simultaneously demanding their obedience for the privilege.

Would he even remember how to move with her?​

White silk swept in perfect rhythm as he spun her, the action seamless and achingly beautiful from a distance. One hand remained locked in his while the other settled briefly against his shoulder in a way that would give the ghost of unbridled affection. It was not. This was leverage, control, with a warning that came with an impossible twist of her body that sent a sharp elbow toward his open ribcage. He could either move correctly, remember her, or he could karking break.

Hawkish golden eyes rarely left his face, and her expression remained empty of all things. Even though the Echani was carved from winter itself, tempered, there was a fire that lived in the precision of her movements. In the swiftness of her turns. In the way every movement not only fit the tempo of the song perfectly, but the way she met every single adjustment with ruthless retaliation. The subtle collision of hips and shoulders was effortlessly disguised as choreography, while varied fighting forms threaded invisibly through a courtly spectacle. Her hand shot up, the heel of her palm skimming his nose, just barely missing cracking into it because…Despite his weakened state?

He was still fast. He could still read her…And it was in that moment she realized that she had…

Missed this.

Missed him.

This revelation only seemed to make her crueler, colder, almost sneering, darkly when his admitted folly rang in her mind. Impatience. Impertinence. His voice rang in her ears louder than any music; the tone, something she knew how to keep time with effortlessly. "The Order enjoys watching itself do more than simply survive in the shadows.", she returned, ignoring, as all around them, guests stepped away in just the right moment without realizing what they sensed. The pair had always been hard on the senses, though now, it felt equally wrong as the Empress was spun once more.

This time, she allowed the momentum to carry her father before she returned sharply into him with enough force to throw him off balance if he couldn't absorb it. White fabric swept around the charcoal black of his attire while her chin tilted upward slightly, eyes bright, molten gold, beneath ambient light. As close as they stood with her breathing falling in controlled swells, he was the only one who might hear her reply…"Their master? Do you mean to imply that you have returned home to master me?"

Her smile was sudden and filled with too many sharp teeth to be natural. Srina had buried empires in his absence. When he was present, for that matter. She had torn Faithless and Jedi asunder with the same elegant hands that now rest against her husband's frame. She was not merely beautiful.

Beauty implied softness. Fragility.

There was nothing fragile about her.

"Let them recognize you—", the words were issued with something vicious because she had already warned him of the consequences of being in the public eye. He was not what he once was, and her tone was little more than a waspish snarl that was coupled with the heel of her shoe coming down hard on top of his foot. "—As I have not yet decided whether I wish to kill you or keep you. Perhaps they will take note of how close you are and choose for me."

He didn't think.

How could he expect to fight off the remnants of his prior throne? Would he risk his life, this new life, just to be seen with her? To stay at her side?

Golden-eyes flickered.

"Idiot."

 

[Sophia of House Marr]

​

Tag: Horus Rhyne | Darth Sycophantia [OPEN]
Location: Obsidian Spire [Iron Court]
___________

Quote of the Moment:
"Her soul was too deep to explore by those who always swam in the shallow end."
___________​

Sophia didn't look offended.

"Yes but…Be nice, Horus. She can't be that old and they're way more boring."

If anything—She seemed to be entertained.

The littlest Scion of House Marr drifted closer to her Horus without thought, his arm around her waist, while her fingers lazily traced the inside of his wrist. They were obviously familiar with one another and the raven-haired Sith was clearly possessive. It came from a place of certainty rather than insecurity and her attention remained on Darth Sycophantia regardless. Crimson eyes flickered, curious, about where this chin of events and apparent scolding came from…But that was neither here nor there.

"Come now my new friend…You were the one speaking to the corners of the room before anyone interrupted. I just replied to the conversation so it wasn't one-sided."

Why aske questions she didn't seem to want the answers to? A faint smile touched her lips then, sharp, pretty but her face turned into Horus while she breathed him in. He carried the scent of something dark and spicy that she wasn't entirely sure was the work of expensive cologne. It was just him. They seemed to meld together as if it was the most natural thing, two parts of a whole, and eventually her gaze began to drift over the gathered Sith nearby before returning to the…remarkable well preserved…older woman? If her claims were true?

