Private Repeating History

[Darth Virelia]

"Credits, oh credits..."

Tag - Lodd Grimmin



The air in the factory was thick with a scent older than war—dust, metal, oil, and purpose. Beneath Geonosis's blasted surface, within the skeletal remains of what had once been Confederacy might, the old bones had been reanimated. Not as ghosts, but as tools. Instruments. Soldiers.

They marched in silence.

Down the spine of the reawakened complex, flanked by retooled assembly arms and molten-track forges, rows upon rows of SRV-17 Adaptive Tactical Enforcers stood in waiting. Each gleamed with fresh black plating and seethed with violet underlight—hulking, insectile silhouettes cast in monolithic formation, awaiting a voice to justify their rebirth. They did not need loyalty. They were loyalty. Not programmed to obey—but shaped to belong.

And at the apex of that assembly line, motionless as the throne she'd yet to build, stood Darth Virelia.

A pillar of obsidian wrought into feminine terror. She moved like dusk incarnate: slow, inevitable, beautiful in the way avalanches were beautiful—deliberate, divine, and entirely lethal.

The segmented hem of her cloak dragged across the permacrete like a veil of execution. Her helm caught the flickering light of the forges in its faceted lenses, six violet eyes scanning the floor below with predatory grace. Machines parted for her without signal. Workers looked, once, then away, as if the very act of meeting her gaze might drag their will into orbit around her gravity.

She stopped at the main platform—a spire of command rising above the factory's heat-slicked heart.

Behind her, the SRV-17 units stood at parade rest, like statues awaiting animation. Their glowing photoreceptors dimmed and pulsed in time with the factory's core cycle. Each one was a prototype she had named. Not numbered. Named.

She did not build armies.

She built instruments of symphony. Dissonance given form.

Two years ago, these foundries had been cold. She had found them gutted, desecrated by time and irrelevance, a tomb of unfulfilled ambition. She had not mourned. She had reengineered. With War Marshal Helix 's nanite sorcery and her own alchemical rituals, she had resurrected the bones of the Confederacy not as servants—but as sovereigns. Her sovereigns.

She could feel it. The rhythm. The precision. The inevitability.

The Velgrath had begun in name. But the war was already over. She had ended it in silence, long before her rivals ever chose their colors. They chased battles. She bred outcomes.

Virelia stood with hands clasped behind her back, Tyrant's Embrace humming softly at her shoulders, the glow of its rune-threaded seams tracing her spine like a burning sigil of authorship. Her thoughts were not on glory, nor power, nor war.

They were on design.

The Fourth Legion was not a prize. It was a fuse.

She would take it, not as a general, but as a catalyst. A visible proof of her will, to be grafted into her greater network. By the time the galaxy saw her victory, it would be too late to stop it. Armies would follow her not out of loyalty—but inevitability. A tyrant does not win. She is obeyed.

Her commlink flickered once—an encoded Trade Federation handshake. The delegate was inbound.

Below her, the assembly line trembled as a fresh wave of droids locked into formation, freshly cast from the reactivated furnaces of war. Their violet optics flared to life, one by one, like stars igniting in reverse.

Soon, the delegate would arrive.

And they would understand.

That the game had never started.
That the Velgrath was already over.
That the opportunity to invest in an inevitability was before them.

 

[Lodd Grimmin]

Darth Virelia

Lodd had been observing the Trade Federation's investments in Sith Space for an extended period and had identified a troubling pattern of merely breaking even rather than generating a considerable profit. This problem could be attributed to economic stagnation, as the conflict with the Galactic Alliance had not advanced significantly beyond a few minor campaigns.

The Neimoidian found it necessary to question the reasons behind this occurrence and ultimately concluded that the Sith Legions were present more for entertainment than for actual combat. They served as a status symbol for those who were too incompetent to cross the Rubicon and proclaim themselves as the Dark Lord of the Sith and the Emperor of the order.

Empyrean was astute in this regard; however, as a war-profiteer who depended on forming agreements to finance both sides of the conflict, this strategy was beginning to have unfavorable repercussions for him.

