Faction Revelry in the Holy Worlds

[Rowyna Galeway]

Rowyna stood in her dress whites, collar fastened high, tunic pressed so sharply it could cut glass. Around her, the Commonwealth fleet was still in the slow churn of repair and replenishment, damage crews patching hulls while engineers ran diagnostics over tired reactors. Many of her officers had chosen to remain aboard their ships, tending to the wounded or their machines. But Rowyna, Captain Galeway, would be the face of their fleet tonight.

The Sith celebrated in their usual fashion. Revelry. Gaudy spectacles. Merrymaking as if blood had not been spilled. Their halls were gilded in shadow and flame, every banner proclaiming the power of their creed. For Rowyna, it was suffocating. It made her ache for home, for the comfort of a warm bowl of ramyeon, and the flicker of the holo on some historic period drama.

She drew in a steadying breath as she descended the shuttle's ramp, boots striking the durasteel with a rhythm that sounded almost too loud against the distant echo of music and laughter.

She knew no one here, not personally. But she knew of them, faces committed to memory from dossiers, briefings, the endless grind of FleetNet reports. Allies, if one could ever use that word when speaking of Sith. Tonight, however, they were comrades in victory, however temporary that might prove.

The Commonwealth had held the line. They had fought in defense of the Holy Worlds and had bled dearly for it. She thought of the names already being inscribed into the casualty rolls, of hulls that would never make it home. Rowyna would have preferred to remain with her people, among the crews who had carried her into the fire and back.

But duty was not optional. And diplomacy, at least the show of solidarity, was required. So she set her jaw, squared her shoulders, and walked into the lion's den, the lone Commonwealth captain among Sith lords and their sycophants, the weight of her nation's service borne on the crisp white of her uniform.

Elmindra Xitaar | Allyson Locke | Madelyn Lowe | Darth Caedes | Madrona A’Mia | Lunaria Talon | Srina Talon | Revna Marr | et al [a lotta you here, open to interaction]​

 

[Garza]

|| Objective I: Enjoy the Company ||
|| Tags: Open ||​

Everyone was enjoying the various shows of power over the Imperial Confederation's dead. The battle had taken a toll on many of those who were among the Sith. Even more so, when this toll was taken over the Holy Worlds. The very worlds that was the birth of our kind. The Eons since then have been up and down. However, it was now that there was a thriving host of the Sith Order. As such, many who attended had been healed of their wounds, and given awards, or participated in this string of events to increase the already rising morale.

I enjoyed the sight of these people living and thriving within the revelry of such things. Music and cheering, Drinking and partaking of substances that ranged from food and more. It was all to be for them. They fought well and bravely. Eyes overlooking all of them.

While I would not be able to directly partake of such things, due to my size and stature, I did attend. Staying way back from most and only standing in the center of the city where my form did not break anything. Various Soldiers and Sith would walk along the pads of my feet and marvel at the size of the creature that fought on the fields of battle to destroy and take out many of the enemy artillery emplacements, even star ships.

The music was strange to me, but very much enjoyable. Slowly I had my hands close to my chest and shoulders shimmying with it. Showing that even while the destructive force of such a thing, can also be here to show that even the largest of creatures at the Sith orders disposal, namely at the behest of the Empress herself, Srina Talon that I too could contribute to such things. As such, I just enjoyed myself as others did.

The light humming from my chest was kept low to not break eardrums and to not shatter windows, but it was loud enough that many could hear even from a distance away.

May the Sith Order Reign over our Holy Worlds forever more!

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Objective I: Ascendent Revelries
Ayiaz

Lysander stepped forth with effortless poise, feeling part of the very air that filled the grand hall. But then, he paused. His emerald eyes swept over the crowd again, drinking in the scene with unease; there was still an undercurrent that pulsed beneath the surface.

Never before had Vardin felt so alive during his time here, the energy resonating with his own heartbeat, and perhaps, the entire planet exhaled in unison for once. Such was a pleasant thought.

Lost in the moment, and drawn back to the platter gleaming with exotic bounty, he finally lifted a single piece of fruit. The flesh of it yielded to his teeth, followed by a burst of sweetness exploding across his palate. It was as promising as he imagined.

He stood alone, detached, intentionally so, aware of fellow Badawans locked in with a competition. His glassy gaze roamed among the throng of people swirling about. There was no whisper in the Force, just a subtle tug, swelling within his chest, slowly growing louder. Frustration threatened to gnaw at him.

This feeling, so unfamiliar, could not be recognized or named.

Then returned the Neti's voice, forever a source of cryptic letdowns, yet this time, the news wasn't entirely disappointing. Was this a sign of growth?

Kor'ethyr's Sithspawn husbandry program has recently benefited from an influx of funding and is doing quite well, as you can see by the variety of creatures featured today— that does not mean you have carte blanche to go pick out a pet for yourself.​

A'Mia chided idly through their mental connection.

Newly founded Spore Industries could use additional security for some of our dealings, though. That ship of yours might benefit from onboard protection that can't be sliced or short-circuited….​

Lysander hesitated at first, but soon gave in, unable to resist sending one final jab.

<So, you're saying I can pick one out, just not today. Got it. I've already got a name for this security beast, and I'll totally start building an enclosure on your ship after the festivities. Thanks, tree lady.>

Returning to the halls, the blonde suddenly froze, breath catching in his throat. A whisper escaped as his mouth parted. "What in the feth."

There she was, Zaiya, practically a neon sign from the Core Worlds on a planet that knew death intimately well. The girl's aura struck like an electric jolt, reverberating through his being, igniting a hollow ache in the ribs, as memories of their time in the Mid Rim surfaced, when he was still a Padawan, before his descent into the dark.

And while their recent messages had been few, with him warning the Lovalla not to take it seriously, here she now stood in the flesh, impossible to miss, impossible to ignore. There was no blending in with that girl; she was in danger, of that he was certain.

