Faction Revelry in the Holy Worlds

[Skadi Lightbane]

KORRIBAN

Aerik Lechner
​

Mirth danced in Skadi’s eyes as the young man declared that he would one day have to see if her kin’s claims could hold against his own in regards to the mead. A more playful smile tugged at her lips.

“Ja…this will do.” she agreed as she took the fresh mug from him, already feeling the heat burn in her chest and through her veins, warmth that helped her to relax further. She had chugged the first mug just a little too quickly, and she was already feeling the tingle in her temples. She took another hearty swig as Aerik shared a little more about this particular brew, and felt his eyes upon her - as if he was watching to see how she handled the apparent drink of choice for this ‘Second Legion’. The roar of the crowd, the boisterous cries and laughter, drew his gaze to the chaos beyond, and Skadi turned to lean once more against the railing in front of her - leaning her arms against it as she shifted her weight to one hip.

Aerik said how the Legion’s mead held its own, though what really mattered, at least in this instance, was if it suited her or not. Understanding flickered in her eyes as he explained how it was kept strong for nights such as this: cold, lit by the fires of comradeship, for games that lasted until dawn - for those brave enough to keep pace. The young woman turned her face back towards him, the burn of something within her golden eyes.

Her curiosity was growing by the moment - how was it that this young man, presumably a Sith, or associated with them - lived a lifestyle that was so similar to that of her kin, but he was not related or associated with House Lightbane?

“Your…Legion, and my clan…do same. Mead strong, for cold nights. We fight, we hunt…we raid…and drink to our victories. Play…games to keep alliances strong.”

She gestured to the men of the second legion with her mug, its contents jostling somewhat. “These…men. Yours? Legion…Yours? Family?” She asked, trying to understand his relationship to the men around them a little bit better. Inwardly, Skadi cursed her Father for not teaching her more Basic; what little understanding she had of it was broken and it made communication challenging.

A challenge she was determined to conquer.

Skadi took another deep and long drink of the mead, sighing in contentment with its burn. It was good, and it did suit her. The heat of it filled her further, dropped her guard just a little further. She was here to enjoy herself, and by the gods she was going to do just that. Her Father would be furious with her for leaving without permission - but she didn’t care at the moment. She would deal with his wrath when she returned home. If she ever did.

A more provocative shine and expression came over Skadi’s face as she held Aerik’s gaze - before downing the rest of the contents of her mug. She was playing a dangerous game - drinking so much, so fast, but she was fearless of the consequences. Her smirk was edged, playfully dangerous…challenging even.

“You…falling behind. Can you…keep pace with me?” she said in a lower tone, indicating her playful challenge as she pushed herself away from the rail and stepped around him and back towards the barrel to pour her third mug of mead.

 

[Aerik Lechner]

TAG: Skadi Lightbane​

Aerik could not help the grin that tugged at his mouth as she downed her second mug with such speed. She was fearless in it, and there was something in her smirk that reminded him of the Legion when they were at their wildest. The way she stepped close, the way she leaned in with that challenge, it was a look he had seen before around fires when men tested each other to see who would fall first.

"Family," he answered her earlier question simply, his voice low but steady. He gestured toward the men at the tables and the warriors in the crowd, men and women alike who bore the mark of the Second Legion. "Not by blood, but by bond. We fight together. We bleed together. That is enough."

He paused, then tipped his chin toward the pair moving together not far from the dais. "But I am not yet counted among them. Brosi was my first battle, and this my first celebration with the Legion. I carry their mark because of him." His hand lifted slightly, pointing toward Gerwald whose arm was still around Naedira Darcrath’s waist. "My father, the Dread Wolf, and my mother. They are never far from one another, unless duty separates them. If the Legion is my family by bond, then they are the blood at the heart of it."

"The Legion is not mine yet," Aerik admitted. "For now, I drink with them, fight beside them, and count myself among them. But my path is still bound elsewhere."

His eyes drifted over the hall, scanning the sea of faces until they lingered on the dark bulk of Darth Prazutis. The presence of the Dark Lord loomed like a shadow that reached further than the revels, heavy with a claim Aerik could not shake. Where the Legion's mead and songs felt like freedom, Prazutis was iron, a chain that waited to be pulled taut. Aerik's gaze slid back to Skadi, and the edge of a smile tugged at his mouth.

"One day, perhaps, I will be theirs fully. Until then, I take what I can of their drink and their songs."

He lifted his mug and took another swallow, slower this time, letting the sweetness of the mead cut the burn.

”The Legion will claim me when I have proven myself. For now, I carry their drink and their songs, and I celebrate with them as one of their own."

Below, the races surged on. Riders clung to their beasts as they thundered past the first turn, some thrown hard into the dirt while others pressed forward with wild determination. The crowd bellowed approval and scorn in equal measure, the noise swelling until it seemed the walls themselves trembled. Aerik watched for a moment, then looked back at Skadi, the firelight catching her grin.

"Careful," he said, mouth tugging with quiet amusement. "That barrel will not empty itself, but it will try to empty you. The Legion keeps it strong for a reason. Games like this can last until dawn, and only the stubborn see the sun rise."

Her earlier words echoed between them, and this time he gave his answer directly. He tipped his cup toward her with a steady grin.

"I can keep pace."

His tone carried no bravado, just quiet confidence, the kind that came from already choosing to meet her challenge. He leaned against the column again, relaxed but steady, as if he had already accepted her challenge without needing to say the words. His eyes lingered on hers, curious to see if she would press him further. Around them, the celebration roared on, but here, at the edge of it, the night felt smaller, as though narrowed to the space between them, the fire in their cups, and the bond of warriors who understood the weight of survival.

 

[Ufsa'ynth'aris]

"It's a beautiful language to listen to. I only regret that I'll never speak it as well as a Chiss."
―Jorj Car'das ​

"The pleasure is mine," Rowyna Galeway replied, voice smooth.​

Well, if you insist.

"As for unconventional tactics," she went on.​

"We make do with the tools we have. Improvisation has a way of humbling even the most rigid of enemies."​

"Mmm," Syntharis sighed in agreement, swirling his drink.​

"Especially the most rigid enemies," he amended, philosophically.​

"Although," she began, equally thoughtful.​

"Perhaps, in the distant future, the Holy Worlds and the Commonwealth might gain to spend more time with one another, if at the very least, be more prepared for any other incursions into Sith space."​

Syntharis drank, glowing red eyes watching the Captain across from him.

"Perhaps," he bantered back over an easy smile.​

That smile found Elmindra, too. Alcohol wet lips and sharp, white incisors.

