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

[War Marshal Helix]

Tags: Darth Nefaron​

Helix was silent for a long time, not interjecting. There was a logic in it, much as he loathed to admit it at times. Nefaron's dislike of Strosius had been known to him since Woostri, and as far as he could tell the feeling was heartily mutual. The two could not be more diametrically opposed, in both method and ideology. It was difficult to imagine what else could hold them together, if not Malum.

Indeed, Nefaron had latched onto an uncomfortable truth with his remarks. Should Malum fail, his immediate underlings would become a seething pit of double-dealing and murder. Few could hold so disparate a band of misfits together, and keep them from dismembering each other long enough to get anything done. Malum was unquestionably one of those few.

This was a weakness in their command structure, but it was a weakness inherent in all hierarchies. Cut off the head of the snake, et cetera. The Sith were more prone to this than most. Little could force them to work together, save the threat of violence or the promise of shared benefit.

Helix was different. The plunder and raw materials were useful, true, but he could get those himself without any aid. He was in because he chose to be. Should Malum fall, he would simply latch onto the next promising source of galactic upheaval, albeit with some disappointment in the grinning void that passed for his heart. It grieved him to think of one with so much potential being stifled by the boot of the rotting, stagnant rulers above him. He'd seen it all too often.

He was not yet so eager to betray, at least not while the proverbial gravy train was still rolling. Nonetheless, he could see little harm in being prepared, should the worst happen.

He picked his next words with great care.

"If Malum falls..." he began, placing slightly more emphasis than necessary on the conditional hypothetical "...then I see things progressing much as you say. The Tsis'kaar are much like an interesting animal of my own little creation. So organized, such efficient predators. Until the pack alpha weakens or dies. The Sith as a whole respect only force or greed. Crude motivators, but facts are facts. When there is no one left to hold something over their heads, or placate them with resources..." he trailed off.

"As for Strosius, pragmatic is not a word in his vocabulary. He has his virtues, well-hidden though they may be. His gift for surviving time and time again against impossible odds, as you point out, is one such virtue. Compromise is not, and I suspect it will be the death of him one day. Eventually, one of his numerous enemies will tire of his antics. Perhaps the Emperor, perhaps Carnifex, perhaps the Council. Perhaps you."

"I do find turning on him to be unpleasant. My list of allies is not a long one, and few among them possess such single-minded fanaticism. Fanaticism is a funny thing, dear Nefaron. It can switch targets without warning, rhyme, or reason. Still, I... have considered one day, that it may be my turn in the crosshairs of his crusading armies. Such is the way of things. If I expected trustworthiness, I would extend my services to the Diarchs or the Alliance. Every Sith is a ticking time bomb of treachery. That is arguably the Order's greatest strength. Helps keep everyone sharp-eyed and wards against complacency of thought or action."

He gave an unpleasant, rapid-fire scraping noise at the mention of differing viewpoints, and that whisper-thin, jagged-edged maw formed on his faceplate for an instant. Perhaps an expression of amusement? "Respectfully, Lord Nefaron, everyone in the Sith believes one form of nonsense or another that I do not agree with. Occasionally, it is advantageous. Differing perspectives offer differing insights, insights that have been useful to me more than once. Complex as my cognitive abilities are, I am not omniscient. Very close, but not quite there. I am not yet so insecure in my power that I dispatch a useful ally just for holding foolish ideas about the inherent dignity of organic life."

"I believe we may readily dismiss any worries of Strosius ruling the Tsis'kaar, at least insofar as it would affect you or I. While he does not lack for the charisma and force of personality needed to rule it with an iron fist, he lacks Malum's diplomatic touch. To be blunt, he would not last the week. The queue to take his head would wrap around the sector twice. Say what you will about Malum, but few possess the deviousness necessary to survive at the head of a collection of artisan murderers for long. For most, their lives would not be worth five minutes' purchase in such a place."

"No doubt you have such a successor in mind. I do believe your concerns are valid, and Malum himself would doubtless wish to see that his organization survived if he were to perish." Helix tapped the tip of his beak with a finger, in an exaggerated pantomime of thoughtfulness.

He did not quite share Nefaron's loathing for the young Marr, or for Strosius, but Helix had no intention of going down with any ship, if it sank. Personal grudges aside, the disfigured ghoul that sat before him was correct. He was a monster much like Helix himself, very used to scurrying off of said sinking ships and living to see another day. "Very well. Your logic is sound. Provided, of course, that your hypothetical puppet ruler can be relied on."

 

[The Lord of Hunger]

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

"If I wanted a lecture on inevitability, I'd have stayed home and summoned something older than your pathology."

For a moment, the stylus of the artist stopped, the Mirialan's ragged breathing loud and rapid, the silence, the lack of motion, it was palpable. yet it only lasted exactly for just that: a moment, as a soft, somewhat devious chuckle seemed to escape the Lord of Hunger's throat. Even if the young woman before him had finally dropped the playful facade, she still seemed to be of a clear enough mind to let out some quips like this one. he did wonder though, if it was perhaps a self defense mechnism of her to do so.

"You talk like this is some kind of gift," she muttered, bracing herself with one arm behind her. Her teeth were bared in something that wasn't quite a smile. "But it's just another infection looking for a host."

"It is both, it is an infection...a virus, a mutation and a gift for those who happen to be able to bond with it, those who have the genetic markers to absolutely embrace the power are the ones who go beyond the very limits instilled within them upon their own conception," Looking down upon the woman as his wrist flicked ever so slightly, forcing the mirialan to dig deep with the stylus with the clear intent of drawing a bit of blood, but also to deepen the reach of the Lord of Hunger's dangerously infectious material. With a strangely predatory smirk, the abomination within the force conveyed exactly what he was thinking, he believed in the survival of the fittest, the progress of evolution and the possibility to elevate oneself beyond the very limits genetics, culture and even the Force itself had put on people.

She met his eyes, all games abandoned. No more smirks. No more dare. "If you kill her," she nodded, once, toward the artist, "I'll kill you."