The celebration faded into nothing but a murmur as his gaze locked onto her figure. The fruit in his hand was forgotten, the music drowned out.

Finally, he could grasp that undercurrent that'd been bothering him: instinct.

Carefully, Lysander began to close the distance between them, making sure he aligned with her own path. One participant shifted aside, and an undead server glided past in silence. He tried to remain calm and controlled on the outside, but inside, a raging storm twisted.

Painfully so, he sent out a tendril, creating a delicate telepathic thread between them.

<Zaiya. Korriban. Really? If you're smart, you'll walk away while you still have the option.>

But that was the problem.

She wasn't smart.

<I'm not invested. I'm just stupid. And terrible at ignoring red flags. It's been a long time since Naboo, and I'd prefer this not end in blood.>

 

[Darth Carnifex]

Where the Dark Lord walked, the shadows danced in revelry. Light bent in accordance with His will, strange angles casting queer shapes on the walls and faces of the assembled celebrators. His coming was like a celestial event, the crowning of an eclipse by a corona of fire. His dark magnetism drew eyes, drew wills, all towards Him, the axis mundi of the Dark Side; the sacred anchor upon which all else was levered, the fulcrum of utter dread and shadow.

He looked briefly to His niece Quinn, who was already beginning to slip away from His procession. His words were soft, loud enough for only her ears to receive. "Do not overindulge," He warned, His teachings having always preached moderation and restraint in such inhibitions. Whether she would heed His advice was another matter entirely, the Princess of the Sith often deigned to do as she wish, not as she was bid. For now, it could not be helped.

The Dark Lord watched curiously as the green-skinned Elmindra approached Him, undoubtedly a proxy of her king. That Caedes had elected to not meet Him directly did not go unnoticed, nor did the look that crossed the King's features go unaccounted. The Dark Lord was very observant, and very few things escaped His sight; even things thought unseen. Where His sight did go, however, was on the Empress, who would know the unspoken gleam in His eye for what it was.

"Appearances can be deceiving, Admiral, and honor is fleeting. The world suffers my presence, and your king will undoubtedly suffer me as well." He began to walk past her into the assembled court, but He stopped half a beat and let His gaze sweep back to look at Elmindra. "The Mortarch moves and does as he wishes, Admiral. It is an exercise in futility to anticipate him, he comes and does as he decrees; all else is fantasy." Abruptly shifting tone, the Dark Lord then added, "I have business with the Empress tonight." He moved beyond her after that, the procession that had followed in His wake allowed to now disperse and carry His exultation to all corners of Vardin.

Two of His entourage were required to stay by His side. One, masked and demure, moved like a shadow at heel, silence behind a porcelain veil. The other, a pale wisp of youth with lowered gaze and careful poise, content to vanish within the immensity of the Dark Lord's shadow. They followed dutifully, stopping only when the Dark Lord came to pause not far from the Empress. His bright eyes, like a jeweled diadem, regarded her with solemn reverence.

"Empress of all Sith," He intoned, voice laden with authoritative weight. He gestured to the masked boy at His side, "My apprentice Avarice," and then to the girl, "And my apprentice Artemis Dreadmoor." Only the Empress knew the full truth of Artemis, that she was in truth Lunaria Talon, the Empress' own flesh-and-blood daughter. Lunaria knew the truth of her mother as well, but all was tempered through the veiled meeting that was now taking place.

"I return from harrying our foes across the endless void. 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." From the earlier procession came forth many war chests of despoiled goods, carried by decraniated servants. They placed the chests in view of the King of Korriban and the Empress, allowing all near them to gaze upon the decadence of war. "And many prisoners I bring as well. They are kept aside in preparation for the sacrifice, as is our way."

He allowed Himself the faintest smile, one the Empress was intimately familiar with. "All of this I bequeath to you, our indomitable Empress."

Srina Talon | Darth Caedes | Revna Marr
Elmindra Xitaar | Avarice | Lunaria Talon
Quinn Varanin | Lirka Ka | Rowyna Galeway
Madelyn Lowe | Allyson Locke | Madrona A’Mia
Gerwald Lechner | Naedira Darcrath | Aerik Lechner
Matteo Guo-Yian | Mercy | Ghruna ​

 

[Darth Strosius]

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

The noting of His apparent discomfort drew a hum from the masked man, one of both agreement and dismissal. His attitude or comfort hardly mattered, He was here regardless. Darth Strosius purposefully had His back turned to the wider party in some attempt to dull or otherwise ignore it. The refreshments adorning the table didn't make Him fidget and reach for His lightsaber unlike the sight of the other guests would, even if He wasn't anything visibly soothed by His meager attempt to ignore the rest of the event.

Darth Strosius visibly bristled, a physical tension with was only exacerbated by the freezing and jagged shaping of the subtle pale tendrils flowing from His robes. Without His armor they were more apparent even in their typical recessed form as they were now, providing some insight on what must have been a rather frustrated expression beneath His mask. "I could have simply made my way to your laboratory to begin with then?" His words were careful yet sharpened, an edge to them to match the tension in His form. Yet He wasn't outright angered, more so inconvenienced it seemed.

The almost casual questions initially drew from Him nothing more than a click of His tongue in response, but after a few moments He did seem to relent somewhat. "There is never a dull moment these days." Peace was a lie to be sure, although that didn't improve His dull tone when He spoke. "I'm sure you can mirror my own business, fronts to secure and logistics to be managed and all that. Not to mention the people in between that need guidance and scrutiny alike. It is quite taxing, but someone must uphold the burden of responsibility."

At the mention of Revna, the masked man didn't finally cast a glance over His shoulder towards His daughter. His stare remained for a long moment before finally drifting back to A'Mia. "I had recommended that she stay out of the public eye and within Wonosan vessels and territory for awhile, until we could be sure that a reprisal for her rescue wasn't in operation. As you can see, she insisted otherwise." He sounded more displeased about that topic rather than anything else.

