Dev Project: SOVEREIGN VESSEL

[Darth Virelia]

"To build a throne."

Tag - Darth Strosius



There was no sky out here.

Just a silence so total it became oppressive, pressing against the outer hull like a held breath. The asteroid—designated Theta-9 by Project: VESPER's internal registry—was little more than a fractured rock floating through the void, cratered and ancient, with nothing to mark it as special save the blacksite buried within its core. No surface markers. No emissions. Not even a shield grid.

And yet, from the inside, it thrummed with purpose.

Serina Calis stood alone in the observation chamber that overlooked the forge-deck—though to call it a forge would be to insult the scale of what VESPER's engineers had constructed. The chamber below resembled some unholy fusion of an operating theatre and an industrial temple: slabs of phrik alloy suspended on grav-lifts, vocal resonance emitters aligned in tight circles for alchemical inscription, obsidian-inlaid runes pulsing faintly along the ground like the slow heartbeat of something coming to life.

Project: SOVEREIGN VESSEL had not yet begun construction in full, but already the bones of it could be sensed.

Tyrant's Embrace, they would call it.

Not armor in the traditional sense. Not a shell to hide behind. A throne one wore. A symbol of dominion so absolute that even its silhouette would cow the weak and unmake illusions of equality.

And yet, for all its power, Serina knew it could not be built by flesh alone. The frame would require dark science. Its voice would need to carry the echo of ancient hate. And its soul... its soul would require something colder still.

That was why she had reached out to him.

Her reflection shimmered in the reinforced transparisteel, overlaid against the forge's faint red glow—tall, statuesque, swathed in a high-collared cloak of black weave, arms folded behind her back. The light caught the metal filigree of her vambraces, throwing soft crimson edges across her silhouette. Her hair, gathered in a smooth twist at the nape of her neck, was pinned with a VesperWorks sigil, though here, in this place, there was no one to impress with symbols.

Only him.

The thought stirred something rare in her.
Not fear. Not uncertainty.
But anticipation.

It had been too long since their last meeting. Too long since that moment in the Polis Massan lab—where alliance was forged not from flattery or manipulation, but from recognition. A meeting of dangerous minds who understood the necessity of their roles. Who had survived each other.

Before that: D'Qar. The duel. The storm of fire and willpower that had nearly ended her. She could still recall the hum of collapsing matter around them, the agony of being broken and reassembled in his presence. And yet, in that crucible, something more enduring had been formed.

Respect.
Uneasy. Inevitable.
Earned.

Now, he was coming again. Not as an enemy. Not as prey.

But as a collaborator. An architect of ruin beside her.

Serina allowed herself the smallest smile—slow, sharp, and unreadable. She wasn't sure if it was eagerness or pleasure that twisted behind it, but for once, she didn't dissect the feeling. She simply let it settle, like a heat beneath her skin.

The chamber lights dimmed. A silent alert pulsed along the floor in soft crimson.

His vessel had arrived.

She turned, footsteps deliberate, as the heavy inner blast doors began to cycle open with a thunderous hiss. The hallway beyond was dark save for emergency strips of amber light, casting long, angular shadows.

In the distance, she could hear the faint echo of boots against durasteel.

No guards. No ceremony. Not here. Not with him.

When at last the silhouette of Darth Strosius stepped into view, Serina did not speak immediately. She let the silence stretch for a moment longer than was comfortable—then, like a silk ribbon drawn slowly across a blade, her voice unfurled.

"Darth Strosius," she said, with a warmth that was almost impossible to fake—and wasn't. "How long it has been since I've had the pleasure of your company. I was beginning to think you'd forgotten how to walk through doors rather than tear them off their hinges."

Her tone was light—gracious, even—but there was an edge beneath it. A test. A welcome. A nod to the man who did not enter rooms, but redefined them.

She stepped toward him now, her poise liquid steel, her eyes alight with sharp curiosity.

"You're just in time. The forge has been silent too long. I think it's finally ready to remember what it means to build something terrible."

A pause. A breath of silence, thick with meaning.

"I thought it only appropriate we begin this together."

 

[Darth Strosius]

Lady Calis had a penchant for asteroids it seemed. Not at all an undesirable local He supposed but He had to admit that He did enjoy a reprieve from the vast abyss of the galaxy from time to time. Perhaps a sentiment born of having spent far too long in vessels going between planets rather than remaining planetside for the long haul. Regardless it was a minor and irrelevant thought, just something to occupy His mind as He marched from His shuttle down the dark hallways that led deeper into the rock.

For once His heavy stride was almost drowned out by the blast doors that opened and slid shut as He passed through them, no doubt a measure of both security and safety given what laid beyond the asteroid. Or lack thereof rather. Thankfully there was no greeting party or sentries to waste His time in meaningless prattle, He had been invited after all and He had no use for pleasantries beyond the main event that had brought Him here in the first place.

Lady Calis awaited His arrival at the end of the long corridor, although her surprisingly stylish attire didn't hold His hidden gaze for long. It drifted to the scene that she overlooked even as He stopped before her, peering around to glance over the foundry that seemed to be in full motion. Arcane and industry had been blended into one fluid system that sought to extort them both for all their capabilities. Not unlike what the lady herself had wanted from the Sith He supposed. How fitting, and a rather impressive display as well.

"If a door is too weak to withstand me then it has no business being in my path." Darth Strosius responded with the slightest hint of mirth, having turned His gaze back to her as she spoke. "I'm afraid none aside from my followers would describe my company as pleasurable however, you really must change your tactics of charm one of these days." Now He sounded more amused, even it was only for a brief moment as she stepped forward and reminded Him of why He'd made the trip here.

"Indeed, a cold forge is quite a sour thing to behold. One without purpose is even more tragic." One of those issues had already been remedied it seemed, now all that remained was to give it something worth forging. He had some inkling of what Lady Calis had in mind but the exact details hadn't been enclosed in the invitation. Not that He expected specifics from her anyway. Vagueness was a tool and one that she was fond of wielding no matter how frustrating it could be.

It had served her well enough thus far He supposed, it had allowed her to scorch Saijo without all that much issue after all.

He stepped past her and looked over the forge once more, His hands clasped behind His back as He surveyed the machinery and tools in more depth for a few moments. Measuring what they had to work with so that He would know the limits that needed to be adhered to. "I suppose we had better attend to the matter at hand then, what do you seek in your armor?" Simple gadgets and technological baubles alone would be unfit for a forge such as this.

This place was meant to craft imbued items first and foremost. To bring the strength of the Dark Side into a more physical and manageable state so that it may empower whatever was desired of it. While this particular arrangement was far more intricate and technical than what He was used to working with, the methods of such craft were more than familiar to Him. His own robes and armor were proof enough of that. Perhaps that was why she had asked Him to come and assist in this project.

Darth Virelia

 

[Darth Virelia]

"To build a throne."

Tag - Darth Strosius



Serina's smile bloomed slow and sharp, like a blade being unsheathed beneath silk.

"Oh, you wound me," she purred, the mirth in her tone unmistakable—though it never quite reached her eyes, which gleamed like polished obsidian beneath the forge's ambient light. "I thought flattery was the expected greeting for one's executioner-turned-collaborator. Or do you only approve of charm when it's delivered with a halberd?"

She stepped beside him as he regarded the forge again, her own gaze not on the machinery, but on him. Measuring not his mood, but his presence. There was no one else in the galaxy like him—she had confirmed that on D'Qar, and again in the shadows of Polis Massa. And yet every encounter felt like something new, as if she were parsing through layers of myth and weapon, never quite reaching the core.

Now she turned, facing the central gantry, and gestured toward the elevated hololith at its heart—currently dormant, ringed by pylons that hissed with low, building charge.

