Private The Truth In Our Blood

[Isobel Serraris]

THE TRUTH IN OUR BLOOD​

LOCATION — Coruscant, Sith Academy
TAGS — Meya Liefi
PARAPHERNALIA — Talisman of the Raven, Vesper et Aurora, Armour of the Lost

What tales lay obscured by the hands of hierarchy? What whispers claimed truth in the silence and deception in the clamour? Was there more to Bel's lineage than petty ambitions for Nabooan power? A plethora of aristocrats and nobility mused that there was, that House Serraris' foundation was built on more than the bones of their graveyard. . . That vile witchery had shackled the first Lord and branded his descendants for centuries, nay, milennia. It may be so, none had ever proved the truth, nor the untruths of the matter.

Past curiosities were ignited once more as Isobel's gaze registered each intricate detail upon the ring; the golden metals that shone weakly beneath the empty training yard's light, the engravings upon its side, speaking of sigils naught alike ur-Kittât nor Aurebesh, and a crimson gem at its heart in the shade of freshly spilled blood. The artefact had never belonged to the young Lady Serraris. Aye, she had. . . observed it worn by her kin, but not once had she presumed it to be anything more than a signet ring. This was more than that. The Force thrummed erratically around its shape, whispering of warnings beyond what may be seen.

Why had Seb sent this to her? The query lingered evermore within the mind as the Acolyte held the band up again, seeking to mumble the vague texts--as though it may aid her in understanding its veiled meaning. But the efforts were left in vain, the symbols were. . . impossible to make sense of, bearing no similarities to what she might know.

An agitated grumble escaped Isobel's lips at the lack of an answer. She was a seer; she should. . . know these things. She was a Serraris, so why was this knowledge beyond her? Why had it been kept from her when the same blood ran through her veins as it did her siblings?

By accident, by force, by some blade of emotion she had failed to ward off, the ring slipped from her grasp and launched itself across the cavernous training hall. It skidded over the marble with an ever-quieting chiming, until it at last came to a halt in the shadow of tall doors.

 

[Meya Liefi]

Tag: Isobel Serraris
​

The ring came to rest near the feet of another. Meya. Her path slowed at the sight.

She had been crossing the training hall without any intention of stopping, dressed as she so often was in a custom dress with layers of black. Gold embroidery climbed the fabric in the likeness of dense forests, their branches and roots woven together across the dark material. Fine chains of the same metal had been worked through her hair, shifting softly as her head lowered.

Something had stirred within her even before her golden eyes settled upon the ring. It was faint within the stone and metal, obscured by age and whatever else had been bound into it, but Meya knew the sensation. Her fingers closed around the band.

Dathomir.

The recognition was immediate. Not merely the residue of magick, nor the vague impression left by an object that had once passed through Dathomiri hands. There was something of home in it. Something old and familiar enough that her attention sharpened at once.

Meya straightened slowly, turning the ring between her fingers as she studied its markings. Only then did her gaze travel across the hall towards the young woman from whom it had come.

She approached without hurry, despite knowing the interaction could easily escalate. By the time she stopped near Isobel, the ring remained held between her fingers, though there was nothing casual in the way Meya regarded her. Her golden eyes moved over the woman with quiet scrutiny, searching her features, her clothing, and whatever else might explain why something so clearly touched by Dathomir had been in her possession.

"Where did you get this?" The question came plainly, without greeting or introduction. Meya lifted the ring slightly between them, turning it until it caught the light.

Within a heartbeat her gaze narrowed, not quite with hostility yet, but with a curiosity already sharpening into suspicion. "This belongs in Dathomiri hands."

"And you..." A brief pause followed as she studied Isobel again. "What are you?"

 

[Isobel Serraris]

THE TRUTH IN OUR BLOOD​

LOCATION — Coruscant, Sith Academy
TAGS — Meya Liefi
PARAPHERNALIA — Talisman of the Raven, Vesper et Aurora, Armour of the Lost

A proximity tainted by Bogan, nay, by forces beyond the idealistic divide between 'Light' and 'Dark', it pulsed in... unison with the transcript upon the artefact. . . a quieted lulling that nigh on merged itself with the breeze dancing through the hall in search of an escape. Her senses failed to blind nor deafen her to its calling, as the weak particles of sunlight dimmed their grasp upon the ring, allowing it to fall directly into the stranger's shadow. . .

A silhouette of a Sephi, with ears as sharp as the bite of winter, yet it was not that characteristic that defined a particular suspicion brewing within the veins. Echoing of a familiarity once sung within the confines of Shiraya's temple; Dathomiri. Yes, it resonated with the tune, harmonising with the equal suspicion as when she had been fated to encounter a Dathomiri witch,. Though it was evident to be a contrast to that encounter, mayhap it lay the grace of authority within this one's steps, or more so the fury that flared off her as the steps between the entrance and Bel's aura blurred.

Instinct guided the hand as the space between was furthered, yet not without a deed of rebellion. . . For the Force drew the accessory back into her grasp, sliding it with ease onto the finger. What claim did this figure hold to a treasure from her kin? What right belongs to them to seize it as such!