He was hopeful that the summons he received from Darth Virelia would help alleviate the problem though her rotten nature and reported spoiled attitude was something that brought him ill-feelings.

Seated in a mechno-chair, the Trade Monarch would offer a low bow in respect but no further for they were not the likes of Darth Carnifex or Empyrean who demanded more demonstrations of good faith.

"Aaaah, Darth Virelia. We are honored that you have summoned us here." The Neimoidian said before continuing.

"What do you require from the endless boon of the Trade Federation beyond your stronghold of Polis Massa."

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Credits, oh credits..."

Tag - Lodd Grimmin


For a moment, she said nothing.

Then, with a turn of her taloned heel, Darth Virelia descended the wide steps of the command dais—not quickly, not theatrically, but with that fluid, predatory cadence that turned attention into obsession. Tyrant's Embrace whispered with each step, its black plating reflecting the harsh industrial lights in sharp edges and elegant curves.

When she spoke, her voice was velveted steel—low, sonorous, not so much heard as felt behind the ribs.

"Monarch Lodd," she said, inclining her head with genuine respect. "You honor me with your presence. This galaxy rarely rewards foresight. But I do."

She gestured out across the assembly lines.

"I do not ask for a handout. Nor a bribe. I ask for partnership."

Her six glowing eyes narrowed.

"The Velgrath is not merely a competition of brute strength. It is a crucible of perception. Most who enter believe it is about power. Territory. Prestige. But those are illusions. Ephemeral. What truly matters is inevitability. I am not here to win the Velgrath. I am here to end it."

She stepped closer now, the violet light from her armor reflecting in the gleaming red of Lodd's optics. Her voice dipped into silk-smooth diplomacy, layered with just enough gravity to match the room's scale.

"The Fourth Legion will fall into my hands not because I crush my rivals… but because I will leave them no alternative. When they reach for allies, they will find only shadows. When they beg for resources, they will find debt. When they raise their banners… they will realize they are already surrounded."

She let the silence stretch—long, thick, like the edge of a guillotine.

"In exchange for your support, I offer three gifts."

She raised one hand, clawed fingers poised like a queen bestowing tribute.

"First. Exclusive rights. Every world taken under the banner of the Fourth Legion—every outpost, colony, and sphere of influence—shall open only to the Trade Federation, its subsidiaries and the other companies that support my bid. Your competitors will be… steered elsewhere. Quietly."

She raised a second finger.

"Second. Input. Not mere presence, but voice. You will be part of the economic restructuring strategies of the occupied territories. You will help shape the systems that funnel wealth through those veins. I offer you not just contracts, but authorship."

And finally, her third finger.

"Third. Protection. The Fourth Legion, under my authority, will act not only as a tool of conquest… but a shield. The Federation's enemies—pirate princes, radical alliances, rogue guilds, factions outside the Sith—shall find themselves intercepted, suppressed, or eradicated before their threats reach your boardrooms. I will not waste soldiers on foolish posturing. I will invest them in the safeguarding of our mutual profit."

Her hand lowered.

"In short, I offer you what this galaxy has not delivered in decades: predictability. Opportunity without instability. War that is meaningful. Peace that is engineered. An empire that remembers why the Sith were feared—not because they destroyed, but because they decided."

Another pause.

Then she stepped beside him, letting her voice drop to a whisper meant only for his ears.

"I will not waste your time with empty rituals. You are not here to be flattered. You are here because the numbers demand it. I will provide results. You will provide resources. And when the others awaken to what we've built, it will already be too late."

The march of the SRV-17s thundered once, perfectly synchronized—just enough to punctuate the deal.

She turned her head slightly.

"Well, Monarch Lodd. Shall we discuss the future?"

 

[Lodd Grimmin]

Darth Virelia

The Neimoidian was not expecting such directness from a Dark Lord of the Sith, as he had arrived fully prepared to engage in a series of negotiations until both parties reached a mutually satisfactory conclusion, with the Trade Federation benefiting in some manner.

