Faction Revelry in the Holy Worlds

[Beau Talon]

Srina Talon | Darth Caedes | Revna Marr | Darth Carnifex | et al​

Isobeau Srina Talon slipped through the riot of light and sound with the same expression one might wear while walking through a funeral procession. The strobing lanterns, the smoke of meats fattened and over-seasoned, the narcotic haze that clung to every reveler, it was all meant to impress, to overwhelm, to drag lesser minds into indulgence. For her, it simply stank of desperation.

The undead glided past her bearing trays of food and crystal, their golden trappings gleaming in the flashing lights. She studied them with the same look one might give a particularly dull school assignment. Death had been repurposed into decoration, a grotesque attempt at pageantry. "How… inventive," she murmured under her breath, tone bone-dry.

She moved steadily through the crowds, pale hair catching the stormlight as she ignored the clamor around her. She hadn't come for feasts or for beast races or to be dazzled by hollow decadence. Her purpose was far sharper: she sought her grand'ante, Srina Talon. Who was on a raised stage, surrounded by... Others.

The air itself seemed to shift when she thought the name, the way it always did when one was about to meet a legend in the flesh. Others might falter or burn with awe in anticipation. Isobeau only straightened her shoulders, unimpressed, determined. If Srina was here amidst this spectacle of vice and smoke, she would find her.

And when she did, she would not arrive as a supplicant, but as blood.

The throne hall of Vardin reeked of excess. Gold, silk, obsidian, all of it drowned in shadow, lit by the cold glow of Sith sorcery and the oppressive weight of power that pressed down like an iron collar. Darth Carnifex loomed among his kin, a titan of dread and cruelty, while other Lords and monsters clustered close, their presence designed to suffocate lesser beings.

Isobeau Talon hardly blinked.

She moved with steady, deliberate steps, the hem of her black robes whispering over stone, pale hair catching in the dim light like frost under moonlight. The oppressive aura of the Sith swirled around her, brushing against her skin like cold knives. She ignored it, her expression unreadable, as if she were walking through a menagerie rather than a court of galactic predators.

Her gaze fixed not on Carnifex, nor on the sycophants and zealots that encircled the chamber, but on the woman at its heart, her grand'ante, Srina Talon, the Empress of the Sith Empire. Revna Marr, Darth Caedes, and others who did not impress Beau much.

When she reached a respectful distance, quietly slipping through the large, overly stocked bodies. She inclined her head, no more than a fraction, her voice calm and cool as she spoke into the silence.

"Grand'ante. My name is Isobeau Srina Talon. I have come to introduce myself." She waited but a moment ensuring she occupied the sole space still left to occupy by her grand'ante, "I am the progeny of your kin, Iuuna Talon."

Not a plea. Not even reverence. Just fact, spoken plainly, as if nothing about the galaxy's most infamous gathering of Sith warranted more than her quiet acknowledgment.

 

[Darth Caedes]

K O R R I B A N

V A R D I N
C I T Y

​

The King sat in silent observation as the Will of the Force moved the world around him. Noise of every kind battered the towers from all angles; drums, alien vocals augmented through tuned synthesizers, cheering, chanting, cries of exultation. Smoke drifted thick across the dais, curling around the bodies of those atop it, low hanging and creeping over the amassed gifts, the gilded cushions. Revna Marr leaned closer in at his side, her voice cutting through the din.

"Quite the display," she observed.​

Caedes' lips curved faintly, though there was little warmth in it.

"He has always known how to make one," he said, quiet, a sharp edge of resentment concealed beneath the words.​

Darth Carnifex had always thrived on spectacle.

The shadow of Gerwald Lechner fell across the throne, his voice rumbling like stone dragged down a mountainside.

"King. Your ritual on Brosi has made its mark. The Imperials thought they came to break us. Instead, they only fed the soil of your victory."​

For the first time since Kaine's arrival, Caedes' expression softened. Encouragement at exactly the right moment, a reminder of the throne he held. His golden eyes met with Gerwald's, and he inclined his head.

"It could not have been done without you, Dread Wolf," Caedes reminded.​

"Let's not forget," he said, straightening his back to sit higher, "that soil is ours because you were there to defend it. We all have part claim to the successes on Brosi. You honor Korriban with your presence."​

He studied the other's face. Though the Wolf fashioned himself a brute, in his way, there was a subtle cunning to him, buried beneath that grim mantle of an executioner.

Movement atop the stairs drew Caedes' attention, directing the Councilor's gaze with his own. There, the Diarchy's senator, Caelus Vire // NIHIL slipped into view. He returned the man's discreet nod with the faintest tilt of his head, then flashed the Wolf with a conspiratorial grin. A flame of private satisfaction warmed in his chest.

Kaine's procession neared the stairs, watched over by the silent and eyeless gazes of the King's linen wrapped Jen'ari. Yet before Carnifex ascended, another figure slipped forward—one from another lifetime, it seemed, and altogether unexpected. Darth Hydra . Memories stirred in Caedes' mind of older times, like murky silt kicked up at the bottom of a river. Memories of the One Sith, Coruscant bowed and broken at their feet, the Empress Matsu Xiangu as his Ruler and Master, and Hydra among their number. A stranger from a time when all the Sith had been gods.

"Hydra," Caedes greeted in surprise, rising only slightly from his cushions.​

"Your Highness," responded the other Sith.​

"Darth Hydra of the Academy," he explained.​

"Yes, of course. Be welcome on our sands," said the King, simultaneously signing the greeting in Korribani handspeak.​

Caedes studied the curious Sith a moment, seeming to consider something. He indicated the coming of Carnifex with his eyes, then returned his focus to Hydra.

"Indeed," he dismissed, diplomatically, "it would be a grave mistake to let such an opportunity for nostalgia pass us by. Seek my First Lord Elmindra Xitaar , or her companion Ufsa'ynth'aris there, they will see you are given chambers within the palace befitting my warmest welcome."​

Hydra nodded his understanding.

"I have no intention of disrupting," he assured.​

"Merely to pay my respects."​

Caedes lowered his voice.

"When this night has run its course, and in the days to come, I would visit with you. To recall days of old among like-company."​

Darth Carnifex mounted the dais then—a giant—his beskar-scale cloak clattering in muted rhythm around him, plundered chests borne aloft by his decraniated servants. He loomed at the apex, larger than life, a titan by any physical standard.

"Empress of all Sith," he intoned, his words directed wholly at Srina Talon .​

"My apprentice Avarice. And my apprentice Artemis Dreadmoor."​

Carnifex's voice rolled on, proud and imperious.

"I return from harrying our foes… At the apex of the battle, I boarded the enemy flagship and forced it into retreat. I bring with me now, the spoils of my endeavors… prisoners in preparation for sacrifice, as is our way."​

Chests clattered before the throne, gaudy with decadence.

"And all of this," he finished with a predatory smile, "I bequeath to you, our indomitable Empress."​

The muscles tightened along the King's Jaw, yet otherwise his composure did not falter. He lifted his goblet, deliberate and slow, and finished its contents. His gaze lingered on Carnifex a moment longer before sliding past and back out into the crowds.

