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

[Srina Talon]

Tag: Direct: Aether Verd | Darth Prazutis | Gerwald Lechner
Nearby: Wrathian Kell | Kurayami Bloodborn | Ivalyn Yvarro
Location: Sovereign Plaza [Mew Noods]
____________________________________________________

It didn't take long for friends and enemies to gather nearby, even though, the alchemical runes in her cloak heavily suppressed her presence in the Force. It was to be expected. She quietly paid the vendor for her meal without glancing back toward the eyes that followed her. There were so many pairs that it made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Not from fear or feeling threatened…Simply for the fact that it happened. It brought an unnatural awareness that was only emphasized by the scent of warm, woody incense burning. It turned the night air into something…

New.

Once seated at a long table just a few feet from the food vendors…Srina broke apart the thin pieces of wood that had been provided from Mew Noods as utensils with a little crack. It took a moment…But eventually, she got the meal-sticks to rest lightly between her fingers. They became cradled in the curve between her thumb and forefinger, with the lower stick anchored gently against the base of her hand. They didn't seem to grip as much as they guided, which, caused her shoulders to shrug in surprised acceptance. It was strange…But it worked.

The pale woman had barely taken a bite, swallowing, while a man ( Aether Verd ) claimed the seat across from her.

Her lips quirked to the side at the snark, causing her to pause beneath her hood, before she began separating a piece of seafood into a workable bite. "No one said you had to watch.", she murmured, tone dry, but there was a certain warmth beneath her chilled surface. With a flick of her meal-sticks that she made look simple, efficient, she lifted a bite of her stew—and held it out across the table. "Here…Before you waste away entirely, being so very far from home..."

It was offered with a grace so gentle that it almost disarmed the setting around them. Almost. Here sat not a warrior, not the mythosaur-skulled symbol of a revived Mandalore, but the child she had once taught to disarm opponents with his eyes long before he learned to wield a weapon. That part of him was not gone; He was still, as he was, what he would always be—In her eyes.

Aether. And Aether…Regardless of title, position, or power would always be enough.

She paused when that feeling of being watched increased and her head turned…It wasn't often that pureblood Sith made themselves known in this day and age. Eyes of orange fire momentarily settled on a red-skinned male ( Wrathian Kell ) who both stood out and seemed completely at ease in equal measure. Regardless of his presence, his intent, he would find that when his eyes turned to her, the very expanse of the abyss looked back. Unknowable, unfathomable. Her attention returned to the Mandalorian across from her, who was brave enough not to wear his helm.

"How am I?", the seemingly delicate creature echoed, liquid gold eyes shuttering for a moment, not in evasion, but calculation. "I am still standing….But aware that time has teeth."

Her reply was honest…As much as any Sith could afford in a crowd like this. She pulled back to the stew and gave him another bite, whether he wanted it or not. "You seem taller."

A distant, cold, however thoughtful observation.

"…Or perhaps I've gotten smaller."

Before she could continue, another presence coalesced.

Not approached. Not announced. Coalesced.

It was Darth Prazutis in all his towering monstrosity. Where the diminutive Empress had entered Sovereign Plaza with nary a ripple, his entry was loud enough to pierce the hull of a ship. Srina reached up and removed the hood that obfuscated her features, letting her hair fall, moonlit silk threaded with gold. It was a woven contrast, braided and loose, that sat in contrast to the stark and empty geometry of her face. Her eyes lifted to the family of Darth Carnifex without any of the familiarity that she held with the Butcher King. Behind a frost-born gaze…Something tightened and chilled.

She did not rise. For it was he who declared her "Empress" in this setting…It was he who could adhere to custom and protocol. It was he, who could decide whether or not, even the deference that Darth Carnifex bestowed to her was worth following through with. Actions often spoke louder than words…But in a single word? Srina, knew all that was required.

"Shadow Hand…", the Echani spoke evenly, the syllables deliberate. Not cold. Not warm. "Dromund Kaas has fared better than many worlds beneath the Emperor's sight…It is plain to see that she has been spared the recent ravages of war. The storm—"

Srina did not break eye contact even though she had to crane her neck to see who loomed over her. If there was any ounce of fear or defiance in her…It wouldn't be seen. She was the cold, quiet, emotionless mother of this empire, and she would not be moved regardless of who claimed this holy world for their collection. "—Has been productive."

The daughter of the Six Sisters would not so easily release the debts that he owed to her, the blood, on his ledger. It was a diplomatic response between individuals that did not know one another outside of a warfront. Opposing, warfronts. But diplomacy…Was not tolerance. It was patience with teeth.

Srina could kill a man with the meal-sticks she held so delicately before anyone could raise a finger.

But…Let them think her soft. Harmless.

The arrivals were not through, it seemed, not whilst the music swelled and the Plaza filled with people from all over the verse. If she didn't know any better, she would have sworn that she could smell the Light Side flickering here and there. A shining light, devoured by shadow. It was in that moment that Gerwald Lechner arrived, and her eyes closed once more at the sensation of his rage. It would never quell completely, but it was what sharpened him. Made him strong.

"…Don't just stand there like lost old men… Order something, and be seated."

The words that flowed weren't all that official, nor were they snappish and rude. Make no mistake, however, that it was not a request. They could adhere to her command or disperse.

 

[Zayid the Lion]

THE PIT

The Pit welcomed him with noise and light and war.

Zayid passed beneath its archway like a shadow slipping through flame. His beskar’gam was not the iron gray of his peers. Rather, it was radiant, etched in burnished gold, and wrapped in rich fabric of vibrant hues. The folds of his saffron shawl shifted with every step, trimmed in patterns of ancestral origin. It moved like prayer cloth in a sandstorm. The stormlight above cast a muted gleam across his armor, catching on the filigree worked into each plate.

The air inside was thick with spice and smoke, oil and blood, the thunder of droid violence and drunken shouts rising with every simulated death. Somewhere beyond, steel rang against bone and breathless awe followed. The Pit before him was alive.

