Faction Shadowed Callings - [The Dark Court]

[Her]

---

---

Anomaly: 85185141183, Enarc, Mid Rim systems;
High Republic Space.
Tags: Darth Virelia | Darth Anathemous | Valaine Valentine | Lyssa Cluada | Darth Kharnaz | Viscountess Pandora | Delsin Shaw

---

"You see the rot as I do. You know what the Eleventh Empire is—bloated, stagnant, poisoned by its own deception. We align in this, you and I. And we will walk this path together, twining shadow into shadow until no one knows where I end and you begin. I will grow Vesper. I will take your guidance, and make it flesh."

Beneath the din of talk and intrigue, the hologram flickered in the corner, with the elusive presence upon the other end of it's transmission eerily quiet. It flickered there for several more moments, no doubt the other person on the other side listening to what was said after Virelia's speech, and then the moment passed as the projector died down with the connection severed.

"You see the rot as I do..." Her muttered to herself within the anomaly on Enarc as she repeated her co-conspirators words to themselves thoughtfully.

"Do you?"

[ End post ]​

---

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Starting the plague."

Tags - Darth Kharnaz , Delsin Shaw , Darth Anathemous , Lyssa Cluada , Viscountess Pandora , Qyssiyana , Valaine Valentine , Her


The magenta halo overhead thrummed once more, its light washing across obsidian steel and violet glyphs as though marking the moment. Darth Virelia did not sit again—she stood sovereign, sovereign as the silence returned, sovereign as every eye, every heart, every secret pulse of jealousy or hunger bent toward her without conscious thought.

Tyrant's Embrace gleamed in the glow; the crystalline node at her chest pulsed like a second heart. She let the silence linger, tasting it, savoring the threads of emotion knotted through the room—Anathemous' guarded heat, Lyssa's devotional adoration, Pandora's adorable jealousy, Kharnaz's brutish pride tempered with loyalty, Valaine's nervous uncertainty, Delsin's skepticism honed into a gift of steel. Even the latecomer, Qyssiyana, still half at the threshold, her aura humming with restrained curiosity.

All of it was hers.

Her taloned hand drifted across the table, idly grazing the ritual daggers spilled across its surface. Their edges gleamed like teeth. She picked one up with languid grace, letting its blade rest in her palm. It bit her gauntlet, and she did not flinch.

"Delsin," she said at last, her voice liquid silk poured over stone. "You are correct. I am not power. I am its harbinger. I am the axis around which your hungers can orbit until they grow too large for the galaxy to contain. Each of you must forge your strength alone—yes. But tell me, what is sharper? One fang, or a full maw?"

The blade tapped once against the obsidian table, the sound a sharp chime in the silence.

"This Court is a crucible. A place where you may clash, tear, consume, and yet still remain bound together. Alone, you are meteors. Together, you are a storm."

Her insectile eyes swept over them, pausing at Anathemous. "Immortality," she purred. "A stepping stone, you say? Then let us build you a pyramid of them, each higher than the last, until you stand so tall the galaxy breaks its neck looking up at you. You will not find your 'Great Work' alone, Anathemous. You will find it with me."

She turned, violet gaze falling to Lyssa, who glowed with lovesick submission. Virelia's voice softened, decadent, dripping with ownership. "My Mirialan star, my blade that never dulls. You shine brighter every time you remind me that you are mine. Your silence will cut deeper than any oath. And when the galaxy names me Queen, they will carve your name beside mine in the ash of their ruin."

She prowled along the circle, cape whispering against the floor until her talons rested atop Pandora's bowed helm. "My morsel. My beautiful, jealous morsel. You think you are one among many? You are not. Each of you is mine in a different way. You will never be replaced, only tested. Prove to me you are flawless, and I will let you devour every doubt you harbor. Fail…" Her talon traced downward, tapping gently against Pandora's crown. "…and I will still keep you. Because even broken tools have their uses."

Kharnaz received a nod, subtle but unmistakable respect. "You are no pet, my wolf. You are my executioner. Rage is crude, but when fed, when sharpened, it is exquisite. You will have your knowledge. You will learn to kill with every spectrum of hatred until you are not underestimated, but feared."

Her eyes shifted to Valaine, whose smallness clung to her like a second skin. Virelia bent low, so her mask's mirrored surface reflected the girl's pale face in its violet eyes. "My project. You are raw clay. You tremble, you hide, you scrape chairs against stone, and yet—you came. I will carve you into something terrible. Something that will burn suns. You will curse me as you thank me, and you will never again shrink from the table of wolves."

Finally, her gaze lingered at the threshold, on Qyssiyana. "Late," Virelia said, though not unkindly. "But you listened. You learned. You chose to step through the threshold anyway. That is what matters. The Dark Court does not need perfection—it needs those who choose corruption with eyes open. You are welcome."

She straightened, blade still in hand, six eyes aglow. "This is who we are. The weak will call us monsters. The strong will call us rivals. But all will kneel, and none will realize until it is far too late."

The dagger in her hand turned; she set its point against the table. With a deliberate thrust, she sank it deep into the obsidian surface, the sound ringing like a knell.

"Malachor awaits. There we will plant our throne. There we will sharpen ourselves against its ghosts. And from there, we will spread until every world whispers the name of the Dark Court in dread and devotion alike."

Her voice dropped to a velvet purr, licentious, inevitable:

"Everything."

The magenta halo pulsed once more, as if in agreement, and the first conclave of the Dark Court was sealed.