Junction The Divide | TSC & TSO & ME Junction of Carratos, Ank Kit'aar, Sarka | IC

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Mercy //: Srina Talon //: Lily Rhodes //: Aether Verd //: Ivalyn Yvarro //: Nagual //: Aria Talorien //: Lysander von Ascania //: Cassilde Vortayn //: Varin Mortifer //: Helix //: Adonis Angelis IV //: Taeli Raaf //: Gerwald Lechner //: Amelia von Sorenn //: Astra Sadow //: Leontis Antalis //: Zeptepi Zambrano //: CT-312 //: Darth Carnifex //: Darth Prazutis //: Siv Kryze //: Darth Reign //: Veyla Krinn //: Dral-Kar'ta Saandyr //: Lirka Ka //: Adelle Bastiel

//: Attire //:

Humbarine, Abregado-Rae, and now Thyferra. All of them were war fronts that the Sith had claimed; all of those words lay in ruin. The thought bothered her, but this was how the Sith responded to the threats laid at their doorstep. Ruin and rot, conquer and destroy — there was no room for weakness.

No room for Quinn to doubt.

Her type of diplomacy either got her into trouble or did as it was supposed to do, she realized. Her face, her sensibility… all of it digestible, giving the enemy a moment to drop their guard. With that, the strike followed. She closed her eyes as she could still feel the wave of the Force Destruction hitting the surface of Thyferra. A hand rested at her side; the fleshweaving she had done was rudimentary, but it was healing. Once the scar formed, she would be able to erase it, like the other blemishes that had once adorned her porcelain skin.

A hand covered the lightsaber wound; she felt the roughness of the skin as it continued to heal. Whatever happened on Thyferra, her usual quick healing was lagging. Quinn frowned slightly, wondering if being cut off like that had introduced some underlying side effects. Still, like the others, she wore the battle scar proudly… or as proudly as she could fake it.

Quietly, her hands smoothed the soft fabric of her skirt; today, she had decided that while she represented Eshan, she would also represent the Sith Order. A small brooch on her uniform showed the connection between her and her home world, while the rest of her showed her position within the Order. The weight of the tiara, the one her master had crafted, sat gently over her ashen hair.

All of her was something; all of her belonged to multiple places, but in the end she chose what they weighed against her. Exhaling softly, the struggle of wearing so many masks found its reprieve.

Stepping out of the room she was occupying on the Tyranny, she met with the two she had brought with her. Apprentice and guard, two who had once seemed to work well together. Though after Thyferra, things seemed off. Quinn wasn't going to push it, as long as respect still remained; the two didn't need to like each other. Sighing softly, she brushed back a few strands of her white-blonde hair and addressed them.

"There's going to be a lot of people at this, I'm afraid." She smiled weakly, already preparing herself for potentially being overwhelmed.

When the idea was proposed earlier, they used the term leadership. Now, from what she had gathered from whispers, it was going to be a lot more than she bargained for. Her mind wandered momentarily; her heart skipped before a bit of dread settled in. Arris would be present; the woman hadn't had any contact with the Eshan Queen between Thyferra and now. Things were left unsaid, undone, and Quinn, despite feeling the cyborg in the Force in multiple ways… still wanted to confirm that Arris was still Arris.

A thought that she lingered on for a moment longer, perhaps too long.

"It's a good chance for you both to find potentially common ground with others." Her eyes shifted to Eira as she finished, then to 312.

"Keep your eyes sharp and listen for anything important."

Quinn smiled, and they began to walk. The distance from her quarters towards the meeting area wasn't far; she was thankful – still a bit out of it from Thyferra. She tried not to think of it; the horrors and her conversation with Sibylla weighed on her. Thinking of the woman quietly, she reached out for the blood trail; it seemed the woman had survived as best she could.

Silence quieted the trail once more as she entered. She nodded to Eira and CT-312 to mingle as she stepped forward into the crowd of people meant to be her peers. As much station and power as she had received and earned over the years, Quinn still felt like a mortal among gods. The thought flickered in the device in her chest as she groaned; it wanted to show itself, bring attention to her.

That was the last thing Quinn wanted to do right now.

Her eyes scanned the crowd, from faces she knew from childhood to those she saw as treasured mentors. Her own Master lingered, looking well after Thyferra. Everyone else was the same; it looked as if everyone bounced back, unscarred.

She needed to be the same.

Looking through the crowd more, she finally spotted the person she wanted to speak with. Arris, as usual, was in her own corner, becoming more part of the wall than the crowd. It brought a smile, remembering a past conversation where Quinn spoke of doing the same… how it made it easier for most and for her as well.

As she drew closer, she waved, her lips parting to say the cyborg's name. Despite her earlier emotions, she felt joy at seeing the Triminvir.

"Arris!"

Quinn stopped as she saw who was beside her. The blonde from Abregado-Rae… the one that Arris needed, the one that Arris left with.

Her hand withdrew, embarrassment filtering through her emotions. A faint blush crept across her cheeks and ears as she exhaled deeply, trying to calm any incoming spiral.

It's fine… You knew this…

She told herself, and she did her best to blend into the scenery as well.

 

[Sylor]

Objective - Explore-Investigate
Nysa Veilwalker Brool Koon ​

Sylor's boots crunched lightly behind the duo, not intruding on them. But there was something lurking deep in the depths of this place. The force radiated unlike anything he had never felt before. While the Mandalorian had studied both sides of the force, there were still some things that he hadn't faced yet, and somethings that he remained unsure about.

"You hear them too."

"They are calling out...." Sylor answered easily enough, at least that was what he felt from his perspective. "Something else is here...something more...." He spoke, not intending to be cryptic, but just to be aware.

"What have you found so far?"

"I'm starting to wonder if something is going to find us." Sylor spoke, as he leaned down, placing his on the flat surface of the ground they stood on. "I'd advise we be on our guard."

 

[Leontis Antalis]

LEONTIS ANTALIS

There were invitations one accepted because etiquette demanded it, invitations one accepted because declining would prove inconvenient, and then there were invitations that represented opportunity on such a scale that refusing them would border on stupidity. Leontis Antalis was many things. Stupid was not one of them.

Even so, the scale of the Tyranny had tested his ability to appear unimpressed. He had seen warships before. House Antalis possessed vessels of its own, and the Covenant's campaign against Abregado-rae had provided ample opportunity to become accustomed to the silhouettes of military vessels hanging overhead. This was different. The flagship seemed less like a ship than a declaration rendered in metal, and Leontis found himself briefly wondering how many generations of Antalis wealth could disappear into constructing something like it. He decided he did not particularly want the answer.