"Heh...heheh..." The monstrous man seemed to be rather amused by this warning, this promise. Slowly closing and opening his eyes in a show of nonchalance, the lord of Hunger shrugged his shoulders with an almost aloof demeanor. "She is still necessary to act as my tool to properly finish that tattoo of yours, I am merely guiding her, but she is doing all the work."

Tilting his head a bit, the Lord of Hunger's eyes seemed to flare a bit, the cold aura emanating from him seemingly turning up the ante, the pressure around him intensifying even further as he seemed to grow in presence, as if his very being was expanding beyond the limitations of his vessel. "I have been amused by your antics and your humor, but I will not tolerate such worthless and futile threats. Should you not want to see your own body utilized as a stylus to create a masterpiece on the walls of these lovely buildings...just sit back and relax, enjoy the idea of being given a gift at my expense... or are you still going to try me?"

 

[Amalia Visconti | Mira Rhory]

TAG: Parvati | Her

The arrival of Her didn't seem to bother Amalia all that much, as she calmly observed how the one she had been having a discourse with reacted to the newcomer's arrival. Three powerful women, each with their own means and contacts on the table. An Underlord of the Black Sun syndicate, A sith with more shady deals than any sun would cast shadows, and then there was Amalia, a Child of C who had probably the hardest and most unthankful position of being the link between Her and the Lord of Hunger, the effective middleman, yet with the power to decide individually if necessary.
​

"Then let it collapse."

"I like her," The emotionless Amalia took a drag from a her deathstick, exhaling as teal smoke escaped through her lips.

"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."

"Oh?"

"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."

"Now now, to inherit the galaxy, you'd truly need to have the power to go with the ambition you seem to carry," Amalia sighed ever so slightly, tapping the deathstick off of the extension she'd been holding, utilizing her lackered boots to stop out the stump on the ground. "Each of you need eachother, you both have much to offer, and much to gain... each of you individually would see their ambitions go up in smoke...or have already nearly seen it do so..."

The Section C - associate looked towards Her hoping she would understand clearly that those last words clearly were directed towards the sith specifically.

"Only the foolish would deny the use of cooperation, the benefit of playing on one another's strengths and compensating for one another's inherent weaknesses," Shrugging her shoulders, Amalia tapped against the very stones which seemed to combine to form the wall she was standing next to. "Each of you, each of us is like one of these stones... together we can create marvels, achieve miracles and lay low the very order that stifles us, that chains us into place. We all have a role to play and as long as we do so... we can survive, and we can thrive."

​

 

[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 smirked widely, the comment on the Sith's wife seemed to have worked as she crawled under his skin to reveal the truths that he had been attempting to hide. "There are no exceptions with the Jedi. They do not act without meaning. Your weakness for love blinded you from the fact she was manipulating you, turning you against your own and forcing them into submission to the Jedi, the Republic." Eira growled, she might not be the powerhouse that others around them were but she was the annoying insect that refused to go away.

Stubborn and willing to leave irritating bite.

"So, you were someone. Once, thousands of years ago. History never recorded your name and you left no impact on the Sith Order. That is not who I wish to be." Forgotten to history was the last thing that Eira wanted. She was going to carve herself into the books, she was going to be one of the Sith Lords that was spoken upon thousands of years later. "To think that is what I want, demonstrates you have no clue on the desires of a Sith, there is more Jedi beliefs in you than you like to admit." Her words cruel and without mercy, Eira was never one to hold back and she had not face a person bold enough to stand against her words.

Shaking her head, "you speak as if you know the Jedi of now, they are just as militant and warmongering as you describe them back then. They do not seek peace nor are they truly religious monks. Many have only ever known conflict as their ways." Eira pointed out, the fact that this man married one still angered her. It was a betrayal to the Sith, to the legacy of all those who fighting for their ways. "If you deem those around us as not honourable, be lucky they did not hear you so that you can remain breathing. You were the one who dishonoured our Order first, I would trust my lives with them long before I would dare trust you." Eira spat, she did not like the judgements and accusations thrown to those she had lived amongst by someone who chased a Jedi lover and pursued the lie of peace.

Eira was demonstrating she was not just willing to cut with her blades, but her words were just as sharp and could cut just as deep if she desired so.

"You would have led them to die or conform to the Republic, to the Jedi. All to please your wife." The assumption that this stranger could lead them better, than he knew the best way forward barely being here in this time period. It was an arrogance that fuelled the anger deep inside her. "Nothing you have done proves you are worthy of leading us. You hold no rank and have achieved nothing. Do not think you could do better or that any threats that exist at our doorstep would magically vanish under your command." Her eyes burned in anger, a furious red.

 

[Wrathian Kell]

Sovereign plaza
Tags: Eira Dyn

Wrathian smiled. He loved when people made assumptions, because they were usually wrong. It was coupled by that fact that during the Great hyperspace war, It seemed no one was remembered. Not a Sith by name, Not a Jedi by rank. They were too busy deciding who would have the cultural rule over the Galaxy. It was a pathetic Idiocy, brought on by cowardice from both sides of the conflict.

"Oh Eira... you misunderstand the series of events." There was no rage. At least not on the surface. It was more like ice on a wound. "I met my wife after I had my throne." Then his head cocked to the side as his tendrils flicked about. "So you do speak from ignorance instead of experience it seems. You know the Jedi of my past from reports and written history, I knew them from a saber lock."

Yes because it was time that also let him manipulate how others saw him. He stood in the plaza of this new Sith order and danced amongst the animals, and none of them. Not one, save her. Had the awareness to look twice. That is what makes him dangerous. She though they were having a Ideological debate, Wrathian knew he'd invited her to play Cubikahd.

"The Jedi don't receive my mercy, they just don't register as a threat. My sabers are saved for those that would slaughter mindlessly. Look around us. How many people in this plaza are force sensitive?" His eyes again danced about the room. "I'd say it's a low percentage. My sister, was not in that percentage. She'd been spared our father, but not the rest of our species. So tell me, Eira since you're so keen on framing what I should do. Where should I have pointed my fury? If not at my own people for butchering a powerless girl in an attempt to exterminate my bloodline?"

He was dripping with condescension, but not mockery. Arguments are not won with volume in his mind, they're won with truth.