"Yet why wait?" he asked the Captain, rhetorically.​

"The Commonwealth has done well to display the merits of such a cohesion as you suggest."​

He shrugged at Elmindra Xitaar suggestively, encouraging the notion.

"In fact," he continued after a brief study of the First Lord.​

"What with the Sanctum Aegis, and growing support from our neighbor worlds, Korriban finds itself well positioned to begin enacting that alliance now."​

He demurred.

"With the understanding that such things take time."​

"Pardon my interruption," came a new voice, abruptly.​

Darth Hydra emerged from the crowds, bowing in a performance of humility before the assembled Lords of Korriban. A Feeorin, the Sith had a noseless face, a head full of writhing tentacles, and a pair of beady black-and-red eyes.

"First Lord," he greeted.​

"Master of Ceremonies," he went on, attempting the Cheunh pronunciation of his native name.​

"Ufsa'ynth'aris."​

Syntharis returned a honeyed smile, greeting the Master in turn with the subtle raising of his glass.

"Greetings," he replied, simply.​

It was a good attempt.

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

"Forgive my manners, his highness however instructed me to introduce myself."​

Syntharis offered Rowyna a placating smile, then nodded back in the direction of Hydra.

"Indeed," he said with the sweetness of a working professional.​

"How may I be of service?"​

"He has requested that I be given chambers," Hydra said.​

"I would not have interrupted your revelry over such a minor concern, however when given instruction by the King I prefer to see it done."​

"Understandable," Syntharis agreed.​

The Sith raised his brow.

"If I have acted outside of propriety—" Hydra began.​

"No, no," interrupted the Chiss, good naturedly.​

"Not at all," he assured.​

"I will make the arrangements myself."​

He nodded to a nearby attendant in modest robes, near enough to have overheard. Returning a curtsey, they nodded back to the Master of Ceremonies and slipped into the crowds, eager to please and enact his will.

"Life at the palace is a learning experience for me," admitted Hydra, watching the attendant go.​

You don't say.

"As I am sure it will continue to be."​

Syntharis fixed the Sith with a pleasant stare.

"Once, I was the same," he confided.​

"However fear not, Master Hydra, you find yourself in good company, here. I am sure we will see much of each other in the coming days," he predicted.​

"After all, a guest of the King's is a guest of mine." ​

"Your name is an elegant one," Hydra said, after a moment's thought.​

Syntharis' expression flattened ever so slightly.

"I would not presume informality, but neither would I risk further insult from butchering it further."​

You have my thanks, I'm sure.

"Cheunh can be, admittedly, difficult for many alien tongues to pronounce," he said, permissively.​

"Please," he purred.​

"Call me Syntharis."​

​

Madrona A’Mia​

 

[Skadi Lightbane]

KORRIBAN

Aerik Lechner
​

Skadi listened as the young warrior told her the nature of his connection to the Legion; it was something she understood herself, being bound by bond and not just by blood. Not everyone in her clan was blood; many had sworn allegiance to her Father, and been bound to House Lightbane through oath rings.

The young Valkyri woman followed Aerik’s gaze as he pointed out two figures amongst the others - a man and woman, who clearly seemed connected. The young man confessed that he wasn’t yet one of the Legion…he hadn’t earned his place amongst them, having only seen one battle. But he was connected to them because of the larger man holding the woman around the waist. He told her that the man was his father, the ‘Dread Wolf’...and the woman was his mother. Skadi’s eyes brightened hearing what she assumed was a title for his father, and she turned her now curious eyes back to Aerik. Wolves were sacred to her family, her clan - though she’d never seen one in person, and where they lived on Toola, wolves or anything similar did not exist there. They were creatures of myth, legend. Creatures of the gods.

Skadi was about to inquire as to why his father was called ‘Dread Wolf’, but he was already speaking once more and she withheld her questions…for the moment anyway. Aerik indicated that while the Legion wasn’t his, yet, he still ate and drank and fought with them - though his path was seemingly bound to another. She noticed his gaze drift over the crowds, as if looking for someone, and curiosity had her do the same - though she didn’t see who he was looking at this time.

As she poured her third, Aerik seemed to give her a warning to be careful - and she couldn’t help the wider smirk that filled her face when she heard that only the ‘stubborn’ remained strong enough to see the dawn. She watched the others continue with their various games, men and women alike; the mead had made them rowdy, raucous, but full of merriment and life. It filled Skadi’s heart with warmth, with recognition, with a contagious joy - which was no doubt amplified by the mead that swam in her system. If this place hadn’t been covered in red sands, filled with others not of her clan nor creed, she might have thought she was back home amongst her own.

To her challenge, Aerik seemed to meet it boldly - claiming that he could keep pace with her. She was several sips into her third mug when she pulled her attention from those of his Second Legion, to regard him with her same playful and challenging expression. “We shall see, Aerik - son of Dread Ulf.”

She paused, tilted her head in curiosity, then asked the question that had been rolling around in her head.

“Why…er, uh…your father called ‘Dread Ulf’?”

 

[Haro Aven]

LOCATION: OUTER RIM > SITH HOLY WORLDS > KORRIBAN > VARDIN CITY​

TIMESTAMP: AFTER THE INVASION OF BROSI​

OBJECTIVE: WIN SURVIVE THE RACE​

TAGS: Spirit of Korriban | Naamino Zuukamano | Varin Mortifer | Leshanna Dromar | Lodd Grimmin | Maiza Vex | Glissara | OPEN​

For the time being, Haro's fear was overshadowed by the sheer thrill of the flight as he and his Drexl mount soared through the Valley of the Dark Lords, weaving through the massive stone statues. More adrenaline-fueled laughter tumbled from the reckless young man, only to be swept away by the rushing wind. His confidence with this whole Sithspawn riding thing was growing by the moment, and he was feeling quite vindicated that he was not only very much still alive but he was even in the running for first place. At least for now. His little setback in the Ashlan Crashsite had allowed a few of the racers to gain on him, including the masked Rancor rider and Varin, but it was the blur of green that passed below that caught both Haro's attention and the attention of his mount. The woman on foot was shockingly fast, kicking up dust in her wake as she tore through the valley, but Haro was determined to keep his edge going into the cramped Nethermaw Tunnels ahead. The Drexl appeared to be on the same page because it angled left to snatch a piece of loose debris from the edge of the racetrack and hurled it at Glissara just as she entered the tunnels ahead. [Sabotage from previous roll]

"Nice one!" Haro praised, and the Drexl screeched in response before it dove low toward the mouth of the cavern.​