The young Chandrilan nevertheless stepped aboard with the easy confidence expected of the heir to an old House. He was dressed accordingly, favoring the refined dark colors and careful tailoring of House Antalis rather than anything resembling a soldier's uniform. There was, however, one conspicuous addition to the ensemble. The Hand of the Expanse covered one hand, the armored glove awarded to him following the conquest of Abregado-rae. Leontis had taken to wearing it with considerably more satisfaction than he would ever admit aloud. It was tangible proof that he had not merely survived his first real campaign; he had been noticed because of it. That satisfaction was tempered somewhat by the woman beside him.

Astra's warning earned the faintest upward twitch of one eyebrow. Swallow his pride. Mind the servants. Do not let the egos overwhelm him. Stay close. For a moment Leontis looked as though he might offer some wonderfully ill-advised objection. Pride, after all, was hardly an incidental characteristic of House Antalis, and being instructed to restrain his came somewhat naturally with the urge to demonstrate precisely why he shouldn't have to.

Abregado-rae had taught him better. Not humility. Leontis had no intention of learning anything so distasteful. Perspective. "I am capable of being obedient when properly motivated," he answered Astra quietly, the hint of a smirk betraying that he remained himself despite the promise. His gaze shifted toward the gathering ahead. "And you've made a compelling argument for good behavior." The words became substantially easier to stand behind as he took in the room.

Abregado-rae had placed Leontis among soldiers, Sith, monsters and horrors he would once have considered the province of dramatic stories. This was somehow different. There he had possessed a platoon, orders, an objective and the authority to carry them out. Here, the insignia of House Antalis and the title of its heir suddenly seemed considerably smaller things. He recognized some faces. Varin Mortifer was difficult to miss, and the familiar presence of another participant in the Abregado-rae campaign was almost reassuring.

Then Leontis caught sight of another familiar face. Eira Dyn . His gaze settled upon the woman for a moment, recognition quickly followed by the memory of their encounter at the Queen Mother's coronation. She had been rather dismissive of him then. Not openly insulting—nothing so crude—but dismissive enough that Leontis Antalis had naturally remembered every irritating second of it.

His eyes dropped briefly toward the Hand of the Expanse covering one of his own. Well. Things had changed since Hapes. The temptation to cross the room was immediate. He could already imagine the conversation. A casual greeting. A passing mention of Abregado-rae. Perhaps an innocent observation about his invitation to the war council and the responsibilities entrusted to House Antalis following the conquest. Nothing boastful, naturally. Leontis would simply ensure Eira possessed all the information necessary to properly reevaluate her earlier assessment of him.

He even shifted his weight as though preparing to move. Swallow your pride. Leontis' jaw tightened. His eyes slid sideways toward Astra. Damn her. He remained exactly where he was. There would be time later to make certain Eira Dyn understood that the young Chandrilan noble she had brushed aside on Hapes had subsequently commanded troops in a Sith conquest and emerged from it rewarded rather than buried. For now, apparently, he was practicing restraint. It was awful.

Others Leontis knew more by reputation than acquaintance, names attached to wars, governments and stories that stretched considerably farther than Chandrila's aristocratic circles. Still others were strangers entirely, which perhaps bothered him most. There were enough people here capable of ending his existence with little effort that ignorance seemed an especially unhealthy condition.

So he watched. Who approached whom. Who received bows and who received smiles. Who stood comfortably in another's presence and who maintained careful distance. If this was a war council, the war had apparently begun well before anyone sat around a table.

Then one introduction caught his attention. House Talorien. Leontis' eyes lingered upon Aria for only a moment longer than good manners permitted. He knew enough of what had happened to understand the uncomfortable contradiction between the title being spoken and the House behind it no longer truly existing. An aristocratic name could survive longer than the power that had once given it meaning. For perhaps the first time since Astra's warning, Leontis felt absolutely no inclination to argue with her advice. Pride was useful. Survival was considerably more so.

He remained near Astra as she led him onward, letting her dictate the approach rather than attempting to establish himself independently. That decision was rewarded when she presented him not simply as some Chandrilan noble who had followed her into the gathering, but as the Heir of House Antalis and a participant in the work continuing upon Abregado-rae. Leontis understood exactly what she had just given him.

He inclined his head respectfully toward Mercy, the gesture deeper than he would have afforded almost anyone back home. "Your Majesty. House Antalis remains grateful for the opportunity to prove its usefulness." There was no false modesty in the statement. Leontis was proud of what had been accomplished and entirely comfortable admitting that he intended for his House to benefit from it. "What was taken at Abregado-rae ought to become something worth keeping."

His attention passed across the others gathered with Mercy, offering each the appropriate acknowledgment rather than trying to insert himself further into conversations he did not yet understand. Lysander, however, addressed him directly.

The observation about the hundred small details demanding attention brought a genuine smile to Leontis' face. His armored fingers flexed once at his side within the Hand of the Expanse as he considered the remark. "Closer to a thousand, I suspect," Leontis answered. "Though things become considerably simpler once the previous administration stops objecting to your plans."

There was humor there, but the young noble continued with somewhat greater seriousness. "The spaceport has proven especially useful. Security, movement of supplies, corporate access, reconstruction—the glamorous work of conquest ends surprisingly quickly once someone has to make certain everything still functions the following morning." His smile returned, accompanied by the smallest shrug. "Fortunately, House Antalis has considerably more experience with administration than heroics."

Perhaps that was selling his contribution at Abregado-rae short. But Leontis was beginning to understand the game being played here. He didn't need to convince anyone in this room that he was more powerful than they were. He merely needed to give them reasons to remember his name. For the moment, he remained exactly where Astra had told him to be.

Mercy | Astra Sadow | Lysander von Ascania | Aria Talorien | Cassilde Vortayn | Quinn Varanin | Open

 

[Aether Verd]

Wearing:
Armor - Darksaber - Mask of Mandalore
.​

ABOARD THE TYRANNY

The Cycle continued.

For generations, the clash of Light and Dark had been a vortex that consumed the entire cosmos. It mattered not how remote one chose to live among the stars, someday the clash would find you. It was this reality that Aether had set out to avoid for his people. He had said as much to the delegates of the High Republic when they first stood before his throne. He had said as much to the Sith leadership when the Galactic Empire faltered. Becoming a cog in the machine of Light versus Dark only spelled damnation for Mandalore. Or so he thought.

Thus, he had taken the Empire down a different path. He fashioned them to be the mercenary superpower of the cosmos, selling violence to the highest bidder. This was a lucrative position, as the eternal presence of conflict meant an eternal stream of revenue. Mandalore prospered as the old grudges played out. That is, until the Light turned its gaze upon the Mandalorians. What began as Jedi blindly harassing a Warden of the Empire escalated over time. Lightbearers began to lead worlds to oppose Mandalore. They created sedition, they disrupted stability, they played the game of the bloody Diarchy.

And to what end?

Their actions had justly led to nails being driven through their flesh. Their choices had culminated in their enclaves being burned and their warriors being turned to ash. Their younglings? Their padawans? Taken. They would be stripped of the Light and raised Mandalorian. Yet even this rebuke did not stop the Light from acting as cockroaches within the walls. And as time moved ever forward, one thing became even more certain: the so-called cradle of democracy had no leash upon the Light.