He had received numerous reports regarding this new Governor of Polis Massa from his acquaintance in Elane II of Kuat , who managed the Sith-Imperial Banking Clan, indicating that she was completely inept in economic matters; however, in this moment, that no longer appeared to be the case.

Did her proposal make logical sense? Indeed, but the crucial question remained whether the entire offer was truly equitable for the Federation. This was the fundamental issue, as each component of her statement was meticulously dissected and analyzed, with calculations being performed on the figures presented.

"Your proposals are sound on the surface, Darth Virelia. But they bring unanswered questions and potential loopholes that we must address before any signature crosses the datapad." The Neimoidian said with his usual politeness before continuing.

"You offer exclusive rights to every world taken by your legion. What if these worlds are economically barren, strategically insignificant or heavily damaged by reckless conquest and the nature of uncontrollable troops who will raid and loot homes with much needed workers. I will not have our company be saddled with exclusive access to unprofitable ventures, diverting resources from far more lucrative opportunities. You have provided no guarantee of the quality or economic viability of these new markets." Lodd explained with an even handed gesture, making a fair point that the Dark Lady had promised exclusive rights without mentioning the more economic aspects that might affect their bottom line.

"Secondly, you offer input and authorship in economic restructuring. While that sounds good on paper, input can mean many things from an advisory capacity or full fledged decision making authority. Will the Trade Federation have a veto power or merely a seat at the table begging for scraps while you have the final say. Additionally, you wish to establish an empire and if you for instance want to raze a world to the ground that would directly conflict with our business interests. Who will take precedence in such a decision." Lodd asked with a glance up from his mechno-chair. Wanting to know if the conglomerate would get more than a seat at the table and if their interests conflicted with one another who would have the power.

"Thirdly, the proposal states that you will provide protection from pirates, radical alliances, rogue guilds and factions outside the sith. This strong implies that you will not offer protection from threats originating from within the Sith, such as from rival Legions. Given the instability of sith relations this is a massive burden on the Federation and a significant risk. And what if the Fourth Legion fails to provide this protection, is there a form of compensation or recourse for the Federation to recoup our losses, you have offered no guarantees on that." The Neimoidian finished his inquiry for the moment wanting the Dark Lady to answer his questions and get the idea that the Federation was full of businessmen and women who could easily find faults with any agreement such as this and negotiate for better terms.

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Credits, oh credits..."

Tag - Lodd Grimmin




The stillness in the cavernous hall was absolute—save for the hum of droid forges and the measured exhalations of the colossal ventilation stacks, sighing like titanic lungs in the bowels of Geonosis. Darth Virelia did not blink as Lodd spoke. She did not shift, did not interrupt, did not bristle. She simply watched—her six violet eyes glimmering with analytic fire, each microexpression Lodd offered dissected, cataloged, and stored.

This, she had expected. This was why she had summoned Lodd—not a sycophant, but a strategist. A man who saw through ceremony to balance sheets, who understood that loyalty meant nothing unless it could pay quarterly dividends.

The moment he finished, she let a long silence stretch between them like wire—tight, delicate, threatening to sing. Then she moved.

One taloned hand extended, gesturing not toward him, but toward the endless lines of SRV-17s now standing tall in their launch frames. "Good," she said, and her voice was velvet drawn over razors. "Very good."

She stepped forward slowly, a precise spiral of movement, her long cape whispering across the ferrocrete floor like ink spilled on a ledger.

"You are not here to be charmed, Monarch Lodd. You are here to invest. And investment requires scrutiny."

She stopped beside him, her presence a gravitational singularity wrapped in lacquered death. The faceted lenses of her helm turned fully toward him. For a moment, nothing else in the galaxy seemed real.

"Let us address your concerns," she said, and her voice dropped into that rich, compelling resonance that rewrote the air itself.

"First—the quality of worlds."

Her armored fingers extended, drawing a small projector from her waist. With a flick of her wrist, it activated, forming a cascading map of targeted Velgrath expansion zones in midair—worlds along critical trade routes, worlds rich in ore and industry, worlds positioned to break rival Legion lines cleanly in half.

