Faction Revelry in the Holy Worlds

[Mercy]

Quinn Varanin

If Mercy knew shame, she might have looked sheepishly at the assumption that she had learned her manners in the proceeding years. The problem wasn't about learning, it was about applying. She remembered all the lessons from court. It was simply a way of rebellion to be as brash, loud and arrogant as could be.

One more way to stick it to those that had tried to keep her down.

"I will do my best not to embarrass you in front of your mother... too much." Murmured with a smirk, not confirming one way or another, because that kept things interesting.

Her eyes flicked to the scene of Srina Talon , surrounded by everyone else, like a bright sun drawing star material through gravity. It made Mercy sniff softly. "Looks absolutely horrifying, I don't know how she handles all the sycophancy without wanting to tear their throats out with her bare hands." She said quietly, leaning in to whisper it in Quinn's ear alone.

It was why she had not tried to style herself as a queen or an empress. You had to be at least somewhat of a diplomat. But nobody expected a crime lord to be gentle and patient with their courtiers.

Perhaps it was not the status befitting of someone like Mercy, but it suited her just fine for now.

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

"Oh, we can have as many moments as you'd like together." Mercy said with a little smirk, but she was still watching that procession. Eyes growing feverish again. She might be protesting, but Mercy desired that too. Not just the blind and hungry devotion of Kaine's followers. But the sheer adoration, faked or not, of those around Srina.

Hungry appetite, full of desire.

If that wasn't the ideal of a true Sith, what could be?

"Do you see yourself as an Empress in her style? Or would you do things differently?" The question posed suddenly.

Others in the surroundings: Darth Carnifex | Lunaria Talon | Darth Caedes | Revna Marr | Beau Talon | Elmindra Xitaar | Ufsa'ynth'aris | Gerwald Lechner

 

[Drystan Creed]

OBJECTIVE I

Belting out the final, slurred notes of his song, Drystan turned away from the screen, bowing with theatrical flourish to an audience that didn't exist. Well—except for 312, who, by virtue of being the only one paying attention, now counted as his biggest fan.

He gave a crooked smile, waving like a rockstar basking in imaginary applause. Even drunk, his reflexes remained absurdly sharp, snatching the can tossed his way, clinking it against 312's, and downing it in one go.

"Did you like the song?" His voice dipped lower, uncharacteristically solemn for a man in dark shades and a suit soaked in cheap beer. "It's not just another rock ballad, you know. On the surface it's about despair and redemption. But really—it's about bargaining with death itself."

He leaned forward conspiratorially, launching into a lecture no one had asked for.

"Musically, the guitars shine like liquid starlight. Each note drips with melancholia. The percussion? A heartbeat teetering on collapse. It's a prayer whispered in the dark and a stadium anthem screamed into the void. And lyrically, that refrain? It's the existential crisis of the galaxy, my friend: poised between transcendence and total annihilation."

A long, awkward silence hung in the air. Drystan blinked once, then slumped heavily into his chair, staring at the floor like he'd just solved philosophy itself.

"Between you and me," he muttered, almost confessional now, "nobody's caught on yet, but I am so hammered."

He sighed, rolling his neck before glancing at his half-empty can.

"The last time I was this drunk, I tried to invent a fighting style based entirely on staying wasted. I called it 'Drystan Style: Drunken Demon.'" A pause. "...Turns out, it was just me falling down a lot."

CT-312

 

[Darth Hydra]

"Of course your highness you do me great honour"

Hydra bowed and retreated. Allowing the king Darth Caedes to interact with his other guests. Hydra was pleased that he had been recognised after such a long time. He was even more pleased by the invitations, both to stay in the palace chambers and to reminisce with the king at a later time.

Careful. Lest you become a palace fop, who needs palace finery, to keep him cushioned at night.

No. It wasn't the finery, it was the honour. Though Hydra was careful to keep in mind his views on sycophants who begged for scraps of attentions. It was a slippery slope. An invitation to the palace, an invitation to a feast, a position of honour at an event. There was no reasonable way to refuse such invitations from ones king of course, but one must be aware of ones decorum in such surroundings.

In truth Hydra's own chambers were rather sparse, his possessions minimal. He kept just enough to function effectively and no more than he needed. Hydra believed the discipline needed to achieve true victory didn't end with mere training, but in how one composed themselves in life.

Truthfully Hydra rarely even used a holoscreen outside of work. Usually for research, studying, preparing lessons and grading assignments. He had meant to prepare a lesson on the games after having witnessed them and setting an essay question. Though perhaps he would require the acolytes to prepare their own essay question for a change.

Hydra didn't believe rote learning was enough for an agile mind, and an agile mind was crucial when studying or applying the Sith Code or harnessing the Dark Side. Still he expected many of the Acolyte would be tempted to give themselves essay questions like who the best racer or best beast was.

Hydra pondered the validity of such a question. Perhaps he should add 'as applied to the Sith Code and Dark Side of the Force' to whatever question they decide upon. Hydra saw the indicated persons the king had pointed out. Hydra sighed internally to himself. They seemed like the sort of political animals Hydra went out of his way to avoid. A First Lord and a Spymaster. Surrounded by other Sith Lords in conversation.

Hydra took a breath and steeled himself for the barbed comments and petty insults that could very well indicate a plot or scheme. Perhaps a deadly one. If Hydra were to become more involved on the battlefield he would have to become accustomed to a certain amount of political acumen. Another perhaps even greater threat to losing himself and his own code that came with walking in these circles.

"Pardon my interruption." Hydra bowed as he did just that.

"First Lord Elmindra Xitaar ." Hydra bowed to the First Lord.