"You assumed I meant Individual honor... no. I meant our honor as Sith, mine within my species. Yours within the order. It's coupled with the fact that you seem to fear betrayal. So instead you strike out at what sounded like mercy. But Mercy is not the enemy. Mercy is not peace. Cowardice is the thing you should fear. Not cowardice from a fight, but cowardice of idle action."

He'd killed handfuls of Jedi too, but he wasn't about to tell her that. Not when she was going down the hole that the rest of the Sith went, letting their anger lead and not her mind. A mind that was clearly sharp, that was unquestionably clever, but still convinced her to swing in the dark as if she was the only one with a blade.

"So tell me now. When the Jedi are dust, and your fire runs out of fuel... What will you become? What legacy would you leave for our people? One that could sit still? Or one that would quiver with cowardice until it became paranoid enough to gnaw its own leg?"

 

[Darth Carnifex]

"A fair enough point," answered the Dark Lord, His eyes watching the woman with chilled detachment. He never even registered the fear and worship offered to Him by the nameless, faceless rabble, for they were so far beneath His notice. It was fortunate that they were, for it was a terrible thing to be caught in the web of His awareness. "This galaxy feeds on those who lack the strength to exert their will on it. They are meant to serve those who can, either as servants or prey. Hunger and desperation might have sharpened him into something worth the breath he steals."

Whenever the Dark Lord spoke to Mercy, it was not in the manner as one would offer up their opinion. He spoke as though dictating truth, even when it was His own viewpoint He was championing. Every word utterly totalistic.

His eyes narrowed at Mercy following her second comment, though He derived some amusement for her boldness. "What is destruction without creation? All is done with purpose. Time is a trifling matter to me, it makes no difference when you command the full might of the Dark Side." In truth, His wives were often ravenous. He speculated that if Mercy were to ever befall them, they would tear her apart.

"The worlds of Tion made an error, one that I corrected. What remains of their pitiful worlds is testament to the consequences of folly. Perhaps they will metastasize this lesson I have imparted. If they do not, then woe to them." Indeed, the glassing of Tion had ever only been a statement. The Dark Lord cared little for their people or their resources, His only endeavor was to ensure that the Sith's displeasure at their perfidy was made known. Now that it had, He rarely thought of poor Tion or it's atomized millions.

In the end, He'd made a deal with Lodd Grimmin of the Trade Federation to do whatever they wished with Tion and it's moons. He never bothered to check back on what the Federation had done since.

The weight of His full attention fell back on Mercy soon after, His eyes blazing from behind the thin silken veil. "Keep your nourishment, I have no need of it. This festival is under my patronage, I've come to see what has been done in my name. What I find more surprising is you, child. There is a sensation in my mind telling me that I have seen your face before, but not in the Empire. Beyond it, during the crucible of war. Perhaps you ought to enlighten me."

Mercy ​

 

[Mercy]

Darth Carnifex

Mercy would have scoffed at the suggestion she couldn't handle Carnifex's harem. If anyone could handle his harem, it was Mercy, but sadly nothing about it was vocally expressed. So only the hypothetical Mercy hypothetically scoffed at the mental suggestion. In the real world Mercy listened closely, reminding herself that she shouldn't push the Sith Lord too hard.

She was reasonably sure she could take him on.

But it would take out the whole city block, she'd probably be out of commission for a week of healing time and be blackmarked from the Empire's space for the foreseeable future.

Who would eat their nuna drumsticks then?

A shrug. "I didn't much like the Tionese Worlds anyway. I am just disappointed I didn't get to do my own little mayhem on it before, but I guess that's all in the past now." Did Carnifex ever get someone talking so frank and relaxed with him? Looking at the whole crowd Mercy kind of doubted it. It made her envious, certainly.

To have that level of impression simply by being. That is what Mercy was after, no matter how long it would take.

She squinted her eyes as he implied they had already-

"Oh, yeah! That was you, wasn't it." Mercy grinned lightly as she stretched. "I vaguely recall throwing this prissy Jedi schutta through a wall and seeing you fight against some viking Jedi. That was a good fight. I ended up having to carve my way through hundreds of zombies, but that's just the way it goes sometimes."

Eyebrows went up in curiosity.

"Did you end up tearing the head off of that Viking Jedi?" She had no idea his name was Thurion. As a little girl she had never memorized the infamous JEDI names after all.

 

[Niysha]

Where: A garden above Sovereign Plaza
Who: Darth Virelia and the void left by a couple of old ghosts
What: Getting surprisingly mushy.

It was always a little precious when Serina tried to be affectionate. She always managed to fall somewhere in the vicinity of whatever line existed between heartwarming and ceremonial. The heartwarming part came in when she made physical contact; it'd taken Serina a while to realize that she could emotionally support her partner by way of actually touching her on occasion, instead of trying to ghost by without making contact. For a brilliant young Sith general, Serina Calis was occasionally the galaxy's thickest blockhead.

The ceremonial, of course, was just... her. And Niysha had grown to appreciate that. It wasn't so much that Serina wanted to make herself seem more important with her ludicrously over-the-top lingual flair, but that she felt that she needed to address everything with the proper gravity that it deserved. It was kind of astounding at times just how much respect the human gave to basically everything. Korriban wasn't a spooky old dust ball, it was a tomb world, and that meant that referring to it with anything less respectful was a failure of communication. She wasn't a commander, she was a tyrant queen, and anything less daunting didn't properly convey the danger she meant to impress upon people she spoke to.

And Niysha wasn't an anxious little rat, she was a seasoned, independent survivor, with unique talents and approaches that no other Sith on the planet considered. Anything less complete would bring shame to Serina's partner, and thus her taste, and thus herself. Just like it'd taken Serina some time to adapt to physical contact, it'd taken Niysha some time to adapt to Serina's unironic purple prose gibberish. Finding the value in her partner's choices and lifestyle was vitally important to a working relationship.

