Faction Revelry in the Holy Worlds

[Gerwald Lechner]

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

The streets of Vardin thundered with celebration. The spires that cut into the red skies like jagged teeth pulsed with light, each tower alive with drums and chanting. Music poured down like a storm, the clash of Sith flutes, the pounding of skin-stretched drums, and the wild chorus of voices raised in victory. Korriban was alive with revelry, and the Second Legion had taken its share with the hunger of wolves.

They had been given their freedom. They earned it. In the squares and great halls, warriors of the Legion lifted horns brimming with dark liquor, toasted their dead, and sang old songs from the frozen worlds of their birth. Some had stripped down to the waist and painted their skin with ash, reenacting the battles of Brosi with wooden blades or by simply grappling until one was left sprawled in laughter on the stone. Others brawled in earnest, blood streaming from split brows, cheered on by their fellows who wagered heavily on every strike. Every victory was met with roaring approval, every loss with a fresh cup pressed into the hand of the fallen. The feasting tables sagged under the weight of roasted game and dripping meat, and the smoke of it all hung heavy with the haze of narcotics passed hand to hand.

Gerwald Lechner walked among them. He let his warriors have their indulgence. They had bled for the Sith Order, they had fought on Brosi’s poisoned ground and on the deckplates of burning ships. Tonight, they were permitted to be what they were born to be: wolves who celebrated their kill with fire and song. Wherever he passed the sound swelled louder, the warriors rising to their feet or slamming their cups against the table to show their recognition. He returned their gestures with a nod or a curl of his lips that was more snarl than smile. They were his Legion, his kin, and he belonged to them as much as they belonged to him.

Yet the Dread Wolf did not remain among the pack for long. He cut a path toward the upper tiers of Vardin, where the King of Korriban presided from his throne and the Empress sat at his right hand. The air grew heavier with incense and the perfume of deathless servants that moved gracefully through the crowd, their arms laden with trays of jeweled goblets and dishes that squirmed. The music swelled here, punctuated by chants that rose in praise of those seated at the apex.

Gerwald stopped before the dais. He inclined his head toward Caedes, a warrior’s bow rather than the polished gestures of court.

“King,” he rumbled, voice carrying like stone rolling down a mountain. “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.”

There was no flattery in his tone, only a plain recognition of strength earned and displayed. The Second Legion respected power, and Gerwald offered no words that were not true.

His golden eyes shifted to Srina Talon, and here his expression softened. She sat with her stillness, white hair spilling over crimson silk, a figure of poise while chaos and revelry shook the spires around her. To Gerwald she would never be merely Empress. She was the hand that had once pulled him back from death, the lodestone that had shaped his loyalty and sharpened his ruthlessness. He bowed deeper for her than he had for the King.

“My Empress, your will held the Order together on Brosi as much as any weapon. The Legion knows who they follow. They know whose shadow stretches over them when the storm breaks.”

Having spoken, he straightened, the moment of ceremony brief but clear. He was not a man of words, but he understood the weight of them when offered to the right ears.

Afterward he returned to the crowd. The Legion roared around him, intoxicated by victory, but his focus was on the space beyond the revelry. He had played his part in this war. He had broken the Imperials on the ground and scattered their resolve with the weight of his hammer. Yet the true measure of this night was not in the songs or the smoke-filled air. It was in the return of his mate, in the sound of her voice, in the report of their son’s trial.

Naedira Darcrath . His mate. She had been elsewhere when the battle for Brosi raged. Their duties had separated them, though both had stood on the same field of war. The bond between them had pulled at him through the long hours of the fight, a taut thread that reminded him with every moment of her absence. Now that the banners of the Imperial Confederation lay broken and their enemies scattered, he expected her to return. The thought of it coiled in his chest like a promise. He would see her again tonight, beneath the fires of Korriban’s sky.

He lifted his head and listened. Even through the roar of the celebration he sought the sound of her step. The anticipation gnawed at him as much as it steadied him. His senses stretched outward, searching. It was the same with their son. Aerik had been in the fight as well. Gerwald knew the boy was capable, trained, strong, but he also knew what battle could take from a man. No father who had stood knee-deep in the corpses of war ever forgot how quickly sons could be stolen. He wanted to hear Naedira’s account, to know how Aerik had fared, if the boy’s strength had been proven, if he had held the line with honor. There was pride there, but also the gnawing worry of one who had already lost too much in his life. Gerwald wanted to see with his own eyes that Aerik still stood.

The wolf celebrated with his pack, but his heart was fixed on one thing. Soon, Naedira would walk through the haze of firelight and song, and the night of victory would finally be complete.

 

[Aerik Lechner]

TAG: OPEN​

The music in Vardin's streets was overwhelming. Bass shook the stone beneath Aerik Lechner's boots, and the pulse of it rattled in his chest as if the whole city were a living beast. The air was heavy with spice smoke, perfume, sweat, and the metallic tang of blood that still clung to armor not yet cleaned. For the warriors of the Sith Order, the invasion had ended in triumph. For Aerik, it had been the first true test of his life.

He had stood on Brosi. He had felt the ground tremble as Sith and Imperials tore into one another. He had smelled the stench of blight and ash, had tasted it on the back of his tongue, and had known what it meant to be part of a war where every moment could be the last. There had been fear, but there had also been pride. Pride that he had not faltered, that when the Order demanded it, he had answered. The lessons beaten into him at the academy, the hours of drills, the weight of expectation carried by his father's name, all of it had meant something when the time came.

Now, as Korriban roared its victory, Aerik felt caught between two selves. The boy who had longed for his father's approval, and the young man who had stood his ground under fire. Somewhere between the drums and the laughter he felt the shift. He was no longer just a son. He was a soldier.

He moved through the crowd, his blonde hair damp with heat, armor marked by the fight but worn with pride. Legionnaires of the Second spotted him and raised their cups. Some clapped him on the shoulder, others jeered about the look on his face when the battle first broke. He answered with a sharp grin and raised his own drink in salute. He belonged here among them, even if he knew the weight of his family name would always set him apart.

