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

[Soah Ty’Jyn]

Interacting with: Kasir Dorran

​

The Arcane Court breathed like a thing alive. Its walls were little more than an endless sprawl of obsidian monoliths. Each one shimmered faintly with carved bloodslick runes. Ritual circles burned faintly beneath her bare feet, their grooves etched deep into basalt blackened by time and sacrifice.

The Force here didn't flow. It shuddered.

Soah felt it crawl against her skin like breath on fur, a low whisper scraping bone deep. Her shadow tattoos rippled in response, their shapes unraveling into thorned spirals and clawed glyphs as if trying to read the place or ward it off. Blood oaths were being carved across the Court, curses laid bare like offerings, and above it all, the air rang with old words spoken in a dead language. The whole place reeked of blood, musk, and incense.

Until Soah felt the shift.

It was a prickling pulse across the air, brushing against the fine fur over her dusky skin and her nostrils twitched with the hum of a predator catching scent. The Felacatian didn't need to look to know what it was to take in the lengthening of fangs, the tightening of jaw, and the way Kasir's own blood stirred.

A reflexive low growl rumbled in her chest. Not a challenge. Not fear. Just awareness. Her hazel eyes snapped toward him, bright gold in the Court's haze.

It was strange, wasn't it? To feel her instincts scream danger while her mind muttered, he's more likely to devour a cupcake than your throat.

Still. It did well not to grow too soft beside another hunter. Especially one whose hunger wasn't always tied to flesh. Even when he provided the quiet vow that she was not a prey here, Soah didn't lean away, but she didn't lean in either, her tail lashing once again in quick and sharp jerks. A chuff pushed through her nostrils.

"So, have you been in touch with your Master?" she asked him, moving forward with slow, contemplative padding of her feet. It had been an interesting thing meeting Kasir's mentor. There was a tug from the inky shadows, a sudden perk of interest. The tattoos across her stomach unfurled into the shape of a yawning mouth, ringed with ink teeth, before melting back into flowing script.

The Felacatian Acolyte decided to let it lead her for now. Not far off, a vendor with various tombs smelling of leather of various creatures and sapients seemed to call.

"Anything of interest we'll be deployed to?"

Despite the annoyances of having to travel in a ship and jump into hyperspace....Missions had been fun.

 

[Wrathian Kell]

Sovereign plaza
Tags Eira Dyn

Wrathian let her words stretch across the silence. Just holding her gaze. Not as a stall, but something deliberate. Calculated. The music swelled and his expression, oddly enough, didn't shift. If anything it seemed to grow still, Unreadable.

“And when the one who’s turned to eating the others is the head of the pack?” Wrathian didn’t blink. Only raised her hand slightly as they stepped into the next tune.

It was about now that he looked inwards. He did it once, he’d probably have to do it again. It took him twenty-four years the first time. What was twenty-four more?

“You say I lack hunger. You’re right. Because it is not hunger that drives me, Eira. Hunger consumes. The things I have done would give the Sith here nightmares. Or… fantasies. Depends on the individual.”

His eyes were burning like the sun. But it was not what she said that angered him. It was the memories. “The Sith born of my time. Were indoctrinated from birth with a world view of domination through strength, racial superiority, and a rigid caste system lead by fear, blood, and power.”

Yet his tone hadn't changed, it was low and steady.

“My father was the worst of that system. He had so much hunger that he abused me and my little sister. He taught me how to survive as a Sith Lord. My sister taught me how to not become him. Imagine. Hunger driving you to nearly kill your children each day, just to make them stronger. Archaic.”

Wrathian cooled as he took her into the next part of the dance breathing deeply. Then, a new face. One of sorrow and pain. But mainly loss. There was no metaphor for this next part. He agreed the Jedi were an institution that preached and droned it was an annoyance even in his time. Still, he had a good reason. And not one he was willing to lie about or sidestep with a philosophical sentence.

“As for my view on Jedi. It’s complicated. However as a show of good faith, and out of respect for the dead. I will tell you that, my wife, was a Jedi. Though, clearly, she was an odd specimen.”

Odd was putting it lightly. What Jedi in their right mind would marry a Sith lord?

“And yes. I do. Without the Jedi as a target to eradicate our order will always be lost. It’s a character flaw. Without anywhere to direct that fury. I believe that hatred will burn brighter until the Sith get the urge to grab hold and see if it hurts.” This wasn’t a theory to him. This was the reality of their nature. But he will always be that reformist. With hope that the Sith could be more than violence. “Unless of course someone alters that flaw.”

