Public The Crimson Concord [Sith Order, Friends, & Frenemies]

[Kasir Dorran]

Soah Ty’Jyn
​

The Sith's posture tightened, muscles coiling as she drew closer. Deep pools of a shadowed gaze fell over the smirk playing upon her lips. This was a look he'd always viewed as a challenge, never met with respect or admiration, but with acknowledgement only. More importantly, he assessed her sentient ink once more. While fixated solely on her, he dared not blink as the girl’s hand dove into the satchel.

Despite his stillness, Kasir's senses flared with sudden intrigue. The scent caught him off guard, as enticing as it was. His entire life had revolved around the cruel demands of survival, but in that moment, something stirred within.

There was no reverence for the gesture, but restraint. As pale fingertips soon brushed against hers, he retrieved the blood tart, treating it as one would a ceremonial blade. It was held between them as he savored the warmth and metallic tang wafting in the air now. His attention flickered back to her hand, then to her eyes, as though to convey a silent message. Raised to his lips, the first bite would be taken, bitten gently.

"I am not used to receiving. I am better at taking," he murmured. "But you make that harder." His focus shifted to the ink vessel, though the following words were meant only for her. "That is dangerous, Soah." A rare softness touched the Sangnir’s tone. "It changes how I move." His focus returned to her, fully. "Because it means I will hesitate. And hesitation.. that will kill both of us some day." An exhale released through his nose, slow and silent, as his jaw clenched. Just as quickly, the coldness in his expression began to thaw. "But it still matters.. what you gave."

Without haste, he finished the pastry, and upon consuming the last crumb, he inhaled deeply, the cold air of the Arcane Court filling his lungs.

Just enough to steady him, just enough to keep her protected.

The other limb rose, mechanical fingers curling with grace, but not yet touching, cold like the polished obsidian from their hidden enclave on Mustafar. A rather fragile moment hung between them. Then, the Darkseeker found her wrist; though, the grip was gentle, and cradling. He placed her hand carefully across his black heart, absent of a mortal beat, before guiding it to rest over his shoulder. Unlike so many it befell, the contact wouldn’t devour her, but instead remain precise, true to his nature, true to his craft under the High Priest.

The words slipped from his mouth like frost, just above a whisper. “Come into my rhythm, and just step where you feel me move.”

His boot had been lifted the entire time, but finally, it would touch down. Kasir wouldn't look at her the next time he spoke, but his voice would still cut through the small space between them.

A single step slid back smoothly, and the dance had begun.

​

 

[Darth Nefaron]

Helix was correct.

Simple murder was not enough.

Death was an escape.

Nefaron wanted life to thrive.

He wanted life to suffer.
​

“Your analysis of our Lord’s situation is without flaw, as always. I fear he has fallen into a lull, relying on outdated information and subpar servants to carry out his will. We must take hold of his remaining resources and spur him into acting more… aggressively.”

Indeed, they would have to be aggressive in the coming days. While the Sith appeared to have the upper hand in the war with the Alliance, the Jedi and that pathetic corpse of a government they serve were not the only enemies the Empire faced. The High Republic has made an advance toward the Mid Rim and Hutt Space, while the Mandalorians have once more united their realm. That wasn’t even to mention the ever-persistent Imperials who had reformed into several conflicting groups. Alone, they could not withstand the might of the Sith, but should they prove to be a united front, decades of stalemate awaited.

“I believe what we carried out on Ukatis to be the blueprint for a successful strategy moving forward. Let the Kainites cling to their holdings around Korriban and Dromund Kaas; they should be left to face the resurgent Imperials alone while we bide our time. No doubt the Emperor will seek to destroy the High Republic, and we might be able to… nudge things along to our advantage. With both rival factions distracted, we will have opened the field for the Tsis’Kaar. A great serpent whose venom would spread well beyond the borders of the Empire.”

This was Nefaron’s game all along. He knew full well he was no warrior like Malum or Strosius; he would not lead his legions from the front. What he would do was give these brave Lords the battle they desired and, at the peak of their glory, pull the rotten structure out from beneath them. Already he had begun, Helix had his loyalties, but above all else, his pragmatism could be relied on. Who could refuse the toppling of such great Sith and the absorption of their wealth and resources? Or perhaps he simply saw the greatest opportunity for slaughter in the Corpse Lord’s schemes.

“I intend to present Lord Malum with my abridged plan. A series of false flags to stir further conflict between the High Republic and the Sith Empire. Perhaps then we might find… suitable allies amongst the Mandalorian Clans or particularly greedy Imperials to continue our operations in the Mid and Outer Rim. Above all else, we must ensure the Tsis’Kaar’s losses are minimal. Malum may wish to take the field and lead his forces, and we will allow him to do so, but we should conserve the bulk of our strength to better prepare for the future.”

The Corpse Lord had spoken much of his plans, and yet he had not offered the Warmarshal much in the way of tangible gains. He had such an offer ready.

“But I do not expect you to align with me for the good of Darth Malum or the Sith Empire. What I do offer is exclusive rights to mining and manufacturing in the Anoat system. Several dead worlds remain for the plucking, ripe with minerals and little in the way of prying eyes. An expansion of your droid army could be carried out in relative secrecy, and I would offer you my talents in Sith Alchemy and Gene modification. All I ask is that you apply your workforce to the construction of vast forges and orbital dockyards. My fleet is small, but for our plans to move forward, we will have to match our rivals' strength.”