Srina's voice cut through the noise.

"You bring my love to me. How shall I repay you?"​

For a moment, the King's golden eyes narrowed. Absently, his gaze drifted again to Artemis, studying the girl.
Watching, and waiting...

Nearby | Madrona A’Mia Darth Strosius Lunaria Talon​

 

[Skadi Lightbane]

KORRIBAN

___________________________________________________________________​

​

​

Tags​

Aerik Lechner ~ Open​

The taste of victory had called Skadi Lightbane to the ancient and red sand world known as Korriban.

As had the promise of food and drink aplenty when word had reached her that Korriban’s royal capital, Vardin, would be hosting a celebration. Everyone who considered themself a Sith, and who had aided in the victory over the so-called Imperials, was invited. Her kinsmen had done their part - if only to preserve their own status. Except for her; Skadi hadn’t participated in the fight over the Holy Worlds, though her Father and brother had.

But she still felt entitled to take part in this… revelry.

Sneaking off her home planet, without her Father’s notice, had been a challenge, but a welcome one. He of course had noticed just a little too late and tried to hail her ship no doubt to order her home or threaten her…but she just turned off her comms and continued on her merry way. She could deal with him after she’d had her fun.

A couple of short jumps later - and she was descending through the clouds of Korriban. Here, the dark side turned and writhed like some sea serpent of old, and its chill presence made her shudder. What ancient secrets lay buried in its sands? In its tombs? Well - those that hadn’t been plundered and raided a dozen times over.

Were there any tombs left to raid at all, even?

Skadi’s thoughts meandered as she settled the ship down in the busy and somewhat crowded spaceport. She descended the ramp and stepped foot upon Korriban’s surface for the first time in her life, wrapped in leathers and furs that she had handmade herself. At her hip was a sheath, made from mastmot hide, that concealed a dagger she had forged by hand. She bore no other weapons, or so it would appear. Black-brown hair, mid back in length, was braided in two rows on either side of her head before being wrapped together at the back of her head to form a multi-braid ponytail that fell between her shoulder blades. The chilly Korriban air kissed her skin and she breathed deeply its air, laden with the lingering scents of food, drink, musk, and other things she couldn’t name.

A smile curled at her lips and her golden, charcoal lined eyes gleamed with excitement as she set her course towards the vendor laden streets.

The sights and sounds and smells were nearly overwhelming to the young Valkyri woman, but in the best of ways. There were people from all over the place, species and races she’d never seen before…foods that she’d never heard of. Music, both foreign and familiar, filtered into her ears. There were uproars, chants, songs, cheers, shouts…all Skadi could do was make her way through the crowd and take it all in.

Strange, cloth-wrapped and bejeweled creatures carrying trays of drinks and food passed by to her, and after watching someone snag a glass or some edible tid bits, she stepped in to do the same. She grabbed a glass of something that smelled tart, and a handful of what looked like cheeses. At least, she hoped that’s what it was.

One bite of the pale colored cube told her it was cheese, but from what she couldn’t tell. Its flavor was mild and nutty and rather delicious - more than the tangy caraboose milk and cheese she consumed back home on Toola. Next came the drink; it had a distinct sour smell to it, and upon giving it a chug - she promptly spat it out, her face scrunching with her distaste.

It was tart and sweet, though definitely alcoholic. But certainly not for her.

"Ugh...ógeðslegt!”

She set the glass down somewhere, as it was taboo to waste a drink on the ground unless when poured out for a fallen kinsman, and she moved on to look for something else more tasteful. Skadi wondered if this place had beer, or even mead. Oh what she wouldn’t give for a good mug of mead in her hands.

Skadi continued to meander through the streets and open court halls of the royal city, taking in the sights and stopping to watch a group of dancers move their bodies in strange ways to the beat of some sort of strange music that was oddly catchy. She watched for a few moments, before moving on through the crowd, drawn further by the sounds of shouts and cheers - a sound that led her to a fighting ring or pit of some sort, and she soon found herself standing on the sidelines watching in excitement as men, half naked and bloodied, dueled it out for sport and entertainment. Her eyes drifted over this boisterous group…and she recognized similarities between them and her kinsmen back home. It made her quietly wonder who these people were, and why and how they seemed so similar.

The young Valkyri woman scanned the nearby tables lined with various treats and drinks, and spied a barrel with mugs and drinking horns nearby. Curious hope lit up her eyes as she made her way over, grabbing a mug to fill from the barrel. The liquid inside was dark and somewhat frothy - a promising sign - and the taste confirmed her hopeful suspicions. It was a well aged stout of some sort; flavorful and bold; she found herself a lounging perch nearby, content to watch the men beyond wrestle and trade blows. It reminded her of home - a strange notion, considering she was far from Toola.

The desire to press onward however, soon overcame her and she was once more on the move. This time, however, Skadi found herself climbing up a spiraling staircase to a platform above the sea of bodies to a balcony that overlooked the crowds, and gave her a breathtaking view of her surroundings. Up here, the air was cooler, and she found herself relaxing a bit more as she leaned against the railing. She glanced around herself, noticing that she wasn’t the only one on the balcony, her eyes lingering on the form of a young man that stood several paces away - but she made no move to interact with anyone, not immediately anyway.

Skadi turned her golden eyes out towards what looked like the start of some great event; individuals seemed to be riding aside great beasts that fought for control over their handlers. A man, if one could call him that, held a black and white checkered flag in one hand. His voice, stronger than what he appeared to look, rang over the gathered crowds to initiate some sort of race. The Valkyri took a deep drink from her mug, amusement plain upon her face as a thought drifted through her mind:

This should prove entertaining…hopefully it's worth the wrath of my Father.

 

[Leshanna Dromar]

TAGS:
Spirit of Korriban // Naamino Zuukamano // Haro Aven // Varin Mortifer // Lodd Grimmin // Glissara // Maiza Vex
​

Leshanna could feel tension coil within her maelridae mount; though sightless, the creature had an uncanny knack of knowing exactly where everyone was…including her, still astride its back. The lethal bladed tipped tail swayed and arched dangerously behind and over its back, and Lesh kept a wary eye on it. What little control she had at the moment, was the only thing saving her from being slashed and stabbed from behind. It was tempting to give in to fear…but something warned her that the moment she did, this creature would rip her to shreds.

And so she forced an air of confidence over herself, gave the reins firm and undeniable jerks whenever the creature growled a little too loudly at others nearby. She’d never ridden a Sithspawn before, never really been around them except for the various plant Sithspawn that Master A’Mia had her work with in her labs. This was a whole new experience, and it was utterly exhilarating.

Just as she expected them to be, her boys were surprised by her presence there. A confident and almost cocky smirk tugged at her lips as Naamino observed her, even complimented her, before his attention was drawn to Haro. Before anything else could be said or done, however, Darth Thaliax made his appearance, and a silence fell over the gathered racers and the growing crowd.

Tension now filled Leshanna, and her wicked looking steed seemed to echo that, its tail flicking from one side to the other in a sharp and tense fashion. Another growl rumbled through the monstrous beast, and she laid a hand on black armored hide. She wasn’t sure if something like it could feel a connection to another being, but she tried to use the Force as some sort of influence over it, to share the intention of her mind with it.