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

Objective One
Ascendant Revelries ​

Though her expression remained mostly calm and neutral, the etched line of one brow raised. A'Mia listened and waited, choosing not to interject or interrupt Darth Strosius

"I do not seek to bore or anger you with mundanity— So I'll make my way right to the point. As to Revna? She will do as she must and you are not the only one that vehemently wishes for her to remain safe, I count myself amongst that number now."

One long fingered hand splayed against her collar, indicating with body language how true that feeling was for her. The neti maintained enough distance from the man to grant his personal space, but her voice lowered as she leaned in and continued. Alisteri might never understand the significance of the fact that she chose to speak aloud in that moment rather than directly to his mind, but she was truly attempting to behave in the most thoughtful manner possible.

"Your distaste for what you see as a den of serpents is clear, but it does well to have access to many kinds of anti-venom does it not? Wonosan forces grow and you are many, but your opposition grows too. Sometimes, Alisteri, you hold onto resentment like a man drinking poison in the hopes it will kill his enemies."

She held up a finger to forestall interruption, her voice still soft and cheerful despite the contents of her words. It was clear she was building to some kind of point, not just seeking to chastise him.

"There are those of us outside your order that share your enemies, share some of your goals even, but as of yet collaboration has been piecemeal and individual between our peoples. I asked you here, in part, to consider a more significant alliance. A question I hope you take time to consider in earnest and perhaps in counsel with your most trusted people."

A'Mia's eyes flicked over to where Revna Marr sat and her mind called forth Kasir Dorran as two such advisors who might provide the Prophet with favorable feedback. The neti refrained from pressing her point too hard though and her body language softened a bit, shoulders and limbs relaxing into a stance of elegant poise.

"So no, it would not do to have met elsewhere. That would've denied me the chance to ask…"

With a smooth motion she offered a hand forward— not presumptive enough to close the distance entirely but assertive enough to make the gesture clear.

"May I have this dance?"

 

[Avarice]

Darth Carnifex
Srina Talon | Darth Caedes | Revna Marr
Elmindra Xitaar | | Lunaria Talon
Quinn Varanin | Lirka Ka | Rowyna Galeway
Madelyn Lowe | Quinn Varanin | Madrona A’Mia
Gerwald Lechner | Naedira Darcrath | Aerik Lechner
Matteo Guo-Yian | Mercy | Ghruna |

Avarice continued to follow in silence, like a shadow that had consented to be tethered. To any watching eye he was solely the image of a servant, masked and austere, a figure carved into the shape of obedience. None here would know the words he dared to hurl in secret, nor the defiance that had dripped from his venomed tongue.

To them he was likely only another acolyte in Carnifex’s procession, another pretty ornament to the Dark Lord’s endless theatre of power. Perhaps it amused the Dark Lord to display him thus. And if he now played the hound at heel, it was only to better map the terrain of masters and prey alike.

In public, though...surrounded by Sith nobility, sorcerers, warlords, and sycophants who would sooner gut him for sport than respect him, he melted seamlessly into the guise of docility, preferring the servant’s shadow, and the role of the obedient hound at heel. All masks and folded hands, he was practically drinking in the subtle plays of politics like wine, but never once letting slip that he was taking notes.

Yet behind that porcelain stillness, crimson eyes drank deep of every gesture, every glance, every unguarded flicker of intrigue that passed between those gathered.

Beneath the veneer of calm his senses prowled. His gaze marked each cluster of conversation, each subtle bow of head and the faint inflection of voice that betrayed deference or defiance.

He noted who spoke first, who hesitated, who lingered too near the Empress, and who shrank beneath the Dark Lord’s shadow. What others dismissed as pageantry, he sifted for patterns: currents of loyalty, tides of ambition, the fault-lines spiderwebbing through the great edifice of power, all silently catalogued.

Faces rose from the crowd, stirring recognition. His crimson gaze lingered a measured span on Lysander von Ascania , then passed to Quinn Varanin , whose unrestrained movements provoked the brief curl of envy before discipline smothered it cold. He found Lunaria Talon , and the look lingered only long enough to weigh her against Matteo Guo-Yian before sliding back again.

He breathed deep and slow, the sigh of a man at ease, though it was only another mask. What seemed languor was calculation, as while the Sith drank and boasted, Avarice drank only knowledge, and with each passing exchange another page was written.

The shape of power here was not lost on him. Darth Caedes sat enthroned like a king, sovereign of a single court; yet beside him, the Empress moved with a poise that seemed the perfect counterpoint to the Butcher King himself, with elegance in her beauty it contrasted to the refinement to his terror.

What was a king when seated before a god?

The hierarchy was beginning to reveal itself, subtle but inexorable, and Avarice drank it in as keenly as any sermon.

Avarice was not expecting to be introduced. He was placed within the Empress’s eye, whether he wanted it or not. Thankfully, there was another there as well, followed by a rather... sizeable gift.

If he had any thoughts on the gesture that the Dark Lord was making to the Empress, or of how he felt about it, it was not to be seen. He moved with a courtly grace, bowing in a manner that was less about obeisance than the sheer elegance of form, a gesture that might have belonged in an Echani noble court as much as in a Sith hall.

It was strange...almost abhorrent in some manner to witness. The Butcher King, whose presence alone bent halls and nations alike, allowed a measure of deference to pass toward the Empress. Out of an acknowledgment, that her station bore a gravity even he did not dismiss. To Avarice, the sight was somewhat unsettling, for it shattered an illusion of Carnifex as an unassailable monolith. He was not the lone mountain rising over the world, but one peak among others in a range whose breadth remained hidden. In that fleeting glimpse of concession, the hierarchy warped; power was no longer a clean ascent but a labyrinthine edifice, where its lines blurred and its apex obscured. And in this, the young apprentice found confirmation of his own creed: that power was never fixed, but always fluid.

His attention then shifted to the other apprentice, however...

Who is she? What does she know? Is she a rival for the Dark Lord's favor… or another pawn on the board?