"Master of Ceremonies Ufsa'ynth'aris " Hydra bowed to the Master of Ceremonies. Hydra did his best attempt at replicating the inflection the king's use of his name after only hearing it once. It might have been a passing attempt. Hydra however expected only the best of what he attempted, he was slightly annoyed with himself for the flaw in his inflection. He suspected there were comma's misplaced in the structure of the name he had given.

"Darth Hydra of the Academy. Forgive my manners, his highness however instructed me to introduce myself. He has requested that I be given chambers." Hydra paused "I would not have interrupted your revelry over such a miner concern, however when given instruction by the king I prefer to see it done."

Hydra raised an eyebrow.

"If I have acted outside of propriety or protocol however please inform me immediately and I will depart. Life at the palace is a learning experience for me. As I am sure it will continue to be going forward." Hydra bowed.

Hydra paused wondering if he had accidentally insulted any of them sufficiently enough for a tedious blood feud. Perhaps he should apologise to the Chiss for butchering his name? Hydra pondered that for a moment. It felt… too much like what a Jedi might do. Here in the halls of power especially among the Sith too much subservience was a weakness after all. Question was should Hydra care? He believed in decorum certainly, he also believed in strength. It was in the Sith Code after all. Hmm it was a conundrum. Was true strength forging ones own path regardless of others respect or was it demonstrating your own strength so that they fear and respect it? He knew most Sith leaned towards the later, but then perhaps Hydra was not most Sith.

Hydra decided on a compromise of sorts.

"Your name is an elegant one. I would not presume informality, but neither would I risk further insult from butchering it further."

As close to an apology as he could get without admitting personal fault. Hydra decided it would do as a compromise between manners and dignity.

Though perhaps he had unknowingly insulted the First Lord somehow from focusing his attentions on the Master of Ceremonies. Hydra sighed to himself internally.

Such intrigue wearies me.

 

[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​

Despite his terrifying predicament, Haro's attention was inexorably drawn to the powerful and surprisingly alluring visage of Leshanna atop her horrifying mount. In the brief moment he caught her eye, Haro tried to steady himself atop his own unruly mount in an effort to match her confidence and do his best to embody the dashing Sithspawn rider of her dreams. He gave her a charming grin and a wink before he heard his buddy call out in baffled surprise. However, it was Varin's comment that yanked Haro's attention away from his companions and firmly planted back into the moment.

"What?! What do you mean?" He squeaked in response as dread struck him like a ton of duracrete blocks, and he looked down at the various straps Varin must've been referring to, franticly checking for any that might be loose.

"Some of you may die," intoned Darth Thaliax, but Haro paid no mind to the academy master's speech, too busy trying to figure out which parts of his harness to pull tighter.

"On my mark..."
"Chit, chit, chit."
"Get set..."
"Chit, chit!"
"GO!"

Coiled tension became explosive action and the crowd went wild. Haro jerked his head up from where he'd been fussing over his straps to see the other racers spring into action. He glanced over in time to see Leshanna nearly get gored by the vicious looking tail of her mount, but before he could say or do anything to help, the drexl decided to launch forward with blinding speed. The sensation was worse than any G-forces Haro had contended with while piloting. His harness cinched painfully to his form, straining to keep him atop the insanely powerful creature. One of the straps did snap under the force of the momentum, but somehow Haro managed to hold on for dear life.

The ground shook as the raptavian sithspawn charged past the adorned rancor with the Neimoidian rider, its bulk deceptively quick. The claws of its forefeet tore through stone and soil alike, leaving furrows from the sheer friction of its weight. Muscles coiled beneath its scaled hide, bunching and releasing in bursts of raw power, propelling the beast forward with terrifying speed.

The creature didn't run—it hunted, every movement a promise of violence, every step shrinking the distance between predator and prey. With a guttural shriek that drowned out the sound of Haro's screams, the drexl leaped, the impact of its takeoff shattering stone underfoot and kicking up dust as the beast hurled itself skyward. Its massive wings snapped open in midair and, with a single powerful beat, it maximized its momentum and shot past Varin and his Adar, past Zafira and Naami, over the other rancor with the mysterious masked rider and whoever was crazy enough to race on foot, a blur of purple and horned silhouette tearing through the sky, its barbed tail lashing behind it.​

[ROLL: 20 + 2 from Drexl's ability = 22 TOTAL]

 

[CT-312]

//: Drystan Creed | OPEN //:
//: Vardin, Korriban //:
//: Attire //:
//: OBJECTIVE I — ASCENDANT REVELRIES //:
​

She tilted her head slightly. Eyes flat on Drystan as he finished his ramble. Music wasn’t something CT-312 ever paid attention to. Never really listening to it at all. But she analyzed the words anyway. Bargaining with death. Guitars as starlight. Transcendence and total annihilation. Giving a small nod. The song wasn’t bad. More than that actually… maybe it was… good. A surprise. Music as another kind of language. Relatable. CT-312 hadn’t expected Drystan to break it down that way.

The lighter flame flicked once, then snapped shut. In the silence, CT-312 popped the cooler open again. Grabbing more cans. Paused at his muttered confession. No surprise there. The Scout guessed as much the second she walked in and spotted him. A glint of amusement flickered in her eyes. Sharp then gone again. “Hammered, huh.” With the flick of her wrist, CT-312 tossed another can at him. High and fast.

“Drystan Style: Drunken Demon” CT-312 repeated in a flat tone. A fighting style based on falling down. Typical. Interesting to see how he could flip sharp in missions to… this. “Mm.” A single, unimpressed sound. Dropping onto the cooler, she cracked open her own can. “So what you’re telling me…” Her tone was steady and precise. “…is that you’ve weaponized karaoke and gravity.” Exhaling through her nose, almost a laugh.

A pause. Brows lifted with the faintest edge of a smirk formed behind the half mask. “Creative” Draining the can clean. Crushing it flat in her hand. CT-312 made a mental note. Drystan was acclimating just fine into the DeathDrop. More than fine. She spotted a trash bin a few paces away. Throwing it arching into the bin. Perfect shot.

