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

[Amalia Visconti | Mira Rhory]

TAG: Parvati

​

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

"You should," After taking a long drag of her deathstick, the seemingly young woman exhaled the smoke calmly, looking up at the escaping particles before she slowly and seemingly in a somewhat seductive manner shifted her gaze towards Parvati . Reaching inside the formfitting vest she was wearing, Amalia pulled out a rather quaint and somewhat antiquated looking lighter, antiquated in the fact that it seemed to still use liquid fuel and a firestone to ignite a small flame in stead of using arc lightning or other less laborous and polluting ways to light up a deathstick.

"There you go," The woman showed a somewhat slight and seemingly desinterested grin, slowly moving away from the wall and coming closer to the Black Sun operator, throwing the lighter softly towards her target when they were close enough to eachother. The lighter itself was quite curious in its design though, as it was one bearing the brand of the House Nargath, one of the more corporately active noble families on Eriadu, but consequentially also the ones in charge of the galaxy-spanning N&Z Umbrella Corporation.

"Those who are part of this network of connections should all expect to have eyes on them," Amalia joked, even though her eyes and overall expressions seemed to remain entirely neutral. Though her eyes did somewhat light up when the remark of having such lovely cheekbones was made. Whether it was a joke or not, it did fluster the woman just a bit.

"You are HER connection to the Black Sun, but as you may have guessed...my master desires to have a more direct connection to you as well," The woman took another drag of her deathstick and tilted her head a bit as she exhaled the smoke. "There are after all many things to discuss to amke sure any cooperation between us would benefit both parties involved with as little expense as possible for as large a profit in return, no?"

 

[Darth Levairos]

SOVEREIGN PLAZA​

​

A soft hum, a near-silent snap, each movement of the tank was measured and calculated as the two individuals stood on either side as though they were waiting for it to lean one way or the other so they might right it back into its proper orientation. The robed individuals remained silent, their duty was not one of speaking or action, it was of service. A third individual trailed behind the tank, their focus remaining on the sensitive controls and atmospheric readout, ensuring that the temperature remained steady and that the readings didn't fluctuate wildly. A soft hum slipped from beneath the tank, its repulsorlift engines keeping the tank afloat, hovering only a foot or two above the ground. The tank itself remained silent, the glass obscured and preventing any from seeing the contents that were held within. ​

​

As the tank moved into position, the trio of individuals seemed to snap to attention, their attention falling to the tank as the glass slowly became transparent to reveal a woman sitting silently in the liquid held within. Her large tail was carefully slipped beneath her as though one would tuck their legs beneath their chair. Her back pressed comfortably against the seat that seemed to be just as intricately and carefully constructed into the aquarium as any other important system. Her arms remained still, resting on the armrests, her clawed fingers curling over the edges and lightly tapping against the metal, though no sound slipped free from the tank. ​

​

Shifting silently, her hair seemed to flutter and dance in the water with any little movement of the woman's head, a soft smile creeping over her lips and tugging at the edges of her mouth. A hint of fangs revealed for a moment as her sanguine-hued eyes snapped open, thankful that the gathering was being held during the night to avoid the annoyance that was the sunlight. Her smile slipped away, returning to a soft, devilish smirk as she leaned her head to her side, her hand slowly coming up from where it sat. Proping her cheek against her palm, her long claw-like nail sat gently against her lip as she seemed to be taking the moment to take in every aspect of the gathering. ​

​

The three individuals nodded silently, reacting to some unseen or unperceived command as they continued their careful procession into the Plaza, each step measured to keep in pace with the tank as it slowly hovered forward. All the while the woman remained seated within, her other hand continuing to lightly tap against the armrest as her claw-like nail gently ran against her lower lip. She remained silent, her focus more on watching and listening rather than announcing her presence or attempting to show herself as more important than she was. ​

​

After all, she was here at the behest of her Mistress, Darth Levairos.​

​

Tags: OPEN​

​

​

 

[Amara Zambrano]

A new dress, a different locket, but it was still the same Dromund Kaas. She'd been here a couple of weeks ago to visit Darth Carnifex , but she'd been to Kaas city countless times in dreams she'd walked through the two decades she'd spent in a coma. Not through her own eyes, of course, but she'd seen them through the eyes of a sister that had long since, at this point, passed on. Memories and nightmares aside, New Kaas City was alive with festivities for once and she wasn't here to sulk or whine like she had the last time she'd shown her face around the Sith homeworld. Of course with her father, Darth Prazutis , here, she couldn't be too irresponsible.

The Sovereign Plaza was, more-or-less, rather lively. Aside from the food stalls and the music there were various red crystals of some sort positioned here and there to cast a red glow over the area as the choice lighting - a bit cliche, but not quite so much to be garish, in her opinion. She'd eaten already, of course, so heading over to the various offerings for food wasn't really something that was on her radar, and, while music was certainly an escape for her, this wasn't the time or place for her to slip away. 'Talk to people, rub elbows, make friends.' She thought to herself, putting on a smile as she offered a wave to yet another disappointed vendor as she walked on by towards the concourse with the market bazaar in mind.

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Foreboding."

Tags - Niysha

Virelia didn't look back until they reached the terrace.

She didn't need to—Niysha's silence followed her like gravity. She felt the Miraluka behind her, always slightly off-center, as if daring the storm to remember that it could still be weathered. That subtle, curated aura—folded in on itself like a cloak woven from the idea of absence—was, perversely, one of the loudest things in the plaza.

To someone like Virelia, it was thunder muffled beneath velvet. A masterstroke of self-erasure.