Unfortunately for Haro, it became very clear very quickly that underground tunnels were not a Drexl's favored terrain. The hulking creature's massive wingspan suddenly became its bane and it was forced to ground itself, instead lumbering along the floor of the cavern. More, it appeared that the deeper they got into the dark cavern, the worse the Drexl became at navigating. Haro was jostled violently and nearly knocked from the saddle as the the big beast bumped against one of the massive stone columns. The creature then screamed when it stepped on one of the sharp stalagmites that littered the cavern floor. Enraged by the pain, the Drexl lashed and snapped as other racers passed by. Haro cursed and gritted his teeth, trying desperately to keep his mount on course but they were clearly struggling.​

[ROLL: 5 -2 (Rebellious) -3 (Terrain Mod) +1 (Leshanna's Support) = 1 TOTAL]​

 

[Aerik Lechner]

TAG: Skadi Lightbane​

Aerik’s grin faded into something steadier as her question landed. He swirled the mead in his mug, watching the firelight catch on the foam before he answered. “Because he is one,” Aerik said plainly. “Not just in spirit, but in truth. My father is wolf-born, and when he fights, none mistake it.”

He lifted his chin toward Gerwald again, the Dread Wolf still at Naedira’s side, their presence commanding even in the chaos of the revel. “The name fit too well to be ignored. Enemies spat it first, but it carried. And when the Confederacy of Independent Systems was under Darth Metus, the Sith gave many of their strongest warriors titles that echoed like legend. Some called themselves after storms, after blades, after gods. My father was given his, and it stayed. A wolf, dreaded in war, but bound in loyalty to his pack.”

Aerik’s voice was even, but there was a faint edge beneath it, the shadow of what it meant to grow up under that mantle. “The Legion roars it now as a name of pride. The Imperials curse it as a warning. But to me… it has always just been my father.”

He lifted his mug so the torchlight glinted across the rim. “You asked if I can keep pace,” he said, meeting her eyes. “Watch me.”

He topped off both cups, careful and steady.

“The Legion has a way for nights like this. No rushing, no wasted drink. We go cup for cup until one of us sets a mug aside. The first to yield owes the other a story, a true one, told before the barrel and the crowd. If you outlast me, I will say your kin brew with the hotter fire and I will find a cask of it the next time I travel. If I outlast you, you will tell me a winter tale from your people. No lies. No pride to hide behind. Just truth.”

He offered her the fresh pour. The roar from the pits broke over them again as riders fought through the second turn, but he did not look away. The heat of the mead sat low in his chest, warm and steady, and he let the rhythm of the hall settle into him. This was the Second’s way. Pace, grit, and the will to see the dawn.

“To victories won,” he said, voice low. “And to the ones still coming.”

He touched his cup to hers and drank. Not fast. Not slow. A measured pull that kept the burn even. When he lowered the mug he held her gaze, the ghost of a grin at the corner of his mouth.

“Your move.”

 

[Darth Carnifex]

There was no hesitation nor apprehension in the Eternal Father as He moved to grasp Caedes' arm, the warrior gesture easily reciprocated. His carefully worded insinuations had delivered their intended effect, and the King of Korriban could not help but rise to the carefully laid bait. The Sanctum Aegis Directive had been but the first stone laid in a long path that would see the Holy Worlds bolstered by the unflinching might of the Kainate, far beyond the norms typically prescribed by the edicts from Jutrand. If things fell as the Eternal Father envisioned, then Korriban would be but another jewel in the Kainite collar lashed around the Stygian Caldera.

"That is comforting to hear, Lord King." Carnifex's smile broadened, unnatural and predatory; a grotesque mockery of emotion. "In light of our renewed cooperation in safeguarding the Holy Worlds from heathen intrusion, you will be pleased to know that preparations for a new military facility on Korriban are underway. The might of our Empire, bolstered by Kainite arms, shall ring across the valleys and depressions of this most vaunted tombworld."

He pulled the King of Korriban closer, not dramatically so, but just enough that they were within scant inches of one another. The Dark Lord's words, sibilous like a serpent, crept into the King's ear. "You are essential to our endeavor, Caedes. Your name will ring out through the annuls as the Bulwark of the Holy Tombs. Imagine the glories, imagine the praise... Imagine the pleasures." His eyes crept towards the King's consort as she sat upon the dais, piercing her with His steady, almost hypnotic gaze for what seemed like an eternity; but it passed as quickly as it came.

Carnifex let Caedes step away from Him, His grasp on His arm loosening. "Our labors will be mighty, Lord King, but soon the black banners will unfurl from the peaks of all worlds."

Darth Caedes | Revna Marr | Srina Talon
Lunaria Talon | Avarice ​

 

[Avarice]

Avarice squinted slightly, listening as Darth Caedes 's long-winded words droned on. A heavy, audible sigh escaped him, the breath filled with disdain, as though the King's rhetoric bore all the weight of smoke and ash; impressive in spectacle, yet worthless in substance. Silvery-white brows knitted as he cast a glance up toward the imposing presence of his Master, seeking in the Titan's shadow either approval or reprisal. Yet the gleam in his lust-red eyes made it plain he cared for neither.

"If the mongrels come again, perhaps he might slay them with speeches, and save your warriors the trouble." Came the soft voice spoken up to Darth Carnifex

He shifted his weight with lazy indifference, folding his arms across his chest, the roll of his uncovered eye betraying a predator's impatience. For all the banners, speeches, and pageantry, the feast offered only tedium. Bound to his Master's side until dismissed, Avarice seemed thoroughly unimpressed; What was meant as celebration felt, to him, like nothing more than a gilded cage.

 

[Revna Marr]

​

Objective One
Location: Vardin
Tags: Darth Caedes // Darth Carnifex // Srina Talon // Avarice ​

Revna remained seated in her place besides Caedes, watching the fierce tango that seemed to be occurring between Darth Strosius and Lady Madrona A’Mia with a slight smirk on her face, before her attention was pulled by the magnetic draw of Darth Carnifex’s arrival. Once upon a time, she might have felt tension seeing him so close by - but months of close training had ensured she had become accustomed to his presence. She observed the interaction between him and Lady Talon; she knew that Srina harbored a deep connection to the Butcher King. They did not see eye to eye on certain things, that much Revna knew - and yet, they found a way to co-exist.

It was an observation, and a lesson, that Revna was eager and curious to learn.

Preferably away from the sharp and ever watchful gaze of her Father, however. No doubt she’d never hear the end of it if He caught wind of such thoughts.