Zayid moved with calm purpose, not toward the sabacc tables or the mental dueling chambers, but toward the fighting ring lined in obsidian and lit from beneath. The Lion did not come to place a wager. He simply stood at the edge and gazed inward, as though weighing the soul of the arena itself.

Then his hand rose. Two fingers touched the brow of his helm, then lowered to rest over his heart.

“Ta’raysh Manda.” he said softly, a vow threaded through every syllable. May the Manda see this offering.

Silence answered...Then he stepped into the ring.

From his back he unslung the war staff and drove its end into the floor with a sharp crack. The resulting din rang like a signal. He stood beside it like a sentinel of some forgotten temple, untouched by the chaos around him. There, he waited, as lions did...

For the one brave enough to meet his eyes.​

Jacen Breska​

 

[Varin Mortifer]

Madrona A’Mia Lysander von Ascania

His eyes met with A’mias as she spoke to him, not averting his gaze.

"You will keep that companion of yours well under control, yes? I'll not suffer foolish actions or wonton destruction today."

He smirked ever so slightly.

“I can certainly try, Professor, the last thing I want to do is sully your name or embarrass you or your teachings.”

After hearing her suggestion the young apprentice reached out with his senses, closing his eyes to cancel out one sense to heighten his feeling through the force. He could sense so much in such a concentrated area, at least the ones who weren’t hiding. The feeling of each individual's strength in the force fluctuated. Some lower and mid spectrums others were higher. But he couldn’t help but sense something within the festival. Feelings of items that held some form of sith magic and power. Instantly he was drawn to it. It wasn’t very strong, he was still very limited in the radius that he could detect, but regardless it was still a pull, a call to him. Something was there that wanted HIM to discover it. Almost as if it were anxiousness or excitement, his heart rate leapt in pace for a bit, his fingers were antsy. For now though, he would stay with his crew until he knew for sure that they wouldn’t get into trouble, then perhaps he could sneak away for just a bit.

You feel it too don’t you boy? That pull. It calls to us. We must find it. Ignati’s voice dripped with a possessive nature, almost like a starving predator clinging on to a small morsel of meat.

We will in time. Varins response was quick and quiet as an attempt to silence the voice so he can remain in control. All of the concentrated dark force energy was riling him up inside though.

Ignati growled low in his ear like two heavy stones grinding together and he could feel a heat on the back of his neck as if he was breathing on him.

You grow stagnant, boy. You show patience when it should be action. It bores me to no end, I was promised a warrior's body. Yet here you are, playing guardian. It sickens me.

Varin growled under his breath.

“You’re just too kind today, cooperate with me for now and I promise you will be rewarded with something soon.”

It’s always soon! I grow weary of it. I need blood. His words shot like venom into Varins head causing him to wince slightly.

“You are in my body, you would not exist without me. I could fix that at any time, you remember that, and you remember it well. If we were to do what you wanted right now, you might as well throw yourself into oblivion.”

The voice went silent allowing Varin to take a deep breath and catch his own thoughts as he kept with his crew, a little ways back but he was still with them.

 

[Lirka Ka]

SOVERIGN PLAZA
TAGS: Open

Like a moth to a flame, Lirka Ka had come to Sovereign Plaza. Her ego demanded it so. The plaza was to be a place to host the propaganda that the Order had so carefully crafted over the years, and as Imperator of the newly risen Third Legion, she considered propaganda her domain as much as any now. Of course, she was presenting herself as the propaganda. The dark shadow of Darth Carnifex had been cast by the Sepulchral priests - wretched things lived in the dark places of the Galaxy, and in the long shadow of the Eternal Father? Lirka Ka considered herself one of the paramount beasts in his menagerie of freaks.

The Once Sephi stood as a massive bulwark of dark iron plates, now adorned with the fineries of wealth and power. A regal killer, cape of fine crimson flowing from her back and glittering gems from dozens of worlds smattered across her features in ceremonial plates and bizarre alien jewelry. For all the wealth, there was an air of savagery behind it all. The pelt of some great beast lay across her shoulder plates, knick-knacks, and small trophies from her many battlefields. The Imperator had styled herself a regal warlord, like the greatest of any of the Sith Lords and Ladies - she was the storm of the Sith now, her Legion was to be the tool by which the culture of the Eternalist Church would be pushed into the unknown. There was a regality in such a thing, beyond mere fire and brimstone. Yet, the storm was a savage thing. She would dance between those blades as she always did.

Of course, the presence of Carnifex and Darth Prazutis both certainly made it...difficult for the Once-Sephi to focus as much as she'd have liked for her boisterous display. The brand upon her head itched like fire, the rancid foulblood within her veins writhed, being so close to the Eternal-Father awoke the dormant power that had been born of their marriage of flesh and blood. The thumping in the back of her head compelled her forward, it mattered all the more to make a "good impression" to the Empire and their various allies and enemies. The Butcher King deserved to see his pet project flourish after all.

Presentation was one thing - actually making it happen, well. That was a whole other debacle, the true battle she would fight today. These sort of...gatherings. Were far from Lirka's preferred domain, parties were more of a matter for the Once-Sephi to skulk around and find some interesting faces. But she moved in such a way to bring the spotlight upon herself today. Social masochism, in its own way. She didn't "eat" like the rest of this lot, which made the various food vendors an irrelevancy. She only really liked to dance when both parties had a shiv in hand, and well...she hadn't figured out what the Primordial Dark felt about music yet.

Now, she merely scanned slit-lenses around the crowd to find something interesting. She saw plenty of familiar faces, some she enjoyed, other she didn't particularly like, but today Ka felt far more compelled to present her boisterous display to those uninitiated with the...intensity of Lirka Ka.