Avarice didn’t linger long on the questions, for only time would tell. Despite the paranoia another Sith apprentice might feel, or the jealousy that a shared station implied, even with the idea that power divided was power diminished, he seemed to harbor no ill will or contempt for the girl. Instead, his crimson gaze glided towards her with a small gesture of acknowledgment.

None seemed to spared him more than a glance, and that suited him well. After all, a shadow overlooked is a shadow free to see.

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Mercy //:
//: Attire //:

Quinn heard the warning. She wondered if he was warning her about the event they were at — or if he had another reason to impart his wisdom. Quinn didn't let his words linger too much in her mind. She wanted to have fun; it had been some time since she had been able to just let loose. The last event that even came to mind was the Concord, but even there, she had to remain in control.

Diplomacy had been her focus for the evening.

As she drew closer, a voice drew her attention. Mercy had come into view and made her presence known. Quinn smiled gently as she took the question, needing a moment to fully digest it. It was loaded; most Sith wanted this type of blind obedience and reverence.

At her core, Quinn felt she was destined to be something more than her mortality. Her own parents were gods in their own right. Still, she mused as she drew the flute to her lips.

The glass kissed against her blood-stained lips, but was soon gone — leaving her with just a whisper of the champagne. In return, the woman was offered a cigarette. Quinn gently held Mercy's wrist and took a light drag. Her touch lingered for a moment, then she released the woman as she exhaled.

"I don't desire it," She started, tilting her head as the display continued. Worship in such an extravagant way was something Quinn often wondered about.

"I want to deserve it." Her eyes peeled away from the display of reverence and focused on Mercy. Quinn could see the desire behind the Knave's eyes; it wasn't a want — it was a need.

Quinn nodded as she reached for her champagne flute again, letting her touch be broad enough to gently caress the Vigo's hand. "It can be very intoxicating, I don't know how some people avoid letting this type of worship go to their heads."

She studied Mercy's face, then stepped closer, her hand trailing over the lapels of the Vigo's suit. Her lips curved with a teasing smirk.

"Here I thought my favor was enough for you, Knave." Her hand patted gently against the suit as she took a sip from her glass, before Mercy could steal it again.

 

[Darth Strosius]

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

Darth Strosius fixed the Neti with a hidden stare at her response, an unimpressed hum leaving Him. "So I have been told." Revna had been quite clear in her desire to return to Korriban and take part in their affairs, much to His chagrin and confusion. He didn't presume anything more on A'Mia's latter remark either way as He could never quite fully discern her full opinion on anything. Words and expressions said enough but there always seemed to be more lingering alongside what was so easily revealed and given.

The masked man scoffed at her reprisal and had a rebuttal literally at the tip of His tongue but the raised finger made Him stop short of speaking anything more than an inhale. Which was followed by a slightly hiss exhale as she continued. He did allow her to speak her piece but He wasn't at all pleased to have to bite His tongue in order for her to say it. A quick glance surveyed the refreshments on the table and He bit back a curse at the lack of any strong inebriative beverages for Him to simply pluck up and down. It wouldn't have done all that much of course but the taste would have given Him something to focus on at least.

"When I am certain that if I were to walk over to that wretch Carnifex right now and plunge my lightsaber through his back, that Caedes wouldn't hinder me in any way and would be ready to face off against Lady Srina's reprisal move, then I shall consider it." The fangs adorning His mouth seemed rather obvious despite being hidden behind His mask, for their bite was laced into each word He spoke. Thankfully the Neti was wise enough to let that point lie for now.

Only to be bold enough to say something that made His seething stutter to a halt. "I-" A dance? Darth Strosius cocked His head to the side to regard her with what must have been a perplexed expression. "I-I beg your pardon? Did you say dance?" He must have misheard her, who in their right mind asked a Sith Lord to dance? Who in any state of mind would ask Him of all Sith to dance?

 

[Lucette]

Madrona A’Mia | Lysander von Ascania | Darth Strosius | Viers Connory | et al [Open to Interaction]​

The riot of light and sound meant nothing to her. The pounding drums, the chants, the bellowing of beast races below, none of it claimed her attention. She moved like a black flame through the neon tide, her violet-lined gown catching every stray gleam of lantern and holo-feed.

The Jen'ari servants parted without command, their gold-weighted hands lowering trays as she passed. A few guests turned, mid-laugh, mid-argument, and faltered conversation strangled into silence as those hazel-green eyes swept past them with cool disinterest.

She did not rush. She did not drink. She did not stumble or revel. Lucette Fortan-Raaf was the only sober note in the cacophony, and because of that, the crowd bent unconsciously around her.

The robe, soft youth was still there beneath the surface freckled, tender, nineteen, but dressed in silk and silver, crowned in bone-and-gemstone accents, she looked every inch the heiress of horror and refinement.

She was the kind of girl you noticed not because she shouted, but because you realized, too late, that the feast had grown quiet as she walked by.

When she finally stopped, it was with the air of someone who had already judged the room. Her lips curved in the faintest, knowing smile.

"To victory, then," she murmured, plucking a goblet from the pale, jeweled hand of an undead servant. She lifted it in a gesture that could have been toast, prayer, or threat. "How quaint."

Lucy looked over her shoulder and then surveyed the area, searching for her beloved Viers was among her goals. Followed by meeting those she fought alongside. She set the goblet down on another tray, waggling her fingers signaling for it to be taken from her.

 

[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

Amongst the pouncing racing beasts, snarling Sithspawn, and hulking monstrosities, a woman took her place at the starting line.

A closer look though, revealed more. Clad in a form-fitting exoskin bodysuit and a clear face mask, her form was curvaceous and inhumanly long-legged in spite of her diminutive stature. Her feet, though covered, were of visibly distinct anatomy, with three primary toes of which two faced forward and one faced backward. Toes, long and talon-like, flexed and shifted as the Jango Jumper made herself ready, before lifting and kicking out her powerful, elongated legs with strikingly explosive grace.

