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

[Darth Prazutis]

Dromund Kaas, New Kaas City, Sovereign Plaza

The violent storm spanning the horizon above the world didn't break in that moment, instead it yielded. As the plaza thrummed with crimson light and the noise of the city come alive, there came a clear shift, it wasn't in the air, nor was it in the very stone itself. Instead, it came in the natural order of things unfolding. A profound heaviness bled into the bonemarrow of the Sovereign Plaza. Conversations seemed to falter. Glasses ceased to clink ever so briefly. Even the holoprojectors casting great images dimmed a fraction, as if some deeper protocol had awakened beneath the surface of New Kaas City. It wasn't silence but a deep pressure. It was like the world itself had taken a breath and forgotten what it was to exhale.

Then at last, he came. Down from the black avenue that stretched like a great vein from the Sith Citadel's gates, the Elysian Grandeval Mortarch, the Shadow Hand, the Dark Lord of the Kainate and Sovereign of Dromund Kaas walked without escort, without any announcement heralding his arrival and yet it was as if the masses had turned towards him. Not by any command. But by inevitability. The crowds parted as if the act had been preordained from the very beginning. Sith, dignitaries, officers, merchants and murderers, none dared to impede his path. The weight of his presence pressed against the very soul like a living siege engine against old stone. Even the lights high above bent strangely as he moved, casting elongated shadows that seemed slower to retract than the man himself.

The giant wore war like others wore silk. The Dark Lord's armor was no mere plating, but a living monument of ruin, Qâzjiin'vraal, the abyss made flesh. Forged in the crucibles of alchemy and fed on the agony of a thousand slain, it drank in the light around it like a starving void, veiled in drifting tendrils of smoke and fragmented whispers that curled from its cursed seams. Crimson runes pulsed like the beat of a heart across its obsidian plates, etched in the blood of the slaughtered, glowing with the hungering breath of the Dark Side. The Dark Lord's helm was absent, a hood pulled down to reveal the chiseled features of his powerful face chiseled from malice and eternal severity. The face of a sovereign executioner. A tyrant whose name did not merely echo in halls but was carved into their very foundations. Deep in his eyes, those twin burning molten suns of fire, didn't search the plaza. They drank it in. There was no grandeur in his stride. No theatricality to make a scene. The spectacle was not caused by him it was because of him.

Wherever his gaze passed, the air seemed to thicken. Some who watched found it harder to breathe. Others my feel their thoughts scatter like crows before a fire. It was the very same reaction one might have standing before a chasm with no bottom. It was the visceral knowledge that this was no man, but something that had outlived his mortality and instead weaponized it. Right at the far end of the plaza, seated beneath the glow of Mew Noods and crowned in eerie ease, sat the Sith Empress Srina Talon. Right across from her, the blood of warriors, sat the legendary Mand'alor the Iron of House Verd. There was a tether there, a deep connection between himself and one of his oldest friends known as Darth Metus, otherwise known as Isley Verd, the Vicelord, and at one time Mand'alor himself. This man before him was known but never met. Srina Talon was another thing entirely, the connection between her and him was tethered through his nephew, the trust between those two ran deep. If his nephew trusted her to that extent, that was enough. It was to these two that the giant's course now resolved. Not as interruption. But as convergence.

When he stopped, it was like the world caught up with him. The hum of power throbbed low through the stone beneath the feet, and yet when he spoke, it was with a voice that didn't rise, instead it descended. "So the architects convene." The Shadow Hands words came with recognition, as his gaze passed over them both lingering on each. "Empress. Mand'alor. I hope Dromund Kaas finds you well. It has been reshaped the ashes of the past, swept away."

Aether Verd | Srina Talon ​

 

[Caelus Vire // NIHIL]

Location: The Vault​

The crowds swirled around like dark currents but Caelus Vire moved through them with practiced ease. He had helped pacify several worlds for the Diarchy already, and a rowdy wave of eager attendees was no new sight for him. Clad in his sleek all-black suit paired with a high black turtleneck he stood out from typical Sith gothic fashion due to the bright gold Diarchy ten-sided star pin glinting sharply on his chest, a beacon of authority amid the chaos.

His hazel eyes, warm and attentive to onlookers, flickered beneath their polished surface with a subtle shimmer. Sensors, more precise than any human organ, silently cataloging every detail with internal camera's. Faces, movements, whispered conversations, all captured and streamed live to a small cadre within the Network. Given the gravity of the event, the Diarchs themselves might be watching.

As he crossed into The Vault, a sprawling labyrinth of cybernetic showcases, tech expos, and underground slicing feats. He realized he regarded this section not just with professional interest, but personal curiosity due to the nature of his own body.

Looking about he studied a stand of slicing tools intensely. Here lay the cutting edge of what could be wielded by his own forces or rebellious factions on worlds he was tasked with overseeing. He reached out, fingertips grazing the cool surface of a cybernetic limb replica that could hack into a terminal with a built in scomp link tool, contemplating the implications he pondered purchasing it for a moment, both for governance and for himself.

Allyson Locke

 

[Ivalyn Yvarro]

Sovereign Plaza
​

The last time she had walked these grounds, it had been to negotiate with Dromund Kaas' sovereign himself, Darth Prazutis. A grim audience by any measure, though a necessary one. The matter then had been pragmatic: securing atmospheric regulators and a new energy system designed to help the planet breathe easier, quite literally, and to harmonize with its natural rhythms rather than choke them. Now, New Kaas City inhaled with less strain, and Ivalyn had already ordered deployment of the first system module to its outskirts.

There was a different energy to the plaza this evening. As she moved along the concourse, her heels striking against the dark stone with confident precision, she took note of the plainclothes guards tucked in among the crowd, members of the Sons of the White Wolves. Present, poised, but not yet needed.

No, their presence was precautionary. The Empress herself was in attendance, after all.

Above them, red crystals shimmered like suspended blood droplets, casting flickering light over her and Merryn as they passed beneath. It was certainly a form of illumination, if not one she'd ever call welcoming. Yet more so than the floodlights, of which by contrast, seemed to drown the city in perpetual glow: a reminder, perhaps, of the invisible bars that still framed life here.

Ivalyn held Merryn's hand tightly, fingers laced with her beloved's.