Darth Thaliax started off with what he probably figured to be a pre-race inspirational message, though it came off more like a funeral dirge. The checkered flag unfurled in his hand, and Lesh leaned slightly forward in her seat, gripping the reins tightly in her hands.

“RACERS!” he called out over the din. “...On my mark! ....Get set….”

Leshanna’s heart began to race wildly in her chest, as she waited for that flag to drop.

“...GO!”

As soon as the flag dropped...all Hell broke loose as the crowd roared, the sound thunderous and near deafening. The two Adars, Zafira with Naamino and the one that Varin rode, were instantly launching into the air and taking off, their great wings stirring sand and dust. Nearby, a rancor with its rider began a destructive start through the vendor stalls and various buildings.

The movements and noise and whatever else, seemed to rather disturb her maelridae, and the creature shrieked with fury and whirled around in a tight circle, trying to dislodge her. The girl gritted her teeth as the 9 foot tall and long Sithspawn did its best to both skewer her with its bladed tail and rip her off its back with its razor sharp teeth. She jerked viciously on the reins, and had to fall back on the dark side and press her own will against its beastial mind. Sapphire blue eyes flickered golden yellow as the Apprentice bared her teeth in a silent snarl:

You will obey me. Now Go!

With great reluctance, the Sithspawn relented, but Leshanna could tell that the fight to maintain control over it was far from over. Its attempt to kill her had cost her dearly in the race, but there was hope yet. The course was long and dangerous, and there was no guarantee that any of the others would finish at all.

RACE ROLL: 2 (-2 for rolling under 7 on the maelridae):
TOTAL: 0
​

 

[Maiza Vex]

Theme: The Animal
Equipment: Mask | Hide Armor | Home made Leather Boots
Tags: Naamino Zuukamano | Varin Mortifer | Haro Aven | Lodd Grimmin | Glissara | Leshanna Dromar | Spirit of Korriban

---

​

The Rancor grumbled impatiently as the other races started to approach the starting line. Maiza reached out with her hand rubbed the head of the Rancor to calm it, as her golden eyes peered out from her mask at all those who joined the race.

First a green man Lodd Grimmin on a shadow rancor bejeweled shiny gaudy bobbles. Decadence taken to disgusting extreme, the rancor he road on deserved better as it came to the line ready to race. Yet the Neimoidian toad was not her main concern as she turned her head and saw him approaching.

She sneered under her mask, as she saw the prideful Naamino Zuukamano coming up on his Adar. The man who had beat her face in with his unbridled rage, the man that had destroyed her and as consolation prize thought his respect would heal the wounds he beat into her. No, he killed what Maiza was, striped her down to nothing.

Riding in like he like he was something, his cohorts Leshanna Dromar and Haro Aven not far behind him. Those that stood in the crowd cheering his name, that congratulated him for destroying another Zabrak….no she was not that just a mutt a half-blood nothing he had proved that. She hated them all, but it seemed he had lost other cohorts no longer apart of his tribe or perhaps in the crowd still she was surprised they weren't all her flocking to him blindly.

She then took a brief glance Varin Mortifer upon his Adar wondering who this man was. He must have come after her time but a badawan just the same. He would meet the same fate as the others in time. Though she thought to herself for moment perhaps she would take mercy on him for he was not one of those that shamed her. No he was sith, they did not show mercy so neither would she.

Then she saw a strange woman who had actually arrived before the others, she had no mount. Maiza quirked a brow beneath her mask, she wasn't aware this was also a foot race. She just stared at Glissara wondering what the hell was going on at this race exactly. Did they just let anyone in? Well they did let her in so probably was the case. Hopefully she didn't do anything tricky like force teleport to win. She just gave Glissara a nod in a way she respected the boldness that and she had no history or history interwoven with the woman that she was aware of.

Soon they were all at the line and the countdown began and the announcer barked.

"On my mark…" Maiza's hand slipped to the side of her Rancor. "Get Set….." Maiza leaned down over the Rancor's head. "Go…." She Tapped the side of the rancor lightly.

She let Naamino Zuukamano take flight and go off ahead of her as the rancor just charged ahead like a bat out of hell. Maiza whispered into it's ear caringly. "Let's catch our prey!" The rancor plunged forward at first behind Naami as he flew above and then the Rancor pushed further and faster it's titan legs slamming against the city pavement. As it passed underneath the Adar, Maiza looked up and behind she pulled the wooden mask from her face to reveal herself to her enemy. She then turned the mask sideways and moved it across her throat in throat slitting movement then let a cruel little smirk cross her face. as the Rancor slammed on forward ahead of the pack at the moment.

(Actual roll is 18 due to the Shadow Rancors con.)

(Sabotage Naamino Zuukamano with dread of what Maiza might do to him for her revenge, -1 on his next roll)

 

[Madelyn Lowe]

Objective 1
Attire
Allyson Locke
[Open] ​

"You know we don't have to make an appearance,"

Madelyn rolled her eyes, but the way she paused and stared momentarily at Allyson betrayed the fact that she was genuinely considering the proposition. Wouldn't it be nice to have an evening just to themselves, after all these weeks of late nights and stress and worrying about the war? Maybe Madelyn could convince Allyson to linger on Korriban for a few days, to push back whatever her next assignment was. They were certainly both due some reconnection.

She leaned in close to return the kiss, hands finding Allyson's waist as the spy's wrapped around the small of her back. Madelyn closed her eyes and sighed with relief, the last of the tension melting from her body. The temptation to desert the festivities grew stronger, but she ignored it. A paragon of Order such as herself could not allow herself to fall for such selfish temptation, not publicly at least. She broke away and reluctantly released her paramour

Madelyn Lowe had a reputation to uphold.

"While I do admire your enthusiasm, agent." said Madelyn slyly. "I'm afraid we have a sacred responsibility to celebrate our recent victory."

Madelyn smirked and waved over a waiter, retrieving a drink of something bubbly and clear for herself and Allyson. She also helped herself to another dose of spice in a pewter-coloured glass vial, which she tipped back and washed down with a long swig from her drink. Yes. A reputation to uphold.

"Come on, Ally." Madelyn said breezily. "We're winners. Let's sample the local delicacies. We'll mingle and let our hair down, mm?" Madelyn's hand rose to touch her elaborately braided hair secured by golden pins. "Well, figuratively."

Madelyn raised her hands up in a lazy stretch, fabric of her dress pulling taut. She gave Allyson a knowing smile.

"And then," said Madelyn, "you will have my utmost attention, for as long as you like."

She tapped the bottom of the vial with a finger, the last of the reddish spice falling onto her tongue. She turned back to Allyson.

"Oh, by the way. I got your message on Brosi, but I couldn't make heads or tails of it." said Madelyn. "What was it that was so important that you needed to encode it, even on SI-NET?" Madelyn was trying to keep the tone light, but there was an edge of concern in her voice, worried as she was that Allyson had been in trouble, and Madelyn had failed to act.