“Eira, I asked you that because the blade, unlike a fire, is focused. It tells me that you have a subtle desire for control. But you’ve also said in not so many words… that you wish to wield that fire. I would suggest using that flame to forge a blade instead.”

 

[Aris Noble]

Oh.

Another Zambrano.

Aris knew it was a possibility to run into those who were technically his kin, but it didn't mean he wanted to. She was there beside him, looking over the same item he had. He felt nothing from it, of course. It was just a means to an end, letting him blend as much as he could. Should he say something? Was it smarter to be quiet?

No, no.

"Hello.. Cousin. .. Find anything interesting?"

Fake it till you make it was the goal now.

Adean Castor

 

[Veradun Sharr]

​

Tag: Eurydice ​

Veradun’s eyes lingered as the girl tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear; in the crimson lights that filled and surrounded the area they were in, it gave her auburn hair a more fiery hue - enough that the Nagai boy noticed. He blinked a couple times rapidly, confused as to why he would even notice such a thing.

Eurydice seemed to latch onto the mention of his sister, questioning him about it.

“I…do. Or did.” He cast an almost nervous look back to where they had last left their Master, as if he were afraid to speak on the topic while the Dark Lord may be near. Seeing no sign or presence of the Sith Lord, he glanced back at her and felt maybe the risk of sharing more would be worth it…especially if it drew Eurydice further into his web.

“I haven’t heard from her since I went to the Sith academy on Jutrand, or before I accepted our Lord’s offer of apprenticeship.” He shrugged then, in a nonchalant way. “I have no idea if she is still alive or not. She was the Sith apprentice to a rather divisive Sith Lord in the Order - and he was killed not all that long ago, by her own cousin of all people.”

He stepped away before the conversation could continue, hoping that she would follow him towards the food vendor, and maybe carry on the conversation there. Thankfully, she seemed to recognize that the safest place for her was with him, and he hardly concealed the faint smirk as the girl joined him within the eatery.

"If your sister danced with royalty, then you must be from a noble family…?"

Veradun snorted in amusement. Him, of a noble family? “Oh Force no. I was a street orphan on Tund, and she adopted me when she and her Master attempted to take over the planet. She is the one from a Sith noble family, the House of Marr. I was a part of her family, by extension…I suppose. But I do not consider myself among them, nor a noble.”

Around that time, a waiter came to guide them to a table, before asking them for their drink order. Veradun glanced over the menu before looking up at the male Mirialan. “A sprite for me.” he responded, before glancing at his co-apprentice to see what she might order for herself - if she did at all.

 

[Elani Zambrano]

The acolytes removed their hoods as they rose to their feet in sickening unison, revealing the truth. Their foreheads were emblazoned with the Kainite insignia, the mark of her father, Kaine Zambrano, and his followers. That's when Elani realized what was occurring. "It seems my father's followers have found me even here. I cannot say I am surprised." said the witch.

She noticed the approaching gray-skinned man. Not a man she recognized, but he was not a follower of her father which was for the better. "I am no master to these creatures. They are part of Darth Carnifex's flock. Nothing more." she explained, followed by a soft sigh. "Who are you? And what is it you think I am shaping, exactly?" she questioned.

Nameless

 

[Her]

---

---

Dromund Kaas, Thandon Star Cluster, Sith Worlds;
THE CRIMSON CONCORD.
Tags: Amalia Visconti | Mira Rhory | Parvati | Darth Virelia

---

"Amalia Visconti would be the name I hold these days, Madame Parvati... though you could call me Amalia if this would be your preference."

"In eternity, where there is no time, nothing can grow, nothing can... become. Nothing changes."

A thunderstorm waged above the three women cackled loudly as met in the heart of the enemy that they were set to plot against. Such was the price of colluding with the likes of the hooded woman who stopped near Amalia and Parvati as they met (at least according to Her's knowledge) for the first time. Although their conspiracy held no designated name, and while there were array of consortiums, syndicates, organisations-- even a confederation-- which tied them together, they were certainly associates under a paradigm yet to be fully shared, or conferred.

"So death created time to grow the things they it would kill..." Her stopped between them both as her crimson eyes looked upon both of her co-conspirators. "...And you are reborn but into the same life that you have always been born into. But you cannot remember your lives. You cannot change your lives. That is a terrible and secret fate of all life. You're trapped."