“Let me guess.” Her hand reached for another can she grabbed out earlier. Popping it with a hiss. "You lost more fights than you won with that one.” Her other hand dipped into one of her back pouches. Pulling out a dice. CT-312 leaned forward. Elbow on knees. Letting the dice roll across her palm before showing it to Drystan.

“How about we make things more interesting?” voice steady with an edge of amusement that was impossible to miss. CT-312 lifted the can, taking a slow sip.

 

[Darth Strosius]

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

An eyebrow quirked beneath His mask in surprise at the quick, rather blunt, response that Lady Madrona gave Him immediately after His own answer. She seemed all too ready to say such a remark. Darth Strosius couldn't even discern if it was meant to be sarcasm or completely honest, her tone gave few clues either way. Luckily she was quick to expand upon her words as well, before He could make a fool of Himself by asking for clarification.

Thankfully she wasn't quite as cryptic as He had been expecting. "And who does truly know me, would you say?" He could count them on one hand, at least from His own perspective. The masked man's composure slipped somewhat, exemplified by a small "hm?", as the Neti began her own steps and wound up twisting back into Him. Darth Strosius cocked His head at an odd angle to look down at her as she leaned against Him, His "wings" briefly twitching as He tensed from the contact.

"I-er." Not the most profound that He had ever been, it had to be said.

His feet moved at Lady Madrona's will as she continued in her response, simply following her lead much like He had done at the start of their dance. The masked man Himself didn't seem to notice His lack of control in their battlefield of choice, He was far too busy dissecting her words by staring at her in sheer bewilderment. Something that was noticeable in His body language even with the mask hiding the actual expression written across His features.

When the Neti decided to show mercy and pulled away to return to their previous pace and motion, Darth Strosius did seem to finally be catching up with her again. Even if He was still falling behind in the battle for the lead in spite of her relinquishment of control. The poke did little to expedite His thought process, only succeeding in making Him glance between her hand and her face for a few moments as she finalized her answers in full and looked at Him expectantly afterwards.

It took Him far too long to realize that Lady Madrona was indeed waiting for a response, a realization that came forth in the form of Him clearing His throat to try and save face. "Right. Yes. Well, I suppose your assessments are...accurate enough." He had been doing His best to pay attention of course and He did find Himself agreeing with what He could recall. Even if most of it was somewhat lost in translation as it were.

"Although, I do find myself wondering something. Given that I can be...how did you put it? 'Incredibly corrosive to a social atmosphere' as you said, which is quite the compliment thank you." It was difficult to tell if He was being sarcastic or genuine there. "I can't help but ask why you'd personally invite me here in that respect. And I know that it wasn't solely to discuss your findings and developments, otherwise we wouldn't be here at the moment."

 

[Revna Marr]

Objective One
Location: Vardin
Interacting With: Darth Caedes // Srina Talon // Open!​

Revna remained passive, at least outwardly, as Darth Carnifex 's procession continued. Within the recesses of her mind, however, she relived recent memories that involved the Sith Lord. Much to her surprise, however, she did not feel anxiousness or tension or even fear seeing Carnifex again, even after the events that led to her rescue. Instead, there was a sense of numbness there, as if she didn’t…care enough.

Caedes’ reply to her comment was edged and she felt a smirk tug at the corner of her lips. Yes, the Kainate Dark Lords sure did know how to make an appearance, she mused quietly to herself. But, she also knew that they had earned the right to such…processions. They had the power to back such flaunts of power as this. They were untouchable…

Almost.

Revna shifted in her seat, finding a spot to rest more comfortably as she let her gaze drift off into the gathered crowd, her hand still lingering atop the King’s own, content to share that subtle physical connection for as long as he desired it. She took in everything she could, listened to what voices or whispers she could pick out from the din. Such moments like this, where so many were gathered, was an excellent place to learn things about others, about the quieter happenings within the Order.

Fiery eyes shifted as a familiar face appeared before the throne: the great warrior, Gerwald Lechner had arrived. He greeted Caedes, passed along his accolades for the King’s efforts on Brosi. Revna remained quiet beside the King as he responded in kind. Others were there, waiting to pass along their greeting and honor, and some even dared to cut in front of Carnifex as he made his way towards the throne dais. Unless addressed directly, Revna simply dipped her chin in acknowledgment or offered a courtly smile to those that came and went.

Eventually, the Butcher King of the Kainate made his appearance, his presence larger than life. Revna observed him and his actions, or lack thereof, keenly - sharp eyes studying him, learning. Truthfully she could care less if he passed along accolades to her or Caedes or not. She didn’t need his approval for anything, though she could sense how his ignorance of the throne of Korriban rankled Caedes. Her soft touch on the changeling’s hand and arm gripped just a hair tighter, as she cast her eyes to his for a brief moment, as if to say -Don’t let him get under your skin. He breathes hot air, that is all. Let him-

She then deliberately turned her attention away from Carnifex and his interaction with Srina, ignoring him as if he wasn’t there, at least for the moment. Her gaze drifted through the crowds, noticing faces that she knew, and some she didn’t. But then something else caught her attention, and Caedes would feel her form grow somewhat tense beside him. She felt eyes on her from within the crowd, and her attention was drawn to it like a moth to flame…until her gaze settled upon that of the oh so familiar mask that her Father wore.

Darth Strosius was here. At the Revelry.

And He was standing with someone she held in high regard, someone she considered an ally, a comrade…an extension of herself in a way - the Lord Seer, Madrona A’Mia herself.

Revna’s head tilted to one side as she held that gaze over the distance that separated her from her Father, almost as if to say ‘I am surprised to see You, of all people, here’. The weight of His gaze lifted from her, but she continued to observe Him as he interacted with the Neti.