 

[Wrathian Kell]

Sovereign Plaza
Tag/interaction: (Nearby: Srina Talon Darth Prazutis Gerwald Lechner Aether Verd ) (Direct: Eira Dyn )


Wrathian was a stray wolf surrounded by a pack. More than a pack, there were other animals too. Snarling, posturing. Loud in every way that proved- Nothing. Srina Talon 's void was one of those postures, yes a presence of strength with unmistakable frigidness and honesty. Yet- Force did he admire her? Please.

Yet he still figured it was a gaze meant to unsettle him. It didn't. No Wrathian had seen that abyss before, in his fathers eyes. That fool ended his life missing the lower half of his mid section carved away by someone he called friend. It was a tale as old as... well himself. Instead he let her abyss gaze onward, and simply drink in his presence. Regal, radiant, unyielding, and devoid of weakness. Though not a rival, not a threat. He was simply no longer a boy chasing an empire. He was a man who wanted his home.

Speaking of posturing. As Darth Prazutis walked past him to join the man soon revealed to be this age's Mand'alor Aether Verd , and the Platinum haired Empress, Wrathian wasn't sure if the large man's gaze had lingered on the pureblood or it just felt that way. It was heavy, like a hammer trying to swing too hard or a mountain amidst a forest where shadows were sharper than stone could ever wish to be. Still, Wrathian admired the show, like watching a dog too big for it's kennel. He was in good eavesdropping distance too. And the tension, Palpable. Another man ( Gerwald Lechner ) stood nearby, ready for violence, possibly more so than the Mand'alor. Oh this was perfect, the mad dog was straining to keep his pack in line

Perhaps the Empress and him might be off to a better start then either one of them realized.

Instead his eyes centered on something else, a new presence in the area, like a lost whisp caught between the hanging red lights of the plaza and the rumbling storm outside. Like someone unsure of the world she'd returned to. That was familiar. She ( Eira Dyn ) was sharp too, he could tell. Her dress was like a silk war banner, trying to remind everyone she hadn't vanished. He didn't need color or posture to see what she was. A jab disguised as a breeze. He finished his drink in a single go. The short, stout tendrils around his jawline recoiled. Then he moved.

Short, measured steps as he passed the other titans in the room akin to a shadow being altered by the suns position in the sky. Unnoticeable, or rather, trying to fly under the radar of those who hadn't already clocked him.

"Curious." He stopped short of her like a celestial body in orbit. His voice was smooth and composed, no edge, just depth. A hint of Imperial accent however it was older in a way. Almost eroded by time. "You look like a woman who forgot how to walk in a crowd, and is now realizing how heavy it can be." There was no smirk. No grin. Just an unsettling calm, as his bright glowing golden eyes looked down towards the short human, not in a way that would put her down, but in one that said. "How odd." His gaze only broke to find the dance floor she'd been admiring before falling back towards her. "Dance with me? Or walk. I find movement of the feet give a good background to listen."

He wasn't asking, or demanding. He was testing, and blending in to the grass to the best of his ability.

 

[Sky Wulicailt]

Location: The Concourse
Tag: Darth Anathemous | Tavian Vale | Sachi Maren

Sky was in the middle of discussing the mission details with her companions.

'Ops went ahead on this one, started the handshake. We're here to see it through. I don't know the details other than to keep an ear out for a key phra--' Interrupted by the very words.

"Through pain, we find clarity." she repeated, passing Sky Wulicailt to approach a nearby vendor.

The vendor looked frightened, confused, just like the last.

"I- I don't understand, I'm sorry my lord-"

The young Darth rose one clawed finger to stop him before the man could begin his panic attack.

"It's quite alright citizen. Just thinking aloud." she sighed.

"Show me your wares."

'Chit, I think that's it!' She said again over the subvocal comms.

The captain made sure to be careful on her approach. Tav would have her back if things went wrong, but there was only so much he could do here and now, with watchful eyes all around them. Maybe it would've been better if Sachi were the one to approach, but Sky didn't even have time to finish her explanation. She felt like an amateur, but then again, this whole mission had been rushed, and High Command was short on details.

Sky approached coolly, pretending to be a tourist, and approached the vendor. "Oh, hey, these look great!" She placed a hand in her jacket pocket. "Chit! Did I really leave all my credits on the ship?" She feigned self-annoyance, then backed away only to pass a small comlink device into the Sith's hand.

Her heart skipped a beat... If this was a mistake, if she misunderstood the details, she might as well have been dead.

She turned quickly on her feet and kept that downtrodden expression as she walked off to slip into the crowd and double back to join her friends.

 

[The Lord of Hunger]

LOCATION: The Concourse
OBJECTIVE: Observe, feed
IMPORTANT LINKS: Sword | Armor | Jewel | Ring | Necklace | DIII Gluttoneria | The guards | The Enforcer
TAG: Her | Zara Saga | OPEN​

It was almost impossible for the monstrous man to refrain himself from smiling, his lips slowly curling into a faint, yet quite twisted looking grin as the words spoken by the woman burrowed within his mind. This was quite rare, a child with enough witty humor to actually make him smile. Tilting his head ever so slightly, as Zara Saga closed the distance between them rather than following the example of the Mirialan who seemed to be profoundly considering her options under the influence of what was clearly a fight or flight reaction. "Interesting..."

As the woman seemed to be more interested in still going ahead with her choices, despite the fact the Lord of Hunger had remarked on the low quality and pointless nature of these tattoos presented by the shopkeeper, his gaze slowly turned to the pages Zara was rolling through, nodding ever so discouragingly as she had clearly made her choice.

As soon as she had made her choice, calling it ugly enough to love it, Credius let out a soft sigh before moving towards the Miralan, leaning in an whispering a few words. Without any sound, the tools to provide the young lady with her chosen tattoo were handed over to the Lord of Hunger himself, who calmly inspected them, as he removed one of his gloves in order to run across the needle of the main tool; a long, hollow needle... since this was after all Sith Order territory, the artisans still used the old ways rather than the high technological emprinting.