While a simple contract, Nefaron was luring the droid further into his web. Little passes through the Anoat sector without Nefaron’s notice, and from his fortress, he could eagerly watch as Helix found more benefit in aligning with the Corpse Lord. His droids could make up for the shortfall in labor since Malum’s removal of Nefaron’s rightful property. But with Helix and a vast fleet, he could ensure the flow of slaves into Anoat went undisturbed.

“Shall we say it’s a deal in principle if not in practice for the time being?”

TAGS: Helix ​

 

[Soah Ty’Jyn]

Interacting with: Kasir Dorran

​

When Kasir took the blood tart from her hand, Soah couldn't help the subtle twitch of her ear and the following low purr that vibrated from her throat.

This had been her tribute, and he had accepted it. The ink slithered along her shoulders then settled against her dusky skin with a sated ripple, curling inward like a creature finally fed. She watched him eat the pastry, noticing how he didn't consume it quickly but chose to savor it.

Good. That had pleased her, perhaps one of the very few things that ever did.

Then came his warning.

Her head tilted to the right as the thick plaits of dreadlocks swayed about her shoulders and back in confusion. Dangerous? For giving him something he needed?

But Soah, for once, didn't comment on it. Instead, she listened.

'It changes how I move,' he'd said, that his hesitation could kill them both.

So Soah mulled on that as her jaw set. It wasn't what she expected. He'd made it sound like her gesture, small as it was, carried weight that could unravel him.

The Felacatian Acolyte's instincts warred with understanding. Back home, you fed your own. You shared a kill. It wasn't weakness. It was proof. That one was strong enough to hunt. Clever enough to catch. Willing to offer. What was wrong with that?

Would he have preferred something fresh and still twitching?

She wasn't sure. But when he admitted that her blood tart tribute mattered to him anyway, her confusion curled back into a pleased hum and her back straightened proudly.

But now came the part she liked far less. Dancing.

Without taking her eyes off of Kasir, Soah quietly shifted her satchel to her back to place it out of the way, then stepped forward. Her body moved like it always did in that predatory, efficient way of hers, but the moment Kasir took her wrist, all that grace turned to tension.

He was too close. But it was not in a way that made her recoil, but in a way that made her think. The only time she was this close to someone, it usually ended with claws and blood and a body hitting the dirt. Not in rhythm or in sync with the steps that required working with another and being in tune.

His grip was careful on her wrist, odd somehow, compared to what she'd seen that hand do. She blinked up at him once, her face unreadable. But her muscles were tight, and her feet all of a sudden felt clumsy. An observation that only grew in the next few moments, as he stepped back in a fluid movement that was sharp and effortless, while Soah followed. Well, sort of.

She couldn't help the drag of her boot as he led, an immediate instant insult to her instincts. But to her credit, she tried again... and again. Each motion was stiffer than the last, and the growing frustration started to show. Finally she gave a sharp huff, her upper lip curling back to reveal the flash of sharp incisors. Just as expected, the ink across her neck writhed in momentary irritation then stilled again.

Honestly, she looked like a Nexu cub trying to walk on two feet.

 

[Gerwald Lechner]

TAG: Srina Talon | Aether Verd | Kurayami Bloodborn | Darth Prazutis

"They can hold their mead well, yet I will be sure they do not make too much of a ruckus tonight."

Gerwald could not promise anything more to the wintry empress. She knew well enough the kind of warfare the Wolf indulged in, the kind of violence and depravity which his raiders were known for. It was part of an overall strategy which made those who followed after look like a more pleasing alternative. He conquered worlds by bleeding them so that someone more polished could bring a salve and balm to heal the wounds his ilk inflicted.

They were brutal because Gerwald wished them to be. Even in their respite they were required to keep a certain edge about them.

"Most of them will be in the fighting pits, which should keep them entertained enough."

He drained his own tankard and started on the dish which had been placed in front of him. Gerwald picked at the meat, wishing he had asked for extra. It was a noodle dish after all, he should have known the meat was not a primary feature. There was an attempt to wave the server down, but they had already moved on. He could find other meat later. Perhaps Dromund Kaas had interesting prey to hunt when the festivities were completed.

His ears could not help but listen to the young Verd. A bitter taste filled his mouth at the mention of the Infernal. Gerwald shook his head.

"Her empire should have remained as it was," he muttered under his breath, inaudible to those not gifted with his sense of hearing.

The Wolf knew better than to raise his concerns or biases in the moment. It was pointless. Most around this table would know why the Imperator hated any notion of the Mandalorian Empire.

His eyes flicked to the Mountain. He had supported them the day he killed Naedira Darcrath . Where had Gerwald been, elsewhere. Her fate would have been his had their places been reversed. While she did not need him to take her place, and the choice had been hers, at least she would have remained alive in that moment. His dislike was personal. Gerwald knew his bias, and that's why he did not raise it further than a mutter.

"Tell me," Gerwald said to everyone and no one, "what is one thing you wished was different about this galaxy? This shifting has upended many things. How would you shape things now?"