In this coalescing and amalgamation of the Sith faith-- a spectacle dedicated to the dark-side, amid the beliefs of Eternalism and other, esoteric practices of the modern day Sith Order-- Her spoke in reference to the continued cycle and of the eternal rinse or repeat of the ideas paraded here as gospel truth epitomized by the Warlord state which called themselves "THE KAINITE" who ruled this vassal state found in the THANDON STAR CLUSTER.

"Time is a flat circle that I seek to eradicate..."

Her turned their gaze to Amalia. "...And He has given us a foundation for us to work."

She turned next to Parvati. "Our project will see this region afflicted by a resurgent Confederation brought into war with the vassal state of the Sith. The Imperial march has begun again..."

---

 

[Niysha]

Where: A quiet garden above Sovereign Plaza
Who: Darth Virelia and her friggin' wines
What: Disappointing my date.

It was always a little surprising, a little unexpected when Serina started to get a bit sentimental. It definitely happened around Niysha more than it would have in other places, but considering Niysha was always "around Niysha," she couldn't properly take an assessment of what the baseline was. After a moment of mulling it over, the Miraluka decided that it wasn't worth her brainpower to extrapolate possibilities that were by definition impossible within her vicinity.

Eventually, a couple of automatic trays broke Niysha's mental reverie regardless of how deeply she was curled up inside her own thoughts. She could smell her glass from a solid meter away; like everything Serina enjoyed, it was acerbic. Bitter as sin and uncompromising. Naturally, Niysha would've taken a dry, Atrisian lager or a smoky sacha-lo cocktail over anything that threatened to kill her if she sniffed it too much, but she was completely certain that any flavor she enjoyed was literally the polar opposite of what Serina would want to put in her body.

There... was an aura to this one. Niysha balked at it for a few moments before raising her head to stare quizzically at her human companion. "Literal alchemy? Like, capital-A alchemy? For wine?" As always, Niysha was reminded that the Sith were monstrously inconsiderate with their unfathomable riches. Chances were if she stuck around in Sith territory and made enough of a place for herself, she'd live an absurdly opulent life for the two or three years it would take her to get assassinated.

Still. She paused a moment and cocked her head to one side. "...You know, one of the reasons I didn't run was because I was trying to reconnect with my roots. With the Sith in general. I've been cut off for so long that sometimes I forget how much I never had the time or power to really pursue." Niysha gave a quiet sigh. "I've got one of those now, at least."

If she was being fair to herself she probably had both, but Niysha was rarely fair to herself.

"All of the Sith around me were always good at something specific. My first master, Lord Adekos, could bend machines to his will. The man who picked up the pieces of my life a few years later, Lord Ignus, was exceptional with animals." Niysha sighed quietly, spinning her drink in her hand. "And here, on Kaas, there are people who are so good at alchemy that they make wines."

The first sip hit her like a speeder. The second was more like that same speeder backing over her body for a second pass. Niysha was not good at savoring her drinks. Or her food. Or most things. It took her a minute to clear her throat enough to speak again, after Serina's chosen wine battered its way through her esophagus. "At least I decided to come back after I'd managed at least one talent. Even if it's not prestigious or even especially useful most of the time, I've got something I can do. I might not embarrass Lord Adekos, if he's..."

Well, no. She knew he wasn't dead.

"...If he's around."

 

[Adean Castor]

TAG: Aris Noble

A chill ran down Adean's spine as the word 'cousin' reached her ears. Just what she dreaded. It was bound to have happened at some point, she supposed. The Zambrano name was known both for the dark deeds committed by its bearers but also the sheer amount of them. Still, the fact that this one recognized her as 'one of them' immediately meant either she really had one of those faces or the jig was actually up.

Brassius gave no indication of any concern that threatened to flood their system. They regarded their apparent cousin with a neutral, pleasant gaze. "A pleasure, cousin," their gaze was quick to move beyond the Zambrano, back to the shop items.

"It's hard to say, especially all clumped together. What about you? Anything strike you as special?" Green eyes shifted between the items and the other's face, trying to put a name to it.

