First Reply Standard-Issue Backstab

[Darth Virelia]

"Banners and Blades"

Tags -

The Confederation's capital glittered beneath a starless canopy, a jewel of reconstituted faith polished too smooth to be trusted. New Alderaan had been broken and rebuilt more times than history cared to count, yet here it stood again—a symbol of survival, a shrine to continuity. Every arch of marble-white duracrete, every polished avenue and whispering memorial garden proclaimed resilience, as if repeating the word often enough might make it a fact. To Virelia, it reeked of denial. A planet desperate to prove it had not been erased, while blind to the inevitability of what was coming.

She sat at the edge of the promenade, where the Confederation's banners draped in immaculate rows, their threads fluttering faintly in the evening breeze. Around her, citizens walked in their dignified silence, cloaked in the knowledge that their world was the Confederation's seat of power, guarded by fleets and proclamations alike. Yet none spared more than a glance at the figure who watched them from a stone bench in the shadow of a sculpture.

Darth Virelia.

Her armor was subdued for once—deep black plates veiled by a mantle of silk and chain, a design muted enough to pass as ceremonial, though never disguising the predatory weight it carried. Her helm rested beside her thigh, six obsidian eyes turned upward at the stars that could not be seen. Without it, her features were revealed in the violet glow of the memorial's lightstrips: sharp, elegant, and carved with the kind of stillness that demanded silence around her.

She sipped from a slender glass, something local, red and faintly sweet. Not enough to dull her senses. Only enough to mark the time, to remind herself she was waiting by choice and not necessity. The Confederation's capital was not a place she visited lightly. Every meter of ground here bristled with watchful eyes, every shadow carried the suspicion of a listening device. That she dared sit in the open was not arrogance—it was calculation. To be seen was to unsettle. To let them wonder whether she belonged here by sanction, by invitation, or by conquest.

Her contact would arrive soon. Or so the message claimed. A name withheld, a time given, a place chosen with symbolic precision—the Promenade, where so much Confederation history had been consecrated in word and blood. She found the choice amusing. Whoever sought her here either understood her tastes or badly misunderstood the risk they were taking.

She leaned back, one gloved hand brushing across the helm's obsidian surface. Her neon-violet eyes narrowed as she let her gaze drift across the memorial gardens, across the flickering torches, the hush of the crowd. Somewhere in that flow of movement would be the one she awaited. She could already feel the threads tugging tighter.

Virelia smiled, slow and predatory.

The Confederation called this place sacred. Tonight, it would be something else: a stage.

And she would not wait long.

 

[Barragh Nenn]

Subtlety was not her strength.

True her armor was subdued but her helm sat on the bench at her side. If she truly valued anonymity she wouldn't have carried something so recognizable with her.

The Helm, it was quite unique in appearance.

When the Umbaran arrived it was without announcement.

One moment he was not and the next he simply was. It was no trick nor display of power, he was extremely apt at going unseen until he desired otherwise.

Stepping out into the open, dim light and darkness appeared to peel itself backwards off the shadowcloak that was synonymous with him. Only the chalky flesh of his head revealed itself completely. He concealed himself beneath the veneer of his attire.

Approaching her, he seemed to hover over the ground rather than walk across it.

When he was closer to her, outside of arms reach but within speaking distance he inclined his head and remarked that...

"You are quite unique among the Sith."

...he only assumed, he had seen her on Desevro during the Kaggath. He remembered her, her attack on Hasuras Na-Gerra .

As for the rest of his assessment, he kept that ambiguous.

Darth Virelia

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Banners and Blades"

Tags - Barragh Nenn

The faintest tilt of her head acknowledged him, as if she had been aware of his presence all along. Perhaps she had. Perhaps she simply was lucky. Her hand did not leave the helm at her side, the curved talons of her glove tracing idly over one of the six obsidian eyes.

"Unique," she echoed, violet gaze sliding to him with a calm weight. "That is a word often meant as compliment, though it carries suspicion just as easily. I will accept both."

She remembered him. The conclave—if one could grant that ruinous gathering such a dignified title—had been a cacophony of pride and premature blades. Yet he had not struck her as frivolous. The Umbaran moved with restraint, his loyalty evident in the way he stood his ground amid the storm of egos. Not one who wasted breath. Not one who mistook fury for strength. That she remembered. That set him apart.

