The Honey of Darth Ephor

[Maranon]

On: Fenris (http://starwarsrp.net/topic/136362-fenris/)

Wearing: Queen's Gown (http://starwarsrp.net/topic/143393-queens-gown/)

Crown of Katanos (http://starwarsrp.net/topic/143384-crown-of-katanos/)


Thousands of years ago.



"Lady Maranon?" One of her expensive droid servants called out, chassis colored in the royal purple, slim but humanoid with blocky fingers, the rest of his frame colored chrome silver, his head modeled after a humanoids, but only to the bare minimum.

Darth Maranon, Queen of Katanos Seven and Keeper of The Six Blasphemies, looked up from her vast, elegant table, full of exotic fruits, brought in fresh daily, the rest broken down for compost and resold. The fragrant wines that rested in crystal decanters across it, were made from grapes that could only be harvested once at midday after a five year growing cycle. One bottle cost a hundred million credits. Maranon had bought three.

Nor did she lack for rarities in the fashion department. Her silk evening gown, dotted with small rubies at the cuffs, waistline, and collar, was incapable of actually concealing any of the pink Zeltron flesh underneath. Her hair was done up in an elaborate weave inspired by Alderaanian styles. Her sulphur eyes looked up from the crystal glass of wine from the one hundred million credit wine bottle. She hadn't even taken a sip.

"What is it?" Maranon asked, sullen and quiet. The wine had long since gone flat.

"Penelope, your chief servant desires an audience." the droid explained.

A Sith Queen, brought low by a melancholy that had settled in when she was unable to find sufficient Stimuli to distract her rose from her elegant chair of blackened oak, sulphur eyes pulsing with excitement. Penelope was back. She wasn't angry! Maranon had been short with her butler/secretary/lover in front of the court two weeks back, humiliating her with an illusion of her family laughing at her over her darkest secret...it had been a fit of pique. Penelope had been too openly questioning of her plans to deal with a rival of hers. Maranon hadn't slept after he had shot down one of her sky yachts with a proton missile and that had contributed to it. Penelope had run away from the palace crying...

Maranon had shelled out tons of credits to find her but the crafty young woman knew how to disappear. To her frustration, Maranon was forced to accept Penelope would return only on her own. The Sith Queen, vain as she was, was not so foolish as to think mere royal command would compel Penelope to appear before her.

Maranon strode across a gold veined floor of white marble, passed by arch ways giving way to soft moonlight, blocked by drapes as sheer as her own clothing, smelling her breath and making sure it was still minty while trying to look her usual sexy self. She flicked a wrist at the butler droid..."Ahem...you may admit her..."

"Very good, my lady..." the droid replied, heading to the entrance of Maranon's private chamber and admitting Maranon's muse, her recurring obsession.

Penelope was slimmer, more agile looking, even when compared to the muscular curves of the queen herself. Her hair came down in a long, brown ropy ponytale, lips full and shaped like almonds, noses petite and slender.

But it was the eyes, those green eyes that drew The Zeltron Queen in. Their shade was that of her first love, a man named Joc-Cha-Ninn, a Jedi master as she had once been. His skull, embossed in gold leaf and a thousand guilt fueled kisses, adorned her throne.

She was wearing that Alderaani inspired dress, the blue one that showed a lot of leg whenever she accompanied the Queen on business trips. Maranon was transfixed by the eyes, those green eyes.

The Queen slinked towards her estranged lover with panther grace.

"Penelope..." Maranon said warmly, arm slipping around the young woman who she had swayed from The Ashla and the innocent life of a Jedi Healer.

"I trust you aren't too mad about two weeks prior?" Maranon said sweetly, though it should be noted that this statement wasn't actually an apology. Sith don't do apologies. They were what they were. Penelope nodded, her eyes having that sudden fierceness to them that had captured the Sith's interest, her golden brown skin only bringing out the lustre of her emerald gaze.

"Yes, my Queen. I...had a while to think...and...I should have known you were stressed..." Penelope trailed nervously.