The spires of Vardin rose high above him, glowing with lantern light and streaks of neon. Music from every direction mixed with the chant of Sith songs that had been sung since the days before the Republic. There were duels breaking out in open courts, fire dancers moving through the crowd, and vendors with trays of meat hissing from open flames. Somewhere below, the beast races were being prepared. He had never seen a drexl in person before Brosi, and now he would watch them run. It felt surreal, as if war and celebration could occupy the same breath.

Part of him wanted to find his father. He knew Gerwald would be here somewhere, surrounded by the Legion or seated with the other Lords. The bond between them was complicated. A father whose shadow loomed large, and a son determined not to be consumed by it. Still, Aerik wanted him to know. He had fought, and he had not broken.

And Naedira.

His mother.

Her presence had steadied him more than once on the field, even when she was far away. He had wondered if she doubted him, if she feared he was too young. Now he wanted her to see what he had done, to tell her that he had proven himself. The thought of her pride mattered more than the roar of the crowd, more than the sweet burn of liquor in his throat.

He wove through the streets with an easy stride, letting the sounds of celebration wrap around him. From high above came the sound of chanting. It was darker, heavier, the sound of the Kainate's procession. Carnifex had arrived. Aerik turned his head and caught sight of the banners being raised, the Crownguard striking their polearms into the stone. The chant of Kâr'Nifhex carried even through the noise of revelry, and Aerik felt the weight of it settle over the spires.

He looked upward, toward the dais where Darth Caedes sat with Empress Srina Talon and Lady Revna Marr . He did not know them well, but he recognized their presence in the Force. The King of Korriban had led more than the battle. He had shaped the victory itself. Aerik could feel the way the crowd leaned toward the throne, could feel the reverence and the fear.

Srina was calm as ever. Her stillness was striking even here, where the entire world seemed to be in motion. Her gaze moved like a blade, always cutting through the veil, always watching. He wondered what she saw when she looked out at all of this. He wondered if she, too, thought the invasion had ended too easily.

Aerik stopped at a vendor's table and took a piece of roasted nuna, the skin crackling beneath his fingers. He bit into it without ceremony, hungry from the march and the fight, and from the hours since. The spices burned his tongue, but he welcomed the sensation. Around him, laughter and shouting rose like thunder. The Legion was celebrating, and so was the city.

Somewhere to the side, a group of acolytes recognized him. They called his name, lifted their cups, and asked about the fight. He gave them the short version, a few well-placed words that earned him their approval, and then moved on. He was not looking for glory. He was looking for something else.

He found a quiet spot at the edge of a balcony where the music was a little softer. From here he could see the desert stretching out, the fires of camps still burning on the horizon, and the glow of Korriban's moons climbing the sky. The war was not over. He knew that. This victory would lead to more battles, and more blood. But tonight, there was a pause.

He took a long drink from his cup and let his eyes close for a moment. He thought of his father. He thought of his mother. He thought of the boy he had been, and the man he was becoming.

He had survived. He had fought. And for tonight, that was enough. Tomorrow would bring more battles, more expectations. But tonight, he stood as Aerik Lechner, son of the Dread Wolf and Naedira Darcrath , no longer a boy.

 

[Genesis Draykin]

Theme: Bad Moon​

Location: At the Bar
Outfit: [X]
Tag: Kaila Irons | Tamsin Graves

A drink sat in front of her at the bar, her left index finger circled the rim of the glass clad in a black leather glove. She stared at the glass as her finger went round and round. She was ease dropping on a conversation next to her about some random political stance in the Sith order between two what she assumed were Darth's. Neither Sith politics nor lifestyle were her scene, well most matters in the force didn't matter to her.

As she listened to the boring conversation she stared at the Glass knowing she shouldn't drink its contents even though she wanted to. She knew it would lead to oblivion and probably comprise her position as an unseen bodyguard for a few individuals who might or might not appear at this gathering. A forward scout to make sure the coast was clear, for some respectable diplomats if you could call them that.

Basically, it was an easy job for a go little chunk of change and drinking herself into the black would surely end in a blown payday. Also, she didn't really have to mingle or make small talk just had to keep her eyes peeled. Not like anyone in her family would be here, most of them had abandoned, betrayed, or rebelled against the sith long ago. If any of them would recognize her at that if they showed up. It had been a long time since Gen had seen any of them.

She let out a heavy sigh at the thought of family, her hand moved and grasped around the glass of whisky. She kept her force suppressed even if it would make her job easier in identifying any threats, she did want anyone to take notice of her or that dark secret of her families scarred legacy. "Frak it…" She finally said to only herself as she lifted the glass to her lips to down it in one swig.

 

[Nyara Dakhan]

Tag: Varin Mortifer // OPEN​

Nyara’s gaze was somewhat aloof as she observed the young Sith man with her and how he reacted to his new…pet. The Tuk’ata were a symbol of pride to ancient Sith culture; Dark Lords of the past had them guard their estates and tombs, and others were hunted for sport for it was an honor, for a young Sith male to overcome a Tuk’ata in their prime. They were used as tests, challenges…and it was still the case, even to this day. Acolytes from the Sith Academy would be sent out on various tasks and trials into the vast red deserts, and there they would be preyed upon. Some came back, and some didn’t.

“Don’t treat her like she’s a child, Varin.” Nyara replied in cold chastisement as he sweet talked his pup. The little thing was soaking up all the attention and the pets it received, but the sight of it irked the Pureblood woman. They were not hounds or dogs to be walked on leashes and scratched behind the ear. They were guardians, predators, and a warrior's companion to be trained for war.

But she couldn’t deny the bond that was developing between Varin and his pup. Nyara may have had her opinions on how he should treat and raise the Tuk’ata, but at the end of the day it was his and not hers.

Golden, haughty eyes swept over the sweat soaked and ecstatic crowds of Vardin; it was so much to take in, to absorb, but she found a bit of pride in it. Korriban sure did know how to throw a party.

Her attention was pulled back to Varin when he scooped up Sinew and handed her over to Nyara, saying how he needed to go get ready for the upcoming Sithspawn race that he was participating in. The Pureblood woman gave him a slight glare, but took the pup without too much fuss. Sinew was immediately placed on the ground, her leash given a firm tug to let the Tuk’ata know that Nyara was in charge now.