Ahead, she glimpsed the raised obsidian stage, alive now with dancers and performers cloaked in silks and shadows. "Must the Sith make even a simple festival so… macabre?" she murmured, giving Merryn's hand a gentle squeeze, the question rhetorical but colored with dry amusement.

The plaza was unmistakably the center of the celebration's gravity. As Ivalyn's eyes swept across the space, she spotted the Empress, radiant and unmistakable. And nearby, in distinctive armor, stood a figure of obvious significance to the Mandalorians. Judging by the iconography and posture, perhaps their newly crowned Mand'alor?

Yes.

She recalled an image from a prior briefing, filed shortly before her diplomatic exchanges with Jonah, envoy of the resurgent Mandalorian Empire.

How… interesting, she thought.

The pieces were shifting again.

The Grand Vizier noticed the Shadow Hand himself approach Srina Talon and Aether Verd and then without a doubt she knew Kurayami Bloodborn and there he was. "I'll be damned," she muttered to Merryn Sellek , "it's the old Corellian himself, my 'uncle' as it were. Right there, with the Empress, Mand'alor and the Shadow Hand."

 

[Elani Zambrano]

The Arcane Court

The immense power dancing through the Arcane Court was so impeccably close to tangibility that Elani could not help but be pulled to this district. The smell of ancient textbooks, dark reagents, and dried blood all mingled in the air. It reminded her of home, but very loosely. Nothing compared to the cold living embrace of the deathly chill of the Kanyon. Though, she would make herself at home while she was spending time in New Kaas City.

Elani wore a black catsuit with heels. Her swords were tied to her torso and hung from her back, their hilts peeking just over each shoulder. A black hood along with her dark hair obscured much of her face but her wicked smirk could be seen clearly. The witch walked up to an unused ritual site, looking over the blank canvas before her. Suddenly, she felt a chilling grip on her spine. Her mind flashed back to that moment her powers were taken from her in Panatha's destruction. One of the lowest point's in the Zambrano's life. Such a weak state that she refused to allow herself to be in again. Once she returned to herself, the grip dissipated and she gritted her teeth.

The sound of footsteps approaching her from the rear turned her around to see several men in robes approaching her. She stepped forward, asserting herself. The men halted in their tracks. "Am I standing in your ritual space, acolytes?" she questioned. They were silent. The shadows hugged their faces, protecting their visage from her vision.

"I asked a question. What is your purpose here?" Again, they gave only silence. They were as statues now, not budging an inch. Elani went to speak again, but before a word could come out, each of the robed men dropped to one knee, bowing their heads before Elani. She could only look on in confusion, until, then it clicked.

@Open

 

[Darth Nefaron]

Location: Sovereign Plaza.

Tags: Veradun Sharr Eurydice War Marshal Helix

Nefaron always enjoys a good spectacle.

This wasn’t what he had in mind, but he’d make the best of it.
​

The Corpse Lord was not one for high fashion, so as always, he arrived cloaked in darkness and a simple walking cane. He did not need it, of course; it was simply to cause doubt in his rivals, to make him appear a feeble old man who was going to drop dead at any moment. But the Corpse Lord did not come alone, for a long time, with a vast collection of beasts and Sith Spawn, came his pair of Apprentices. Veradun had experienced a great trial during their visit to this world, but a few weeks prior, this event would prove far more taxing on the boy as he was expected to mingle and demonstrate his ability to navigate Sith politics successfully.

Eurydice, on the other hand, was a newer addition to Nefaron’s cabal. She did not grow up within the Empire, and so she must be introduced to the vast charade that was the inner workings of a decadent patchwork of Dark Lords and their ever-eager servants.

While Nefaron was dressed rather plainly, his Apprentices were provided finery so unlike the Corpse Lord to have on hand. It was clear that he was showing off his collection, treating the two beings as little more than commodities that were at his beck and call. Indeed, they were, for neither was even close to overthrowing him. Veradun was not yet a young man, and while he was deadly with a blade, he lacked a true grasp on the inner workings of the force. They were working on that, but such power did not come without dedicated study and a willingness to go beyond simple morality. Eurydice was still a frightened child, despite her initial tutelage in the ways of the Sith. Both would become powerful Sith in due time, but there was much to do until then. At the very least, this was an opportunity for the pair to mingle, to learn secrets, to find worthy allies that would serve the Corpse Lord.

Or they simply longed for a break from the storm-ravaged surface of Anoat.

Perish the thought.
​

"Behold, my children, the great lie of the Sith. We pretended to gather and find merriment in each other's company, when in reality, nearly every Dark Lord and Lady would very much enjoy cutting each other's throats. We may yet find something to entertain us, but be wary of everyone you speak to. A great game is being played, a war of words that may very well lead to the burning of entire worlds."

Nefaron handed the pair a set of communicators. He did not need to babysit them, for they were expected to one day carry out operations without his direct oversight. This seemed a good enough test for them.

"There is much to see and do here, my Apprentices. Be free of this old man's company. I will contact you if I require your presence."

​

For a time, Nefaron meandered through the gathered crowds, slipping past friend and foe alike. Try as he might, he could not help but imagine this great city flooded with his toxin, to watch the proud and powerful succumb to utter madness as he laughed. The future held many opportunities for such a wonderful display of his power, but he did feel a bit disappointed that these events were so rarely held in these times of conflict. Perhaps he would one day show them the joys of madness, to revel in despair and terror as the rest of the galaxy would once the Corpse Lord had at last triumphed. Nefaron waved off any attempt to offer him food or drink, for he was not here to enjoy such pleasures.

Luckily, he found another being who had no choice but to agree.

"It seems we keep running into each other, my friend. I must admit I am shocked you came to this little spectacle."

The Droid Warlord and the Corpse Lord had, of course, encountered each other before on many occasions, but Nefaron never forgot his participation in the raid on Vassek. Beyond that, Helix had long been a being of note, for though he seemed loyal to Darth Strosius and by extension Darth Malum, he possessed certain qualities that made him all the more interesting. Though he was no Sith, Nefaron found the droid to be the only being that he could actually relate to, for his passion for cruelty and terror matched his own. Perhaps he could yet sway him away from his loyalties in the Tsis'Kaar, after all, having one of significant rank in the Third Legion at his side would make Nefaron powerful indeed.

"I can't imagine the food is what lured you here. Perhaps we might talk for a while? I believe we may have much to gain from each other now that we are both in Darth Malum's.... cabal for lack of a better word."

