Dominion Tethered Hearts | CIS Dominion of Kiffu Hex

[Vytal Noctura]

Attire: Black Queen
Location: Grand Hall, Kiffu
Tag: Credius | Malok | Darth Elyria | Open

"It is not their fault," the Nightmother remarked, "they were born with every luxury handed to them. They know no better." It was not an excuse, merely a matter of fact. Their upbringing -- that shared by so many offworlders -- was at fault. Everything was too easy except for the enslaved or the impoverished. Worse yet, the impoverished had no option to forage for their own survival and to strike camp in better terrain. No, these worlds were so overpopulated and with so many laws of what you were allowed to do such things of a 'humble' Nightsister -- a barbarian to 'civilized' society -- were nigh impossible.

While Vytal could not say Credius was wrong to pursue his own aims directly, she hoped he was ever mindful that despite the CIS' decentralized approach if given sufficient reason to act it in its own interests that it most certainly would. The recent trial regarding the Eternal Empire, and the faction's on-going support of its own members -- even those operating outside of CIS space -- should demonstrate that. Fortunately, the other major governments had tested the CIS' resolve. However, Vytal knew it was only a matter of time. Be it days, months, or years inevitably there would be cause no matter how immature it might be.

Her green eyes soon followed Credius's gaze as it fell upon the Vicelord and his recent female companion of late. Vytal might have well liked to meet either, but unlike so many present she would not intrude to bandy social charms and smiles. Much as she might like to pry knowledge or secrets from their minds, this gathering was hardly the appropriate place to do so. It made the evening that much heavier in the Dathomiri's mind. What a waste.

Credius' sudden offer warranted a glanced down at his hands before Vytal met the man's eyes once more. Breathe. You are the eye of a storm, Vytal reminded herself instantly as a means of retaining her composure. There had been deplorable reasons she had practiced how to dance in this infernal dress. At least it was not with a witless worm. Ah, perhaps it was that attitude that kept others from offering -- much as Credius suggested it was merely cultural. In a sense, yes, cultural in that few wanted to hold hands with a Witch of Dathomir. On that matter, most people were wise.

The corners of the Nightmother's lips turned upward in the face of Credius' offer. She lifted her hands as she stepped closer to Credius. "Only one other has ever willingly asked, and they were an overly enthusiastic Padawan. Your composure is commendable as always, Lord Nargath." She trusted the man would rise to the dignity of their stations in this matter. Some might have otherwise thought it funny to 'throw' the Nightmother around. Was it not enough she had learned proper dance techniques? How many frivolous skills would be required of her that others would be content?

 

[Alkor Centaris]

The Dark Jedi lingered near the door more out of discomfort than duty. If he had his way, he would have been on the other side of it instead of present with the crowd and all of the VIPs that had things to say and feel about his presence there.

While his actions were not well known outside the Knights Obsidian, his reputation as a malignant individual had grown even out to the Viceroyalty. Malok had tasked him with laying low to smooth things over, since theirs was a bond of family, but he struggled to maintain a positive public persona.

Alkor had never been much of a socialite.

He counted the seconds as they flitted past and kept his gaze straight ahead. There were many things he would rather have been thinking about or doing, but the ability to throw himself into his work once more was cathartic. Alkor couldn't complain.

On the other hand, stationed to work with Gerwald Lechner made things awkward. Their last encounter had been less than the ideal, and the other man had interacted with Naedira Darcrath from beyond the grave.

No matter what he told the shifter, nothing he said would ease the rage that festered in him. Alkor had his own reasons for not taking immediate action- not that he had said as much to anyone else.

If only he knew how to undo the spell.

If only he could have laid her to rest.

If only.

 

[Darth Elyria]

Dance, or, Drink Poison

Tag: Malok
Attire: Black [And a little white? Blasphemy.]​

“It will be as I wish it. If it displeases or offends—You will obliterate it.”

Her petulance was backed with the confidence of someone who had been born to rule. Someone that had been told, since birth, that the crown belonged on their head. That a throne would always be at their back and that peasantry would always bow before them. That was the crux of her disposition. She believed that everything, and everyone, belonged beneath her. Even the Sith Lord that served as her amusement for the evening.

Simply—In a more literal sense.

She could feel the low chuckle through the smooth material of his clothing. It reverberated in his chest, against her ear, and a tender of raven hair brushed against the back of his neck. It annoyed her when he laughed at her expense. “Death is a natural part of the cycle. If I choose that it is time for lesser lifeforms to end—They end. Purpose served.”

His mention of Mandalorians drew an eye-roll that he would feel rather than see. His heritage was no secret. He had few. His future had rarely felt the need to hide anything and instead filled her in on as many of his transgressions as possible. In this sense; her awareness made it so that it would not come back to haunt him. Her jealousy arrived with the fierceness of a firestorm. One avoided that particular natural disaster. If they could.