And with no leash? The words the democracy signed, swearing its neutrality, meant very little.

It was only a matter of time before the Lightbearers grew in strength, number, and boldness. Even now, rumor and fledgling intelligence spoke of how they prepared. How the Unknown Region was swelling with outcasts. How the carcass of the Imperials was being resuscitated. At any time, they could march. And when they did? Mandalore would be ready. The Empire was confident in staring down this threat alone; yet a call from the Core had brought their presence to Abregado-Rae.

The Sith Order was already a client, one who had proven reliable in terms of work and compensation. The Covenant had expressed interest in working with Mandalore before and building a similar relationship. What made it easy was the bond the Mand'alor had with the Sith Empress. He called her Dral'buir in his native tongue, a sign of gratitude for pivotal role she played in his upbringing. Aether trusted Srina Talon. He trusted her enough that he would guide his people to sit down with the two Sith nations to hear their thoughts on the current state of the cosmos.

Enough that he would consider their thoughts on a solution.

To bring his people here was no small task. There was just as much bad blood between Mandalore and the Light as there was with the Dark. In fact, their homeworld still bore the scars of Carnifex's Sith Empire upon it. Thus, he would not blame any of his trusted generals or advisors from being cautious or apprehensive during the proceedings. Aether trusted Srina. Mand'alor trusted no one.

At the appointed hour, Aether set foot upon the Tyranny alongside his entourage. He drew a deep breath, rounded his shoulders, and strode forth.

The future would be decided here, one way or another.

Srina Talon | Mercy | Quinn Varanin | Arris Windrun | Lirka Ka | Mia Monroe | Lily Rhodes | Adelle Bastiel | Ivalyn Yvarro | Kurayami Bloodborn | Astra Sadow | Leontis Antalis | Zeptepi Zambrano | Gerwald Lechner | Nagual | Varin Mortifer | CT-312 | Darth Carnifex | Darth Prazutis | Siv Kryze | Amelia von Sorenn | Darth Reign | Veyla Krinn | Dral-Kar'ta Saandyr | Adonis Angelis IV + Open

 

[Zeptepi Zambrano]

Corvin Sarre (?) | Lysander von Ascania | Cassilde Vortayn | Aria Talorien | Quinn Varanin | Arris Windrun | Lirka Ka | Mia Monroe | Lily Rhodes | Adelle Bastiel | Ivalyn Yvarro | Kurayami Bloodborn | Astra Sadow | Leontis Antalis | Gerwald Lechner | Nagual | Varin Mortifer | CT-312 | Darth Carnifex | Darth Prazutis | Aether Verd | Siv Kryze | Amelia von Sorenn | Darth Reign | Veyla Krinn | Dral-Kar'ta Saandyr | Mercy

The Dreadnought, Staunch Avenger dropped out of hyperspace and immediately her shuttle embarked for Tyranny. "She is beautiful deadly!" Zeptepi observed. She wondered what specs were different from her own vessel.

Representing Malsheem also quite beautiful, the Zambrano Dyad, her Father Darth Carnifex and Uncle Darth Prazutis ' most ingenious worldcraft. Zeptepi glided into the arranged location, in her full commissioned officer's uniform.

Steeped in Darkness for so long, and comfortable in Battlemind the young General found the force shift akin to walking into an icy abode, with sections of absolute nothingness where those dead-to-the-force types stood. 'Such minuscule souls,' she felt; no, she thought, because she truly can't feel them. 'Just a void. Mysterious.' They could relieve her stress and put her sleep like Ysalamanders do. She did not disconnect mentally with the personnel under her command back on her own ship. Whatever should transpire, regardless of knowing few else intimately enough to trust, the common enemy is by far the worst and worthy of her present concern.

Introductions began immediately, to which the Sith General nodded respectively and exchanged introductions. The men of Metal were…different. She never met a Mandalorian up close before, not even on her Mother Pom Stych Tivé 's -of whom she is a spitting image,- homeworld, Dathomir. She half expected to see a battery pack on them, finding them to seem robotic.

She plans to greet as many people as she may to help build alliances between her people. Quite a few are notorious enough for her to already have their faces and specs memorized, even if she never actually engaged them.
​

 

[Veyla Krinn]

Objective: The War Council

Veyla walked alongside Siv as they entered the gathering aboard the Tyranny, her stride straight and measured beneath the familiar weight of her beskar'gam. Her helmet remained sealed, the dark T-shaped visor concealing any reaction she might have had to the collection of Sith, Mandalorians, soldiers, nobles, and other powers gathered within the warship. Black armor broken by crimson accents distinguished her from the blue and silver beside her, while the marking of House Kryze upon her left pauldron made the connection between them clear enough. Siv was her Alor, but he had never expected her to trail behind him like another body in an entourage. She walked at his side because that was where he had always allowed her to stand.

There was something uncomfortable about a gathering like this that had nothing to do with standing aboard a Sith dreadnought. Veyla was accustomed to judging threats when they came armed and openly hostile. Here, everyone was armed in one fashion or another, even if some carried nothing more obvious than a title and carefully chosen words. The history between Mandalore and the Sith made taking any offer entirely at face value foolish, but refusing to hear those offers because of that history would accomplish equally little. If Mandalore was going to stand beside either Sith power, Veyla wanted to understand exactly what that relationship was built upon.

Siv's words drew her visor toward him briefly before she looked back across the gathering. "That's what I intend to find out." Her attention lingered upon the different groups already forming throughout the room, taking in who stood together, who kept their distance, and who seemed far too comfortable among old enemies. "What they offer matters. What they expect in return probably matters more. Anyone can make an alliance sound good while they're the one describing it." Contracts had taught her that much long before diplomacy entered the picture. The price someone named was rarely the only cost involved.

She stayed beside Siv, with no inclination to disappear into the background just because she had entered a room full of people with higher titles. Veyla knew why she was here, and more importantly, she knew Siv had not brought her merely to occupy space behind him. Over their private channel, she added, "If I hear something worth discussing, you'll know." A trace of dry amusement slipped into her voice. "I'll even try to save the inconvenient questions for the private channel." Whether she would manage that for the entire gathering remained to be seen, but for now Veyla kept her attention forward and walked with her Alor into the room as an equal voice within his House, even if the final responsibility still rested upon his shoulders.