 

[Eira Dyn]

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

Eira chuckled, "remember when I stated the best revolutions were done by orphans." Hinting at the fact that revolution was never off the table if the leader was inadequate for the job. "However, currently, the leader is not one the insatiable conquest types. So, the worries there are unfounded for now." While she had never personally met the Emperor, she knew of his wife and those she surrounded herself with to trust in the system and the leadership that things were going smoothly.

A civil war would be the worst thing to happen now.

"There are many here who have done things that will make your actions look like bedtime stories. Things that seem impossible, that could drive a person insane." Eira stated, knowing that her mentor Darth Carnifex had done many things that she hadn't even comprehended yet and saw part of what her Master Quinn Varanin was capable of on Woostri. These were not the feats of lesser beings, to some, they might see the acts as the things only gods could achieve. Eira knew better than that but also knew she was far, far from being capable of achieving such acts of power.

When the truth came forward, Eira paused in the dance, fury burning in her eyes. Jedi. Marrying the enemy. "Your blood maybe Sith, but your acts and desires are more Jedi. It is not those around us that would weaken us, demand we settle for the falsehood of peace. Nature is not peaceful, it is chaotic, wild and free. Your aims would shackle us." Her words came from a furious voice, there were many things she would forgive in the Sith, but loving a Jedi, befriending them... Desiring them to remain alive. Steps too far.

They were parasites that needed to face extinction.

"It is the Jedi who slaughtered your people. It is the Jedi that demand our deaths and it is them who claim their beliefs are the only correct beliefs to have." Eira growled, her voice low and rageful as she looked at this Pureblood Sith with disgust, he was a weakness and perversion of the Order she loved and was loyal to. "We stand on the edge of success and you wish to drag us into the shadows of the Jedi, allowing them to continuing the blind the galaxy with their lies." The NJO had stood for too long, it was a corruption that plagued the galaxy in Eira's mind and even allowed a splinter faction of Jedi to grow unchallenged. They were the plague that sought to consume the galaxy.

Her eyes narrowed as he attempted to offer ideas to her, even after confessing to be the furthest thing she believed a Sith should be. "No, you wish to forge shackles with the flames, not a blade. The blade cuts, it stabs, it exterminates without prejudice or mercy. It would have taken the life of your Jedi wife should she stood in our way." Her voice cold and brutal. No mercy was to be given to those who followed a false creed of peace and lies.

 

[Wrathian Kell]

Sovereign Plaza
Tags: Eira Dyn

A leader not fueled by conquest was good. It would give the pureblood time. Time to see if the wheel needed to be shattered again.

For now. It meant the current leader of the Sith could be petitioned or coerced. Maneuvered like a chess piece. Korriban was Wrathian’s only goal.

“I was speaking of acts, ones told like horror stories around a campfire.”

Then the dance came to a halt as she spoke about the Jedi. Her rage was… palpable. The one Wrathian produced though, was something else. If his skin could have reddened further, it would have. Though his eyes burned like binary stars.

“Do not compare my wife to the rest of her ilk.” He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. That tone was like steel wrapped in velvet. The quiet mirrored that of a saber ignition. Steady, but pulsing.

“She was the exception, not the rule. The rest of her kind, sanctimonious, deluded zealots, would have burned her at the stake if they found out about me. And I would have put them all to the blade. Yet as I believe the Sith should change, she believed the Jedi could too. She saw the monster and loved me anyway. She never tried to save me. She only spared me.”

These word games had begun to tire him. And as the dance had paused, so did his patience. Wrathian lowered his head towards her and in the antithesis to her rage, spoke now in a whisper.

“You aspire to be what I already was. Korriban. This planet. Even Malachor, before it was a glass orb, was mine. I was in exile after my father, the emperor, was killed. Then I returned to Korriban after my sister was killed years later, not by Jedi, but by our people who’d turned to gnawing on each other without a leader. I took the throne. Alone. And gave my people an ultimatum. Any who did not bend the knee lost their head. I was on the verge of turning the Sith into an honorable people, ones willing to commit horrible acts of violence without hesitation in service of something greater. Not ones remembered for thoughtless violence against a cult of preachers, simply because they disagreed with our purpose. Listen to how childish that sounds."

He leaned back from her letting that all sink in. He wasn’t a relic of a failed system. He was a proven ruler, not betrayed, not consumed by the fire. Just one that was displaced by a cosmic punchline.

“Yet, here I am. My people are buried. My wife is buried. My friends and my empire. Buried. All by time, something that seems like a dream and feels like a joke. You speak of the Jedi as if you knew what they were? Yet just as the Sith have changed. The Jedi you know, are not the ones I knew. I remember a militaristic, dogmatic order. One that served it's means to an end in my conquest.”