Armed with only a vibroblade that was folded away in the modular attachment point on her forearm, Glissara glanced to one side and then the other as she regarded her fellow contestants. Her lilac-hued gaze widened as she took in the impressive, yet feral mounts and the riders struggling to tame the beasts with equal parts curiosity and sympathy.

How fortunate she was to be gifted with legs strong enough to keep up with such beasts!

Unlike them, Glissara did not need to control the savage instincts of a mount. Still, she knew that such creatures were to be respected, a testament to the skilled practice of the Sith alchemists and beastmasters who had bred, raised, and trained them. And perhaps, their riders deserved respect too, for willingly subjecting themselves to a beast who could at any time turn on its master and make them a midday snack!

Of course, though, by entering a beast race without a beast of her own, Glissara had subjected herself to much the same risk.

Nevertheless, Glissara continued on with her starting line warmups. Legs primed like springs, the Jango Jumper surged upward in an unnaturally powerful vertical leap, propelling her form more than 10 meters up into the air before gravity reasserted its claim, guiding her down to earth. She jumped again, the action serving to prime her hyperaugmented tendons and muscles for an explosion off the line.

It was only then, immediately her second jump, that a shift in the air touched her senses. A large, ebony-scaled drake descended from above before crashing down towards the starting line, kicking up a storm of dust as it landed. As the dust cleared, Glissara took note of its rider—a male Zabrak with an impressive crown of horns atop his head ( Naamino Zuukamano ). Glissara returned his disciplined expression with a playful smile and a wave, bouncing lightly on her feet as she did.

Though such easy, casual bounces for her reached the height of a normal humanoid’s full-on jumps.

“Your drake is absolutely gorgeous!” Glissara spoke up, her words manifesting a girlish sqee that expressed all parts curiosity, awe, and coquettish complement.

“How fast does she go?”

 

[Allyson Locke]

//: Madelyn Lowe //:
//: VIP Drop Off //:
//: Objective 1 //:

Whatever lingering troubles the Corellian had dissipated the moment the blonde's hand rested in hers. She stood, moving closer, and the delicate air of her breath caressed the curve of the Agent's ear. Her wicked grin spread with a soft chuckle. Madelyn already knew the answer — but Allyson also knew she wanted to hear it anyway.

As she stepped back, Allyson continued to hold her hand and pulled gently. Their bodies, pressed against each other, fit perfectly. The Corellian's hand, carefully placed in the small of the Minister's back, allowed her to lean closer to shower her with trailing kisses against her neck.

"Of course I did, Minister Lowe." Allyson smiled against the woman's pale skin.

Pulling away, Allyson let the woman go from her hold and leaned against the open door of the speeder. She was shameless in the way she admired every bit of the fabric hugging the blonde.

"Mmm," The Corellian mused as she rested her head on her hands, still leaning. "You know we don't have to make an appearance," She shrugged, giving the other woman a toothy grin.

"We could just say something came up, some important ministry business that you," Allyson pushed off the door and stepped forward again, a finger booping Madelyn's nose. "Can't step away from, since you know… It's wartime."

Allyson's eye quickly scanned their surroundings once more, to make sure that they were alone at the VIP entrance. They were hidden well enough so she leaned forward once again, a hand gently caressing the curve of her lover's face.

"I'm sorry, but I am a bit selfish," another sly grin, "I can't help wanting you all to myself."

She drew the Minister into a kiss, one that had been a long time coming. Their time apart suddenly didn't matter, and it was almost as if she could hear the rushing water of the river by the home on Varonat.

Allyson was never the type to long for a permanent place, but she found herself often thinking of the jungle escape where she could be, just like this with her Maddie.

The kiss was deep, meaningful… but too brief. Allyson rose onto her toes to press a kiss to Madelyn's forehead.

"My offer still stands. I could get us to Varonat extremely fast."

 

[Helix]

Objective I
Tags: OPEN​

Helix hunched gloomily in his seat, occasionally staring down at the races and glowering like the hateful gargoyle he was.

By all accounts, he should be pleased with himself. Yet another victory to add to the pile. The feeble plastic-men from outside the Blackwall stamped out and driven back like the vermin they were.

More importantly, the Supercrawler's maiden voyage had been a resoundingly successful one, exceeding all expectations. No weapon thrown against it had done so much as scratch the paint. He had a thousand more like it rolling off the line.

Why, then, did something about it not sit right with him?

He could only assign blame to that nagging sense of perfectionism that had been his undoing more than once. If he flattened one thousand Imperials under the crawler's treads, he'd endlessly seethe that it hadn't been one thousand and one.

He was aware of this tendency, but knowing one's flaws did not always make them simpler to navigate.

The Brosi mess had been equal parts nostalgic and tedious. Nostalgic because he hadn't killed a Stormtrooper in centuries, and tedious because Stormtroopers still existed in the first place. Organics never learned. Always apeing the achievements of greater minds that came before them. He'd be shocked if any that had invaded Brosi knew about their own ancient history. No, it was more likely all about performance. Mythologizing a glorious past that they had no legitimate claim to.

The silver lining, at least, was that his superior officer, Lirka Ka , had been there to witness his success. It wasn't a particularly exciting success, true, but one had to take all the victories they could get.

He'd returned home a "hero", none the worse for the experience but a king's ransom worth of plasma artillery expended. He'd scraped up ten times that in battlefield salvage after the fact. Maybe he'd use it to build another glorious monument in his honor. After all, the people of Brosi deserved to know the face of their liberator...

 

[Leshanna Dromar]

THE NAR-HAKEL CIRCUIT​

The atmosphere around Vardin, around the Nar-Hakal Circuit, was electrified by the recent victory that the Sith had gained over the Imperials. Leshanna, unlike her boys, had remained behind on Korriban under strict orders to safeguard her Master’s greenhouses and the students that had remained behind. It had been a trying time for the young Sith woman; she’d seen all of the Badawans, everyone she loved or considered a friend, disappear as they went off to war. She didn’t know if she’d see any of them again, but they had all returned home relatively okay. Some were far more injured than others, but at least they were still breathing.