Mercy Nagual Aria Talorien Helix Ivalyn Yvarro Varin Mortifer Astra Sadow Adonis Angelis IV Taeli Raaf Gerwald Lechner Lysander von Ascania Siv Kryze Arris Windrun Lily Rhodes Quinn Varanin Leontis Antalis Aether Verd Zeptepi Zambrano

 

[Dral-Kar'ta Saandyr]

THE DIVIDE
​

Objective I, THE WAR COUNCIL
Location: ABOARD THE TYRANNY

Ship: The Bes'hurok (Iron Rock) Armed Adviso

Armor: Protector-type Beskar'gam

Primary Weapon: A-180 Modular Blaster

Secondary Weapons: Briletto PPK, Stun Baton,

Blade: Tal'Alor Beskad
Sidekick: Ta-2P0 (Tappo)

Tags: Siv Kryze Veyla Krinn Mercy Aria Talorien Cassilde Vortayn Astra Sadow Leontis Antalis Helix Srina Talon Adonis Angelis IV Nagual Taeli Raaf Varin Mortifer Gerwald Lechner Open

---

​

Dral-Karta entered the gathering with Siv Kryz and Velia Krinn. For a diplomatic negotiation he would have normally removed his helmet to indicate peaceful intentions but as his host did not, he did likewise. He was no stranger to serious negotiations being the Alor'ad of his clan and Constable of Maridun but in those capacities his decisions would only effect a few million people, the decisions made here today could impact the futures of billions.

He was wearing his Clan armor, still functional but more ornate than his usual beskar'gam. He had always thought his first time on a Sith dreadnaught would involve him charging thru a hail of blaster fire but here he was walking calmly among the corridors. His comms chirped and Siv's voice emitted radiated from his ear peace. He gave a nod of acknowledgement. So that was why Siv was keeping his helmet on.

The Mandalorians had endured much from the Empire and the Republic but even with the Night of a Thousand Tears their planet of Mandalore had not suffered as much as it did from Sith wrought devastation. Clan Saandyr's ancestral Clanlands had been in the north of the planet in a remote highland valley. The entire valley and the mountains had been strip mined and plundered by the Sith in their greed and vengeance. Much had been repaired since then. The air had been scrubbed and purified of its pollutants and the land restored to its fertility but somethings were too damaged to restore. There was no longer a remote mountain valley to call home on Mangalore for him and his Clan. The scars that were etched upon his being were as deep as the scars inflicted on Mangalore itself. And some of the people that inflicted that harm were in this very room.

He sighed. Had he not so very long ago said to Siv that the past was the past and they could do naught but go forward. Well talk about your Progs coming home to roost. He thought ironically as he now had to put action to his words.

He gave a grunt which Luckly stayed in his helmet as Siv quipped about being shot at to Adonis. His hand reflectively moved to his right hip only to find that, in deference to the nature of the meeting, there was no blaster. His hand strayed to his back waist and encounter his hold out blaster. He was willing to be deferential but he still would be armed. It was a DT-12, beskar plated with carved Galek wood grips so at least he could say it was a ceremonial weapon per his religion.

He was not there to talk. He was there to listen and absorb information. It would be later, in Mandalorian Council Halls, for his to discuss what he would experience today and then to decide if Clan Saandyr could trust the Sith.

Veyla had jointed them. By the way she interacted she obviously was acquainted with Siv. The sigil on her pauldron explained why, at least in part. He looked at her and gave her a nod in greeting.

"What they offer does matter but what matters more is can they be trusted to honor the offers that they make. No matter how tempting an offer is, it matters not if one can not be trusted to keep their word. The Sith desire power more than honor. I will listen and I will support our Mand'alore but my Clan will not be easily swayed by only words."

 

[Darth Carnifex]

At what point the Eternal Father arrived at the gathering could not be precisely timed, but the fact that He was here was indisputable. Where there had once been an empty void was now occupied by the pervasive presence of the Dark Lord of the Sith, a towering figure wrought of myth and legend. He wore no battle vestments, though He still cut an intimidating figure even when dressed in lightly ornate black and crimson garments. His midnight black hair fell down as a curtain about His shoulders and back, parted away from His face so that none could mistake His countenance.

Standing on either side were two women, both of them so vastly different from not just their Lord, but from one another as well. On His right was a mountainous Fanalis half a meter taller than the Dark Lord, her muscular form squeezed into a radiant dress of black and gold, cinched in various places by bright blood-red rubies. A pair of black horns spiraled out from her brow, each one meticulously polished and filed to a lethal point. Her fur, combed and brushed to perfection, was the texture and color of freshly fallen snow, as was the thick mane of hair which cascaded down from her horned head.

On His left was a being of near equal beauty, an Eldorai woman just shy of seven feet with thick curls of black hair framing a demure countenance. Her rich crimson and gold dress clung tightly to her silhouette, expressive golden eyes staring unblinkingly at everything around her. Her plush lips pursed in thinly veiled annoyance, her golden labret piercing simmering as it caught light. The two of them shadowed the Dark Lord, following closely at His side as He moved from one place to the next. Though eclipsed by the power radiating from their Lord, it was evident that the pair were not to be underestimated.

It had not been very long since the end of the Battle of Thyferra, the Sith's victory still taking shape as the last embers of defiance were snuffed out. Both the Empire and the Covenant had displayed to the galaxy that to trifle with the power of the Dark Side was a fool's errand. Abregado-rae had led to a cascade of neighboring systems capitulating to the Sith Covenant, less they also find themselves made an example of. Undoubtedly, systems neighboring Thyferra would follow the same logic. But the fist could only be held clenched for so long, those most vulnerable to the Sith's expansion must also be shown the magnanimity of the open hand.

Srina Talon | Aether Verd | Mercy | Quinn Varanin
Arris Windrun | Lirka Ka | Mia Monroe | Lily Rhodes
Adelle Bastiel | Ivalyn Yvarro | Kurayami Bloodborn | Astra Sadow
Leontis Antalis | Zeptepi Zambrano | Gerwald Lechner | Nagual
Varin Mortifer | CT-312 | Darth Prazutis | Siv Kryze
Amelia von Sorenn | Darth Reign | Veyla Krinn | Dral-Kar'ta Saandyr | Adonis Angelis IV

OPEN​

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Abregado-rae, Core Worlds
| Objective | III - Into the Depths

When the initial whispers of fractures in the veil of reality reached Itzhal's ears, he had cast them aside as nothing more than fanciful rumours—overblown tales embellishing the deep scars left behind by the relentless clashes and the ocean of blood that followed any invasion from the armies of darkness and dread. In those moments of ignorance, it had been all too simple to dismiss the reports, viewing them not as deliberate propaganda from their 'allies' but rather as the misguided interpretations of those civilians and mercenaries unaware of the horrific rituals that the Sith were capable of.

He'd thought he'd known better.

His memory cast back to the macabre spectacle of dark magic disturbing the dead in mass, the landscape churned with the burden of lifeless bodies marching upon the living without care for the way their bodies bent and broke, on a battlefield that could be accurately described as a 'land of the dead'. For that was what he had known, and for all the sight had been something of a nightmare, it had been a nightmare that his mind could fathom and face. It would have been easier, if it had been the case.