 

[Ayiaz]

Objective I:
Ascendent Revelries
Lysander von Ascania
​

Zaiya's brows knit, her head giving the faintest shake as though she couldn't quite believe the words coming out of his mouth. Him, joking about quips and eyeliner here of all places. Her stripes betrayed her in restless flickers, the edges of her mottled spots flashing silver with nerves, yellow flicked stormy greys shimmering in exasperation, and faint light blue curling at her throat with something softer she tried to smother.

"You're impossible," she muttered, her voice catching against the weight pressing in her chest. "You send me food coded distress signals and then make fun of me for nearly blinding myself with eyeliner? Rude!"

Even so, as Lysander was guidng her away from the main hall, the cloud of spice laced air, the distant muffled chanting, and powerful lingering effects of the combined occupants saturated in the Dark Side of the Force -- undead and living alike -- all clawed at her focus, She ducked her head beneath her hood, letting him walk her deeper into the shadows, clinging to the tether of his hands at her shoulder and the one she still held with her fingers.

"No," she said softly, her voice steadier than she felt. "I crossed the galaxy to help you...save you."

Not that they both may need a little saving. She had thought this out on a whim and by the seat of her pants, so-o... things were not thoroughly planned out. But she thought on her feet, and if Aris could sneak into the Sith Empire plenty of times to figure things out regarding his Grandfather, then she could at least do this to help get Lysander out, too.

But the longer he spoke, the more his hand lingered in hers, the harder it became to ignore what lay beneath the words. And when the tall blonde murmured that she deserved answers, Zaiya couldn't help how her breath caught. Her shields faltered in the haze of spice and incense, her resonance spilling outward despite herself. That resonance picked it up in ripples, tugging at the emotions he didn't name -- a shadow threaded beneath the humor, something that felt tight, heavy, and coiled.

Zaiya didn't press or name it, but her colors betrayed her all the same. Silver wavered over her arms with unease, while muted amber bled faintly through, pulled by the storm she sensed beneath his surface. But even then, the bubble between them was filled with threads of both their emotions, woven too closely to tell apart. She knew not everyone welcomed that kind of connection, and yet... she couldn't seem to pull away.

Didn't lie. Just didn't say it. You still don't see it.

Maybe not. But Zaiya did her best to try not to judge someone solely by what showed on the surface. She remembered Naboo, the Trials, the way Lysander's emotions had flared and fueled him, and how she'd stayed and had done her best to help him then. To her, emotions didn't lie. And what she saw at his core wasn't darkness.

He was just a teenager, like her. Still figuring things out.

Either way, those irridescant opal blue eyes flickered up at him, her colorful face a colorful expression of confusion and searching, anxious curiosity.

"You're not just... here?" The whisper snagged in her throat, nearly lost to the stone corridors and the archway they stepped past. The sounds of revelry grew more distant, the sound of racing pods fading. Her steps slowed, but he urged her along, her grip tightening around his as her colors shimmered like restless aurora ripples across her skin.

"Then what are you saying?"

 

[Aerik Lechner]

TAG: Naedira Darcrath | Skadi Lightbane​

Aerik froze when the goblet left his hand. One moment it was at his lips, the next it was gone, tipped out into the soil with his mother’s steady hand. The words she left him were quiet, but the weight behind them pressed heavier than any battlefield order. He met her gaze, caught red-handed, and for a moment he could do nothing but nod. He wanted to argue, to prove he was no longer a boy, but the look in her eyes made it clear. This was not about drink. This was about discipline. About remembering that victory was not safety, and that Korriban was not home.

He watched her go, slipping into the swell of the crowd, auburn hair vanishing into the press of bodies. For a moment Aerik felt the same as he had on Brosi, when the smoke had closed in and he had lost sight of her. He let out a slow breath and lowered the cup still in his hand. She was right. She always was. Whatever pride he carried from the battle, he was still her son, and still learning.

The music pulled him back, the drums and horns shaking the air until his armor rattled with it. The Second Legion was everywhere, some already deep into their cups, others bellowing songs that rose above the streets. Aerik smiled faintly, shaking his head at the thought of his mother scolding the entire Legion if she caught them all.

He pushed through the crowd until the press grew too heavy, then found a spiraling stair that led him upward. The air grew cooler as he climbed, the roar of the celebration softening to a steady thrum beneath him. When he stepped onto the balcony, the view opened wide. The spires of Vardin glowed with firelight and neon, the desert stretched beyond, and the beast pens below were alive with the restless sound of creatures straining against their handlers.

Aerik leaned against the railing and let himself breathe. For a brief moment, he felt free of the crowd, free of the eyes that knew his father’s name, free to simply be. His gaze wandered across the throng, searching not just for anyone familiar but specifically for Quinn Varanin . She had been one of his instructors at the academy, someone who had challenged him and pushed him harder than most, and he wondered if she might be here among the Order’s gathered victors. If he could find her, he wanted her to know that he had stood his ground, that he had survived Brosi.

He realized he wasn’t alone. A woman stood a short distance away, golden eyes catching the light of the fires, a mug of dark drink in her hand. She looked out over the city much as he did, though there was a spark of amusement in her expression as the beasts below fought their restraints.

He didn’t call out to her, not yet. Instead, he let the silence rest between them, sharing the view. Aerik raised his cup again, not in defiance of his mother, but in quiet salute to the victory that had brought them all here. The liquor burned, sharp and biting, but he swallowed it anyway. He had fought. He had survived. And for tonight, that was enough.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Objective I: Ascendent Revelries
Ayiaz

​

He stood facing Zaiya, bathed in the bioluminescent glow that danced across her skin. The surreal hues seemed to bleed into his vision, saturating everything; but as he gazed upon her face, searching, it was as if he were truly seeing her for the first time since they had known each other. Without thinking, Lysander's fingers tightened around hers, a gesture not of affection, but to anchor her to the present, in the midst of dangerous surroundings. He could feel the thrum of her pulse, how it mirrored ache, beyond words, a byproduct of what was meant to be a jest.

“I never expected you to risk everything over a message,” he murmured, brows furrowing. The confession was still clawing its way up from his chest. “I’m not worth the price you paid just to find me, anyway.” Slowly, Lysander's thumb traced an unconscious circle over her knuckles, grounding himself in the moment too.

Drawn to the opal depths of her orbs, he searched for the Light she somehow still believed in, though he no longer knew how to carry it. A half smile softened his features, but it failed to reach his own irises. Fallen from grace, he drew from a well of courage still buried beneath the cracked armor.

He squeezed the breath from his lungs. "Zaiya, Korriban has become home this past year. I know you may not understand.. but where we’re standing, it’s exactly where I belong.”

Memories stirred within him, the acolytes he had buried beneath Korriban's sand, the ashes of Woostri, the blood of Brosi. Again, he wondered how she still managed to believe there was something worth saving. A strange paradox, to be sure, for he bore no guilt in these sins. But the thought of hurting her, as he’d done on Naboo so many times before, in what felt like another life, wracked his conscience. The trials and survival on Korriban served well to carve a new persona from the one who once was. Countless scars lingered beneath the tunic, engraved by trials; but the jagged line above his eyebrow would remain visible, a reminder of who he had become through the violence.