There was still some time before the races truly began in earnest, so Nyara continued through the crowds as she meandered her way towards the circuit and the stands. Throaty cries of victory and laughter and excitement filled the air, as did the scent of sweat, the iron tang of freshly spilled blood in the sparring pits, various forms of meats and foods that sizzled under Horuset’s chilly shine, and the waft of liquor and other intoxicants and vapors. Nyara recognized the distinct sound of traditional Sith instruments and drums, and the sound of it drew her eye and brought a proud smile to her face.

Red Sith pride filled the jubilation, mixed in with the exaltations of many others; they had secured victory over the Imperials, pushed them back from the ancient Holy Worlds. It was a time to celebrate that victory.

Nyara gathered a handful of fried nuna from a nearby vendor, and began to rip into the delicious morsels. Her gaze flickered to Sinew, who was hopping up trying to get her attention in hopes of getting a free nuna leg. The Pureblood woman glared at the pup, then sighed in resignation.

She couldn’t resist those eyes - and she tossed the pup a piece of meat.

“Don’t get used to it. Your master babies you enough as it is.” she rumbled, watching the Tuk’ata pup inhale the scraps. Another tug on the leash, and the two of them were off once more. Nyara passed by a rather rowdy group of warriors who were drinking deep from horns and enjoying the bounty that Korriban had provided for their entertainment. Her eyes briefly settled upon one particular man ( Gerwald Lechner ) who radiated power and authority and walked amongst them as if they were kin, and those around him seemed to almost swell with a shared warrior’s pride, their voices rising in recognition as some thumped their cups on the tables before them. A smile drew across Nyara’s face; they were not unlike the tribal Sith warriors that gathered in clans across the surface of Korriban.

Eventually, the Pureblood woman, wearing a more traditional garb for the occasion, came to the edge of the racing circuit. She idly wondered where her Mother and Siblings would be amongst the throng; she knew her Father would be seated at the King’s table, due to his lofty status within the Sith King’s circle. And her Mother, well…being the high born and high blooded Sith that she was, she was probably brushing elbows with other nobles and sharing gossip. But at least she didn’t have to worry about either of them breathing down the back of her neck, or trying to introduce her to hot blooded suitors amongst the gathered Pureblood males that were attending the Revelry, or hear their disappointment that she hadn’t been taken on by a Sith Master yet.

Small mercies, she mused, as she eyed the crowds once more - taking a glass of some dark alcoholic beverage from a passing wrapped and perfumed Jen’ari. Nyara drank deep, downing the beverage in one go - before she tossed the glass to the ground, enjoying the sound it made as it shattered across the stony street.

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

Equipment: Riding Harness, Mask,
Rakghoul House Robes, Well Worn Boots,
Blue Hand Wraps

Tags: Varin Mortifer | Lysander von Ascania | Lodd Grimmin
Leshanna Dromar | Haro Aven | Other Racers​

Against his more strict and timely nature, Naamino had decided to arrive a bit late to the starting line. Not too late to cause penalties of course, but enough so that he and Zafira made a bit of a stir at their entrance. It also allowed him to commune with her a bit, warm them both up on the flight over and give them time to sink into the mindset they'd need to compete.

Circling above even the great spires, the zabrak allowed himself a few more moments of meditative calm before the adrenaline fueled race ahead. A faint smile overtook his ordinarily stern face and the young man allowed his eyes to close as he reflected on recent successes.

He was of course very proud of his recent performance in the skies above Brosi, dogfighting alongside his best buddy Haro Aven . There were also many academic achievements under his belt— teacher's aid to Darth Thaliax, Lieutenant of Kor'ethyr's military academy, and spotless marks in all his courses, to name just a few.

However, if he was truthful with himself, his proudest accomplishments had to do with the bonds he'd forged along the way. Devout as ever to the cause of the Order and his responsibilities to represent his master Elmindra Xitaar well, Naami allowed himself a private moment to bask in the gratitude he felt for his little group of "Badawans" and particularly for his girlfriend, Leshanna Dromar .

Their blood rises, it is nearly time— We must join so I may teach those beasts how puny they are, came the sassy telepathic interruption of his war mount.

Naami grunted in wordless agreement, ice blue eyes re-opening behind the mask that protected him from both sun and wind, while also granting him slightly sharper vision. Together, the pair reached a zenith and in a spectacular backflip they began a free fall. Zafira's huge, leathery wings tucked to her side, Naami pulled himself low on the saddle and they dove at great speed toward the starting line.

Just a few hundred feet from the ground, Zafira opened her wings in a jarring but showy slow to land. The maneuver was gut churning but Naami gritted his teeth through it and tapped into their mental bond to ground himself a bit. For her part, the Sithspawn roared triumphantly at her grand entrance, cantering a bit to show off the way her obsidian scales gleamed and barred her fangs in the direction of some of the other mounts.

Cool it, we have our reputation to think of, Naami chided through the telepathic connection— his fists tightened then relaxed on the reigns while he scanned the hooting and hollering crowds.

Despite her spirited nature, Zafira did listen to reason and settled down into a more demure and stately stance. She stalked toward the starting line proper, then began to haughtily inspect one huge clawed paw whilst ignoring the ruckus she'd made amongst the other Sithspawn.

Naami wondered if he'd be able to spot Lesh or Haro in the crowd, since he assumed they wouldn't miss this. He'd told them both a few times how eager he was, and dropped many hints about how cool it would be. Him and Haro had a bit of an argument about it a little while back— Naami had been unable to hide his disbelief that his friend thought that just anyone might be able to ride a Sithspawn. It had been a dumb disagreement but Naami silently hoped it hadn't soured his buddy to the point he wouldn't enjoy the spectacle.

The zabrak schooled his expression and gave off a similarly haughty air as his mount and awaited the start of the race.

​

 

[Maiza Vex]

Theme: The Animal
Equipment: Mask | Hide Armor | Home made Leather Boots
Tags: Naamino Zuukamano | Varin Mortifer | Other Racers

---

I am the animalistic soul, the beast that lives in us.

I am the call of nature and true primordial self.

You can no longer steal from me for I no longer have a belonging.