"The armor," she began, voice turning cool and crystalline, "is not armor. Not truly. I don't want plating or plating with gadgets. I want to become something... inevitable."

She let that hang in the air a moment, then continued—voice tightening into that sharper register she used when speaking of serious things.

"The goal is twofold. The first? I want it to be a conduit. Not a cage. Something that draws the Dark Side into me like a black hole draws light—amplifies my will, sharpens my instincts, breaks through the weaknesses of flesh. The Dark Side has always been something we draw upon. I want to wear it. I want it to resonate with my bones until thought and Force are indistinguishable."

Her gaze flicked to him then, precise and knowing.

"You know better than most how difficult that will be. I need you to help build that core. You've shaped darkness before. You've forged it, given it form. I've seen the remnants of your sorcery—on D'Qar, and in your legacy. I can build a thousand machines, but I cannot make the Dark Side sing. Not the way you can."

She didn't flatter. She stated.

Then her tone lightened—still serious, but edged with that sly, dangerous delight she reserved for things most people would consider impossible.

"The second part… well, that's where I indulge myself."

She tapped a holopad attached to her vambrace. Eight sigils appeared, hovering midair—each glyph slowly rotating, each etched in the archaic alphabets of science and sorcery.

"Project: ARACHNEA. Eight Subcores, each an artificial intelligence designed to rule a domain of knowledge. Not just data banks. Minds. Each one an expert in a field that no single being could hope to master in a dozen lifetimes. They will reside in the armor, integrated into a lattice beneath the phrik-armor shell. I will be the sovereign, and they the voices in my crown."

She pointed to each sigil in turn.

"VESTIGIA for the past. SAPIENTIA for philosophy and logic. NATURA for the body. FABER for creation. CAELUS for the stars. BELLUM for war. TECHNE for code. And FATUM—for prediction."

She exhaled, just a little, her voice almost reverent.

"Eight minds. One queen. I want to become a codex of everything that matters."

Then, with a faint laugh, she added, "And besides, if I'm going to outlive half the Empire, I might as well enjoy the occasional witty conversation with my own subroutines."

She tilted her head toward him, expression thoughtful now.

"You know my talents lie in that second half. I've spent months constructing the ARACHNEA framework. Getting them to cooperate without devouring each other's processes was... challenging. You'll like BELLUM. He's already tried to outmaneuver me in my sleep. I think you two would get along nicely—he even called you 'an unaccounted variable.'"

She let the amusement settle before turning serious once more.

"But the real threat—the real challenge—is in combining both halves. The armor needs to handle the Dark Side and the AI systems without destroying itself. Or me. We'll need null-field lattices to isolate the ARACHNEA minds from metaphysical bleed, alchemized matrix insulation to channel the Force rather than disrupt it, and you'll no doubt want to install... Mechu-deru precautions."

A flick of her fingers, almost dismissive, but with underlying trust.

"You'll have full access. ARACHNEA already has protocol subroutines to defend against machine possession—one of them tried to rewrite my entire spine the first time I plugged her in, so we've learned a thing or two."

She looked back at him then, eyes gleaming like stars falling into themselves.

"I want to be unassailable, Strosius. Mentally. Physically. Spiritually. Not as a gesture of paranoia—but because I plan to outlast every single one of them."

A pause. Not ominous—solemn.

"And I want to build it with you."

Her expression relaxed. The mirth returned—but it was genuine this time, warm in its rarity.

"Besides," she added, "it's only fair. You nearly killed me once. I think you've earned the right to help armor what's left."

 

[Darth Strosius]

"I'm not one for charm at all if you want the honest answer, that's partially what the mask is for. Deters unwarranted attention." It wasn't clear if He was being genuine or not and He made no real gestures or fluctuations in tone to provide an answer. His gaze wasn't on her as He responded anyway, instead He was still examining the forge itself in a mixture of subtle jealousy and admiration. This was a resource that could outfit half a legion of Sith if one had the materials and the manpower to do so. Hopefully it wouldn't be wasted in Lady Calis's hands.

Darth Strosius blinked and cocked His head to the side as she fell silent again after her correction of His question. "...I believe I have already voiced my distaste with your riddles, Lady Calis." As much as He might find her desire to become 'inevitable' rather hard to visualize and even harder to fulfill, this was the place to make such a vision reality. This forge could be used bind the metaphorical into something physical and tangible. To make ideal into fact.

Thankfully she continued and began laying out aspects that were far easier to account for and implement, a subtle nod serving as His only response to each of the details that she freely gave. Making a conduit of the Force from armor was relatively simple enough, there were a few incorporations that could serve the task. Simply alchemizing the materials that comprised the armor to a significant enough degree would do the job but something more dedicated such as a Cloak of Hate would have better results. Not to mention the inclusion of various talismans as well.

While He was certain that she was embellishing somewhat in regards to His manipulation of alchemy in such matters she wasn't entirely wrong either. Darth Strosius had a knack for making common Durasteel and salts just as potent and resonant with the Force as Sarassian Iron was naturally, a necessary skill born out of a lack of alternative materials. Even now with access to metals such as Phrik and other such more desirable materials He could still make a more than respectable armament out of what would be widely considered mere scrap metal by most.

His thoughts grew still when she mentioned that there was another aspect to the armor that she would take upon herself. His gaze snapped to the projection from her wrist, the eight symbols making Him raise an eyebrow beneath His mask. The concept she spoke of was intriguing but decidedly dangerous. He had made use of droid brains plenty of times before, He knew well enough that they often had a habit of developing unique quirks and traits that were unbefitting their metal shells and coded souls, He even made partnerships with particularly intelligent droids such as the good Commodore.

Artificial intelligences like what Lady Calis spoke of were an entirely different beast however, cunning and unbound by most physical restrictions and limitations that droids were subject to. A droid could be shackled and reprogrammed as they were somewhat contained within a physical form regardless, an AI often couldn't as they were more than physical to begin with. "I would advise caution, although I'm sure you already know the risks with such a framework." Of course they had already been trying to override their creator. He made a mental note to not focus on technical gadgets in her armor just in case her pets proved more rogue than she thought.

With what she had in mind this armor would indeed be a complex and multi-faceted beast. While He couldn't offer much assistance with the incorporation of the AI He could manage the rest just fine. Making resonant and channeling components was nothing new, minimizing Mechu-Deru interference was more a matter of simplicity of design as well as some redundant features for confusion just in case of infiltration, physically and spiritually He could craft all the protection needed. The mental sphere was another facet that He couldn't assist all that much with, Lady Calis would be the one to fortify that particular aspect herself.

"I recall you picking yourself up off the ground without much trouble in that instance," He mused with a small shrug. ", you even managed your strange power afterwards. The nearly dead can't do that." Reminders of the past aside, they did have quite a bit of work ahead of them. At least He had the relatively simpler duty this time, for once. "I'll need a list of all the supplies and materials you have on hand for this project. You mentioned Phrik but for the type of protection you seek I'll need a variety of metals and biological products alike."

Darth Virelia

 

[Darth Virelia]

"To build a throne."

Tag - Darth Strosius



Serina let out a breathless, amused sound—somewhere between a chuckle and a purr—as Strosius finished.

"The mask does deter attention, it's true," she said, stepping lightly toward the hololith and letting her fingers skim across the edge of its inert projection ring. "But you've made yourself something of an icon because of it, not in spite of it. You walk into a chamber and half of them flinch before you've spoken. That's more than armor. That's artistry."

She didn't expect him to respond to the compliment—nor did she care if he believed it. What mattered was that it was true.

"Also, might have a couple more people showing up, the more the merrier!" She exclaimed with a little excitement.

The forge lights above them flickered to life at her gesture, humming awake like something vast and ancient shaking off sleep. The glow caught her face in cross-section, illuminating the elegance of her features while casting her eyes into deeper shadow.