Both his palms cradled hers, mapping the contours of her fear with determination, tracing lines as if they would dissolve beneath his touch. “I’m not returning to the Mid Rim,” he finally admitted, voice low. “Naboo was just a bad dream. I refuse to give it any more space in my mind.”

His digits began curling inward, their rhythm vanishing. Lips parted, only to press together again. But then, with another breath, he spoke. The words carried no edge. “I understand this place is like poison for you. If you want to rest before heading out, I’ll make sure no one bothers you. I won’t let this place break you.” He glanced toward the corridor. "Besides, we've got plenty of food here if you're hungry."

Lysander’s grasp loosened, one hand falling to his side. “If you’re set on leaving, I’ll walk you to your ship. You came all this way, so I will see you off myself. Just say the word." His visage eased, awakening warmth. “But don't walk away thinking I don't care. Maybe I do. But caring doesn't change what's already been done, or where I belong. This is just how things have to be now.”

 

[Darth Strosius]

Tags: Madrona A’Mia / Open!
--------------------------------------------

In spite of their movement and His lead, He still found the moment to cock His head slightly at the Neti's response. "I feel as though that is a dangerous sentiment to share so freely, Lady Madrona. We aren't quite among great bastions of free thought now are we?" Darth Strosius was a testament to such Himself given His status as a pariah of sorts. Not that He particularly cared for His followers having too divergent of thoughts from His own though to be fair. Much harder to keep everyone on the same page that way.

Lady Madrona posed a rather interesting observation of Him that He mulled over with a hum, letting her words settle between them as He led her into another twirl. One far less dramatic than the first thankfully. "Perhaps you have some insight there." The masked man relented as He stepped back into a new swaying routine, this one being more direct rather than flourishing like before.

Simpler and easier to keep pace with as they spoke. "Yet I must say that I find those who would hold me in high regard to be so dreadfully few and far between. And I have yet to really determine why that might be." Darth Strosius stepped to the side suddenly, letting the motion carry the Neti forward as He slid behind her. "Do you have any insights there, Lady Madrona?" He asked, hovering over her shoulder for a long moment before moving to rejoin her dance properly. "Because I must say that I'm drawing quite the blank there."

 

[Ayiaz]

Objective I:
Ascendent Revelries
Lysander von Ascania
​

Zaiya's resonance wrapped around him. She didn't see the memories, only felt the weight of them pressing against her chest. The grit of endurance. The sharp edge of survival carved into Lysander's bones to the cold finality of choices made without regret.

But beneath it all she felt the ache he couldn't name. A loneliness that lingered like an old wound. The pride of surviving tangled with the hollow it left behind. The pang when he thought of her, because hurting her mattered in a way the rest hadn't.

The colors of her skin flickered with those threads: silver trembling with his hardness, smoky bronze rising against the ache still alive inside him. Messy, conflicted, but real.

So when he whispered, 'I'm not worth the price you paid just to find me, anyway,' her breath caught. She tightened her grip on his hand, her glow flaring bright as if her defiance could anchor him.

"Yes, you are," she said, soft but steady. Her iridescent blue eyes locked with his. "Every step through the Blackwall. Every risk. It was worth it. You were worth it. You still are."

The spice haze tugged at her senses, blurring her vision, but she pushed through it.

"I know what you mean about this place feeling like home," she admitted. "I've felt that need too. To belong. To be more than just me."

She swallowed hard. Memories of her own loneliness scraped against her. Lost. Afraid. Desperate to connect but terrified to try. The life of a Lovalla alone was a sad one. They weren't made to be alone.

And she wasn't blind or stupid. If she had lived through what he had, she might have chosen the same path. There was no judgment in that. She hadn't grown up with the Force, with Light or Dark. Science had been her world until five years ago. Even now, she doubted, but she knew this: the Dark gnawed at her, while the Light did not.

And if Lysander had been steeped in nothing but shadow... of course, he'd think it was all he deserved.

"You're carrying more than you let yourself believe," she told him. "And that matters."

Zaiya tightened her grip, and warmth bloomed from her touch, surging between them. Her skin lit in radiant topaz, streaked with rich amber, her stripes pulsing like a living nebula storm.

"It's there," she whispered. "The part of you that still cares. The part you keep trying to bury. And that matters. You matter."

Her smile wobbled, but the truth in it held. Slowly, she pulled back her hood, letting him see her face in the glow.

Beyond them, drums thundered and revelry pressed like a tide, banners heavy with blood and shadow. But in the narrow corridor, Zaiya's glow burned steadily. Warm. Defiant. She would not let him believe that all he had to reach for was the dark.

She was here whenever he'd need it.

"You don't have to believe it yet," she said, voice quiet but fierce. Cobalt light rippled with amber and gold across her skin, her colors blooming like stars against the dark.

"I'll believe it for you."

.

..

...

It was then, of course, that her stupid stomach let out the loudest, most mortifying growl she'd ever produced in her life.

The Lovalla's mottled spots exploded in a blinding flare of magenta and coral, bioluminescence rippling in wild, kaleidoscopic bursts as her cheeks burned hotter than the plasma of a lightsaber.

Zaiya clutched at her middle with a groan, muttering under her breath, "Perfect. Just perfect. Sneak past the Blackwall, face down Sith... and then I get betrayed by my own stomach."

She peeked up at him, mortified. "If you laugh, I swear I'm feeding you to whatever monster runs the beast races."

A pause, then she added sheepishly.

"Sorry...I... haven't eaten anything yet..."

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

"Perhaps," she conceded to the danger of discussing such topics aloud in a mixed crowd.

"But you dislike when I speak to your mind— I can tell by the way you tense. So I speak for your ears and accept the chance or consequence of being overheard."

It was novel to be led in a dance. So often she was the expert in these situations, but Alisteri had surprised her with some knowledge and skill of his own. A'Mia flowed with his steps effortlessly as they continued. Her touch loosened some, no longer needing to strong-arm the interaction, so she found herself more able to sink into the moment.

The neti found herself again surprised and simultaneously satisfied, this time by the fact Darth Strosius actually agreed that perhaps she had a point. The music was beginning to slow, to transition to yet another song, but A'Mia showed no sign of breaking away and instead leaned in to draw the man closer. Her interest in the topic was clearly piqued and her focus entirely undivided.

"Are you asking me for my thoughts on why they hold you in such high esteem, or why those that do are so far and few between?"

 

[Elmindra Xitaar]

KORRIBAN | VARDIN CITY
OBJECTIVE 1 | ASCENDENT REVELRY
Ufsa'ynth'aris | Darth Carnifex | Lysander von Ascania | Ayiaz | Rowyna Galeway | OPEN​

The Eternal Father's dismissal was hardly unexpected—his intentions were clear long before he put them to words—but it still rankled. The decision to address her as Marquess was particularly disappointing. The title felt like a relic of another life, despite its technical relevance. Falleen Throne and her position therein was indeed an origin of pride for the Marquess of house Xitaar, yet there was something irksome about the fact the Dark Lord had pointedly chosen not to use her title that was earned here on Korriban, bestowed upon her by her King. Had she not earned some modicum of respect from her decades of service to the Kainate Order? Had her brilliance in the battle of Brosi and in the many battles before not earned her more than a curt dismissal? Beneath a thin veneer of decorum, she seethed. Her green skin very nearly began to react to her anger, briefly warming to a red hue before he was able to control herself.