Your Order will fade but the Order of Nature will always reclaim.​

A masked figure sat on top of Rancor as it strode up to the starting line. It all began here the spiral that led this individual down the path they now walked. Golden eyes peered out through the eye slits of the wooden mask as they looked up into the crowds and towards that ominous tower off in the distance were the rich and powerful sat getting fat and lazy.

Kings with their crowns sitting on thrones stolen from the slaves that labored for them. Beneath them their loyal soldiers who mindless kneeled to kiss their false God's feet. Never questioning, dying for something they don't even understand. They would all fade even the subjects beaten into submission slobbering up the slop that was thrown down on them.

The person behind the mask hated them all, they had killed her family, the had stripped her pride, and had beaten her will from her heart. She was no longer the kid that had spirit and fight in her. No Maiza Vex was an animal now one with very nature that would one day reclaim this world from the ashes of a tainted empire.

When it was all gone that would be the day she smiled again, that would be the day she danced again, and the day she could believe in something greater. It wasn't just the sith or even this order it was them all they smelled of sickening death stench and it putrefied the whole Galaxy.

She had come out of hiding and come to a world she despised for one reason. This world had stolen something from her, something she could never get back. She could, however, take something from them, and spill the blood of those that wounded her so deeply. She had no love in her heart, it had hardened under pressure until it turned into coal. Still wild and untamed but there was no cockiness or jovial goading, only bitter malice for those who had wronged her. She looked forward to this race and waited patiently at the line, today would be more than a victory it would be a reckoning.

 

[Varin Mortifer]

Objective 2: The Nar-Hakel Circuit

The reins were pulled tight as his Adar kicked back on its hind legs clawing at the air, its wings flexing showing off its very physical power. Its blue scales reflecting the amber sun giving it a darker hue. Varin’s brow furrowed as a smile cracked through his lips. His attire reflected that of his house, Rakghoul. Various reds and blacks adorn his form fitting outfit to protect him from buffeting winds and dust. A single shoulder pauldron was strapped to his right shoulder, wrapped in a maroon wrap that traveled down his bandaged arm. Across his face adorned a red stream of facepaint, nearly representing a death mask, that ran down his neck. As the creature settled he grabbed some more of the red makeup in one palm and smeared it over the Adar’s brow, slowly running his hand down its snout.

For a moment he paused admiring the sithspawn’s eyes. Like staring into a separate galaxy in itself.

“You are absolutely stunning.”

An impact tore Varin’s gaze as another racer landed on the starting line, the spectacle amped up all of the other sithspawn. As Varin’s Adar began to act up he jerked its reins down growling into its ear. Almost like a command and a show of dominance. The Adar hissed back but conceded, for now at least.

Varin looked over to the newcomer and he recognized the black scales and a smile crept up on his face.

“I was hoping I wasn’t the only badawan here. I certainly hope this isn’t just for show from you two. I expect great things.”

His words were not meant to disrespect, rather the opposite, as his gaze fell upon his mount. He truly was grateful that at least one familiar face was in the race. His pose shifted in his saddle taking a more relaxed stance. After his quick moment of admiration Varin set up his Adar in its ready position behind the starting line, looking down to get a good look at all the other racers and their mounts. He was as ready as he would ever be for this race. Whatever happens next, well that was up to fate.

Tags: Naamino Zuukamano Lodd Grimmin Leshanna Dromar Haro Aven (Open to all racers)​

 

[Elmindra Xitaar]

KORRIBAN | VARDIN CITY
OBJECTIVE 1 | ASCENDENT REVELRY
Darth Caedes | Revna Marr | Srina Talon | Ufsa'ynth'aris | Darth Carnifex | Madrona A’Mia | Gerwald Lechner | OPEN

​

The spires of Vardin glowed with the last light of a riotous sunset. Neon lights and fire-red lanterns bled their colors across the palatial heights. From the lowest tiers to the uppermost reaches of the stalagmites above, the city pulsed with vibrancy, caught up in revelry's thrall.

The air was thick with scent, both natural and conjured—sweat and smoke, pheromones and feasts. Drums pounded with primal force, flutes wailed in counterpoint, and the throaty chants of Sith voices wove through the crowds. From balconies, from plazas, from tower-top and street alike, Korriban celebrated not merely survival, but the undeniable truth that the Confederation had broken against them, shattered like glass hurled upon stone.

Above it all, in the palace of Vardin, where the King of Korriban and his court of Lords held their ascendent revelry, First Lord Elmindra Xitaar watched from her chosen seat beside Ufsa'ynth'aris , Master of Ceremonies, a goblet nestled lazily in her hand. The Falleen's lips curved faintly as she studied the growing gathering with the calm precision of a well-practiced socialite, weighing every gesture and glance, every presentation and implication with passive interest.

The tall graceful form of Lord Seer Madrona A’Mia caught her eye as the Neti skirted the crowd in what appeared to be an effort to remain discrete, despite her rather eye-catching and elegant layered dress of living foliage. Then, her gaze flicked to one particularly brave warrior who apparently thought himself worthy of approaching quite close to Darth Caedes before bowing low and placing his offering to the King upon the step. It was important for the people of Korriban to be provided such an opportunity to properly honor their King, and Elmindra was glad to see him enjoying himself despite his usual distaste for such indulgence and performance. Though, she knew much of his contentment surely had to do with his current company, specifically Lady Revna Marr .

She stole a sidelong look at the Chiss, her companion these past months through intrigue and stratagem, war councils and quiet maneuverings. Syntharis wore diplomacy like silk, draped so easily across his frame as to hide the true strength beneath. There was something powerfully satisfying about the ease in which they worked together. More, she simply enjoyed his company—his wit, his quiet poise, the way he matched her schemes with precision. Few impressed Elmindra Xitaar, but this one… yes, he had earned her esteem.

"It's curious, how nothing seems to inspire such exultation and unification quite like victory in war," she waxed philosophically, her voice pitched for Syntharis' ears alone, before taking a slow sip from her goblet.