Then a series of actions began to play out that utterly stunned the young Vahla woman.

A’Mia extended a hand to Darth Strosius as the music changed tempo…and before Revna’s very eyes, stepped into her Father’s space and began to guide Him into a dance. Unconsciously, Revna’s grip on Caedes’ arm tightened as she held her breath. What would her Father do now? Was He actually going to dance with A’Mia?

The song continued…and so did the dancing pair. Revna couldn’t take her eyes off of them, so enraptured was she by the whole scene. She had no idea He could dance, but He clearly could, and rather well if she might say so herself. A small smile curled at her kohl dusted lips, happy to see Him actually joining in on the celebration. She knew He hated such things, often voicing His strong distaste for such things …and yet He wasn’t leaving. The song shifted into another and still, He and the Neti continued on, and a strange sense of contentment upon seeing such a thing swirled within Revna’s heart.

Perhaps death had changed the man, tempered the edge to His venom, even if only slightly.

A sudden longing to find herself in Caedes arms as they shared a dance together as well, flashed through her mind - flickering into his mind too, perhaps. A place where they could focus on one another, enjoy each other's company, bask in the victory they had achieved on Brosi...over all the Holy Worlds, in truth.

Perhaps, if they found the time to pull away, maybe they could. But for now she was content to sit beside him and be a pillar of strength for him, should he need it.

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

Humor was not her strong suit, despite the smiley affectation and bright voice A'Mia so often utilized. So when her words and actions caught Darth Strosius off-guard, something rare indeed occurred. The neti laughed.

It wasn't loud nor particularly drawn out, but it was real and that show of mirth even reached her eyes. She soon gathered herself but the words came even more sing-song than before, perhaps effected by the remnants of her laughter.

"I thought I'd been obvious enough, Alisteri."

Though the music was beginning to pick up tempo again, the neti chose not to press for anymore flourishes or fancy footwork. She was content for a time to be led.

"To build alliance, of course. To try to know you."

A'Mia continued, offering more clarity to her answer before he could interject.

"Revna is very dear to me, in a way few have ever been. She's beyond dear to my King. You are of the utmost importance to her."

She paused as if to make sure he was still following.

"To me that makes it obvious we should attempt to forge stronger cohesion between our peoples— those who hold you in high regard and have earned that from you in turn. Revna Marr and Kasir Dorran are the most obvious to my eyes, though I’m sure there are others to count amongst them. So I asked you here to speak on such matters… and also to see if you'd step outside your comfort zone to share a dance."

A'Mia looked rather pleased with herself as the answer to the latter query was playing out as they spoke.

 

[Spirit of Korriban]

RACER​	Streets of Vardin​	Ashlan Crash Site (-2)​	Valley of the Dark Lords (+1)​	Nethermaw Tunnels (-3)​	Final Stretch! (+2)​	RESULTS
Haro Aven (Drexl)​	20 + 2 = 22!​	Immune to crash!​
Maiza Vex (Rancor)​	19 - 1 = 18! Sabotaged! Naamino Zuukamano ​
Glissara (Self)​	13!​
Naamino Zuukamano (Adar)​	13!​	-1! Sabotaged! ​
Varin Mortifer (Adar)​	12!​
Lodd Grimmin (Moneybags <3)​	4 + 2 = 6!​
Leshanna Dromar (Malidrae)​	2 - 2 = 0! Ooooof!​

 

[Glissara]

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

• Hssiss/Drake Ability Set

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

Glissara surged from the blocks at a dead sprint, her powerful, elongated legs devouring the ground with bounding strides, reaching velocities far and away beyond anything achievable by unaugmented humanoids. The Jango Jumper was blur, her ultra-enhanced Pursuit Zero body tearing down the promenade to the cheers of the crowd. She left the Maelridae ridden by the dark-haired female apprentice in the dust and didn’t look back to see the beast attempt to skewer her. Then, she surged past the Neimoidian on his bedecked shadow rancor, perhaps weighed down by the jewels and struggling to get up to speed.

Still, Glissara wasn’t ready to count either of them out of the race, just yet.

From there, Glissara came neck-and-neck with the Adars of Varin Mortifer and Naamino Zuukamano as they soared overhead, their wingbeats a syncopated rhythm against the roar of the crowd. She edged just past the former, but remained on even pace with the violet-scaled drake ridden by the Zabrak she had greeted only moments prior.

Glissara glanced at her HUD, clocking herself running at just over 40 miles per hour. She glanced up then, seeing the purple-scaled drake keeping pace, without showing signs of slowing down.

So that was how fast the drake could fly.

Unfortunately, even with her speed, Glissara was not in the first place. The rancor of Maiza Vex roared past, causing her gaze to widen in equal parts awe and worry at seeing something so huge move with such stunning alacrity. However, foremost among the pack was the drexl of Haro Aven , powerful wingbeats propelling the beast through the air with such force that Glissara registered the shockwaves coming off of it, even as it left her trailing in its wake.

Still, the race was only just beginning.

With a sharp grunt, Glissara kicked harder as she approached the final section of the promenade before the open desert. Her heart raced, supercharging her blood with a potent cocktail of oxygen and perfluorocarbon carriers, pushing her muscles hard to extract the maximum performance!

All the while, Glissara held her gaze forward, for beyond the streets, loomed the vast, unforgiving desert expanse!

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Objective I: Ascendent Revelries
Ayiaz

​

Those same shadows flickered, but even with their presence, it still felt like the vibrant hues of a Lovalla's essence washed over them like a coat of paint; at least for Lysander, colors blended into the corners of his vision, refusing to let the planet's darkness stake any claim. His mouth had gone dry, the medicinal herbs from earlier taking hold, and so they would pull at his throat in ways that caught him unprepared.