 

[Lucette]

Sovereign Plaza​

Lucette held Viers's hand as they stepped onto the grounds of the plaza.

"I told you," she said with a gentle smile, gesturing toward the Mew Noods cart, "there would be food. And I'll make you those lovely porterhouse steaks when we get home."

The nineteen-year-old cast her gaze upward, taking in the shimmering lights. "What a wonderful evening. Aren't the red crystals beautiful?" she remarked, pointing to the crimson facets that illuminated the plaza in a soft, romantic glow.

"I'm meant to meet someone here," she added, her fingers remaining lightly laced with Viers's. "A fellow Sith scientist, if I'm not mistaken, from the Diarchy." As she scanned the crowd and looked at all the different people gathered, the Dosuunian's gaze landed on Lyssara Thrynn and so Lucy tugged Viers Connory with her in the Sith scientist's direction.

It was an opportunity to learn, to make friends and both were something that the teenager knew she needed. She needed to network and make friends, grow beyond the circles she was used to. After all, if Luce had hoped to amass a powerful base that even closely resembled her grandmother's, she had a lot of work to do. Closing the distance, Luce cleared her throat as she approached the person she was supposed to meet, "well met, you must be Lyssara Thrynn." A moment, or two had passed confirming that the person was indeed the Diarchist she was meant to meet. Then without hesitation she introduced herself and Viers. "I am Lucy Raaf, and this is my girlfriend, Viers."

 

[War Marshal Helix]

Location: Sovereign Plaza
Tags: Darth Nefaron ​

Helix gave a disinterested glance around as the endless babbling sea of organics hushed and parted. Some local big-shot entering, perhaps. A fine chance for him to slip by and be on his way unhindered. Before he could, however, a familiar voice slid across his audioreceptor cells.

He looked up to see the nightmare visage of Darth Nefaron grinning down at him. The nanocolony's body language betrayed a flicker of relief, likely the opposite reaction that Nefaron was used to receiving when he spoke. Helix had been wondering if any familiar faces would make their way here, and was transparently pleased to see one.

"I suppose I am shocked as well." Came the response. "Call it morbid curiousity, if you like. An internal wager on how long it would be before a brawl broke out." He stood languidly to his feet, extending himself to his full, inhumanly-thin stature.

Talk? It wasn't often people wanted to talk to Helix. Only a few seemed to enjoy his company. He'd gotten the sense in the past that Nefaron had much to say to him, if circumstances allowed. This was perhaps the first time that they had, outside the confines of meetings and prying ears. He was intrigued.

He nodded. "By all means. Certainly a more appealing prospect than testing my luck with the comestibles." Perhaps a droid-like attempt at humor, perhaps not. Helix could do many non-droid-like things, including eat, but lacked the courage to sample any meal made in such a place as Dromund Kaas. He noted the small hint of disdain that entered Nefaron's tone at the mention of Malum's "cabal". It could have been his imagination, of course, but he had been sharpening his sensitivity to humanoid expression.

 

[Gerwald Lechner]

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

The shadows parted before him like reverent courtiers.

Gerwald Lechner stepped down from the sleek prow of his shuttle, boots striking the blackstone landing with the finality of a gavel. His arrival bore no fanfare, only the subtle hush that followed a predator into the room.

Since the stars realigned and the galaxy convulsed beneath the shifting weight of cosmic convergence, Gerwald Lechner had not been idle.

While hyperspace lanes twisted and sectors collided like tectonic plates, the galaxy reeled as empires scrambling to stake new claims. In the chaos, as others clung to crumbling borders or scrambled to rewrite maps, Gerwald had moved with precision.

From the Outer Rim to the bleeding edges of the Mid Rim, he and his Second Legion had carved out strongholds in the gaps left behind. Fortress-worlds, forgotten moons, and fractured dominions now bore the mark of his sigil, a golden wolf's maw stretched open in eternal defiance. There were whispers in the Outer Sectors of planets that surrendered without a fight, mercenary companies that vanished in the dark, and Jedi enclaves left as nothing but scorched glass and silence.

Where the First Legion boasted tradition, and the Third paraded innovation, the Second Legion was fear made manifest. They were not an army of soldiers, of conquerors. Raiders, broken individuals rebuilt with purpose. Every warrior in his command bled for legacy, not loyalty. Their reputation was myth and warning wrapped in the same breath.

They didn't occupy.

They consumed.

So when Gerwald Lechner emerged from the black jaws of his shuttle and stepped into Sovereign Plaza, the mood shifted subtly like the moment before a duel when one opponent realizes the other is better than they thought.

His presence mattered.

The shadows parted for him, but they bowed for her.

Srina Talon

She had not changed.

Her posture was as regal as ever, every movement as precise poised and dangerous as her species boasted. Around her, a gathering had begun, not mere sycophants or hopeful acolytes, but those who knew. Power drew power. And hers still ran cold and clean like a blade honed in silence.

Gerwald did not approach yet. Instead, he observed from the fringe of the plaza with eyes like coals fixed on the scene before him.

The air turned foul.

Across the flow of the crowd, past the floating crimson crystals and beneath the flickering holoprojections of Sith sigils, he saw him, a Mountain of carnage and legacy that stained the plaza darker than the storm above.

Darth Prazutis .

The very weight of him threatened to pull the world inward like a collapsing star. Cloaked in a darkness that clung even where light fought to exist, the Dark Lord stood only a short distance from Srina's gathering. Some gave him wide berth. Others who were drunk on ambition or delusion edged nearer, as if daring the abyss itself to blink.

The memory Prazutis had etched not his mind was too well-preserved to fade with time. The crack of bone. The suffocating void. Her scream in the dark. Naedira. Torn from existence by Prazutis' monstrous hand, her life extinguished in service to duty. And afterward, his own breaking, beneath the torturer's machinations, stripped of self until only the pain remained.

He would have died, if not for her. Srina had come, and though she had never spoken the word, she had chosen him in that moment, and lifted him from the wreckage of his own ruin.

And now?

Now they stood within the same storm. All three.

Gerwald's hand drifted close to his side, where the hilt of his lightsaber waited like a secret kept just long enough, but he did not draw it. His promise to Naedira Darcrath not to engage the Mountain was the only thing powerful enough to stay his hand.