Sophia would hunt her to the ends of the galaxy for her skin care routine. Not a wrinkle, not a bit of sag. Such a pretty woman all in red, red, red…Her favorite color. "And if we are correcting misunderstandings -I- never questioned the individuality of anyone. That would be really hypocritical...", her nose squinched up with something that could have been humor, though, the thought that ran through her head was much more poignant. The assumption, again, was dumb. "We're all ambitious creatures…Of course we manipulate each other."

The words were tongue-in-cheek because she was certain that Horus Rhyne was dealing with that in spades. Especially, because she insisted in becoming his second skin. "Of course, our alliances are temporary. It would be silly to suggest otherwise when we're standing in a room full of people openly calculating who they can step over for more power."

There was no outrage in her voice, no defensiveness, just the truth of the matter. The raven-haired woman didn't know how to comment about the Sith Empress, however, because that was something that simply had to be experienced. It wasn't as if the exploits of the Eternal Mother were hidden so the fact that the woman seemed unaware about a public figure was a little strange. If the Twi'lek didn't get it yet…

She would.

Or…Sophia at least hoped she would. Darth Sycophantia was too pretty, too ruby-red, to die for nothing but ignorance and misplaced pride.

Her shoulders slumped a little and she heaved a sigh, unhappy, because this was why she could never keep acquaintances. Either they did something stupid and died on their own or she helped them over the cliff because they annoyed her. It wasn't fair.

Despite her seemingly flippant nature the Sith Witch had paid attention during her lessons once upon a midnight moon. Once. The Eleventh Empire differed from the Tenth because a small, relevant few, seemed to have realized that an Empire was more stable and profitable when every disagreement didn't end in an unholy massacre. Civilization wasn't a weakness or some kind of anti-Sith short-sighted folly…It was the hardest, the worst, most difficult thing for any Dark Sider to do. They played to their passions, wants, and desires…Whatever served them.

It was the ultimate test (one she often failed) in the form of restraint…But it was a particular kind.

Backed with overwhelming violence.

The cruel streak in Sophia wanted to lash out, petty, because her new friend did not want to seem to be her friend at all. Rude. If the Sith present seemed soft to her perhaps it was because no one felt particularly threatened by a woman reminiscing alone about how dangerous she used to be. It was weird. The red-eyed woman stopped glowering, however, and decided to forgive Darth Sycophantia in favor of a cheshire grin. "Besides…The only one giving Horus a back-handed slap is me."

Sophia reached up with that same perfectly manicured hand and tapped his cheek. Her nails flexed for a moment but she refrained from pressing it further…Even though, she suspected a little blood spilled would make the Twi'lek feel a lot better.

"Bad Horus."

 

[Naedira Darcrath]

TAG: @Gerwald Lechner | Revna Marr | Varin Mortifer | Irina Jesart | Lysander von Ascania | Hasuras Na-Gerra | Darth Prazutis [OPEN]

Naedira didn't like anyone digging into her past.

It was for the best, perhaps, that she was unaware of the activities of Irina Jesart , which allowed her to greet the Sith Apprentice with a warm nod. Gerwald was obviously fond of the young woman and found her capable, which meant that his mate, too, held some level of respect. It might not have made sense for two people who had never crossed paths…But it was a wolf thing. Something, something about smelling a threat. She had…Concerns about Aerik Lechner and his obvious proclivity toward certain individuals, but it had little to do with them.

It was mostly because the heart was a fickle thing, and as his mother?

She worried he was a little bit too much like his father.

Rather than dwell, she accepted the invitation from her mate to accompany him toward the people who seemed comfortable thinking of her as their den mother. The soft words about where he stood drew a vaguely amused sigh from her lips, long suffering, knowing that Gerwald meant well. "For now."

The Dark Councilor would stand with her until the world came crashing down around them.

Then…Duty called. The Dread Queen, called.