She adored it.

When they stopped—finally, fully alone beneath the broken statuary and flickering sigils of the upper tier—Virelia turned. Slowly. As if the world had to wait for her rotation. As if time itself deferred to the predator's rhythm.

Her six-eyed helm stared down at Niysha, unblinking. Judging. Reverent.

And then she reached up.

With both hands this time.

The helm came off.

It hissed in protest, unsealing with the sound of pressure and breath denied. She lifted it from her head like a crown unburdened, letting the stormlight kiss her face for the first time that night.

And there she was.
Serina Calis. Darth Virelia. Neither. Both.

Eyes like amethyst fire.
Lips touched with color so deep it was almost bruised.
Hair pinned in ceremonial coils behind her skull, blonde as always.
Her expression? Solemn. But not cruel.

She studied Niysha in silence for a long moment.

And then, finally, she softened. Not in the way mortals did—not with awkward affection or open vulnerability. But in the way of temples cracking just enough to let golden light leak through.

"You said the words," she murmured, stepping close. "My Lord."

The phrase sat heavy on her tongue. She chewed it with silent delight.

"I don't require it," she added. "But I do enjoy it."

She lifted one gauntleted hand again, touching two fingers to Niysha's collarbone—right above the armored uniform's clasp. "Especially when it comes from someone I actually value."

There was a kind of pressure there, but not from her hand. From her presence. It swelled again, unshackled, crashing against the edges of the terrace like a tide of atmosphere itself. Not crushing—but immersive. Drowning in permission. In dominance. In something larger than lust or hunger.

In want, reimagined as command.

"You worried," she said simply, brushing her thumb now across the insignia on Niysha's chest. "Don't deny it. I saw it. I felt it. The way your awareness hovered just beyond the edge of escape."

She leaned in, lips a whisper from Niysha's ear.

"I would've let you run. I always would."

A beat.

"But I also know you wouldn't."

She pulled back. Her eyes were unreadable, but something bright burned behind them—respect, maybe. Or something like it. The rarest currency in her dominion.

"You're not a hostage, little ghost," she said, voice rich with intimate gravity.

She took a breath—not for necessity, but for ritual—and folded her hands behind her back, shoulders proud, cape stirring in the wind.

"I've changed. You noticed."

It wasn't a confession. It was a statement.

 

[Niysha]

Where: A very slightly different part of Sovereign Plaza
Who: Darth Virelia and her pathological need for melodrama
What: Oh, you know. Girl stuff.

It didn't take Her Dread Majesty long to float ominously to a stop. It seemed they were finally in a private enough space one floor up and in a slightly quieter part of the large, ostentatious, audibly and spiritually deafening main plaza. Niysha never hesitated in following Serina wherever she wound up, but she had even less reason to suddenly disappear today than she normally did. She was effectively a remora, latched onto the much spicier, more obvious presence of a full-blown Sith Lord.

Niysha was keenly aware that she could do this with any Sith Lord that didn't want her dead, which was the vast majority of them. It was something to keep in mind for the future.

One consistent point of confusion the Miraluka always had to contend with was masks. When normal species wanted to be mysterious or anonymous, they'd just put on more clothes. And yes, this did change the material shape of their aura, but it did absolutely nothing to change the aura itself. Serina could've shown up wearing a full-body blanket like a bad ghost costume and she'd still look like Serina to Niysha. Removing masks likewise tended to be treated as some kind of huge, meaningful ordeal - all it did for Niysha was change the material shape of Serina's face slightly.

Despite her situation, Niysha didn't flinch when touched. She also wasn't terribly good at standing at any kind of military attention, no matter how she was dressed, so she didn't have any composure to lose, really. Her voice was similarly tender, but not shaky. "Just trying to get a feel of what the minimum safe distance is for your new atmosphere, my Lord. I'd hope that we're both well aware that of the two of us, I'd be the one reduced to an unpleasant, visceral stain on the pavement if something unexpected happened."

Initially, she'd defaulted to formal address because Serina wasn't acting like herself. Now, she'd wind up continuing to use it because her partner had specifically requested it. And that's who she was dealing with. Her partner, even if Serina was pushing her doom and gloom a bit harder. It was likely a Kaas thing. People chest-beat a lot more at big gatherings, and Sith were just the primordial exaggeration of "people."

"Change is relative, my Lord," she replied quietly, falling into a slightly tired smile. "You've changed since I met you, I've changed since you met me. The degree of that change, the end result of it... all of those things are relative. You'll change again before this evening is done, and so will I." Niysha fidgeted with her uniform a bit to try to make it look snazzier. She had absolutely no idea if it worked or not. "One thing that won't be changing, though, is why I'm here."

At least, not without an impressively terrible decision on Serina's part.

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

A'Mia took note of the way Varin Mortifer appeared to speak to himself, she'd seen the off-put glances from his peers during his time at Kor'ethyr as well. The neti knew he was not in fact speaking to himself but addressing the presence that lingered about him, lived within him and guided him.

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.”

"What a bizarre turn of phrase- you are not an infant Lysander and I have no intention to flatten you," the woman mused lightly as her senses branched out.

She took his meaning though, and so used the opportunity to show some trust in Revna's apprentices while keeping them somewhat on task. The orchid core thrummed within her as she extended her senses ever outward- creeping through the bazaar like so many metaphysical roots and forming two connections with the minds of her young wards.