Her gaze did not linger on him though. Already it was drawn away—pulled, as though by some inexorable gravity—toward the procession that heralded the Dark Lord of the Kainate. The Crownguard marched and formed up in perfect unison, their weapons striking the ground in their own rhythm that cut through the festival's music. Darth Carnifex strode between the uniform lines of his guard like a creature utterly at home in conquest and spectacle alike, his war-plate still bearing carbon scoring and dried blood like trophies of battle. All the while, the chants rose, sharp and violent, before the chorus broke into one thunderous roar.

"KÂR'NIFHEX, DRAZH'ÛLKAN AKÛL'NÊKRITH!"​

Elmindra felt her King's searing gaze upon her and she met his eyes, offering a minute nod in understanding. He would not rise to meet Carnifex's spectacle. That burden—no, that honor—was hers, should she accept it.

She took a last parting sip of her wine, savoring its bite upon her tongue before setting the goblet aside and rising from her seat to stand. She gave Syntharis one final glance, her slight smile carrying a hint of mischief.

"It appears our King desires that his honored guest be given a proper welcome," she said with an undercurrent of dry humor.

Through the crowd of revelers and perfumed haze she moved, people parting instinctually from her path as she did. Ahead, Carnifex's towering form loomed ever closer, his guard pounding their chant into the bones of the city. Elmindra reached the place where festival and procession collided, and there she stopped. Not too close. Not too far. Her chin lifted, her gaze locked unflinchingly upon the Eternal Father.

"Lord Carnifex," she addressed, her tone steeped in practiced reverence and smooth formality. "Korriban honors your presence, and your participation in the defense of our Holy Worlds."

She did not bow, but she did offer a respectful inclination of her head, an observation of her position within His order. Yet, she stood firm, between the throne and the Eternal Father, her steadfast poise the answer to her King's command. Her crimson reptilian eyes held the weight of the Dark Lord's presence with the resolution of a seasoned warrior.

"Will Darth Prazutis be joining in Korriban's revelries this evening as well?"​

 

[Avarice]

Darth Carnifex

Avarice disembarked in silence, trailing several steps behind the Butcher King. He halted as the sunlight spilled across his svelte form, crimson eyes squinting against the blaze. The noise, the scents, the lavish tumult of the procession pressed in all at once creating a spectacle so immense it might have overwhelmed a lesser creature. Yet he endured it with a patient stillness, drinking it all in as though cataloguing each fragment for later use.

He padded along in Carnifex's wake, with a soundless, unassuming stride. Unlike others who came from the warfront draped in fatigue and grime, he bore no such ruin. His robes of black and silver fell with immaculate lines as though they had been freshly pressed, and across his visage clung twin half-masks, their edges like carved obsidian against pale alabaster skin. Expressionless, and austere, a mask atop a mask. Neither awe nor disdain touched him and his visage, as if all this pageantry were but a shadow-play on the wall of some forgotten cavern.

He seemed calm and composed as he padded after, with each glance seemingly indifferent, hiding the truth of what lingered in that singular crimson gaze. Was there obedience in his silence, or only the cold mimicry of it? The masks concealed more than flesh as they cloaked his intent, restraining what might otherwise slip free.

And so he followed, docile in appearance, the image of a hound at heel. Yet there was a question gnawing at the edges of perception: was he truly so tamed… or merely the wolf wearing obedience as another mask, biding its time until the leash grew slack?

Nevertheless, the rather uncharacteristic picture of an unquestioningly obedient Avarice followed after, offering only slight, fleeting glances or long, unbroken stares at those who approached or addressed the Butcher King. The small figure was far less a spectacle than the titan he padded behind, and perhaps his meager and slight frame, accompannied by soft presence might have faded into the obscurity with just how so plain were his minor actions.

Elmindra Xitaar 's words caught his attention briefly, and his crimson gaze slid across the assembled faces. For a moment, he lingered upon Madrona A’Mia , before his eyes drifted onward to the offerings of food and drink that cluttered the revelry. His masked nose wrinkled faintly with a small, involuntary tic, as though some unseen itch stirred beneath the porcelain veneer, but he remained near motionless and silent. Slowly, his partially gloved hands withdrew into the wide sleeves of his robes, vanishing them from sight as he folded them away. The posture he assumed was one of deliberate abstinence, an unspoken refusal to partake in anything of the revelry around him. He would not lift a cup nor break bread without leave; whether by discipline or design, he carried himself like a servant among the Dark Lord's retinue, content to vanish into the role of a shadow at heel.

 

[Kaila Irons]

Wearing: Dress
Tag: Genesis Draykin Tamsin Graves
Mentioned: Darth Virelia

"If you need anything, please tell me."

"Thank you." she said softly, something Anathemous was unused to.

It was... nice, not to worry about her indomitable image for just a moment. She touched her arm as Virelia passed, afforded her a faint smile. It was all she could really offer after her exile, despite everything they'd been though recently.

"Hmh."

"I think what I need is something expensive to sip."

"Your dress is amazing Lord Anathemous."

"Ohh," she chuckled "thank you, Lady Graves."

It felt strange to call her little sister by titles, pretend they were anything but. So many sacrifices to preserve the illusion of Master and Apprentice. But it was for her own good, she supposed.

"It was commissioned for me after the invasion. Ghorman silk~" she smirked.


"Oh-"

Kaila stopped to upon finding one of the Jen'ari servants carrying a tray of drinks. By the time she'd picked out a glass of wine and turned, a crowd of party goers had come though, smelling of spice and other narcotics. The noise was grating, their presence crowding, she flinched. Why did she feel so much smaller today?

She circled around to find her companions again, but ended up in a different part of the building.

Just her luck...

The young Lord sighed and wandered alone, sipping from her glass.

Most gave her a wide berth, she reeked of ancient powers despite it all and her heavy gait made her appear as though a titan even if she were no epicanthix or zabrak. It was not until something caught her eye that Kaila stopped before one of the tables, giving Genesis Draykin a glance.

Then a brief stare.

"You seem... familiar, have we met?" she hummed curiously.

​

 

[Genesis Draykin]

Theme: Bad Moon​

Location: At the Bar
Outfit: [X]
Tag: Kaila Irons | Tamsin Graves

She slid the glass across the table as a waiter walked by and just pointed at the glass. She watched as he poured the burnished color whiskey. She watched the stream from the bottle pour into the glass letting it take her away. As the waiter finished pouring the glass her mind clear of her thoughts of the past for a moment a tall Blonde woman in a spiked leather dress walked up to her.