"Something that bites back, hmm," With his finger pressed upon the sharp end of the needle, the metal instrument broke through his skin, allowing a thick, black liquid to slowly seep out of his finger and be drawn into the long hollow needle. "Now you may have something that will bite back... something which may turn your mind to mush or may empower you beyond your wildest dreams. If you want something ugly... make sure you yourself don't turn into a hideous monster."

Handing over the materials and tools back to the Miralan, the Lord of Hunger raised his hand in protest when the artist tried to clean the needle. "Should this customer not be given what she wanted?"

 

[Jacen Breska]

PIT WRASSLIN' ​

WEARING:: Jacen’s Second Legion Armor
EQUIPMENT:
LOCATION: DROMUND KAAS = NEW KAAS CITY
TAG: Zayid the Lion

"YES! YES!"
Jacen roared at the two combatants inside the pit arena, his voice one of a cacophony, all loudly cheering for the two warriors.
The fight was simple. Pure. Two hand-to-hand fighters trading blows and grapples, trying to put the other in the dirt. No weapons and no tricks thanks to the voidstones laced around the arena. Just a pure combat. He was sad CT-312 wasn't here to enjoy this spectacle with him. She'd enjoy the combat probably more then he would. Or would have some silly take about it all.

It was something whole. Something equal. Something fun. Jacen didn't think he'd enjoy combat sports. It wasn't something that was readily available on Bespin, at least not something that he was aware of. There had been some under the table betting going on during sparring aboard ships, but nothing quite as...passionate as the Pit. The energy was intoxicating. Usually he'd consider himself a more refined, more professional individual.
Not now. Now he was hungry for sport. Entertainment. Here, he was getting it.
"Don't let him--Aaaahh no!" he lamented, putting a hand over his eyes. His fighter was sent down to the dirt with his opponent perched on top of him delivering vicious strikes into the back of his head.
It wasn't long until he stopped moving, and an official came in to confirm. He was alive, but this fight was over. And Jacen was out a thousand credits.
"Damn waste of..." he muttered, looking down at his half-full glass of alcohol, downing the rest of it as a consolation prize for his defeated fighter. Around him, cheers and jeers broke out in equal measure, followed by their own celebratory or consolatory drink as the medical officials saw to the fallen fighter, and the victorious one left the cage to uproarious cheer, greeted by a couple of women who he draped an arm around.

"What a prick," he said quietly to himself as he watched the victor vacate. Pompous, arrogant. The thought that Jacen should have taken that fight flashed across his mind.

"The next one..." he muttered again, watching as the ring was reset. Nothing too fancy, just a quick rake of the dirt to ensure the ring was as unblemished as possible. Let no one claim foul because of some aberration in the ground.
A few moments of cleaning passed, and once the official was satisfied with what he saw, he turned to face the spectators. With a booming voice, he announced it.

The ring was now ready for participants.

And almost immediately, a silent figure clad in Mandalorian armor approached and entered the pit, slamming his stick down on the ground as if to claim the arena for his own.

"Wow what a prick," Jacen said, his eyes taken aback by the display. The sheer arrogance. That attitude of 'of course I'm better, I'm me'. Is that what Jacen was like?
No, he decided, he was much better at being better then this Mando. Someone oughta put him in his place.

And so, Jacen waited for anyone to go challenge. "Any challenger for the Mandalorian?" the official asked, gesturing out to the crowd.
When no response came at first, Jacen remembered what he had said to himself at the end of the last bout. "Kark it..." he sighed, "Yeah!" he answered, a hand shooting up. The official turned and looked in his direction and nodded, signaling Jacen to come take his place.
Rising to his feet from his seated position at his table, he went down to the entrance to the arena opposite the Mandalorian and stared at the helmeted warrior.

In this particular ring, there were no rules beyond everyone was equal. No inherent 'better' person existed here, no magical powers allowed that shifted combat. Just you, the flesh and blood you had brought, and your opponent. No one cared who Jacen was. No one took a name. Bets were done purely on one quick glance at someone.

"FIVE HUNDRED ON THE MANDO!"
"TWO ON THE OTHER GUY!"
"SIX ON-" The sounds of raucous betting erupted, almost deafening Jacen. He was sure there were just as much, if not more, bets lobbied in his favor as this mysterious stranger, but decided not to waste a single thought. Those who had faith placed in him would see that faith rewarded. Those who didn't would cry and lambast this Mandalorian for not being as great as Jacen. Such was life.

"I don't have my own stick," he said, gesturing at the Mandalorian's weapon, "Did we need to bring our own sticks or are you capable of fighting with your hands?" He chuckled and looked at the official, nodding his head to signal his ready.

Stick or no, Jacen wasn't worried. A touch too drunk and too cocky for fear. In a battle of aura he wouldn't let the masked wonder take the win from him. Let him fight with a weapon if he needed it, Jacen was going to feed him the dirt either way.

​

JACEN BRESKA WALK OUT MUSIC GONNA ROLL THIS DORK LOLOLOL​

 

[Niysha]

Where: Sovereign Plaza
Who: Darth Virelia and the scenery she's chewing
What: Being sized up like a premium cut of steak

Mm, yeah, Serina had had some kind of life-defining change since Polis Massa. It wasn't unlike her to be melodramatic, but normally she was a little jollier. Still, this was the first time either of them had seen the other in their work uniform, so chances were a not-insignificant amount of the shift could be chalked up to being slightly more locked in than usual.

No matter how much more powerful, terrifying, and dangerous than Niysha she was, Serina was in many ways far more vulnerable. Like the vast majority of Sith Lords, she was obvious. Painfully, screamingly obvious to everyone around her. She wept power and radiated energy like a poorly-maintained engine, meaning it was about as easy to miss her as it would have been to miss... actually, Niysha was a bit out-of-touch with the current popular Sith Lords. Was Kezeroth still around?

