Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Private Silence of the Past


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LORD INDOMITUS
Through Fire and Blood.
Through Justice and Strength.


Darth Keres


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Imperial Center | Imperial Palace | Steps

He sat foot on the landing platform below the Palace, an echo of clanking armor accompanying the movement which was quickly followed by several heels stepping at attention of the Coruscant Guards that presented their arms to the arriving figure. Imperius exited the speeder and walked between the guards, the hood of His surcoat pulled back, His black hair and soulless face fully exposed to the elements. With a hand resting on the pommel of Valoris, He started climbing the steps of the Imperial Palace.

Black eyes looked up at the redesign of the temple, now palace, then looked down. The steps had been largely repaired, debris removed. The memory of He and His troops had fought their way up here, battling the forces of the Alliance under Caltin Vanagor Caltin Vanagor and Thurion Heavenshield Thurion Heavenshield with unrivaled ferocity. Imperius slowed down as the memory grew more vivid until He came to a halt.

It was an unusual emotion and reaction for Imperius, contemplation, dwelling in memories and remembering past deeds. Why? What caused it? His injuries? Trauma? Was His new body flawed with this kind of mental weakness? Was it due to the fact that His path was more unclear now than before? The doubt made Him angry, the lack of determination Imperius was not used to. The grip around the pommel tightened as He tried reign in the despised, uncontrolled thoughts.


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Darth Keres

Guest




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[]



Tag: Imperius Indomitus Imperius Indomitus


Beneath the Imperial Palace, where the sun could never intrude and the air was thick with the ghosts of Empire, Darth Keres sat in perfect stillness. The chamber was vast—a catacomb carved from the planet's memory, its architecture a monstrous hybrid of Sith austerity and Imperial hubris. Columns rose like petrified titans, their surfaces chiseled with symbols of conquest and devotion, though most had long since been defaced by time or will. The silence here was not natural; it was cultivated, a silence so deep that it pressed upon the bones like an unseen ocean.

There, upon a broad staircase of black marble, veined with faintly glowing fissures of amethyst, she sat; legs crossed over, mind formulating. Her posture was regal yet languid, like a monarch at the funeral of her own divinity. Her cloak pooled around her in slow, liquid folds, drinking in the faint light of the candles that floated unnaturally in the air—cold flames of violet and blue, flickering without smoke. The faint scent of ozone and myrrh lingered, a perfume of machinery and sanctity. Her own personal Sanctuary.

Her hands rested upon her knees, fingers curled in slow, deliberate motion, weaving invisible geometries through the air. Around them, the Force itself began to distort, as though obeying a language too ancient for sound. Wisps of shadow and light coiled together, merging into serpentine ribbons that hissed faintly when they crossed paths. Each movement of her hand was a verse in an unspoken liturgy—the Song of Stillness, a meditation taught only within the Order of the Silencers.

As she exhaled, the chamber exhaled with her. A soft tremor passed through the floor; the stones shivered as if they remembered something they were meant to forget. But she remembered. A date? A conference? A meeting?

She was destined to meet a visitor. Lord Imperius Indomitus—a name that rang like a death knell through the corridors of Imperial politics. A warrior-scholar, an architect of dominion, and one whose ambitions whispered of gods and galaxies alike. Their meeting was no accident; such creatures did not stumble into each other—they collided, like celestial bodies doomed to destroy or enthrall.

"So," she murmured, her voice a whisper wrapped in velvet and ash as she stood: moving like a phantom in need of haunting; her destination, this creature. "The lion descends from his throne to stalk the crypt. I wonder if he comes to bargain, or to bury a rival," she mused, pulling her frame from the gripping steps.







 

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LORD INDOMITUS
Through Fire and Blood.
Through Justice and Strength.


Darth Keres


Indomitus-Divider.png

Imperial Center | Imperial Palace | Steps

Imperius' eyes moved to the Palace. This center of Imperial authority, the seat of the proclaimed Emperor Solipsis. This Sith that reveled in religious worship, that embraced the weakest and most flawed of Sith ways, who had embraced the Maw and its chaos, its senseless slaughter. The memory of the war quickly drew Him back to the here and now. War was the natural selection that sentience demanded. The Empire was the instrument through which He realised that purpose - just as the Empires before. It had some irony that the Sith Empire, with all it's self-procliamed demi-gods and overlords was not even close to that perfection.