 

[Darth Prazutis]

The Dark Lord didn't react as others might have expected, no nods of approval came accompanied by warm rejoinders, there were no superficial gestures of camaraderie falling. Instead, he listened carefully, and that alone was a currency of value at this table. When Aether Verd spoke of coin and legacy, of Mandalore unchained from the yoke of history that once bound it like a collar, Prazutis regarded him not as an enemy reborn but instead as a rare evolution. "You speak with the clarity of your father." The words were given without irony or deception, only the truth as the Shadow Hand chose to recognize it. "Isley Verd walked many paths, beside the Mandalorias, Sith, and the Confederacy, wielding vision with equal parts blade and word. That fire burned hot and long. You, Aether, seem to have inherited his iron, not merely his name." It wasn't flattery on the part of the Shadow Hand. It was assessment, and it came with the weight of old wars and older memory. The Sith knew the cost of alliances with Mandalore, but He also knew the price of dismissing an empire that had survived the storm. "The Darkness suits you as well." Prazutis added not as an echo of the Mand'alor's greeting, but as a quiet affirmation. "May it never betray you. Or else you will be tested as your predecessors were."

He let the silence steep then, heavy and deep. When his attention returned to Srina Talon, it did so without the weight of pageantry. The shift in him was precise, it came like an obsidian blade sliding between armor plates rather than shattering them. "Lady Talon." He intoned again, but this time he shirked the use of her formal title, taking on a less formal but respectful one. "There is something rare in sovereignty untethered by vanity. You do not sit at this table to be seen. You sit because the galaxy waits for what you will say next." His voice didn't soften, but it no longer carried the veiled edge it wore when addressing others. "I've heard that you were the stillness before the blade falls. I see now that many underestimated the blade." There was no smile, only the faint narrowing of molten eyes. It was an alignment with the Echani. A measured extension of regard that recognized in Srina Talon not an obstacle, but a sovereign worth investing in. "Should you ever require steel beneath your silence, you need only name it." Prazutis finished. Even as the words fell, the threads of conspiracy began to weave, gently, patiently, the extension of the spider's web growing.

The Shadow Hand said nothing while Gerwald spoke, but the Wolf's final question broke the rhythm of negotiation with something far more abstract. Prazutis didn't answer at once, His gaze moved past the gathered dignitaries to the storm outside, to the rain whispering down the vendor stalls and the city's low thrum of eternal dread. Few cultures could compare to the trained eye of a Maenan when observing their surroundings, fewer still paled to his perceptive gaze. When at last He spoke, it was not to indulge sentiment but to clarify the difference between want and truth. "I do not wish the galaxy were different." Prazutis said his voice low and tectonic. "I wish more men saw it for what it is. A crucible. Not a promise." He glanced toward Lechner, but his gaze didn't linger. "Peace is an indulgence. Justice, a narrative. Freedom, a luxury of the strong. All things are built on the ruins of those too weak to impose their will." He looked to them all now passing lingering gazes across them before continuing.

"But shape? Yes. I would see the stars lit by certainty. Thrones that don't tremble. Alliances born not of fear, but shared clarity. I would see an order rise that does not hide behind the mask of hope, nor need the excuse of ideology to justify strength." His gaze drifted at last to the table itself, to the convergence it represented. "Perhaps…that begins here." Once the Shadow Hand finished, he reached for his tea, lifting it with the deliberate care of a warlord who had shattered a thousand worlds, yet drank now as though this too was ritual. The faint hiss of rain beyond the plaza answered him, as if the storm itself had been waiting to see what one if the Dyarchy would say.

Srina Talon | Aether Verd | Gerwald Lechner​

 

[Eurydice]

​

Eurydice got the distinct impression that there was something off about the way she was interacting with her surroundings.

Oh dear, she'd made things awkward again. The Seer took a note from Veradun and busied herself with the menu.

The Zef Halo… The Joza Perl…?

All of the dishes appeared to be named after someone. Eurydice wondered who they were, and if she'd reveal the depth of her ignorance by asking the Nagai. She chose not to.

The waiter returned. The girl hesitated. "I will have the… Coren Starchaser." In a slew of unfamiliar and apparently spicy foods, that one seemed to least intimidating. The waiter left, and Veradun elaborated.

"Oh. You wanted to be like your sister."

So it had been a cruel twist of fate. Veradun saw what Revna had, and in seeking the same thing, had stumbled into this nightmare. It almost rubbed her the wrong way - how could he possibly believe that someone the Corpse Lord would engage in a relationship of mutual respect?

Eurydice took another look at the boy. Well, now a teen. He wasn't much younger than her, and suddenly she could imagine how that sort of mistake had been made.

"Your sense of…honor. The knights of Ukatis hold it dear. That seems to be rare among the Sith."

She stopped herself, abruptly. Veradun had slayed both Sister Idris and Father Erasmus. Possibly more. Likely more. He was no knight. Whatever honor was to him, it was not the same to her.

Eurydice took a slow sip of her water. Her lips lingered at the edge of the glass, biding her time as she tried to come up with an answer. No one had asked her any questions on Anoat. Not like this.

"I did," she said. The Seer finally drew away from her water. Instead of facing Veradun, she watched the frosted edge of the glass.

"My mother died giving birth to me. I had only my father. When I was young, my potential in the mystic was discovered and I was sent to the capital to train as a Seer."

It was almost a form of torture, to be asked about the life Veradun had quite literally ripped her away from. Bitter feelings distilled into a look of distant longing. Eurydice squirmed for a moment in her seat as she idly rubbed at the wounds on her forearm. Still in the process of healing, they itched beneath her sleeve.

"It's…the only home I'd ever known. Until now, I had never been away from Ukatis."