“Round and round in circles they go. One power rises, then another, and another. By that point, I would insist on my own sovereignty. Grow my power base. Take it, if I must.”, she muttered in a rather incredulous sense. Why did these civilizations always let someone else do the heavy lifting for them? Why did they depend so much on people that would eventually disappoint them? Did they not have a concept of weaponry, or, a battle of attrition in which they simply made it too costly for the enemy to stay?

The sense of complacency worked in favor of the Vicelord, but, Elyria was unsatisfied. Where were the warriors? Were their truly none left in humanity?

What a bore.

She huffed from her place in his arms. The way she held herself was with complete surety that he would not let her fall, regardless, how much of her weight she left for him to bear. Elyria heard his comment about his prowess in regards to the ritual and the darkness moved in her being like a wave. Power slithered over him, thick, and hungry. It failed to threaten. Moreover, it was to taste him. Just because she could. Black eyes flashed with a superior and haughty light. “This is a mere shuffling of feet. Even you cannot screw that up.”

Her wit, which was perfect, and far better than his, stilled when his voice dropped low. Her head raised slightly so that she could hear him but the raven-haired woman settled back down. Rather than snip or snap at his words Metus would find her momentarily silent. Had she erred in letting him see the world she was bound for? Had this paradox only worsened?

His entire attitude had changed. He mocked her, no longer. Listened.

Her fingers tightened in his hand briefly, possessively, while the sweet dark exhaled. He was different. She did not know him, this way, and yet she knew him better than he knew himself. Sometimes she could see the man he was meant to be. Just glimpses. “I…”, she trailed off, still, simply letting him lead. “I will endure.”

Elyria held conflictions. If she chose him now—Did she betray the man he would be? To share his space in this time meant a betrayal of the future. Did it even matter anymore?

She didn’t know.

 

[Calixte Diantha]

​

Location: Dance Hall
Attire: [XXX]
Tags: Galaar Fett

-------------------------------

Life was busy. From the very moment that Calixte had agreed to step in and become Galaar's partner for that very first job, a series of events took place, and continued to take place even to this day. From moving and protecting the clan, to other offhanded jobs that kept the pair of them busy - as well as lining coffers with credits. There was very little downtime for the pair unless they made time. So this spur of the moment decision for Galaar to surprise the redhead with something not work related? It most certainly surprised her.

Especially considering that Cali was not big on surprises. No, that wasn't true. Surprises were great if she didn't know about them. It was the anticipation of things to come that had always made the vivacious redhead impatient. And the fact that she had needed to get dolled up for whatever this surprise was to boot? That hadn't helped matters any. However, for the sake of the Mandalorian she was overly fond of, she had not complained more than the initial whine from when Galaar had told her that he had a surprise for her.

So by the time they had arrived at their destination, Calixte was more than ready to see just where he had brought her; and was by no means disappointed with the reveal. She had allowed herself to be pulled from her seat in the shuttle, skeptical of him and his sudden arrogance, but when they had stepped out into the fresh air, Cali had needed to stop just a moment so that she could gawk. She had been quiet up to this point due to her skepticism, but now she smirked ever so slightly at the man beside her as she finally gave him a response. "I make no promises about distractions." she stated, though knew very well what he had meant in regards to such things. No work or chaos related distractions.

Being escorted inside was fine by the redhead, because it gave her the chance to look around freely without really having to watch where she was going. She trusted Galaar to not run her into anyone or anything, after all. Though once inside she exhaled a little heavily and shook her head ever so slightly. He had certainly out done himself with this particular surprise. "Us, early?" her head turned so that she could look at him and almost grin. "Never." Her arm slipped easily through his and she leaned into him just a bit more. "Now then, are we going to dance, or should we find liquid courage first?"

 

[Kyyrk]

WEARING: Dress Armor
TAGS: Talak Jenste | Moe Uilor | Subject 73 Red
​

Voph nodded quietly, as Taiia spoke, and raised his glass in a casual salute to Red as he joined them. "I'll overlook your careless offensiveness, and inform you that I appear as my staff have seen fit to dress me." A wry smile, and playful slap on Red's shoulder, followed by another swig from his drink indicated Voph wasn't serious. Though there had been a day when such remarks would have been hurtful, Voph had accepted that people often imagined that everyone had their same world views. Appearance meant little to a blind man. Or so he claimed. But that said, his armor was impeccable. White as the snows upon Vylmira's caps, save for the black undersuit and black furs perched about his neck and shoulders. Gold trim finished the image, leaving the man looking very much a distinguished leader, his stance and air of confidence adding to this even more. Appearance may not have mattered to him, but his own appearance was clearly one he took pride in.