 

[Eira Dyn]

Location: Dromund Kaas (New Kaas City) - Sovereign Plaza
Attire: Red and Black Dress
Equipment: Hidden daggers under the dress
Tag: Open

Eira had buried herself in studying, focusing on the books in Quinn Varanin 's private collection as well as the newer access that Eira gained to more secretive books from Darth Carnifex 's collections. It was intense and she knew that it was not the plan that Eira had since it set her back, not making her mark within the Order and not even being aware of the recent changes or developments within the Sith Order. It was a consequence she faced in dedicating herself more to growing her skills and gaining further knowledge with deep studies that were not available to those who were not deemed as worthy as she was. A privilege that Eira did not wish to squander.

Enough time had passed that Eira knew she needed to move back into a role within the Sith Order, she had found herself a dress that was coloured blood red with black accents. Squeezing into said dress was not comfortable but seeing how she looked in the mirror, Eira could not deny the fact that her dress fitted her form well. She gave herself a rare smile and nodded her head, it was time to finally attend the party. Arriving late, Eira was not overly concern since she assumed that just arriving to event would be accepting enough and she could not help with being late since the dress took far longer than she had anticipated.

The young Sith apprentice moved slowly in the plaza, her red eyes scanning around and seeing what was around. Each location of the event had a key element of Eira's interest that made them all enticing and Eira wondered if she could not find a way to move around. Dipping into each location a bit so Eira could inspect what was available or going to be on display. She was entering the Sovereign Plaza, Eira saw this as the perfect starting spot since it was her technical re-welcome to the Sith Order after she hid herself away into her studies. The opportunity for dancing and mingling with some others would make it the best starting point as well.

Tucking a lock of her dark hair behind one ear, Eira looked around and wondered who would be interested in a dance with her now.

 

[Parvati]

ＰＡＲＶＡＴＩ
Communing with ✦ Her ✦
↳ Signal Confirmed // Your Eyes Only // Burn After Reading

The air over New Kaas City was thick with tension and ozone. Storm clouds churned overhead like a brewing war, casting violet veins of lightning across the skyline. Theatrics, Parvati mused- delicious, dangerous theatrics. She lived for them. Grand personalities, risk-laced games, indulgent pleasures.

So, of course, she made sure her network intercepted a gala invitation and rewrote it for her own ends. Tonight, she would walk among Sith and their ilk, shoulder to shoulder with some of the most wicked beings the galaxy had ever birthed.

The recent heist for the Wayfinder had shifted things. Cracks had formed in the Blackwall- small, but exploitable. Enough for certain criminal elements to pass through when they knew how. Parvati had invested deeply to ensure her own passage was safe, her entry undetected. New Kaas City's population was large enough that she could have vanished into it if necessary, but tonight? Anonymity was a tool, one she wielded without being cloaked by it. Not yet. Not here.

She wanted to be seen... just not noticed.

Her contact, the enigmatic woman simply known as Her, was somewhere inside. They'd crossed paths a few times already, but this night might cement something more. Both business and legacy.

Until then, Parvati enjoyed the Concourse. A marketplace dressed in decadence and death.

She stood at one stall now, absently running a gloved finger along a bottle of dark liquid. The sound of her metallic claw dragging across the glass made the vendor flinch. It was subtle- but not missed.

"Total paralysis, you say?" Her voice was smooth, velvet and danger.

The Twi'lek nodded too quickly, the nerves showing in his lekku and jaw. Fear of the Sith was reason enough. Fear of those favored by the Sith was sometimes worse.

Parvati's smile grew- sharp, and carnivorous. "Three cases," she said. "And once the credits are received, you'll be given the coordinates of my ship. Deliver them intact. My people will check."

She leaned in ever so slightly, her black eyes narrowing. "Thoroughly."

The man stammered agreement, fumbling with his datapad. She didn't wait to watch him struggle further.

Her boots clicked with controlled cadence as she melted back into the flow of bodies: masked nobles, half-cloaked acolytes, wandering warlords. Some bought, some postured, some whispered. She watched everything.

Parvati was hunting, for Her, yes. But also for something far more elusive. The Night Door.

Rumors painted it as a myth wrapped in shadow: a way into the inner sanctum of Sith secrets, or at least one part of the gala where masks fell and power was traded like blood pearls.

And if her sources were right?

It was close.

Mistress of the House ⛧ The Velvet Guillotine ⛧ High Priestess of Vice​

 

[Amalia Visconti | Mira Rhory]

TAG: Parvati

​

The Blackwall was showing cracks, something which had been initially thought to be an impossibility, had quickly shown to be a reality with the strange behavior of the space between realspace. Instability and chaos had seemingly shuddered the immovable nature of this Sith monument of isolation and restriction. Just as her master had found his way through the cracks, so too had Amalia managed to find a path, a seeping wound within the barrier erected all around the Sith Order's territory.

She could have gone anywhere, following her master into the strange alleys of the concourse, maybe even the Vault or the arcane court, she could have even wandered around the sovereign plaza, though thought it wise not to find herself too close to beings whose power rivaled or even eclipsed her master's own. No, she had something better in mind; a recent contact Her had made, a leading figure among the Black Sun Syndicate. It was rather interesting to have an eye on someone who didn't belong, but could fit perfectly within the very shadow-filled nature of the Sith origin worlds.

As the storm raged, lightning flickering through the heavens above like flaming tongues, Amalia perched herself on a rooftop, looking down upon what seemed to be some sort of transaction going on. While she had no extensive files on this contact the associate of her master had made, it did not take long for the Child of C to understand exactly which woman it was that was warranted her attention.

Her master was not too far away, she could feel his presence not too far, but the concourse was immensely large, like an intricately woven spider's web of alleys littered with stalls and secrets. She was on her own for now, well...as alone as she could be, considering her direct connection to the Lord of Hunger.

Tilting her head ever so slightly, Amalia let out a soft sigh, as she jumped off of the rooftop, elegantly sliding through the air, until she silently dropped upon the cold stones below, her feet only gently tapping the ground as she surveyed her surroundings a bit. The woman who basically screamed out her dominance in the way she held herself seemed to be quite busy with whatever transaction she had managed to complete. The twi'lekk seemed to be practically soiling himself in front of this domineering personality, something Amalia didn't exactly detest at all.