But that initial dismissal could only endure for so long before it risked becoming a state of wilful blindness. Itzhal was many things: an ancient relic from a time mostly forgotten, a warrior bound to a hopeless creed that would never be accomplished, but he would not be blind to what was true. The more frequent mentions of the Netherworld—a realm brimming with terrible fates and even more terrifying abominations—began to erode the walls of his scepticism. After all, for all that he had never set foot upon the realm spoken of in reverence and caution, he had seen the creatures that dared to step through the veil with promises of death and destruction in mind.

Abregado-Rae would not become site zero for another Grave War; he vowed with every fibre of his being.

Thus, with a solemn oath carved into the essence of his soul, the Lawkeeper pressed onward, his formidable figure adorned in beskar plates so dark they swallowed the light, crimson accents bleeding across the canvas of faint scratches and dust that clung to the metal. His boots marched upon the ancient stone, cracks in the formation, even older than the Mandalorian that had seen his people brought to their lowest, and awakened to a new dawn of might and daring that still, some days, took his breath away.

Tags: OPEN​

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Objective: 3
Tags: Tobias Dib @open

The tombs were wrong, and Seren had reached that conclusion before she ever crossed the threshold of the complex, though she was considerably less certain what precisely made them so. Abregado-rae had been torn apart badly enough that ancient structures emerging from beneath the changed landscape should not have been particularly surprising. Worlds buried their histories all the time. Civilizations disappeared, records were lost, and ruins waited beneath cities whose inhabitants never realized what lay below their feet. Yet something was deeply unsettling about structures supposedly ancient enough to have vanished from every surviving historical record appearing almost untouched by time. The fact that the Netherworld had begun bleeding into the planet during the same catastrophe made coincidence increasingly difficult to accept.

Perhaps that was why Seren had chosen the tombs over the celebrations in Empress' Peace. She had never possessed much talent for celebrating a victory simply because someone declared it one, particularly when the world beneath the celebration still carried the scars of achieving it. Thyferra had left enough scars of its own. The stiffness remaining in her shoulder was a physical reminder, but it was hardly the one that occupied her thoughts as she followed the route toward the newly exposed complex. Here the Force felt strange, distorted by something she could sense without yet understanding, and the simple ability to perceive that wrongness brought an uncomfortable measure of relief.

Since Thyferra, Seren had caught herself reaching into the Force without purpose. Sometimes she expanded her awareness toward nearby life; other times she summoned a thin curl of shadow across her fingertips only to dismiss it immediately afterward. She knew why she did it. She had experienced the Force disappearing completely, taking with it not merely her abilities but an entire sense through which she had understood the galaxy for most of her life. Worse had been reaching for Varin somewhere upon the same world and finding nothing where his familiar presence should have been. Knowing the nullification had caused that silence had not prevented the fear that followed. Abregado-rae offered almost the opposite problem. There was so much pressing against her awareness here that Seren deliberately kept her senses restrained rather than reaching deeply into whatever waited beyond the tomb entrance.

She was not the first to arrive. Several figures were already moving farther into the complex, accompanied by a creature Seren did not immediately recognize beyond its unmistakable connection to the Netherworld. Their voices carried through the strange architecture as she approached, enough for her to hear the discussion of something calling from deeper within and the considerably less comforting suggestion that whatever occupied the tomb might find them first. Seren slowed near the edge of the small group rather than inserting herself between people already speaking, amber eyes traveling across stone that looked far too well preserved for something supposedly ancient. "That's encouraging." The dry observation was directed toward the others as she joined them, making clear that she found the prospect anything but.

Seren rested her good hand loosely near Voidstar without drawing the weapon, her attention shifting from the others toward the passage ahead. She could feel something as well, though she was reluctant to decide that what each of them sensed necessarily came from the same source. A rupture into the Netherworld offered considerably too many possibilities for assumptions to be wise. "If something is calling, I wouldn't assume it wants to be found. Getting someone curious enough to follow is usually the easier part." Her gaze briefly settled on the unusually pristine stone around them before returning to the darkness farther ahead. Whatever had survived here had apparently done so remarkably well, and Seren doubted the explanation would prove simple.

She remained near the rear of the group as they prepared to continue rather than pressing farther into their midst, taking the opportunity to study the architecture and the currents moving through the Force around it. There was curiosity in her expression rather than fear, tempered by considerably more caution than Seren might once have brought to an unexplained phenomenon. She had learned recently that not everything touching the Force could be understood simply by reaching farther into it, and a world where the Netherworld had begun crossing into reality seemed an especially poor place to forget that lesson.

There was something useful about remaining a few paces behind the others, where Seren could watch the passages they had already crossed as easily as whatever waited ahead. She followed at an unhurried pace as the exploration continued, occasionally letting her attention drift back toward the way they had come. The distance she maintained from the others was not enough to separate her from them, but it left her walking without anyone immediately beside her, an incidental gap in the little expedition that another traveler approaching from behind could easily close.

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

The Tyranny
Tags: Direct: Aether Verd | Mia Monroe || Indirect: All y'all on Obj 1 (I'm sick, alright?)



Adelle didn’t like this.

The Sith Empress was one thing. Mand’alor the Iron conducting business with the Sith Covenant alone was one thing. A significant portion of the Empire’s leadership being gathered on a Super Star Destroyer surrounded by Sith was another thing entirely.

Light gleamed dully off the matte finish of her black armor, only catching on the blue accents, as she followed the Mand’alor into what was apparently the banquet hall. Sith crowded the room already, though she spied a few from Mandalore among the crowds. Some of the faces she knew: Quinn Varanin , no doubt here as the Heir Apparent; Ivalyn Yvarro , Grand Vizier of the Commonwealth; the giant Firrerreo ( Mercy ), she recognized but couldn’t put a name to the face and likewise with the young man accompanying her ( Lysander von Ascania ). Neither jasmine nor ozone nor petrichor filled the air: Srina Talon the Sith Empress of the Order had yet to arrive.

Adelle tilted her head from side to side, stretching her neck. She had to trust that the Mand’alor knew what he was doing. She would play her part as a Mandalorian diplomat and advise where needed. But Whills, she’d rather be anywhere else right now.

Tess’s offer to get drunk was looking more and more tempting and Aselia was around here somewhere.

The urge to be irresponsible was quietly, firmly put down behind her mental shields. Adelle kept her presence small, appearing as a non-Force user in this den of direcats. Better to be overlooked and underestimated.

“Last time we met with government leadership,” Adelle said on internal comms to Aether and the Mandalorian leadership delegation, “someone sliced their hand open as part of an honor-bound pact. May I suggest a cut on the arm if such a ritual is needed again?”

It was, perhaps, a terrible joke.

 

[Cassilde Vortayn]

Objective 1: The War Council
Direct Tags: Mercy | Aria Talorien | Lysander von Ascania | Astra Sadow | Leontis Antalis
Indirect Tags: No, shan't.
​

---

It wouldn't have been a pity if The Tyranny had spontaneously combusted.