"I assure you," she said lightly, "you're not the only one who dislikes riddles. I've spent the last six weeks assembling literal superintelligences and teaching them not to argue with each other about the ethics of extinction. That's been... more than enough philosophical abstraction to last a lifetime."

She tapped the ARACHNEA interface again, and the eight sigils rotated in lazy, beautiful formation around the two Sith. They cast spectral reflections across the chamber's metal walls—ghosts of future knowledge.

"You're right to be cautious. They are dangerous. I've limited their range of agency for now—isolated circuits, narrow task permissions, hardcoded local execution only." She gave him a conspiratorial glance. "Don't worry. I'm paranoid in all the right ways."

Then she smirked, and added, "And worst case scenario, I suppose I could always upload your personality as a failsafe override. 'This is Lord Strosius. If you're hearing this, it means my AI have gone rogue. Please remember: you're machines. You're beneath me.' That sort of thing. Inspiring, don't you think?"

Serina gestured, and a series of cargo manifests appeared above the forge platform—spooling line by line, listing materials in staggering volume. Phrik, yes—but also alchemized durasteel, slivers of Vong biot from her research vaults, synthetic crystals tuned to resonate at frequencies between Force-presence and auditory perception, blackstem marrow harvested from sub-cortical growths beneath Polis Massa itself, and something labeled only as Nullsteel.

"There's more in cold storage, but this is the prime batch. The phrik is for the primary skeletal structure, obviously—dense and flexible enough to maintain form under metaphysical stress. I've woven in biolaminate veins where the alchemical cores will root, and the Nullsteel... well, I'm still studying its resistance properties. It absorbs signal, sensation, even trace kinetic memory. Might be useful in dampening predictive targeting or Force clairvoyance."

She paused, then added with a sly tilt of her head, "Also, it makes a lovely chime when it fractures. Very musical. Like a bell tolling for whoever just made a mistake, but yes, because of the smuggling corridors of Polis Massa and my incredible wealth, anything you want? We can make do with."

Then her eyes sharpened.

"I want you to shape the heart of it. The spiritual infrastructure. You know how to make rage obedient, and how to make fear into a vector rather than a weakness. That's what this armor has to be: not a barrier. A blade."

She stepped closer to the platform, running a finger along one of the pylons where the initial casting mold was being constructed. It thrummed under her touch, already half-alive.

"We'll graft ARACHNEA into the spinal relay. Each subcore will occupy its own isolytic socket—eight crystals, eight minds, each keyed to its domain. I'll handle their temperament. You handle their containment. You're the only one I'd trust to do it in a way they'll feel."

She turned back to him, smiling faintly, but not unkindly.

"And for the record, I was nearly dead on D'Qar. You just had the poor timing of fighting someone too stubborn to stay dead."

A pause. Then, with a dry note of irony:
"Now you'll get to find out what happens when I've had time to prepare."

She gestured toward the central assembly ring, now glowing with rising red light.

"Shall we begin?"

 

[Darth Strosius]

Beneath His mask He gave her a rather blank look at the compliment, blinking expectantly as He waited for her to admit that she was exaggerating the effect He had on people. Technically Lady Calis did speak the truth but only in regards to His own followers. To them He was a martyr returned after His untimely demise, a savior that had clawed His way from death itself so that He could continue leading them, a Prophet of the Dark Side itself. They thought too much of Him but He had yet to successfully corral their overzealous interpretation.

Rather than owning up to her flattery however she instead made mention that they could expect some additional arrivals. Not surprising, a project such as this would require more than just two pairs of hands to accomplish even with all the potential utility of the forge itself at their disposal. Hopefully Lady Calis had selected some very good help for this venture, people that weren't as flamboyant in their speech as she could be. Hopefully.

"You had to teach them ethics?" That did not sound promising given what she intended to use them for. He visibly sighed in relief when she went over some of the precautions she had taken to account for the AI running wild, although He found the use of the term 'for now' to be unsettling. As long as she didn't have need for any motion assistance or mounted weaponry then there was only so much that they could accomplish even when completely unchained.

Darth Strosius chose not to comment on the idea of basing a failsafe around His likeness but the slow head turn so that His visor could stare at her said more than enough.

Thankfully the material manifests quickly captured His attention and with it His intense hidden gaze, the writing reflected on His visor as His eyes flickered from item to item. Phrik, Biolaminate, Nullsteel. Three foundational materials it seemed, although He wasn't familiar with the latter. From what Lady Calis said about it the sheer utility of it may necessitate it lining one of or even the main outer layer. He preferred a simple Reflec coating for His own projects in that regard.

He glanced back at her with a raised eyebrow at the addition and mention of her wealth and access to resources. "Careful what you promise Lady Calis, I may start making outrageous requests." It was evident that she wasn't lying given the manifests right before His eyes but when working with such a delicate and temperamental project one often needed some rather unique materials and tools. Unless they knew how to make do with what was on hand of course, as He did.

He could do as she requested and bind power into the armor, lace it with dreadful emotions that would fuel her just as she fueled them in turn and as a result empower the armor alongside the wearer into something far greater than either were separately. Containing the AI would be a somewhat different matter but with them already isolated from the outset it was achievable enough that He didn't feel all that much concern with the task at hand.

"We share that stubbornness it would seem." He responded with a click of His tongue before nodding. "Yes, let us begin." The designs were set already and the materials were on hand, now came the more taxing work. "Are there any containment cells down here by chance? Or prisoners that could be moved in?" The art of Sith Alchemy wasn't as simple as mere metallurgy and mixed concoctions. Just as the Dark Side expected potent feelings to channel its power in its users so too did it expect the same for its more inanimate incarnations.

Blood and suffering were fairly common vectors for such a process but of course there were alternatives. With alchemized materials already at their disposal the preparations were handled but assembly required the same dedication and focus as the crafting did. One did not simply imbue a metal or cloth with the Force, they first had to be made into a vessel that was then filled with sentiments such as hatred and fear. For as cold as the Sith were often portrayed by the wider galaxy their practices were most assuredly personal and intimate in that sense.

Therein lay the issue of why forges such as this were necessary for any large scale projects at all. Machinery and tools were almost secondary compared to the raw willpower and passion that had to be implemented in the process for it to succeed. Having victims and their products did make the task much simpler however, all that was needed with them was the application of the proper methods to instill dread and summon pain. From there it could be channeled either spiritually or more physically. Suffering or blood, as it were.

Darth Virelia / Vakhari Lutris

 

[Vakhari Lutris]

Tags: Darth Virelia Darth Strosius ​

Also, might have a couple more people showing up, the more the merrier!"

A statement that would soon be proven to be correct, the hum of the elevator sang its melancholic tune as it steadily proceeded down into the bowls of the black site. Perhaps one would expect a renowned alchemist, maybe even a towering brute that had some to deliver slaves to be used for testing?

But alas, the cold metal doors of the lift would open as it had reached its destination. Exposing the scents of this work environment to a fresh face that neither had seen up until now, a pale garbed woman with equally matching snowy features.

Her ruby eyes blink a few times, cleaning out dust particles. If Darth Strosius wasn't able to sense his own kind, it would be easy to mistake the albino figure as a creature such as himself.

Short and stature and thin in build, this newest arrival waddles on up to the two as she carried bags and boxes filled with gods know what.

Her exhales could be heard through her metallic mask, catching her breath as she haphazardly placed down the bags/boxes next to the main table. Cracking her fingers while glancing around at what all she was to be working with, and showcasing her obvious lack of social skills as this stranger didn't introduce herself nor greet the two.

Vakhari taps at the chin of her mask, counting out things of interest, current workers, subjects, materials.

"One.. Two.."

A quadrupedal droid would scramble out of one of the mystery bags, its lights flashing a few times before Vakhari placed her hand upon her head.