"I do not conquer rubble, Monarch. I do not scorch worlds merely to plant a banner. My Fourth Legion will not be composed of undisciplined raiders or degenerate warlords. They will be droids—precision-built, alchemically reinforced, and psychologically programmed for compliance, not carnage."

She turned slightly, her voice sharpening like a scalpel.

"They will not genocide. They will not loot. They will not pillage. They will hold territory, neutralize resistance, and transition infrastructure intact. Their war is surgical. Their occupation is clinical. And their loyalty is absolute. You will not be asked to invest in smoking ruins, but in stabilized markets primed for integration."

The image flickered again—before and after projections of key systems, with Virelia's forces executing a low-loss seizure of key infrastructure nodes.

"If any world is determined to be unviable, we will rebuild it to be viable. You are not chained to failure. That is not my doctrine. I build inevitability—not risk."

"Second—the board."

She circled behind Lodd now, slow, deliberate, the chime of her talons against the platform floor echoing like punctuation.

"You ask whether 'input' means influence or impotence. I understand." Her tone softened—still dark, but almost amused. "Too many Sith offer partnership, only to smother with one hand while shaking with the other."

A new projection flared in the air beside them—an economic governance model in complex tiers.

"Each company that sponsors the Fourth Legion will have a seat on the Economic Reconstruction and Sovereignty Board—the ERSB. This will not be advisory. It will be operational. Your voice will have weight in every restructuring strategy, from taxation models to industrial redevelopment to cultural asset privatization."

She faced him again.

"There will be votes. You will not be a beggar at my table, Monarch Lodd. You will be seated at its head with the others who see what I see. This is not conquest for glory. It is conquest for continuity. For design."

She paused.

"If a world must be razed… the ERSB will vote. And if the vote fails, I will not proceed—unless the Emperor himself commands it, or I use my very own veto, which would shake the trust in all companies on the ERSB if used, meaning that if I do intend to veto something promoted by the ERSB, I will be the one to suffer the consequences. That is the only limits to your influence. And if you fear even that—"

"Third—protection."

She tapped a new glyph.

A starfield opened between them, constellations twisting until they focused on known Trade Federation assets across neutral and contested zones—supply lines, orbital refineries, hyperlane stations.

"I do not waste troops on ideology. The Fourth Legion will shield your trade fleets from all threats outside the Sith Order. Pirates, anarchists, syndicates, insurgents. You will be guarded by tireless steel and sovereign will."

Her tone chilled.

"As for within the Sith—yes. I will protect your holdings from all who bear the title of Sith… save one. The Emperor."

She lifted her head then, unapologetic.

"I will not insult your intelligence by offering guarantees against him. But I will tell you this: if the Emperor strikes at you, it will not be for trade. It will be for power. And when that day comes…"

A slight hum, as the violet glyphs on her chestpiece pulsed faintly.

"Let's just say the CIS of the Clone Wars is being studied closely by my teams."

She extended her hand at last, open-palmed, without coercion. Not a demand, but an offer.

"And finally—compensation. If the Fourth Legion fails to defend what it has sworn to protect, or if a conquest renders your investment unsalvageable, the ERSB will guarantee recoupment. You will receive exclusive access to equivalent holdings in newly seized space. Your profit will not diminish. It will only delay."

Her voice softened to something perilously close to affection.

"You may calculate risk, Monarch Lodd. But I calculate design. And I have written you into the shape of the future."

She leaned in slightly, her helm lowering.

A single beat passed. Then her voice lowered one last octave, vibrating like silk drawn across steel.

"Shall we draft the contract?"

 

[Lodd Grimmin]

Darth Virelia

The Neimoidian had rather low expectations; however, Darth Virelia was demonstrating her capabilities as a formidable businesswoman. Could she genuinely compete with him in a direct business negotiation? That was certainly out of the question, yet her replies to his inquiries were sufficiently adequate to alleviate any lingering concerns he had.

The proposal was favorable, almost excessively so for the Trade Federation, which inherently contradicted the third rule of business: "never accept an offer where you are not, in part, the loser." This essentially meant that one should never agree to a deal from the other party if it appears that you are receiving everything you desire and more, without any significant benefit to the other party.

