Faction When Dark Minds Gather - [The Dark Court]

[Darth Virelia]

When Dark Minds Gather.

[THEME]
​

The conquest of Malachor's mines is complete. The scavenger guilds have been broken, bought, or silenced, and the first ore now flows into the hands of the Dark Court. In the ash-choked canyons, laborers are driven to their work, forging the earliest stones of the Shadow Spire, a citadel that will rise from ruin to command the galaxy in shadow.

But victory must be sharpened into strength. The Dark Lady decrees that the spoils of conquest be marked not only with toil, but with blood. To celebrate, a gathering is called in the fractured heart of Malachor. Two trials unfold: one of violence and ambition, the other of whispers and design.

On the surface, fighters are thrown into the Trial of Ash, a brutal contest where strength, cunning, and survival will decide who emerges with a prize of power. No title matters here — apprentice or master, mercenary or wanderer, all are welcome to enter the fray. Trust is fleeting, betrayal expected, and only the strongest will walk away unbroken.

Above, within the half-built Shadow Spire, the First Council convenes. Senior members and allies of the Court gather in its unfinished halls, their words as dangerous as blades. Here, alliances form and fracture, plots are set in motion, and the next steps toward corruption of the galaxy are chosen.

Malachor has been claimed, but the galaxy waits to be ensnared. Step forward — whether to bleed in the ash or to whisper in the halls — and prove your worth to the Dark Court.

Objective One: Trial of Ash

The Trial of Ash is an open challenge. Fighters are cast into the wreckage of a shattered Mandalorian war machine, its jagged husks and flooded ash pits forming the arena. There are no teams, no rules, and no mercy. Participants may wield the Force, blades, tricks, or brute strength — whatever they bring and find in the ash is theirs to use.

The prize is more than survival. At the trial's end, one combatant will be chosen by the Dark Lady herself to receive a relic, weapon, or secret of power. Glory, recognition, and influence await the victor, while all others leave with scars or lessons burned into flesh and memory.

All are welcome. Apprentices, Knights, mercenaries, even interlopers who wish to test their strength may enter. Allies can form for a time, but betrayal is expected, and every eye will be on those who prove themselves worthy.

Objective Two: The Price of Silence

While warriors battle below, the Court's leaders gather in the unfinished Shadow Spire. Around a crude obsidian table, the first true council begins. Here, decisions must be made: who controls the mines, how the scavenger warbands are divided, which targets beyond Malachor will be struck first.

This council is not a place of comfort. Every word is a test, every gesture a move in a greater game. Those who speak too boldly may find themselves isolated, while those who remain silent risk irrelevance. The Dark Lady listens, but it is the Court itself that must prove it can rule.

This objective is for politicians, schemers, and leaders — those who weave plots instead of spilling blood. Rivalries can be stoked, alliances forged, and grand designs set in motion. The outcome of this council will shape the Dark Court's path, and its whispers will echo far beyond Malachor.

​

credit to EllieEx for the art provided​

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Dark Becomings." - OBJ 1:

The ash winds howled through the broken canyon, sweeping over jagged slabs of shattered durasteel that jutted from the ground like the bones of some long-dead beast. The wreckage of an ancient Mandalorian war machine loomed in the distance, its rusted hull collapsed into a half-buried carcass, twisted plating forming ridges and pits that would serve as cover, traps, and graves alike. The Dark Court had chosen this ruin for its stage.

Around the perimeter, torches of black flame burned in iron sconces driven deep into the ash, their unnatural glow slicing through the gloom. The air was thick with dust and static, charged with anticipation. Dozens of Court retainers and scavenger thralls lined the edges of the arena, their chants echoing off the canyon walls, a chorus of hunger for spectacle.

Above it all, a jagged platform of stone had been carved, and upon it stood the Dark Lady. Cloaked in shadow, her violet gaze swept across the assembly. When she raised a hand, silence fell.

"The Trial of Ash begins."

Her voice carried easily, cutting through the storm.

"There are no allies here, no bonds that will save you. Strike as you will, trust as you dare, betray when it suits you. There is but one law: endure. At the end, one shall stand above the rest, and they shall claim a prize of power from my hand. The rest will leave with scars — and lessons burned into their flesh."

The torches flared as she lowered her hand, and the thralls beat their weapons against the wreckage in a slow, thunderous rhythm.

Participants were ushered forward into the ash, given space to step into the arena, one by one if they wished. The Dark Lady's gaze lingered on them all. Her words had stripped the trial of ambiguity: This was survival. Alliances could form, but betrayal was expected, perhaps demanded. To endure meant not only outlasting but outthinking.