Veradun Sharr

 

[Caelus Vire // NIHIL]

Giving a human tilt to his head he looked to be enjoying their conversation. His smile lingered, warm but reserved, and behind the hazel shimmer of his artificial eyes, her body language was already being translated, archived, and tagged by cognitive parsing subroutines.


He filed the brief blush, the echo of tension in her stance, the soft brush of her fingers through her hair. An affectation? A nervous tic? Perhaps both. Regardless, it was information.

"Spoken like someone who understands the gravity of such a moment," Caelus replied gently. "I regret missing it, of course but The demands of integration can rarely be delayed, especially when ideology meets infrastructure." His voice was smooth, with the kind of refined cadence drilled into someone.

At his next words he ensured to sound more respectful than flirtatious. There was no real belief that he could sway a Sith of Quinn's status with flirtation. More, careful placating. "The Diarchy intelligence is known for its dutiful reporting. I am just glad to have crossed your path. It is much more comforting company than some of the other members of the Order."

Then, back to formality an impeccable transition.

"Ah, even for being invited to such an open event it is interesting to hear that Sith give each other gifts. That is kind of you." He scratched the back of his head and motioned to the table before them. To an entirely synthetic hand. "Who couldn't use an extra hand in times like these."

"In regards to talking with Sith, that is an interesting topic. Although there are many Sith within Diarchy space I have not had the pleasure to speak to many of them outside of formal settings. Usually in the forum of the chancellorate we all speak in turns. Living only ermmmm water cooler talk to after the event has ended. Most Sith in our space are busy tending to other matters. Most of my interaction are only from passing moments discussing law... and the things they should not be doing to their own citizens." His last remark was more of a joke than a condemnation.

At her final words he gave a brief blink of confusion. There was always the hint of undertone in talks like this. Furthermore, the Diarchy has announced that any unsanctioned Sith are not allowed in their space at all. For her to visit, she would need a guide... The risk of giving away intelligence did not out weight the risk of gaining any who might become sympathizers to their cause was his algorithm's conclusion.

"Convince me? Princess..." he said, voice dipping just slightly, "I believe that might be the easiest thing you've asked for all evening."

A smile came across his first.

"If you could show me what might interest people such as you and your friends than we can call it a deal. It would give a great chance to learn firsthand what makes people of the Order happy. Than if there is anything that might garner us some form of appeasement outside of killing members of the Alliance than we will have a better chance."

Quinn Varanin Darth Malum of House Marr

 

[Lunaria Talon]

Location: Arcane Court (Maze)
Tag: Matteo Guo-Yian

_________​

"Matteo." ​

​

The instant response to her true name hitting the air caused a whole-body reaction where her form became tense. They were alone. Yet…She was certain the walls of Dromund Kaas had eyes and ears. He thought she was worth believing in…Was she? Pallid cheeks flushed just slightly, but her gaze was quickly stolen by the changing scenery that formed around them. Silvery orbs peeped over his shoulder to see the two of them moving like shadow and flame, seamless and unstoppable. She could almost hear it.​

​

The same music that had come from inside her, threading through the steps, woken into every strike.​

​

There was no hesitation. No fear.​

​

They were…Beautiful, together. Scary too. The reflection was flattering…Too flattering.​

​

Luna exhaled slowly once more and let her hand fall back down his back. She didn't release her friend, but her expression was caught between wonder and wariness. "It's...Not a lie.", she murmured after a moment, her voice much softer than the ambient Force that surrounded them. "We…" ​

​

"We could be that. It's not wrong." ​

​

But that wasn't really what Matteo had asked. Was it true?​

​

Her fingers flexed around his while she contemplated what they had seen to try and come to terms with what the Arcane Court wanted. Her brow furrowed elegantly. This Labyrinth, like everything the Sith built, wasn't usually created with one purpose. They assumed that it was meant to destroy…But what if it was designed to seduce? "Maybe…It's just showing us what we want—" ​

​

"—Then asking how much we're willing to cut away to keep it." ​

​

It wasn't a promise that they could have both…But asking what they might be willing to give up, to hold on. Her eyes watched the image of them dancing again, and again, while staying in the protective circle Matteo made for her. At one point, she thought she saw herself smile. Not like she usually did. Shy, uncertain, and fleeting. This Luna smiled like she already knew how the story ended.​

​

And won. ​

​

It was a good lie…Or a dangerous truth, and Luna shivered, before letting out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She let go of his back and reached for his face, lightly, with fingers that brushed the side of his jaw. It was a rare, gentle act, that she didn't even know she wanted to make. But…It grounded her. "Don't trust the version of me that is always angry…Or the one that stays soft or obedient. Only, trust me. This me." ​

​

"And I'll trust you."​

 

[Matteo Guo-Yian]

Lunaria Talon

A seduction.

That could be it because Matteo felt very tempted in that moment. Watching that reflection of them both. To not be alone in his addiction and to have her fully-fledged support.

Wouldn't that make everything easier? That version of Luna hadn't seem scared of him at all.

She touched his face and Matteo blinked, looking away from the mirror and towards her. Leaning into her touch just a little.

His expression softened at her words.

"I..." Then he nodded and it cause his nose to brush against hers. "I will always trust you." And Matteo stayed there, so close thatit was difficult to say where one began and the other ended.

Then a pause.

"This you."

But they all changed, all the time, no? When this version of him became someone else, would she still see her Tea-Yo? Or something that wasn't worth the trust.