With a slightly weaker smile than before, Niysha relaxed her neck and allowed Serina to support her head wherever she wanted it to be. "If he's alive he should envy me," she replied in her quiet, warm crackle, just above a whisper. "He never got to meet the most impressive young woman I've ever seen. He spent his whole life around Sith who never understood him, and I found a brilliant, powerful, dangerous, absolutely gorgeous woman who figured me out in hours."

Straightening her back, Niysha sat up properly and lifted her glass in their second toast of... however many days it'd been since she'd landed on Polis Massa. "To your passions, and your incredible mastery of them." Once again, her expression faltered into a weaker, more awkward grin. It was that thing that she did when she was quietly admitting a flaw in her own design. "I couldn't make a toast to your taste in alcohol. I don't think we'll ever agree on that."

 

[Eira Dyn]

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

"I do not believe my statements stand corrected by that fact." Eira stated, "I hold no doubts that she was twisting you, using you since you held a position of power to ensure the Sith and their forces stood down." Some might be bold to argue that this unnamed ruler could have been a reason that the Sith Order was so weakened after the deaths of the original leaders of the Sith during the Great Hyperspace War. "It is foolish for you to think that she would have picked you over the Jedi, especially since Jedi of that era did not marry."

It was an interesting thing that Eira had learned, that married Jedi were rare, often given permission under specific circumstances. Until the last nine hundred years, where such acts were more common. It seemed Jedi were marrying and creating offspring at faster rates than the Sith were. "It might only be from history that I know of your time period, but at least I made the effort to read, learn and immerse in it as much as I could before attempting to form an opinion on them." Highlighting how this Sith was throwing judgements with no attempts to learn about the beings around them.

"Not registering them as a threat is underestimating them. It is how they dominate the galaxy right now, it is how they have frequently dominated the galaxy. People like you assume the bigger threat is within the Order and churn the traitorous thoughts into traitorous actions." Eira growled, it was something she had deemed an issue long ago, "you assume so little of them and too much of those within the Order, it builds resentment, infighting and the eventual collapse. All the while, the Jedi remain stronger."

Pointing at him with her sharp nail, "this is the mentality that your wife would have wanted to keep, one that hated his own kind more than he hated hers. That would willingly weaken his forces by slaughtering those he deemed a threat to his power, to his blind rule so that the Jedi could stomp over you without so much as a forethought." Eira pointed out, "a mere stepping stone into the Sith's annihilation." She sighed, disappointed that someone who held himself in such high regard was so disappointing.

"I assumed nothing. Your words were that we have not chosen to be the honourable warriors that you desired us to be." Eira stated coldly, holding the memories of his words clearly in her mind. "There are imperials that claim to defy us, they continue to fuel the fire. There is a galaxy to explore, conqueror and rule, that will continue to fuel the fire. There is lost history to be rediscovered. Potential abilities to galaxies similar to this one. Places to explore and travel."

Her eyes met his, "just because I hold a bloodthirst and fury that you lack, does not mean I mean to weaken my Sith, my people by turning them into the enemy we swore to destroy." Eira held him in contempt, "a pretty Jedi is all you need to become a coward, to allow weakness to enter your mind."

 

[Eurydice]

Eurydice was always quiet. There was something poignant about her silence as Veradun's answer came. Her features shifted until they reflected the horror of asking after someone's possibly dead sister.

Predictably, the Seer trailed after him. Commentary bubbled in her mind, but she was uncertain as to whether or not it would be welcome. At the very least, he hadn't immediately soured and shooed her away to the wolves.

Seating herself at the table across from Veradun, Eurydice mirrored him in reaching for the holo-menu. There was an uncertainty to her movements, a sort of rawness. She had never been to a restaurant before. They were common enough in Ukatis' capital city, but she hadn't been permitted to patronize one. The appearance of the waiter was a marvel, too.

Sprite? That must be some sort of local beverage.

"I will have a water," she decided after a long moment of unease. "Please."

It was the safest choice.

As the waiter drifted away, Eurydice suddenly found that she wished he had stayed. His presence blunted the awkward air between the pair of Sith apprentices, and now she could only turn her focus back to Veradun and his sharp, cold eyes that suddenly...didn't seem as intense as they once had.

"I am sorry to hear about your sister. I hope that she is well." With hands clasped in her lap, she tapped her pointer fingers together. "I have heard of the House of Marr, but I…"

Darth Nefaron had included them in her studies, along with every Sith lineage of note, as well as the more prominent Lords and rising Knights. Betrayals and backstabbing were common within their order. It was, unsurprisingly, not the most upsetting or unfamiliar aspect for a girl born into a monarchist society.

Marr rang a distant bell, beyond what she'd learned at Anoat. Eurydice's brow furrowed, then quickly smoothed. An orphan? She hadn't expected that. It seemed like Veradun had a story that wasn't all knives and death, even if those two aspects were prominent features.

"You said that you...accepted our Lord's apprenticeship?"

There was an unsaid question in the way her tone lifted, one that asked: You submitted to this hell willingly?

Veradun Sharr

 

[Adean Castor]

TAG: Aris Noble

A small spike of concern pinged in Adean's head when he paused. Had she spoken out of turn? Or perhaps his acquiescence marked him as one of the rare Zambrano one could reason with.

"Probably," they agreed with a slight shrug a hand moving to pick up the item they were both standing before. Sometimes touching the object would give her glimpses into what it was, slight visions of it's history, secrets it witnessed.

"It's a shame they don't put labels on these. Though I suppose that's part of the experience, no? If you can't gauge what it does on your own or find someone to ask, it must not be meant for you."

 

[Wrathian Kell]

Sovereign Plaza.
Tags: Eira Dyn


Wrathian said nothing at first. Did nothing. He didn't even blink. Like a creature, one lurking in the depths of the water, watching a swimmer above flail. Aware, but unconcerned. "I see." That was it. Two syllables, and he let them hang there for a moment. They carried a judgement to them though. Wrathian shifted his body only slightly, twisting his head at an angle as if observing Eira like she were under a glass.