"All is forgotten..." the Queen whispered in her ear, leading her into the lavish, gold lit private chambers she had enjoyed so many times before with Penelope. "We have so much to catch up on...to forget about the common rabble..."

"Yes..." Penelope trailed as they reached Maranon's actual bedchambers, the lavish, expensive silks of a thousand colors from a thousand worlds adorning a massive, circular bed, surrounded by statues of one of the four sages of Dwartii, Sistros. "The common rabble..."

"I've been worried sick about you. Thought you'd gone mad and tried to side with my enemies for a second." Maranon commented absently, too overjoyed just to be able to hold Penelope in her arms, and too dismissive of her sudden return.

"Let me tell you about MY week first before we get you caught up on your unpaid vacation..." Maranon trailed, completely uninterested where Penelope had been so long as she returned to the vain Queen's side. "First the treasury secretary starts to run his mouth off about innocence from stealing from my Queendom then--"

"My Queen..." Penelope spoke softly, going over to the Queen and startling her with the earnestness in her voice, making goosebumbs on the Queen's skin.

"I have been gone nearly two weeks...aren't you going to kiss me?" Penelope asked, hands clasped awkwardly in front of her.

Maranon stared smiled.

"Of course...silly me..." Maranon replied, drawing her close, planting a kiss on the woman in her ealy twenties...

Maranon suddenly ripped her lips away in shock, pain spreading through them as Penelope ripped away Synox coated rubber sheathes over her lips. Red veins spread across Maranon's face as she collapsed, choking.

"I knew it wouldn't take long. I timed it, you know. Two weeks. That's how long you go before you start to go nuts from not having your favorite stimuli. You're an addict to Stimuli, Maranon. A craven one at that. You were in withdrawal when I walked in."

"Why?!" Maranon roared, insides burning painfully as the synox reacted with her dark-altered tissues.

Penelope knealt down. "I saw you kissing that new bodyguard, Adra Divv..."

"Divv's a side squeaze..." Maranon gagged, thrashing about as her body failed, dying brain desperately trying to focus enough to call on the old Sith Magic to preserve her spirit.

"Not to me..." Penelope shook her head emphatically. "You would have gotten bored eventually, I realized. And then I would be discarded like all the others..."

"That's not true..." The dying Queen choked, barely able to breathe.

"I don't care. I don't want to spend life living between the favor and scorn of an addict." Penelope replied as Maranon started to black out, but calling on the magic successfully, but even though she was successful it was still a disaster. An unmitigated disaster.

She wasn't supposed to die--!

"Goodby, Maranon..." Penelope said flatly, all affection vanished, replaced by cold resolve. "Perhaps Death itself is the high you've been chasing...you broke my heart...you shouldn't have cheated...you..."

Maranon heard no more as her heartbroken spirit was dragged screaming into a dark focal point underneath her palace...



Fenris's capital city reminded her much of her ancient Queendom. Spacious, luxurious, modern. The latest. The greatest.

The former Queen of Katanos Seven, recently resurrected, had been cruising the space lanes for weeks, more interested in chasing the next source of stimuli than regaining power. Penelope's words cut deep into her to this day. What made it worse was that she knew this to be her fault, and no one else's. There was always some new sensation to experience and enjoy.

As a matter of fact that was why she had come here to this jungle industrial...a new sensation.

An ancient sample of a honey based, alchemized narcotic had been discovered, the bottle put up for auction and golden tickets sent out across the galaxy, at random. Rich or poor, Statesman or thief, all would have an opportunity to own the honey of Darth Ephor, provided their ticket was selected. Maranon had known the actual Sith who made it...a sick man, but brilliant at making people dependant. Long had she tried to steal the secret. It had always evaded her. She would need slaves to rebuild an empire. Chemical dependance was a very good way to ensure control...

The house of the millionaire it was being hosted at, a man by the name of Josiah Blackhollow, was an elaborate, assymetric design of slanted crystal and marble, setlled on a hill overlooking the outskirts of the city forcefield that kept out the jungle and other threats. She wasn't the only one. There were over three dozen others she thought as she arrived via shuttle, clad in her solid black, spider like gown, her lightsaber up her sleeve as she greeted passers by on the road leading to the house. Perhaps she would mingle first...she was getting the usual stares of lust...indulging that reaction could not hurt...