"What? Well- No? No no, it doesn't- Right..."

She clasps her gloved hands together eccentrically while turning to face the two.

"My apologies.. Still used to my time in the necrotech guild, Vakhari Korden."

There is a slight smile under her mask, only being noticeable thanks to her cheek fat pushing up. Her voice had a classical metallic echo to it, yet kept a silkness.

"I have been invited by one 'Serina Calis' for the purposes of aiding in the engineering and development of a suit of armor."

Vakhari squints, her finger pointing back and forth between Alisteri and Serina in a 'eny meeny mo' fashion till her finger stops on Serina.

"I would presume you are Serina? I think you will be glad to know I brought the items you had requested, though it is still in a prototype stage."

Swiftly she begins to dig around in her things, the sounds of metals and liquids sloshing around echo throughout the area as she seemed to be searching for something in those mystery bags and boxes. ​

 

[Darth Virelia]

"To build a throne."

Tag - Vakhari Lutris , Darth Strosius



Serina turned as Strosius spoke, the crimson reflection of the forge's light dancing across her cheekbones as if in anticipation of blood. When he asked for containment cells, her expression sharpened—pleased, anticipatory, almost serene in its cruelty.

"Of course," she said, voice low and musical. "I brought souvenirs from Saijo."

With a flick of her hand, a holopanel bloomed in the air beside her, revealing a vertical column of designations: Subject 1A. Subject 3B. Subject 7F. All of them Force-users. Some Lords. Some Knights. Saijo was, very generous.

They were her stockpile.

"They're sedated and kept in suspension fields six levels below. Fully isolated from the Force, for now. But we can bring them up one by one. Their pain should be... quite pure."

She turned to face Strosius fully now, folding her hands behind her back. Her eyes gleamed with something more than anticipation—relish. The kind only a true believer in long games could savor.

"They thought they were too important to be sacrificed in war. Now they'll find meaning in creation instead."

Then came the low hum. The groaning descent of the elevator, rising like a slow heartbeat toward them.

Serina tilted her head as the sound neared—already knowing this was not one of her soldiers or technicians. The rhythm of the vibration was wrong. Lighter. More erratic. And then—

Ding.

The doors hissed open.

The figure that emerged looked like something conjured by a particularly eccentric Force vision: pale, masked, and trailing mystery bags like some strange traveling alchemist-urchin.

Serina watched her with no visible reaction—only cool curiosity and faint amusement as Vakhari waddled, sighed, and half-dumped her gear with audible clatters. The scene was surreal, almost comedic in contrast to the grim purpose of the forge around them. When the skull droid hybrid skittered out and Vakhari began her quiet counting ritual, Serina exchanged a glance with Strosius.

Nothing was said. Nothing needed to be.

But when the woman finally introduced herself, Serina's expression thawed into something that might have been genuine delight—or as close as she allowed herself.

"Vakhari Korden," she repeated softly, as if tasting the name. "Good. I am excited to finally meet you."

She stepped toward the pale woman, slow and composed. "You've arrived precisely when you were needed. We're about to begin."

As Vakhari dug through her things, Serina gestured with two fingers, and one of the workshop tables realigned itself with a hiss of repulsor locks, flattening into a workbench surface.

"I trust you've brought the ECLM components we discussed?" she asked, her tone rising slightly with excitement. "The cryogun prototype, the one you call Polar Lance. I want it installed internally—socketed into the forearm of the left gauntlet, with a flush-mounted port. Hot-swap capacity between cryoban and carbonite, mid-combat, without having to draw or prime. I want it smooth. Elegant. Not a flamethrower. A scalpel. One I can use to end a conversation immediately if words fail."

She moved alongside the bench as Vakhari began unpacking parts and prototypes—gleaming coils, pressure regulators, cryo-insulated cores—speaking now with the precision of a woman who had designed weapons for years and had finally decided to design one for herself.

"The armor's inner systems will contain redundant coolant pathways, separate from ARACHNEA's circuitry. They'll converge near the shoulder mount, where the canister core will slot in. I don't want explosive risk. The duraplast layering should be reinforced with EMP-baffling mesh and backed with Nullsteel ribbing. If anything does go wrong..."

Her eyes flicked to Strosius.

"Well. I imagine you'll be the first to notice."

She turned again to Vakhari, her tone dropping ever so slightly—more intimate, more conspiratorial.

"I also want it capable of precision shots, not just crowd control. If I say freeze someone's throat, I want just their throat."

A brief pause, turning back to Strosius.

"And if it helps, you may use one of the more... spirited prisoners as a calibration subject. I'm sure they would be honored."

She stepped back from the table then, hands clasped, radiating authority and direction even as she allowed her two collaborators to move into their respective roles.

The forge was no longer silent. The shadows had begun to shift.

"Tyrant's Embrace will be more than armor," Serina said quietly, as if to herself. "It will be my second skin. My throne. My final argument."

She turned back to them both, her voice once again cool and composed, but with that slow-burning fire underneath.

"Any questions?"

 

[Darth Strosius]

"Souvenirs?"

From what few reports He had skimmed about Saijo's recent attack, there wasn't all that much of worth to salvage. Personnel included. The newly displayed list of columns and designations was quick to prove that assumption wrong however, so much so that a small part of Him found it disturbing how many lives had been stolen away and hidden beneath them. Given the circumstances they had hardly been saved or spared, simply having enough luck to die another day rather than then on Saijo.

Darth Strosius scanned over the list with a genuinely impressed disposition, idly wondering why Lady Calis had even bothered bringing Him in to assist her in such a matter. Force Sensitives were too rare to be used in His own work and yet the scum of the Outer Rim had been fuel for not only His equipment but all those of His Sith followers as well. With Knights and Lords as ingredients however, an experienced and precise touch such as His was hardly even needed. Raw power could overcome all else when it came to Sith Alchemy after all.

With His focus on glancing over the list He hardly gave the noise of the elevator any more acknowledgement than the slightest tilt of His head in its direction, His gaze not moving until a rather small masked woman had set down her payload next to them. Out of the corner of His visor He shot the new arrival a look, raising an eyebrow as she began counting oddly enough. Taking stock of what they had to make use of perhaps? The droid skittering out of one of the bags made Him furrow His brows and cast a glance at Lady Calis to meet her gaze.

It was then that the new arrival introduced herself, although what she was apologizing for He didn't quite understand, with a smile of all things. What interesting company He found Himself with today. The finger pointing between the two of them made Him pause in surprise and disbelief, but she managed to settle of Lady Calis all the same despite the initial confusion. Apparently there was some other prototype technology that Lady Korden was providing. Hopefully it was something far less dangerous than the AI, this armor would have enough problems as it was already.

A wrist mounted cryo-weapon of some sort it seemed, He could appreciate the concept He preferred more traditional wrist-blasters Himself though. He gave a wave of His hand when Lady Calis's gaze flickered back to Him, as though dismissing the concern. "Yes yes, I shall ensure that no leakage will be of issue, or caused all that easily. Just don't take a lightsaber through the shoulder and it shouldn't be a problem." He did most certainly make note of that particular facet, knowing that it would be somewhat tricky to fit in given how close the ARACHNERA framework would be to it. He could make it work of course, but it was still something to keep in mind.

He turned back to the list of Saijo's finest and began making a few selections in His mind, a finger idly tapping on and scrolling through the subjects as Lady Calis continued. "The more spirited the better, those with already broken wills can dilute the mixtures too much." Emotions were at their most potent when they were fresh and raw, pain and suffering even more so than most. Without a doubt the survivors of Saijo would have already been through some hardship and pain before and throughout their imprisonment but with any luck they would be receptive to His methods all the same.