"Thank you... you've just confirmed my suspicions about this current era of Sith." The look that followed wasn't of anger. It was of pity. Pity mixed with something quieter, dangerous even. "We both understand that fury is strength, but you see mercy as weakness. Trust as a flaw. That power is something that must be performed, constantly, or risk being forgotten. No wonder those people over there are ready to tear at that large man like a pack turned on an inadequate leader." His head slunk to the side referencing Kurayami Bloodborn , Aether Verd , Srina Talon , Gerwald Lechner , and finally that large figure Darth Prazutis

His hand came up to his chin, brushing her own on the way up to pull on his tendril almost to reset them. There was nothing seductive about the touch though, it was cold precision, almost as if he didn't register her words with any meaning.

"You speak of my wife as if love makes a man weak. Love did not make me soft. it made me discerning. I had already conquered long before we met. I stood on Vulta with a horde of Massassi at my back. The republic had barely registered the planet, and when they did, I made it a graveyard. I still held it when I was displaced. My wife changed nothing of my power, or my rule. The throne was not hers, it never was. I didn't let her near it, we never spoke of The Jedi or Sith to one another. The fact you cannot see past that is... revealing. In a way that tells me you cannot see past rage, and fear of manipulation."

His hands then again found the small of his back as he leaned in once more. No menace, just close enough for his truth to cut deeper. "And now, because you let your pride be insulted by a dead woman, you've wasted all your eloquence proving to me the very thing you hoped to disprove. You are ruled by hatred, that when confronted with stillness you thrash. You do not argue, you react to my past." He let the silence build once more. Judgment now crackling in the air between them. Strong enough that his large frame bent over her seemed to bend the force with it, forcing it under his gaze.

"You are clever, Eira. I see that. Clever enough to know that I'd drawn you into my game. But this?" His hand motioned to the air between them. "This is a game that was meant to test." He rose from his hunched posture and flatly followed with. "You failed."

He'd meant to use her as a spring point for his own point of view, she was right, he was judging people without knowing them, and he was generalizing. But he'd made it vocal in hopes to see how she'd rise to it, and rise she did. The wheel had not changed, in fact there was truth there and he recognized it, when he was displaced it might have just created the fracture that led to the near death of his people. Yet, it was all an after thought now, all of it besides him of course.

"You burn brightly young Sith, be prideful about that, but remember, it's the hottest fires that consume all. They burn indiscriminately, and as soon as you've lit them, it's just as likely to burn down hill, as it is to burn up. So when you spark that flame, ask yourself: what are you willing to let burn?"

 

[Srina Talon]

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

It was strange.

So many assumptions based on nothing but a glance were often made of the Empress and anyone who kept the company in her orbit. It would have been quite the sight. The Echani woman was slight of frame and her height left something to be desired, but surrounded by so many towering individuals, armor-clad, and imposing—She would have appeared almost childlike. Dwarfed by men, as it were, who all very likely wanted something from her. It was just a matter of what that something was.

Her presence was not loud.

She did not operate with pomp and circumstance unless it was required. Rarely, did she even demand to be addressed by a title or the Darth name that she had earned. It did not matter what she was called. There was no real power in a title, in a name, only that which she could not only take, but cultivate, and utilize with impunity. Her footprint in the Force was slight. Small. Because she wanted it to be…Because that was how she held court. Not by threat, but by the soundless promise of life and death with the same primrose lips. The pendulum only needed to swing, the wheel, to turn.

Her eyes pulled toward Kurayami Bloodborn when he turned his chair around to join the rapidly forming assembly. "I am frequently on Jutrand…Not at all hard to find.", the Echani returned after a moment, feathery eyelashes dusting against pale cheeks while she reached for her drink. All the pilot had to do was head toward the Capital of the Sith Order and look for the largest "house" in the district. Her husband had never truly shared her preference for simplicity.

A soft breeze pushed through Sovereign Plaza and with it carried the scent of jasmine, mixed with petrichor, the moment after a heavy rainfall. It was not perfume but simply her state of being coming to settle among them as naturally as snow might fall in winter. It would bring her wolf Gerwald Lechner to heel if his rage did not find a place to rest its moorings. He had every right to it, but he would not disturb her peace, regardless of whether it was a lie.

Her head inclined in approval when the former Lord Commander of the Confederacy found it within himself to make small talk with a Sith Lord that had, very literally, skinned him alive. It wasn't without a bit of bite but that was to be expected. Srina accepted the silent vow Gerwald offered.

To behave.

A slight smirk curled at the kiss of her lips, though, none would know the reason.

His wife was going to be pissed.

"See that your raiders do not destroy every barrel of ale in New Kaas. We would like them to be able to serve and fly at least reasonably straight when the night is though…Not all have the constitution of Master Bloodborn."

Oh—Yes. Srina remembered the battlemaster very, very well. She also remembered the flask he carried that almost always seemed to be full as if by magic. It was a strange thing that liquor never seemed to dull his senses. If anything, he was a better pilot half in the bag.

Gold-hewn orbs returned to Aether Verd when she felt him shift across from her. The little boy that held her hand seemed to partially disappear into the shadow of the Mandalore and it drew a deep sigh. Slow. As if it were pained, somehow. Everything shifted in their world the moment Darth Prazutis made his presence known. Not for anything he had done currently, but because of the history, long and torrid, that lay between half the men at the table.

Aether had to be Iron, now.

Not the youngling that she fed dumplings to outside of a noodle shop at a festival.

Her back straightened, and one could almost envision the weight of an invisible crown forcing her posture into something that was flawlessly pristine. It did not matter what difficulties these men faced, nor, the atrocities of the past. They would follow her lead—Or discover the consequences. Her expression fell slack, eyes, unnervingly piercing. It was the same gaze that had forced many galactic powers into retreat over the last few decades. She let the young man say his piece without interruption…But the last phrase: "What say you?"

Undoubtedly, belonged to his father. She had heard it…So many times, many moons ago.

"…Like father like son."

It was a fond comment despite the emotionless hellscape her countenance had become. He wore his warmth proudly, while she, internalized with control. The burnished orbs of the Empress lingered on the Mandalore for a beat longer than courtesy required. Long enough to measure not the offer, but the angle from which it came. The storm in the sky rolled overhead, unnoticed. Her voice was soft and low. Composed of something almost musical. "Have you come all this way to flatter me, Aether? It's not often that a warrior offers his blade without condition…"

Her head tilted slightly, not enough to break eye contact, but enough to suggest consideration. He wasn't simply the offspring of her Master in this venue. He represented an entire nation and thus deserved the deliberation of an Empress—Not his godmother.