Wrathian would hate the Jedi of today. But during a time when he was trying to contest with his own peoples self-inflicted harm, the jedi had been enough of a distraction that he practically used them as a hyperdrive ring to cement his ideology.

His voice dropped back to its somber tone. Not as a threat, but a confession.

“So yes, Eira. My hope for our kind could not be any lower. Not because I believe we are weak. But because I remember us as honorable warriors, the best the galaxy had ever seen. I know what we're capable of. And we’ve chosen, again and again, not to become it. It’s embarrassing.”

His grip loosened, but just enough that if she pulled back there would be no resistance.

“But you are right in a sense, a blade should be wielded for violence yes. But directed violence instead of tantrums in the dark. I do not wish to restrain us. I wish to forge a compass. One that would guide sabers to honor.” He let his words linger.

Wrathian had never called himself anything other than a reformist.
Others had called him a revolutionary. And that was probably far more accurate.

“Are the Tof and other species of the satellite galaxies not knocking on our doorstep currently? That is the difference in my view. I would have led my empire to them, wiping out a threat to those a leader is burdened to shelter without prejudice, and I would have done so without mercy. We would be what the Jedi never could: killers, unwilling to wait for a threat to prove itself as such.”

 

[Darth Carnifex]

His shadow preceded Him, long and autonomous it curled around the stalls lining the Sovereign Plaza. A whisper and a haughty laugh passed from one ear to the other, gourmands and confectioneries glancing about uncertain and fearful. Epicanthix vendors, their stalls laden with the native food of their destroyed homeland, bowed their head in silent prayer as His shadow passed over them; a quiet invocation to their illustrious God-King.

But none of this was intentional, all of it was the byproduct of His very presence. For, in truth, the Dark Lord of the Sith was bored. He'd meandered hither and to from one end of the festival to the other, cloaked in His shadowy silky veil, and found very little to stimulate Himself. He was predominantly here as a courtesy only, He had no real devotion to the festival nor it's purpose.

That was, until, His eyes spotted something moving about the food stalls. Rather, it was someone. Skin of burnished copper contrasted against fiery red hair, eyes blazing like freshly spun gold. More than their, He could sense the strength and potential power lying just beneath the surface. He approached, silent despite His immense stature.

"Hunger keeps a mind sharp," intoned the Eternal Father as He suddenly appeared in the woman's peripheral vision. "Feed the weak too readily, and they'll grow to rely on it. They'll lose hunger's edge."

Mercy ​

 

[Parvati]

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

"A lovely name," Parvati murmured, the words drifting like smoke. She returned Amalia's bow with a slow, deliberate tilt of her head, refined, minimal, yet not without its own weight. "Though I confess… I've never put much stock in names."

Her gloved hand lifted at last, offering the lighter back. She didn't rush it. The object passed between them in silence, their fingers brushing, the contact brief but unmistakable. For a moment, it wasn't a lighter being returned, it was a signal passed in plain sight.

"Not until they start rewriting borders."

Her gaze held Amalia's as the sigil of House Nargath disappeared back into the woman's possession. Parvati made no move to retreat. She didn't need to. She remained, anchored in her place, measured and calm, already adjusting her inner map now that the players were declaring themselves openly.

And then Her arrived.

The change in the air was palpable. Not Force-sensitivity, Parvati had none. But there were other kinds of gravity. The ones that pressed into the chest, slowing your breath, and dulling the noise around the edges. This was one of those kinds of gravity.

She turned slowly, fully, toward the hooded woman as Her voice filled the space between them. Words that bent like scripture: death, time, eternity, and the cycle that devoured all. The crowd around them dimmed, not in volume, but in relevance. As if the rest of the Concourse suddenly realized they were furniture to something far more important.

Parvati didn't interrupt, she listened. Then, when the silence fell again, she stepped into it without hesitation.

"Then let it collapse."

The words weren't grand, just an honest, simple, truth. She looked between them both now, Amalia, already positioned with precision, and Her, the architect of deaths and resurrections.

"I don't care what scripture the Sith canonize next. Or what shape the Confederation takes when the war drums start. Let them rename their dominions and die clutching their crowns." She glanced skyward. Lightning rippled soundlessly through the stormy skies, leaving just a feeling of inevitability, and a burning sinking feeling in the stomach."It's all going to burn."