So she cloaked herself in literal cloaks, a form of concealment that seemed to work very well on human eyes. The sorts of people you needed to hide from tended to find you regardless of the precautions you took, but covering yourself in a full-body outfit with a face-concealing mask seemed to be a pretty popular way of maintaining anonymity from the masses. While Darth Ominous IV might be able to sense your presence, his goons wouldn't have any idea who you were, and that seemed to be a pretty consistently-useful way to remain unmolested by the average civilian.

As a much more predatory Serina wandered around Niysha, pressing closer and sizing her up like meat, the Miraluka briefly flashed back to the tomb. There was no indication that Serina was hostile, or even that her opinion of her "little ghost" had changed. It was just her demeanor that was different, really; the aura beneath was barely changed at all, and Niysha could easily make out the crackle of warmth that peeled through the taller Sith's stormclouds-and-menace presence in the Force when she gave her favorite distraction her full attention.

"Sacred is a pretty unique compliment," she offered back with a little smile. "I'll take it."

No matter the situation, Niysha was Niysha. If anyone even noticed her - which would be quite a challenge, if they didn't know what they were looking for - she was barely more relevant than her carefully curated presence would imply. One mild-powered independent Sith, dressed in military style at a function in which "dress blues" were pretty standard, hanging out in the shadow of a much more important, more powerful, and actually vaguely known Sith Lord? She would've been invisible even if she hadn't been actively trying for that.

When she was circled, Niysha politely submitted to the ceremonial grilling by backing up against the spire they were hiding in the shadow of and allowing herself to be pressed and caressed as much as Serina's predatory instincts called for. She even raised her neck when she felt the claws move for it. As always, though, her voice remained steady, as if she wasn't being cornered by a galactic-scale serial killer and unhinged terrorist.

"I'm here because you invited me." Niysha's reply carefully avoided Serina's name. She didn't know how much of a low or gaudy profile she was currently maintaining, so it was safer to just avoid direct address. "And while I'm very excited for all of those things - very, very excited, please tell me more over caff when we get a chance - I'm here for you." Her smile was just as earnest and without ulterior motives as always. "If all you need is for me to be nearby and act as an amateur fashion model for this snazzy uniform, I'll be happy to oblige."

When she was done reassuring her date, though, Niysha stopped long enough to bite her lip and turn her head up towards the finite-but-impressive expanse of New Kaas. There were hundreds of individual sparks, people and beasts and droids and machines, all within or just barely outside her comfortable range. Each one was unique, though most weren't distinct enough to discern much about them without getting closer or focusing much more deeply. In all that cacophony, Niysha amounted to little more than the fog of hot breath on cold glass. It made her more than a little giddy.

"...Also this makes for a fantastic test. I haven't been among this many Sith since I was very young. I need to see how well I can handle myself."

 

[Darth Anathemous]

Location: The Concourse
Wearing: Dress
Tag: Sky Wulicailt

Fate had a way of dragging Anathemous into big things.

And every time, like clockwork, the woman had no idea what was happening until it came to pass. She felt something cold and metallic pressed to her palm as a tourist passed her by, complaining quietly about something to do with money.

By the time Kaila thought to return their belongings, that woman had disappeared into the crowd.

She narrowed her eyes. something was off, and she could feel it, but if she wanted answers then she'd have to play along with whatever fate ordained. The young Darth stuffed the mysterious device in her pocket, swapping it for a few credits to disguise the action while she paid for some trinket, then quietly excused herself.

The crowds were too big to avoid attention here, forcing her to drift along the edge in search of privacy. She fiddled with the device in her pocket all the while. It was too small to be a bomb or stun device, she figured, and so there was no immediate danger. Not a tracker either, else there'd have been a greater effort to escape her notice.

Finally she weaved her way through some of the market tents and into an alley, where all would be revealed.

"Hmh." a commlink?

She turned the device over once or twice between her clawed fingers before holding it closer.

A moment of silent hesitance followed, her lips pursed, as though unsure what to say.

"...with whom am I speaking?"

Her tone was politely formal, curious even, yet this was no request.

​

 

[Kurayami Bloodborn]

Location: Sovereign Plaza [Mew Noods]

Kurayami continued to work on his food, watching closely as Prazitus joined the two next to him. Indeed his suspicions had been correct. Srina Talon had indeed decided to attend the event, though, she had seemed to try to do so in an inconspicuous manner. Her reaction to Prazitus looked to confirm this read of everything. Finishing his soup he grabbed the pork dumplings and stood swinging his chair around, the back rest sitting against the corner of the table next to where Srina sat. Others might see this as an aggressive or even outright overly bold move, but he feared no one within this gathering. Nor did have reason to as he set his food down and begin eating, taking a sip from his flask. He inclined his head nonchalantly towards the others. His greeting was one that bore no titles yet was spoken in a hushed tone, respectful of their stature and low enough that none other than them would hear his words.

"Good to see you all. Prazitus, Dromund Kaas fares well under you watch I see. Srina, I always look forward to seeing an old friend and where your travels have taken you. As for you sir..." his gaze settled on Aether Verd for a moment, eyes narrowing in contemplation. He tilted his head as though studying the man. "You bear a striking image to a man who once led the Mandalorians, and a Clan that I once claimed as mine when I belonged to them as well. A descendant of Isley Verd? Well met." With those few words spoken he went back to his food and said nothing else, the odd signature of conflicting energies rolling off him with the strength of a nexus, yet the power was not all his. He would be happy to talk more about the armor he wore as it was something of a mystery to him how it came to be the way it was, but overall the strange aura surrounding him was one that most just accepted given his many adventures through the Netherworld and many nexuses over decades as a strange effect that none had explanation for. He was happy to just eat, drink and be in the company of at least one old friend, possibly more depending on who showed up.

Gerwald Lechner | Darth Prazutis | Ivalyn Yvarro | Wrathian Kell | Eira Dyn

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Foreboding."

Tags - Niysha

Virelia did not smile.
But something behind her mask moved.