Eventually, Darth Carnifex turned his attention towards Darth Caedes, and his words fell over both the King and her. She could feel eyes upon her, others that were in the Butcher’s entourage, watching and waiting to see how she would respond or react. Indeed, Carnifex’s words were said in such a way to be provocative, to entice the unwise to let loose their tongues. Revna was very much aware of how words could be used as weapons in court politics; one wrong word, or move, could spell disaster. She was acutely aware, too, that she was still somewhat new to this game - this field of battle. And though she most certainly had things to say to Carnifex…she kept her mouth shut. She knew it would be incredibly unwise of her to speak in a manner that would put the King in a position that was not ideal for either of them.

Revna took a drink of her berry wine, watching the two Sith Lords from the corner of her eye as Caedes rose to greet Carnifex - to meet the Butcher on his level, so to speak. She listened closely, intently, as her beloved responded to Carnifex - a battle of words, spoken boldly and without fear. But tension coiled just underneath the surface, ripples upon a dark surface that she could feel. Caedes played a dangerous game with the Dark Lord of the Kainate; he played at being loyal, but she knew he was not. Surely, Carnifex had to know this. He wasn’t stupid, and had been in power long enough to know how Sith schemed behind another’s back.

Sooner or later, the two Sith Lords would not stand in supposed alliance, but in opposition. But when and where that was, she didn’t know.

Or maybe her Father had been right - and her lover would continue to bend the knee despite his apparent hatred for the Kainate. Only time would tell one way or another which would prove true in the end.

"-Nor without the Lady Revna Marr, whose presence was likewise indispensable. I believe the two of you are already... well acquainted."

Revna shifted her eyes from the crowd to Darth Caedes, before sliding them towards Carnifex as a faint half smile tugged at her lips. Well acquainted indeed; she mused to herself.

Now came the time when Carnifex responded back; he did not hesitate to grasp a hold of Caedes’ arm, a gesture done between warriors - but it also allowed him to draw the King in closer towards him. The battle of words commenced with a predatory smile that would have made most freeze in place. He sought to wrap a noose around their necks, tighten it until they all were bound to his will. He dangled pretty things in front of the King: a name that rang out amongst the annuls, to imagine the glories, praise and pleasures that would come. A faint tug of caution drifted from her and into Caedes’ mind, though she said nothing aloud nor within his mind. She felt the weight of Carnifex’s eyes settle upon her, and she fearlessly locked eyes with him for the briefest of moments. She wanted to scoff at his words of choice; Caedes didn’t need to imagine anything.

Carnifex released the King, declaring that soon the black banners would fall across all worlds, and a moment later a softer voice - spoken by someone hiding within Carnifex’s shadow - drifted into Revna’s ears. Eyes of fire flickered to the one who had spoken; Avarice, a younger Sith, or so it would appear. A faint smile curled at her lips as she chuckled ever so softly with the youth's verbal mocking before she turned her gaze away from Carnifex and his entourage to settle her full attention upon Darth Caedes, a playful glimmer in her ember eyes that hinted at desires that swirled in the back of her mind.

-I wish to celebrate with you, love. Care to share a dance with me? Maybe more than one...?-

 

[Srina Talon]

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

She heard what Gerwald Lechner had to say and her head inclined in his direction, silently, acquiescing to the truth of the situation. Yes. She held a certain level of influence by default, but she would much rather be remembered for her deeds on the battlefield rather than the invisible crown on her brow. He was proud of his son, and for that, she could find no fault. It was not a luxury available to one who was often questioned, analyzed, and placed beneath a microscope.

Her pride had to belong to the Order itself—Never to an individual.

The opulent chair that cradled her form once more was less than the reprieve it had once been. The connection that she held with the Force whispered not only of secrets in the ether but of that which often remained hidden. The falsehoods. The hubris…The ambition, the petty, careful game of avoidance and omission. It was exhausting for one who lacked the social graces to address anything more than what lay directly Infront of her. Simple, basic respect, was not an unthinkable expectation…

Yet—It seemed to be the hardest thing to achieve.

She released Darth Carnifex wordlessly, noting his amusement, but there was little more to comment other than the elegant upward curve of a faintly raised eyebrow. He was correct. They would have words when the venue was less exacting. It was a celebration for the people, for those who referred to her as Empress, but for Srina, it would always and forever be a moment encased in glass.

Peace was a lie—And calm did not last…Not even for one who could control the storm.

It seemed that perhaps her trepidation about Darth Caedes interacting with the Butcher King may have been unnecessary. Revna Marr did not seem overly concerned, and the King of Korriban responded smoothly. He didn't flinch or miss a beat, though she was sure that a youngling could have seen through the veneer of counterfeit deference either man offered the other. Caedes commented of her humility and her head inclined slowly, ivory hair drifting in the warm wind, while aureate eyes continued to analyze his features quietly.

Looking for the unsettled sensation that she had glimpsed moments prior.

"We do what we must."

It was not dismissal nor deflection from the genuine reverence that was displayed. It was the soldier turned commander in her that felt the need to ensure that every member of her army, her team, knew how valuable they were. One man would never win a war. It was important to her that the Order knew that for future campaigns. Regardless, how they felt about each other. The Holy Worlds had likely been targeted, not because of where power was consolidated, but because of the symbolism.

If the Imperials could take their Holy Worlds?

Take the spirit of all they knew?

It was a crushing reality designed to break the will of even the most devout acolyte.

So many of the Order frayed beneath the weight of unending machinations and political games. The wintry Empress tired of it, thoroughly, because while they spoke in metaphor and with silk-covered blades…Srina was blunt. She did not mince words, and some might find her irreverence for expected protocol particularly grating, but none dared challenge her directly. It was with that notion in mind that the softly-spoken commentary from Avarice met her ears, and the shadowed apprentice would be forced to feel the weight of her gaze.

It was punishing, cruel, if only because her expression lacked any humanity. There was no desire to cause harm, to discipline, but her will moved as effortlessly as a planet maintained orbit. It was a state of being, not a power play, or figment of the imagination. Drawing her ire was akin to taking hold of a livewire with both hands soaking wet. It was…ill advised.

"Bite your tongue, child."

The angst and brooding was typical of their youth, but the lack of decorum and discipline was unacceptable. Her eyes held to the apprentice for a long moment before they switched back to Darth Carnifex as he was ultimately responsible for those beneath his tutelage. The pale Echani did not often waste words, but as it strayed toward insolence, before her…The eternal stillness she was known for finally broke. "Your apprentice seems to be… Too comfortable in your shadow, Darth Carnifex ."