Then, she looked back at them, her face composed, and voice steady.

"And when it does, when the battlefield is still hot and the old hands are dust, I'll be where I need to be. Not rebuilding the galaxy." The corner of her mouth ticked upward.

"Inheriting it."

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

 

[Mercy]

Mercy realized something wrong before Darth Carnifex appeared near her.

The tattoos on her arm began to twist and move on their own. Into the direction of the Sith Lord before he even appeared. As if they were hungry, wishing to tear into a source of power. So when Carnifex appeared, he didn't get more than an eyebrow tilting up a touch. "Possibly." She glanced towards Vagabond walking off with some of the food she had passed to him.

Then back to the Sith Lord again.

"But why would I care if it makes him weak? Just would make it easier for me to crush him or whoever else gets in my way." A veiled warning if there ever was one.

She noticed the immediate change in the crowd around them. Some moving away, scared. Others going to their knees for worships. A whole litany of responses that spoke of the long history of Kaine Zambrano, an Emperor, a Voice of the Dark Lord, and much more. Mercy didn't do any of that, she didn't feel fear or awe in his presence.

"I hear you got a huge karking harem, Carnifex." She finally said. "Surprised you got time for that much flesh when you are off gallivanting glassing Tionese worlds left and right."

Now she tore a chunk of flesh from her nuna drumsticks while studying him calmly.

"You know, I always meant to go there, see the sights, maybe take a castle for myself. Way I hear it, there is not a lot left there anymore."

Mercy didn't share the fact that she was from Tion herself. That she had been a Tionese princess, in fact. That her parents had wanted to marry her off to a sniveling noble boy until she broke his jaw and left on a shuttle. That she had always planned to go back to rip their heads off and claim the title, the land, the castle for herself. And then perhaps to conquer the whole planet.

Mostly because she wasn't actually upset with Kaine that much. Mostly with herself for putting it off for such a long time. She should have returned a long time ago to put an end to her parents.

She chewed.

"Guess you saved me a trip. What brings you to my little culinary corner. You want a nuna drumstick?"

 

[Nameless]

VOICE OF NOTHING

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

Nameless studied the sigils on the foreheads of the acolytes without blinking.

"Pardon my ignorance, I have not yet heard of this Kainite - or his flock.”

There was no provocation in his tone, just an admission of truth. The unflinching distance of someone who came from a world where different gods had shaped different history, new to this galaxy. He turned slightly toward Elani as she spoke, acknowledging her question with a nod.

“The name I bore was stripped in a rite of exile. I carry no house."

No title, simply a Cholerkin wanderer.
He thought for a moment. He would need to choose a new name for himself, but he had no accomplishments to earn one yet.

His gaze drifted toward the ritual space again. the etched stone, the symbols that rippled like scars.

“You stand at the threshold of a circle somewhat familiar to me, like a... cousin of the unseen Force I have studied. You have presence with it. I do not know if you mean to shape the rite these followers of your father prepare, or if you were intended to be its vessel.”

His eyes returned to hers, steady.

“By your response, it seems neither, I may have misread their intent.”

A slight incline of his head. Not quite a bow, but an apology for misspeaking.

Elani Zambrano | Open​

 

[Aris Noble]

"No. They all seem.. Useless." To him, at least, they were. Whether their abilities were good or not, they weren't what pulsed the orb he had tucked in his pocket. They had noting to do with Darth Carnifex or what he'd said. Perhaps there wasn't a point in being here? He let out a sigh, but didn't dare let that betray too much more.

An annoyed scion, disappointed by the wares around him. That'd have to do.

Adean Castor

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

If alarm was something that A'Mia easily felt, she might have reacted more strongly to the push back she received by the shadowy presence that constantly seemed to follow Varin Mortifer and whispered fell instructions into his mind. However, she tended to be irreverent by nature and only science or great power wielded in the Force tended to make her meek.

You're rather rude for a specter I've never heard of, the neti quipped back as she sent a psychic spike toward Ignati.

That done, A'Mia continued to haggle with the quarren about their botanicals and kept a peripheral psychic eye on the odd dark haired acolyte. She was most curious what had so doggedly drawn Varin's attention and was interested to examine whatever it was for herself. Soon though her shopping was interrupted by Lysander von Ascania and she turned to consider him hawkishly, head tipped nearly sideways on her long red-brown neck.