Mandalore on retainer to her alone? To the Sith Empress?

That was quite the declaration.

"You are aware that when the former Mandalorian Empire occupied Eshan—I made it my personal mission to atomize their people from the Six Sisters. Correct?"

He knew their history very well. But it did not hurt to remind him of who she was and what she had done without a shred of guilt or mercy. The former Mandalorian Empire had orbitally bombarded her homeworld without reason. Her response was merely a result of cause and effect. She would never apologize for it, nor would she make "reparations" for the actions of former Sith Emperors on Mandalorian soil. She would not be held hostage by the actions of their predecessors. It was foolish. "You speak as though our bond still needs proving…As though time or absence might have undone what neither of us ever questioned. I do not offer sentiment. I do not need assurances. And…I do not believe in binding loyalty with poetry."

She paused. Not for effect—But so that her next words would land cleanly.

"I need you to understand that you don't owe me anything. Our ties are not debts to be traded…But a tether of our own free will. You are correct. I will always answer your call whether or not you answer mine. If this brings you clarity…"

"I will not refuse. But… Our people… You realize—They may not understand."

Her body fell still in the chair…But there was a sharpness to it. This was a woman who had become accustomed to dealing with heads of state as easily as one drew breath. Most of the exchange took place while the Shadow Hand decided whether he would heed her command and take a seat. Eventually, the weight of the table shifted and her head nodded in satisfaction. She thought slightly better of the behemoth when he forwent honorifics, but it was a fleeting assessment.

There was still much to be seen from the devoted Kainite.

Many would have wilted beneath such a gaze, like a flower in the desert, but the Sith Lord would find that it rolled over her like the caress of fresh air. She had spent endless hours and countless meetings with hundreds of golden, red, fire-filled, or burnt-yellow eyes glaring her into oblivion simply for being a woman who minded the throne while the Emperor tore through his enemies. Darth Prazutis was formidable indeed; however, she had spent too much time with Darth Carnifex to be moved.

The phylactery she wore around her neck would speak volumes. Her head shook slightly at his assessment of her words...

"I have…Rarely been accused of kindness."

The response was delicate, though, the storm wasn't the only thing that remembered. Srina had always been the scalpel, the blade, when all other Sith were hammers and everything that opposed them looked like a nail. She did not trust Darth Prazutis because trust was something that had to be earned rather than acquired by proxy. Too often…He had been the hammer.

Twice had he bled her people. Twice—Two times, too many.

Her sight turned back to the rest of Sovereign Plaza to scan the crowd. Echani eyes were keener than most and she swiftly re-mapped points of ingress and egress. It was habit rather than feeling threatened. To always be aware of her surroundings meant survival, not simply with the Force, but with all senses. She would not ignore the practical nor the esoteric, even, when surrounded by those who could like fell an entire army on their own.

The crowd parted for a moment and she caught a glimpse of the Sith Pureblood ( Wrathian Kell ) from before, but now, he was accompanied by Eira Dyn whom was very well-known to her. Very few who interacted with Quinn Varanin escaped her notice. This was…

Interesting.

 

[Lunaria Talon]

Location: Sovereign Plaza
Tag: Matteo Guo-Yian

_________​

Lunaria had never seen anything like this.​

​

The last time she'd been to a festival of any kind it had nearly ended in tears, even though, her friend Matteo Guo-Yian had managed to salvage it. It had been years ago when her confidences were easily shaken, and it felt like the walls were closing in. Jutrand Academy was a brutal, unforgiving, cruel place that had done its best to chase any humanity out of her. While she was an apt student…It was a work in progress. She felt too much. Far, too much.​

​

Her mother would have been ashamed. ​

​

The Sovereign Plaza was alive. Not just noisy and crowded, but alive, like the whole city had exhaled something weird and electric into the air and now everyone was breathing it in without question. She stood at the edge of a pair of stone steps in her Academy Uniform with the hood pulled up. It was low enough to shade her eyes but not so much that she looked afraid. That mattered. Appearances always mattered. Luna had learned that almost as quickly as she had learned to wield a vibroblade. Which was…Young. Battle from the cradle, for an Echani.​

​

Clearly, they had weapons in their cribs instead of rattles as younglings.​

​

Red lightning cracked overhead and it pushed it away from the wall she was holding up. The sky was angry tonight—Or maybe just watching. She wasn't sure which made her stomach twist more.​

​

It also might have been completely unrelated. The fact that they were supposed to be on Jutrand not​

Dromund Kaas…Yeah. That might have played a part in making her feel like a fish out of water. Her boots made soft, careful sounds, on the stone while she moved near a large fountain that was filled with shining coins. Luna, rather Artemis, was careful to keep her pace even, shoulders back, and chin level. She'd practiced that too—How to walk like someone who deserved to be here.​

​

Like someone, no one should question.​

​

But still…It was impossible not to stare. Red floodlights spilled across the square like melted rubies. Holoprojectors cast the sigils of the Order across menacing towers in sharp contrast, every banner, likely brimming with meaning. Secrets. Code? There were dancers. Real ones. Not the kind used for some sleazy attraction in a dusty cantina, but trained performers that moved like they were part of a ritual. She watched one twist through the air like silk and felt something tighten in her chest.​

​

Artemis told herself it was respect. Not wonder. ​

​

She was concerned that her uniform made her stand out like a sore thumb and she felt a prickling of heat on the back of her neck. A silent measuring of worth behind every glance, no matter how small or fleeting. She'd felt it every day in training, but this was different. These weren't just fellow students or instructors or rival apprentices. Not the cranky, foul-smelling Sepulchral. These were Sith Lords. Merchants. Agents. Killers—Legends.​