To Lysander, the sensation might feel almost like a breeze. Her mind had connected with his before, and his current cognitive state was very much in alignment with hers. Together they were trees in the wind, and they shared sensory data without need for the archaic use of language. She witnessed his pull toward one flower in particular but his emotional state was alien to her. In turn, the student's vision began to overlay with yet more data- a vast, illuminated grid that spanned across everything.

The Weave, she imparted to him without words, You see it now too for a time.

Because the boy had been on Woostri, this strange alteration might be less alarming than to the uninitiated. This newly granted vision though was somehow far more involved than witnessing mere shatterpoints. It illuminated pathways of chance and probability, cast shadows and echoes of what once was or could one day be.

As to Varin, the neti connected with his mind too but her methodology was more abrupt and intrusive given that she needed to wrest some control from the fiery shadow that inhabited the same space.

It would feel as if a vine was suddenly encircling the wrist of his right arm. A'Mia's presence was perhaps subtle to him at first- but surely Ignati would find the sudden connection jarring.

Make room specter, she practically sang into his mind, I have lessons to impart and yooouuu will not benefit from a warrior that lacks cunning or other non-combat related skills.

Varin, something calls to you. An artifact? Find it and we can assess its value to you. The instruction was clear but more cajoling than demanding, as if she relished the chance to back Varin's play while undermining Ignati's.

Those psychic bonds formed, A'Mia strode deeper into the bazaar and continued to fill in her mental map for which vendors had the most promising wares at first glance.For their part, the boys continued to be pulled in all directions by hollers from the various booths, fantastic smells rising up from food-carts, and the promise of bizarre or beautiful trinkets and goods at every turn.

The neti soon found a plant stand that demanded her near undivided attention for a time, already haggling with the seller over import tax and buying bulk on a particularly rare subspecies of flowering plants that were ideal for making magick dyes. Her presence lingered with the boys as well, and she would make haste to them if either found something particularly noteworthy.

 

[Kasir Dorran]

Soah Ty’Jyn
​

Kasir's gaze lingered a breath too long on the dance of her ink; it was not out of fascination or admiration, but recognition. A measured glance meant to calculate her current state, even if all too predictable. His jaw flexed unconsciously at the bitterness directed towards herself. The tension was acknowledged, but no comment would follow, lest he dare give it shape. And while all others moved around them, he remained motionless, a true constant. The Sith allowed her to speak, his head tilting slightly as though he might have even been curious, testing the air for a specific scent.

"You were not expected to endure this long. Most with your nature.. tend to unravel long before even scratching the surface of discipline. Yet here you stand." Though his voice was smooth, it lacked sentiment. The words suggested spoken prophecy, his breath like cool wind through a mausoleum. “Proof of your inner strength.”

While he would never admit it aloud, a year alongside the Felacatian had altered his own rhythm in ways that training could not. Instead of testing his composure, as it did in the beginning, the girl now sharpened it.

The edge in her tone was not missed when mentioning the Zabrak; not a direct challenge per se, but a familiar echo to be sure. Had he dissected the nuances of her words further, beneath the irritation, perhaps a quiet admission may have stirred deep within Kasir's chest. That day was remembered with clarity, when hordes from all corners of the galaxy rallied for a lost cause, only to be swept through like ripe grain against a scythe's merciless arc."Whether Wonosa's path intertwines with those on Korriban out of survival or circumstance, only time will tell. For now, I believe there is strength in shared purpose. Naamino shows promise. You may wish to reflect on that soon.”

Mockery, and the curl of her lip, much like armor forged against vulnerability. The skepticism too, was palpable, but Kasir would not dismiss his apprentice’s doubts; there was no need to waste emotion, and trivial gestures had long been stripped away from his essence. “Dancing is a language of silence that is not blood soaked.. one that can command without a single word.” Ghosts of past galas and events of the like drifted through his mind from countless covert operations during his time as a Darkseeker. “When you learn to move with purpose, the air around you has a way of shifting. The weak.. many there will be, will stop to watch, and even listen. You won’t have to shout there, Soah.”

He wasn’t offering closeness, but understanding. Porcelain toned hands hung at his sides, waiting, as if he may raise them, a gesture that surely would’ve carried the same trust as handing over a weapon. “There will still be time for the Arcane Courts, or perhaps.. we return here, and search for something of value."

 

[Parvati]

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

The mistress caught the lighter mid-air with gloved precision, her fingers closing around it with a subtle snap. She didn't glance at it right away. Instead, she thumbed the cap open, and a small, honest flame flickered to life, quaint, charming in its obsolescence. She leaned in to meet it, lighting her deathstick with a slow draw as shadows flickered across her cheekbones, shaped by the firelight and the soft glow of surrounding lanterns.

The Concourse pulsed around them, thick with bodies, banners, and the low, ever-present thrum of Sith-affiliated commerce. Somewhere nearby, a vendor shouted over the din in Huttese. The smell of oil, perfume, and scorched alloy hung in the air, carried on waves of overlapping conversation and distant hums of weaponry displays. Above it all, lightning forked silently across the sky, casting brief washes of white light over the sea of movement.

Only after that first long drag did Parvati finally turn the lighter over in her hand.

The etched crest caught her attention. Not just a noble affectation- House Nargath. Her pupils tightened slightly, but the rest of her remained still, composed.

Of course.

The realization threaded itself through her mind like silk through a needle. N&Z. The Umbrella Corporation. They didn't traffic in sentiment or style. They trafficked in power. They had shipyards, weapons, private militaries wrapped in corporate charters and wrapped again in non-disclosure. This wasn't just ornament -it was a message. Or a signature.

