First Reply Sand Swept Plains

[Darth Virelia]

"Dark Tombs"

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The red wastes of Korriban stretched endless beneath the bruised sky. Rust-colored winds stirred the sand into veils, hissing against the jagged cliffs and statues carved by hands long since dust. The planet was alive with memory—every stone, every broken obelisk whispering of conquest and betrayal. For most, the voices were a curse. For her, they were an invitation.

Darth Virelia stood at the mouth of the ravine, still as the statues that loomed over her, a silhouette in obsidian armor. Tyrant's Embrace gleamed faintly under the storm's half-light, violet filigree catching the glow of a dying sun. The helm's six insectile eyes reflected the dunes, cold and watchful. She did not move at once. Preparation was never haste; it was ritual.

Her gauntlet unclasped the vial at her belt, lifting it with deliberate grace. Inside shimmered a violet liquid alchemized to sharpen focus and fortify will. She uncapped it, letting the metallic scent curl into the storm before touching a single drop to her tongue. The taste was sharp, electric, a reminder of discipline over indulgence. She let the strength settle into her blood before sealing the vial again.

The tomb's entrance yawned before her at the ravine's end: a maw of black stone carved with glyphs whose edges had not dulled in ten thousand years. Its shape was unmistakably Rakatan, though the Sith had claimed it and reshaped it into their own legacy. To cross the threshold was to step not only into darkness, but into the judgment of those who came before. She intended to be judged worthy—or to defy the judgment entirely.

Slowly, she removed her helm, cradling it under one arm. Neon violet eyes burned against the storm as her lips curved into something between smile and snarl. The air tasted of iron and old blood. Her hair, black as wet ink, lashed in the wind, yet she remained composed, elegant, untouchable.

Her voice was a whisper drowned by the storm, spoken not for the air but for the stone itself:
"Let them remember."

The Force coiled around her like a living serpent. Every step forward stirred its hunger; every step forward deepened her own. She was not a pilgrim, nor a supplicant. She was a sovereign come to claim what was hers by inevitability.

Behind her, the sands scoured away her footprints. Ahead, the black mouth of the tomb awaited, silent but expectant. Somewhere inside, power lay buried—forgotten, perhaps even cursed. But curses meant nothing to her. What was a curse, but another chain to break?

Darth Virelia adjusted the gauntlet on her hand, tightened the strap of her blade, and stepped toward the dark.

The tomb swallowed light. She would not bring a torch. She would not need one.

For in that endless black, her eyes burned violet, and they would be enough.

 

[Veyra Shuun]

Tag: Darth Virelia

A lone ship cut low through the red haze, its hull groaning against Korriban's turbulent winds before it skimmed the canyon floor. The ramp lowered, and Veyra stepped into the storm without ceremony. Rust-colored dust clawed at her cloak, snapping it against her legs, but she moved with the casual poise of someone who had walked hostile worlds before. She went alone of course, her crew of cowards were never bold enough to travel with her. She don’t care, it saved her time.

Her goggles flickered green as it swept the landscape, recording, measuring, cataloging. The readouts meant little to,l her, but she had a good feeling about this place. What mattered was ahead: the dark maw of a tomb, its glyphs untouched by erosion, its contents perhaps still bountiful after a millennia. Power buried deep, waiting for hands bold-or perhaps foolish-enough to steal it. Those hands of course, would be hers.

Veyra touched the hilt of her saber for reassurance, then let her hand fall away. Not yet. The weapon was for exits, not entrances. She had no need for noise. Not when she had nerve. She did spent a moment in awe of the patterns carved into stone, some being older than the many governments she had come to know.

The storm howled, drowning all other sound, but she imagined the tomb whispering beneath it; something was calling her closer, daring her. Or was it her imagination?

"If this a warning, it won’t work," She muttered under her breath, lips quirking into a grin. "Never learned Sith."

She strode forward, boots sinking into the dust. Behind her, the ships engines powered down to a waiting silence, leaving her alone with the storm, the statues, and the promise of whatever lay entombed in blackness.

Veyra didn't hesitate. Especially when she probably should have. The tomb's shadow reached for her, and she in kind stepped forward to let it envelop her.

A bounty of power awaited her.

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Dark Tombs"

Tags - Veyra Shuun

The storm did not conceal her.

From the broken shadows at the canyon's edge, violet eyes burned like coals through the red haze. Darth Virelia watched the lone woman approach the tomb as one might watch prey wander toward a snare. Her armor caught the dying sun in jagged gleams, obsidian plates and violet filigree marking her as something alien to the dust, an intrusion as deliberate as it was inevitable.

When she moved, it was without hurry. The storm itself seemed to part around her, the air bending to avoid her presence. She came close enough for her voice to carry—a low purr that threaded through the wind, unhurried, indulgent.

"Bravery…" she said, as though savoring the taste of the word. "Or desperation?"

Her gaze lingered on Veyra, dissecting her poise, her grin, the defiance that made her step into the tomb's shadow without pause. Virelia's lips curved faintly, not in approval but in possession—as if the woman's will had already been weighed and set aside.