Gen had only caught her just out of the corner of her eye not fully turning her head to look at the sith. She didn't have to, she could smell her, she knew instantly who it was, she grasped the glass of newly poured whiskey and pulled it in close. Her thoughts whirled with what to say, no she shouldn't say anything. She buried it thankful of the cybernetic device making her thoughts indecipherable as they would feel the cold chill of fear washing over her.

Why here of all places, was she a sith. No, it was a mistake, maybe she was just undercover. Her hand wanted to shake as she lifted the glass caught in her clutches, but she focused hard not to show any signs she was shaken in this moment. She took a sip of her glass gulping back the burning liquid and with it the lump that wanted to form in her throat.

Mentally telling herself it was safer if she didn't know, better for her. What if she was a sith though, there had been a reason she had never sought her out. It wasn't that she didn't want to know what became of her, it was because she was afraid, she might deeply regret what she found.

"Doubt it, unless you hang out on Scipio. I ain't been on many sith worlds." She lied she had been to most of them in her lifetimes. Hell she even knew their tongue not that she ever felt the need to speak it. "Are you…." No she didn't want to know, she shouldn't, she didn't deserve to know. "One of the sith lords?"

 

[Kaila Irons]

Location: At the Bar
Wearing: Dress
Tag: Genesis Draykin

She stared a moment long.

Kaila had never been subtle about her untethered curiosity, nor hyper vigilance so sharply trained.

Every twitch of her lips, muscle in her jaw, every second of utter focus, Genesis was seen and studied. In the end she learned very little, but the reason behind that focus and uncanny familiarity remained her foremost question. It was almost like looking at herself, somewhere in the future.

Little did she know, their expressions mirrored one another.

"Are you…." No she didn't want to know, she shouldn't, she didn't deserve to know. "One of the sith lords?"

Golden eyes blinked out of a daze.

"Ah, quite." she said cordially.

"Darth Anathemous, Lord of Echnos."

Her titles were dispensed with an air of authority, her chin tilted ever so slightly up, posture straight and shoulders back.

Still her brows subtly creased, memory so close yet so elusive, all other thoughts of war and politics drifting as she found the next task to dedicate her time to, a puzzle to solve, drowning out such useless emotions in utilitarian inquisitiveness.

Finally she sat down across from the woman, gloved hands folded neatly on the table.

Uninvited, but the young Darth didn't need it. not in the domain of Sith.

"Never been to Scipio but... I am confident I've seen your face somewhere."

"And I rarely forget a face."

​

 

[Genesis Draykin]

Theme: Bad Moon​

Location: At the Bar
Outfit: [X]
Tag: Kaila Irons

She didn't turn her head, she couldn't, she wanted to, but she would not let herself. Had she seen the face it would be etched into her memory. A memory of something she lost, something she had let go of. The one thing that did matter to her but was better off without her or so she thought.

She couldn't tell her, it would only make things worse. She was safe free from the life that haunted her and she ran from constantly. She was trying to tell herself stories making up why she was here and now but….

"Darth Anathemous, Lord of Echnos."

She visibly choked back as she quickly took a drink from her glass. "Ah." She finally spit out after she pulled the glass from her lips. She had heard of the place Echnos though didn't know much about other then it sometimes being a port for smugglers back in the day. Trepidation washed over her, she couldn't give a name back. What should she even say the list of alias's she had used over many years ran through her mind "Gen Devoid, I don't have a title." That was not exactly true, though she did not have a Darth one a family tradition her mother thankfully gave up.

Though the realization that the woman talking to her was in fact a sith lord caused her heart to sink. It was something she never wanted. The dark legacy that tainted them all, their apocalyptic fate. It was not meant to be her legacy, she was supposed to be free of it all a new way, a new start. There was a tiny bit of anger welling up in her as she knew she had failed to save her, anger at herself.

"Never been big on fancy titles or positions, my parents were both pirates. So, I grew up learning to steal from the politicians with titles." She probably shouldn't have said it to a sith lord but at least Kaila would know on some level a truth or at least a partial one. One of Gen's mother's was in fact a pirate all her life, the other was a little more than that and had many titles. This was also way to divert the conversation from the real story, she pushed away telling herself as much as this wasn't what she wanted, she couldn't fix it. It was all her fault and that guilt would now always stain her now.

"And I rarely forget a face."

The conversation though never left the topic at hand, how could she remember her face. She was so young the last time they saw each other. She could lie pretend to be her own twin sister Kahlan maybe but that would still cause damage and bring danger. She took one last swig of her drink. "I mean I do have a twin sister, maybe you met her before." She finally admitted it hurt to say it but if Kaila went looking for Kahlan at least Gen knew she would be searching a long time she hadn't seen or heard from her in over ten years.

 

[Kaila Irons]

Location: At the Bar
Wearing: Dress
Tag: Genesis Draykin

Kaila drowned her suspicious expression in a glass of wine, watching "Gen" choke back a drink of her own.

Whatever was happening here, whatever Gen was telling her, it wasn't the full story and she knew it. Her gaze sharpened, that golden glow intensifying. This talk of pirates thievery sounded more like a ruse to pass herself off as unimportant than any clarification. At best, was a diversion.

"I mean I do have a twin sister, maybe you met her before."

She leaned forward, elbows to the table, fingers steepled beneath her chin.

Her face was dour, vigilant, the one she wore on the job.

In stark contrast to the freckles so gently spread about her features, that soft, youthful skin. Everything that may have reminded Genesis of what she'd lost, marred by what she'd become.

"I made a career out of knowing when someone's hiding something from me, Miss Devoid."

Her voice was quiet but firm.

"You haven't looked at me once since we started speaking."

"Why so nervous?" she hummed eerily.

​

 

[Genesis Draykin]

Theme: Bad Moon​

Location: At the Bar
Outfit: [X]
Tag: Kaila Irons

Something in her told her just to get up a leave it would be better, easier. Easier for who though her or the woman that now came to sitting across from. Her gloved hand fumbled and played with the empty glass in front of her as she stubbornly refused to look up forcing her gaze down at the table.