"My my... seems like someone is almost as ruthless as my master when it comes to handling their business," Leaning rather nonchalantly against the wall of the building she had just jumped off from, the Child of C calmly placed a deathstick on an elegant, sleek black extension before lighting it and inhaling the fumes of this vice of hers. Slowly exhaling the teal-colored smoke, Amalia's gaze turned towards Parvati and inevitably at the vial of black liquid she seemed to still caress in her hands. "I am curious though...what would possess a member of such an illustrious and elusive syndicate as yourself to grace this wretched world with their presence... don't tell me... it's the scenery?"

 

[Aerik Lechner]

WEARING: xxx
TAG: Meili Feng | Open

Social gatherings were still something of a difficulty for the young pup. The last time he had attended one, fate decided it would be the night for him to experience his first change. Now that he experienced it, the arrangement which allowed him to leave the academy once a month no longer existed. The acolyte could only leave the grounds for assignments or events which sought to parade the next generation of Sith leadership in front of the Empire.

It seemed the event in New Kaas was one such event.

Aerik did not want to go alone. Irina was still dealing with the affairs of her late father. His siblings were would be there somewhere, likely serving as the fifth cohort was usually selected for such things. He missed them, but his placement in the fourth away from them was for his benefit. The pup had advanced. He was responsible for the death of two Jedi. The academy had to promote him.

The lightsaber he procured from one of the Jedi hung from his waist. It was a trophy piece for now, though the pup had often thought about bleeding the crystal. He would, eventually. It was a distant thought as the sights and sounds of the gathering filled his senses. It was almost overwhelming. Sound was a particular difficulty now.

Before his change, Aerik heard everything, or so he thought. He did not conceive it possible that his hearing would be anymore sensitive. It was something to practice, and Quinn Varanin was helping him learn how to focus on what he was hearing. Aerik could hear conversations around him now, and his mind was getting better at cataloguing them. Soon, he would be able to walk about as he was now and listen to a conversation across the room without anyone knowing.

Tonight was not supposed to be about training, however. Even though his siblings were somewhere serving, Aerik was told to enjoy himself. There was another student like him. They had met during testing. Meili Feng would be good company if his siblings were not available. She would at least understand why he was giving off some nervous energy.

What if he wasn't as good at controlling his change as he thought he was?

That was something he still had to practice as well.

They agreed to meet at the entrance since they were not in the same cohort either. The shuttles would arrive separate, but once they were there, the night was free. Aerik hoped to see other students there as well. He did not know many as well as he ought to. Tonight would be a night to change that. Maybe he would even finally make some new friends.

 

[Nameless]

VOICE OF NOTHING

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

The sky above Dromund Kaas growled like a caged beast. Lightning lit the high towers in bursts of jagged white, and the storm did not wept below.

The Cholerkin stripped of his name walked with his head unbowed.
His garb was travel-worn, faded from time, but ceremonial in cut. A dark fabric layered with faint etching at the sleeves, marks not of any known Sith cult but foreign geometries. Cholerkin script, once etched in pride, now faded beneath the wear of rain and time.

Through the Sovereign Plaza, he passed without comment. The scent of spiced wine mingled with incense and projection-light. Crimson sigils flared overhead. Bodies moved, laughed, dueled in low circles. Illusions danced like ghosts between them. Fear, shaped into art.

He gave it all a passing glance.

It was toward the Arcane Court he turned, driven by something almost recognizable to him. Something old was being twisted there. Rituals layered in spectacle. Flesh made into symbol. Pain made into power. It wasn't the Godsblood rituals he knew, but it... rhymed, perhaps, was the best way to put it.

He did not announce himself, demand no audience. He remained silent, standing on the edge of one ritual circle, watching the demonstration unfold. Arms folded. Expression unreadable.

To some, he might look like a scholar, or just simply another specter in the crowd.

@Open​

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

Dromund Kaas
The Concourse
Bazaar

​

Lost in thought and alchemical calculation for much of the transport over, the neti did in fact hear Lysander von Ascania the moment he addressed her. However, the response time was notably slowed and her body language as a botanical was likely not something easily recognizable to the bipedal mammalian. The blonde continued on, his counterpart seemed lost in meditative reverie, and A'Mia gave a small rippling wave with one of her extra branches in a silent acknowledgement of the numbers being cited.

Without missing a beat, he continued in a lower tone. “So, I’ve been thinking of ways to expand business outside of the academy. Or even beyond Korriban.” Perhaps, he had spoken it aloud on purpose, attempting to will it into existence, as like any true manifestation, it needed belief first.

A whooshing agreement in the neti language, a series of clicking branches and rustling vines that indicated she too had been pondering such matters. A'Mia moved dreamlike, as if underwater, through the bustling crowds with that eerie almost floating gait her many limbed form could grant her. It was only when Revna Marr 's apprentice nudged her did she seem to recognize that she'd been speaking to him in a language he did not understand.

A cheshire grin twisted just before he bumped her arm with an elbow, in a manner more befitting of a kid brother than an acolyte. His orbs sparkled with mirth. "Hello? Tree lady? Are you even paying attention? Did the local spore colonies here already claim you as one of their own? I wonder what the Sith Code would have to say about that."

She blinked and stopped moving, looking surprised. A rare occurrence and even rarer show of emotion for the strange botanical.

"Ahh yes- the numbers are promising and expansion is precisely why I've brought you here."

Unlike the blonde, who showed no outward signs of his mental augmentation, and Varin Mortifer who was untouched by any herbal enhancements, the neti had a hazy aura about her. The woman's form was more traditionally humanoid looking that day than some of her more shambling visages. However, her barklike skin was covered in a new variant of psychoactive lichen that she was testing out on herself and it gave her a decidedly druidic look.

The woman turned her head a bit too far for it to look natural on a standard humanoid and leveled her large pupil-less eyes on Revna's other apprentice. A'Mia's gaze traced the outline of him, as if his metaphysical presence took up far more space than his physical form. Since her departure from Korriban, the neti had taken it upon herself to watch after the boys and ensure their training continue without disturbance.

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

Her tone was pleasant, as if they were discussing the weather, but her cold bearing left no room for argument. She turned and continued moving toward the impressive lines of colorful and mysterious stalls full of various goods for sale. On her hip, she carried a rather rustic looking basket that might seem out of place in a place like this. However, its contents left no room for question as to whether she belonged in this place where strange and powerful materials could be bartered, bought, and sold.

"Now, use your senses to take stock of this place with me. Your eyes, ears, and noses- yes. But you ought to reach out through the Force too."