His mouth then twitched into a roguish smile. “So, I found something super rare, something you didn’t know you were searching for,” Lysander added, voice low, and slurred. “I was thinking you should give this to that one Wonosa Lord who never takes his mask off, since you seem to be around him a lot these days.” The moment hung between them. "You know.. Lady Revna's Master."

Even with pupils that could've passed as dark moons, a cheeky sparkle threaded through them. It was born of the same scholarly confidence from the night of ribs and revelations with Naamino at a local steakhouse. “No offense, but you kind of suck at the whole expressing emotions thing. So yeah, you’re gonna have to trust me on this one. That's fair, right? I mean, I didn’t interrogate you about these mushrooms that I ate. KnowwwhatI’msaying?”

There was a long pause wherein they both just looked at each other, the single bloom held out between them. Then the scoundrel had the nerve to threaten homicide openly at a market and the neti rolled big blue-green eyes in the direction of the shop keep. A'Mia shrugged at the quarren as if to say "children say the wildest things, don't they" then she turned back to her human ward and loomed over him.

"If you're referring to Alisteri, that's Darth Strosius to you," she corrected mid sentence, "then I can hardly understand why you'd suggest I provide him a trinket that inspires such heart-ache in you. He is an ally to Korriban, not someone I seek to torment."

One long finger poked him right in the breastbone when she said "you" before she accepted the flower, hand wrapping around it like a wooden spider.

"I'll take it upon consideration but really Lysander, pull yourself together. Pining over some mundane girl? It hardly suits you."

As ever, the woman's tone was bright and friendly- at odds with the words she was delivering. There wasn't malice for Sibylla Abrantes or even judgement in her voice about Lysander's prospective choice of mate. It was just a matter of fact that one without the Force was unfortunately a lesser lifeform and therefore not worth all this moping about.

The neti pulled up the sleeve of her polyweave robe and the flesh of her arm parted. Where muscle and bone might exists on a near human, A'Mia merely moved her flesh aside so she could deposit the single flower safely within her body. There she would be able to lend it a kind of strange life support until she knew what she wanted to do with it.

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

Doubtful, she absently added after giving Varin a gentle nudge to keep him on track. It would not do to have her young ward approaching Darth Prazutis on a whim.

The somewhat scattered and faintly hallucinating neti brought her attention back to Lysander.

"Let's take a look at that schenor's booth, shall we? He is selling high quality clay and if we pair it with the ink I saw back there, we could craft some homunculi- there are all kinds of things you could do with homunculi! Mischief and mayhem, certainly."

The idea of teaching him weird and wonderful alchemy was perhaps her offer of peace after criticizing his more emotional nature. She turned fully away and waved a dismissive hand at the quarren, who threw their own hands up in annoyance at her flaky stance about the plants for sale. A'Mia nudged Lys' shoulder with her elbow, mimicry of his earlier gesture, and guided the teen deeper into the bazaar.

"And we reserve threats of violence for only the most unique cases. It's better to act cordial and strike at an unsuspecting target, than to tell them what might befall them if you don't get your way. Plus," her tone grew more conspiratorial as she gestured to the basket tucked under one arm, "I'm slowly laying out my daisies to gather information and don't want to make vendors suspicious."

She lifted the lid of the basket slightly so that Lysander could see dozens of tiny Sithspawn blinking back at him from within.

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Foreboding."

Tags - Niysha

Virelia watched Niysha's reaction to the wine like one might observe the first time a tame creature touched flame—expectant, patient, faintly amused.

The way the Miraluka balked at the glass's aura. The inquisitive lift of her head. That dry, very Niysha blend of caution and curiosity—it stirred something warm behind the sovereign chill Virelia wrapped herself in. That heat never showed, of course. But it existed. Quiet. Emboldened by presence. By choice.

When Niysha sputtered slightly after the second sip, Virelia didn't mock her. Didn't chide. She merely allowed herself the rare indulgence of smiling—not a smirk, not a sneer, but the real thing: a slow, quiet curve of lips tinged with something dangerously close to fondness.

"You sip it," she said, her voice low and warm as dusk, "You don't fight it."

She swirled her own glass, letting the alchemical blend catch the dim lights from the floating lanterns above. The wine shimmered faintly—oils and pigment suspended in unnatural ratios, thick with properties not meant for mortal palates.