She would have perished too, of course, but on the grand scale of things, it would have been an altogether worthy sacrifice. A veritable smorgasbord of villains, warlords, misanthropes, the unhelpfully medicated, the not-medicated-enough, and worst of all, men in positions of power, all gone in one galaxy-enriching explosive spectacle.

Of course, since Cassilde wasn't secretly a demolitions savant with a penchant for terrorism, she had to settle for simply attending as a tragic vassal.

A terrible fate.

She had chosen the garnet, since what was on her body was the only choice available, rejecting the plum in the process. Plum was for disappearing into the furniture, and given that said furniture was a loose coalition of galactic murderers, Cassilde had ultimately decided against it. Court silk, cut in Alcyne, something that would have gone above every single head here, which was a small private pleasure. The gown was narrow through the body, falling straight and, most importantly, sleeveless, because a cupbearer with sleeves ran into the occupational hazard of wet cuffs, an unforgivable sin. Hair sleek to the collarbone. No circlet, no seal, no house colours. Dark enough not to stand out, rich enough to say that whatever she had been reduced to, the tailoring was still impeccable.

The most important thing that she wore, however, was beyond plum gowns. It was the smile. The mask. The lie. Pleasant, gracious, and not at all like she'd been considering catastrophic explosions.

Standing half a step behind Mercy, Cassilde inwardly cringed as she was introduced as a cupbearer before a Duch'a. Loyal to me without a doubt. A second, much funnier cringe. Alongside an adopted son and nobility that had been dubbed an observer, which she couldn't quite decide if that was better or worse than cupbearer. Presumably, Mercy hadn't designated Aria of House Talorien a fate yet, because her primitive brain was too preoccupied with murder, having a dreadful aesthetic or the craving to eat uncooked meat off the bone.

At least she had been designated a more suitable task for the affairs of the day. Look, listen, learn; hardly a great ask when most Sith and Mandalorians could be prompted into a monologue by looking at them for too long. So self-indulgent, so incurious, so lacking in the etiquette of the give-and-take of a polite conversation. Learn about another person? No, never; you must smile and nod as I dictate to you my entire life's history and my war stories. They probably monologued about themselves in the mirror before it was time to tuck in for the night.

"Of course," she nodded, noting the somewhat bitter air to her thoughts, and chalked it up to her surroundings. Her company for this evening, the Tyranny, her situation. The smile never wavered.

"Aria, then. I'm sure we'll have a great deal to look at together," she said warmly to the other woman, passing over the notion of House Talorien's fate for the time being. She couldn't help but look at Aria and feel a sense that Mercy had a particular type of toy that she liked to collect. It summoned a feeling of being incredibly disposable, but perhaps not as alone in circumstance.

"Drafted is generous," Cassilde then offered, smiling at Lysander. "I'll take it." She had yet to place a finger on Mercy as a mother, adoptive or otherwise. She was as classically maternal as a Callamari veilcarp, known for eating its clutch when the water ran low.

Introductions were barely underway among the entourage when they were approached. She had to respect Ms Sadow. A quick basting of titles, a bow and then straight to business, crowing about efforts in the wake of conquest and introducing another noble sort. Such efficient networking. Perhaps in mingling, Cassilde would hear the same pitch in the background ad nauseam.

The Heir of House Antalis of Chandrila was equally placating, as they were all required to be, bar one particularly miserable cyborg who was milling around. The poor git; his handler hadn't even introduced him by name.

There was probably something poignant in that.

Cassilde briefly considered the thought, and then discarded it as an afterthought. It was surplus to requirements if they were all standing here looking and listening, and so it was with the task in hand; the Hapan quietly stepped back from the conversation and ventured to mingle. Or, rather, to politely eavesdrop on monologues.

 

[Vess Sadragen]

A few days had improved Vess considerably.

Not enough, according to the medics.

Her shoulder had been put back where it belonged and remained secured in a sling across her chest, the joint still tender enough that every careless movement reminded her exactly why she'd been told not to use it. The cut along her temple had been cleaned and sealed, leaving an angry line disappearing beneath her hair, while the worst of the bruising had begun fading into less impressive shades beneath her clothes.

Her head still hurt. Not constantly, at least, which Vess considered progress. The medics had been considerably less enthusiastic about her definition of progress. Empress' Peace spread outward from the surviving spaceport around them, part refugee settlement, part corporate enclave, and increasingly part entertainment district for the survivors.

She and Allyson had been walking for a while. That had become something of a habit over the last few days. Allyson would disappear for a while, Vess would be told to rest, then somehow they would end up in the same place again, and the conversation would simply continue from wherever they'd left it.

Vess suspected Allyson was doing that deliberately. Allyson seemed to have a habit of answering questions with just enough information to create three more, which Vess had discovered was either a personality trait or a deliberate strategy.

Probably both; Vess, however, had been considerably less successful at doing the same. Allyson knew about Valery by now. She knew Vess had grown up without much of anything, taught herself to slice because knowing how systems worked was often the difference between eating and not, and eventually stumbled into the Force the same way she'd approached most things: experimentally and with very little concern for whether anyone thought she should be doing it.

She knew about Lily too.

Not everything.

Vess adjusted the sling slightly as they walked, immediately grimacing when the movement pulled at her shoulder. "Still hate this." She looked down at it accusingly. "I'm aware that's apparently not a medical argument." The smell of food reached them before the restaurant itself came into view. Vess slowed immediately.

"Come on, I'm tired of walking, and I'm hungry. My treat for dragging me out of a snowbank."

Vess continued staring toward the small establishment wedged beneath one of the surviving buildings, where smoke rolled from an open grill and several mismatched tables crowded beneath an awning. She changed direction and motioned for Allyson to follow.

The place was busy without being packed, filled with the sort of mixture that seemed increasingly normal in Empress' Peace. Covenant soldiers shared tables near one wall, and several civilians sat close enough to the exit that Vess suspected they were still getting used to being surrounded by armed people again.

Vess chose a table near the edge of the awning. She picked up the menu instead and attempted to open it one-handed.

The first attempt folded it back over itself.

The second almost sent it onto the floor.

Vess stared at it.

She heard Allyson make a noise.

"Not a word."

There was considerably more amusement in Vess's voice than irritation. She pinned one corner beneath her forearm and finally managed to open the thing.

"See?"

Vess glanced up.

"Perfectly functional."

She skimmed the menu for several seconds before deciding there were plenty of options, but something fried and horribly unhealthy was at the top of her list. Vess leaned back carefully in her chair and watched the street while they waited, letting the noise of Empress' Peace fill the silence. Ships moved overhead toward the spaceport, music spilled from somewhere nearby, and an argument between two soldiers across the street appeared to be rapidly approaching the point where security would need to intervene. Not my problem.

Her replacement comm sat in her pocket. She had checked it repeatedly since receiving it and knew it worked perfectly. Lily and Arris were alive. Someone had confirmed that much for her before she'd been discharged.