The warmth at the back of his hand was comforting, a steady pulse beneath their skins that thrummed with quiet rhythm; yet, despite that comfort, he hesitated, fingers hovering, caught between release and restraint, before finally allowing them to withdraw with quiet grace that only came naturally. For under the haze, beneath the many masks others saw, whether caught astray in the undergrounds of Smuggler's Moon or in the presence of higher society, he forever remained the kid from Ukatis, embedded with etiquette that he'd come to realize, when he let that slip, it made him too vulnerable

And so that was why hands came to clasp behind the back, posture straightening, and allowing them both a moment to breathe. To calibrate. A step back was taken, necessary for both, perhaps, to create space not just physically, but emotionally too. The next inhale came deep, as though a subtle challenge had permeated the event's air, lest he find himself so easily swayed, reminding himself that his softness was no longer a product of weakness, but something deliberate.

But through the motions, Lysander’s eye contact never waned, firm yet respectful; it would not require concession. There was no need to flinch from Zaiya’s convictions, even as he found himself internally opposing every single one of them.

Unintentionally, this much was certain, the teen found himself on the receiving end of a ripple through the Weave. Observation was not required; he felt that emotion exhale through the room he occupied. It was something he'd never registered with Madrona A’Mia until now: happiness. So, Lysander's lips curved, a courtly thing that was anything but practiced. He even let the sincerity of it linger a while longer, holding onto belief that what he felt had been shared.

Afterwards, he severed this connection; that moment deserved silence.

In truth, he was simply relieved that Zaiya’s words were now landing without any further tremors. A nod settled across his face. “Well,” he began, voice smooth and calm, "strange as it sounds, I’ve built a circle here.. Sith who’ve earned my trust, who’ve watched my back. I never thought I’d say that, but it’s the truth.”

Fingers curled, shedding that need from earlier. “I’ve grown accustomed to their presence. These people are my family now.”

A single word from that statement sparked his acknowledgment of another presence he'd detected earlier, one he hadn't seen since learning they shared bloodline, back when the Sith ravaged his homeworld.

Which led him to send a telepathic message to his Master, Revna Marr next, unbothered that it landed with the same excitement of a child discovering something new for the first time.

< It's good to see you back where you belong, cousin. >

He was just about to speak again when the monstrous, cavernous growl filled the air like the roar of a krayt dragon. Lysander's jaw twitched as he fought to suppress all laughter, stepped back even further, and raised both hands in mock defense, as though he were bracing against a charging beast.

"Woah, impressive! Your stomach has more bite than a Wampa! Are you sure you're not part rancor?"

Sometimes an unexpected moment was a blessing in disguise, this one serving as a cushion against the heavy talk that didn't belong in this festivity, thus allowing him to stay settled in the present, free from burden. For now, at least.

His attention shifted to the banquet spread nearby, with spiced meats, and the same Felucian fruits that were like gems, beckoning him once more, the scents teased at his senses.

Tilting his head to one side, that same smile played at the corners of his expression. He shifted fluidly, one hand slipping free just enough for his elbow to bend with invitation.

An escort, if she wished.

“Come on.” Lysander’s tone was cordial, warm. “Before the Wampas beat us to it.”

There was a lilt in his voice, just enough to let mischief poke though. “Don't worry. I promise not to duel you over the nuna drumsticks."

 

[Ayiaz]

Objective I:
Ascendent Revelries
Lysander von Ascania
​

Zaiya's intent hadn't been to sway him. Zaiya knew she couldn't drag Lysander back across the galaxy with words alone, no matter how much she wished she could. What she'd wanted was simpler: to offer support, to show him she understood, even if only in pieces.

She had come here thinking he was hurt, in danger, desperate for saving. Instead, she found him standing firm, rooted in a place that frightened her to her bones. He didn't need rescuing. But that didn't mean she stopped caring.

Part of her was glad he had found a circle, a family. She knew how much that meant. Lovalla could not thrive in isolation; connection was everything. Without it, they dimmed, wilted, and withered away. If this was what gave him life, she couldn't begrudge him that. Still... another part of her worried what it would mean for him tomorrow, or years from now.

She hoped he wouldn't lose himself completely.

His words hung between them as the haze of spice and the oppressive wash of the Dark tugged harder at her senses, pushing her into a strange blur where warmth and dread tangled together. But it was his poking jab at the grumble of her belly that made sharp flares of violet to flash across her greying skin, making her sputter in flustered and vexed mortification.

"Shut up!" she huffed, her voice cracking as she jabbed him in the side. But even as the heat lingered in her cheeks, she looped her hand around his offered elbow, letting him guide her.

"Are there at least good burgers here?" she asked, genuine curiosity slipping through. A strange time for it, maybe, but she and Aris had set themselves a great Galactic Quest to try as many diners as possible to taste test burgers of every kind... and Sith space had been sorely lacking in that tally.

She was about to press further when the world seemed to collapse inward. Her hood had slipped back, leaving her glow exposed, and in an instant, it drained from her. Color washed away into cold pewter, her mottled spots rippling like storm clouds before sinking into inky slate-grey.

The smothering presence of dread and paranoia sank into her lungs, cutting the Force from her like a suffocating blanket. She gasped, her breath hitching, lower lip trembling as her vision blurred.

"Lysander..." her voice cracked, barely a whisper. Her body trembled, heart hammering as panic filled her eyes.

And there, at the end of the corridor, the sinister and sadistic undead wraith's gaze of the Jen'rusalka fixed upon the Lovalla. Its attention smothered her, pinning her in place. The oppressive presence hollowed out everything inside, as if even the threads of the Force she clung to were stripping away.

All of Zaiya's colors faltered, and she swayed, feeling her resonance collapsing under the weight of that stare.