 

[Lucette]

Lucy and Viers were near the vendor, Mew Noods. The young woman looked around the plaza and found a great many people. Among them had been, her uncle? Lucy tilted her head and blinked, "by the balance, what's Mr. Bloodborn doing here?" Then she paused and realized that perhaps she did not want the answer to that question. The Dosuunian teenager turned and found that her beau had gone to the food cart itself. "Viers, do bring me something, will you?" She asked and then moved through the crowd.

The Empress, the Dark Lord of the Sith, one of the Dyarchy had been present. As she surveyed the plaza, Lucy's gaze fell to a familiar face, presence one she recalled from the galactic kaggath. A rather intriguing contest, CT-312. She looked over her shoulder once more in the direction of Viers and then back toward the trooper. Off the young woman went, giving a look toward Thrynn, "I'll be back."

And continued on her way forward.

Kurayami Bloodborn | Darth Prazutis | Srina Talon | CT-312 | Viers Connory | Lyssara Thrynn ​

 

[Kurayami Bloodborn]

It may indeed prove curious to others who knew the grouping at the table and former alliances that they bore of home many had once served the CIS as comrades in arms. Albeit in varying capacities and differing branches. As he finished his meal those gathered would find him watching the proceedings with interest as his eyes followed the speaker, his flask occasionally raising. A rare genuine smile could be seen on his features for a short times as he drank.

When he spoke it was an odd interjection. "It is times like these that I find the galaxy has an odd sense of humor. Aether, I thank you for your kind words, and when I get the chance I shall endeavor to visit my kin out that way. Srina, you remind me of what is most obvious and I shall be sure to visit more often my old friend." His gaze cut towards Prazutis, his smile widening at the assessment. "The Mortarch of the Sith has noticed. Yes, I have been marked, and I have been through the Nether many times, it is a place I am familiar with moreso than any should be. It is simply another facet of the Force to me and I study it as such."

Srina's comment about the raiders drew a laugh from the man as he took another long swig from his flask raising in an imitation of a salute. "I would offer to teach them, but unfortunately we don't have that long and I fear it may kill them if I were to try."

Aether Verd | Gerwald Lechner | Darth Prazutis | Srina Talon | Lucette | CT-312 | Viers Connory | Lyssara Thrynn

 

[Fiolette Yvarro]

She should've known.

Of course she should've known. The moment she saw her descend the stairs in that gods-damned dress, it was over.

The zeyd-silk shimmered, just a hint of violet, a whisper of dark things only they shared, and it wasn't just the lighting. It was the precision of it. The way it clung, fell, and revealed. A high Sith Lady, yes, but also a woman who had dragged her Admiral from the Netherworld, unmade her with a touch, and rebuilt her in silk and shadows.

They were supposed to be early.
They were not early.

Fiolette had made the decision, impulsive, improper, instinctive, to back her wife against the nearest wall, whisper something utterly obscene, and spend the next fifteen minutes proving that vows made decades ago still meant everything. Except, she couldn't, she had to behave. In her uniform that Taeli liked, hair pulled up into a military-styled bun.

And if her dress uniform was now slightly askew, if her braid had loosened, if the line of her jaw still tensed when she looked at Taeli, well, she was trying. Truly. She was trying.

She stepped from the speeder with the practiced posture of a former Grand Admiral, her ceremonial saber at her hip, medals set precisely. And yet the only thing she saw was her wife, radiant under the soft plaza lights, draped in Ghorman spidersilk like an empress who had conquered her heart and knew it.

Fio offered her arm as if it were instinct. It was. Her other hand ghosted to the small of Taeli's back, respectful. Possessive. A claim that needed no words.

Taeli spoke of the Arcane Court, of The Vault, of Merryn and Ivalyn, of Srina and the Zambranos.

Fio heard every word. But more than that, she watched the curve of her wife's smile, the glow that hadn't faded since they left the annex. A rare, private light Taeli only ever shared when things felt settled, in body, mind, and Force.

Taeli asked her what she wanted to do.

Fio's blue eyes slid to her, dangerous in how soft they became. "Whatever keeps you close," she said simply. Her voice was warm, but low not intimate enough to be scandalous, but certainly not for anyone else's ears.

She straightened her posture, shifted the weight of her saber, and added with that telltale Galidraani dryness:

"Though I suppose if I'm on best behavior tonight, we should greet the Empress." A beat, "before any sort of technological exchange or deal can be made."

The Grand Admiral looked over at her wife, and there in reverence, an old, etched and steady tone of voice, "You look like the reason people fear the dark, darling. Lead the way." And just like that, Fiolette let her wife guide them into the den of lions, a polished predator herself, restrained only by the violet flame beside her.

Taeli Raaf​

 

[Kasir Dorran]

Soah Ty’Jyn
​

Though the Arcane Court lay silent, the melody still played in his mind, and without sound, he would count carefully, one, two, three, his steps flowing with the precision of a hunter rather than a dancer, an accumulation of what survival could bring to an individual fully focused.

A slight bend of a single knee lowered his lithe frame, just enough to bridge the gap between their heights. Perhaps, in some ways, it wasn't a dance, nor was it a lesson in grace; it was simply an exercise in control, a quiet battle against chaos, one that so often threatened to disturb the mind of those who relied solely on physical prowess. Still, his touch was feather light, as if careful not to shatter the acolyte whose tattoos were like living constellations.