He turned back to Taiia, folding his empty arm across his chest, and resting the arm laden with drink upon it. "I recommend an Astromech. They're versatile. Never did care for droids, but those I have few complaints of." He tilted his head slightly, brow furrowing as his attention turned to the girl's other statement. "I could think of no finer teacher." Voph took another sip of his drink. Frankly it surprised him slightly that Taiia had gone straight to Vytal Noctura to learn, but he spoke the truth. There was no finer teacher. "Vytal is one of the few I would consider my friend. A force to be reckoned with, and well versed in the secrets of the Force that even I myself have only begun to broach. Her assistance has proven invaluable, and I could think of no finer person to have by my side in the days to come."

 

[Credius]

Attire: [X]
Post Count: 3
Tag: Vytal Noctura | Malok | Darth Elyria
​

The Viceroy snickered softly, while leading the Nightmother gently towards the open floor, with but a few known people on the dancefloor, it might be very well an enjoyable occasion. "You know, I would've thought there would've been more people to ask for your hand," Raising his eyebrows, Credius hoped that Vytal would be able to understand both the compliment and the humour in those words. The fact that some jedi padawan had to learn it all the hard way, rather amused him. Even more amusing to him was the playing field upon which they would be dancing, given there was one other pair of extreme importance upon the dancefloor. "You know, my dear Nightmother...If I didn't have my composure, I would've been killed long ago, don't you agree?"

Slightly squeezing his fingers, the man tried his best to remain graceful and not to take the lead in the dance all too abruptly. After all, he needed to understand how she worked, how she danced and how far she was willing to let him lead her in this dance before she'd start pulling back. It was quite amusing to now know that despite everything, she didn't seem all that adverse to the idea of a dance, even if it was simply to pass the time and avoid being approached by those of lesser character and composure.

"Quite the pair, don't you think?" The corner's of Credius' mouth turned slightly upward into a sly grin, while he nodded towards the pairing of the Vicelord and a woman he had no recollection of ever having had the pleasure to meet. In a way the pairing was similar, in the sense that both the nightmother and that woman seemed to be so...unexpected on the dancefloor, than again in reality it was just as unexpected to see the Viceroy of Eriadu on the dancefloor as well. Leading the dance slightly closer to the other pair, Credius chuckled softly, smiling gently at the nightmother. "This IS quite peaceful, no officials to deal with, no boring speeches, just some casual smalltalk without poressure and a dance with an exquisitely beautiful woman."

 

[Moe Uilor]

Attire: Moe's best robe, a black scarf hiding his head and face, a hat, this thing he once bought over his robe, and fancy matching shoes humans seem to value.
Location: Grand Hall, Kiffu
Tag: Talak Jenste | Kyyrk | Subject 73 Red | Open

As he listened to the woman in black, Moe was glad that he brought his trusted mouse droid Dooka along to translate. While he had a very rudimentary understanding of Galactic Basic, the Jawa never managed to understand the ugly and highly complex tongue; it didn't even use scent to convey meaning! Regardless, Moe kept his yellow-eyed stare trimmed onto the red-haired woman and, in the time it took Dooka to translate her words into Jawa Trade Talk, the Jawa had blindly reached into the pouch of his apron and was now nibbling on the piece of cheese he managed to obtain earlier.

It wasn't until Dooka finished his translation when Moe finally broke his gaze; putting the half-eaten piece of cheese back in his pouch while nodding happily. "Ibana, ibana! Yukusu kenza keena!" The red woman's charm was largely lost on the Jawa, who just pulled a datapad from his pouch in order to write down some details while the mouse droid began its translation. "Honest Moe Uilor is willing to make a deal afer the party, and exclaims his hope that the Great Tinkerer will bless you with a lot of shiny scrap for this kindness."

The arrival of the tall man wearing shiny white armour didn't go unnoticed, but Moe was too busy writing down the details of the sale to initially pay the man much attention. It wasn't until the red-haired woman mentioned him, which prompted Dooka to automatically translate her words into Jawa Trade Talk, when Moe looked up from his datapad. Someone else had joined them; someone who directly addressed him in Jawa Trade Talk. Turning his attention to the newest -and even taller- man, Moe nodded politely before speaking up. "Ubanya eyeta!" Now he found someone who spoke a common tongue, the assistance of Dooka wasn't required and the shiny mouse droid instead recorded the conversation between the red-haired woman and the white-armoured man for future reference. "Mumbay, baa?" As he spoke, Moe couldn't help but feel relieved that he traded for his fancy new shoes a couple of days before this event. It seemed Humans really put a lot of importance in height.

When the white-armoured man involved himself in the ongoing deal by recommending an Astromech droid, Dooka was prompted to draw Moe's attention; first by letting out a series of beeps, which interrupted the Jawa from attempting to sell the tall red-haired man a used speeder with decent mileage, and then continuing by translating the words of the white-armoured man. In response, Moe turned his attention to the man and gave him a polite nod. "Ayy, taa baa!" Given how the man likely didn't speak Jawa Trade Talk, the mouse droid chimed in and spoke up to translate Moe's words this time. "Honest Moe Uilor thanks you for your recommendation, he has good Astromech droids available for sale at honest prices."