​

And she was here. ​

​

Artemis Dreadmoor—Apprentice. Alias. Nobody important. Not yet…But still here.​

​

She let her hands slip into the long sleeves of her attire like she imagined her mother would. She could picture the woman perfectly: precise, unreadable, and terrifying without ever raising her voice. Artemis didn't have that kind of presence. But…She could echo it just a little if she tried. If only her heartbeat didn't sound so loud in her ears. She wasn't scared…Not exactly.​

​

She was ready.​

​

Or trying to be. ​

​

The white-haired young woman eventually started moving further into the Plaza and took her time passing between figures in ornate robes, polished armor, and darklit archways. She didn't talk to anyone which was probably wise. She watched. Measured. Learned.​

​

Somewhere deep down, beneath the sharp edges she'd been forced to grow, a younger part of her was still marveling at the lights, the color, the noise, and ugly beauty of it all. The part of her that hadn't been cut away completely and refined to the perfect soldier. And for now…Artemis let that part stay.​

​

Just a little longer. ​

​

"Tea-Yo…Where are you?" ​

 

[Matteo Guo-Yian]

Lunaria Talon

They had split up from the start of the event.

Matteo had gone out looking for drinks, while Luna saw some of the sights, because he didn't believe he would be able to get through this with at least one drink inside of him. It was just... a lot. So many souls, so many bodies moving around. His fingers itched. It was difficult to keep it all inside and not to reach out to draw just a smidgen from them.

A smidgen often became a lot.

And then it became too much.

Luckily he rounded the corner and there she was. His friend. It was rare how a friendship could form in an Academy such as theirs. He came up from behind her and so could just about feel her words.

"Oh, I am right here." Matteo murmured casually before rounding around her with a drink in each hand. "I was trying to find you, but your presence is so quiet."

His tone seemed impressed.

"Everything okay?" If anyone ever noticed when she was off or upset, it was Matteo. Already a worried expression. "Did something happen?"

 

[Lunaria Talon]

Location: Sovereign Plaza
Tag: Matteo Guo-Yian

_________​

Artemis turned toward the familiar voice with no small measure of relief and her sweet features softened immeasurably. Matteo. Everything was better when he was close by, even if, he wasn't saying anything at all. She could normally feel him easily but the crowd was so thick…It clouded him. She reached up and brushed lengths of long white hair behind her ear, beneath her hood, and bit her lip a little when she stepped closer. "I thought you left me…"​

​

It was a tease—But with the way her eyes silently swept the ground, he might infer the nugget of truth that was buried beneath it. Her shoulders tucked in tight before she glanced around and tried to look a little more relaxed. It was hard to feel Matteo. It wasn't hard for her to feel Haru. Strangely, the presence of her mother was absent even though Lunaria knew the woman would be here.​

​

She'd told Matteo she was going away about this time—Hadn't she?​

​

"I've been working on concealing myself…It's a lot better than it used to be.", she murmured, but silvery eyes landed on the drinks he was holding. She wasn't sure what was in them but figured Matteo would find something good. "Which one is mine—"​

​

But the question was cut off by his remarkable insightfulness.​

​

Who had permitted Matteo to poke around in her brain like this? It was uncanny, how he knew.​

​

"Oh….It's fine, I'm fine. Nothing happened…", the words came out rather smooth for one who was woefully embarrassed on the inside. Were it not for her hood Matteo might have seen the little blush. "I was just thinking about how we're supposed to be on Jutrand…"​

​

She breathed in.​

​

"Annnnd—We're not."​

​

Artemis had no one to blame but herself. It had been her idea to answer the anonymous invitation to Dromund Kaas that had shown up in her dorm. It was a tricky decision, dangerous. In truth, she figured that it was from Haru over anyone else. He knew how she felt about being trapped in the Academy for long periods of time. But with what Sol was going through…She couldn't stay far away for long. It was still a gamble, though. It could have been from anyone.​

​

If her identity became well known there was no end to the list of Sith, Jedi, and probably every Bounty Hunter in the Southern Systems that would greet her on the daily. Since that hadn't happened it meant that her secret was safe. Or at least, safe enough.​

​

"I'm okay Tea-Yo…Really."​

​

Just…Better, when he was there.​

 

[Varin Mortifer]

Madrona A’Mia Lysander von Ascania

The mindspike hurled towards Ignati. Hungrily he devoured it, swallowing it whole, greedily.

I wouldn’t be much of a being of destruction and death if I left witnesses to tell the tale, sapling. However, boy, the twig is correct. Going towards him would only complicate matters for us. No amount of decorum you were taught would prepare you for the possible reactions you would be, “gifted” shall we say, from this being. Though, the amount of death and power that radiates off of him is…intoxicating.

Varin gripped his hilt tightly as it hung on his belt, gently rubbing his thumb over the pommel of his saber. After a quick internal debate he cut the mental draw to the mountain of a ruler and followed his pull to the artifact.

Professor. What can you tell me of him? There was something about him that was just so….natural to me? Not just the feeling of familiarity, but…..I don’t know it’s hard to put into words. I feel like he could help me discover some things about myself.

The boy's mind trailed towards his current keeper as he made his way through the plaza and towards The Vault, the pull gradually getting stronger. But he soon realised The Vault itself was an entirely different animal all together compared to the plaza. An excitement came over him as he witnessed many types of weapons, armor and gadgets of sorts. Despite that near child-like excitement, he persisted to his pull. Not once did he even think about remembering how to get back, that was a problem for future him.

The pull led him to a vendor of sorts. Selling specialised weapons via rituals and alchemy. Swords, daggers, some versions of shields and armor were displayed. But this pull was telling him that this specific weapon was a bit more…hidden from the surface. He closed his eyes, concentrating on a vibration in his fingers. Leading his hand in a direction. The salesperson spoke to him but the words did not land. Until Varin’s finger stopped, pointing at a black box, approximately half the size of his body, rectangular in shape.

“That one. Show it to me, now.” He demanded quietly, as the clerk was pulling out another weapon to show him. His gaze was a bit suspicious of the boy.

An excellent choice, boy. Ignati’s voice rumbled in his head.

Fire licked up Varin’s shoulders as his heart rate increased in pace. Another feeling of home was in that box, and this one was coming with him.

Straining the clerk hoisted the heavy box onto the counter in front of Varin.