And now, they were all together to celebrate that victory.

Korriban was the hub for the revelries; food and drink and mind altering substances were free flowing. Music of various styles could be heard over the entire city, occasionally interrupted by the arrival of some important Sith to the scene. Glittering sapphire eyes drifted across the sea of bodies and faces as she made her way towards the Racing Circuit. It wasn’t her first time being here; in the very early days of her time at Kor’ethyr, she had participated in a proto-type starship race…a race that she had won, despite stiff competition.

Now she was back here again, looking to compete. The thrill of racing thrummed in her veins, as did a level of nervousness. This was to be no starship race this time around. No…they were racing Sithspawn.

Of course, the now Sith apprentice had told her boyfriends that she would be watching them compete from the “safety” of the stands, but she had no intention of doing that. She had been cheated out of the last race against Naamino…and now she had a second chance.

Making sure that he, nor anyone else she knew, was near the kennels, Leshanna stepped in and quickly registered as a late entry. She was given the run down of the rules, the stakes, the danger. Then she was guided to the kennels to choose her mount.

The chosen menagerie of Sithspawn to act as mounts, made the young woman’s eyes widen. There were rancors, hssiss, drakes, adars, drexls, and a rather unique and lethal looking creature called a maelidrae. The draconic beings caught her eye…but she kept being drawn back to the maelidrae.

The one she looked upon, sleeked in black armor-like plating. Large and wicked looking spines ran from the base of its eyeless, elongated head down to the very tip of its long tale that ended in a bladed tip. The creature was quite tall, pushing three meters at least. Massive, razor sharp claws decorated its hind legs and its front hands, and sharp teeth were exposed to give it a seemingly perpetual snarl. To some, to many perhaps, it might have been a horrifying thing, ugly maybe.

But to Lesh? It was perfect.

A smile curled up on the Goth girl’s face and she nodded at the creature to finalize it as her mount for the race.

“Be prepared - these creatures are rather…rebellious towards any who are not its master. You will have a hard time controlling it in the race.” the Kennelmaster told her.

Leshanna only smiled further upon hearing this. “Oh, good! Then that means this race will be even more fun.” There was a brief pause as measures were taken to get the creature prepared to carry a rider. Its shrieks and hisses filled the kennels, disturbing other Sithspawn nearby. “...does this particular one have a master?”

The Kennelmaster glanced over at Leshanna, and shook his head. “No. Which made getting it here all the more difficult. And I wish you luck…hopefully it doesn’t eat you.”

A few minutes later, the sleek black maelidrae burst onto the track, a harness around its head and thick reins firmly gripped by Lesh’s hands. She was draped in the colors of her House, and wore the sigil of her Master, the Lord Seer A’Mia, proudly for all to see. Beneath her, her mount fought for control, fought to rip her from its back and make her its prey. Though her heart thundered in her chest with the trill of fear, there was also the pulse of excitement. Something about this creature just…spoke to her soul.

The maelidrae shrieked and turned its fanged, eyeless head to snap at her - and for a brief moment her blue eyes flickered golden as she tapped into her Force abilities to See the creature - before she drove metaphorical fingers of the dark side into various cracks she saw - trying to fuse some her Force aura into that of the creature’s.

Hisses and growls were her response…but it stopped trying to kill her at least.

Leshanna guided her lethal looking Sithspawn mount towards the starting line, and revealed herself to those already present.

“Surprise boys.” she said with a devious smirk and a dangerous glint in her eyes as she took in Naamino astride the ever beautiful Zafira, before glancing over at Varin who seemed to have also chosen an Adar as his mount for the race. There were others gathering too, some riding rancors, others riding other creatures. One particular individual came as herself. Leshanna eyed her as she made enormous leaps into the air as part of her pre-race warmup.

Well this is going to be an interesting race...

Racer Tags:
Naamino Zuukamano // Varin Mortifer // Maiza Vex // Lodd Grimmin // Glissara

​

 

[Caelus Vire // NIHIL]

Caelus Vire entered without fanfare. No guard shadowed his steps, no banners, only the fine cut of a Bastion suit and the small black-white star of the Diarchy fixed at his lapel. In his hands he carried a reliquary, its surface gleaming faintly as he moved toward the ceremonial stairs.
The climb was the custom. He made it without hesitation, ascending only to the tier that befit his standing as a Senator, nothing more. There he paused, lowered himself to one knee, and set the reliquary upon the stone.

His voice followed, spoken openly into the air though no ear might seem fixed upon him: "From Bastion, I bring word and gift. His Grace, Diarch Rellik, offers congratulations upon your victory and upon the endurance of the Holy Worlds. He commends your defense, and gives thanks for the honor of seeing his Adar spawn run among today's trials. In this time of celebration, know that the Diarchy rejoices in your success"

For a moment longer he remained in posture, one hand brushing the pin at his chest, before rising again. He did not climb further, nor linger in the center. Instead he stepped aside, yielding the path for those yet to ascend, and moved into the sidelines of the gathering.

Darth Caedes

 

[Darth Hydra]

Darth Hydra was enjoying the festivities. As much as he enjoyed any festivities, that did not have single combat on display at any rate, and yet Hydra had enjoyed studying up on the beasts and Sithspawn on display at the event. It was a remarkable display of Sith power to bend such creatures to your will, then to put them on them in display in such a manner for the entertainment as well as competitive spirit of the Sith was a stroke of political genius. Even Hydra had to admit gladiatorial combat grew stale. Even were the beasts be put to combat against gladiators it would still lack a certain amount of elegance that a race provided.

Perhaps if the Sith were using Beast Mind to direct their own beasts against each other.

Hydra mused to himself.

It was worth thinking about as an exercise at the academy.