 

[Galaar Fett]

Location: Dance Hall
Wearing: Best suit
Tags: Calixte Diantha | Moe Uilor

​

As much as he tried to hide it, the greying haired man couldn’t help but roll his eyes heavily at the little distraction comment from the redhead. She knew exactly how to tease and push the man’s buttons, and it seemed as though the moment they stepped into this party they would be doing the exact same thing. His eyes glanced down at her, giving her a smirk in response. “I suppose your mere presence could be considered a distraction, my vixen…” Chuckling lightly, it was then that he began to consider the question at hand.

While figuring out what exactly to do, it did come to mind that this was a black tie event, and he had not polished his dancing skills in quite a minute. Knowing that, he was definitely going to need a drink, or liquid courage as his partner had so accurately put it, before even thinking of stepping onto that floor and looking like a floor. “Liquid courage first. I’m not sure that I’ll be all that good without some of it..” While Galaar certainly didn’t care greatly about others opinion of his dancing skills over his blaster skills, there was always the possibility of making a contact at this sort of thing. If his dancing was bad, at least he could blame it on the drink and not his own skill.

Maneuvering through the crowd of people without disturbing their soft conversations was a skill all on it’s own, another one that he wished he was better at. There were at least a few bumps into people that probably annoyed them, but he chalked it up to the proximity of everyone, not his own social clumsiness. By the time he made it to the bar, that drink was sounding extremely inviting. There was only a preliminary glance given to the menu, one to find the strongest whiskey they had. Once his choice was picked out, he did turn to give his partner a questioning look before his order was placed. “Now…what will be your poison for the evening?”

 

[Gerwald Lechner]

Objective: Do the Protecc
Wearing: xxx
Tag: Open | Alkor Centaris

---

​

Gerwald continued to make his rounds, watching as it seemed everyone was enjoying themselves. A small sigh escaped his lips as he could not rid his mind of the first, and only, dance he shared with Naedira. She had called him a liar when he tried to get out of it, a residual effect of the battle meld they had shared. The woman had done everything right, eased into his mind, and eased out of his mind just the same, and yet something had remained. There had remained a tether between them, something which kept them connected. Gerwald could never lie to her without her knowing, even though it had all been in jest. It was the last time he remembered seeing her smile, and the last time he remembered smiling as wide as he had in a long time.​

​

His gaze caught with that of Alkor Centaris once more. This was certainly a less than ideal pairing, but the lupine was doing his best to give the man the benefit of the doubt, even if he was angry with him.​

​

He should have been told.​

​

It was the one thought Gerwald would not let go of. Even if no one knew how to bring her back, Gerwald had a right to know. No, he could not claim the right that a lover could. What they shared was something much deeper than some passing moment in time. The two shared as pure a friendship as Gerwald had ever known.​

​

"Everything seems to be clear," Gerwald commented over the comm unit. "I'll make my rounds again in another thirty minutes."​

​

His words were short with little feeling behind them. It was clear that Gerwald was still processing the encounter he had with Naedira's ghost.​

​

He should have been told.​

 

[Talak Jenste]

Attire: [Long Black Dress / Hairstyle]
Carrying: Lightstaff (hidden)
Location: Kiffu (Grand Hall)
Tag: Kyyrk | Moe Uilor | Subject 73 Red | Open
​

Taiia directed her attention to Red as he approached “Thank you Red for the compliment, you look quite handsome yourself Red” she gave him a smile and then her attention had be recaptured by Voph, she turned her head and nodded “I always heard good things about Astromechs as well, but I always like to keep my options open.” then she heard Moe chime in again and looked back at him and grinned as he reacted to Voph’s recommendation. "Ever the salesman Moe Ulior" Turning back to Voph she smiled as he spoke of Vytal and how he valued her thoughts.

“She is interesting, a wealth of knowledge but something the Jedi would never approve of. Of that I hold no illusions, but I would say at this point it is fair to say I am not a Jedi any longer. What exactly I am, I do not know but I can’t go by that title anymore. I am glad though that you think highly of her. I must admit, it’s a bit out of my comfort zone being among the Mandragora but to challenge one’s beliefs you need to be uncomfortable sometimes. And it helps that they have been ever gracious hosts, they also as you have said, have insights to the Force that are unique and I am happy to have those conversations”

 

[Vytal Noctura]

Attire: Black Queen
Location: Grand Hall, Kiffu
Tag: Credius | Open

The Dathomiri woman smiled at Credius' self-complimentary observation. "No doubt at all," she replied evenly. Composure alone would only get you so far, but so would having all the power in the world. "Life, politics, and magick all have one thing in common, Lord Nargath -- they're all like a recipe for a good stew. Too much, too little, too many, and too few of your ingredients and it is ruined."