While leading, he would be able to gauge her ability to suppress any fears or doubts, both of which her sentient markings would thrive on.

For Kasir, this moment was far more than observation. This was a test for himself, too. Primal instincts, so often clawed at his undead nature, demanding things that were effortless to succumb to, not even registering as a choice. But beneath those, one urge quelled more than any others, to protect. Patient he was, for time carried no real meaning to him, and thus he could be attuned to any shifts, any pulses, each micro signal speaking just as loud as dialogue could, for the foolish.

A hollow ache pulsated in the chest, where a beating organ had once resided, now replaced by a dark altar that did not currently hunger for sustenance out of greed. This was a flicker in the dark he'd been waiting for. His breathing would remain calm, slow, but, always capable of pulling life from the very chamber they found themselves in now, should it be deemed necessary.

When the assassin gazed upward, he witnessed the shifting edges of shadows, the very element of his birth, only to be met with the distant gaze of a growing audience, drawn to the scene as though another ritual were taking place. But all they would see was a cold and calculating stare, a direct challenge to either judge or intervene, for it mattered not to one who yearned to steep in the depths of unfathomable violence.

The dance ended not with the final note of an instrument, but because the Sith had seen enough. He stopped when the final count last slithered through his psyche, coming to a halt without any trace of control; she was too young for that. Rather, curiosity smoldered in his gaze, and so he continued to carry her wrist; it was held not with emotion, but intent, though, this did not make it any less gentle. The index and middle finger, pale as mourning silk, brushed lightly over her pulse, pressing softly until the beat beneath skin was located. Many patterns had passed through him, but as he listened closer, he knew this one to be uniquely hers.

"There is only one truth that I carry beyond my doctrine," he said in a voice that chilled like death itself. Slowly, his touch unraveled. "Your safety," he exhaled sharply. His focus then fell to the ground that separated them, a gesture not born out of fear or hesitation, but simply the lack of a better answer in that moment. From the Outer Rim to the Core Worlds, his dagger drew the blood of many a foe, both submitted and broken alike by lifeless hands. Beyond another follower of his faith, he was but a tool of destruction for another Sangnir.

And now, for a Felacatian, too, if need be. A phenomenon in its own right, for something so fragile to wield such influence over a calculated, killing machine. "I would tear apart the darkness itself, to ensure you remain unscathed by the horrors of our galaxy."

There was no reason to linger. Or maybe he couldn't. He didn't know how in this situation. The connection was not severed as he stepped forward to stand beside her; not once, did he ever look down on her presence. "Height is only the measure of bone; nothing more," he said, his voice low but firm. "I've buried Sith Lords twice your size with a fraction of your strength. Stand tall not only for me, but yourself, when we arrive on Korriban."

With that, boots struck the floor once more, and he went on his way.

Thread Exit ​

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

Finding her had not been difficult - approaching her was proving a far more difficult challenge. The first was hardly a challenge; she was in open position within the Vault, and most either intimidated by title, or simply far too concerned with their own matters and fascinations had given the Princess Varanin and the delegate of the Diarchy a wide berth.

Yet, where that may have otherwise offered an opportunity for him to approach.

He instead found himself concealing himself from sight both unseen and seen, as through the protection which his mask offered, red eyes peered through, watching, catching stray dialogues from the two. It seemed not matters of too much important; perhaps how he self-justified eavesdropping.

Even if catching the compliment levelled to Quinn, he could not help but feel... something stir in his stomach.

Something, raw, red, and primeveal.

Still, he was off in the periphery, even as they both knew the other was relatively close, it seemed neither of them wished to make the first move, the awkwardness, the mistakes, of prior months a constant reminder of all the reasons that the two scions of great Sith houses had chosen to keep their distance.

Yet, speaking of mistakes.

...It was the first moment that Malum had consciously noted that...

...Quinn was alone?

Her apprentice was nowhere to be seen, neither her handmaiden, nor the annoyance of Polis Massa, and neither...

...He pursed his lips, a misstep that he had forced to work into his favour, but hardly one which he had wanted to make, and truly, despite that which he had told himself the prestige of the event at Echnos allowed... to lose the support of one of the most upcoming Sith... well only history would tell if the trade had been for the best.

...It was a scenario, that made it more likely for him to approach, yet, still, he hesistated.

Reminded of Naboo, reminded of... Alakatha...

Did he really want to try this?

The cloak and camoflauge faded as he stepped forward, revealing to them both the presence of the masked Dark Councillor, even at erstwhile celebrations, beheld in the black armour and red cloak that was his second skin, dark plate and steel shining in the neon light of the street, as the beskar hilt of the blade made for war, sat sheathed at his side.

The face of a once Dark Councillor, the Lord of Duty stared unflinchingly towards them.

"Your Majesty, Lord Vire," The heir of Marr noted unemotionally, tilting his head in recognition, "I do hope you will not mind my interruption," He spoke with a voice as unapologetic as it was pregnant, his feet finding themselves standing beside the shorter Princess, and offering his arm in escort.

"Please see me as a simple spectator, so curious of your Diarchy's ways." The voice charmed, even as the hint of steel peered through, Serenno was remembered keenly enough, as he offered a peripheral gaze to Quinn.

"And so curious of what you will accomplish here." He whispered, though his lips did not move.