It could not be avoided.​

Her eyes drifted to faces, new and old, and even to one man, Christoph Kudmol Voytger , who seemed to be at a loss among the masses. She could understand the feeling. There were literal Titans of the Order filling every square inch of space. Where did that leave room for them? Those that kept this great machine turning, spinning, when they went out to war and crushed down some new version of the Faithless that popped up every other fortnight. Her head nodded toward the Legionnaire, should she catch his eye. Welcoming. This was her hall, her hearth, and he should have his fill and find his place.

They all deserved that after so long…

A place.

Regardless…The sensation of Gerwald Lechner finding her hand drew her out of her silent musings. It seemed that he had also noticed the presence of the Mountain, and the chestnut-haired she-wolf remained silent while her mate offered Irina Jesart a touch of wisdom. It made her smile despite the chill that lingered at her back like a baleful shadow. He was a good leader, a good father, and a good mentor. She squirreled away little notes of pride, letting him lead, because it just felt…

Nice to have him home.

When he introduced her to two new faces ( Revna Marr and @Varin Mortifier ) her head inclined respectfully toward the future Queen of Korriban. They hadn't met formally before, to her knowledge, but word among the wolves of the Legion traveled fast. They remembered the woman as something formidable with vast strength, deadly power, and eyes like fire. "I've heard a lot about you, my Lady…"

Naedira might have been the wife of a Dark Councilor, but she wasn't royalty. Not in the slightest, and so her head remained bowed for a respectful amount of time before her eyes raised. She was not subservient, but she had lived through Nabooian High Society…It was a must.

"Both you and your apprentice are most welcome. Please, let me know if there is anything you need."

She turned to address the fleeting Taeli Raaf and Lysander von Ascania as well as Varin Mortifer properly, but something that she had been pointedly ignoring cast a long shadow among the assembled individuals. Naedira knew who it was without looking. Without the sound of his voice rumbling through her chest, poking holes, like a nasty rock snake. The arrival of Hasuras Na-Gerra was also missed, not because he didn't hold import, hold a place, but because…

Darth Prazutis had killed her.​

This Mountain of a Sith Lord had killed her and dared to speak her name, as if they were old friends.

The wolves in the Legion seemed to sense something was amiss, and all eyes turned toward the Kainite without an ounce of shame. They didn't bow, break, or prostrate themselves because they had been trained by some of the best to withstand any storm. The mate of their commander was something to be protected, yet she was also fierce. She was wild, wolf. Same as they were.

Slowly…Naedira turned around

Slowly…She met his heartless, rotten gaze.

Slowly…Her wolf bled into her expression, and reflective topaz eyes replaced warm chocolate hues. They were the same eyes that Darth Prazutis would remember. Defiant. Certain. She had never broken beneath his torture on the Fortressa, even though he had used his fire demons to drive her mad. There was an emotion that had no name filling her chest…

But she blinked.

Naedira was not the same Knight Obsidian that he had taken from this world. This was her home, and it had been a gift from Darth Empyrean after hard-earned victories, to somehow compensate. She was the mate of a Dark Councilor, a warrior in her own right, not some lesser courtier to be singled out by a fucking monster. Naedira did not fold, and the she-wolf did not diminish…

The time for that had long since passed.

Her gaze remained steady on the Dark Lord as she turned slightly beneath the blue braziers, one hand still resting lightly on the arm of her husband. He did not receive the same courtesy as Lady Marr. There was no bow. No bending—Because that would never happen. A chilled wind stirred loose strands of dark hair across the furred lining of her collar, though her composure remained untouched.

"Victories deserve remembrance.", Nae responded, smooth, as if he was…Just another guest from a faraway land. There was almost a touch of warmth to her tone…If one didn't note the distaste hidden within it. He worked with Gerwald. He trained her son. "Especially, the costly ones."

Eyes of tawny chocolate looked away from the Mountain and back toward the feast where their people, their family, returned to enjoying the feast. There was no immediate danger, it seemed.

"Have you tried the roast? You eat it on a large skewer."

Quite similar to the one he had run her through with.

She gave the smile of a hostess, empty and pleasing, while her wolf growled from that secret place it liked to rest within her body. The beast took one more look at Darth Prazutis and reaffirmed its original assessment before laying back down. Lazily annoyed.

<<Dick.>>