She still hadn't reached either of them, Arris or Lily; planetary comms were still a mess. At least here there was communications equipment she could piggyback off of if she needed to. Hazel eyes already scanning the rooftops for the most secure and tallest tower. Secure meant military, tall meant range; finally they settled on a target. Perfect, but after food.

​

Direct TAG: Allyson Locke
Indirect Direct TAG: Lily Rhodes Arris Windrun

 

[Tobias Dib]

Objective: III
Tags: Seren Gwyn

After Thyferra, he could have joined the Council and intermingled with those in attendance. It would have been a great opportunity to get to know his brethren and meet the new individuals who no doubt filled the council. He simply didn't care. When it was time for him to take part, he would. Until then, he had many plans and schemes to pursue, all his own. His machinations would serve the Empire, though they would always align with his own purposes first. As the Mandalorians said, this is the way.

Nemesis had arrived early at the newly revealed Sith structures. Instead of ruins or architecture eroded by time, he found a pristine archaeological site unmolested by the march of millennia or the elements. An aura filled the twisting corridors and halls, a presence that did not ask for visitation yet didn't cower from it. An ancient ambiance that bespoke of power, danger, and death. If the Sith structures were the meal, the palpable weight felt in the Force was the seasoning. And he was eager to savor the taste.

One of the long halls that ran from the main corridor linking the entrance to even greater depths had called to him. It would be rude to ignore the invitation. Nemesis, with half a dozen Sith troopers, had followed the siren's song to where it dead-ended at a large obsidian sarcophagus. The giant of a man, wearing his matte black beskar'gam, removed his buy'ce and clipped it to his belt before placing both hands against the lid. It was here that had whispered to him. And it was here he would go. "Open the lid and prepare." His head turned in the direction of the main corridor, and he turned his massive frame to silently stride back the way he had come.

The great cloak fell from the darkened chain anchored to his shoulders, the hem raised just enough not to drag on the stone floor, which held neither debris nor an accumulation of dirt. As pristine as the day the structure had come into being. However many thousands of years ago that was. A dozen meters from where his passage connected to the main corridor, he paused and watched as several beings traveled by. The darkness cloaked his form well enough to hide him from their sight. As he prepared to turn away, he stopped. Another followed the group at a distance, a presence he recognized easily from their time on Thyferra.

As the woman moved along the path, glancing into each offshoot of the main way, he let a small smile twitch at the corners of his lips upwards. "Seren." His blue eyes glowed in the shadows as the giant greeted the woman. She had proved to be a worthy companion, fighting one of the Jedi Order to a standstill, even when she had become injured. Her tenacity, courage, and determination had endeared the much smaller woman to him. He found himself dismissing the formalities of titles, airs, and carefully crafted personas. He wouldn't go as far as call her a friend, but she was closer to that word than most.

"Would you care to join me in the Nether?" The offer came as one of the Sith troopers returned from their labors. "It was as you said it would be, Lord Nemesis. Stairs leading down into a portal." The giant only nodded, dismissing the trooper as he turned back. If Seren wished to join him, he would enjoy the company. If not, it wouldn't distract him from his objectives.

 

[Mia Monroe]

Objective Tags: Mercy Srina Talon Quinn Varanin Aether Verd Ivalyn Yvarro Nagual Aria Talorien Lysander von Ascania Cassilde Vortayn Varin Mortifer Helix Adonis Angelis IV Taeli Raaf Gerwald Lechner Amelia von Sorenn Astra Sadow Leontis Antalis Zeptepi Zambrano CT-312 Darth Carnifex Darth Prazutis Siv Kryze Darth Reign Veyla Krinn Dral-Kar'ta Saandyr Lirka Ka Adelle Bastiel

Direct Tags: Aether Verd Adelle Bastiel

They were stepping into a den of snakes.

On Aether’s right, Mia was silent, her scowl hidden behind the black visor framed with gold. Mia’s history with the Sith ran deeper than the scars that were left behind by Carnifex’s Empire. Hers went back to the war his Master started, to Darth Moridin and the Eighth Sith Empire. A hundred years of war on a personal level.

And now?

Her visor glinted, the gold trim of her obsidian armour catching the light as she glanced Aether’s way. Now she followed a man who had vowed that never again would they fall prey to the Dark nor the Light. Never again would they find themselves in a position where either the Jedi nor the Sith could lay waste to their people. She believed him. That, and only that was the reason she was able to stand with him, in a den of snakes, among people she had sworn her enemies once upon a time.

“Last time we met with government leadership,” Adelle said on internal comms to Aether and the Mandalorian leadership delegation, “someone sliced their hand open as part of an honor-bound pact. May I suggest a cut on the arm if such a ritual is needed again?”

Mia’s head snapped round, settling on the Ambassador on his other side. “If such a ritual is needed then you are compromised and I’m taking your fucking arm.”

She was not joking.

Mia took a breath, her gaze moving back over the room. If being in the presence of so many Sith wasn't enough to set the Warmaster on edge, then the hum of the Netherworld withing the Tyranny and beyond it was. She could hear whispers at the base of her skull, incoherent and unrecognisable, but there nonetheless. She exhaled slowly, shifting her shoulders to try and ease the tension.

"Let's hope the Empress in the Core is not going to make us wait too long before we start this meeting."

The sooner they were away from here, the better.

 

[Nephthys Nardithi-Verd]

Aether Verd

Nephthys always followed her Brother, the Mand'alor's guidance. Respecting his judgement 100% as the leader, she always did what he asked, typically proven not exactly the way he wanted, but she is always present and meaning well.

EH..

She came.
She saw.
She did her damndest not to stick out at all…

EXCEPT…

To lock eyes with her Brother, Aether Verd , and cast him a sideways glance, which he only would understand as meaning, 'WHAT IN THE HIGH HOLY HADES HAVE YOU WALTZED US INTO THIS TIME???!!!'

Well…she hopes nobody else noticed.

If she could be less than not noticed at all, she would be literally ecstatic right now.
​

 

[Corvin Sarre]

Zeptepi Zambrano | Darth Carnifex | Open​

Every pilot worth his wings had done it. Stood there, looked at a flagship and started running the numbers on how to murder it. Corvin figured any flyboy who told you he hadn't was either lying through his teeth or had spent his whole life hauling freight from one nowhere port to another. The Tyranny would be an ugly thing to crack. A puzzle that made the fingers itch.

That was the whole charm of her, really. A flying mountain range made of armor plate and spite, bristling with enough guns to blot out a sun. And underneath it all, no doubt, the nasty little secrets they welded on just for the clever bastard or the desperate fool who actually made it close enough to try.

Corvin couldn't place the last time he'd been allowed in a room like this one. That meant the room was exceptional or memory sprung a leak. Odds favored the latter. Nobles, though, they were the same wallpaper everywhere you went. Sith even more so. Officers and warlords and true believers, blue-bloods who warped every conversation around themselves. Malsheem minted that type by the dozen, if not more, stamped them out like credits.