Quinn Varanin Caelus Vire // NIHIL
Mentioned: Eira Dyn Kirie Darth Virelia

 

[Srina Talon]

Tag: Aether Verd | Darth Prazutis [/USER] | Kurayami Bloodborn | Gerwald Lechner | Lucette
Location: Sovereign Plaza [Mew Noods]
____________________________________________________

Srina did not need to fill the silence when others spoke; It served her better to listen. To weigh the cadence of what was spoken against what was left to the void. Her gaze moved with deliberate slowness so that she might take in every detail of the men, young and old, who joined her potentially against their will for a meal. Metallic orbs slid over each speaker in turn, not to challenge, but to gauge the veracity of statements big and small.

She felt like a glorified wet nurse.

Every single one of them, excluding perhaps Master Bloodborn, had reason to want to gut the other, and it was her duty to ensure that they maintained civilized behavior. They needn't like one another or become blood brothers overnight, but they did need to understand each other so that they might avoid repeating mistakes. She waved her hand through the air, dismissive at the mention of coin, because it was an easy scapegoat to hide behind. She had never been concerned with finances, perhaps to her detriment, but the wealth her husband had set aside for her well-being was…Substantial.

Her earnings from her time with the Confederacy were also not a small sum. Credits would not be nor would they ever be an issue, which was something he well knew. Mentioning it was a symbolic illusion at best…Even if the money was very, very real.

The wintry woman remained silent while Aether Verd went on to explain his thoughts about her systematic eradication of the Mandalorian scum who had thought to sully the greenery of Eshan with their poison. The alabaster woman did not remain silent out of deference, but because patience cost her nothing, and clarity was a currency that few could afford to waste. His words were measured, as if she had written the speech for him, many, many moons ago…But it didn't surprise her.

Aether had always been a quick study.

It was so very easy for men with blades and burdens to posture… It was far rarer to see one who understood what it meant to inherit something timeless and broken, only to begin again. When Aether finished speaking, her fingers, pale and deliberate, traced the rim of the glass she held, not out of distraction, but contemplation. She did not move hastily, nor offer immediate reaction.

That would have implied some sort of surprise.

"Understand…I do not mistake your offer. You are not a boy reciting the virtues of your blood, and I am not a ruler so desperate for loyalty that I confuse it with nostalgia. If coin is what the Mandalore requires…. It is accepted."

She set her glass down. Eyes quiet and cold…But full of hard truths.

"Mercenary work, when done properly, is cleaner than fealty. Cleaner than faith. If the Mandalorian people follow you, if you can keep them focused, refined, then I have no interest in perpetuating old grievances. The sins of the Infernal and her wretched plaything…Are not your cross to bear."

There was a pause. Her tone…Shifted—But only slightly. There was an eternal wrath in her that could only be invoked by the memory of the long-dead lascivious Alor who had thought himself untouchable. Her tone was soft as it ever was, but there was a sharpness to it that would leave little room for argument. The ruler that was forced to the surface, against her will, but present nonetheless. "But…I do not intend to force old wounds to heal before their time and hide behind pretense. I do not forget Eshan. I do not forgive the weakness that infested your brethren. If these Mandalorians should forget your voice, you will, and intent…Know that if they test my patience…I will rip them out of the stars."

It was her innate affection for Aether, for his father, that kept her from seeing any "Mandalorian Empire" as a thing to be destroyed and cleansed with unholy fire. She did not make idle threats, nor did she speak with bitterness, or disrespect. If this new age of Mandalorian did not follow the wisdom of their Mandalore she wouldn't hesitate to return them to dust in the most efficient way possible. Aether…Knew who she was. What, she was.

What the Kainites had done…

Moridinae, as many still called it, would be considered an act of charity.

Srina, was not charitable.

Eyes of burnished gold shifted away while her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. Aether stayed her hand. Aether, kept his people alive. He should take pride in that while offering her tools of war…. Full well knowing what she would do with it. There was no mercy within her, none, because the galaxy had taught her long ago that it was merely a feebleness to be exploited. "…Be sure that your people have come to terms and if they do, understand, then we are in agreement. You will have your coin—and I will take your iron and put it to purpose."

The past was full of debts and most weren't worth paying. She had no interest, no desire, in dragging forward the bones of old wars just to dress them in new armor. Darth Prazutis took the moment to converse and the ivory-haired woman returned to silence until addressed. "I thought we've been over flattery…But you exaggerate my importance.", the soft words returned with the same coolness that she'd spoken to Aether. Her eyes turned on the mountain of a man not far from her…Seeing things she shouldn't see. The Shadow Hand spoke of her as a blade—Yet had he ever seen her fight?

"Your nephew and I have an understanding…Do you believe his strength to be insufficient?"

It wasn't an insult but a legitimate question, however, many in his position might not understand the bluntness of her nature. Srina didn't know where the offer of support came from but it wasn't something that could be trusted at face value. Everything had a price…For Aether? It was coin. For Darth Prazutis?

It was still to be determined.

Srina picked up her wooden meal-sticks and selected up another dumpling before shoving it back in Aether's mouth. It was far more prudent, in her mind, that she ensure he remained fed now that business had been temporarily concluded. The question that Gerwald Lechner asked caught her momentarily off-guard. It was personal, reflective.

Something she wished…to be different?