He made sure to write down a series of note on the mechno-chair's datapad to ensure that not a single detail was lost in the heat of conversation.

"You raise several interesting points and have adequately answered my questions with thoroughness if lacking in finer details. Though your eagerness to draft a contract is becoming a point of contention." Lodd expressed significant concern regarding the Dark Lord's strong push for the Trade Federation to draft and endorse the agreement, which was aimed at securing her the Fourth Legion.

This suggested a lack of confidence in her own capacity to establish her powerbase independently, as she never indicated that she could handle it without the conglomerate's support.

"Who else is supporting you in this contest of wills, this 'Velgrath' you speak of. And who are you competing against to secure the Fourth Legion. I will not blindly enter into a partnership without understanding the wider picture." the Neimoidian wanted to gain an understanding of who else within the Sith Empire was involved in this competition for one of its military assets, as his business interests would be jeopardized if any of the other contenders had more influential corporations supporting them.

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Credits, oh credits..."

Tag - Lodd Grimmin




Darth Virelia did not bristle at the Neimoidian's suspicion—on the contrary, she seemed delighted by it.

A low hum spilled from within her mask, like an amused breath half-lost in the modulation of her voice. Not a laugh—no, she was far too composed for that. But it carried the impression of laughter: velvet-edged and warm, like the curl of steam over a chalice of poisoned wine.

Her taloned fingers steepled behind her back, and she turned, slowly, as if orbiting the very axis of her own gravity.

The six violet eyes on her mask gleamed, shifting as though tasting the air. The voice that followed was a perfect admixture of shadowed intrigue and cool rationalism—its cadence precise, yet tinged with unmistakable allure.

"Let us disarm that dilemma, then, and speak not in abstractions, but in names."

She raised one hand, and with a flick of her clawed fingertips, a new holographic projection shimmered into existence. Three figures. Their outlines were distorted at first—deliberately blurred by security obfuscation protocols—before resolving into clarity.

Darth Morta. Darth Strosius. And herself.

"I do not disagree with your hesitation, Monarch Lodd," she said, circling the images like a sovereign making her final choice between rivals. "But you misread my eagerness."

A pause.

"This is not desperation. It is design. I do not intend to enter the Velgrath. I intend to end it. Before it truly begins."

She gestured toward her own image.

"I have no need for glory. I do not seek titles to parade or banners to wave. I seek only momentum. That is why I come to you now—not at the apex of my strength, but before it, to secure what the others will scramble for too late. By the time they make their offers, mine will already be law."

She let that silence stand like a column of iron before moving again.

"You asked who supports me. The Kainite."

The name fell like a stone into water—quiet, but with undeniable ripple.

"I speak not of one upstart or isolated warlord. I speak of the beating heart of our Order's central axis—the faction that even the Emperor himself treats with measured deference. Their backing is not symbolic. It is logistical. Material. Strategic. It is real."

The image of the Kainite insignia shimmered above her gauntlet.

"They know me. And more importantly… I know them. I understand the Order not as a cult of personality, but as a structure—an ecosystem of predators. The Kainite are the apex predators in that system. With them, my legitimacy is not in question."

She turned her head just slightly, addressing him with eerie poise.

"You are the second entity I have approached, Monarch Lodd. That is not oversight—it is orchestration. I want no chaos of a thousand minor voices at my back. I want precision. Clarity. The Kainite, and the Trade Federation. Between them, I have the legitimacy of the Sith and the stability of the market."

Her gaze flicked next to Darth Morta's image.

"My first competitor—Morta—is an internal liability to the Kainite itself. A curious irony, yes. But one I intend to leverage."

She waved a hand and Morta's dossier expanded—redacted fragments of her battles, supply requisitions, financials. A scribbled margin note that read: unsanctioned experimentation.

"She is ambitious. And I respect ambition. But her strength lies not in building—only in consuming. She believes the Velgrath is a prize she can take and use to elevate herself, as all lesser Sith do. In truth, she will fracture under pressure, become a blight to her own allies, and—inevitably—require pruning."