“Are you sure this is the one kid? It’s pretty heavy, not all that practical if you ask me.”

The skeptical voice made the boy's eyes shoot directly into the clerks gaze.

“I didn’t ask for its practicality, I said show it to me.”

Shrugging and sighing, the shopkeeper opened the box to reveal a black mace. The craftsmanship was crude yet beautiful. The handle wrapped in a dark crimson leather as the neck twisted to the head adorned with heavy plated blades.
Varin’s eyes were wide as he looked the weapon over. Almost with ease he picked it up and gave it a few test swings. The weight was perfect, it’s balance was dead even. But even more, it whispered to him.

“How much?”

 

[Her]

---

---

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

---

"I like her..."

I thought you would.

"Each of you need each other, you both have much to offer, and much to gain... each of you individually would see their ambitions go up in smoke...or have already nearly seen it do so..."

The subtle jab regarding the events at Bastion at the beginning of the year was not lost upon the Dark Lord as she looked upon this Child of C. Rarely did anything go according to plan, however. Every master knows that much. Adapting to the current changes in the galaxy which saw to the demise of the Imperial junta fractured into remnants which latter formed the confederation, combined with the PLANETSHIFT, had put the enigma known as Her into advantageous positions in both Republic and Imperial space.

Now it was time to make in-roads to Sith territories where her adversaries were waiting to be plucked and destroyed.

"...We all have a role to play and as long as we do so... we can survive, and we can thrive."

"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... Inheriting it."

"More than thrive," said Her as the storm above them threatened to reach a fervour pitch as if the Force itself was reacting to the amalgamation of the most powerful dark-siders in the entire galaxy who had gathered to attend this Crimson Dawn.

"This region of the galaxy, which was redrawn by the effects of the Planetshift, is home to more than the Sith Worlds. In this nebulae-- outside of the Esstran-- is the Corporate Sector..." As Her confided in her co-conspirators and associates from N&Z and the Black Sun Syndicate she began to walk down the path to continue their conversation on foot. "...When the Confederation makes their move to strike upon the Thandon Star Cluster, should it fall into Imperial hands, would see us acquire avenues into a sector of the galaxy that is must abundant and rich for the two of you to move in with my help, of course..."

---

 

[Matteo Guo-Yian]

Lunaria Talon

"Both the same, so take your pick." Whichever Luna opted for, he'd pass onto her and with that hand free now, he'd wrap it around her shoulders instead. It was remarkable to her that she had grown into a formidable warrior, strong in the Force and with a spirit that didn't give up. Yet, in these moments none of that returned.

Matteo could practically feel the shiver under his arm. It's why he did it, to draw attention away from it, to not let anyone see that she was struggling currently.

"Well, I am sure we will return soon enough." Matteo murmured gently as he guided her onto the main street. To let them be covered from all sides by students, visitors, to become just two souls among many.

"You ought to enjoy yourself." He drowned half the glass without skipping a beat. Smacking his lips in appreciation. It dulled the gnawing hunger in his chest, but only barely. "It's not always we get to leave Jutrand without some mission keeping our attention." His arm lightly squeezed around her shoulders.

"They really did a wonder with this place, huh? Do you want to grab a bite to eat or go sit somewhere?"

Keep her occupied, keep her busy, that was the easiest way to get her to relax.

They both needed a distraction.

 

[Lirka Ka]

Notions of decay, the slow entropic withering of all great bodies, was not a notion that insulted Lirka. She had spent many years on that wretched world they called Rhand; after all, nihilism came naturally. The Primordial Dark brought about the end of all things that were unable to grow beyond what they are into what they can be. The Sith were no exception; the Eternalists had even spoken of such a notion in their holy books. Change, always changing, always fighting. It is why she liked this newest of Empires so much.

It was not much of a shock the banks had a rather lacking file on the hulking Imperator; Lirka was a paranoid freak on the best of days - and that extended to her finances, too. Her preferred methods of making credits extended to ways far more shadowy and slimy than the norm. She'd rather deal with honest crooks than the dishonest ones they called bankers.

Yet this Elane II of Kuat had a certain boldness to her that even Lirka could respect. It was a grand perk of age, Lirka had certainly felt it as the centuries waned on.

"Not an unreasonable assessment. Expansion can be a frightening prospect, a difficult variable to account for."

Lirka would never stem that tide, always fighting, always expanding. War unending, that was the nature of the Empire - the nature of the Sith themselves, really. Lirka welcomed conflict readily, for war was the best place for the worthy to test themselves in the crucible of the endless struggle against the Primordial Dark's call. More questions on her command. It was not a shocking thing, her appointment had been sudden, unforeseen. Many doubted the abilities of the Kainate's supposed-attack-dog.

"The longer something lives, rot begins to fester. Stagnation slowly but surely sets in till the time for a new age begins. A notion not uncommon in Eternalist doctrine, though perhaps in different wording. The conquest has just begun, dear banker - do not throw such scorn over our single bout upon Ryoone, Firefist is close. Oh so close. The resources of Companion Besh will be a plentiful thing, and your bankers shall be busy for decades to come sorting it all."

Lirka certainly was a talker, Firefist was an unknown variable still. Expansion into the companions was a venture yet to be seen within the Galaxy, and while Lirka had certain notions of what they might find, and what they could exploit - the specifics of it all were still a questionable thing.

"Yet what am I, as Imperator, to do against the slow rot of Sith hubris? It is true, I have seen it. The Sith look down upon those not within their order, the hardened officers and warriors of the Sith-Imperials that form the bedrock of our order. To see the solution, you must consider the mighty hydra, my dear lady. The many heads, attached to one body. Each head, an entity independent but they must work in conjunction lest the body die, and with it all of the heads collapse. Each head, enabled to act as they see fit, yet only the mightiest of them shall enjoy the greatest feast. It is meritocracy, in simple terms. An unburdened meritocracy, not blinded by the Force. I seek to enable all, for I view all in this Empire from the same lens. The worthy, and the unworthy."

It was a vague sentiment, but Lirka did not oft delve into the deep recesses of her theology with strangers.