Given the infernal gown -- if only the legs weren't so tightly pressed together she'd quite like its appearance -- the pale woman's movements were as graceful as they were measured. There'd be no kicks or splits this evening. Or ever, as a Nightsister need keep her dignity, but one could digress. All said, she would happily put one foot in front of the other and take the lead if Credius did not. Accepting men as equals... Accepting them as being above her in authority... but given the choice, a woman of Dathomir still favored being in charge. Even if she wasn't steeped in 'traditional' galactic dances. Her Sisters and Brothers back at the Castle had shown her some of the most common and expected forms, however.

They were not like fighting. One did not 'Waltz' through a battlefield.

Still, if the good Lord Nargath decided to steer their dance in the direction of the Vicelord and his dark companion of late, Vytal wasn't against it. So long as the man did not attempt to 'bump' the other pair. Whatever generous acceptance of allowing a man to lead she displayed, such a glaring 'mistake' was not one of them. Not unless she intended it. Despite their lack of direct interaction, however, Vytal was not jealous nor irate with the Vicelord. She was somewhat interested in his latest female companion, however. Why had they not spoken? She radiated a darkness that might give rise to some intriguing conversations.

"They compliment one another," the Nightmother replied. Quite the pair? Vytal could hardly say. Evidently the Vicelord thought so; Vytal only hoped he did not think too far and with the wrong part of his anatomy.

Another smile surfaced as Credius complimented her as he basked in the moment. "You could always change professions." That was unlikely to happen. The man used the rich and powerful to accomplish his aims. Any job had an aspect you might loathe or even hate, but in the end it wasn't as insufferable as someone might suggest -- because they carried on. "But I think they would miss your efforts to direct resources and access to you and yours in the Citadel. If you do decide to leave the spotlight, however, you could always join me on Ryloth. We do not have elaborate shipyards, but I think there are matters you would find intriguing." Not that she'd give him access to The Vault. Vytal gazed into the man's eyes knowing what others might not.

 

[Kyyrk]

WEARING: Dress Armor
TAGS: Talak Jenste | Moe Uilor | Subject 73 Red
​

Voph held up a hand, indicating Moe did not need to waste his time, and began responding before the mouse droid finished translating. Though he did not speak it, he clearly understood Jawa Trade Talk. "I have no need for such utilities at this time." Voph turned his attention back to Taiia as she spoke of Vytal, and her experiences with the Nightmother. "Comfort has little to do with the studies of the Force. Though I will admit, Vytal and her methods are a bit..." Voph drifted off for a moment as he looked at his drink before taking another sip. "...unnatural."

Voph glanced back at Taiia. "Though I cannot fault her for calling upon the sources that are so readily available to us, if undetectable by natural means. Having spent lifetimes immersed in it, I can see the appeal." Lifetimes. It was, perhaps horrifically, apparent that he had not misspoken. And if Taiia had spoken with the Nightmother in adequate detail, she would know the true depths of what Voph was insinuating.

He'd spent centuries at least in the Netherworld.

"But, should you ever take an interest in...other aspects of the Force, you are always welcome upon Vylmira. The White-Gold Tower holds a host of knowledge from the Acanthus school. Not to mention my own experiences with it. What it can do. What it's capable of." Voph watched Taiia silently for a moment, then took another sip of his drink. "The Force is a tool capable of far more than you would ever imagine, little one. Be careful that you do not lose yourself in its abyss."

 

[Alkor Centaris]

It was almost tiring to be close to Lechner in the wake of their last meeting. The man did little to mask his feelings on the matter of Knight Darcrath and her untimely death, but more specifically how he felt about Alkor having knowledge of her persistence through death's door.

He had never been an argumentative man. Confrontational, yes; but Alkor solved his problems with violence, not words. In the Confederacy, he did not have the luxury of blood sport. It was a relic of his past life, in a time where stronger men lorded over the Galaxy and weaker men warred amongst themselves.

The Jen'jidai had ever been above matters of the heart.

It was power that drove the wedge. Power, like his Master's ability to cheat death. He watched Plaga return himself into myriad bodies across the stretch of time they were paired. Time and again, they ripped his soul across the boundary and memories, personality traits, and even emotions were severed from him. What resulted at the end was a husk of the Sorcerer renown as the Great King of Death.

They regaled him with talks of power and ability, they lifted him up as immortal, but everyone failed to speak on what he became. Alkor saw the cruelty that became his only drive. The thirst for power that devoured all else. In Naedira's desire to live, he saw reflected a once healthy fear of death driven to the extreme.

Even in his Brother, who had mastered the selfsame secrets as Plaga, Alkor found doubt. What had Isley thrown away in pursuit of his own eternity?

He carried the burden of duty to the woman, but he was also burdened with knowledge of what she would sacrifice in taking a second chance. Alkor took a deep breath and offered a simple response to Gerwald.

"Confirmed," he spoke quietly into the commlink.

After a moment, he added. "You are free to interact with the group between rounds, Knight Lechner."

Gerwald Lechner

 

[Subject 73 Red]

Objective: Guard- er, Have fun. (You've been ordered too.)
Tags: Moe Uilor , Talak Jenste , Kyyrk , Open!