They were not standing so far apart that they could not be heard. Though, Srina suspected that bit of childish impertinence to be the point. They wanted, wished, to be heard.

Wish granted.

Her gaze flickered back to the culprit, slow, and unhurried…As if she weighing a curiosity rather than a person. When the pale woman finally spoke, her tone was light, steady, carrying easily without the need of force. It was her way to maintain composure at all times and in all things. If a battle could not move her—Neither would the snappy wit of a youngling. "Address those present with the respect their station demands, or do not speak of them at all. I do not know if your Master is fond of repeating himself—

She exhaled slowly, hands folding in her lap.

"—But I will not tell you twice."

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

I'd prefer the term cleaver over cudgel myself.

His correction brought a smile to her face, the closest thing to a smirk she'd worn in conversation with Darth Strosius .

A cleaver then, and still my point stands.

For her part, she gave no outward indication they were locked in a heated discussion. Though the man's scoff and tense body language were surely enough of a clue to anyone watching closely. There was the briefest inclination to roll her eyes at his vehemence and righteous verbosity, but A'Mia held back and allowed faint amusement to reign.

Alisteri really was a creature ruled by passion, at least as best she could tell. His was so wildly different from her own experience— it was no wonder he had difficulty understanding her particular draw to alliance when their preferred methods for power acquisition appeared so incompatible.

She again met the changed tempo with gusto but rather than attempt to reassert more control, A'Mia readily followed the man's lead as she readied her response.

We can agree that the powers that be do not serve the greater Order to its fullest. Specifically, we can speak to those in the upper echelons: the Emperor and Empress, for instance, well showcase the complexity I speak of. I've no strong opinions about the man himself, but the worm? I'm of the mind that unless a parasite serves a particularly potent purpose, it must be snuffed out. Therein lies the trouble though, because the man containing that terrible foe is someone of great significance to Srina— a woman I'd not cross if there were alternatives.

Maintaining their breakneck pace, and enjoying the speedy alacrity that telepathic communication allowed, A'Mia continued on.

So if this were a fairy tale or fluffy holodrama, I'd wave a magic wand and return the man to his wife in exchange for their quiet retirement to some corner of the galaxy. Since this is not a fairy tale, and because I wish to be the scalpel instead of the cleaver, I'd propose a more nuanced dealing. My information would have me believe that the powers that be also wish to be rid of the worm— that is an angle worth pursuing, because it might maintain Srina as at least neutral to our cause and divest the Emperor of some of his power.

Darth Strosius could see the outline of a plan, a grand exorcism of unthinkable proportions. Visible like lines of fire traced along a strange schematic.

Those are incomplete musings— because the acquisition of power and resources must come before all. No use enacting a plan when one doesn't have the means to follow through. Which brings me to one of the other great powers we wish to quell…

Her eyes swept across the looming figure of Darth Carnifex standing across from Darth Caedes where they had traded words.

You'll forgive another analogy, I hope. If your current vessel is the broken pot, and lovely new pot returns you to full or greater power, then talk of what to do about the Order is like discussing forest management.

Her mind wandered along new pathways, bringing to bear an image of a vast forest. Alisteri could practically smell the petrichor.

The Butcher King's influence is vast, the roots of Kainate doctrine go deep. Roots which you rightfully point out are entangled with Korriban.

There was a pregnant pause to her words and thoughts, one heavy with that which was yet unsaid and eager to avoid interruption despite how silence hung between them. Music shifted, they rather expertly flowed into that new tempo, and A'Mia finally continued.

We are mighty and richer in resources than ever before, but we need to diversify. Through alliance, we could grow that power— both political and economic. Divided, neither of our forces yet has what it takes to challenge Carnifex and all that he stands for. United? We could fell a giant of the forest.

 

[Lodd Grimmin]

Naamino Zuukamano Haro Aven Varin Mortifer Maiza Vex Glissara Leshanna Dromar Spirit of Korriban

Lodd emerged from the Valley of the Dark Lords, nursing a headache as the small apparition of himself vanished as if it had never been there. "What a pity... I would have enjoyed spending more time with such a handsome and dashing individual. Oh well..." he remarked with a hint of sadness while reaching into one of his satchels beside him.

He refused to allow the Netherman Tunnel to intimidate him, opening the small gilded box to unveil his prized Zellorian Spice Bombs. These were tiny devices that emitted a stench so repugnant it could curdle blue milk from three star systems away.

Their odor was recognized as a particularly effective repellent for many of the galaxy's more unpleasant fauna. He activated the bomb, a brilliant yellow orb glowing in his hand, and threw it back towards the swarms of encroaching Shyrack.

The yellow orb sailed through the air, its light illuminating a cloud of black, bat-like wings before it hit the ground and burst in a silent, pungent explosion. A cloud of sickly green smoke billowed outward, smelling so profoundly vile it made the sithspawn heap from earlier seem like a field of blooming orchids.

Then, a low, guttural shriek tore through the air, followed by another, and another. The shyrack weren't drawn to the smell; they were enraged by it. They began to descend in a massive, black cloud, their razor-like teeth glinting in the faint light, a wave of pure, unbridled fury.

"Well," his conscience muttered, pinching its non-existent nose. "This is a new low...even lower than me bowing and scrapping before the Dark Lords of the Sith" As Moneybags plunged into the gaping maw of the subterranean network, the familiar light of the desert faded away completely.

The only illumination came from the faint glow of his own dashboard and the distant, flickering lights of other racers. The air grew cold and damp, and the ground became a slippery, treacherous mix of mud and sharp rocks.

The stalagmites and stalactites that lined the tunnels were like a forest of shattered teeth, threatening to impale both rider and beast at every turn. Moneybags, now fully aware of his surroundings, grumbled in frustration as if saying.... Why did you bring me to this dark place? I thought we were chasing vegetables. Where are the vegetables?

Lodd was forced to rely on the vague glow of his datapad to navigate, which was a terrible idea. His eyes, used to the bright glare of credits, struggled to adjust to the pitch-black void. He nearly ran head-first into a massive column of stone, only a last-second, frantic pull on the reins saving them from a very permanent stop.

"This is not a profitable enterprise!" he shouted into the darkness. "The market for 'bruised Neimoidian' is very niche!"

He felt a sudden shift behind him as another racer, a blurry shape moving at a dangerous speed, shot past. It was Varin Mortifer who momentarily turned the cavern into a showroom of smoke and flame. The display, while impressive, was also disarmingly loud, leaving Lodd's ears ringing. He followed the fiery trail as best he could, but just as he thought he was gaining ground, the cavern grew even more cramped and the ceiling dipped even lower.