Niysha's calm defiance—the poised surrender of a blade turned flat instead of drawn—touched something in her. Not the warm thing that had once fluttered in her chest when Serina Calis whispered sweet, sharp nonsense across dark bunks and starship corridors. That woman was buried now, drowned beneath philosophy and black alloy.

But Virelia remembered the way she had wanted.

And now? She still wanted.
She simply no longer lied to herself about what that meant.

The taller Sith stood before her consort like a priestess before the altar—one hand hovering inches from Niysha's cheek, the other curling behind her back like she might deliver benediction or command at any moment. The way Niysha tilted her head, offering the line of her throat like an echo of worship, like a scholar bowing to knowledge itself—it stirred no mercy in Virelia.

Only possession.

"Sacred is not a compliment," Virelia said at last, voice low and velvet-edged. "It is a designation. Something is sacred because I declare it so. Because it exists within my framework of meaning. Because I am building a civilization from the bones of extinct gods, and you—"

Her taloned fingertip touched now, dragging slowly down Niysha's jaw. A feather's pressure. A scalpel's threat.

"You are one of the rare things I have chosen not to deconstruct."

She leaned in, helm casting a deeper shadow between them.

"Not yet."

Lightning arced overhead again—white-hot, silent, a flicker that carved their shadows against the stone for a moment before disappearing. Virelia didn't flinch. She matched it. Six violet eyes glinting like the lenses of a targeting system. All of them locked on Niysha.

"'I'm here because you invited me,'" she echoed softly. "As if this were a meeting of equals. As if you did not also choose this. Don't disempower yourself, little ghost. You're not mine by command."

Another step, and her presence loomed. Not merely physically—her aura expanded, unfolded like a throne's shadow, coiling around Niysha's carefully buried presence, brushing against it with curiosity and hunger.

"You're mine by consent. That's a rarer thing."

She circled once more, talons trailing the air near Niysha's shoulder, her hip, her spine—but never quite touching. Always just outside comfort. Always reminding her: I could. I might.

"I wonder sometimes," she said, tone thoughtful now, dangerously so, "what would happen if I stripped everything from you. All the control. The affect. The knowing little smile. Just left the core. The will to survive, the curiosity, the slow, defiant warmth you think I don't feel anymore."

She exhaled, and the mask translated it into a near-silent hiss of static.

"Would you still find your way back to me?"

That was the thing about Niysha. The reason she hadn't been absorbed, discarded, reprogrammed like so many others Virelia had devoured with the force, war, or philosophy. Niysha made her ask that question. Not with fear. Not with need.

But with interest. That most dangerous and honest of Sith qualities.

"You always make me work harder than I should," she said, softer now. "And still, you act as if simply being near me is the favor."

She laughed then—quiet, rich, low. Not mocking. Just... entertained. Maybe even impressed.

"I don't need a fashion model," she murmured, stepping close enough that the crystalline node at her sternum gave off a soft, reactive pulse—just enough to reflect the shimmer of Niysha's face in its glow. "But you wear command so beautifully. I've given a dozen lesser uniforms than the one tailored for you. And they all grovel when they see it."

Another beat of silence.

"But you?" Her head tilted. "You wear it like it doesn't belong to me. Like it was yours all along."

Now, finally, she reached up. Unlatched the lower seam of her helm—not all the way. Just enough to lower the front half. Beneath it, her face was bare from the nose down: full lips painted with bruised plum, chin smooth and sculpted like a weapon's edge. Her expression was unreadable, but utterly focused.

"You test yourself," she said, tone unreadable. "Among these jackals. These lost children playing at cruelty. That excites me more than it should."

She leaned in again, close enough for her breath to graze Niysha's skin.

"But remember this, scholar—you do not belong to them."

She straightened again, and when her mask re-sealed, it did so with a faint click of finality. A ritual ended.

"Come with me."

It wasn't a suggestion.

She turned, long cape trailing behind her like a predator's plume, brushing against the tips of Niysha's boots as she moved. She didn't look to see if Niysha followed. She didn't need to.

 

[Zara Saga]

Zara watched him bleed like it was foreplay.

Her expression didn't shift much, not with fear, not with awe. Just a slow blink, the kind that usually preceded a poor life choice and a great story. The black sliding into the stylus didn't shake her; if anything, it made her settle more firmly into the seat, one leg elegantly crossed over the other, arm raised behind her head in a way that managed to look both seductive and supremely indifferent.

She let him finish, let the words hang like a stormcloud ready to burst, and only then did she speak.

"If I do turn into a hideous monster," she said sweetly, "I suppose I'll have to come find you. So you can tell me you warned me, and I can rip your heart out for being right."

She arched an eyebrow. "And then we'll be even."

Zara shifted slightly, baring her ribs again to the Mirialan, who now looked like she regretted every career decision that had brought her to this moment. "No cleaning," she confirmed, almost lazily. "I asked for teeth. He's just obliging."

Then, to the man, she tilted her head again. "Stay, if you like. I imagine you'd enjoy watching me suffer. But I warn you, I make it look good."

The Mirialan's hands trembled slightly as she adjusted the stylus, and Zara didn't miss it. A small, wicked smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, not unkind, just amused. The first touch of the needle hit her ribs like a knife dipped in ice and secrets. It burned. Not with heat, but with sensation, thick and crawling, like something alive had been threaded into her veins. Zara inhaled sharply through her nose, lashes fluttering, but she didn't make a sound.

She smiled.

The blackened ink from the Lord of Hunger spread like frostbite under her skin, tracing itself in jagged, ancient lines that twisted and shimmered against her pale flesh. As the stylus worked, her skin seemed to react, tingling, tightening, maybe even shifting beneath it, like the mark wasn't just being applied, but anchored to something deeper. Something waiting.

Zara tilted her head toward him again, lips parted in a hiss of pain that sounded suspiciously like laughter. "Tell me, coffin-boy," she breathed, not even trying to hide the thrill in her voice, "was that your blood, or something you scraped off the inside of your regrets?"

She didn't wait for an answer. She just kept smiling as the pain climbed up her spine like a dare.