He continued the ascend of the steps until He reached the entrance gates where the Coruscant Guard under watchful gaze of Royal Guard vetted and checked Him. A procedure Imperius allowed to happen like a mastiff tolerated the occasional pat before it was unleashed. Authority and discipline were the foundations of any Imperial reign and He was not here to indulge in senseless posturing. His pride did not demand such childish recognition.

The Lord of Zakuul was here for more than one reason, but He only followed one for now. Meeting a Sith. Generally speaking He did not hold any of their kind in high regard with few exceptions. His kind He should probably say. But His identification with the Sith creed was as loose and exceptional as it was defined.

Darth Keres seemed to be among the Sith that did not cower before Solipsis in ignorant reverance and one that did not obey the Force and Dark side like it was some deity of sorts. That alone made her stand out to Imperius. That made her worth knowing about. If she was worth knowing in person - a decision that would be made soon.

His steps carried Him through the palace, no hesitation nor delay in His march as He knew where to go. The palace was vast and yet it was not too different from any other stronghold of power and Imperius understood their construction quite well. He followed corridors and staircases into the lower levels. Wondering of many bootlicking dignitaries, lords, soldiers and Sith called this place their office, moths sticking to the light.

Imperius eventually marched into the small hall, His black eyes on the seated figure, not knowing, or caring, if He interupted her meditation. The room was cold, the echoes of the Dark side vibrant in the air. Where others might feel eerie silence, He felt the control over Dark side.

"Darth Keres."


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Darth Keres

Guest




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[]



Tag: Imperius Indomitus Imperius Indomitus

"He comes," she murmured, eyes glimmering like blood beneath glass. "Imperius Indomitus." Her words coiled through the air, neither greeting nor warning, but something far older—an invocation draped in reverence and dread.

Darth Keres moved, drifting through the gloom like a shadow made flesh, her cloak whispering against the cold stone as she circled Imperious Indomitus with measured, predatory grace. Her eyes gleamed with a cruel fascination as she spoke, each word curling through the air like smoke from a funeral pyre.
"The tales…they reach even the darkest corners," she murmured, voice low and lilting, "whispers of deeds so terrible, so precise, that some call you legend, others call you a nightmare made flesh." Her gaze lingered on him, sharp and hungry, as if drinking the very essence of this potential reputation. "Still, others say differently."

She halted behind Imperious Indomitus, the chill of her presence brushing against him like a living shadow. Her voice, soft yet edged with iron, slithered through the gloom. "I do not believe in superstitions," she murmured, burying tales of reputations. "I believe only in what can die… and in what cannot escape the darkness that awaits it." The words lingered, heavy and suffocating, as if the room itself shivered at the thought, and even the air seemed to hold its breath before the weight of her conviction. "Listen to me ramble on, preaching on about philosophies at my age."

Darth Keres slowly leaned back into the shadows, where even the smallest wisp of light dares not tread, her silhouette a jagged whisper against the walls, eyes gleaming with cold amusement. "I have returned," she murmured, voice drifting like smoke through the chamber, "from the depths of my own exile, where time itself dared to forget me." Her gaze swept over Imperious Indomitus, sharp and unyielding. "And yet… the galaxy," she continued, a cruel smile tugging at her lips, "it has not changed. Its rot festers in the same corners, its fools stumble in the same darkness. Even in my absence, the void remained… predictable." Each word fell like a blade, a testament to her patience, her power, and the inevitability of her reckoning.

"How can we fix the galaxy....and silence all the chaos?"







 

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LORD INDOMITUS
Through Fire and Blood.
Through Justice and Strength.
On the Anvil of War, We forge our Destiny.