The image shrank.

"And that pruning will fall to me. The Kainite already watches her warily. I will remove her at the perfect moment, and in doing so, consolidate our faction's total alignment behind my banner. She will serve my rise—as a sacrifice."

Then—Strosius.

The projection wavered again, revealing a figure cloaked in theatrical brutality. Reports of raids. Rebellious screeds. An entire datafile labeled "Hostile to Central Authority."

"My other competitor—Strosius—is more dangerous… and more vulnerable."

There was something like genuine pleasure in her voice now.

"He does not play by the rules of the Order. And for that, he is admired—and reviled. The Emperor tolerates him only because he is useful… when he can be controlled."

Her voice dipped, becoming intimate in its insight.

"But control is not Strosius' language. He is chaos incarnate. And that chaos has no allies—only enablers. He will burn through resources, betray corporate allies, break with protocol. He will make noise—and in doing so, invite scrutiny. He is not a threat to me. He is a gift."

The images faded.

"So now, Monarch, you understand the terrain."

She approached him slowly, deliberately, every step weighted with the inevitability of her conclusion.

"You will not be investing in a desperate usurper. You will be shaping the terms of dominion. I have already removed half the opposition from the gameboard by not treating this as a personal contest. The others chase power. I engineer it."

A pause. A breath.

"You asked why I was so quick to draft a contract. The answer is simple."

She leaned close—not enough to threaten, but just enough to remind him that the space between them was hers to define.

"Because I do not intend to play the game."

Her voice was a whisper now, but it struck like a thunderclap.

"I intend to end it. Before they realize it has begun."

She stood to her full height again.

"I am offering you the chance to be not merely a beneficiary, but an architect. To tie the Trade Federation not to a supplicant warlord—but to the new economic order that will shape Sith Space for the next hundred years."

The projection beside them reformed—this time into a simple line graph. A red arrow, ascending sharply from a nexus point labeled Velgrath.

 

[Lodd Grimmin]

Darth Virelia

Lodd paused briefly as Darth Virelia elaborated on her overall strategy to take command of the Fourth Legion and persuade the Trade Federation to back her cause by presenting them with a rather large severance package which to his sharp intellect seemed far too favorable to be entirely genuine.

If it was anyone else that was offering such an agreement he would have signed with no hesitation but a Dark Lord of the Sith was different.

Different in how she seemed to exploit his doubts like a veteran tactician, however her ultimate maneuver would be effortlessly countered by the Neimoidian who took note of her two main competitors in Darth Morta and Darth Strosius, two powerful lords of the Sith but seemingless reckless and unsuited for the task of commanding a legion according to the Darth's assessment.

"Darth Morta and Darth Strosius are formidable opponents for the title of the Fourth Legion, and they are not as careless as you make them out to be. If they were then they would have been destroyed long before your ambition to take the mantle of the Legion, but the fact that they survived up until this point gives me much to think about." The Neimoidian admitted honestly for a change knowing that those who were weak or provided nothing to the order would have been stamped out by the Dark Council by now but the fact that they both remained was testament to their ability to survive.

Survival was the key to the Velgrath in his opinion and Virelia was but one option in this game to support.

"Though you have proved the most suitable candidate for our support at this moment in time, we must talk with the other contenders in order to make a final verdict. Nothing personal..Its just good business..." Lodd leaned in closely following this comment, mimicking her mannerisms before reclining back on the mechanized chair, assured that the message was clear the Federation was not under her control, but rather a formidable entity whose backing for either of the other candidates could swiftly alter the outcome.

"Additionally...Lady Serina Calis. I would temper your mannerisms around me in the future for although the Kainite support you now in the Velgath. A single message from me to Lord Carnifex would easily send your formidable tower falling to the ground for good this time as the Master of the Malsheem needs me far more than they need you." A threat was issued, not one of physical violence but rather one of absolute and total domination.

He was in control of this dialogue and had demonstrated it, pressing a button on his mechanized chair as it vanished into the shadows.