Ahead, the lights of his rivals began to disappear one by one, swallowed by the winding, unpredictable tunnels. Lodd knew he was falling behind, but he also knew that blind speed was a fool's game in a place like this.

First Post: 6
Second Post: 2
Third Post: 8
Fourth Post: 6

 

[Darth Strosius]

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

The masked man narrowed His hidden gaze slightly at the expression that crossed Lady Madrona's face, an altogether too pleased look that made His mind itch for a dissection of what could be entertaining her so. Nothing positive for Him, He was certain. The Neti was more than capable of keeping pace with Him as expected but Darth Strosius began to have a sinking feeling that within their mental conversation He had stepped into an arena that was hers to lead.

His steps and stride remained consistent but confusion bloomed behind the facade in His mind that Lady Madrona spoke to, signified only by a slight cock of His head to the side. She mentioned having no real opinion of the corpse but then proceeded to label him a parasite, and to call him a worm of all things ironically enough given his predecessor, as well as some hesitance to cross Lady Srina. What was there to be afraid of with her? Of course a woman scorned was a dangerous being indeed but if they could fell the corpse then his wife would surely be no more trouble to do so.

The outline she drew before Him seemed only to compound His confusion given the contradictory notions that she spoke of. Some of which began to slip through the barrier of His mind even as she continued, His silence a subtle urging to reveal more of her musings so that He could properly see what she meant. Lady Madrona was always confusing to Him, a mystery in both attitude and intentions, but this was something else. Typically He at least had some idea of what she wanted to divulge.

Darth Strosius's masked gaze snapped to follow the Neti's own path towards the host of the event and his most horrid guest. There wasn't a mental barrier in existence strong enough to prevent the sheer seething rage that slipped through His thoughts both subconscious and overt at the sight of the Zambrano patriarch. If you mean a forest of weeds, then yes forest management is an apt analogy.

Where she brought forth a vast forest, He countered with one of choking vines and weeds. One where trees were stifled, wilting from the growth that was rightfully theirs to claim due to the ivy clogging their currently malnourished peaks. As they danced into a new musical tempo He idly let out a hum to try and spur her into continuing her analogy regarding Korriban and its relationship with the Kainate. When she did finalize her offer, as it were, for a moment He seemed to consider it carefully. For one moment.

And that is where you falter in your plans, Lady Madrona. With the shift in music so too did He shift His steps, something far more staccato in nature rather than fiery as the prior had been. Stilted yet deceptively elegant. Only a Legion could challenge the Kainate in open warfare, of that there can be no doubt. However we need not bring to bear an axe for each tree, all we need to fell the one which the rest draw from. Darth Strosius's thoughts were pointed, precise in the image they bled from the shared communication. An image of decapitation. Carnifex must die. This is certain, but with his death his Kainate would crumble. Prazutis' demise would expedite the process to be sure, and it is also a simple necessity for justice, but without Carnifex there is no Kainate. He must be put down. Publicly. For all to see. For all to know that the insurmountable has been brought low.

He pulled the Neti with Him into a step, a slight twist in a different direction even as He continued His seamless foot movements. The same can be said of the corpse. There can be no pity nor mercy for him nor for those who would stand with him, there is no separating the man from the Emperor. He is a worm just as his predecessor was, of that you are correct, slithering beneath the notice of us all so that he can carve his own reign without our intervention. And that is precisely why we must oust him so intently.

His steps were more akin to a predator looming over its prey, a strategist watching His foe walk into an ambush. A Sith who sought to express the simple necessity of regicide for the betterment of them all. I don't quite understand your desire to show mercy to him and his wife alongside your calls for his ridding from power. Why pity your foes? They would never do the same for you. And as for the corpse, Empyrean himself, Darth Strosius suddenly stopped and dipped Lady Madrona, His hands having shifted slightly to support her upper and lower back in one swift move as His visor reflected her expression. He chose to take the throne, he was the one that tied this noose. Why not hang him with it?

 

[Maiza Vex]

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

---

​

Maiza rolled on through The Valley of the Dead Lords, making a good pace with most of the pack except that cheater that ran on ahead on foot. Her mind reeling with regret for what she had lost and rage at the revenge she wanted to inflict. She was a ball of emotion as she came on approach to the caverns, a very disastrous portion of the track. Last time she had been here she had attempted to run down a jedi a master after they had wrecked.

It was both her beginning and her end if all the pieces of the puzzle were connected back together to form who she had been. That day a Jedi master had created a villain one who wanted nothing more than to wreck all those who had brought her life to ruin. It wasn't just the academy and the students there, all of which she now despised. It wasn't just the sith who had taken her parents from her. They were pieces to the jigsaw that had shattered last time she had run this race. But the picture this new puzzle formed wasn't that same pirate girl that just did things for the thrill.

As this puzzle formed back together it became a twisted dark soul sure some of the old was there but this Maiza was not the same. She had found love, enemies, and soul crushing defeat. As she rushed into the cave the Jawa still in chase but losing ground, she looked up to see Haro Aven on his Drexl take to ground just behind her, snapping at her Rancor's stubby tail.

"See you at the finish line dead man!"

She said with a maniacal laugh Blue lightening buzzing above her striking for the leader of the pack Glissara . Her eyes looked back noting it had come from Naamino Zuukamano beast. Well chit this race just got a little more dangerous……her eyes turning back to the front of the pack maybe she would get ahead after all.

As a concussive blast from Varin Mortifer slammed into a stalagmite above her she looked up her eyes shooting wide as she saw her doom and gloom flash before her eyes. She knew the end was coming but as it started to crumble above her a chunk rock came clunking down on the rancor's head causing it's fight or flight response to kick in and burst forward as the stalagmite came crumbling down behind narrowly missing the death sentence. The Rancor's burst was short lived though as it slowed it's pace and started looking for something to fight thinking it had been attacked from behind. It started bucking and moving aggressively as Maiza was knocked around barely able to hold on.


(Roll of 9 -3(terrain) -1 (Sabotage) = 5)

 

[Darth Hydra]

Hydra could sense Syntharis… mirth if he were being polite mocking if he felt inclined to take insult. To take insult however would require challenge. Hydra was no Sith Marauder to solve every dispute by the blade, neither was he a simpleton unable to grasp when he was the butt of a joke.

Still he was out of his element. This was a world where barbed, mocking insults could be as deadly as any lightsaber. Excepting the fake that a lightsaber was often a quicker death than the one that would be offered were Hydra to insult the Master of Ceremonies.