Red nods to Taiia. "Really? I do? I have no idea. I have very little information on how people define looks." He said. He truly had little ideas on how people think about looks. 'Normal' people had strange ideals.

Then, he looked at Voph. Had Red accidentally said something incorrect? Or was it slightly offensive? Red didn't know. He couldn't... understand people that well. They were incredibly complex, and each one was entirely different from the other. It was... disorientating, to say the least. "Well... I'm sorry if I offended you in any way, Lord Voph." Red told him.

Red then turned to the Jawa. It asked how he was. The Jawa said it was okay. "Ysas." Red told the Jawa. He was feeling pretty okay too. Then, he noticed that Taiia seemed to be buying a droid. Voph recommended an astromech. "As astromech is a good choice, but I prefer a pit droid. They are fast, small, they can fit into small places, they are pretty good engineers and mechanics, they can be harder to spot than an astromech, and if you give them a blaster and point them in the general direction of the enemy, they can shoot at where or who you want." Red recommended.

 

[Talak Jenste]

Attire: [Long Black Dress / Hairstyle]
Carrying: Lightstaff (hidden)
Location: Kiffu (Grand Hall)
Tag: Kyyrk | Moe Uilor | Subject 73 Red | Open​

Taiia smiled at Voph, though he couldn’t see that but she also knew the force let him see in ways most would not comprehend. He was genuinely concerned for her and it was nice to know he was looking out for her. “Somehow I think the Jedi would have a similar opinion of the Nightmother’s abilities and methods” she nodded in agreement “But as it stands for me, I think there is validity in what she teaches.” At Voph mentioning Valmyria she nodded somewhat emphatically “I absolutely would love to come and see and learn” her quest for knowledge was both a blessing and a curse she knew full well untamed that this quest she had embarked on could easily destroy her, will of the force or not it was ever present in the back of her mind, even Vytal had warned her as such.

As Voph echoed a similar warning she nodded slowing her thoughts and taking in what he said “You are of course correct, which is precisely why I am taking this slowly, I need time to process what I learn and need to be able to continue to grow in the force." she paused a split second and grinned a bit "Apologies Lord Voph this should be an evening to relax not to debate the finer points of the force” she had completely forgotten the drink in her hand and suddenly remembered it before taking a small sip from her glass. She turned to red as he threw in his recommendation as well “Thank you red I will keep that in mind” she turned to Moe “Looks like I will be keeping you busy”

 

[Malok]

B A L L R O O M​

Tag: Darth Elyria

It will be as I wish it.

The petulance in her tone exposed just how different the primordial woman and the Sith Lord were. She had been born and bred to wear a crown upon her head. For her, there was never a reality where someone or something did not prostrate themselves before her. Conversely, Darth Metus had been born as a soldier. Mandalorians were born for battle and conquest, yes. But they did not exist with a noble's sense of entitlement. Though he had long since turned away from the desolate sands of Mandalore, the crux of his disposition had always stemmed from his "low" manner of birth. They saw the Galaxy different - and saw one another differently.

He had to wonder, in that stellar tomorrow that she craved, was the man she knew - was he - her partner or her stepping stone?

In the moment, he recognized that she had the view of an eagle. From above, she could see the beginning and the end. She could see every twist and turn upon the path humanity tread upon. With such a view, it was quite literally beneath her to understand why they celebrated surviving a twist. Why they praised besting a turn. There was not a universe or reality where she would fold her wings and descend upon the path. There was not a word he could say that would have her understand why those around them thought as they did.

Over time, it was becoming easier and easier to accept this fact. And with his acceptance came quiet for the time being. She would feel the motion of his head moving up and down - nodding as she voiced the thoughts of her dominance. Of death being just another part of the cycle. It was only when she shifted in his arms that Darth Metus made certain to bear her. The certainty she had was well-placed in this simple regard; and thus, her presence was able to easily wash over him. By now, he had become accustomed to the chill. The hunger. The weight. There was still a chasm between them in terms of might - but it drew closer and closer each day.

"If you burn me any harder, I'll turn a new shade of brown." His wit came to a halt when her grasp returned to his own. She sighed, and the Sith could tell she was mulling over more than just swaying on the floor for a few hours. They had been to more events than this, after all. Ultimately, she relented, stating she would endure the night. For but a moment, his offhand moved from her waist.

She could come to expect moments like these. Impulse. Boldness. From invading her Vault to snatching a taste of her power. To challenging her word. To now. Their relationship was peppered with moments that could easily see the cycle end for the Sith. Here? His touch raised her chin. What he did, she had experienced thousands of times in that distant tomorrow. A stolen caress. "Does this count as screwing up?"