Above, the storm of Malachor crackled with violet lightning, illuminating the twisted wreckage that would soon be bathed in sweat, blood, and fury. The rhythm of the thralls grew louder, faster, urging the contestants to step forth, declare themselves, and ready their blades.

Let the Ash flow.

"Dark Becomings." - OBJ 2:

The Shadow Spire was not yet a tower, but it had already begun to dominate the canyon. Its foundations were slabs of black stone quarried from the broken mines, each block dragged and set into place by chains of laborers who coughed and bled in the ash. Steel supports rose from the stone like skeletal fingers, reaching for a sky bruised by perpetual storms. The air reeked of oil, sweat, and ozone.

Within those unfinished halls, a single chamber had been prepared. Rough-hewn walls of obsidian and durasteel enclosed a long, jagged table carved from a single shattered boulder. Crude it was, but imposing. Torches burned violet along the edges, their flames sustained by something unnatural, their glow catching on shards of crystal embedded in the stone. This was not yet a throne room, but it would serve as the first place where shadows gathered to speak as one.

Darth Virelia stood at the head of the table, her mask gleaming faintly in the torchlight, the storm winds whispering through the gaps in the Spire's incomplete shell. She did not need a throne to command. Her presence filled the room as surely as the Dark Side thickened the air.

"Sit." Her voice was quiet, but it pressed down on the chamber with the weight of command.

They came. Apprentices had been sent to the ash pits below, to bleed for glory in the Trial. Here, only those who claimed authority had been called. The senior members of the Court — warriors, schemers, mystics, and opportunists alike — gathered at the obsidian table, their eyes sharp, their ambitions sharper still.

She leaned back, letting her word settle. The chamber filled with torchlight and silence, a silence pregnant with intrigue, opportunity, and threat.

The Dark Lady waited, mask gleaming, eyes burning, listening to the storm — and to them.

 

[Delsin Shaw]

|| Objective II: The Price of Silence ||
|| Tags: Darth Virelia ||​

It always seemed that the meetings we had were held within the obsidian walls of the tower. Currently, its form being restructured and built anew. To satisfy the desires of the Tyrant. The grin on my face was not for my own intrigue. More so, it was the aspect of what effort was being put towards this new test and gathering of the different minds. I suspected that some of the members of the Court today would bring their own agendas. Attempting to voice directly what they wanted. Unlike last time, when it was a gathering of the mass to form the group. Moving inward of the tower, its ebony tone and structure was clearly to be dark and commanding of the force. As Obsidian was a heavily used material as a conduit of the Dark Side. Many within other political, and societal structures of the force did so as well. Particular "God-Emperor" came to mind as well as their family.

That was not what was important now. What was, is the securing of the Dark Courts desires as a whole. A place where each member of the court could voice what should or could be done. And from there, form the basis of what our operations would become.

Moving within, others gathered. Their gear and warplate showing how powerful and strong they were. Oh surely they were. I myself also wore my typically attire. The armor shone in the violet torches along the halls and the main room. A light that echoed in its green and red flames. An accusatory look towards the Six-eyed tyrant as she commanded to sit. To start to proceedings. The chuckle that escaped my lips before I did so. Already, she felt the power she wanted to command, yet did not have. Should she draw upon it too heavily, it would only be her undoing.

"I believe the phrase is, Please, Lady Virelia."

A rather snide comment as I took my place.

 

[Tamsin Graves]

Objective: Trial of Ash
Theme: Wreak Havoc
Equipment: Twin Omen | Talisman of stars enchained | Mind Crown | Combat Knife | Black Robes | Black Mask | Painted Face
Tag: OPEN!

The diminutive figure dressed in all black covering every inch of skin, her painted face hidden behind an expressionless black mask listening to the dark ladies' words. It opened with there are no allies, you always died alone even when surrounded by the ones you loved because it is you alone who is dying. The diminutive figure did not move as the speech went on through talk of glory and power and standing tall.

They were not meant to be here but yet here they stood among initiates and knights all unaware of the crazed lunatic under the mask. The true desires of that which dwelled beneath the mask were darker than the desires of the dark court that dressed itself in violet. The figure did not desire glory it had infamy. It did not desire power for it had obtained it. It wanted something though, something that could only be gained through carnage and violence.

It turned as they were ushered down into the ashen arena of this broken world. A world it had been to many times, the energy of the destruction of this place flowed through them. It is what gave them control, the pure raw energy of this place and what had happened here so long ago. A world ripped apart in a glorious rage of cataclysmic destruction, that it could feed off for eternity.

