Private Of Exile

[Darth Virelia]

"Dark Becomings."

Tags - Madrona A’Mia , Lysander von Ascania

The chamber bled itself empty, one shadow after another peeling away from the obsidian table until only three remained. The hiss of violet torches seemed louder in the absence of other voices, their flames lapping at the air like serpents. Silence here was never comfortable — it was a weight, and Virelia wielded it as deftly as any blade.

She did not rise immediately. Instead, she lingered in her chair, the six lenses of her mask angled down as though lost in thought, or in judgment. A claw traced the table's edge in slow, deliberate circles, the faint scrape echoing in the vast room. She knew the patience of predators; prey always revealed itself if you gave it time.

Only when she was certain the silence had rooted itself did she lift her head. The six violet eyes of her mask caught the firelight and scattered it, shards of cold amethyst thrown into the air. Her voice, when it came, was not loud. It didn't need to be.

"You both spoke well." The words were low, velvety, with the weight of acknowledgment without concession. "You see farther than most. Beyond appetite, beyond ash."

She leaned forward, claws folding together, the motion almost prayer-like but unmistakably predatory. "But clarity does not end at Malachor. Not if we intend to make the galaxy choke on our design."

Her gaze lingered between them, weighing them, testing if they would squirm under the attention. She relished the contrast: A'Mia, serene as stone, verdant and eternal. Lysander, young but sharpened, his poise carrying the arrogance of someone who believed survival was not enough. Both useful. Both dangerous.

"The Sith Order still thrashes in the dark," Virelia continued, each word deliberate, tasting of disdain and curiosity both. "It limps. It splinters. And yet, like a carrion beast, it will gnaw itself into strength again if left unchecked. You have heard the rumors. Perhaps you have felt the fractures yourselves."

Her claws drummed once, twice, a heartbeat made of metal. "This Court cannot afford blindness. If we are to weave shadows, we must know how theirs are shifting. Who claws for the throne? Who bleeds? Who plots in silence? Tell me of the Sith Order. The truth beneath their proclamations. The whispers behind their banners."

She reclined slightly, not in ease, but in invitation, every line of her body languid, elegant, dangerous. She would not fill the air with her own intelligence — not yet. What mattered was what these two revealed, what threads they tugged, what ambitions bled through their words.

The mask tilted, a faint glimmer of amusement in the sixfold gaze. "Speak freely. Your words will not be forgotten, nor wasted."

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

When others had been excused, A'Mia remained still as a statue. Her attention never seemed to waiver from their host, even when curiosity might have drawn her eyes elsewhere. It would not do to grow distracted when she and Lysander had so obviously captivated to focus of Darth Virelia

The neti noted her intonations, the body language she used, recognizing all the hallmarks of an arachnid, and found amusement in the display. It was a private mirth and sparked thoughts of ecological theory within her. Organism-environment, inextricably linked. How could this partnership between Spore Industries and a fledgeling Sith faction most benefit all involved?

The proverbial gears turned within her mind, a deft touch upon the spinners wheel which produced a thread of fire they'd together weave into the great fabric of everything. All at once, the arboreal woman was animated again and leaning forward to spread long fingered hands out upon the table in a welcoming gesture cast wide.

"With my position on Brosi growing more secure every hour, I feel certain of my own abilities and that of my colleague to make of ourselves reliable business partners. Regarding political machinations, the waters grow muddy."

A'Mia tipped her head to the side, an almost avian gesture.

"That is not to say I don't wish to speak plainly, but the fact of the matter it is anything but plain. I believe that many members of the Order agree it has grown stagnant, bloviated on its own successes and lacking innovation to move forward. There are too many powerful misers, too many who cling to their positions and dare not reach further. There are also those who would burn the galaxy for their own ends and refuse to loosen their hold or allow new powers to rise in their wake, even should those powers come from within the very Order they claim to serve."

It was a long winded way of dancing around her point, but any Root-moot needed wind blown through leaves and no rock left unturned in the mental landscape of discourse.

"That all to say, the Order is aimless save for those few who yet strive toward growth and progress. Korriban readies, Brosi too— in fact I think the vassal states of Holy Worlds and Commonwealth alike are poised to act when the moment feels right. And that moment fast approaches. All while the Emperor grows more reclusive, while his own family and retinue nips at his heels and hoards scraps from his table."

A'Mia paused, turning to regard the blonde beside her. She'd said much but little that was concrete. Would he elaborate and specify? Or would he continue this dance of vagaries to lure definitive requests from the spidery woman across from them?

Lysander von Ascania​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Darth Virelia Madrona A’Mia ​

The hiss of violet torches was sharper now, serpents tasting for weakness.

They would find none in the youngest Sith who remained at the heart of the table.

Lysander let the silence breathe, let it linger, coiling venomous and thick, recalling the lessons of the academy on Ukatis, and those from House Derriphan on Korriban. Sometimes, the most dangerous move is nothing at all. His touch was light upon the obsidian, the surface cool against exposed skin, imagining that it was coated in the blood and sweat of all those who'd ever doubted him. The thought of orchestrating death and destruction without lifting a finger drew a faint curl at the corner of his mouth.

Claws traced their rhythm, keeping his mind aligned beneath six amethyst lenses. The silence of each one was heavier than the woman’s speech.

So he listened as Sith Lord spoke of the Order.

Then, the Neti spoke, a rustle of leaves in the political wind. When her gaze turned to him, he inclined his head in acknowledgment.

“My Lady, I do not have the decades of scars that so many carry. My world has been Brosi, Korriban. I once thought the Holy Worlds were all the same, bound by doctrine, the same mold. But they are not different from any other court. Doctrine is but a mask, and behind it are only people, clawing for influence.”

As his shoulders squared further, there was a hint of a tightening in his jaw

“That is why I do not approve of the endless sermons, these pretenses of loyalty to codes. They are fragile, just as they are more lies. I don’t wish to waste my breath on noise. I concern myself with only a few whom I know can be relied upon, those who would burn with me.”

The teen’s voice softened, but the edge remained. “My loyalty is tribal, intentional even. A few names.. no more. The rest can bleed for their causes. I will arm them if it serves me, but I will not stand beside them. Many are quick to jump and claim that is disloyalty. But to me, this is clarity. That is why my circle is small. They are an investment”

A slow flex of his fingers followed, weaving together thoughts.

“I do not invest lightly."

He paused, so that the room could truly exhale his declaration.

“Wars will happen with or without me. The only difference is whether I profit from them. Teeth, even when broken, are still sharp. But their doctrines don’t win wars. Supply lines do. I decide who gets them now. The Sith preach strength, just as there is a new group of Rebels preaching hope. Both bleed. Both buy my weapons. That is where I live.”

Many words fell, but that wouldn’t move the board. “Those foolish enough to cling to doctrine are predictable. That makes them profitable. Surely, you understand why my loyalty is worth more than their codes. I play for survival.”