The true beasts at this event aren't on the track. They come with honeyed words, veiled insults, hidden smiles. Be patient this is not your arena. Nor do you wish it to be.

That made Hydra take an internal breath as it were at his rising indignation. Besides part of being a sith philosopher and not a dumb brute was acknowledging when you were outmatched. This was the Master of Ceremonies, not some self righteous Jedi on the field of battle. Hydra would gladly face the later. He wondered if he were making a mistake seeking to ingratiate himself with such people, who preferred whispers to confrontation as their weapon of choice.

Hydra dismissed such defeatist thoughts. First obstacle he came across, he would not cut and run. Hydra knew he did not have the skill for the flowery language covered in thorns, but perhaps he could use that to his advantage. Let them think him the simple school master out of his depth. He would be patient, he would learn, he would triumph on the battlefield and use those accolades to come back the victor in this arena. Or he would die in the process of a worthy challenge.

Both outcomes cheered him up considerably.

"Tell me whom do you favor among the beasts?" Hydra asked politely moving past the hidden faces presented to him to safer topics. "I myself could not bring myself to decide upon just one. I tend toward the flyers, Drexl, Adar, Drake though I must admit the Maelidre would seem an intriguing pet to the right Master."

Ufsa'ynth'aris

 

[Leshanna Dromar]

For just the briefest of moments, Leshanna was able to focus on the race and catching up to the others, over trying to keep herself alive long enough to see the finish line. The black armored Sithspawn thundered down the wide Valley, banking into the turns with predatorial ease, pursuing those ahead of it with a single minded determination to eat them. Or at least, that is what Lesh told herself. She wanted to believe her trouble with the maelidrae was past, but she knew better.

The hardest part of the course was yet to come, and her mount had proven to be quite intractable, even with dark side infused dominance from her. Maybe she just didn’t have enough power in the dark to truly make an impression upon the creature. But, for now, it focused on something else and allowed her a moment of reprieve.

All of that vanished the moment the Nethermaw Tunnels came into view. Nervousness coiled in her belly, and it seemed her mount sensed it too, for she felt the shift in its focus and personality almost immediately. The vicious maelidrae growled deeply and alarmingly, nasty fangs and teeth bared in a snarl that could freeze even the bravest warrior in place with fear.

She didn’t have time for that, couldn’t afford it. She tried to pull herself together once more as the darkness of the Tunnels began to swallow the racers ahead of her, one by one. Then…she too was swallowed by the depths, and immediately she realized she was in a dangerous position.

She couldn’t see a damn thing - but she was fairly positive her vicious mount could, even without eyes. She had to think of something and fast, or else she could be skewered from behind by that vicious barbed and bladed tail and she would never have a chance to defend against it. She slipped into the Force, using it as her eyes and senses - though it wasn’t perfect by any means. It was through this, however, that she discovered that yes her mount could see or sense objects in near pitch black environments, as it bobbed and weaved around columns, stalagmites, and fallen debris.

Somewhere, deep within the tunnels ahead of her, came fire and an explosion. She could sense distress, a ripple through the fabric that bound all things together, and the angry bellows of a shadow rancor ahead of her told her that something had happened. Her maelidrae sensed it too, and she could feel it hone in and focus on whatever was going on ahead of them.

“Chit…chit chit chit…” Leshanna murmured with alarm growing in her voice as she felt her mount drift in a different direction, and headed straight towards the shadow rancor with its rider ( Maiza Vex ). Snarls and growls filled the darkened cavern as the maelidrae slowed quickly and tried to pounce on the flank of the creature. Lesh jerked and sawed on the reins, trying desperately to pull the vicious creature off the rancor. She did not need an angry monster of a beast crushing her underfoot in a fit of rage. Roars and bellows and snarls and screeches filled the darkness, filled Leshanna’s mind. She had no idea who the rider of the rancor was, and part of her hoped they weren’t killed in this mess.

Bogan, she hoped she wasn’t killed in this little skirmish either.

Fear bloomed deeper in her chest as she used the Force to see, narrowly avoiding the rancor’s thrashing as well as the maelidrae’s wicked tail blades. The fear surged through her, gave her strength, and she yanked hard on the reins…so hard that she nearly sent the black armored Sithspawn to the ground. Her muscles and joints screamed in protest and she was almost certain she had injured something…but adrenaline and fear numbed her to everything.

“LEAVE IT!” She roared angrily at the maelidrae, and in a fit of fearful anger, she felt power rise up and crackle and surge through her, the only outlet she could think of doing was releasing the power into her mount. Arcs of white-blue energy formed in her hand then fired into the creature - not enough to kill it, by any means, but it was a rather startling shock.

The black beast recoiled from the rancor, confused and then utterly enraged. Its target turned from the rancor and its rider…to her.

“YOU WANT MORE?! THERE’S MORE WHERE THAT CAME FROM!” Leshanna snarled at her Sithspawn, jerking the reins further as she tried to establish dominance once more. She knew she had lost any hope of finishing well in the race; all she needed to worry about now was getting to the finish line alive. And she would do that through any means necessary.

Finally, the maelidrae relented in its vicious attack against the rancor and against her…and without any encouragement from its rider, it set off down the blackened tunnels once again. Lesh hung on for dear life, her energy slowly draining from her near constant use of the Force just to get through the tunnels.

“Bogan dammit…” she growled to herself. She couldn’t wait to get out of the tunnels and back into Horuset’s red light. And she couldn’t wait to cross that finish line and get the kark off this damn beast. “I am never racing again…”


Roll: 7 (-3 Terrain modifier) = 4 TOTAL

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

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Mercy //:

The kiss on her cheek was enough to quell the jealousy that had lingered as she watched Mercy bask in the display. Childish, perhaps — but it was a part of herself Quinn allowed only Mercy to see. The Knave had been in her life too long for her to bother hiding it.

Her lips curved into a soft smile as she recalled the promise Mercy had made when they hunted relics on her mother's ship. That moment had been raw, a weakness exposed. Mercy hadn't recoiled — she had only pushed Quinn to stand taller.

The reminder lingered now. Quinn's fingers trailed along Mercy's jaw before threading through her fiery hair, soft against the sturdiness of her frame. She enjoyed the contrast more than she would ever admit.

"Well, unnecessary as it may be… It's still appreciated," she murmured, pulling her closer. The kiss to her cheek was sweet, but Quinn always wanted more.

"And because it's appreciated, that's why I keep offering it." Her expression shifted to a sly, knowing smile. "Besides — you deserve it and it usually gets me what I want… it."