So he hung loose in Zeptepi's gravity, hands buried in his pockets, shoulders slouched. His eyes stayed half-lidded, drifting lazily across the assembly, like he was half-asleep. But he caught everything.

"Still think the Avenger's got prettier lines," Corvin drawled, like debating dreadnought aesthetics in the middle of a war council was exactly where his attention belonged while everyone else was busy pretending to be serious.

 

[Darth Reign]

OBJECTIVE 1: THE WAR COUNCIL
LOCATION: On board the Tyranny
Open Tag.
Objective Tag: Quinn Varanin Arris Windrun Lirka Ka Mia Monroe Mia Monroe @Lily Rhodes Lily Rhodes @Adelle Bastiel Adelle Bastiel @Ivalyn Yvarro Kurayami Bloodborn Astra Sadow Leontis Antalis Zeptepi Zambrano Gerwald Lechner Nagual Varin Mortifer CT-312 Darth Carnifex Darth Prazutis Aether Verd Siv Kryze Amelia von Sorenn Mercy Veyla Krinn Dral-Kar'ta Saandyr

Reign was a fly on the wall at this gathering. He attended more to learn than to participate directly. Those intentions were reinforced by the sheer power represented in this room from the Empress Srina Talon to the Mandalore Aether Verd and too all the other powerful figures in the room. The various factions and internal factions had gathered. Reign was observing them all, politely yet silently. Now was not the time for a flashy entrance, or borderline ostentatious gifts, he had already done that at the little soiree he had hosted. That level of sophistication and socialisation was all well and good, crucial for developing a network of contacts even. This, however. This was power in the making.

The victorious nations of the most recent battle had gathered their best to this not so little gathering. The ship itself was a statement, fifty kilometres of raw power, filled with force nexus, netherworld and pure fire power. It was a silent claim to the power of the Sith. Though Reign recognised an important facet of that power, it was not to intimidate. The people in this room were far too driven to be awed by a simple claimant of power that the Sith made. It was rather a reassurance, that they had chosen a powerful ally, and appropriate host.

That sort of declaration was simply. 'Yes, we have this power, you are welcome aboard it.'

A delicate balance intricately played.

Reign admired that sort of deft manoeuvring.

Still Reign recognised were he to remain inconspicuous he would have to interact with someone eventually. The strangely isolated Sith was a weak Sith. Easy to identify, single out and target. Reign pondered who he should approach. Truthfully, he was most curious personally by the Mandalorians. Traditional sometime friend sometime foe of the Sith, capable warriors in their own right who historically could match either Jedi or Sith on the battlefield in the right circumstance. Then again they were also the least likely to be of immediate use for Reigns direct goals of claiming the Kuat throne. Perhaps he should focus on further cultivating relations amongst the Sith Covenant?

Of course there was the third option, his old comrades in The Sith Order. It would perhaps be a boon for future diplomacy down the line if Reign were able to use this meeting as a basis for future diplomatic relations with the Sith Order. Perhaps even some credit and acclaim amongst the Sith Covenant for doing so.

Reign hummed softly to himself. Any of the three would do for a light interaction before the War Council was in full swing. Any could provide interest and more important opportunity. So Reign perused the setting stage for a suitable discourse partner.

 

[Nephthys Nardithi-Verd]

DANGIT! Wrong Account! Did I win a Bingo Card Spot?

Zeptepi Zambrano

ENGAGING: Corvin Sarre
Standing Near: Darth Reign

In Vicinity: Lysander von Ascania | Cassilde Vortayn | Aria Talorien | Quinn Varanin | Arris Windrun | Lirka Ka | Mia Monroe | Lily Rhodes | Adelle Bastiel | Ivalyn Yvarro | Kurayami Bloodborn | Astra Sadow | Leontis Antalis | Gerwald Lechner | Nagual | Varin Mortifer | CT-312 | Darth Carnifex | Darth Prazutis | Aether Verd | Siv Kryze | Amelia von Sorenn | Darth Reign | Veyla Krinn | Dral-Kar'ta Saandyr

The Sith recently took on two new Apprentices. Avarice is young and remained onboard the Staunch Avenger to observe the Captain in his duties on the Bridge. The General permitted Corvin accompany her. One look at him, and she thought his demeanor less than acceptable among her peers.

She spoke to him in a low tone preferring none else could hear. "Your devotion is amicable, but if you don't carry yourself formidably, I shall remind you just whose Apprentice you are." She felt he should be more excited.

The Master Puppeteer, peered him in the eye with an intensity which she began to acquire since she was just a tot. She linked her thoughts directly into his conscious mind. 'I would rather not be pushed to do so,' she rendered next before the bar stole her gaze as she released him.

She wanted a drink, but with her Father, Carnifex, in the same room, she felt she must perform her very best, lest she disgrace him in some indirect way; for some of her siblings, that reason was simply breathing. The last thing she would wish upon her new Apprentice, is for the God of the Zambrano family to render Corvin to suffer disciplinary actions before she could correct him, herself.
​

 

[Lirka Ka]

OBJ I
TAGS:
Mercy Srina Talon Quinn Varanin Aether Verd Ivalyn Yvarro Nagual Aria Talorien Lysander von Ascania Cassilde Vortayn Varin Mortifer Helix Adonis Angelis IV Taeli Raaf Gerwald Lechner Amelia von Sorenn Astra Sadow Leontis Antalis Zeptepi Zambrano CT-312 Darth Carnifex Darth Prazutis Siv Kryze Darth Reign Veyla Krinn Dral-Kar'ta Saandyr Lirka Ka Adelle Bastiel Mia Monroe Lily Rhodes Nephthys Nardithi-Verd (open for directs!)

The dust had yet to even settle, and already the machinations of the politicians were at work. Never let it be said that the work of one of the Blackwall's Dark Councilors ever really slowed. Lirka had become rather accustomed to these sort of little get-togethers - nothing of any great import was ever really decided without a proper audience in attendance.

It was just perhaps rather unfortunate that the cards for this one did not rest firmly in her claws.

Lirka was not a trusting sort of maniac even on the best of days. But in an unfamiliar environment surrounded with faces that were either not familiar enough, or far too familiar? Well, paranoia gnawed at the back of her mind like a rabid akk hound. There was a thankful recompense that Helix was in attendance if her wildest fantasies of would-be-assassins came true. She acknowledged the mechanoid with a wordless nod of acknowledgement as her hulking form moved to take seat with the other Councilors of the Sith Empire - little more was needed for kindred freaks like them.

With this new Age of the Sith cementing itself with the blood of a ruined triad of worlds, and the twin empresses of the Galaxy in one place. Lirka could only embrace a silent calculus running wild in her mind as she plotted out all the myriad ways Galactic politics almost certainly was to shift...and of course, where her Dark Path would fall into it.

​

​