Her lips curved, faint and sharp. "We met once, if memory serves. Desevro. A gathering of Sith that became more slaughterhouse than council chamber." Her gaze lingered on him, unblinking, as if to weigh his worth anew. "You were steady when others drowned themselves in noise."

For a time she let silence settle between them, broken only by the breeze across banners and torchlight. Then, softly:

"Yet here we are, not there, not upon blood-soaked stone—but in the heart of Confederation order." She lifted her glass, the crimson liquid catching the light, before lowering it again without drinking.

Her voice cut lower, smooth, deliberate. "So tell me—what interest does a shadow like you have in New Alderaan? The Confederation rarely draws Sith without reason."

 

[Barragh Nenn]

Darth Virelia

If his reference to her was meant to be taken one way or the other he gave no indication.

Desevro, the Kaggath all a memory to him now that his mission was complete and his report filed with the Supreme Commander.

He listened. Occasionally he would tip his head as though regarding either her words or her person. He wouldn't speak until she had finished.

Near the end he regarded her drink. He could tell it was a local vintage, either by the look or the faintest scent that filled his senses.

He remarked...

"New Alderaan is just another world."

...his tone carrying a certain amount of indifference. The Capital of the Imperial Confederation was impressive, the Promenade a reflection of the beauty and stability that the Confederation promised.

A thin smile touched the corners of his mouth when he next replied...

"Am I Sith?"

...he had been on Desevro though aside from assisting the Vahlan his allegiances weren't plainly known...

"A convenient label I haven't adopt yet."

The Umbaran wielded the force but that didn't make him Sith nor did the fact much of his power was tied to the darkside.

He continued to loom ahead of her, hovering there by all appearances engulfed within the confines of his Shadowcloak. Eventually he would muse that...

"There are two Sith Emperors and two Sith Empires, neither of which you play an integral role within."

...his words did not come as an insult, merely matter of fact to the best of his knowledge which was drawn from multiple sources...

"Wouldn't it be something if they were replaced by an Empress?"

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Banners and Blades"

Tags - Barragh Nenn

Virelia did not bristle, nor laugh, nor lean forward as if the suggestion had struck her like lightning. She only let the faintest hum of amusement escape, violet eyes narrowing over the rim of her glass before she set it aside with deliberate care.

"Am I Sith?" she repeated, savoring the echo of his words. "Labels matter only to those who fear being misunderstood. And misunderstanding is the most common condition of the galaxy." Her tone was quiet, each syllable precise, but laced with an undercurrent of scorn—for the idea of definition, not for him.

At his musing, she let silence linger, as though weighing the notion with a jeweler's hand. Two Emperors, two Empires. She had seen both, worked within the shadow of one. Each was brittle in its own way. Too many crowns balanced on too few heads.

"An Empress," she said at last, her smile faint, predatory. "A word that tempts the tongue. It suggests singularity. Unity. Inevitability." She let the word hang between them, violet gaze never leaving his pale features. "But titles are only scaffolding. They collapse when not anchored by will."

Her voice dipped lower, more intimate. "The more interesting question is not what might replace them, but who dares speak it aloud. And why."

She leaned back against the bench, one hand brushing against her helm's angular surface. "You are no fool. You would not present such a topic without reason. So, tell me, shadow—what do you stand to gain by offering me the idea of an Empress? Do you seek to test my ambition? Or to measure whether I am already wearing the crown in all but name?"

Her smile lingered. Cold. Amused. Patient.

 

[Barragh Nenn]

Darth Virelia

A knowing smile touched his mouth briefly, matching her own which showed brief signs of amusement before he answered...

"Neither."

...his eyes veered towards her helmet again, such a strange looking piece of armor in comparison to many of the others he'd seen though archaic power radiated from its steel. When his eyes returned to her he went on to remark...

"Your ambition is obvious to anyone who has heard your name."

...his smile, now faded was replaced by an indifference which spoke plainly to her as though he were assaulting her ego with fact rather than perception...