They pushed through to the entrance of the bazaar, A'Mia producing verification on a quickly flashes datapad that "No, security may not search her or the basket" and their little group continued on with little fuss.

"Let's walk this first block or two, take in the lay of the land to begin before we truly engage. I'll provide you each with funds if you can make your case to me that there are things worth adding to my collection of plants, poisons, and other alchemical-"

Her voice cut off and her head turned at an alarming angle once more. Her bright voice lowered conspiratorially.

"Oh see, I've already spotted one vendor fronting with cheap stand ins- Now, do you think they have proper magick inks held somewhere in reserve, or are they a total sham? Let us find the hidden treasures here, and be prepared to defend your findings with reason or a very compelling argument for why I should trust your intuition!"

A'Mia looked downright vibrant with glee, her tall and willowy form swaying through the crowd as she began to gather intel alongside her student shadows.

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Foreboding."

Tags - Niysha

The storm never sleeps.

And neither did she.

In the farthest corner of Sovereign Plaza, behind a slanted obsidian archway whose geometry felt like a challenge to the gods themselves, Darth Virelia sat alone.

Not idly. Not in waiting, not truly. Waiting was a lesser's word, implying helplessness, expectation. Virelia did not wait. She permitted time to pass. She allowed it to crawl around her like a supplicant dog, snapping at the scraps of her attention, barking for her gaze.

And she did not look.

She did not need to.

Her helm—mirror-black, faceless, alive with six symmetrical violet eyes—gazed in every direction. She could see the Plaza without looking. The dancers, their fear-laced grace. The illusionists, distorting perception like playthings. The crowds—pilgrims, pretenders, aspirants, pretenders who thought they weren't. And beneath it all, humming like a pulse against her armored spine, the city's collective anticipation.

So loud.

And so small.

A heartbeat ago, she had been somewhere far colder than this—the edge of known space, cross-referencing maps drawn in starlight and madness, diving into anomalous ruins left by things that predated the Force itself. She had not slept. She had not eaten. She had not wanted to. Her mind had drowned itself in speculation and discovery, in symbols etched into alien alloy, in mass-driver graves where no oxygen had ever touched.

She had touched the void again. The true void. And it had blinked.

Her fingers—sheathed in black talons—tightened slowly around the lip of the metal goblet before her. Spiced wine. Warm. Rich. Useless.

The scent offended her. It performed comfort, without delivering it.

Still, she drank. Just a touch. Enough to play the part.

The violet sigils in her breastplate flickered, casting faint glyphs onto the polished black of the table she occupied. A low hum, rhythmic and metered, echoed from the crystalline core in her sternum. It beat for her. Not as a heart. But as a furnace. A reactor of will, carved into her with sacrificial metallurgy and sharpened philosophy.

Darth Virelia did not lounge. She sat perfectly still. Not tense. Not relaxed. Simply inevitable.

A temple unto herself.

And she had come here for one reason.

Niysha.

Even the name curved strangely in her thoughts now. Not like it used to—once, it had fluttered in the softer corners of her psyche, beneath silk and sentiment. But sentiment was weakness, and silk could be strangled with. Now, Niysha moved through her mind like a sacred question: not "Do I love her?"—what a mortal query that was—but rather:

"How shall I use her, without breaking what makes her shine?"

Because shine, she did.

Not like the weaklings in the Plaza, preening for favor, scheming for secondhand power. Niysha was never meant to beg or kneel. She chose her place. She stood where others fell—and still, after all this time, she came to her.

And Virelia... Virelia had learned to find meaning in that.

The thought curled like smoke through her mental citadel, brushing against long-dormant doors. Emotion. Memory. Restraint.

Useless things, but not forgotten. Not yet.

Not when she might be near.

Her gaze did not shift—but her perception did. Somewhere beyond the archways, the air changed. It always did when Niysha approached. Even before her form revealed itself in the crowd, even before her voice, her stride, her tilt of head—the Force itself bent around her. Not loudly. Not violently. Just... deliberately.

A scholar's gravity. The kind that moved slowly, but forever.

Virelia's breathing stilled. Not stilled—ceased. She had no need to inhale in that moment. She simply was.

If the dancers knew who sat in their shadow, they would falter. If the revelers understood the gravity curled into that lone figure, they would bow, bleed, or flee. But none did. Not yet.

Virelia preferred it that way.

It was almost... quaint.

A part of her—an older voice, something that spoke in Serina's tongue and not Virelia's—still ached for Niysha's smile. For the sharp warmth of her wit, the way she said nothing when she understood everything. It was not affection. Not anymore.

It was addiction.

But one she had mastered.

Almost.

 

[Zara Saga]

The Concourse​

Zara tilted her head, slowly, like a predator feigning curiosity. The stranger's voice reached her first, far too confident for someone dressed like he'd lost a bet with a coffin, and her eyes slid over to meet the source just as he leaned in. He reeked of power. The kind that wasn't granted by rank or given by favor, but stolen from something that had screamed all the way down.

Zara turned to face him fully, studying the man behind the shades like a puzzle she'd rather break than solve. She didn't flinch at the chill, didn't shrink from the weight pressing off of him. If anything, she stepped into it.

"Shoddy?" she echoed, her voice honeyed with disbelief and just the faintest edge of mockery. "Darling, if I wanted beauty or benefit, I'd be in a spa tank on Coruscant being massaged by twins who never learned how to say no."

She gestured lazily to the tattooist's kit, fingers trailing along one of the needles with the kind of dangerous grace that said she'd absolutely flirt with a landmine if it wore the right shade of mystery. "But here? This..." she smiled like something ornamental with too many teeth, "...this might ruin me in a way that actually matters."

Zara turned back to the artist, lifting her chin. "Something rare," she ordered. "Something that bites back."

Then, without looking at the stranger beside her, she added: "You're welcome to keep watching, if you're brave enough to learn why I don't need benefits."

Zara rifled through the spread of designs with the same care she might use selecting a dessert to ruin her dinner, deliberate. Her fingers hovered over an etching wrapped in jagged runes and curling thorns, one that pulsed faintly when touched, like it knew secrets and demanded silence in return.

"This one," she purred, tapping it with a manicured nail. "It's ugly. I love it."

Without waiting for approval, because who exactly was going to stop her, she slipped off her cloak and pulled up her shirt just enough to bare the curve of her ribs, pale and perfect and wildly unafraid. She pointed to the space beneath her left side. "Here. I want it to hurt when I laugh."