The Lord of Hunger​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Madrona A’Mia | Varin Mortifer

​

The acolyte's gaze meandered back to A'Mia as they strode through the streets; now, there was a surreal blur of different colors detected at the edges of his vision. He assumed it was the Dagobah chews assaulting the senses. Unaware that his pupils had dilated, his eyes widened as he took in the surroundings with awe. Waves of greens pulsed as though they were alive, and he caught shades of purple that were shimmering in the distance.

Then came the noise of branches shifting, which echoed in this new heightened perception. There was a twitch of a single eyebrow at this strange foliage he called Professor, for he didn't understand a single word or sound she was making. Shrugging off the confusion, Lysander fumbled with his datapad, searching for the translator app. The icons themselves appeared 3-D, and trying to jump off screen. Just as it loaded, she finally addressed him in Galactic Basic, and then his roommate, Varin.

A burst of bubbly joy erupted from his core, like light shining through darkness, genuine and pure. The smile that followed lit up Lysander's face. “Look. I don’t need no babysitter,,” he said playfully. “Besides, we’re not on Korriban right now, and you’re not my real Master. I can totally handle a night here without someone watching my every move.”

Just as the last syllable left his lips, a flashback hit him. Both Corazona von Ascania and a younger version of himself appeared in the mind's eye, along with the sound of her laughter and the way she ruffled his hair whenever he got extra ridiculous while fighting for his independence.

Though delayed, he eventually acknowledged the other teen. “Yeah, bro. Zero sand is a win for sure. Makashi actually isn’t that elegant when you have chafed thighs.. and it’s difficult to meditate when half of the desert is in your robes.”

As they ventured further into the market, it was very much alive with motion and countless stalls. Different aromas mingled in the air.

“Everything’s humming, Professor.. like a lightsaber. I don't know if it's my ears, eyes, or nose?"

Drawn by something he couldn’t quite understand, Lysander wandered toward a stall with all sorts of alchemical oddities. There were bottles that radiated with liquids, and even crystals that were thrumming like a heartbeat. Several jars gave off a faint glow. But among it all, what held his gaze longest were flower petals that could've been woven from moonlight. And for a moment, they brought Sibylla Abrantes back to him; though, not in body, but whispered memories. They lingered for but a single breath, but the warmth in his chest.. was unmistakable, before his drifting thoughts pulled him elsewhere. Now he wondered if everything here was a reflection of his mind.

 

[Niysha]

Where: Sovereign Plaza
Who: Darth Virelia and her toxic yuri vibes
What: [ Oh, right about here. ]

Hmm. Niysha was still safe, for now. She actually had to stop and consider that for a pretty long moment to suss out whether or not she needed to find the first chance to escape. Might've been a bit hard in the short-term, but New Kaas was a whole city, Dromund Kaas was a whole planet, and the galaxy was mind-bogglingly huge. The one truth that Niysha had engraved into her soul subjectively ten and objectively almost seventy-five years ago was that, if you really wanted to, no force in the galaxy could stop you from completely disappearing.

But this wasn't that moment. Serina was either acting up to present her strong face, or else she'd been hit with some kind of bad vibes mojo during an upper-echelon ritual. She talked a big game, of course, but if she'd wanted to hurt Niysha, both of them knew that nothing was stopping her from doing that. The Miraluka had dropped her guard completely because having it up was originally pointless, became needless, and was currently senseless.

She'd called her "little ghost" again. She hadn't said that since the tomb. There might've been some memory damage? Maybe something possession-related. She didn't look possessed, though. She looked like Serina, though a bit... bad-moody? Whatever else was going on, she was clearly amping up the aggression and the domination like a bird displaying its feathers to impress a mate.

Well. If they were regressing back to the tomb, then Niysha's response was already pre-determined. "Of course, my Lord." She even bowed.

Yes, that was the same thing she said to every Sith. This time, though, she sounded like Niysha instead of a thrall. The confidence she'd built with all of her interactions with Serina had clearly not faded, even in this slightly less tender moment. She still wasn't quite scared of her partner, even after that slightly out-of-character outburst, and no power on Kass could reasonably keep her from fading just as neatly into Serina's shadow as she always did.

When the mighty and terrifying woman in the mighty and terrifying armor with the mighty and terrifying cloak swept away (whilst both mighty and terrifying), Niysha took the chance to suffocate her presence. In this setting, she couldn't get away with "non-Force-sensitive." A mundane Miraluka would be far more conspicuous. Instead, she carefully adjusted her presence to roughly that of a seasoned apprentice, then layered insignificance over it like she was salting a fish. Becoming No One Of Importance was old hat for her, though she did put far more effort into it here in the seat of Sith power than she tended to out in the wild.

Regardless of Serina's momentary bad mood or fleeting abuses, she still had Niysha's care (and deep concern). Hopefully the tremendous bimbo didn't do anything to ruin that tonight.

 

[Nameless]

VOICE OF NOTHING

Outfit: Blood-Etched Nomad Armor
Weapons: None, save memory and fire


The air tasted like old blood and ozone. It burned at the edge of the nose half memory of home, half threatingly new.

The nameless cholerkin stepped into the Arcane Court with measured pace, neither rushed nor hesitant. He wore no sigil. No name. No mask. Only dark, weathered robes in the Arakhan style, faintly marked with etched geometrics that had long since faded into meaninglessness.

He did not flinch at the rites around him, though many would have. The alchemy, the blood-metal fusions, the smoke-coiled chants. It was not entirely unfamiliar. Only—unanchored. Wild. Less sacred than what he once knew. Not less developed, just... Clearly followed a different branch, diverging long past.

A ripple in the crowd ahead caught his eye: a group of robed acolytes kneeling in eerie synchrony. Their heads bowed before a woman clad in black, her presence sharp as the twin hilts at her back.

The cholerkin stopped a short distance away, driven by an impassive curiousity His voice, when it came, was low. Earthbound.