Those who had the strongest wills would be the first to be selected for the alchemy to come as their willpower would serve to strengthen the alchemical process just as much as their pain. The more they resisted the more that He could siphon from them and fuel the armor's components with. He had never gotten the chance to do any such practices on a Sith before and rarely on anyone that had any Force Sensitivity of note. From what He knew of the nature of Sith Alchemy they would be all the easier to draw power from, and all the more rewarding to drain dry.

"Are there any other modules or components of note that you wish to have on the back of the armor?"

Darth Virelia / Vakhari Lutris

 

[Vakhari Lutris]

Tags: Darth Strosius Darth Virelia

"The beam should early be pretty accurate, at least when it comes to the Cryoban."

She continued to rummage through her things, metal clangs and electrical beeps galore up until she takes out the non prototype version. A bit bulky and the size of a large rifle, she pops open the top cover to expose the area where you load the cells.

"This is the non prototype version, after giving the protective panel a pop open you can see where it will intake the ammunition. Loading it is really no different from many other weapons, you have to make sure of two things though- You drop the canisters too hard and they might burst, releasing the pressure within and either killing you or making you a pretty little Carbonite statue. The next thing to know is to obviously not mix different canisters within the gun, i'm sure you can piece together why that is a stupid idea."

Vakhari then shows off one of the Cryoban canisters, demonstrating how to properly load and lock it into one of the many slots within the gun.

"Easy, right?"

At first the gun remains idle until she shuts the cover, Serina and perhaps Alisteri hearing as the gas made a hiss confirming the canister had been opened and was ready to use by the ECLM.

"We all heard that hissing sound, but what if now before the canister was empty we needed to change it to the non lethal Carbonite?"

Without warning she pops the cover back open, perhaps denying expectations of freezing gas to come leaking out as the gun was thankfully designed to reseal the canister.

"Once again, easily done. Take the now resealed canister and or canisters and replace them with the Carbonite ones."

She goes through the process of unloading, making sure Serina is watching before loading the Carbonite canister. Just as before she shuts the panel and it locks in place, the familiar hissing of gas can be heard.

"Now.. As for a prototype. I spent a little time converting down what you see here into a smaller size as requested, but it has flaws thanks to its size."

Vakhari sits down the normal sized ECLM upon the table, switching it on safety before rummaging through her mystery bags again.

"The issues..."

She starts as her back is turned to the pair.

"Are that thanks to its size you would either have to load much smaller canisters, or have some sort of reservoir within the armor itself. I would personally lean more into just the limited canisters, along with making sure wherever these are to be loaded that they have twice- no, three times as much padding and protection as compared to the gun. These going into a critical state from trauma would cause at the very least your whole arm to be frozen in a flash- the ice bitting deep and rendering that arm as good as dead."

Letting out a sigh she begins to tap her fingers against the table.

"The other obvious issue is the fact it is on armor, and especially a location more likely to be stuck.. BUT we can at least move the canisters to a safer location and feed the gas through tubing."

Truth be told she cared little over someone getting hurt or killed, the main issue was how it would look on her. How others within the field of creation would judge her, perhaps leading to a distrust of her creations.

A metallic thud echos as the prototype is laid out upon the table for Serina to see, Vakhari herself gesturing for Serina to come over to take a peek.

"Barebones, but this was just a rough idea. The final version I will make here, I might be here for some days.. Mm.."

She then points to the non prototype.

"Feel free to test that one on slaves or whatever it is you have here- I.. Have spoken a lot, do you have any drinks?"

​

 

[Darth Virelia]

"To build a throne."

Tag - Vakhari Lutris , Darth Strosius



Serina watched the weapon demonstration in near-total silence, hands clasped neatly at her lower back, her profile lit in the low glow of the forge's ambient lighting. Her expression was perfectly poised: eyes narrowed in concentration, lips faintly parted, as if drinking in every technical detail not just with interest—but ownership.

As the hiss of cryogas confirmed the canister's seal, she tilted her head.

"Elegant," she murmured. "For something that freezes lungs solid."

She stepped forward without hesitation as Vakhari gestured, the soles of her boots barely making a sound on the cold alloy beneath them. The prototype was crude in form—barebones, as the woman had said—but Serina saw not what it was, but what it would become. She rested her gloved hand lightly on the frame. The metal was cold, alive, waiting.

"Don't worry," she said dryly, "I have no intention of mixing canisters. I'm manipulative, not suicidal."

She turned slightly, casting a glance over her shoulder at Strosius as he continued browsing the list of Saijo captives, choosing his ingredients like a butcher selecting prime cuts. The contrast between them was striking—he, grim and meticulous in his violence; she, almost celebratory in her savagery.

It was a beautiful symmetry.

"You'll have your specimens," she called to him. "Neltriss first. Then Avess Kai. They'll give you something worthy."

Then, to Vakhari, she returned with a softer cadence—still sharp, but shaded with approval.

"I agree with your assessment. We'll design for discrete, modular canisters. No reservoir. I'd rather take ten seconds to reload than risk losing my arm mid-monologue."

She tapped the side of the prototype twice, thoughtfully.

"As for where to house them—we'll embed the loading chamber within the vambrace under a secondary armor layer. A retractable panel with three-fold plating. I'll absorb the slight increase in weight. Tubing can run under the plating to the socket in the forearm. We'll use Nullsteel braiding around the conduits to isolate against pressure shock and kinetic transfer. If it's damaged, it'll fail clean."

She paused, then added with a faint smirk:
"And I'll take your word on the three-times padding. I'm very fond of my arms."

Then, at last, she answered his earlier question.

"To your question, Strosius—yes. There is one more system I want built into the backplate."

She extended a hand to the central hololith, activating a secondary diagram—this one depicting a folded lattice within the rear of the armor. The schematic pulsed faintly with red glyphs.

"Apart from some lesser features dictated in the data provided, I want a failsafe embedded in the spine. A harmonic dissonance chamber. If I am ever rendered unconscious—truly unconscious, not meditative or mentally detached—it will rupture a cryo-core inward, locking the armor into a total-body carbonite sheath with reactive cortosis layering. A sarcophagus, essentially."

Her voice lowered slightly. "I will not die at the hands of someone else. If I fall, I fall into stasis. Until I can return."

There was a silence after that—just for a beat.

Then, as if flipping back to her lighter self, she turned toward Vakhari again, graceful and amused.

"As for your last question—drinks?"

She swept her hand toward a side cabinet with a motion of theatrical flourish. The steel casing hissed open, revealing a high-end cryo-cell liquor unit—its bottles suspended in vacuum clamps like ancient relics.

"I have all the wine, Obroan brandy, a very illegal bottle of Mandalorian war mead, and something unlabeled from Ziost that may or may not be sentient."

She smirked faintly. "Feel free to make your choice. Just don't drink anything in the bone-colored bottle unless you're willing to gamble with enlightenment or insanity."

Serina turned back to the table, eyes once more on the prototype.

"Once you're finished with your drink," she added, tone smooth as molten metal, "I want to begin socketing the targeting chamber. And Strosius—let me know when you're ready to begin the rite. I want to watch."

She smiled.

 

[Darth Strosius]

While technically out of His purview for the task at hand, aside from integration purposes of course, Darth Strosius watched the odd Lady Korden out of the corner of His eye as she searched for and retrieved a rifle from her bags. It was somewhat unconventional compared to what He was used to working with and as such His attention during the demonstration of it was easily justified beyond simple interest. The tinkerer in Him always appreciated some unique flair with weaponry and gadgetry, even if it wasn't always applicable on any scale worth noting.

The rifle, and as a result the weapon that would be incorporated into the armor, was relatively simple in operation but with some noteworthy safeguards to ensure as few accidental discharges as possible. It was almost akin to the airlock system of a vessel or a gas storage tank really. The extra care for safety regarding the sealing of the canisters was a sign of clever and intentional design, not a one-off invention that had only the barest necessary guard rails. Lady Calis had selected good help for her project all around it seemed.