[member="Cale Gunderson"]

 

[Cale Gunderson]

Fenris, Sometime at Night, Near The Auction
_____________________________________


Cale wasn't among those who'd draped themselves in fine cloth and lace for the event, he didn't have that kind of money in the slightest. Instead he wore his usual simple garb, his red sash covering up the stump that had once been one of his arms while the other callously placed a lit stimstick between his lips. He was a lot of things, but primarily he part addict, part idealist, and he wasn't entirely sure which part had lead him here tonight. He wished he could say with confidence that it was his desire to destroy the substance, the was the Jed-no, it was just the right thing to do.

He wasn't counting on winning the draw, it would've been foolish to do so, and his luck had never been the best. He was counting on his old skills, as a young Sentinel he'd been quite the tracker, it was one of the few talents he still maintained, which was especially surprising considering what he'd been made to do with that gift. When the One Sith had imprisoned him within his own mind, made him one of their hunters, he'd been good at it for a reason.

Guilt aside, the point was he was a good tracker. Whoever won the vial wouldn't get terribly far if he had any say in it, a couple of violent vigilantes were just waiting for the signal. Cale would signal them when the winner was leaving, and he'd mention if they were worth not killing. It was less than morally upright, and he could only imagine what Tallia would think of him doing all this. But he couldn't do it by himself, he wasn't strong enough, he never would be again.

He did his best not to think about how that plan hinged on him not giving into his own vices as he took a drag from the stimstick and waded among the sea of people. He did not sense darkness, his connection of the force was too dull to sense much of anything at the present moment, but perhaps it could sense him.

[member="Maranon"]

 

[Maranon]

Maranon smiled, introduced herself to the dark garbed servants of Blackhollow. The mansion interior was a combination of pastel ocean colors and gold embossed wall lights, the tiles of marble with red veins running through it, packed with beings in every luxurious guest foyer, and occupying the main hall, a grand statue of a Rancor in gold looming over everyone.

But that was nothing compared to what lay beyond that statue.

She could see it, in a crystal decanter framed with elaborate, twisting wroght iron in the shape of an hourglass. The dark red gel within rested behind a transparisteel vault that Maranon could see had all the signs of ancient Jedi Alkahest guarding it given the type of wards glowing green on its surface.

But she was distracted by a Force presence. It was faint, weathered, but still there. Not much to sneeze at, but Maranon had made that mistake before...many times. It was a flaw she could not seem to correct. He didn't look a thing like the others. The only honest man in the place by the looks of it. The only one worth talking too. Maranon had spoken to thousands of rich people. To say they bored her would be understating it. Scraggly looking men that looked sexy in the right light, however...

Maranon, not resisting a chance to add another notch on the old scorecard of flirting, decided to go over.

She didn't bother to hide her intense connection to the dark, which enhanced the strength of her Zeltron Pheremones. She was a natural beauty but had never been able to enjoy it when she had been young and enslaved to the Jedi. How she had longed to look gorgeous at thirty, where something provacative.

After rising to her station as a Sith, and with the benefit having been an old woman once, Maranon could say that seduction wasn't about what you wore but how you wore it.

Take this gown she wore for instance. It covered everything, but hugged tightly enought that Maranon could add a hint of the sensual to her stride. Seduction was about confidence. Seduction was about being able to look at anyone like they were the most important person in the galaxy and even believe they were on some level.

Maranon oozed both qualities as she drew close to [member="Cale Gunderson"].

"So many stuffy looking people..." Maranon said, subtly scanning him with her sharp Force Senses, trying to glean what she could without directly intruding. "And most of them don't wear their fine clothes as well you do that scarf."

Maranon gave a small bow. "My name is Maranon, Keeper of The Six Blasphemies. May I ask your name, you...interesting man?"

She laced the word she emphasized with suggestiveness. He was cute. Very cute. Too bad she was the only one leaving with the honey.

But if she played her cards she might leave arm and arm with an evening...snack...