Her blood red gaze snapped to the source of the wise crack that seemed to come out of nowhere, landing on the blonde-haired acolyte she recognized immediately— Lysander von Ascania . Her searing attention bore into him with dangerous impact for a moment before she returned to regard Darth Carnifex once again as she delivered his parting words.

"Your will, Dark Lord," she said as he walked away. It took far too much effort for her to keep the venom from her tone, but she managed. Barely. She took note of his entourage as they passed.

By the time she turned back in search of the boy, he'd slipped back into the crowd, but her keen eyes soon spotted him nearby, talking with someone—a girl who did not seem as though she belonged here. When Lysander looked back, he would find the First Lord staring at him with the eyes of a predator who had scented prey.

Follow them, she conveyed wordlessly to one of the Jen'rusalka nearby, and the unseen servants of the King obeyed. As subtle as a shadow or passing reflection, the incorporeal creature would stay close to the two young attendees, watching, listening.

Elmindra then turned to face Ufsa'ynth'aris and the throne where Darth Caedes sat with Revna Marr and Srina Talon . The King appeared preoccupied with those seeking to pay their respects, from Dark Councilor Gerwald Lechner to a Master of the Academy Darth Hydra . Even a representative of the Diarchy, Caelus Vire // NIHIL , had come to offer congratulations. Pride swelled in her at the sight, straightening her spine, and she took a long slow breath before her icy gaze slid over to the Chiss.

"I have no doubt that our King is equal to the task of suffering the burdens of his rulership," she said under her breath, some of the venom she'd bit back earlier seeping into her tone.

Her gaze drifted just beyond Syntharis to where Captain Rowyna Galeway approached, and she positioned herself so as to offer an unspoken invitation to the woman to join in the conversation. Even if the Commonwealth captain was technically beneath her in rank, Elmindra would not play the hypocrite and act on such superiority in a way that might sour a good alliance.

"Captain," she nodded in greeting. "It is good to have you here. The Commonwealth's contribution to our victory will not soon be forgotten."

She gestured toward Syntharis. "Captain Galeway, this is Korriban's Master of Ceremonies, Ufsa'ynth'aris."​

 

[Glissara]

Location: Starting Line, Nar-Hakel Circuit - Korriban
Notable Equipment and Personal Effects: FAE/M-02 Energized Forearm Vibroblade Mk. II │ Slipstream Zero Exoskin Mk. I
Objective: II - Nar-Hakel Circuit
Racer: Herself

• Hssiss/Drake Ability Set

Tag: Varin Mortifer Lodd Grimmin Naamino Zuukamano Maiza Vex Haro Aven Spirit of Korriban

"Uhh— pretty fething fast," Naami managed a little two finger salute at the woman, "Haven't properly clocked her at full speed though."

“Let’s see just how fast ‘pretty fething fast’ is, then, yes?" Glissara replied in a purr, before returning the Zabrak’s salute. It was then that a hunched-over, wizened figure limped to the main thoroughfare of the starting line, immediately catching the Jango Jumper’s attention. He started with a speech in a tone that was as grating as his message was foreboding, at which point she realized that he would be the one to start the race.

Glissara lifted and kicked her legs upward in a fluid, practiced motion, priming the musculature like durasteel springs. Then, with a sharp intake of air, she launched herself upward in the manner of a powerful, explosive jeté, her form rocketing 10 meters skyward with such dazzling athleticism that it seemed as if she had been launched from a cannon. For a heartbeat, she hung against the sky, a statue of intent and athleticism, before descending into a crouch that kissed the earth without sound. Then, like a nexu stalking prey, the Jango Jumper lowered herself onto all fours and crawled back into the starting blocks.

A deep breath steadied her. She kicked back at the knees, settling deeper into the blocks, becoming one with the machine that was her body.

"Racers!" He shouted, wet-gravel voice booming for all to hear.

Glissara felt a chill run through her core. Adrenaline surged. Her eyes narrowed.

"On my mark... get set..."

Glissara rose, legs planted into the blocks. Her lower body muscles twitched, primed to engage.

"Go!"

A sharp grunt tore out from her lips. She exploded forward, a thunderclap of motion hurling a tidal wave of dust and sand into the air behind her!

 

[Darth Strosius]

Tags: Madrona A’Mia / Open!
--------------------------------------------

"Well, a proper invitation inside is always preferred." Mental conversations could of course forgo such pleasantries if the situation called for it, but in general He regarded such things to be too invasive or intimate for simple conversations. It wasn't as though Darth Strosus had any issues with being overheard anyway. He had no opinions nor thoughts to be worth hiding in this instance, certainly not from the 'den of snakes' around them as Lady Madrona had labeled it earlier. A very apt statement indeed.

The music's shifting thankfully complimented their new stride rather well, being a more steady and less bombastic pace, but to His shock the end of one song didn't end their dance as He had been expecting. Instead the Neti actually pulled in a bit closer, an action which drew a small hum of surprise from the masked man. The only break in composure that He allowed for the moment. If she wasn't going to back down then He wouldn't either, He won every war or attrition He fought in and this would be no different. So as the next song began so did a new motion to their dance.

"Let's hear both I suppose, since you offered the options so freely. Perhaps I'll find some enlightenment and new perspective in your combined answers." Darth Strosius was far more used to criticism than compliments and that was largely by design. He had little need for feedback on what He already excelled at, His shortcomings were what needed improvement and thus they were the only ones worth commenting on. Any insight into Lady Madrona's...unique thought process could prove rather valuable though, even if it wasn't the most constructive.

 

[Srina Talon]

Tag: Darth Caedes | Darth Carnifex | Revna Marr | Quinn Varanin | Elmindra Xitaar | Ufsa'ynth'aris | Mercy | Beau Talon | Gerwald Lechner
(I'm not sure who else to taaag-pls forgib)
Location: Korriban [Vardin]
____________________________________________________

"You give me more credit than I deserve…The Holy Worlds may have fallen if not for the efforts of all."

Gerwald Lechner had proven himself time and time again throughout their history. He seemed to think that she could do no wrong, perhaps even move stars, no matter how she protested or erred directly in his presence. Her words carried a rare mix of acknowledgement and reserve without slipping into indulgence…Softly echoing the sentiment from Darth Caedes . Gerwald was a man who had lost everything. Who had scraped, clawed, and gained much through personal sacrifice.

He was a reminder that it was not thrones and crowns that secured victory, but the spine of the people, and their immeasurable resourcefulness and skill. "Your mate is undoubtedly searching for you, my wolf...Do not make her wait on our account."

It was not dismissal but formal permission for him to withdraw. His Empress was well kept with Darth Caedes and Revna Marr , regardless of her own concerns about the fight not being quite as "over" as it initially appeared. From that point on, her focus needed to shift.

The games had begun.