He could definitely agree with the decision to rely on the canister system already in place for the smaller version of the weapon that He would have to work around, having dedicated storage for cryogenic and carbonite substances would not only be a severe overcomplication but also a major weakness that couldn't be easily accounted for. Thankfully Lady Calis already had some idea on where to house the system itself which simplified the mental notes He was taking considerably.

As she answered His question He briefly tapped on the names she offered, Neltriss and Avess Kai, before turning to regard the projected design. He instantly decided upon seeing the lattice that He was going to dread having to work with its inclusion. He briefly considered asking if the AI could be limited to a cranial connection via the helmet rather than the previously mentioned spinal one but chose to remain silent as she explained the purpose of the device.

He didn't even want to begin thinking on how dangerous such a failsafe was. Any unexpected or accidental triggers could prove catastrophic if not outright fatal. One misplaced wire or overloaded circuit could very well rupture the whole device and result in an even deadlier failsafe that she couldn't simply be extracted from. While He could somewhat understand the sentiment, surely the inclusion of something like a personal shield generator or even an emergency life support and bacta injector would be far more useful than encasing oneself in carbonite.

But, He was not the wearer of the armor. Lady Calis was, and she wanted the failsafe just as she wanted the AI. No matter the risks inherent.

With a press on the display He had been so thoroughly perusing the command to deactivate one of the suspension fields and bring its inhabitant to the forge was given. Neltriss must have been among the more spirited and lively of the contained subjects if he was to be the first put to use. Breaking that spirit down would be quite fulfilling and stress relieving given the somewhat frustrating task at hand. "It will take but a few moments of preparation, you should have a good view from up here."

Darth Strosius strode from the overlook down into the forge itself as He glanced around at the elements of machinery that comprised the more material aspect of it. Thankfully more than a few of the automated arms that were responsible for holding various implements were easy to redirect and reposition. A few welding tools here, some pincers and injectors there, soon enough the masked man had a small assortment of tools facing one particular empty spot.

It was quite essential to prepare one's implements before the real work could begin, Neltriss would serve just fine for preparation in that regard. Alongside the tools He pulled His own implement of choice from His robes, an inscribed dagger that had proven itself more than capable for the task at hand. Bloodletting was best done with a surgical precision at first, a precision that He wouldn't entrust to the forge just yet. Alchemy did always need a personal touch after all.

Darth Virelia / Vakhari Lutris

 

[Vakhari Lutris]

Tags: Darth Strosius Darth Virelia

She watches as her employer shows off rows of chilled drinks with a zesty flair, Vakhari only staring blankly at all of the options. The girl kneels, looking over each to inspect the finer details... It was all- Hm..

Unamused, she takes a stand again.

"Are you suggesting that I operate on valued machinery while drinking alcohol?"

While she herself had no fear of accidents, it would never be a good image to be drinking while painting works of art.. Disgraceful even, she wasn't some outer-rim junk welder.

"I think I will just have some water."

She gives a faint nod of her head.​

He pulled His own implement of choice from His robes, an inscribed dagger that had proven itself more than capable for the task at hand.

An action that had caught the attention of their pale garbed guest, soon skittering after Strosius with a keen interest.

"Would you perhaps like some assistance with this? I have applied myself to more than just machinery,"

Her eyes sparked with a fervent enthusiasm, not one of some mindless madwoman- no no, hers shimmered with presence, a pride that aided her words.
​

 

[Darth Virelia]

"To build a throne."

Tag - Vakhari Lutris , Darth Strosius



As the first signs of movement stirred within the deeper levels of the forge—automated lifts hissing to life, power rerouted to the ascension grid—Serina remained perfectly still.

But her eyes were alive.

From the overlook, she watched as Strosius moved with grim ritual down toward the alchemical platform, his heavy stride drawing a silent reverence from the machines around him. The forge itself seemed to acknowledge his authority—not with noise, but with readiness. Servo-arms twisted into new configurations. Power channels throbbed with dull red light. The circular dais meant for binding rituals now pulsed in time with his approach, like a heart resuscitating.

Serina said nothing at first. She didn't have to.

This was the moment she had waited for: the rite before the creation. The space where words became iron, and theory was tested in pain.

Her gaze flicked to the data-feed confirming the suspension release. Subject: Darth Neltriss.

Estimated Resistance Level: High.
Sedation: 40% — Intentionally low.
Pain Index Potential: 87%.

Good.

She allowed herself a slow exhale, just short of satisfaction.

And then, beside her, Vakhari knelt—staring at the drink options as though they were a failed prototype.

"Are you suggesting that I operate on valued machinery while drinking alcohol?"

Serina turned her head slowly, arching one brow.

"Of course not," she replied with the faintest smirk. "I was offering you an opportunity to reflect on the absurdity of existence with anesthetic."

She stepped back from the liquor cabinet and waved a hand. A utility panel in the far wall opened with a soft pneumatic hiss, revealing a chilled water dispenser and a selection of glassware—stark, sterile, practical.

"There. Water, untainted by pleasure. You're welcome."

She returned her gaze to the forge below—just as Vakhari's attention snapped to Strosius, the glint in her eyes unmistakable.

"Would you perhaps like some assistance with this? I have applied myself to more than just machinery."

The words made Serina laugh—not loudly, but with that elegant, low-bodied cadence that suggested genuine amusement. Rare. Valuable.

She stepped to the edge of the overlook and looked down toward the pale engineer, then called to them both:

"Do be careful, Vakhari. He has a well-documented aversion to help."

She leaned her weight slightly against the rail, tone slipping from amused to calculating.

"But... if you have talents beyond tinkering and ice guns, now would be the time to prove them. This is no ordinary bloodletting. The pain extracted here isn't just fuel—it's inscription. If you can enhance that process without interfering with his methodology, I won't stop you."

Then, with a flick of her wrist, she dimmed the overheads, letting the light fall entirely to the ritual ring below. The rest of the forge was now shadowed—quiet, waiting, reverent.

"Just know," she added, voice smoothing into something silkier, darker, "if you disrupt his rhythm, I'll let him feed your soul into the vambrace and see if we can weaponize regret."

The threat was not cruel. Not even harsh.

It was... factual. A conditional offered like any other parameter in a design schema.

She turned back to her console, one arm crossing over the other, her chin tilted slightly down as her eyes resumed their quiet watch over what was to come.

"Begin when ready."

 

[Darth Strosius]

Arranging the tools for the task at hand was a relatively quick process, one that had still occupied His attention despite its ease while the brief discussion of drinks was held by Lady Calis and Lady Korden. He had to agree with the newcomer, the last thing that was needed in such a delicate production was inebriation of any kind. Especially from the one doing technical work on weaponry that He would have to integrate into the armor itself, having a cryogun explode in His hands was far from ideal.

Darth Strosius paused His examination of His implements at the question, tilting His back to regard Lady Korden with what must have been a look of surprise hidden beneath His mask. A laugh was drawn from their commissioner at that, the warning that followed making Him roll His eyes. Clearly Lady Calis had read far too many propagandized and scandalous reports of Him from unreliable sources, He was never averse to help. Simply to individuals.

"This process is more art than science, more mystical than technical, but if you wish to lend your aid then I shall not deny it." He shot a quick look, a hidden glare, towards Lady Calis at her threat before gesturing for Lady Korden to approach. A bit of spite would only aid the ritual to come after all. "This is not about torture, this is about extraction. The subject is container, a vessel of power that can be transferred with the proper methodology and tools at hand. A proper alchemist will always let their own fuel flow into their creations as well of course, but that will come after we have gotten all that this one has to offer."