Warm-hearted, angelic, divine, terms that encapsulated the Nabooan's mere existence, and yet akin to a starless sky, naught alluded to those statements. An icy stare within a previously doe-eyed gaze sought to make her disdain rather evident, the tone, the interrogating nature of this being. Hmph. It was like she was talking to a servant with a set of audacity clinging to them, some nobody who believed themselves to have a right to whatever wealth had been rightfully acquired by her ancestors.

"I care not for who this must seemingly belong to, it is my family's heirloom," The words were spat in their midst, echoing throughout empty corridors with no restraint. The adorned hand curled into a fist as if to shield the rubied ring from another attempt of theft from the alien's side.

"What," A repetition of the vile query as those golden eyes rolled over her being, as if she were some livestock to be pawned off.

Back straightened to appear taller than she was--the light heel of her boot elevating her to an equal height with this audacious stranger. The soft, oft-smiling swell of the lips lay curled in agitation as the 'threat' was assessed with her gaze. "What I am, who this belongs to, and yet I am not even granted the simple mercy of introduction--of knowing who dares to interrogate me as though I've committed a crime for possessing an heirloom."

 

[Meya Liefi]

Tag: Isobel Serraris
​

Meya regarded the other woman without interruption. Whatever hostility had been intended found remarkably little to strike against. The corners of Meya's mouth neither tightened nor softened, nor did so much as a flicker cross her brow.

Golden eyes lingered briefly upon the ring now resting once more on Isobel's finger before returning to the other woman's face. Defiance. Pride. Possessiveness. None of it surprised her. If anything, it only deepened the question already taking shape in her mind.

The training hall carried on around them as though neither woman had interrupted its rhythm. Somewhere farther down the corridor, practice blades collided in succession before separating again. Their echoes rolled softly through the stone halls while a draft wandered between the high arches overhead, stirring the embroidered layers of Meya's dress and causing the delicate gold chains woven through her dark hair to whisper against one another.

When the silence had stretched long enough for Isobel's words to settle, Meya answered.

"I am Meya."

There was nothing performative in the introduction. She did not offer her name with pride. It was simply spoken as fact, the same way she had delivered everything else before.

"A Nightsister of Clan Liefi." Nothing in her expression shifted as she continued, and all the heavy weight of Meya's attention remained pressed upon the woman. "And a Sith Lord. A title earned through victory."

"It is my responsibility to recover Dathomiri relics that have been stolen, misplaced, or carried beyond our world without rightful claim."

A faint tilt of her head followed, subtle enough to almost go unnoticed. Something almost thoughtful entered her expression. Not warmth. Contemplation. Before she continued, a faint hum resonated in her chest, soon fading into the noise of the training hall.

"You’ve already said something to me that makes it difficult to believe you have ever questioned how your family came to possess it."

Green mist bloomed around Isobel's hand for scarcely more than a heartbeat. When it dispersed, the ring was gone, already resting in Meya's palm before her fingers curled around it.

"Heirloom or not," she said, never once looking away, "your claim carries less weight than that of those who created it."

The statement was delivered without cruelty. It sounded less like a judgement than the beginning of an investigation.

"If your family acquired it lawfully, I will return it." Her posture remained perfectly composed, shoulders relaxed despite the obvious possibility that the exchange might yet descend into violence. "Until provenance is established, I am taking it into custody."

“Or…” A slight inclination of her head. "You may attempt to reclaim it by force." The invitation arrived as calmly as the introduction had.

 

[Isobel Serraris]

THE TRUTH IN OUR BLOOD​

LOCATION — Coruscant, Sith Academy
TAGS — Meya Liefi
PARAPHERNALIA — Talisman of the Raven, Vesper et Aurora, Armour of the Lost

Obscurity shrouded the texts within the tomes of history, the shadows that consumed the scriptures detailing the origins and rise of power of a family. A noble family, to be precise. The bards had mused and declared many a thing about how House Serraris flourished from a mere assortments of merchants within flower trade, to attaining a certain monopoly upon the Nabooan soil.. To question was to doubt, and that very presumption was the poison she wished not to taint whatever pool of pride lingered within the mind and heart.

Naturally, this figure was one of the wicked hailing from Dathomir--a nightsister, a practicioner of magick. . . the very same swirl of sinful energy that made her heirloom slip from sight. The absence of it set the pyre within her core alight, the crackling flames making her fingers twitch toward the hilt of her sabre, but it never attained the coax of ignition.

Obedience oft-guided the hand of the Lady, but it earned naught more than a shake of the head this time. "Sith Lord or no, the ring is mine!" A hiss tumbled from her as the drum of heart crescendoed, the chest of the young Nabooan rising and falling in ever-quickening fashion. "You presume to know how it came in our hands--my hand--but must all be considered the fruits of conquest? My kin are tradesmen and diplomats, our sigil is a raven upon a crest of roses--the very creature engraved upon that rubied band." A frantic bargain to appeal to whatever logic this 'Meya' may possess.