Then, finally, she glanced at the stranger again with a smirk that danced just past insolent.

"Still unimpressed?"

The Lord of Hunger​

 

[Niysha]

Where: Sovereign Plaza
Who: Just Darth Virelia , for now. Open to new experiences.
What: Reckoning with some personal stuff, actually. Dealing with Serina's toxic workaholism can wait a minute.
How: Some light reading, for anyone who hasn't met Niysha before [x] [x]

This place was very new, but when Niysha walked its streets, she felt something very old. Memories had become more friendly to her of late, with In Rhan and Tilon Quill walking through her thoughts in her darkest moments. It was a new experience, to have nice, humanizing memories to find refuge in for a change, but even those were slim solace on Kaas. The crowds weren't concerning, and atmosphere wasn't off-putting, but something about the whole thing still had her on-edge.

When she managed to make it through the towering, unnecessarily opulent front gates and gently pushed through a crowd of people, Niysha found a place to lean and parse through the overwhelming cloud of angst that started to suffocate her. The city she'd been raised in was gone. Bombed into rubble, from what she'd heard. Everyone who'd lived there was dead, and the academy where she'd trained was a pile of rocks full of ghosts. When she was a child she had been defenseless, and she'd paid the price for that. Now, she was fine. When she was alone, she'd barely scraped by with the need to die slightly more slowly than Kaas City had wanted her to. Now, she had people to live for and things to do.

She was prepared. This time she was stronger than this horrible place.

Niysha took a deep breath and exhaled her concerns. Just that reinforced to her how far she'd come; conquering her fear was so much easier now than it had been when she was a nameless, beaten child in one of a thousand unimportant academies. She'd returned to this awful planet a Sith, by some measure, and for just a moment she even felt like one. It didn't matter how many people around her were stronger, more dangerous, or generally more terrifying than she was. This time she was her own master.

Properly inspired, the Miraluka buried her presence comfortably deep and soldiered deeper in. She knew exactly what to look for; it would be impossible for her to miss Serina Calis' aura or her over-the-top displays of power. Her sight passed through a faceless sea of sonder, searching for the one life that she'd actually touched.

Hmm. Overpowering dark side aura... vicious blood-soaked malice... terror, terror, terror...

Ah, there it was. Niysha took a moment to verify that yes, indeed, that was Serina's aura. It felt a bit off, definitely changed since their last meeting, but it was still recognizable. Stormclouds and thunder, just darker and less lively than before. She'd probably gone off on some fool nonsense or run afoul of a bigger fish. Given the gulf between how important she acted and how legitimately terrifying powerful Sith Lords were, it was really only a matter of time before Serina bit off something more than she could chew.

As subtle as you please, Niysha and her thoroughly dampened presence - her barely-discernable aura of insignificance - slipped out of the main thoroughfare and around to the side paths, on the opposite side of the pillars. She passed two massive stone columns in what she presumed normal people would qualify as "darkness," then slipped around to Serina's hiding spot. Hiding quietly by one corner.

Seconds before she spoke, she eased up on her presence, allowing a hint of herself to peek through so she didn't startle Serina when she spoke. "Sorry it took me so long. I had to deal with some baggage." She didn't audibly hesitate, though there was at least a bit of a pause before she followed up. "So! This is the first time I get to see you dressed for the occasion. Very fancy."

Her grin was audible from acround a corner.

 

[Parvati]

ＰＡＲＶＡＴＩ
Communing with ✦ Amalia Visconti | Mira Rhory ✦
↳ Signal Confirmed // Your Eyes Only // Burn After Reading

Parvati didn't turn immediately. The remark drifted through the smoke and shadows like the first chord of a familiar song- entertaining, perhaps, but not yet worth applause. She had one hand still lazily tracing the sealed vial with a clawed fingertip. When the final credit transferred and the coward scurried off with promises and cargo, her datapad beeped, meaning the deal was on.

The storm above cracked with theatrical timing. Lightning painted the concourse in hard white for a breath. Parvati's silhouette glinted beneath her leather outfit, the sharp contours of her dress catching fragments of light- like something sculpted more than stitched.

Her gaze landed on the girl.

Not a child. Not even prey.

The smoke gave her away first, blue-tinted, laced with spice and confidence. The posture followed: poised, practiced, a predator watching from a comfortable lean. No uniform, no insignia, but Parvati didn't need markers. She read the weight in Amalia's stillness like most read price tags.

"'Almost' as ruthless," she repeated, tone warm but distant. "I'll take that as flattery."

She reached into the folds of her dress and pulled a deathstick of her own, black-chrome casing, tipped in crimson, far too elegant to be standard. It rested between her lips, unlit, a statement more than a habit. She gave a soft click of her tongue, then tilted her chin toward Amalia.

"I seem to have left my lighter on the other dress. Would you be a darling?"

It wasn't a plea. It was a game piece placed on the board. An offering. The storm rumbled again, lower this time, like laughter from something buried deep.

She stepped in, just enough for the distance to feel deliberate. The glint of her clawed gloves caught the light. The vial vanished into a concealed pocket at her hip.

"Scenery?" she echoed at last, voice rich with dry amusement. "No, darling. Though the lighting's fabulous."

A pause.

"She said there might be eyes on me." The words slipped out slowly, draped in velvet. "Didn't say they'd be wearing such lovely cheekbones."

Parvati smiled- barely. A flicker, quick and calculated.

"But since we're being curious... What brings my admirer down from her perch? Surely you're not here just to watch me shop." She leaned in, the unlit deathstick still between her lips, voice now low enough to be shared only between them.

"Or did you jump down hoping I'd ask you for something?"

Mistress of the House ⛧ The Velvet Guillotine ⛧ High Priestess of Vice​

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Foreboding."

Tags - Niysha

Darth Virelia turned her head—slowly, precisely.

No words. Not yet.

Just that tilt. A sovereign's rotation. Mechanical, inhuman, deliberate. Her obsidian helm reflected nothing but ruin-light—those six slanted, violet eyes pulsing softly as they drank in the sight of Niysha stepping from the false darkness of Sovereign Plaza into the storm-drenched truth of her shadow.

A thousand things moved behind that mask. A hundred hungers. Half as many sins. But all of them focused—narrowed—tightened—coiled around the one familiar presence in this cursed city that did not sicken her with its desperation.