His words were meant to both entice further interest but also clearly establish expectations and limits for the process to come. He wasn't certain what experience if any Lady Korden might have had with the Sith arts before and as such starting with some basic concepts would fit for the moment. He intended to perform most of the work, but if she wanted to get more involved then He'd leave room for her to do so. At least here in the initial stage, when it came time to actually assemble it all together He would take full control once again for the sake of safety and completion.

Neltriss was seemingly still shaking off the suspension when he was brought to the forge, perhaps even dealing with some mild case of hibernation sickness given how out of it he was initially. His gaze was unfocused, what little movements that could be made in his restraints were sluggish and stiff, no heed at all was paid to the gleaming tools arranged around him. No matter, he would be brought to his senses soon enough. "First we will need to ensure that our implements are primed for the upcoming forging. This subject will mostly be used for that purpose alone."

Darth Virelia / Vakhari Lutris

 

[Vakhari Lutris]

Tags: Darth Strosius Darth Virelia ​

"if you disrupt his rhythm, I'll let him feed your soul into the vambrace and see if we can weaponize regret."

Vakhari squints at Serina, the threat- be it serious or a joke did not sit well with the girl. She had already dealt with countless insults and fools making assumptions about what she could and couldn't do. But, it always did accomplish one thing- a burning fire inside of the agitated architect that craved to prove them all wrong.

And so, she turns up her nose at the very notion that she wouldn't be acceptable for such a task. Face powdered with a tint of agitated red as she took her position with Alisteri.

As he got the implements ready, Vakhari would begin her own preparations. Taking a vial of blood off her belt before trickling it in a crude circle around the ritual target, further refining the circle with her gloved finger as it became sharper looking, symbols in ur-kittât being painted within this first ring.

The pale woman takes out a plain looking tome, opening it. At first the pages held nothing, blank and desolate. Using the blood still on her fingers, she slathers it onto a page- the book coming to life as watery text moved about the pages like waves in the ocean.

"Ruonis!"
Seal!
She speaks in the old Sith language, reaching out her hand as the ring of blood began to glow.

"Itsu!"
Chain!
The ring expands, the symbols leaking as they stretched closer to the target.

"Kots!"
Break!
The tendrils of vitality form into a perfect ritual circle, Vakhari keeps her hand raised. With a twist and a grasp, blood would begin to leak out from the ritual target's nose, the pale woman began to control it with her hand. Siphoning out the vitality of the suffering one as it began to form a floating orb, starting around the size of a baseball. It pulsed with alchemical potency, however it would require enhancing.

"Subject is primed and ready, proceed with the usage of implements while I hold this."

If Alisteri was to begin his own methods, he and Serina would see the orb steadily growing in both size and power.


​

 

[Darth Virelia]

"To build a throne."

Tag - Vakhari Lutris , Darth Strosius



From above, Serina stood still as a statue—one arm resting across her torso, the other curled beneath her chin, her posture regal and unyielding. She watched everything.

The ritual had begun, and the forge obeyed.

Neltriss struggled in the way all prideful men did—slowly, then not at all. His twitching body, still struggling to recall its dignity, became little more than a focal point for the forge's descending will. She could feel it—the slow, grinding gravity of intention being carved into shape. The Circle was awake now. The blood, too.

Then the pale woman moved.

Serina's gaze sharpened as Vakhari stepped beside Strosius—not fumbling, not uncertain, but focused, surgical, as she poured her own blood into the ring. She recognized the sigils instantly—Ur-Kittât, but rendered in a hand that bore nuance and command. And then the book—plain, nondescript, but suddenly alive as the blood fed it.

The chant began.

"Ruonis. Itsu. Kots."

Serina's lips parted slightly, just for a moment, watching the air fracture around the girl's upturned hand as the first rivulet of blood crept from Neltriss's nose. Not gushing. Not splattered. Drawn. Coaxed, shaped, refined.

A trembling orb of dark crimson took form in the air—pulsing, growing, waiting.

At last, a smile.
Small. Precise. But real.

Serina's voice drifted down from the overlook—low and sonorous, the kind of voice meant for cathedrals and executions.

"Immaculate."

It was not flattery. It was appraisal, spoken with the same gravity one might use when identifying a flawless gemstone or watching a perfect military maneuver.

"You move like someone who's done this not once or twice, but a thousand times beneath more demanding masters. You understand that power is refined, not ripped loose." She tilted her head slightly. "And you weren't bluffing about your resume, either."

She gestured lightly, activating a data-feed on the ritual circle from her terminal to monitor the orb's structure, then added, "Continue as you are. If this is the tempo you keep, you'll have a laboratory by the end of the month."

Then her voice quieted again, tone shifting—not colder, not softer. Deeper.

Her gaze dropped to Strosius now, watching him prepare his dagger, watching the ritual unfold beneath hands that had torn open galaxies.

Only then did she speak the name. Like a test. Like a probe.

"Maliphant."

She said it casually—but it struck the air like a whisper of prophecy.

"That's what you called Empyrean. During the Assembly, in the transcript. You said it with venom." A beat. "Not a title. A name. One he abandoned."

She let it linger.

"You never mentioned him to me by that name before. I want to know what it means to you."

There was no challenge in her voice. Only curiosity, sharpened to a surgical point.

The name hadn't meant much at first. But now, as she unearthed more fragments from the imperial archives and stitched together the threads of past betrayals, it had begun to take on weight.

Too many Sith rose without pasts. Too many corpses wore crowns.

And Serina Calis was not in the business of trusting the resurrected blindly.

Especially not when she was building a second skin to outlast all of them.

Her voice again—measured. But this time, just a whisper of heat behind it.

"If I'm going to armor myself against the Emperor's judgment… I want to know the shape of his past. In full."

Her eyes did not move from Strosius.

The orb of blood hovered between them like a silent witness.

 

[Darth Strosius]

Darth Strosius idly ran a gloved finger along the pincers that adorned one of the implements that He was bringing to bear against their subject, making sure that the edges were sharp enough for the task at hand. He looked back at Lady Korden and opened His mouth to continue the brief introduction but paused as He noticed her making preparations of her own. An eyebrow quirked up in surprise at the familiar symbols that she painted in blood, an impressed hum escaping Him when the tome was brought forth and the inscriptions within revealed.

The display of the ring and the coalescence into the orb was watched with a hidden yet unblinking gaze, the wisps that leaked from the back of His robes pulsing and lengthening at the sight before a conscious shrug forced them to recede back to a less noticeable state once more. He clicked His tongue as she announced that she was ready to begin, straightening up slightly and releasing the hold on the pincers that He had maintained throughout.

Neltriss was wide awake and struggling by now, but none of that movement could break His attention on the orb and its wielder for the moment. Lady Calis's remark was what finally broke His own brief stupor. "Forgive my assumptions of your inexperience, let us begin in earnest then." With dagger in one hand and a tool that was normally used for metal pressing, He set upon Neltriss with what was initially a clinical incision. One that quickly became a rough and hateful stab the moment that Lady Calis spoke up once more in a name that summoned only spite from Him.

The unprofessional movement did draw forth a more potent power from the task at hand however, one that only continued to leak into the orb and implements as the dagger was removed and replaced with a tool with no sense of care nor mercy by their wielders. "It means nothing." Venom and wrath flowed freely from the masked man just as blood and pain did from the restrained one. "Just as its bearer is nothing. If you want a full history on the corpse that dares give orders then you must ask one of his sycophants, but I can tell you the only parts that matter."

Just as He did before, Darth Strosius plunged the dagger and removed it with a twist only to replace it with the pincers that He had been inspecting before. "Maliphant meant nothing to me until the wretch known as the Worm dared to lay claim to Holy Korriban, dared to rebel against the Tenth Sith Empire and make a throne for itself that it did not deserve. One not carved from imperial might or strength but simple cowardice and betrayal." A process that was repeated as punctuations to His words.