No. It was not the races she noted…But the events slowly unfolding before her eyes. Srina remained silent for quite some time, a statue carved from ivory, splashed with crimson fabric, and beset with an unnatural stillness that was even more pronounced when such a spectacle was taking place. Among the chanting for Darth Carnifex and the cheers for the Legion, the clatter of goblets, and the rasp of prideful boasts…She remained as she had always been. The very picture of composure, untouchable, and unmoved.

When the gaze of the Butcher King lingered on her person, she did not feel any sense of surprise or shock. The act in itself gave her no reason to suspect anything was amiss, because they were often less formal with one another than his zealots would prefer. It did please her to some degree to make them see red…But when priceless gifts and treasure clattered down and honeyed words began to flow?

Her eyes flickered only once—To Caedes at her side, then back again. She felt tension ripple beneath the nearly perfect veneer of the Korriban King, the stiffening of his jaw, and an edge of something echoing through a shared mental space. Resentment? So adept was he at maintaining himself that it took her several long moments to begin putting the pieces together. Lady Revna Marr was much easier for her to read because of experience and exposure…But, subtly, deliberately, her hand brushed the changeling's arm. It was a touch not measured strictly for comfort, but also, steadiness.

She was the calm in the storm—Always.

Whatever it was that bothered him had to be contained. At least, for now.

Golden orbs swept the individuals both on the dais and those who approached. Everyone had come, it seemed…Even Garza could be witnessed in the distance, celebrating, as only he could. Revna Marr was a pillar to Darth Caedes , Gerwald Lechner thunderous, in his loyalty, while Elmindra Xitaar moved on to greet the Commonwealth, and Ufsa'ynth'aris seemed to take particular interest in the Sithlings that trailed behind Carnifex. There were so many people. So many eyes. Each face was a member of the Sith Order, each representing a different piece on a board that almost required a compass to navigate. Every face wore a mask, every mask was a move. She noted some of those same eyes falling to Lunaria Talon (Artemis Dreadmoor), though she made no outward acknowledgement of her hidden daughter. Caedes saw her—So did the Chiss. Her silence was deliberate.

Internally, she marked it. Externally, she gave nothing.

Slowly…She rose from her place at Caedes' side with a fluidity that would have made any dancer green with envy. The grace she inherently carried was made even more apparent when a hush pressed through the immediate area, drawing attention, simply because it was so opposite to how she had been. Red silk whispered over stone when she finally approached Darth Carnifex , and the diminutive woman found that they were at eye-level.

A rarity to say the least.

Her hand lifted, not to accept his treasure, nor in supplication, but to summon him closer to her and indirectly…Further from Darth Caedes . The pads of long fingers found his cheek, and she could feel the temper of his followers rankling that she dared to breach his space without asking. But as their liege allowed it…They would simply have to suffer it. "The war efforts of the Kainate are to be commended and well documented…But we have known each other too long, too well, for such formality...", she intoned quietly, her voice a mixture of things that blended sharpness and familiarity. Even as the light scolding passed, he would feel what she did not say when her palm pressed to his skin. "…And you will forgive me if I do not swoon at such theatrics."

Kaine spoke her language—And he spoke it well.

He would know that she knew he was up to something beyond gently teasing her for her aversion to being fussed over. Still. She kept him close for a little longer. It was a reward like no other, especially in the eyes of people who were too caught up in themselves to understand nuance.

"…I will say it again…", Srina trailed off, slowly, letting her hand fall away…Lest tongues begin to wag more than they already did. She was not pleased with the notion of taking more credit for their victory than what was due, regardless, her title or her place on the battlefield. She had been raised a soldier first and foremost and always honored those who stood in the trenches with her. There would be no stolen valor regardless any custom or expectation. "I did not fight alone. Brosi was won by more than one hand, more than one banner. Let these spoils be divided amongst all who bled for them—the Kainates, Korriban, Eternalists, Commonwealth, and every other Order Faction and Legion who defended what is ours."

From there…They could all do with their portion what they willed. Burn it, bury it, or throw it into the nearest sea…It would be up to them. Would it mend all ills? Certainly, not. But her words were heavy with finality on the matter, impossible to mistake. She was not present to unduly diminish others nor slake any wounded pride. Kaine was right about one thing. She was the Empress, whether she liked it or not...The axis to which all would bend or face the consequences. In all honesty?

It was possible that Kaine had addressed the treasure to her just so the factions wouldn't fight over it.

But it was equally possible that there was more to it.

Her eyes fell for a moment and returned to that of the Butcher King before glancing back toward Darth Caedes and Revna Marr . She had not missed the swift exchange with the First Lord of Korriban and had spoken a nary a word to their hosts. She did not verbally tell Darth Carnifex what to do...But he would know what she desired. Little whispers that moved through his phylactery.

A simple greeting between Kainate and Korriban was very likely the LEAST of all she had ever asked of him.

If even Kaine publicly declared her the Empress of All Sith…It could only be true if he acknowledged her will. Otherwise, it was mockery. Would he tease her? Yes. Mock her?

Never.

A new voice caused her attention to shift away from the political aspects of this event and her gaze briefly swept over Quinn Varanin only to land on a face that was much too familiar. Echani were rather unoriginal in their genetics, and it seemed, Clan Talon was no different than any of the others. If she was surprised to hear that she had kin among the revelers that hadn't been presented to her before none would know it. She could see her sister and niece in the face of Beau Talon .

Perhaps, even a little of herself.

She turned and folded back down into her seat like a lotus closing. No matter how she felt…Decorum always came first. It wasn't due to the nobility that being Empress bestowed but because of her militaristic mind. Everyone knew how she felt about Quinn—Refusing to let her die. Undue favor could place this Sithling in equally undue danger. Her eyes softened, even only factionally. "You are well met Isobeau…I invite you to enjoy all that Korriban has to offer until I may speak to you further."

It might have seemed odd not to question her parentage or bloodline…But an Echani knew.

With one glance—She knew.

That didn't mean that she didn't have a few things she may have wanted to discuss with her but for the same reason she couldn't address Lunaria…Isobeau was already playing with fate. It might have seemed like a dismissal but that was far from the truth. There were expectations to meet, promises to keep, and the harsh reality was…

The duty of an Empress did not rest.

Not even at a celebration. Especially, not at a celebration.

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Mercy //:

Quinn couldn't help the smile tugging at her lips. She was smiling more these days, and Mercy's return to her life was one of the reasons why.

When the Knave leaned in, Quinn welcomed the warmth at her ear, a flush rising against porcelain skin. She laughed softly, recalling their conversation about Mercy's lack of manners.

Her fingers slid from Mercy's core to the sharp line of her jaw, caressing once before letting the woman slip free. "Well," Quinn smirked, her hand returning just above Mercy's belt, "I'm sure you've scraped some manners together by now." Pausing, her head tilting in mock thought. "Or we're both screwed."

She patted Mercy's stomach, teasing, then stopped midstride to pull her full attention. Stepping close, nearly flush, Quinn cupped the woman's chin with delicate confidence. Her nose wrinkled as her smile grew.