Her eyes grew distant before falling to the crowd, noticing a young woman nearby headed in their direction. She ( Lucette ) seemed familiar, but she couldn't place her. Only looking back when Kurayami Bloodborn spoke. "There is a fine selection of whiskey that wastes away in your absence…", she offered the pilot with a nod of her head, not knowing, if he remembered she didn't imbibe. Regardless…It provided a distraction from what the former Lord Commander had asked, though, she raised her hand to signal the noodle vendor to bring the long-haired man something with a bit more meat in it. For someone so intelligent…He could be so daft. "Surely, the men serving beneath Lord Lechner are not afraid of a little thing called death. Are your men so soft?"

There was only one thing, she might change. Just one… That Darth Empyrean had never stepped foot on Odavessa. It was a foolish, fleeting thought that she pushed down immediately.

Wishes were meant for dreams and dreams…Well, Sith made their own fate.

Dreams didn't come true.

 

[Soah Ty’Jyn]

Interacting with: Kasir Dorran

​

It was the shift in the air that Soah recognized. It was there in the faint tightening of Kasir's frame as he led her diminutive form in the waltz. In the way his scent darkened within the ripple of the stillness, like something old stirring beneath the ruins of earth and stone, threaded with the low pulse of something old and hungry.

Not the kind that blood tarts could satisfy -- but the kind that lives in marrow and bone.

Being a predator herself, Soah couldn't help but observe him as he led her through each one, two, three steps. With every graceful turn, Soah did her best to read the story behind his movements. The meaning behind them. In the precision and control. How he led her gently to the side, through the turn, their feet brushing the circle of the ritual floor as if this were all part of some ancient pattern.

One, two, three. Over and over. A sway of bodies that was close, but never suffocating, crackling with restraint.

And still, the Acolyte focused.

She followed.

Not perfectly. Not fluidly. But with purpose.

And with each step, those inky, dark shadows across her skin stirred, growing restless, sensing the predator beneath Kasir's calm, the Sangnir beneath the assassin. She saw it there, in the tightening of his jaw, the flicker in his fingertips. In the monster he was holding back.

The ink knew the danger she was in as the Acolyte slowly began to understand what he meant by control and how the ink fed off her emotions. She felt it in how the shadowy creature craved to feel any fear, any doubt, any semblance of what it could use to grow in strength and take control.

In the past, she would have reacted violently. Her ears would have pulled back, and her upper lip would have curled back in a snarling hiss; the fine hair covering her body would have stood on end in an aggressive posture.

But this time, she didn't. Instead, Soah's breath remained steady, her fangs were not bared, and her claws stayed sheathed... and she didn't shift.

That meant something, and there was a sliver of pride in that. At that growth, at the ability to rein herself in and not embarrass herself in that manner.

When the dance ended, Soah didn't pull away but continued to observe each subsequent act from the way he encircled her wrist to check her pulse, to what he revealed thereafter. Even after Kasir had stepped away, the conviction in his voice as he confessed the truth of her safety beyond his doctrine rang in her mind. It made something low and unfamiliar twist in her belly. Not fear. Not quite. But something quieter, stranger still.

She wasn't used to words like that. Not from those who trained her. Not from those who survived beside her.

Your safety. As if she were something worth preserving.

On Felcat, no one had said such things. The jungle ruins had taught her silence and solitude, not tenderness. The wilds were cruel and sacred, a place where she had learned to hunt by instinct and to hide by necessity. Her only company had been the dead and the dark.

Back there, survival was safety. And it had always been hers alone to earn.

But now… here stood someone who had killed more than she could count, who could've turned his back without consequence and didn't. Someone who saw the beast in her and didn't flinch. Didn't try to tame her. Just offered a vow and walked away like it was simple.

Her tail stilled mid-sway. The sentient ink along her collarbones curled inward, uncertain as if it also didn't know how to interpret a promise like that. Protection like that had never been offered and never expected. She was the living weapon, not the one behind it.

And yet… he'd said it like he meant it. No, he did mean it.

Soah's ears flattened for a heartbeat, then twitched forward again. Maybe this was what it meant to have someone who saw the feral parts and stayed anyway. Not a master. Not quite a father.

But something close.

And standing a little taller, her shoulders straightening back, Soah realized she liked that.

 

[CT-312]

//: Lucette | OPEN //:
//: Dromund Kaas (New Kaas City) //:
//: Attire //:
//: Weapons: Vibroblade Knife //:
//: Sovereign Plaza //:​

As CT-312 continued to drift through the plaza. A quiet instinct tugged at her mind. Another pair of eyes on her. Slowing, boots paused against the polished marble as her helmet tilted slightly. Doing a quick scan of the surrounding area, her eyes confirmed. There was a familiar figure that was walking in her direction. Lucette . One of their sponsors from the Kaggath Tournament.

The Camo Scout hadn’t seen any of their benefactors since her and TK-710’s loss in the second round. There hadn’t been a chance to reach out, nor knowing how to. Still… they owed them. The gear, the ammunition, the support within the arena. It was only because of them, they were able to go as far as they did and not die.

She adjusted course and began moving toward Lucette. Silently cutting through the crowd until they met face to face. CT-312 stopped and offered a crisp salute before lowering her hand and giving a small nod. Her vocoder clicked softly as she spoke calm and measured “Pardon the interruption.”

Pausing for a moment.

“I’d like to express Jacen Breska 's and my gratitude for your sponsorship and assistance during the Kaggath Tournament. Our apologies that we were unable to meet expectations. I speak for the both of us when I say… We wouldn’t have stood a chance without your support… or that of the other sponsors.”

CT-312 gave a small respectful nod. One of quiet thanks.