She had been beaten, pumped full of truth serum, and various other tortures in her line of work. Everyone broke eventually but it was only a matter of time, but this was the worst thing she ever had to endure. Because it was pulling at something that tortured every night when she tried to fall asleep. It was a memory that plagued her thoughts at the worst times in her life, how many bottles had she buried it in, in her life.

It was both the best choice and the worst choice she ever made in her life and even worse now that she found that she knew a truth that would haunt her even deeper.

"I made a career out of knowing when someone's hiding something from me, Miss Devoid."

Her eyes drifted up from the glass slowly until she finally laid her eyes on that face so familiar. She followed the lines of that face past the freckles that dotted her face until her blue eyes met those golden eyes. Gen's eyes were blue in her natural state but could shift color when she let certain emotions overwhelm her which is why she wore contacts to hide the effect. But as the two women's eyes met finally with how close they were the contacts effects could not hide it fully there was a slight orange tint to those blue eyes light and dull a sign of her sadness and regret.

"You haven't looked at me once since we started speaking."

She was so gorgeous but there was darkness and sadness in those golden eyes, something missing and broken. Something that wasn't there when Kaila was a child, she was so happy and wide eyed then. Gen's for the first time stopped fighting her forced stern facial expression, it softened and thinned out it a saddened frown. Maybe she should have just left, walked away.

"Why so nervous?"

"Because my life is dangerous, always has been. I have to bury and hide who I am because there are people who would hunt me if they knew." Well one person who would destroy her if she knew she was alive, like she destroyed everyone else in her family. "Darth Anathemous." The name rolled off her tongue like she was sickened by it almost. "I can't talk about it here not out in the open with prying eyes and ease dropping ears." Especially the sith she knew how they operated information was a weapon. Her softened tone and facial expression went back to serious.

 

[Lunaria Talon]

OBJECTIVE I — ASCENDANT REVELRIES
Direct Tag: Darth Carnifex | Quinn Varanin | Lirka Ka
Nearby Tag: Darth Caedes | Revna Marr | Srina Talon | Elmindra Xitaar | Ufsa'ynth'aris
Hopeful Tag: Matteo Guo-Yian
___________________________
_______​

The procession that brought her Haru to Korriban thundered ahead of her—Powerful bellows, cries, and the sight of Crownguard making her feel as if too many eyes were suddenly upon them. She did not yet know what such pageantry truly meant, only that the weight of its symbols cut through triumphant throngs of people with considerable ease. Lunaria followed at a slight distance, small and unassuming, almost relieved to be swallowed by the proverbial shadow of her betters.

Where their importance crashed against the masses without mercy…She would be overlooked in the greatness of their wake. She was no one, nothing, not a general, not a war hero, and certainly not immortal. So…It was to be expected.

Artemis Dreadmoor was the name she had taken to blend in with the rest of Jutrand Academy and conceal her identity. It was a name borrowed, a mask, to protect her. To most, she was just another young acolyte swept up in the tide of victory, a loyal Student to the Order. Her long, white-gold hair had been drawn up into a braided knot on top of her head, while her attire, a black tunic and skirt, mirrored what Darth Carnifex wore in humble reflection.

She was not the goddess that Quinn Varanin was, nor could she hold a candle to any of the women she had caught a glimpse of. Her features were soft, pixie-esque, but schooled to what one might expect from a Sithling in the retinue of the Butcher King. The hilt of her lightsaber swung lightly against her hip, less a declaration of power and more a quiet reminder that she belonged.

At least…In theory, she belonged.

It wasn't that she felt like she needed to hide with a burlap sack over her head…But Lunaria was keenly aware of the disparity. Who wouldn't be? She was pale and fine-featured, her youth lending the appearance of porcelain made flesh, but among kings, queens, governors, politicians, and Sith of the highest order—Should she even be here?

This city was full of titans who had defended the Holy Worlds and Luna…Luna was just a girl who had gotten lucky. Extremely lucky, that murder-bots hadn't ripped her and her friend apart.

Gunmetal blue eyes kept low, respectful, but not unseeing. She caught every flare of light, every movement in the crowd, even the presence of Jen'ari performing as servants. The Echani-Arkanian hybrid had to square her jaw to keep from flashing back to the horde they'd encountered. Half expecting them to change, turn, and start ripping attendees to shreds. Artemis did her best not to shy away from it, no matter how much the undead unsettled her. Instead, she kept her composure, shoulders square, while her movements remained precise and reserved.

She was fine with being unnoticed. A footnote. Less, than a footnote trailing in the grandeur of Darth Carnifex , the radiance of Quinn Varanin , and the towering menace of Lirka Ka .

Matteo Guo-Yian was still on the mend, but in the moment…He was sorely missed. She wasn't certain if the medi-droids would let him loose for an event like this, and she kept her fingers figuratively crossed. Her friend had a way of making situations like melt into something that was almost normal.

Almost.

"You bring my love to me…"

The voice of her mother made her freeze, dead, in her footsteps. Were it not for the synchronized movements of the procession, she might have bumped into the back of Lirka Ka nose first. Lunaria remained where she was, uncertain, and another voice floated up from a woman she couldn't see over the shoulders of much taller warriors.

"Lord Carnifex," she addressed, her tone steeped in practiced reverence and smooth formality. "Korriban honors your presence, and your participation in the defense of our Holy Worlds."

Some of the tension in her lessened.

Lunaria wasn't certain if Haru had informed her mother that she would be there, and she knew how much the woman loathed surprises. Her eyes dared to lift when Lirka Ka stepped away, and she caught a glimpse of the King of Korriban ( Darth Caedes ). Something about his expression made her look right back down while she swallowed harder than intended. Even the Jen'ari seemed...Not pleased.

Despite her fluttering heart..She would not embarrass Haru or Naneth.

Rather than assume she had the right to approach, she merely bowed respectfully, silently, passing on her gratitude for those who had brought the now-famed Psilofyr into existence.

It had saved her life.