"Interesting taste," she said at last, letting the lighter rest in her palm."I've known their boardroom types. Cold-blooded even when they're playing nice."

She didn't give it back. Not immediately. Just turned it over once more in her fingers, letting the gesture linger a breath too long. Not quite refusal...just control. The kind of silence that left space for discomfort to bloom.

Her eyes lifted to Amalia again, sharp but not unkind.

"You're not wrong. Eyes are part of the equation. But it's rare that one decides to introduce herself. I appreciate the gesture." Her voice was calm, smooth as ever, but the warmth had drained to something more neutral now. A gear behind the face of the watch.

"I understand the offer," she continued. "And your master's timing makes sense. The Blackwall's showing its cracks. The Sith are rearranging their knives. And Black Sun? We're still standing. Quiet, yes. But not small."

Another drag from her deathstick, the ember flaring, briefly reflected in the glassy paneling of a nearby vendor's stall.

"I have no interest in making enemies," she said, exhaling smoke in a slow ribbon. "But I don't make promises on implication alone. If he wants return on investment, he'll have to name the terms directly. Shadows make for good leverage, but terrible contracts."

Finally, she extended her hand- open, calm, and deliberate.

The lighter gleamed softly in her glove. The House Nargath crest faced upward, polished now by her thumb.

"But you can have this back," she said, her voice quieter now, not soft, but close. "I don't keep things that belong to other people."

She let the moment stretch, just long enough to pull tension tight again.

"Not without a reason."

And just like that, the edge returned to her expression. The subtle shift of a woman who knew exactly how to wound with a whisper.

"Now tell me, dear, what is your name?"

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

 

[Gerwald Lechner]

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

He could feel her glance, and he knew when her eyes closed. It was not that they were so intrinsically linked, but rather Gerwald simply knew her. Srina would always turn her attention to those she claimed as her own, even if it was brief. They both knew the rage that remained toward the shadow which hosted this event. He knew the man would think Gerwald needed to thank him for making him what he was now. The Wolf would never see it that way.

Srina made him who he was. She had rebuilt him after Prazutis had broken him.

A smile pulled at his lips when the invitation came. It would seem the Echani Empress wished for them all to sit and enjoy a meal.

His eyes moved to the Mountain watching to see if he would join her. This was not their first encounter since Gerwald had become more active and away from Jutrand. Avoiding Prazutis would not always be an option. Naedira would have to understand, and Gerwald would do his best to keep his promise to not engage the Dark Lord.

Gerwald walked past Prazutis without a word. A small nod was offered at least. It would not do well for the wolf to ignore their host. A time would come when they would be required to work together, so Gerwald decided he needed to prove his civility. Perhaps a greeting was in order.

“Prazutis. It seems you are as adept at building things as you are breaking them.”

He sat, eyes finally landing on young Verd.

“Aether,” he said before turning to the other guest. “Kurayami. It has been a while.”

The greetings were short. Whether they knew him, recognized him, or chose to ignore him was up to each of them. One thing they would all find ironic at least, was how many former Confederates were in one place, and gathered around the same table.

A menu was placed in front of Gerwald. He pointed to the dumpling, The Dax. It was the closest thing he would find which would be the most agreeable with his palette. Gerwald preferred his meat to be near raw. It was the wolf which rested while he walked the universe as a human which influenced that choice. Had it not been for his time on Stewjon, and his mother forcing him to live among the people, Gerwald would have never developed a taste for cooked food, or so he imagined. He tried not to think about what life would have been like had his mother not been so overly cautious.

Corrupted gold eyes settled on his mistress at last. A look would be all he needed to give as his promise that he would behave. It was acceptable that the galaxy, and the majority of the Sith Order, believed that Darth Empyrean held his leash. The truth was not far off that mark. Srina Talon held it. She was the only one he dared not disobey.

“My raiders were happy for a chance to get off the ships and have a bit of a respite. Thank you.”

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Foreboding."

Tags - Niysha

Virelia watched her as one might study a flame—not for warmth, but for how beautifully it could consume.

Niysha's little movements were so familiar. The half-effort fidgeting, the soft-spoken defiance dressed up as self-deprecation. That ironic little smile, dulled at the edges now by the ambient rot of Kaas. She was, in every way that mattered, the same—and yet, as always, changed. Evolving in quiet increments, like coral growing in the shadow of a submerged leviathan.

And that, perhaps, was what fascinated Virelia most.
Not that Niysha followed.
But that she never stopped moving forward.

"You were always good at that," she murmured. "Surviving proximity to catastrophe."

The words could have been cruel, but they weren't. They were spoken with a kind of reverence—a recognition that Niysha's resilience was not an act, not a performance, but a principle. Something bone-deep and earned.

Virelia reached for her again, this time without ceremony. Her bare fingers ghosted beneath Niysha's chin and gently tilted it up. Not forcefully—deliberately. The gesture wasn't possessive, or aggressive, or even flirtatious.

It was evaluative. Like a sculptor admiring the tension lines in a statue carved by another hand.

"The minimum safe distance," she echoed, voice silk-wrapped steel, "is a myth. There's no safety with me. You know that. But you're also not here to be safe."

She released her touch, but didn't step away.

"You're here to be significant. And I allow it."

There was no irony in her tone. No edge. Just power, spoken plainly.

Her eyes drank in the sight of the uniform again—how it clung to Niysha's form, how the insignia projected not rank, but recognition. The command node, the armorweave lines, the subtle styling that said "belonging" more than "ownership." It was a symbol of something most Sith would never understand: chosen allegiance.