Hydra had also recently come to the conclusion that even should he abstain from politics, isolating him from other Sith left a troubling vulnerability. Hydra's whole purpose for being apart of the Sith Order after all was not to be easily isolated and hunted down by Jedi or perhaps even the other various factions of the galaxy. Hydra barely remembered which ones were a threat.

Factions rose and fell like the wheat.

The crops that fed the masses held little of interest to a Sith like Hydra. Hydra was more interested in those who protected the crops. Not out of any sense of vague admiration for their purpose, but as a test of his own abilities. Of his own convictions as well, he supposed. As well as to attain true freedom.

Hydra's own interpretation of the Sith Code was perhaps rather simple compared to most. Hydra believed quite simply that each step of the code led to the next, that the ultimate purpose of the code was Victory. Only with victory could one's chains be broken. To be free. What greater victory than victory over their ancient enemy and counterparts the Jedi.

Political power held very little interest to Hydra. He had however been contemplating victory on the battlefield, might be a useful parallel path to achieve true freedom. Another path for his chains to be broken.

Unfortunately to attain victory on the battlefield, some political power was a necessity and by product. Hydra had studied enough of history, particularly Sith history to know that some leaders of the battlefield made poor political leaders and vice versa. Sidious for instance showed a remarkable tendency towards critical battlefield errors. No one could deny his political power however. Even if it were only for a few brief decades.

As such Hydra had decided to make an effort to socialise with other Sith. Not as a sycophant begging for scraps of political power, but perhaps to see if any were worthy of his service on the battlefield.

Hydra had after all been in many battles in his century of life, he had just never bothered to command more than his own forces for any period of time. It was time to expand his horizons as it were. Take more responsibility with the Sith as a whole.

The question was would he be able to do so without compromising his honour and becoming a vainglorious schemer or lickspittle. Hydra took a breath. He ignored the displays of mighty Sith Lords and there displays of ostentatious power. Such displays pleased the masses after all. The crop that fed the farmer. Farmers that served their lords.

It was the pyramid of life.

Hmm. I'll have to use that in a lesson.

Hydra focused his mind the present issues, wondering which Sith to approach. Well he was on Korriban, a master of the Korriban Academy, protocol would indicate he should pay his respects to the King.

As he approached he was given the respect due to a Master of the Academy, if not quite the worship or praise given the great Sith Lords. Hydra's tentacles twitched a little in irritation at that. Followed by a sense of ironic mirth at the feeling. Hydra prided himself on staying out of the halls of power, yet was irritated when others were given greater respect. Perhaps he was to used to acolytes at the academy. Or perhaps he was merely jealous. Hydra almost raised an eyebrow at the thought.

Hydra opened up his senses, realised the King Darth Caedes presence was familiar. Hydra had yet to be this close to the King for any sustained period of time. He knew of him of course, one couldn't be a Sith on Korriban and be unaware of him without being an imbecile, but Hydra had up until now gone to lengths to stay out of these sorts of halls of power.

Hydra ran through a mental exercise to identify the familiarity before identifying it.

My we have come a long way. Your highness.

"Your Highness." Hydra gave a bow suitable for respect, but not flashy or subservient. "Darth Hydra of the Academy. I have no intention of disrupting on what must be a busy day. Merely to pay my respects."

 

[Ufsa'ynth'aris]

​

​

"The louder a Lord's fanfare, the more delicate the truth he wishes buried beneath the noise."​

―Ufsa'ynth'aris, on the art of showmanship.​

"It's curious, how nothing seems to inspire such exultation and unification quite like victory in war," Elmindra observed.​

"Battle, at least," he agreed, diplomatically.​

What had occurred on Brosi, over Dromund Kaas and Korriban, despite their enemy's best efforts, could not truly be considered war. At least, not according to Syntharis' own vernacular, wherein 'war' represented a more grievous and protracted travesty altogether than what had occurred. He swirled the wine round the deep basin of his own high-stemmed glass and studied its legs. When Elmindra drank, he did too. There was something, to him, exciting about knowing they both shared the same flavor in their mouths. He grinned and let the liquid roll over his tongue, pouring his eyes into hers.

"I'm not sure their um, little 'Confederation' is worth all that much praise," he said, distractedly, searching for a well paired cheese.​

"They tried," he granted, then offered a matching hors d'oeuvre to Elmindra.​

It was her turn to appear distracted, he supposed, as her gaze was directed somewhere over his left shoulder—where sat the King. Rather than look himself, hardly a discreet bit of surveillance, he took another drink and cocked one eyebrow out of place.

"It appears our King desires that his honored guest be given a proper welcome," she explained.​

He raised the glass once more to his face, presuming to study the artful drink against Vardin's glorious sunset. In its reflection, however, he found the King and his company, their focus attending to the heralds of Darth Carnifex below.

"Yes," he admitted, thoughtfully.​

"I suppose he would, given the guest in question," but he stood when she did and followed her into the crowds.​

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.

As for himself, Syntharis remained separated by a number of paces, trailing respectfully behind the First Lord of Korriban's Throne. Darth Caedes had not sent him in the role of emissary, after all—and from what he knew of the Dark Lord, Carnifex, that choice had been a shrewd one.

"Lord Carnifex," she greeted, "Korriban honors your presence, and your participation in the defense of our Holy Worlds."​

"Appearances can be deceiving, Marquess," he answered, "and honor is fleeting. The world suffers my presence, and your king will undoubtedly suffer me as well."​

A touch dramatic, Syntharis thought; though who was he to judge? It was as he patted straight the embroidery of his flashy pants that his gaze came to linger upon Lunaria Talon and her assorted company. Artemis Dreadmoor, he corrected himself with a smirk. Allegedly, anyway. His eyes narrowed on the girl, glowing red and missing that vital glimmer so taken for granted in most emotional beings. Almost, one could think, he was reading a holo-file or... viewing an insect on display at a museum, stuck with pins and needles and labeled for its parts.