Darth Keres

Indomitus-Divider.png

Imperial Center | Imperial Palace | Hall

Imperius had advanced through most of the hall when she had risen to approach Him. Dread and ominous horror, wrapped in the theatralic aspect of the Dark side was what He saw, what He felt towards the elder humanoid. She ought to circle Him, certainly in a manner of how a prized animal is evaluated, all accompanied by words that were as smooth as velvet and as sharpe as a blade. A whisper from a graveyard.

"Darth Keres. If you were to succumb to 'tales and whispers', my presence here would be a waste of time." His voice offered, cold, hard and without any hint of emotion attached.

She was dangerous. Maybe not to Him physically, but her machinations and prowess were rising with the expansion of the Empire. The Dark Side Elite was a breeding place for swift rises and swifter falls, but also one for those that were more capable of navigating the power structures of the realm, coming out on top eventually. Keres was certainly one to put into the latter. Her ambitions and actions spoke for her.

The Lord of Zakuul simply hoped that she was not one of the extreme followers of the Emperor and his little cult.

"By eradicating the rootcause." The Pureblood answered her question. He had stood still so far, His soulless eyes staring ahead, not following her slow circles around Him. "The Galaxy is under the spell of ancient dogma, petty religions and zealous mongrels. Peace is as anathema to progress as the void is to common life. But you are aware of that, you are not bound by doctrine or institutions that claim to rule and correct."

"Actions are the only truth that the Galaxy permits to exist. Conflict the only constant."

"And we embrace it."



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Darth Keres

Guest




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Tag: Imperius Indomitus Imperius Indomitus


Darth Keres threw her head back in a low, velveteen laugh at the Pureblood's response, the sound rippling through the room like a tremor escaping the depths of some ancient tomb. When the laughter faded into a thin, amused hum, she began to clap—slow, echoing, each strike of her palms a ceremonial mockery that reverberated against the walls around her. "Oh, splendid," she crooned, her eyes glinting with a predatory mirth, "we embrace it, do we?"

She let the phrase linger on her tongue, shaping it with exaggerated reverence before twisting it into a sneer. "Such devotion… such unity… such poetic self-annihilation." She straightened her frame, smoothing out the folds of her robes—her smile sharpening to a dull blade. "Tell me—how tightly must we embrace it? Arms around the void? Cheek against the grave? Or should we hold it closer still, like some sweet, suffocating lover?" Her laughter returned in a softer, crueler timbre. "If ruining the rootcause is what we embrace, then by all means—let us hold it until it breaks."

She let her hand drift to the wall beside her, the stone warm beneath her touch, and slowly drew her nails across its surface. The sound was a thin, scraping whisper—like bone dragged over a tomb lid—each stroke peeling away a sliver of silence as if she were carving her thoughts directly into the material. Dust shivered free in pale motes, trembling in the sickly light that pooled around her, and the harsh rhythm of claw against stone became a metronome for her contemplation.

Her eyes half-lidded, she seemed to drink in the sensation, letting the subtle vibration trail up her arm and into the hollow chambers of her mind where ideas coiled and reawakened. In that small, deliberate motion, she gathered her thoughts the way others might gather breath—drawing clarity from the ruinous texture beneath her fingertips, shaping dark intention from the echo of her own quiet desecration.

Darth Keres withdrew her hand from the scored wall and let her fingers curl thoughtfully beneath her chin, her voice emerging in a low, resonant murmur that seemed to thicken the air around her.
"The first step in eradicating a rootcause," she intoned, each syllable deliberate as a ritual incision, "always begins in one's own home." Her gaze drifted upward, their brilliance masking the rot she sensed festering from above, and all around.

"Corruption spreads easiest where familiarity breeds blindness… where loyalty turns to complacency… where heritage curdles into chains." A faint smile touched her lips, half prophecy, half threat. "To excise the sickness of a world, one must begin where the pulse beats strongest—where the walls remember your footsteps and the shadows know your name." She let the words coil outward like smoke, inviting dread and understanding in equal measure. "Only then," she whispered, "can the true cleansing begin."

"And that, Lord Indomitus ,"
she said, her voice soft as a scalpel sliding beneath skin, "is a cleansing long past its use-by date."






 

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