 

[Varin Mortifer]

Objective 2: Ashlan Crash Site​

The first stretch of the race was coming to its end, the stretch through the streets to gain momentum was wearing thin. Ahead Varin could see the expanse of a mass graveyard of ships. Whether they were torn asunder by time and weather or by other means he could not tell as they were rapidly approaching towards him. Seeing he was beginning to fall behind he hugged close to the creature's body to leave less resistance to its frame. He gave his Adar a firm kick to its flanks with his stirrups, amping the creature along to catch up and overthrow all those who were in front of him. The course ahead was not as easy to follow as before. It was a winding path of destruction that marked the history of Korriban’s retaking.

Massive ships partially buried in sands that peaked outwards like clawing hands reaching to claim their next victims into the ocean of grains of pebbles beneath them, to tear the flesh off their bones and claim them into the lands shaped by history and battles.

Varin glared at the course ahead of them as it came upon them, those looming shadows that blotted the sun, darkening the area around them as if light refused to cross its boundaries. A haunting yet beautiful reminder of the trials and tribulations that this planet thrived in.

He tightened his grip on the reins removing any slack so the creature could react faster to his direction.

Before he noticed, a part of the wreckage of the ship tumbled ahead of him causing to pull back and go around. The time to do so costed him greatly on his position in the race. He growled to himself as he began to plot his route around the collapsed wreckage and to return to the race. It wasn't over yet for the young sith apprentice, he still had a lot more to give, but this track was certainly unrelenting.

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

 

[Lodd Grimmin]

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

The Neimoidian was largely enjoying the bumpy ride as they barreled through a vegetable cart at high speed. The merchant reacted with theatrical despair, clutching his apron like an opera singer and wailing, "My Sith Dragonfruit!" as though the galaxy itself had ended. A single bruised fruit rolled dramatically into the gutter, as if to punctuate the tragedy.

Unbothered, the Neimoidian leaned back with satisfaction as the street corner finally gave way to the Ashlan Crash Site. Rising from the sand were the unmistakable symbols of the Ashlan Crusade a surprisingly organized band of zealots who worshipped what they dramatically called the Light Side of the Force. To Lodd, however, it always looked more like a discount religion that sold glowsticks at full price.

Perhaps Darth Caedes had been a member of their order before switching sides, as his attire was quite peculiar and the connections appeared to line up. Dismissing such thought provoking exercises from his thoughts, he took hold of the datapad beside him and started to review the InterGalactic Stock Exchange.

Such distraction offered him little assistance as Naamino Zuukamano , Haro Aven , Varin Mortifer , Maiza Vex , Glissara , and Leshanna Dromar appeared to exploit their actual experience in these races to their benefit so he assumed, as they were significantly ahead in the race from what he could observe.

If that were not the most troubling aspect, the reins to his Shadow Rancor began to slip from his grasp as it seemed Moneybags was preoccupied by a particular scent. Lodd was not an expert in animal behavior, but as they turned the corner, they discovered precisely what the scent was.

A massive heap of sithspawn waste lay exposed near a plasma engine; while the odor was not entirely unpleasant for Neimoidians who lacked the kind of noses that would make it unbearable it was pungent enough to make a rancor pause mid-sniff, which was saying something. Worse still, the fumes might tarnish the jewels adorning his mount, thereby diminishing their value. To Lodd, that was equivalent to a galactic crisis.

"Looks like a couple of Ithorians, maybe a Wookiee in the pile," he muttered, squinting as if performing an autopsy with his eyes.

"Not exactly profitable, but I'm sure the Dashiells would like to know about this. Salvage is their business, after all… though even they might hesitate at such… wholesale leftovers. Then again, with the right sales pitch you could probably market this as 'organic compost.' Sithspawn-certified. Guaranteed to make your garden scream."

He contemplated for a brief moment whether the Trade Federation might consider engaging in this business endeavor instead. However, he quickly dismissed the thought, realizing that the Directorate would never grant approval, and there remained a race to be won. Thus, with a somewhat uneasy sigh, his rancor returned to the track.

First Post: 6
Second Post: 2

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Objective I: Ascendent Revelries
Ayiaz

​

There was an involuntary twitch at the corner of his mouth, a rebuttal to Zaiya's playful assault, but Lysander couldn't stop the amused chuckle that slipped out. The genuine sound surprised even him, and for the first time in a long while, he found himself okay with that. The pull of her authenticity had a way of making the doubts and uncertainties from moments ago simply fade.

The warmth in her skin rippled, that hue, that radiance, he recalled she wore it often back on Naboo, like an ominous sign in his memory, a warning born from the many times he angered her. Inwardly, he even felt a humble weight balancing upon his shoulders now; it was a fitting companion, especially after the long string of losses that surfaced in recent months. Humble and steady but not broken. Still standing, still fighting.

One brow lifted in response to her question, and his lips parted, releasing a breath that was more of a sigh than a laugh. Half in disbelief, half touched by something he didn't expect to feel. Outwardly, Lysander offered gracious nod. “I think the Order favors whole cuts over minced meat,” he said smoothly, “but I know there’s some good cargo cooks in the district nearby that would have them."

Several strands fell across his face; he swept it back, more ritual than reflex. “So, what’s next.. you want to feast on some plant based burger from Felucia, too?"

The fog parted with a jolt, senses flaring. At the corridor's end, a dark presence lurked.

Concern fell over him.

Before her body betrayed her, he'd already shifted. Given their proximity, he closed the gap effortlessly. With grace, he pivoted on his back foot, lead leg sweeping until he squared perfectly with the Lovalla. His right arm slid beneath the curve of her ribcage, forearm pressing gently.

Lysander drew her closer, his stance widening just enough, fingers splayed across her back, anchoring her between rib and spine. Sliding his hand beneath her arm, he finally guided her upright.