"You wear that well," she said at last, taking a step to the side, arms folding behind her back. Her long, serpentine cape whispered against the stone as she moved. "Not just the fabric, the sigil. The idea. You make my presence palatable. Human."

She let that word hang.

Human.

It tasted like rust.

"I've become something else," Virelia admitted. "Not worse. Not lost. Just... shaped. Polished into the edge I was always meant to be. My enemies will call it regression. They always do. When they cannot comprehend transformation, they call it failure."

She glanced down at Niysha's boots, then up to her mouth, and then her eyes again. Slowly. Appreciatively.

"But you," she said, more quietly, "you know the difference."

A rare smile touched her lips then—not cold, not sly. Something that might, in better times, have been called fondness.

"You're still the only creature in this entire plaza that doesn't flinch when I speak about endings like they're gifts."

She circled again—out of habit, not strategy—hands clasped behind her back like she were inspecting a prizefighter before the bout. Her gaze lingered on Niysha's throat, her jaw, her posture.

And then: "You're right, of course. I am changing again. I already feel it. This place... the pressure. The performance. It claws at the old names inside me. Serina. Darth. Virelia. All of them want to speak."

She turned on her heel, pivoting back into Niysha's personal space with a precision that made her cape snap like silk under tension.

"But none of them," she said, close now, "matter more than what I am to you."

Her voice dropped, licentious and low. Like a secret pressed against a lover's throat.

"You could call me goddess and I would love it. You could call me tyrant and I would respect it. But when you say my Lord..."

She touched Niysha's cheek with the backs of her knuckles—light, almost hesitant, but undeniably possessive.

"...that makes me real again."

A pause. Then—softly:

"That makes me here."

There was no cruelty in her now. No shadowed threat. Just the density of presence—the storm paused, the eye still. And in that space, her next words came slower, more measured:

"I won't hurt you tonight, Niysha. Not with games. Not with spectacle. I know what this city feels like. I know what it does to you. It used to do the same to me. The first time I walked these streets in power, I wore a cold face to shield myself from the overwhelming presence. But inside? I was still afraid. Still angry. Still proving."

She exhaled, shaking her head slightly, hair stirring in the wind.

"Not anymore."

Another beat.

"Tonight, I don't want your obedience. I want your presence. That's all."

She stepped back, at last, just enough to let the wind pass between them. The silence held for a breath, then two.

Then, softly: "...though if you do want to play the part of an obedient little officer at my side all evening, I confess it would make me very happy."

And that smile again—darkened now, curved with suggestion.

"You've no idea how many jealous little governors are watching us from behind their veils, wondering what you did to earn my attention."

A glance to the side. Then, with delicious finality:

"Let them wonder."

Virelia turned again, cape flaring like a closing curtain, but this time she extended a hand back toward Niysha—gloved now, fingers half-curled in silent invitation.

 

[Aether Verd]

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn​

DROMUND KAAS

Aether chuckled at her quip. It was soft and low...but real. The kind that warmed the air around them for a breath, even as the storm still rolled overhead. He didn’t realize how much he had missed that dry wit, how many days as a boy it had cut through the gray weight of his early life like a beam of light.

And when she offered him that bite, guiding the meal-stick across the table with all the lethal grace she carried so effortlessly, he leaned forward and took it. Just as, in her eyes, he would always be Aether, she would always be Srina. Always enough.

He chewed slowly, savoring the taste, then settled back in his seat with a grin that touched his eyes. “That’s really good.” he remarked, the words simple, genuine, and far more telling than a string of praises could have been.

Her answer to his question carried weight, and he nodded, understanding. When she offered another bite, he accepted it without hesitation, sharing in the quiet moment that felt like old times. Like the home away from home she had always been.

He swallowed, setting the taste on the air with the warmth of his smile. “I am taller.” he confirmed, letting the small, comfortable pride settle between them before continuing. “And I am glad you are still standing, Srina. Your good taste hasn’t changed.”

She would know exactly what he meant, and there was no need to spell it out. In a world that so often drowned in muted grays, she had always stood vibrant.

Then came the shift in the air.

The storm did not silence, but it yielded, and the Sovereign Plaza seemed to remember how to breathe only after the mountain of a man stepped into its heart. The Shadow Hand. Darth Prazutis. Aether recognized him immediately, even before the weight of him settled like iron on the plaza stones.

His father’s stories echoed in his mind, tales of House Zambrano and their bloody fingerprints pressed into the fabric of the Galaxy. The Lord of Death, they called him. Aptly named, indeed.

Aether looked upon him with the steady calm of a man who wore iron for skin, a professional warmth tempered by the silent churn beneath. His people’s holiest world had burned under Zambrano fire once upon a time, and the memory lived in the beskar at his core. But this was not the hour for that. Decorum demanded peace, and so peace it would be, even if the old Sith saying whispered its lie.

“Dromund Kaas lives up to its reputation,” Aether said simply, his voice level, “and I am glad to finally see it with my own eyes.”

Another presence arrived, familiar in tone if not in face. Kurayami. Aether’s eyes lit up, a glint of recognition flashing as the older man noted the resemblance to his sire. Aether chuckled softly, nodding. “I am one of many sons of House Verd,” he confirmed, “and it’s good to see you. You’re always welcome home, Kurayami. The bond of family is not one that breaks. It is, and always will be.”[/color]

Another familiar face appeared among the gathered, one from a lifetime ago. Gerwald. The Old Wolf. Aether raised his hand in greeting, warmth in the motion that spoke to the battles fought beside his father, the victories that shaped their people. “It’s good to see you again.” he called, letting the words carry across the storm’s hush.