"Yes," she added after a moment. "Capital-A Alchemy. It's not made to taste good. It's made to linger. Like ritual. Like scars."

She tilted the glass and took a measured sip—no grimace, no tension. Just practiced ease. She leaned back on the bench, one arm stretched across its top, perfectly at ease. She didn't look at Niysha like one looks at a partner in power. Or a student. Or even a trophy.

She looked at her like a phenomenon. Something singular. Worth returning to.

"I know what you're doing," she said, quiet now. Her voice was intimate. Like confession. "You're measuring yourself against ghosts."

She took another sip, violet eyes flickering in the dim light.

"Whoever else held the leash before I did."

Not bitter. Not jealous.

Just aware.

"They taught you what they knew. That's their legacy." Her gaze sharpened slightly. "But they didn't teach you how to be."

She let the words sink in. Gave them gravity.

"You learned that yourself. That's why you're not like the others."

A pause. Then, almost casually:

"Alchemy doesn't impress me."

Her head turned, slowly, to Niysha again.

"Neither do Jedi. Or monsters. Or the things most Sith mistake for identity."

A beat.

"I'm impressed by what survives. And you—" she reached out then, gloved fingers brushing against Niysha's knuckles, warm where the metal met skin—"have survived in ways none of them ever had to."

The contact lingered. Just enough.

"You're not useful because you have a 'talent.'" Her voice dropped. "You're significant because you've never asked anyone to define you."

She leaned in just slightly, still holding the glass in her other hand, her scent all dark resin and the faintest thread of something floral. The scent of someone who chose her aesthetics, and whose choices always had weight.

"Even now," she murmured, "you think of yourself as small. As someone who just barely deserves to be here."

Another brush of fingers—this time the back of her hand gliding softly against Niysha's jaw, her voice curved like velvet over steel.

"You are wrong."

It wasn't a reprimand. It was a gift.

"Being beside me doesn't require strength or spectacle. It requires clarity. And yours has always been exceptional."

She tilted her head. Studied Niysha like one might study the rare bloom of a poisonous flower—deadly in the wrong hands, beautiful when left to grow on its own.

"If Adekos is alive," she said, "he should envy me."

And there it was—not cruelty. Not possession. But pride.

Soft, unspoken, and devastating.

"You're not mine because I made you so."

She set her glass down with precision.

"You're mine because you chose me even when I wasn't trying to be worthy."

She leaned in, voice low.

"And that... that will always be more powerful than anything I could command."

 

[Caelus Vire // NIHIL]

He turned at the sound of her voice, gaze lifting with polite attentiveness, though beneath his skin, biometric subroutines quietly cross-referenced every detail against her dossier. She spoke with the elegance expected of someone raised among influence. His checks and balances went through and now he knew who she was. Even if intelligence was not always perfect.

Caelus offered a warm smile, bowing his head slightly. Not a subservient dip, but a diplomatic gesture. It was his duty to be as respectful and approachable as a guest.


"Princess Varanin. I'm honored to finally meet you," he said, voice even and refined. "You were among those present at the Diarchy's declaration I believe. I wasn't able to attend myself but It was a rare gathering. There are many recordings and notes left from the event. It is us who are honored by your interest. We hope to find some commom ground among us all."

He motioned faintly to the rows of tech beyond them.

“Which is why I’ve come to the Vault. It offers a rare glimpse into the bleeding edge of civilian and paramilitary technology. Useful for anticipating how rebellious elements might adapt or evade Diarchy law on newly stabilized worlds. My position is one of control. Where better to look for tools than an open sith order event.”

He took a moment to address her more personally and directly. Despite his interest in everything around them.

"I must say the reports of your beauty are true with all respect. You look lovely and your dress is stunning. It of course does not take away from your station. What interests you here in the vaults quarter? The right piece of tech can increase someones power base substancially"

He did not mean to say she was not strong enough as is. Entirely the opposite, yet the playing of Sith politics was typically on one's mind at their level. He simply wished to gauge what interested her.

Quinn Varanin

 

[Adean Castor]

TAG: Aris Noble

Adean's brow narrowed a fraction. Useless was hardly the word she'd attribute to these items, even if her own senses were muted.

Perhaps that was just an aspect of the charade that she missed. Perhaps her assigned cousin was Zambrano pride made manifest.

"Useless, or not what you're looking for?" Brassius ventured, their head cocking to the side.