 

[Matteo Guo-Yian]

OBJECTIVE I — ASCENDANT REVELRIES
Direct Tag: Darth Carnifex | Quinn Varanin | Lirka Ka | Lunaria Talon
Nearby Tag: Darth Caedes | Revna Marr | Srina Talon | Elmindra Xitaar | Ufsa'ynth'aris

The infection ended up spreading through his arm and made him incredibly sick.

It was only through the direct intervention of specialized personnel (he suspected his Master's hand in it) that his arm was saved. They didn't end up having to amputate it, but people weren't pleased at the risk he had taken. And he couldn't say that he had done it to make sure Lunaria was safe, because they wouldn't understand that either.

Sacrificing your own strength and power for the sake of someone else? It was practically anathema to the Sith. Instead the story was that Matteo had been grasping for an opportunity to finish the fight on their terms. Taken a chance that ended up back-firing.

Now that was something the Sith understood.

Matteo arrived later but glided through the crowd with grace. Even if every step hurt him, he would not shame Srina Talon by showing weakness in this moment. Eventually he reached the side of his friend. He kept just behind her and to the side. Quiet as a whisper until he smiled and murmured something in her ear.

"Perhaps she will give you a medal." Voice low, just for her ears alone, leaning in with his hands locked behind his back. His arm was still more black than ivory, the corruption still lingering in his veins.

The people send by his Master had only done the bare minimum and then made it clear it would be up to him if the healing would take or not.

"I think we did rather well, didn't we?"

They had survived against a dozen hunter-killer droids with anti-force projectiles that moved with the speed of sound. They managed to bury deep into the ground (with assistance but that was not helpful to mention now) and gotten into the facility. And in the end the invasion had been beaten away by the Sith.

"Calm posture, chin tipped up, you have nothing to be ashamed about." Matteo reminded her as he righted his back once more and stepped up to stand right next to Luna now.

 

[Mercy]

Tag: Quinn Varanin

Mercy wore red as well, but unlike Quinn she didn't come in a dress. Instead hers was a bespoke suit that draped perfectly along her frame and accentuated everything from her broad shoulders to her height.

She also had a cigarette between her fingers as she quietly watched the whole procession.

Quiet was her tongue but her eyes were feverish.

They desired this.

Worship of her own, to be seen as glorious and to be obeyed without hesitation. The Kaggath had given her a taste of what it meant to be in the spotlight, but that wasn't the same as what these creatures had. It didn't matter if Kaine won or lost, these obedient souls would bow and scrap until their knees wore out regardless.

That was the sort of devotion that Mercy needed.

"Do you like this?" Mercy suddenly said as Quinn came into view and proximity. "Is this what you desire, Princess?"

Her question was frank for now, devoid of the usual teasing she employed against Quinn.

Amber eyes glanced away from the crowd and settled fully on Quinn.

The Echani's mind was locked from her, Mercy never had any inclination or talent in mentalism. But she had rubbed shoulders with the Echani culture to at least see that Quinn seemed to have grown thoughtful after this display.

"It is... rather intoxicating, isn't it?" A soft smirk before she plucked the flute of champagne out of Quinn's fingers and took a sip herself.

By way of trade she offered a tug from her cigarette instead.

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

Objective One
Ascendant Revelries ​

Though the woman was not actively engaging the use of her more sweeping senses, given just how overwhelming the crowd would be for both her and the orchid, Alisteri's presence slipping by unseen until he was right beside her was notable indeed. Her uncanny eyes snapped to focus on him, and for a moment, they looked silently upon each other like two predators meeting at the edge of their respective territories.

A'Mia relaxed visibly, and in so doing, her form shrank to bring them perfectly eye to eye, the transformation so subtle that one might blink and wonder if she truly had been nearly seven feet tall before. The neti tipped her head and quietly greeted the man in that almost singsong way she had.

"You look well, Alisteri, if a little… on edge. I'm pleased you're here."

There was some fanfare going on, the arrival of Darth Carnifex and his retinue most notably, and already moves had been made by Elmindra Xitaar to handle that. The neti's gaze slid to Darth Caedes and Revna Marr briefly, what passed for concern faintly rising up in her core. Those who had earned her loyalty, the members of her Grove, had reason to feel uneasy about the Butcher King's presence. A'Mia held no strong opinion of the man one way or the other, but she noted a kind of protective possessiveness over her King and his Lady given recent events.

Attention returned to Darth Strosius after only a brief pause; she turned fully toward him, and the refreshment table was all but forgotten in favor of a more thorough greeting.

"I have some responsibilities to see to here, but once they are concluded, I have much to show you regarding progress made on our project. Events on Brosi have provided me with a breakthrough!"

A rare burst of earnest emotion lit up her expression, though soon the brightness of her eyes grew keen with curiosity once more as she looked him over more thoroughly. It was a rare thing indeed for the man to be without armor.

"How have you fared? It seems that you've been quite busy of late as well. And with Revna fully returned to herself," she paused just briefly— trying to read his body language.
"Well, I imagine that's a relief."

 

[Kaila Irons]

Location: Leaving the Bar
Wearing: Dress
Tag: Genesis Draykin

She finally looked at her.

It wasn't what she'd expected. Pain and sorrow, not the anger, the fight she'd prepared for.

Anathemous' expression hardly changed. Those eyes softened maybe, just enough to show that Kaila still existed somewhere beneath it all. But for whatever mercy she'd shown, thoughts of deception still goaded her like a caged animal introduced to it's cellmate. Perhaps, for all the power she'd fought for, that was still the truth.

"I can't talk about it here not out in the open with prying eyes and ease dropping ears."

"hm." not quite a sigh, but not fully a hum.

The silence stretched for a moment.

So many factors to consider. Sorrow where there should be aggression, fiery eyes she'd seen before, a familiar face. Kaila released a slow, deep breath as she pushed off the table.

"Very well," she said with a slow nod.

"We will discuss this in private, because I believe there is more to you than just some spy."

"But..." she stood, nearly a head above her fellow blonde.

Golden eyes fixed her a commanding glare, shadows cast over them as she tilted to look down at her.

"If this is a trap. And if you try to run. Know that I have the resources to find anyone. Within, or without."

Finally she excused Genesis from the table, one hand towards a doorway, the other behind her back.

"Do not waste Sith hospitality."

"It is a rare luxury."

​