His grip didn’t falter, almost as if this were just another dance he knew all too well. “You foolish girl.” The words barely touched the air.

So he cradled her with intention, the pewter hue striking him harder than any first ever did during his training sessions.

The acolyte wasn’t one for constant reassurance, but in that moment, he did make a silent promise to protect her. Then, dry as ever, he muttered. “I swear, if this is about the burgers..”

But the real answer was already etched in his mind. The Jen'rusalka was nearby, a very particular kind of wrongness that he refused to acknowledge; no use in giving it more power by speaking it. He kept moving, giving an illusion of control, and hopefully not drawing the attention on any onlookers.

"Classic holodrama move," he continued, shifting his stance to hold her more securely. "Collapse into the arm. Very theatrical. Now I'm the idiot with an oath to protect you."

With a languid turn of the head, he scoured the opal depths of her gaze, searching for the faintest flicker of awareness or defiance, something to prove she wasn’t slipping too far.

An index digit began tapping her cheek in a mocking rhythm, hoping to provoke a response, a familiar tactic she might even recognize. “Come on already, Zaiya. Show me you're still in there. I'm not ready to deliver your season finale monologue.”

 

[Darth Strosius]

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

There was a brief moment of wondering if He had ever heard laughter from Lady Madrona before, although no examples came to mind. She'd always been very proper and relatively reserved before, this was the most casual that He could recall seeing her. Perhaps these little parties did have some merit to them then. Providing a better understanding of those around Him which typically eluded His scrutiny in most other environments. Darth Strosius made a mental note to keep a closer eye on the other guests, for better or worse, after this dancing was over.

His small hum of disagreement with her immediate answer did thankfully bring forth a more comprehensive response. Slightly more comprehensive anyway. The masked man wasn't quite sure how she intended to "know" Him in circumstances such as these when He was on the backfoot. Darth Strosius wondered if His earlier suspicions of Lady Madrona's sadistic nature were more likely than He had initially thought. He did seem to tense ever so slightly at the mention of His daughter, another glance quickly cast over His shoulder in her vague direction before returning to the Neti that He swayed with.

"Beyond dear, hm?" He wasn't sure that He liked the sound of that.

His hidden gaze narrowed slightly at her completed response, finding His earlier suspicions outright confirmed. Lady Madrona was indeed rather sadistic, enough to purposefully and intentionally use the guise of important matters to lure Him into their current position. To dance of all things. How cruel. Though He could applaud the cleverness and evident effectiveness of her plot, He supposed. One that He would have to repay in kind someday in the near future, perhaps at some other social event just to cement the payback in full. Perhaps. He'd have to consider some potentials.

In the meantime Darth Strosius let out a thoughtful hum as He pulled her into another lazy spin, mostly to shift the direction of their dance somewhat more away from the larger crowd. The fewer prying ears the better. "Then let us speak on those matters. I have given you some idea of what I would expect of an alliance between the Order of Wonosa and Korriban, what is it that you would ask of me in kind?" A dangerous topic indeed.

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Mercy //:

Perhaps it was the tickle of jealousy, but Quinn raised a brow as she watched along with Mercy the display of absolute affection for the Empress. She tilted her head, trying to understand the fervent desire Mercy had for this display. Quinn wanted those eyes on her, not the procession that unfolded before them.

She hid it as well as she could, keeping close to Mercy as she listened to the woman and watched her drown in the desire for adoration.

"Do you see yourself as an Empress in her style? Or would you do things differently?" The question posed suddenly.

The question lingered between them. Quinn hadn't thought about it much, not since Prazutis had summoned her to Dromund Kaas. He talked about all of her influences, every one that laid the groundwork for her to become what she was destined to be. He weighed their flaws and their strengths before the young woman, but where he saw weakness, Quinn saw strength.

"Yes and no," she answered at last, her slender frame leaning into the mountain of a woman. Her words were not meant for stray ears.

"Srina and Spencer… they're similar. Both rule because it's asked of them. Duty-bound, not desire-driven. They took their places out of necessity."

Quinn shifted, her gaze leaving the display to study Mercy, who still drank it in, fueling herself with the sight.

"I'm the same. It is my duty, my birthright — but unlike my mothers, I want it. I want to be the hand that guides, that brings prosperity and strength." Her voice grew steadier, emboldened as she spoke.

"I don't think there is anyone else that can lead; my so-called rivals are incompetent, too full of themselves and their power to understand what the weight of the throne means." Reaching up, Quinn traced a finger along the sharp line of Mercy's chin, drawing the Knave's eyes to her own.

"Then there are others, who could be a far better fit to lead, so I prove to them why they should support me — because I can give them everything they desire."

---

Tags: Srina Talon Darth Carnifex Darth Caedes Revna Marr Elmindra Xitaar Ufsa'ynth'aris Beau Talon Lunaria Talon

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

​

Well conditioned to the thrill of flight, Zafira and Naami made ample headway at the start of the competition. However, the zabrak's head was spinning with the sheer amount of information he'd receive, both prior to taking off and afterward.

Haro Aven was racing… in a Sithspawn race?! The presence of Leshanna Dromar made sense, despite catchino him off guard too. His girlfriend had both an affinity for natural forces, and she was also strong in the Force itself. But Haro? Naami found himself more than a little worried about his buddy.

That concern lasted all of a few seconds before the drexl Haro was strapped to rocketed past him. Icy eyes narrowed while Naami sought focus, he attempted to find Leshanna amongst those keeping pace on the ground. Instead of his girlfriend though, an ominous and… familiar figure caught his enhanced eye. The mask he wore allowed him to hone in on the details of one of the rancor riders, who seemed to be seeking his attention in turn.

…

Realization dawned…

…

”Maiza?” Naami muttered to himself in utter disbelief.