"I need not wonder if you are wearing a crown of importance, you are not. You have great power capped within a lithe and supple frame, your ego is match by your youth and what an observer might confuse as an inflated sense of self worth. You are the epitome of a delusion of sovereignty."

Observantly one might think that the Umbaran was baiting her to attack however he was actually pointing out an examination of her character. Whether that prompted her to violence or not was something only the future held an answer to however he did not shrink away from her. Nor did he take his eyes from her though.

Drifting from the space he'd occupied ahead of her he would have begun a slow circle around to her left.

His movements giving the impression that he was floating rather than walking.

As his form drifted around he would muse that...

"There are two Emperors and that is two to many. If only you had the strength to destroy them."

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Banners and Blades"

Tags - Barragh Nenn

Virelia's smile thinned, not from offense but from interest. He spoke with the bluntness of one who catalogues weaknesses for a ledger rather than a weapon; useful, when borne without malice. She let his words rest on her like a warm cloak, inspecting their weave for seams.

"You mistake spectacle for sovereignty," she murmured, voice low and deliberate. "A crown is not worn for glory but for leverage. You describe me as lithe, youthful, proud — observations, not judgments. Useful. Unremarkable. Both true in measured degrees." Her hand continued to toy with the helm's rim, as if the motion itself were a metronome marking the distance between them.

She regarded him briefly, the faint violet fire in her eyes cool and discerning. "Delusion is a luxury reserved for those who cannot see the machinery beneath their feet. I prefer instruments." She paused, weighing each syllable as if tasting them for poison. "You call my sovereignty imagined. The rest treat imagination as a map."

He drifted, circled, tested her silence. Motion, she knew, could be weaponized as easily as steel. She offered him nothing more than a measured tilt of her head and the smallest of smiles, a predator acknowledging an uncommon scent.

"You say there are two Emperors and two too many," she conceded softly. "Your counsel is blunt. Your hope, implicit." One corner of her mouth quirked. "Strength to destroy is rarely the same thing as the will to remake. If I could topple them with a thought, would I? Perhaps. But ruin is trite without purpose. I seek dominion with design, not merely the spectacle of collapse."

She finished: "Tell me, then — do you propose destruction or replacement? Those who offer problems rarely provide plans."

 

[Barragh Nenn]

Darth Virelia

If she didn't turn, angling herself with his circular movement then the Umbaran would eventually disappear behind her.

Out of sight but not out of mind.

She posed an interesting question to his suggestion. Destruction or replacement. It was not an answer that he would spend long considering.

"Replacement is preferable to destruction."

...his answer was straightforward, there was no hidden agenda detected in his tone as he went on to muse...

"One Emperor already seeks destruction, he would destroy a hundred worlds just to rule over the remnants. He would be an Emperor of Tombs, a bastardized interpretation of what the Sith were meant to represent."

...a brief silence and then...

"Imagine a universe ruled not by fear but by the love its people had for their Empress, a trillion lives who acted not out of obligation but infatuation."

This was where she would feel him touch her mind. Not in the practical sense. The Umbaran was not a powerful telepath, he might connect with a mind to speak privately but this was not one of his fortes in the force. No, excelled at suggestion. Umbaran's were known for their ability to influence others which is why when Barragh spoke, his voice instilled with the force she would feel it reverberate all the way down to her bones. It was not mind control in the conventional sense, especially since many would suspect as much rather it was idea that would echo across the thoughts of the one it was meant for until they wanted to believe it was their own. It was a powerful tool that many did not utilize well capable of being a scalpel or a hammer.

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Banners and Blades"

Tags - Barragh Nenn

Virelia did not flinch as the Umbaran's voice bled into her bones. The suggestion brushed against her mind like silk over glass—soft, cool, almost reverent. Most would have shuddered beneath it. She merely drew a slow breath and let the influence roll through her like smoke through hollow steel, tasting its intent, its craft, its ambition.

Her smile returned, faint and precise. "An Empress beloved," she said, as though testing the shape of the words. "It has a symmetry to it. Fear is crude. Love, refined. Fear binds the body; love binds the will. When one rules through devotion, the subjects write their own chains."