"Maliphant served the Worm, just another pitiful groveler at the feet of a usurper. A role that he maintained until the Worm was finally put to an end on their hidden world of Odavessa. Another more blessed day I have yet to live through." Just as the implements were tools of metal the dagger was a tool of hatred. A release of emotion and tension with each slice that it made. "From that day on however, just as I thought the Sith Eternal and their heresy would finally be extinguished, Maliphant became Empyrean. And Empyrean sought to become what the Worm never could. A Sith Emperor."

One carving after the previous and then so on, one inserted implement after another, from one memory to the next. "Just as his predecessor did he built a throne of lies and pretention and bid all the cowards to bow before it. Too many did, so that the rest would fall in line all the same. Ophidia made the mistake of supporting him so that the Kainate could be cowed with their combined forces rather than striking them both down while they still tore at one another. It was her final mistake, but one that haunts us all even now."

Darth Strosius plunged the dagger once more, fangs gritted together as His wings extended to their full length in the presence of the alchemical power that seeped from the deed. "Maliphant was the body that became the corpse, Empyrean is the lie that the corpse matters. A lie that began with a Worm reaching for a station that it could never be worthy of. One act of betrayal led to another, one coward beget the next, and now the Sith Order is built on a lie that should have been forgotten on Odavessa all because of one decrepit decaying body. Maliphant." He only noticed that Neltriss had expired from his wounds sometime during His recollection when He pulled His dagger back for the final time, pausing briefly to recompose Himself before He began extracting the now bloodied and empowered implements from the body before them.

Darth Virelia / Vakhari Lutris

 

[Vakhari Lutris]

Tags: Darth Strosius Darth Virelia

Their conversation was.. Interesting to say the least. Such is the way of the Sith, their was almost always someone craving who you are. Was she one to look down upon such disgustingly poisonous jealousy? No, not at all! The aspiring Rhandite knew down within her core that is suit of armor she was helping build would result in nothing more than amplifying Serina's greed and desire to destroy in order to climb the arbitrary ladder.

And as for the hooded one? His anger for the being 'Maliphant' and thus Empyrean was something she listened in to with a deep satisfaction, the girl drinking in the passions of the two as she manipulated the now full orb of enriched blood into the implements that Darth Strosius had seeped his own power into.

They glowed with a primeval that was commonly sought after to forge the grandest tools, with Vakhari's eyes hazing over as a dual force danced within the girl.

Letting out a deep breath she would return to normal, glancing over to Darth Virelia .​

"You move like someone who's done this not once or twice, but a thousand times beneath more demanding masters. You understand that power is refined, not ripped loose." She tilted her head slightly. "And you weren't bluffing about your resume, either."

"Meeting the ever expanding expectations of the lady of nightmare did indeed aid in my ability, along with the perfectionism of the Necrotechs... They would not enjoy your energetic attitude."

Vakhari jests before continuing on.

"Right.. you both are not sycophants of the being with many names, lady of nightmare, obsidian dragon. Keres- Yesss.. Lady Keres."

She taps at her mask-covered chin, moving on to more important things.
​

"Forgive my assumptions of your inexperience, let us begin in earnest then."

"Assumptions are an amazing thing, a lot of people assume, it is only natural Darth Strosius."

The pale woman tilts to the side, striking a curious pose as her hand remained on her covered chin. Looking Strosius up in down in a way that could be interpreted as 'flirty', yet this was not the case despite how it would look.

"Wings? A curious creature, if I must be honest I would adore to see more."

Her words fell into the selfsame possible assumption as her previous actions, yet their real meaning was much less pretty.

​

 

[Darth Virelia]

"To build a throne."

Tag - Vakhari Lutris , Darth Strosius



Serina had not spoken for some time, not in the way one usually meant it. Her body did the talking—coiled forward in her chair, elbow resting lazily against its arm, a single clawlike fingertip slowly dragging across the curve of her jawline in satisfaction as she watched Strosius descend upon Neltriss like a surgical storm. Each blow, each incision, each jagged removal was part of something larger. Not brutality. Not vengeance. But invocation. And through it all, the altar-born rhythm of Vakhari's rites swirled and twisted around him in an obscene harmony, the power growing not only from pain—but from poise.

"Wings," Serina repeated, her voice warm and entertained, as though savoring the syllables on her tongue. "I was wondering when you'd show them."

The red glow of the forge glinted in her eyes like predatory flame. She was very, very pleased.

"That…" she said after a long, contemplative silence, her voice slinking through the air with the sensuality of silk drawn across glass, "was beautiful."

She did not smile, not truly. The corners of her mouth curled with something more elusive. Pride, perhaps. Lust, perhaps. A predator watching two of her species perform the ancient mating dance of genius and power. This was why she chose them. This was why no amount of hired labor or court-appointed overseers would do.

"You're both wasted on your titles," she mused, dragging one leg over the other in a lazy tangle of robes, "One should never be remembered by how they dress or whom they served, but by what they create. This…" she gestured with one gloved hand toward the still-glowing tools, the cooling body, the ritualized siphon of blood and spirit, "will outlive us all."

Her gaze flicked to Vakhari. "And you—I don't say this lightly—but you work like a creature born in a higher century. Not simply talented. Instinctive. That's the difference. The clever can be taught. The instinctive must be found."

"If you ever want a full lab and all the funding in the world, all you need to do is ask."

Then her attention shifted back to Strosius with a slow, deliberate turn, a reverent silence as her eyes drank in the subtle details: the blood, the calm, the repressed fury behind every motion. Her tongue barely grazed her bottom lip in idle thought before she spoke again—this time lower, inquisitive.

"You mentioned… the Worm. Ophidia. Maliphant." Her voice hardened only slightly on the last name. "But what of Darth Arcanix?"

The name lingered in the forge like incense, slowly curling into the silence that followed.

"Some say she's a coward. Others say she's the next Sorzus Syn. A hundred threads, and I can't find their knot." Serina's fingers curled beneath her chin, contemplative. "I don't want gossip. I want your truth. You called Maliphant a lie. Then what is she?"

Serina didn't rush him. She let the question breathe, eyes half-lidded as she tilted her head back and inhaled the lingering scent of scorched alchemy, of old blood and burnt ozone. The forge crackled in the quiet between them. Somewhere, Neltriss's corpse twitched in its bonds, the last residue of soul wrung from it like wine from a pressed fruit.

"I ask," Serina continued at last, "I ask because I don't know if she ever wanted to be an Emperor, or an Empress, or anything at all. She just seems content on making my life miserable."

Her smile returned, but it was sharper this time. Thinner. "I cannot predict a woman who has not even declared herself. And I do so hate what I cannot see."

With an elegant motion, she rose from her seat. The red shadows of the forge danced over the high collar of her coat as she stepped down toward the workshop floor, her boots whispering across metal as if afraid to echo. She passed Vakhari with a brush of her fingers across the pale woman's shoulder—nothing more than a silent gesture of appreciation—and came to stand near the central slab where the bloodwork had been done.

"We are sculpting something here," she said softly, "not just armor. A body. A mind. A future. I need to know what mold to reject."

Her gaze locked again with Strosius.

"Empyrean is the lie. The Worm was the shame. But what of the Archivist?"

The way she said it—Archivist—gave the word weight. She wasn't merely fishing for opinion. She was trying to categorize Darth Arcanix within her schema of enemies, peers, and tools.

"I only make this offer of curiosity to those whose truths I consider worth building upon."

A flicker of genuine pleasure followed the line, masked only partially by her usual distance. The truth was, Serina enjoyed this. Not just the creation of a weapon, but the creation of a conversation between people like them—thinkers, devourers, architects of future shadows. This, more than blade or throne, was her element.

A place where words were sharper than steel.

And where silence meant death.

She waited.