”She’s alive…” came the windswept words with a surprising amount of relief.

The zabrak had, up to the point, refused to admit to himself how much her disappearance weighed on him. The nagging and cloying sense of personal responsibility he felt when Maiza Vex hadn’t returned to the Kor’ethyr shuttle after that trip to Valrar, was now lifted from his shoulders.

That personal moment, shared between one who clearly saw herself as his foe and the boy that privately regretted how things had gone, lasted only a few moments. However it was enough to pull the zabrak from his task of keeping Zafira’s eye on the prize. For her part, the onyx Adar seemed intent on showing off for those of her kin that were racing this day as well.

With his mount and himself distracted, it was all Naami could do to lock back in and focus on avoiding the jutting edges of Ashlan ships which littered the course before them and made the aerial path that much more winding. They could perhaps gain altitude and avoid such hazards, but it would be unwise for what was the come.

Spirit of Korriban
Rolls so far:
13
13-1(sabotage)-2(terrain)= 10​

 

[Haro Aven]

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

TIMESTAMP: AFTER THE INVASION OF BROSI​

OBJECTIVE: WIN SURVIVE THE RACE​

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

Once his mount evened out in the air above the streets above Vardin, Haro was finally able to reaffirm his grasp on the reigns and steady himself. Despite being entirely unprepared for the beast's incredible burst of speed, the clever young pilot adapted quickly, wrapping his hands around the reins and adjusting himself, more in an effort to ensure he would stay upright rather than to assert control. His cries of terror soon gave way to a sort of unhinged adrenaline-fueled laughter as the exhilaration of the sensation really started to sink in. He took a moment to look over his shoulder to see the rest of the racers left in the dust and barked another laugh.

"Kark yeah, Bonta! Way to go--AAaahh!" Haro cried out as the drexl banked hard, weaving expertly through the spires of the city and onto the next stretch of the race.

The graveyard of Ashlan starships may have been a sobering reminder of why Haro was here on Korriban in the first place if he hadn't been actively fighting for his life.

In a sudden halting motion, the drexl pulled up and flared her huge leathery wings, opening them wide like sails to catch the wind before she landed atop the jutting edge of a piece of battlecruiser. Her wedge-shaped head jerked around to peer back at the other racers who were fast approaching, as if laying in wait for her prey

"What are you doing?! C'mon, keep going! We're gonna lose our advantage!" Haro shouted at the beast, but he immediately regretted it when she chittered menacingly back at him, mandibles clacking loudly.

"Or don't... you do you." Haro acquiesced.

The moment Zafira and Naami zoomed by, the drexl took off in hot pursuit, clearly craving the hunt over holding the lead in the race.

[ROLL: 2 (ignore -2 modifier from Drexl's Flyer ability) -2 from Drexl's Rebellious ability = 0 TOTAL] ​

 

[Leshanna Dromar]

Leshanna was dead last as she and her Sithspawn mount tore through the Streets of Vardin; thankfully, it almost seemed as if having others in front of her helped to keep the maelidrae focused on moving forward, seeming in pursuit of possible prey. She didn’t challenge or re-direct such predatorial focus, instead using it to her advantage to slowly gain ground on the others as they left the Streets behind, and faced the expanse of the Golg Desert. She remembered this part of the course: the Ashlan Crash Site - a perilous stretch of the race way that had claimed many, and was already causing others to lose what momentum they had.

Lesh’s eyes narrowed and her grip on the reins tightened; in response, the black scaled Sithspawn growled and shifted under her, a reminder that at any second, it could try to wrestle control away from her again - forcing her to exert her will over it once more. But she hoped that it would behave, and allow her to catch up to the others.

Unfortunately for Leshanna, she seemed to have chosen her Sithspawn mount poorly - for its rebelliousness reared its ugly head once more as it tried to rip control away from her, screeching to halt in the middle of the race, as it flung its bladed and barbed tail over its back in an attempt to skewer her. The Sith Apprentice barely managed to dodge one tail thrust, but the second managed to graze her arm, slicing open cloth and flesh alike, straight to the bone. The girl yelped in pain, then quickly clenched her jaws tight as a grimace of agony rippled across her face. Scenting blood in the air, the maelidrae became even more unruly and vicious, nearly succeeding in reaching around with its sightless and fanged maw to snatch her leg, though she managed to move it out of the way just in the nick of time.

This, was not going to plan. She pondered briefly about forfeiting the race...but she soon pushed that notion aside. She was a Sith, and defeat was not something in her vocabulary. She would press on, and she would master this beast before the end of the race, because it was becoming quickly clear to her that if she didn't, then she could very well die.

Bleeding and in pain, Leshanna fell back on her training and drew upon it to further empower the dark side as she once again imposed her will upon the Sithspawn. Luckily for her, however, it appeared that a few others in the race were having trouble themselves...and this seemed to catch the attention of her vicious mount. Why try to kill the thing that was offering a great amount of resistance...when seemingly easier prey was just ahead?

With a snarl, the beast set off again, allowing Leshanna to regain some measure of composure and reaffirm her spot on its back. She glanced down at the wound to her arm, grimacing with its severity; it was bleeding profusely and badly...but she couldn't stop now. Biting back the pain, she did her best to tear cloth from her clothes and fashion a sort of make-shift tourniquet while also trying not to fall off its back. Injure tended to, Lesh turned her focus once more to the race ahead. She could use the mishaps of others to her advantage, and if it kept her mount from trying to kill her...then even better.

ROLL: 2 (-2 for rolling 7 or under on the maelidrae) -2 (terrain modifier) = TOTAL: -2

TAGS (I forgot I'm sorry guys): Spirit of Korriban // Haro Aven // Naamino Zuukamano // Lodd Grimmin // Glissara // Maiza Vex // Varin Mortifer ​