"Will Darth Prazutis be joining in Korriban's revelries," Elmindra asked, presently.​

"The Mortarch moves and does as he wishes, Marquess. It is an exercise in futility to anticipate him, he comes and does as he decrees; all else is fantasy."​

He let his gaze slide past the imposing Sith Lord. This man could give Syntharis lessons in self importance.

"I have business with the Empress tonight," Carnifex said, finally.​

Casually, Syntharis turned to face Srina Talon and those upon the distant King's dais.

Oh... I'm sure you do...​

Elmindra Xitaar Madrona A’Mia Darth Prazutis Gerwald Lechner Revna Marr​

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

Calm in the face of his muted vitriol, A'Mia remained near and tipped her head to the side at the same angle he tipped his upon hearing her question. Mirroring Darth Strosius precisely before allowing a few beats to pass until she spoke again.

"We shall have to see how we measure up to your standards then— or even how those parameters might shift with time and reason."

Shifting carefully closer, she swayed into his space a bit and the music changed to a new tempo. A'Mia's precognition made her movements flow perfectly in time with the new tune.

"And yes, I'm quite certain you're familiar with the concept."

More bold than before, one slender hand slipped up under one of his and she expertly guided him into the first steps. The neti made mental note of the faint sensation of claws which left the tips of his glove feeling less than properly filled out.

"I find it's rather like sparring," she assured him calmly, looking sidelong as she awaited his decision, "With much to be learned about yourself and whoever is across from you."

Would he flow with her steps or break away? Not even the neti’s uncanny sight could tell her that.

 

[Naedira Darcrath]

Location: Korriban [Vardin]
Objective: OBJECTIVE I — ASCENDANT REVELRIES
Tags: Aerik Lechner | Gerwald Lechner [OPEN]

________________​

The music was everywhere.

Naedira Darcrath stood amid the ranks of the Legion with sharp chocolate orbs cutting through the spice-haze just in time to catch Aerik Lechner lifting what she assumed to be hard liquor to his lips. Even though the city was filled to the brim with bodies, sweat, food, and a million other smells— her sensitive nose picked up the intensity and sharpness of it. For the briefest moment, she saw her son as many others in the Sith Order soon would…Tall. Armor dented, but proud.

A young man who had survived Brosi.

A soldier among the wolves.

Naedira reached out before the rim touched his mouth, surprisingly quick, and the goblet left his hand as if it had always belonged to her instead. She tilted the contents into a nearby planter, and her gaze locked on his. Steady. "No.", her voice was soft, but light moved in her eyes to show that she wasn't scolding him…just laying down facts. "Not a chance, Aerik."

Her eyes held him pinned for a moment while he was caught red-handed.

"Behave. We are all on the same side in this war…But it is foreign soil. Don't forget that."

Even as he opened his mouth to argue, the auburn-haired woman was turning back to the crowd. She wouldn't stop him from having his fun, but she had learned long ago that discipline struck firmest when it wasn't explained. Her hand brushed his arm briefly, a gesture that carried warmth, but then she was gone…Lost in the swell of moving forms, her dark hair and tanned skin vanishing. The Legion poured in while the chants of the Crownguard grew like a rising tide. She wove through the people, surprised at how little and how much they paid attention to her.

Her feet carried her past the dead, although aromatic, she still knew what they were despite their garments. It wasn't just the Force that gave them away…But the smell. Rotting meat with what felt like a single drop of perfume to disguise the decay. Were she human, she probably wouldn't have noticed it at all, but because of the she-wolf that curled invisibly around her spine…She couldn't help it.

Naedira wove through duelists and dancers…Tasting offered morsels as she went, sniffing first, to ensure it wasn't poisoned. As much as this was a celebration, she never forgot that they were in the presence of Sith Lords whom often fought each other as much as they fought the enemy. She knew that Gerwald was meeting with his Empress, the Korriban King and their fellows, but Naedira was never comfortable beneath the gaze of the Echani so many revered.

She wasn't sure why.

Perhaps it was because she had known Srina Talon before all of this…Before the Empress ripped her free from the Netherworld and returned her to this realm. The creature that she had become was authoritative and commanded gravity beyond measure. When Naedira compared it to her previous knowledge as one of the Knights Obsidian of the Confederacy…

What she saw was a threat, danger with no recourse.

It bothered her because of how loyal her husband was, not because he couldn't hold his own, but because she worried her family would suffer the consequences of Sith politicking. Naedira would stay away from the main stage and let those who had their ambitions engage while she waited for the Dark Councilor to return to her. The Dread Wolf. The Executioner.

She could feel him tugging on her through their bond. Searching for her in the same manner…Listening for her. Looking for her. Victory was theirs, yes, but her night would not be complete until she found him.

 

[Mercy]

Quinn Varanin

She thought about that for a moment.

Deserve it.

"And how does a Princess of a Sith earn the devotion of many, pray tell?" Mercy responded while her eyes watched how Quinn drank the smoke down from her fingers. As far as Mercy knew it was best not to beat yourself up about values like worth or concepts like deserving your devotion, because in that case some people wouldn't have all the power they had amassed over the decades.

Fat, lazy.

In that haze of thought Quinn took the flute of champagne back from her and Mercy smiled, taking a drag from her cigarette instead.

"It can be very intoxicating, I don't know how some people avoid letting this type of worship go to their heads."

"You need to be very special... some might say you had to be born for it. To not let it go to your head." Said with a warm smile as she watched how Quinn drank. She was clearly in a hurry, not wanting Mercy to steal it from her once more. So this time around the large woman didn't. Instead she snatched her whole wrist, eyes still on Quinn, and drew the hand (flute and all) to her lips instead.

Drinking from the flute but letting Quinn keep ownership of it.

A soft chuckle there. Mercy knew it was Quinn's way of flirting, but the woman opposite of her could see it in her eyes. That fever was the real deal, the hunger and desire that drove her forward at every step of the way.

"Mm, but how about your devotion?" That last bit pressed silently into the gap between them, just for the two of them. "You seemed rather interested in the concept on Terminus..."