Then, he turned his attention back to the Empress before him.

She had always been a mirror of clarity for him, even as a child, and the clarity struck now, answering a question that had gnawed at the back of his mind for years. His leadership of Mandalore was a reset, a change that severed old chains. No longer would they be pawns to Light or Dark. The past would be honored, but it would not be allowed to hold them hostage.

He straightened in his seat, a motion she would know well...a subtle clocking in, the unspoken sign that the conversation was shifting to business. Yet even now, it was not politics. It was family.

“Among the Empire,” he began, his voice firm but warm, “yours is a face, a name, and a word I can trust. I would like to build on the foundation we’ve always stood upon, Srina.” His gaze held hers, steady. “If the Galaxy rages against me and I call out for you, I know you’ll come. Just as, if Death seeks to snuff you out, you know I will come. That is how it has always been between us. Time may lay dust on old bonds, but bonds they remain.”

He motioned toward her with his dominant hand, the gesture smooth and unhurried, a bridge extended. “To that end, Mandalore offers to be on retainer to you, and you alone. If you have need, we will answer. Our services do not serve the interests of any Empire save our own...but we will fight to protect family.”

He reached for the freshly delivered beverage beside him, lifting it in a casual salute before taking a sip, letting the moment settle before adding, with that familiar glint of dry humor she had heard from him many times over the years:

“What say you?”​

Srina Talon | Gerwald Lechner | Darth Prazutis | Ivalyn Yvarro | Kurayami Bloodborn

 

[Zayid the Lion]

D R O M U N D - K A A S​

The Pit

The Pit rumbled beneath the roar of wagers and curses, the clatter of credits changing hands like rain against stone. Zayid listened, letting the chaos wash over him while he stood unmoved. At first, none rose. The hush was a quiet question, heavy with challenge, until a single voice called out. Across the ring, the man stood with a confidence that did not hide behind armor, and from behind his visor, Zayid allowed himself the smallest smile.

“I am happy to fight in whatever method pleases you.” Zayid said, his voice clear above the noise, carrying to where Jacen could hear without effort. The announcer then lifted his arms, the call echoing through the Pit with theatrical flourish that made the lights feel brighter, the moment feel sharper.

“The Mandalorian versus Jacen Breska!”

The bell cracked through the air like thunder.

Zayid stepped forward with the ease of one who had lived in battle, moving not with haste but with certainty. He attempted to feint left before lunging right, one hand snapping forward to grasp at Jacen’s wrist while the other reached for the fabric near his shoulder, aiming to pull the man forward and down in a sweeping motion that would force him toward the ring’s dirt without violence for its own sake. It was the opening attempt of a lion testing the strength of another, the kind of move that sought to measure the spirit behind the eyes rather than crush it outright, the Pit watching as two men began the dance that would define them in the memory of the crowd.

Jacen Breska​

Spoiler

Rolled a 13 on discord

 

[Ashin Cardé Varanin]

The Arcane Court is a place where those interested in alchemical arts might find something of interest. Here in this district turned labyrinth, you'll find obsidian monoliths surrounding ritual circles that are etched into ancient basalt. The Force actively shudders within these walls. There are demonstrations of Sith Alchemy, turning flesh to metal or even the invocation of specters. You may find blood oaths and curses, experience shared visions, or enjoy performances of long-hidden Sith philosophy being read aloud. Things are likely happening very quickly, and often, in unexpected ways. From guests being possessed by a holocron to being chased down as a "rare component" for a ritual...There is rarely a dull moment. Powerful artifacts are displayed, but it is ill-advised for any to try and utilize a five-fingered discount. If tempting fate is your jam? Have an exit plan, a wish, and more than a few prayers.

And yet for all that, the Arcane Court felt respectfully subdued just now rather than bustling, its spectators only the bravest or the least wise. Ashin noted Asaiah Celwik , Aris Noble , Nameless , and other attendees, and some kind of situation about to unfold with Elani Zambrano , but overall the space and the event allowed for appreciation and a modicum of privacy without the press of a heavy crowd.

She wore only her newest body. Or rather, she was in more than one place at once as usual now, but she was napping with her other selves to give this place her total focus. Bone-deep, she was the noted resistance fighter Delila Castillon, except she bore the Sadow-sigil sternum tattoo that had marked most of Ashin's bodies for a long, long time. A slate-gray dress and slim practical shoes of excessive cost; silvering red hair done up professionally; a simple necklace of red Mimbanese Kaiburr set in a chain of mirror-bright Mandalorian iron, and a matching jewellery-chain slanted down her hip like a sword-belt. Having stolen Castillon's body, to those who knew what they were looking at, eclipsed it all.

Some trophies you just plain showed off. You wore your best on date night.

"I'm not much for spoken word," she commented to Spencer Varanin , "but that Massassi poet back there was quite good, wasn't he. Not easy to do blank verse in Kissai."

 

[Mauve]

Sovereign Plaza
[Attire]
Proximity: Niysha | Darth Virelia | Kurayami Bloodborn | Srina Talon | Aether Verd
​

Violet eyes cut across the plaza, taking in the hubristic amounts of rich scarlets and sables, all illumined by the low lit red lamps. An absurd amount of reds and blacks, to be honest, but Mauve the Zeltron expected nothing less. The woman wore black herself, a glossy dress of satin, achingly soft.

Her heels clicked as she walked slowly across the plaza, thin, black straps wrapping around her ankles and climbing higher.