His wit, which was perfect, and far better than hers, had no end in sight.​

 

[Credius]

Attire: [X]
Post Count: 3
Tag: Vytal Noctura | Malok | Darth Elyria
​

The viceroy was enjoying this moment of banter and dance, perhaps it wasn't always so bad, but than again this situation was different in comparison to most state-balls, commemorative parties and the like, simply because at this moment with Vytal Noctura he could look at it as the two of them mocking that very idea rather than celebrating it. Sure, he did see the hypocrisie in not like parties and then eventually still partaking in them, but on the other hand, given his own arrogance, he simply did not like to be bothered with people he considered to be less than himself.

"A change of career, I reckon that would be something for the days when my mind is all that's left working properly," Letting out a dry chuckle, Credius decided to slightly intensify his grip around the nightmother's hand,as they were about to spin swiftly around to follow the rising crescendo within the music being played. "Though it may seem that I am still spry and able, that may change in due time and rather than being chackled to my bed or as some political effigy for a successing politician, the idea of being able to learn even more through the use of your order's extensive collection of knowledge may at such a time be a most tempting offer. However..."

Making the swift turn, the Viceroy placed one foot behind the otherto support himself, using the momentum generated by turning his hips and his back to have the nightmother make a twirl before they'd be looking at eachother again. Before anything though, he could only smile slightly at the fact that despite the heels she was no doubt wearing, the nightmother was still so light on her feet, most likely by some training in the art of sancing or simply as part of her occupation as a nightsister to begin with. "...however,I don't think you'd want an old, decrepit man in your midst. To use your analogy, in that case I as the stew, would have too little meat and bone to have formed fine stock for my taste and most likely your taste as well."

 

[Darth Elyria]

Dance, or, Drink Poison

Tag: Malok
Attire: Black [And a little white? Blasphemy.]

She could feel eyes on her person.

They were inconsequential. No doubt, the common vulgar crowd would find the pair of Sith dancing in the middle of their celebration cause for concern. Or envy. Humanity always longed for that which it could not have. For that which it could never be. Her form shifted softly against his and he would catch the aroma of cool evenings and sweet water. It was deceptive. Beneath that layer was the scent of night in its purest form. He would feel, while her fingers curled around his, that his throat suddenly felt chilled. As if he had inhaled sharply during a wintry evening. Pain, a feeling so cold that it burned.

It was power. Creeping, climbing, and slithering around him. The Vicelord was often nearby. Physically. Her darkness crept into his being like an infection. The after effect would leave his senses fooled. His sight. His sense of touch, taste, and smell. Soft, sweet, her perfume would ensnare. It made her victim comfortable. Lured them close by wrapping them in something softer than cashmere, lighter than silk, a sweet blanket of air. All the while keeping ignorant to the fact that something large was drawing nearer.

Something dark. Dangerous. Flickering—Just outside of their visible spectrum.

When a smirk crossed her features and dark eyes rose the very air seemed to sway. Earth and sky. It all obeyed her whims. The cosmos knew the natural order. Eventually, that knowledge would trickle down. The mortals would finally open their eyes and see things clearly.

But until then? She would haunt their every dream, their every waking hour, and delight in the of simply being a superior being. Elyria had learned long ago to rid herself of that which weakened the caliber of her form. Killing didn’t bother her. She wouldn’t feel sorry, she wouldn’t feel guilt. She didn’t think like a person, or rather, she didn’t think like a nice, normal, civilized human. She thought like a sociopath—No empathy, no sympathy, no guilt, no compassion.

In a strange way, it was a very peaceful existence.

“Then brown you will be. I enjoy charcoal.”

His hand moved from her waist and a sinuous frown crossed crimson lips. She didn’t protest verbally but onyx hair moved of its own accord and slipped around his wrist. It was a delicate tug that no one else would see, though, it would eventually release. Despite the fact that Metus had initially come to her Vault to end her life she had come to see him, at the very least, as a confidant. With his future revealed their tenuous connection had solidified.

Elyria, Selene, did not believe he would betray her again.

She allowed the Sith to raise her chin. The action caused her vision to blur and the room to fade. In her mind's eye she could see him. The Metus that was. The man he would be. The man she knew. He had touched her this way many times before. For a split second, she could see the being that she remembered. The eyes she knew were older. Burnished orange, tawny, and touched with a sense of wisdom driven satisfaction.

The black entity caught herself leaning into it. At least, until he spoke. Her eyes narrowed and she pulled her head back. This was the present. Not the future. “I don’t know. You tell me when I’ve bloodily liberated your hand from your wrist.”

Elyria took a step back. Again, there was a sudden distance. There was no sass. No sarcasm. Her expression remained blank. She wasn’t sure if she should remain so close to him when he’d grown bold enough to act. He was not hers. He looked like what belonged to her. Sounded like him.

It was not him.

Her hair slid slowly back, down his arms, a little perturbed. Complacency. She could not forget. He would be ready, one day, but that had not yet come. Until then…It felt like a betrayal of the timeline. A rejection of that which would come to pass.

How did one reconcile with betraying their other half with a younger version?