Her breath brushed Mercy's lips as she leaned in. The kiss was brief, quiet, and wholly theirs. A tease, but a deliberate one. Mercy always knew how to leave her wanting — and Quinn had long since accepted that was why she kept coming back for more.

 

[Varin Mortifer]

Objective 2: Final Stretch​

His ears rang loudly from the explosion. Up ahead he watched as Naamino’s Adar roared a bolt of lightning at the runner ahead of them. The target had proven herself quite capable as a foot racer.

Varin’s back began to smoke as the amount of energy he used for the initial burst of speed began to take its toll. But he wasn’t about to quit. He was close to finishing this race.

Finally he noticed the light at the end of the literal tunnel, all of the echoing sounds of the rancor behind him came to silence as he burst out of the mouth of the cavern. The final stretch. It looked like the easiest part of the race, but the difficulty wasn’t the terrain this time. It was the desperation of the other racers and their blood thirsty sithspawn.

He still had a little bit of force power to give, and he put every ounce of it into aiding the speed of his sithspawn. Once again igniting his back to push them forward. His vision tunneled as the finish line crept ever closer, the roar of the crowd thundered all around the racers.

He gripped the horns of the Adar with what he had left as he crouched forwards to offer less drag.

“We are almost there! Don’t you dare stop!”

He spoke to the creature as its eye gazed at him. For the first time in this race, he seemed like the creature would agree with him. The faster they got to this finish line the faster this “Flaming idiot” would be off of him.

With one hard final push the finish line became a blur to him as the creature slowed to a halt just past it. The tunnel vision was so tight around his eyes that he could not pay attention to the other racers around him. He had no idea of knowing what place he was in. At least for now.

The beast came to a halt as Varin’s breath was deep and quick. His grip on the horns faltered as he slumped back on the Adar.

“Good one, creature.”

Varin then slumped forward his head resting on the beasts neck as he lay there to rest for a moment.

(rolled 12 + 2 mod total 14)

Naamino Zuukamano Haro Aven Leshanna Dromar Lodd Grimmin Maiza Vex Glissara Spirit of Korriban​

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

Darth Strosius could sense her approval of the mental image, of an overgrown forest in need of cutting and burning so that there might be balance 'neath darkly shadowed foliage and new giants might rise in the place of old, decrepit creatures long past their prime.

When did I say his entire legion need be taken out? I'm no fool, nor are you— mostly. No, I agree that disposal of that one would require direct conflict. But when is the man alone? Even now his retinue follows. You would be hard pressed to corner him alone, and even then… His power exceeds just whatever is contained in physical form. He is not natural Alisteri. Even were he slain, I do not think he'd stay so for long. We need a plan some steps farther along than what your bravado tells you will work.

The woman carved a series of smart steps across the floor, keeping up with the fast but elegant pace her partner composed.

Pity?

A psychic rumble like rustling leaves and chiming bells echoed through their link, the mental equivalent of laughter.

You think one such as I has ever experienced the likes of pity? Alisteri, no… I speak of tactics and making choices with the future in mind.

Her participation in the dance grew more aggressive again, as if to emphasize her point. Vying once again for the upper hand physically even as she drove the point home in their conversation. A'Mia's mental voice softened even as she became more imposing.

Why in the galaxy would I seek a foe of Srina Talon? She is an excellent resource, a formidable ally. As to her husband? You don't know do you? By the way you speak, you mustn't. Empyrean is host to a creature. That corpse is the home of a parasite, a terrible creature to be sure— but something distinctly separate from the man. It might yet be removed from him. An act that surely could garner the favor of both figureheads should one find themselves a key figure in the participation.

After stepping into a particularly aggressive turn, A'Mia pushed the center of Alisteri's chest to spin herself away— the move left a dramatic gap between them on the dance floor for a moment. Soon though she stalked closer with a flurry of steps that made her dress billow and re-engaged their contact with the suggestion of a dip that he could choose whether or not he humored.

You balk at my ideas, dear Prophet. Truly though, do your plans start and end with "kill them all" and entirely lack any of the nuance that Darth Ophidia taught you?

 

[Darth Strosius]

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

Her response warranted a cock of His head and a slight narrowing of His hidden gaze as their dance continued. 'Mostly?' He could already sense that this would be another point of contention. He is just a man. Lady Madrona. One that has lived well past his time and accrued more than enough karmic justice that is just waiting to be loosed. Even one such as enhanced as I can perish and nothing short of an intervention from the Force itself brought me back from death's grasp. It will not be as kind to one such as he.

A verbal hum greeted her mental rumbling, finding few tactics to her remarks aside from convenience and vague notions. Lady Madrona's renewed aggression in their dance made up for His stalwart assurance in their mental conversation, a tactic which did slightly catch Him off-guard for a moment though He was swift to recover as ever.

What ally can be made of one such as Lady Srina? One so high above reproach and the realities of the Sith? One too entangled with the parasites and lesions on our Order to be anything more than a plague of circumstance herself. You are quite right that Empyrean is the host for a parasite, just as Carnifex and Raaf and all their ilk are. Their pride and ambition will be the death of them, and of us all if we hesitate in our means to put an end to them. There is no separating Empyrean or any of them from their rotten cores, and they wouldn't ever be thankful for it even if we could.

Darth Strosius had to reaffirm His footing after her sudden turn and push, stilling with what must have been baited breath as she quickly closed the newly made distance and catching her in another dip. Although as He pulled her back up to her feet and readied to resume their dance, the mention of His former master made Him stiffen suddenly. Tensing for a moment too long to be hidden or excused. A bit of a sore spot it would seem given the roiling sea of wrath that had flared beneath His mental barrier in their conversation.

Ophidia was a fool and what she represented was foolish. She kept to the dark, playing in the shadows to ensure her own safety while the Sith suffered and buckled around her. When Darth Strosius did resume His lead it was with a renewed and fiery passion that mimicked His mental projections of the apparent cowardice of His master. It was her who taught me that there was no nuance to be had with the powers that be, no mercy that could be granted or sins that could be overlooked. The deaths of our foes isn't a plan, it is a solution. The only solution.

The distance between them was minimal, surprising given His usual aversion to closeness, but it seemed as though the fire within Him was surpassing His comfort. I had no issue removing her when she failed to be the Sith that she claimed to be, when she showed her weakness and exposed her true nature as a craven sycophant. Just like so many that adorn our Order now. She fell at my blade and so too will all her contemporaries. Carnifex. Prazutis. Raaf. Empyrean. Lady Srina. There is no reasoning or parleying with such cretins, for they know nothing of such things, only execution.