Her eyes half-closed, not in surrender but calculation. She could feel the idea flicker within her—the spark of something dangerous, perhaps beautiful. A universe not ruled by dread but by desire. It was almost poetic. And yet, poetry had always been her most effective weapon.

"You would crown sentiment as the engine of empire," she mused, turning her head slightly toward the sound of his drifting presence. "A clever inversion. They would kneel not because they are afraid to die… but because they cannot bear to disappoint."

She allowed a pause, long enough that the silence itself felt complicit. When she finally continued, her tone was quieter, almost conspiratorial. "Perhaps that is how one builds something that endures—when love becomes indistinguishable from obedience."

Her gaze lingered on the reflection of the torches in her wine, then back to the helm beside her. "But love, like fear, is still a leash," she murmured. "Both pull toward the throne. Both require a hand to hold them taut."

The violet light from the promenade caught her eyes as she lifted them to where he hovered behind her. "If the galaxy is to adore an Empress," she said, "then first it must be taught what to adore. A lesson written into its flesh, not whispered into its ear."

Her hand slid across the bench, resting lightly upon the helm's crown. The steel seemed to hum beneath her touch.

"Imagine that, shadow," she said at last. "A galaxy that loves because it has forgotten how not to."

Then, almost idly—
"Tell me… whose idea do you think that truly was?"

 

[Barragh Nenn]

Darth Virelia

Whose idea indeed.

If she focused on his reflection she might catch the faint smile that graced his features. She was confident, well spoken too which caused the Umbaran to think her well refined and intellectual beyond initial impressions.

She was also fooling herself.

Hover closer, as though he were melding with the shadow she cast behind herself he would reach out until his hands set across her shoulders. To see them one might think they were sharing an intimate moment regardless of the truth.

Eventually he remarked...

"Not you."

....she was powerful, he could feel the living force radiating outwards from her but she was also young. If her mannerisms did not hint at it then surely her features did or a tone hidden in her voice that she did not even know existed. He could perceive it though...

"We are speaking of an old concept and you are not quite there yet."

He'd flex his fingers, she would feel them tense. Unless she drew away or denied him the ability to lay his hands upon her.

The Energy that had charged his voice, letting it resound through her mind wishing her to believe that ideas he spoke of were her own was dimmer now but it still existed...

"New Alderaan does not dance to a tune that you set. Perhaps until you learn to play the symphony you should be more careful not to misstep. No one here would bend their knee to you out of love or obedience."

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Banners and Blades"

Tags - Barragh Nenn

Virelia did not move when his hands settled upon her shoulders. The gesture would have looked almost intimate to an onlooker—a confidant's touch, not a provocation. But the tension in her spine was that of a coiled serpent, not a woman caught off guard.

Her eyes lifted to the glass surface of the memorial pool before them. The reflection showed only shadow and the faint shape of his pallid face behind hers. When he said Not you, her lips curved—not into anger, but into something far quieter and far more dangerous.

"Of course not," she said softly. "The galaxy is never ready for the one who writes its next chapter. It never believes in her until the words are already carved."

She let the silence hang, then turned her head just enough that one violet eye caught his pale reflection. "You speak of old concepts as if they are yours to protect. But you, like the rest, are still orbiting a corpse that forgot how to die. The 'old'—" she breathed the word like an indulgence, "—is a mausoleum of failed gods. They mistook eternity for endurance."

Her hand rose, brushed lightly against his fingers where they rested on her armor. Not a rejection—an assessment. "Do you feel that?" she murmured. "That pulse beneath the steel? That's not youth. It's evolution."

The air thickened as she drew on the Force—not in attack, but in weight. The pressure of presence. Enough to make the torches gutter and the banners tremble. "You're right, New Alderaan doesn't dance to my tune," she said. "But you misunderstand me if you think I intend to play theirs."

Then, quietly, almost tender: "Every symphony begins with a single note no one recognizes."

Her gaze returned to the pool, to his spectral reflection merging with hers. "Let them hear something unfamiliar. Let them call it dissonance, arrogance, delusion. In time, they'll call it order."

Her hand withdrew from his, the air between them cooling like a blade left to temper.

"You should be careful too, shadow," she finished, her tone low, unhurried. "Those who listen too closely to music they do not understand often forget which voice is conducting."