Elyria understood none of this. Ergo, she reacted with anger. She understood that.

 

[Malok]

B A L L R O O M​

Tag: Darth Elyria

Exhale.

The evacuation of life from his lungs opened the way for her wiles. They had been here before. Whether it was within the Vault or their recent jaunts throughout Sinner's Well. The way that she exerted her presence was the furthest thing from foreign. In the beginning, Darth Metus responded negatively. Oh, she'd recall all the efforts he had made to distance himself. From her darkness. From that distant tomorrow. Yet in the present? To drink in that primordial essence was as a sip of an icy river. The chill ran through his core. Invigorating. The Sith ran not from the dull pain, for there was power within it.

Boundless power within her.

And how quickly it changed. The ice went sweet. The chill warmed. It felt as though a mile of velvet and silk had been wrapped about his form. His nostrils were captivated by the sudden sweetness as well. Everything about moments like these demanded that he lower his guard. Were it not for that night on Ilyria...where that which Darth Metus woefully avoided was revealed to be imminent, he might have tried. He still might have schemed and plotted ways of ridding himself from the newfound presence in his life. He had been granted glimpses of the morrow before - each a mere paragraph of the same dark story.

There were differences of course. Some key figures lived. Some key figures died. Yet the end result was the same. No matter how much he tried to buck against fate, the one Elyria waited for was coming.

"Careful now, once you go charred..." He quipped, with that silver tongue of his.

Over time, he had garnered the opinion that her hair liked him far more than the woman herself. There were seldom moments when her onyx locks would not find somewhere to touch. Affection was not a language that Elyria spoke - thus it seemed the closest she would ever step were the antics of her hair. Even now, they coiled about his wrist and tugged - a motion that seemed to protest the movement of his hand from her waist. In that followed, her hair remained upon his wrist. And for the briefest of moments, her form leaned into his.

His own antics died as fire flew from her tongue. The Sith was rarely rewarded for his boldness with anything less. She stepped back from him - and though her hair yet lingered upon his wrist, there may as well have been a fortress placed between them. "Why wait?" His inquiry was brief - and seemed to suggest that she make good on the decimation of his wrist. But she'd know he was speaking beyond that. Ironically enough, he was asking the very same that she had been asking herself.

"I am inevitable. There are twists and turns that change along the cycle, but the destination is the same. Mine is the same." He crossed that gap between them in a step. He was as a prince scaling a fortress as twilight rose. He was careful with each step. Each word. Lest he Fall. "You saw a path where grief led me to you. Where the death of one opened the way. But the path twists endlessly - and still, I was led to you."

The simplest touch was made by his fingers upon those locks that held his wrist. Calm. Accepting. "What might has yet to come, ambition will provide. Why wait for the rest? Whether she tore his wrist off or not was entirely up to her - but the point remained clear. Their views were drastically different. Their perspectives. Yet, the morrow was inevitable. The Sith was done running. Done hesitating. Was she?​

 

[Vytal Noctura]

Attire: Black Queen
Location: Grand Hall, Kiffu
Tag: Credius | Open

Nargath was quite agile when it came to dancing around matters concerning himself. Not that the Dathomiri woman was surprised given his performance among other Viceroy. His mask was well polished and precisely aligned to present exactly what he wished. No doubt the result of his desire for things to be so precise elsewhere in galactic affairs -- and likewise, undoubtedly disappointed at how little ever went right. Vytal empathized.

Despite the care it took to retain balance and control as Credius spun her about, the Nightmother's faint smile and sharp gaze hadn't altered by the time the two were face to face once more.

Heels. Heels and tight dresses. These offworlders were altogether too full of themselves. You could not fight properly in these things; but you could fight. Magick (or the Force) would help compensate for the attire's restrictive nature. No Nightsister would ever be caught wearing such a thing back home, however; unless the Sith Empire had decimated the planet's ecosystem were savage beasts didn't roam the land freely.

"Despite what some have come to believe," Vytal continued their dance, hand in hand, "the Mandragora is not a female-only coven. I have no qualms accepting other Sisters like myself; nor am I opposed to any male that has learned an Art or demonstrated a sharp intellect." The Witch's elbows bent so that she could step in closer. "And we do not judge people based on which side of the Force they favor."

That being said, their membership did stray toward Dark-sided women. As a Nightsister, Vytal had no complaints. Still, diversity did bring strength so long as diversity in and of itself was not the goal. Knowledge and insight of many philosophies and different ways of thinking brought the strength and made the diversity worthwhile.

"I find it difficult to imagine you as old or decrepit, Lord Nargath. Someone of your caliber is sure to find ways to weather the passage of time. However, should it begin to wear upon you, perhaps you should visit the Mandragora -- on Ryloth or one of our remote locations. While we seek to maintain the balance of life and death, there is no rule that says death cannot be postponed a while longer." The Nightmother's smile grew by a hair. Provided, of course, someone was worthy of the effort. They weren't a charity.