"That's good for me, though," she murmured low, for Mercy alone. "Their loss, my gain." Rising off her heels, she pressed a kiss to Mercy's cheek, lingering just a beat too long.

"And good for you…" Quinn's hand tapped once against the chest of her suit. "I've got a soft spot for a creature like you, Knave. An even bigger one for my Herunín."

Her gaze held Mercy's for a moment longer before looking away, despite the desire to continue. "Looks like she's the center of attention tonight," Quinn chuckled, eyes settling on her Mother Srina Talon . "My poor mother, its probably driving her crazy." The Princess's lips curled into a smirk as she sighed, offering her Srina a silent prayer.

Attention turned back to the woman at her side.

"Which means we might get a few more moments to ourselves. If that's alright with you."

---

Tags as Quinn and Mercy draw closer: Darth Carnifex Lunaria Talon Darth Caedes Revna Marr Beau Talon Elmindra Xitaar Ufsa'ynth'aris Gerwald Lechner

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

It would seem her unspoken bid to continue their dance had been accepted. A'Mia carried on without missing a beat.

"You're acerbic and stubborn— unyielding and at times, abrasive. If you were a material I needed to rate on the pH scale, I would have to assign you at least a 2 or 1. Your very presence can be incredibly corrosive to social or political atmospheres."

She delivered this assessment in such a sweet and casual tone that its contents might cause a sense of confusion as to what the takeaway was. A'Mia left no room for doubt though as she followed up, swaying in perfect synchrony with Darth Strosius while she continued.

"So getting close to you, holding you in high regard— that seems to take thick skin and a strong sense of self. I'm not talking about your followers, mind you, I'm talking about peers. Those few people that are allowed to see beneath the mask, proverbial or otherwise. Those who spend time with you and truly know you."

Just when the motions of their dance were becoming too predictable, A'Mia gently asserted her will to flow into another series of steps which ultimately turned her in his arms. The movement was seamless and decidedly more intimate, calling back to the move he'd executed to hover just behind her shoulder.

Turning her head to regard him sidelong as she leaned against him a bit, the woman answered the second half of the query. All while remaining unrelenting in their unspoken tug of war on the dance floor.

"As to why you are highly regarded by some? I could answer simply and at the surface: you have decorum and your own sense of honor, you're strong— a deadly foe to face in battle and a steadfast ally to fight beside. It probably doesn't hurt that you have a good eye for aesthetics and how you dress yourself."

The woman's voice grew softer even while a hard edge began to creep around her words. The juxtaposition between kindly criticism and stern compliments was stark.

"But no— what's on the surface isn't why some have devoted themselves to you entirely."

A'Mia relented then, moving out of his arms to once again face him and return to that more neutral stance of even footing between them.

"I rather think it has to do with what's in there," the emphasized word came with a poke to the forehead of his helm before she took his hand once more.

"Your fervent passion and unshakable belief. For all your flaws, you are at least a man that cares, truly and deeply, a man that acts upon that which he espouses to be true."

Her gaze was steady upon him as she finished, curiosity about how her words might land written clearly across her face.

 

[Gerwald Lechner]

Tag: Srina Talon | Darth Caedes | Revna Marr | Elmindra Xitaar | Quinn Varanin | Madrona A’Mia | Naedira Darcrath | Nyara Dakhan​

Gerwald remained where he was as the words of Caedes reached him. The King's reminder was meant to share the triumph, to cast light on all who had fought, but Gerwald did not need reminding of his role. He inclined his head, voice steady and low, carrying the weight of conviction.

"The soil belongs to the Sith Order," he answered. "All who bled for it have claim, but it is ours to hold, to shape, and to keep. The Imperials thought to uproot us. Instead, their blood watered our roots."

It was not boast or challenge. It was truth, spoken as only the Dread Wolf could. The Holy Worlds stood firm, and Brosi itself had been changed. Caedes might have woven the ritual, but Gerwald had kept the enemies from breaking it apart. He knew the King would see that balance for what it was.

His gaze shifted briefly across the throne, taking in Srina Talon. The Empress, silent and poised, had endured the ritual's weight as much as any of them. She had been the thread that kept their work from unraveling. Others might praise her as sovereign, but Gerwald had lived by her command. She had held him to the Order's purpose again and again, and he answered her words with a bow of his head.

"My son stood among the victors for the first time," he said, voice roughened by pride. "He fought on Brosi. He did not falter. You should know that your commands reach more than the Council. They shape the next generation as well."

The moment passed, and Gerwald turned his attention outward again. From where he stood, he could see the swell of the crowd as Carnifex's procession pressed forward, could hear the guttural chanting of the Crownguard fighting against the music of the city. The clash of rhythms rolled across the spires like a storm, but Gerwald's focus did not linger on the spectacle. Carnifex thrived on it. Let him have it.

The Dread Wolf's eyes caught briefly on another face. A pureblood, standing near the edge of the gathering. Gerwald inclined his head in acknowledgment, a simple nod that said he saw her, that she was noted. There would be time enough for words later.

Beneath it all, the bond pulled at him. It was constant, threading through the crowd, stronger than any chain or oath. Srina might command his service, but Naedira commanded the wolf. Her presence was not something he could ignore, nor would he ever wish to. She was the tether that steadied him when war threatened to consume him, the reminder that beyond conquest and ritual there was more worth fighting for.

He could feel her searching for him, just as he sought her. It was a rhythm in the Force, a pulse that pulled with quiet insistence until he could not refuse it. The farther he stood from her, the sharper it tugged, an ache deep in his chest that no revelry or triumph could dull. The wolf inside him was restless until it answered that call.

At last, he followed that pull. The throne and the gathering faded behind him as he moved through the press of revelers, Second Legion soldiers raising cups in salute as he passed. They bellowed songs and laughed, their Norse voices carrying over the music of the city. They had earned their feast, their wine, and their celebration, but Gerwald did not pause to share in it. His steps carried him toward the one presence that never failed to anchor him.

He found her where the crowd parted, her auburn hair catching the glow of firelight, her sharp eyes scanning as if she had been looking for him all along. The bond between them thrummed, bright and insistent. He stepped close, lowering his voice so that only she would hear.

"I have been looking for you," he said. þú ert miðr í heimi mínum

The words were simple, but they carried the weight of the battlefield, of the victory, and of every fear he had shouldered until he could see her again. His hand brushed against hers, the bond pulling them closer still.

The din of the celebration washed around them, yet for Gerwald it dulled to a distant hum. The bond rose higher, a thrum that outshone the pounding drums and clashing chants. It was in the heat of her skin against his, in the unspoken exchange of strength and relief that no one else could share with him. Srina might command his loyalty, but Naedira commanded him in truth. She was not his duty. She was his mate.

He held her gaze, steady and certain. He wanted her to see what the Order had seen. That their son had stood firm, that he had shown himself worthy of the name he bore. Gerwald's pride was fierce, but it belonged to her as much as it did to him. Everything he had fought for, everything he had endured, found its meaning here, in this bond that bound wolf to she-wolf.

For the first time since Brosi, he allowed himself to breathe fully. The weight of command, of ritual, of politics could wait. The bond had led him to her, and nothing else mattered in that moment.