All distraction. Attentive misdirection.

Fingers went up to her wine-dark hair, brushed back a lock away from what appeared to be a simple gold earring. Still active. Good.

The links of a gold chain dripped from her neck, more bangled her wrists. A thumb fiddled anxiously against a ring on her right hand.

Here, amidst all the splendor of Sith space, she felt vulnerable. Exposed. If she made a mistake, if she slipped, there were a dozen or more Sith here just waiting to peel apart her mind. Or worse.

Spectacle whirled about her as she delved deeper into the plaza, but living on Nar Shaddaa with the constant neon glow, where you could find anything if you looked hard enough, Mauve considered herself somewhat immune to these charms. Still, it would be polite to act... awed. Perhaps.

She had been expecting something more... Sithy. Human torches, maybe. Or Jedi slaves on display. Something garishly cruel. The absence made her relieved, but she planned to keep her wits about her.

Mauve scanned the crowd, looking for familiar faces in a sea of strangers... a flash of white-blonde, maybe? A glimpse of ivory- No.

She had business tonight. No room for distractions. Unless they proved exceedingly charming...

 

[Darth Nefaron]

Location: Sovereign Plaza

Tags: War Marshal Helix

"A good brawl would make this far more entertaining. Unfortunately, we'll have to make do with conversation."
​

Nefaron gestured to the various beings that surrounded them, engaged in conversation, or various trays of rare drinks and delicacies. The vanity of the Sith was at times grand and at others disgusting. Helix, thankfully, shared the Corpse Lord's compunction to spend time in a laboratory or at the head of a vast horde to burn entire worlds.

"I find this whole display to be a waste of time, but I do admit it is rare to have a space to speak openly. Often enough, we find ourselves surrounded by rivals or lickspittles who cannot wait to drive a dagger into our backs. Of course, we are not safe from such a thing here, but we can at least pretend that is the case."

Nefaron tapped his cane on the stone of the assembly hall, observing the changes made to Dromund Kaas since the last time he had visited.

"You are not a Dark Lord, Helix. Yet I believe you will be a deciding factor in the future, when the throne sits empty. There are so few organics who understand what you and I do that it is the destiny of the weak to be little more than tools for our betterment. While my colleagues in the order have not forgotten cruelty, greed, and hedonism, they have seemingly decided that there is some value in the common scum that populate the galaxy. Currently, we find ourselves in the service of one such being."

The Corpse Lord observed the crowd once more, not daring to speak further in the open.

"Walk with me, my friend. There is more I wish to say, but I also want to show you some of the new additions to my Legion."

Nefaron was careful to maintain the visage of an old Sith out for a stroll. He leaned on his cane a bit more than necessary, and a hunch appeared in his back that would not be found anywhere but this gathering. To believe a Sith to be weak or crippled was often a deadly mistake, one Nefaron hoped to exploit should any fool attempt to come for him in the future.

"Malum will make his play for the throne. Not tomorrow, but it is coming. The Dark Council will not be able to stop him once he concentrates enough power within the Tsis'Kaar. But we both know that his own unique brand of leadership will lead the Empire to ruin. You need only consider the time he wasted removing slave trash from my holdings on Anoat. What did that gain him? Even he knows I will refill my pits with those unfortunate enough to be in my path as we push deeper into Alliance territory and our expansion into the Unknown Regions. His compassion, his desire for honor, will see him brought low."

With a final tap of his cane to the stone pathway, Nefaron turned to his Droid companion. They were out of earshot of the bulk of the assembly hall, a place Nefaron felt safe enough to ask a rather obvious question.

"We should discuss what comes after Malum's fall. When the House of Marr becomes little more than a bad memory."​

 

[Tavian Vale]

Location: The Concourse
Tags: Kaila Irons | Sachi Maren | Sky Wulicailt

This was risky behavior.

From everything he had observed so far Sith were unstable at the best of times. They were ruled by their emotions and could turn from an ally to an enemy just because their heart skipped to the wrong beat.

But they had all agreed this had to be done.

So nailing a slaver to a wall was a step too far. But allying with a Sith, even out of convenience, was okay. Sometimes Tav really wondered what command was up to or if they even had some sort of plan.

"You sure this is the right person?" He asked over their shared network. "She didn't seem to be anticipating us." Maybe it was just a coincidence, or maybe it was some sort of trap. Providence was not in their cards. But Tav knew better than to interrupt Sky while she was busy. Instead he tried to keep an eye on the Sith through the crowd.

Making sure this wouldn't spin out of control.

An exit plan may be called for if it did.

 

[Soah Ty’Jyn]

Interacting with: Kasir Dorran

​

Soah said nothing at first.

The silence wasn't hesitation but calculation. Even as she mused, the pair continuing their trek through the Concorse, the black ink that marked her body shifted with a slow and deliberate movement. Along her collarbone the shadows curled into thorny spirals then stretched thin, morphing into the faint silhouette of a broken chain link before dissolving again.

Naamino shows promise.

The words clung in the air, and something tugged at Soah. Not quite pain. Not quite rage. Just… sharp. She felt a prickle low in her throat, prompting a throaty chuff as a smidgen of jealousy quietly coiled. She didn't hate the Zabrak. But she hated how he seemed to have managed to get Kasir's attention. His praise wasn't easily earned. Her claws twitched and extended through the membrane only to retract again, telling herself that regardless, he had still indicated she had proven her inner strength by lasting as long as she had.

Even then, when she finally spoke again, it came out in a low, if broody, gruff huff, "I want to know more."