"Fancy," she repeated, as if sampling the word for poison. Her voice, modulated through the mask, was silk wrapped around a garrote—low, rich, curved by intellect, and sharpened by the promise of control. "Yes. I suppose that's one word for what you see."

She rose—fluid, imperial, inevitable. The sound her armor made was not a noise but a statement. Plates shifting like tectonic dominions, Tyrant's Embrace parting and reforming with biomechanical grace as she closed the distance between them. Not too close.

Just close enough to let Niysha feel the cold.

"You're wearing my colors." Her tone thinned, sharpened, grew surgical. "My seal. My authority. Command, stitched into your spine like a secret. Do you know what it does to me, seeing you like that?"

A pause.

No smile. But the mask inclined. Like a predator leaning in—not to attack, but to savor.

"It's obscene," she whispered, voice coaxing and curved, "how right it looks on you."

She reached out—not to touch, not yet. Instead, her taloned gauntlet hovered near Niysha's shoulder, close enough for the static field of her armor to make the Miraluka's hairs rise. "You look like something that belongs on my bridge. Or my bed."

Her fingers flexed. Not touching—inviting. With the restraint of a goddess deciding who to bless.

"And you call it baggage," she murmured, as if it amused her. "As if memory isn't a weapon. As if ghosts don't make the best sentries. You walked through your fear like a procession, and you dressed in my name to do it. That's not weakness, Niysha."

Another step. Closer now.

"That's devotion."

Lightning cracked above them. A white-hot scar across the void. For a moment, Virelia looked sculpted from its light—storm-born and statue-still, illuminated by fury not her own, but claimed regardless.

Her gaze—those alien, insectile violet lenses—locked onto Niysha's face.

"I've had no use for pleasantries tonight," she said flatly. "This plaza is a zoo of ambition. Of weak things clawing at stronger ones. There's nothing new here. Nothing that stirs me. But you—"

Another half-inch forward. Closer now. Not touching, but claiming.

"You are sacred."

There was a pause. And in it, something beneath the steel broke surface—a flicker, almost imperceptible, of affection, twisted now into something colder, darker, but no less intimate.

"I almost didn't call you here," she admitted, softly. "I didn't want this place to touch you. Not yet. Kaas is rot. It infects. I would have kept you away. Buried in warm, foreign stars."

A silence.

"But then," she said, voice low and dangerous, "I remembered that you don't need protecting. Not in the way others do. Not in the way I once did. And certainly not from me."

She let the words settle. Let Niysha feel the weight of them. Let her understand the shift. This was no longer the woman who'd kissed her in the quiet darkness of the tomb, who had whispered her name with awe, who had marveled at softness.

This was Virelia.

And Virelia did not ask for things.

She imposed.

"Do you know what I've been building?" she asked, voice curling like smoke around confession. "Out in the unlit dark? I have torn open maps with my mind. Bent the Force into language. There are secrets in this galaxy that even the Sith have forgotten, and I intend to claim them."

She circled now—slow, prowling—letting her words coil around Niysha like a leash of suggestion. "A fleet that can vanish. A city beneath the stars. An empire in echo. And when I reach into that darkness, when I whisper into ancient mouths—It's going to be fun, but..."

A soft hum filled the space between them. The low thrum of the sigil on her chest—alive, breathing, waiting.

"I want you here," she said finally. "Not as a passenger. As something else."

A gloved hand rose again—this time touching. Barely. Just the edge of her gauntlet against the sleeve of that Dominion-pattern uniform. A subtle pressure. A claiming.

"As an amazing and beautiful distraction from some lousy work."

 

[Soah Ty’Jyn]

Interacting with: Kasir Dorran

​

Soah's ears twitched the moment she caught it -- his scent. Not spice, not sweat, not the lingering rot that hung over half the stalls in this part of the Concourse. No, this was darker and tinged with a metallic copper of old ancient blood. Her hackles didn't rise this time. Instead they settled.

The Acolyte didn't turn immediately, although the pulsing ink along her shoulders shifted restlessly, twisting into something akin to curling fangs across her collarbones before bleeding into jagged inky script anew. The creature within her skin had sensed him too.

She should've known. He always moved like that in that quiet but deliberate predatory way of his. Like a thought you didn't want to have. Getting used to what a Sanguir is was a curious thing. Fascinating certaintly, but Soah wasn't sure why anyone would want to drink blood instead of eating tasty meat.

In either case, Soah didn't look at him, not at first. Instead, she tilted her head as she panned the area, scanning a stall packed with what might've been hexed fruit or small thermal detonators. Possibly both.

"You say that like I wasn't planning on it." Her tone was dry and clipped, a hiss of words through gritted, sharp teeth.

"One more meatbag breathing down my neck and someone would've been eating pavement.... or maybe lost a digit or two."

Only then did she glance over, golden eyes catching the gleam of his dark ones. Her tail twitched once beneath her cloak, betraying more of her mood than she liked, as the compliment, well, if you could call it that, managed to worm itself into her chest. Praise. A flicker of pride warmed her ribs before it soured into annoyance. She didn't need him seeing that.

The tattoos along her throat pulsed once, a ripple of black ink that bled out into a spiral before flattening, almost as if they too were judging her reaction.

Soah scowled, shifting her weight as he continued.

Dancing? Really?

"Dancing?" she muttered, shoulders hunched like she'd just been offered a plague ridden Nerf carcass.

"Who would want to be that close to anyone for longer than necessary? Holding hands? Smelling their musk and stink as one twirled like a fool. What's the point?" Her nose wrinkled just at the thought of it, even the fine fur at her hackles stood. But her voice wasn't angry; it was more confused, suspicious even, like a Nexu cub shown a strange new tool and told it could be a weapon. Was there a point to it, really? A benefit from it?

The Force stirred faintly between them, thick with tension and curiosity. And maybe, just maybe… the barest curl of willingness.

Well, as long as it was worth it, otherwise she'd rather deal with the arcane.

But even then, the continuing stink of others around her flashing with one scent to the next reminded her of when @Naamino Zuukamanoagain had traveled with them. Nubs. Nubbly nub nub Zabrak.. or Zabrek... whatever they are called.

Blegh.

"I'm still trying to rub off that nubby Naami's scent from the ship. Every breath he took had tasted like hot, humid, moldy spice. I can still feel it sticking in my throat."