The wind lashed harder, clawing at their cloaks, but Virelia advanced one more pace, her voice quieter now, for her quarry alone.

"You carry yourself like a thief," she murmured, the words almost intimate. "But power does not wait to be stolen. It waits to be claimed."

Her hand rose, a single clawed finger tracing the air between them as though outlining the shape of a chain.

"Enter, and the tomb will change you. Enter with me…" her smile sharpened, violet eyes flaring like a predator's, "and you will not be consumed."

The storm swallowed her final word, leaving only silence and the weight of her presence—seductive, inevitable, corruptive—as though the tomb itself had given voice.

 

[Veyra Shuun]

Tag: Darth Virelia

Veyra stopped just short of the tomb's threshold, sand stinging against her visor as she tilted her head toward the voice. The glow of violet eyes cut through the haze; watchful, patient, predatory.

Who the hell was this?

For a heartbeat, she said nothing. The storm filled the silence, tearing at her cloak, rattling grit across her boots. She became aware of how bunched up her socks were. Annoying. She pushed the annoyance aside and let loose a low laugh. She then, finally, answered.

"Bravery, desperation, call it whatever you like. I’m here for the goods."

Her hand brushed the hilt of her saber but didn't draw it, a gesture more like a gambler tapping their dice. Her smirk was deliberate, a small flame against the suffocating gravity of Virelia's presence. Of course, the stranger couldn’t see her attempt to appear confident more likely than not.

"Well, a thief can claim things from dead folks so." She stepped closer to the black stone, unafraid of how near it brought her to Virelia's shadow. She resented being called a thief. It was true of course, but it sounded so…lesser. “What I take, I keep. Finders keepers."

The storm shifted, a wail curling through the ravine. Veyra leaned her weight on one hip, visor glinting.

"You want to claim this place, try to make it bend to your name? Fine. But don’t think I’m just some pilgrim chasing scraps at your table." Veyra’s expression shifted under the mask, feeling like this stranger was aiming to con her. Well, she had bad news for the lady. "I came here to steal. And don’t forget, thieves, don't ask permission."

She turned toward the tomb's mouth, her cloak whipping around her frame. The dark pulled at her, but her voice, when it carried back to Virelia, was steady. Least she tried to be.

In truth she was a bundle of worry. But she wasn’t going to show it here. Not if she could help it.

"Let's see who gets the claim first."

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Dark Tombs"

Tags - Veyra Shuun

Virelia's laughter was soft—barely audible above the storm, yet it seemed to ripple through the air as though the world itself bent to carry it. Not mockery. Something worse. Admiration, maybe. Hunger.

She stepped closer, the red haze twisting around her as if the sand itself recoiled. The light that bled from her armor painted the stone with pale violet reflections; her shadow stretched impossibly long, curving around Veyra's boots like a living thing.

"Finders keepers…" she echoed, tasting the words like spice. "Then perhaps you'll find something worthy of being kept."

Her tone was unhurried, each syllable drawn out with the lazy confidence of someone who knew she would win eventually. Virelia circled, close enough now that the wind caught her scent—ozone, myrrh, and something faintly metallic, like blood cooling on durasteel.

"You have nerve," she said, quieter now, the words threading between them. "And that is rarer than sense. But you should know—" her fingers brushed the carved glyphs beside the tomb's gate, and ancient power stirred, whispering in the dust, "—this place does not take kindly to thieves. It only remembers conquerors."

She let the words hang. Then, turning her gaze back to Veyra, her eyes gleamed brighter.

"So steal, if you must," she murmured. "But understand this—" her voice lowered to a near purr, the kind that curled around the ear and stayed there long after the speaker was gone—"once you touch what waits inside, it will not let you go. Nor will I."

She stepped backward, into the dark. The storm howled, the shadows swallowed her shape, and only the faint shimmer of violet light lingered—beckoning, daring, promising ruin that smelled like perfume.

The tomb's breath rolled out to meet her—dry, cold, and ancient, heavy with the scent of iron and stone long sealed away. The moment the gate cracked open, the storm faltered, as though even Korriban itself drew back in caution. Virelia didn't. She turned slightly, violet eyes gleaming beneath her hood, half-hidden smile curving against the shadow.

Inside, the walls flickered with faint sigils, lines of Sith and Rakatan glyphs glowing and fading as though in time with her pulse. The tomb recognized power, and it responded to hers eagerly. Virelia extended a hand, trailing her clawed fingertips through the air. The Force rippled outward, and the carvings came alive—shapes of warriors, kings, and beasts crawling across the stone in ghostly motion.

"Every tomb is a mouth," she murmured, voice rich, low, indulgent. "And every seeker… a confession."

She stepped deeper, motioning wordlessly for Veyra to follow. The air seemed to thicken, heat and cold folding into one. Whispers stirred—voices not heard in millennia—coaxing, curious, hungry.

"Power hides behind the first lie you tell yourself," she said, almost tenderly, glancing over her shoulder. "Step carefully, little thief. This place will take the shape of your desire."

Then she smiled again, slow and knowing, and turned back into the dark.

The passage descended sharply ahead—lit now by the pulse of her aura—and from somewhere deep below came the echo of chains dragging across stone.