The shadows along her ribs shifted again, dragging into ancient runes that flickered like memory.

"About the thing that marked me. What it is." Her gaze lifted to meet his. "What it wants."

Her skin pulsed with slow movement at that, as if amused by her. What seemed like an eye surrounded by more runes and inky rivers formed at the curve of her shoulder, lidless and seeing only to blink itself closed in a bolt of shadow.

"And I'll learn your dance."

The words felt strange in her mouth, but no less dangerous for it. She didn't like being close to others. Didn't like the touch, eyes, or the noise that came with people.

But Kasir was different. His lessons had carved into her psyche with the precision of a surgeon. And this dance… if it taught her to move with purpose and to face being in close proximity with another, then she could only use it to better herself and for any future mission.

And instead, it was no longer a weakness.

It was a weapon.

And Soah had always been good with weapons.

 

[Varin Mortifer]

Madrona A’Mia Darth Prazutis

A feeling crept around his wrist, as if it were being held. Then a feeling of a power struggle in his mind. It all caused Varin to pause as A’mia’s voice rang through in his mind.

Make room specter, I have lessons to impart and yooouuu will not benefit from a warrior that lacks cunning or other non-combat related skills.

You dare enter MY property kindling? His voice was harsh and sharp, as the intruder made herself known.

Varin, something calls to you. An artifact? Find it and we can assess its value to you. A’mia’s voice snapped Varins attention back to the present after the feeling of discomfort, but it wasn’t long after that the feeling rose again, this time it felt as if his head was burning.

Get out of my court mortal! I have conquered worlds and you dare trespass over me! This is not some open comms channel for you to barge in!

The confrontation made the young apprentice's eye twitch as he tilted his head to try and adjust to the feeling, his smoldering cloak began to spark from his back, threatening to light with flame. After a few moments of concentration, breathing and focus he started to regain control over his body. Stumbling slightly to the side he accidentally bumped into a passerby as he tried to reassert control. The passerby stated something towards him but the words found no purchase as sharp tinnitus rang in his ear.

Finally his senses started to become clear, and there it was again. That sense of familiarity that snuck up on him after exiting the ship. He hadn’t felt this feeling since he was last at his home. He was now being pulled in two different directions, both leading further into the Sovereign Plaza. Focusing on only A’mias voice he followed a pull, a pull to the familiar, the familiar feeling of authority, a presence that demanded the submission of what seems the planet itself.

It reminded him of someone he had not seen in a long time, a presence he had almost forgotten. As he parted through the crowd towards a food vendor he could see it was the Mew Noods stand. There he saw what looked like a walking mountain of a ruler, and for a moment his confusion set in.

Father?.... Was the only thought he could muster at the moment.

But this massive being was not his father, though his presence seemed almost identical to him, he did not share his face. Varin was stunned regardless to see this being, this figure of power. His legs felt as if they couldn't move and all he could do was stare in disbelief.

 

[Elane II of Kuat]

​

Elane had never visited the Planet of Dromund Kaas, as it served as the capital of the Kainite Branch and was of little significance to the Sith-Imperial Banking Clan, whose wealth was more closely tied to the former Eternals and their Corpse Emperor than to the Twice-ruled Emperor like Darth Carnifex (a passing mention). ​

​

Nevertheless, they would still pay their respects, just like all the inhabitants of the planet.​

​

In her youth during the early Tenth Sith Empire, she had been much more agile, but now she had grown old and frail, walking with a noticeable limp. This decline was not a natural process; it stemmed from her prolonged exposure to the overwhelming dark side energy that surrounded her, constantly emanating from Sith Lords and their followers ​

​

Additionally, the pressure of managing an empire that aspired to control not just a handful of star systems but an entire galaxy took its toll, especially without a true grasp of the scale and cost of such an ambition, along with the strain on essential resources for the home front. Her eyes scanned the Sovereign Plaza eventually settling upon one key individual named Lirka Ka that might need the service of the Banks in funding their Legion especially with a reckless oddball like Darth Virelia reportedly amongst their ranks. ​

​

"I am not certain who among the Dark Council or even the Ancient Celestials thought it was a good idea to appoint them to a spot in a legion. Pray she dies quickly on a bed of thorns before we have another Strosius incident." Elane muttered quietly to herself. ​

​

Having dealt with that particular annoyance fairly recently, gripping the end of a beautifully crafted yet straightforward wooden cane to steady her frail frame. Her method of approaching the Imperator was neither concealed nor did she wish it to be, as she held the esteemed position of High Treasurer.​

​

"Ah...Imperator Ka. How are you this evening." She spoke in a calm but icy manner. ​

​

 

[Sky Wulicailt]

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

"Overcoming fear is half the battle," she said in a parroted tone; then, her voice grew slyer. "Why, did I make a terrible mistake?"

"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."

Sky couldn't help but grin widely. Part of her was still afraid that they were being played, that the three of them would wind up chewed and spat out, but at the same time, she enjoyed the game. A lot. High risk certainly had a way to get the adrenaline flowing, which helped her get over the stim-itch.

The captain leaned against a stack of crates. "Okay then, let's meet. I'm sending you my location." In the flick of a thought, her location was pinged to the com device.

"You sure this is the right person?" He asked over their shared network. "She didn't seem to be anticipating us."

She switched channels. "I know, but this might work in our favor anyway. If she can get access to the market, then she has the level of privilege we require." The playfulness was gone, but there was still a small amount of excitement in her voice despite the recklessness of her approach.

Or maybe, because of it.

Kaila Irons | Tavian Vale