“They kneel to you.” A statement, not a question. “Are you their master? Or something else?”

He looked at her directly. Not with challenge. An utter stranger, only having heard the word "Sith" after merging with this galaxy when the heavens realigned. He didn't favor or aim for flattery.

“This court is unfamiliar to me. But the Force here... moves like greasefire."

His gaze shifted to the ritual space behind her. He would say careless, but perhaps measures unknown to him were in place Then his gaze returned back to her.

“Are you shaping it? Or waiting to be shaped by it?”

Elani Zambrano​

 

[Viers Connory]

//: Lucette Raaf //: Lyssara Thrynn //:
//: Attire //:

Hazel eyes drifted toward the noodle cart, drawn by the scent and the soft clatter of bowls. While Viers had an unhealthy addiction to Mew Noods, she wanted the steak as well as the noodles.

There was a disconnect in her understanding of why she couldn't have both. On more than one occasion, she had explained the culinary genius of having both the steaks and the noodles together. More food meant that she could save some for later if necessary.

Still, Lucy promised to make them later, so Viers accepted the compromise this time.

Viers began to take a step toward the noodle cart when Lucy drew her attention to something not edible. She followed Lucette's eyeline, stared at the large crimson decor, and tilted her head.

Understanding the Sith and their Empire's desire to constantly have red in their decor was futile. Most events, even the ones at Jutrand Academy, were always filled with different shades of red. The most common was this crimson color, which reminded the Corellian of blood.

That could be it. They just really liked blood.

Seeing that Lucy was enjoying the beauty, Viers smiled and nodded in agreement. "It's pretty and bright—like your face or a bowl of perfectly glistening noodles."

Viers felt her mouth salivating as her eyes trailed back toward the noodle cart that Lucy had pointed out. Her mind danced, imagining herself slurping up her weight in Mew Nood's signature noodles. She didn't hear everything that Lucy had said, but suddenly, the cart started to shrink in her vision. Her arm raised, reaching out towards the cart, hoping that it would reach back, but alas, she was dragged along.

Giving up on her dreams of eating, Viers fell into step with Lucy as they wandered to whatever destination that Lucy had chosen for them.

It was then that Viers realized what the mumbling she had heard was: Lucy was meant to meet someone here. A soft whine in the back of Viers' throat indicated she would rather go eat, but maybe this was the price to get the noodles and the steak.

Before Viers could protest, they were standing in front of the other person, and Lucy was introducing them. Viers waved, but her mind was trying to figure out the definition of this 'girlfriend' title she was given.

Breaking it down, it meant that she was a girl and a friend of Lucy, but if she was to think about how it is in the shows she's watched…

Viers' eyebrows rose, crawling past her hairline as she looked at Lucy.

Leaning close to Lucy, the surprise she felt bled through to her voice, "I am?"

 

[Sky Wulicailt]

Location: The Concourse
Tags: Darth Anathemous | Sachi Maren | Tavian Vale

Sky kept walking through the crowd.

"...with whom am I speaking?"

"An interested party," she responded over a subvocal comm implant. "I'm told there's a market within a market you have to be 'in the know' to access. You seemed 'in the know,' so I'm taking advantage."

She slipped off the beaten path, towards a secluded dead-end alleyway behind the vendors. Thankfully, it was empty and would make a suitable meeting spot. The captain pinged her companions to let them know of her location.

"I know this is rather sudden... but mind helping a girl out?"

She leaned into a familiar girlish charade. One she hoped the Sith would find comfortable. After all, Sky was here for the black market and nothing else, or so she would lead anyone to believe.

 

[Eurydice]

Darth Nefaron Veradun Sharr​

Eurydice had not yet decided if this was a good thing for her.

On one hand, she was relieved to be rid of the stormy, gloom-ravaged world of Anoat. The despair wrought from her Master's twisted creations and battered slaves had sunk into both the citadel walls and her bones.

On the other hand, even draped in all its finery, Dromund Kaas was still terrifying. Never had she felt so much power and presence gathered together. It hung heavily in the air, poised like the blade of a guillotine that could snap downwards upon her pale neck with a single glance.

Flanking Darth Nefaron at one side, Eurydice glanced toward the sky. A storm without rain, wreathed in the glow of crimson lighting.

They're all so fond of red and black. And storms.

She wondered if she'd see a clear blue sky ever again. Perhaps she'd been so seeped in darkness that sunlight would sear her skin and leave her a withered husk.

The Seer snapped to attention at the sound of her Master's rasping voice. It took an incredible effort to receive the communicator with hands that did not tremble.

A deep bow to Lord Nefaron, and they were dismissed.

Eurydice’s gaze shifted toward Veradun, just for a moment. He made her nervous.

Despite their Master's plain attire, he'd allowed his apprentices to be garbed in
finery. Encouraged it, even. It was less for their personal benefit, and more a projection of Nefaron's image.

Eurydice had chosen simple robes with a flattering cut. The quality of the fabric was several steps above what she was used to, but the rot still seemed to cling to her.

Perhaps she would never be without it.

 

[Darth Anathemous]

Location: The Concourse
Wearing: Dress
Tag: Sky Wulicailt

Anathemous was unsure what to expect.

"An interested party," she responded over a subvocal comm implant. "I'm told there's a market within a market you have to be 'in the know' to access. You seemed 'in the know,' so I'm taking advantage."

Fascinating.

This felt a little too advanced for common criminals, but the goal was plausible. But it was the motive which remained a mystery, and set her mind racing to answer. Perhaps they after some artefact or weapons?

Whatever it was, they must want it badly to approach a Sith lord like this.

"You're a bold one, aren't you?" she spoke in low, teasing tone.

Then she... smiled. Yes, this was shaping up to be a fun game. How close could she get to the truth, and how long before they realize just who they're dealing with?

"Alright, I'll bite. What's in it for me?"

"You have my curiosity but don't expect a discount. I know what I'm worth."

​