Violence was not the strategy of the wise; it was not the winning move of Shah-Tezh. For that wits were required, but whether Isobel was blessed with the insights was another query. . . and a rising doubt.

"Gaze upon me, do you truly believe that I stole it?" Lips curled downward, whilst brown eyes assessed the sharp-eared silhouette of the Sith Lord. What guided this profound search for these relics? And why must Bel find herself targeted by its blade? "For the third time, it is an heirloom, a relic belonging to my kin since. . . if Sebastian's tales claim truth, since its rise to power many centuries before."

A softened 'huff' slipped past, whilst she remained the very picture of passivity--not daring to move, not daring to engage. "I know naught more than that, but trust my word when I say we are not warriors, and we are not plunderers. If it carries a connection to your people, then speak of it, mayhap I can find some sense in why I was gifted this."

It was House Serraris', it belonged to her, and whatever path must be trod, it would return to her possession.

 

[Meya Liefi]

Tag: Isobel Serraris
​

Brown eyes, unwavering despite the circumstances. Delicate features framed by carefully kept hair. The measured rise and fall of her breathing under finely tailored clothing. Meya's gaze drifted lower before returning to Isobel's face. There was an elegance to the woman that differed from the hardened confidence so common among Sith. Softer, perhaps. No less composed for it.

She was... beautiful.

The observation arrived uninvited. Meya acknowledged it with the same detachment she might have noted the quality of a blade or the craftsmanship of an ancient relic before setting it aside. It had no bearing upon why she was here.

She had expected the ring's disappearance to be answered by the ignition of a lightsaber. Instead, Isobel had argued. Appealed to reason despite every opportunity to do otherwise.

Whether born of discipline, diplomacy, or simple intelligence remained to be seen.

"Tradesmen and diplomats..." Meya echoed quietly, more to herself than anyone else.

"Either profession could have acquired the ring through less than honourable means," she said matter-of-factly. "...Or the ring itself may have been removed from Dathomir unlawfully before passing through entirely different hands and eventually reaching your family."

Her thumb brushed absently across the ancient band resting within her palm, tracing the worn edge of the metal for a brief moment.

"This ring sings with the ichor of Dathomir. It is undoubtedly of my people." Her hand lowered to her side, the ring disappearing from sight within the loose curl of her fingers. “Can you not sense it?” Isobel had felt Dathomiri magick brush against her hand - perhaps she could connect the two now.

The next question came like the tide, a natural unstoppable force, "Do your family maintain archives?" There was scarcely a pause before the rest followed, each word arriving with the same inevitability as waves crashing upon the shore. "Records. Trade ledgers. Correspondence. Genealogies."

"It would be a beginning."

 

[Isobel Serraris]

THE TRUTH IN OUR BLOOD​

LOCATION — Coruscant, Sith Academy
TAGS — Meya Liefi
PARAPHERNALIA — Talisman of the Raven, Vesper et Aurora, Armour of the Lost

Feuds and Alliances; does the honour of nobility not lie within the eye of the beholder? To one their sanctity is proven even without deed, whereas the other is convinced of their immorality and seeks only to find evidence to back up this crimson claim. The murky waters of House Serraris' past and the whispered claims of their dabbling in mysticism and. . . secreted carnage did not aid in this divide between the elite of Naboo.

The young lady's chest rose and fell in ever-slowing cadence, seeking to reclaim the composure that had so freely slipped from her fingers. Anger was the tool of the Sith, it was the very poison they sought to instil within untainted core, to eradicate what Light remained nestled within. "I see." An answer that was not an answer, merely an acknowledgement of what the Sephi had theorised. It could be as such, but then the fault lay in her ancestors? Ancestors long entombed upon the burial grounds near Theed, what blame was there to be had upon her?

A lightly defeated sigh slipped past soft pouty lips: "Though Mey-- My Lady, there is naught I know of conquest upon Dathomiri soil. . . as for trade, our estate have been the grounds for many dealings between parties from all over the galaxy." Mayhap the information had been withheld from her, it would not be the first time she had been placed within the shadows of their family's pursuits.

The strange melody resonating within the artefact was but another fact that led her astray, it hummed in harmony with the vanishing spell from before. But what clarity would it offer her now? It was a Dathomiri artefact given to her, possessed by her kin and its origins were unknown. . . A stinging drumming began to louden in her head as the oblivious mind sought an answer for it all. "A relic of the Nightsisters then, very well. . . That much is assured." Brow lifted for a glimpse as for one of the first times in her life, she did not know how to appease the figure before her.

Arms crossed over one another and settled against the dark metal of her chainmail, her right hand lifting lightly in unison with her speech: "The archives of my house are upon Naboo, and Republic territory is not so easily traversed, Sith." The idea was ludicrous, to seek out her family, to potentially face her father's ire once more--the last scar still marked her right arm. "Tell me the contents of the ring then, its language is unknown to me and I cannot control this. . . 'ichor' as you do. If you seek a connection, that is an easier play than navigating through enemy space."