The storms crackled above and the demon beneath the mask smirked to itself. As they entered the arena they began walking in strange pattern rhythmically almost like a dance to the beat of the rhythmic pattern of weapons beating against the wreckage. They did not look at the others entering the demon did not care as it danced its feet etching a pattern into the ground with its dance that of a spiderweb.

 

[Vakhari Lutris]

Tags: Darth Virelia Delsin Shaw

Objective Two: The Price of Silence

Out of the members set to gather here today, there would of course be seats to left to fill. However, it was not within Vakhari's character to be late like this, always one to be early.

Or was the strange girl already here?

It was almost unnoticeable, the dual lapping of Darth Virelia 's signature within the force. Seeing as her presence so generously filled the entire room they were all to have this meeting of minds within, a separate cluster of violet eyes would peek out from the shadows behind Virelia. Letting the silence hang long enough for those present to squint their eyes at what was unfolding.

Out from the shadows stepped what appeared to be Darth Virelia as well, her armor shimmering off the light as the shadows danced outward around her, dripping off the tail of her cloak. She tilts her head ever so slightly, akin to a predator stalking her prey... Or someone caught within a deranged amusement.

Letting out a characteristic and sensual dry laugh, smooth as a fine silk- yet laced with venom.

"Amusing yourself, are we?"

She jests while gently tapping her claws up from the bottom sides of the chair, gracefully moving the claws up the seat until they sat, tapping like an impatient killer on both sides of the head of the chair.

Everything about the two of them was identical, from the looks, voice, even the signature in the force itself. As far as even the trained eye or master in the force could see- Virelia had somehow duplicated herself.

After a moment, a clawed hand reaches up, slowly and carefully taking off the guise. The image of Virelia began to distort, showing flashes of a white robe, a leaking of Vakhari's force signature entering the room.

Once the mask was fully off, there was no more Virelia, only Vakhari.

The girl stood proud, an impish smirk adorning her face as she held the strange mask within her hand.

"Wonderful, isn't it?"

No doubt that Virelia was curious about the mask, knowing this she offers it over to her so the ambitious Darth may inspect it.

"I call it 'NewU', it can help you perfectly mimic someone so long as you feed it enough data about them. The voice, looks, texture, even signature in the force. All handily and readily available for any espionage, the mannerisms and memories however?"

She goes ahead and takes her seat, playfully tapping her fingers in the self same rhythm Delsin Shaw had done during their first meeting.

"Those it cannot do-"

Vakhari raises a finger, stopping her little copied tune for now.

"However, I have something for that as well. Already tested both in tandem, as far as I am concerned they are both ready to see use within the court."

Nothing shows the value of a tool more than a perfect demonstration right before your very eyes, and to Vakhari this was indeed a valuable tool.

"I figure you all will want to inspect the mask before I move on to the next item?"

She sits, chipper as ever in her seat, waiting for the others to speak their minds... Wasn't that the point of this meeting after all?



​

 

[Valaine Valentine]

Objective 1: Trial of Ash
Equipment: The Ashblade, Perseverance, Katana Style Lightsaber (Stolen from Kito )
Tags (Nearby) - Tamsin Graves Kito

What exactly did Valaine think she was doing in a place like this? Sure, most of the other participants were going to be her fellow apprentices, but even they were leagues above her in terms of skill and strength, never mind anyone outside the Court taking part...

She had arrived in the dark acolyte robes she always wore, capable of concealing anything she had carried on her person to the trial, and with her tiny presence within the Force the pale girl was a lot better at stealth than most anticipate. Indeed, even her childhood was all about thieving and hiding, and so when it came to this competition her goal was quite clearly set before her; outlast her opponents and ambush whoever was the last one standing.

As her tired grey eyes lingered across the crowd at the edges of the arena they seemed to pause and catch a pair of bright ochre eyes staring right back at her. It took just a second for Valaine to recognize Kito amidst the crowd and she felt her heart sink for a moment. 'Did she know I took her lightsaber...?' pondered Valaine as she kept staring in silence at Kito, and after a few more seconds she came to a conclusion... '...Yeah she definitely knows...'.

She prayed silently to herself that the Shaper wasn't going to be participating in the fight, her fire would immediately shut the Sangnir down... But she couldn't think about what-ifs right now, she had to get herself into the field and hidden away before anyone took the chance to make her their opening target.

Once the call of her Mistress to begin had been made Valaine moved low and fast, far faster than any typical thief as her inherent Sangnir speed allowed her greater speed and subtlety. She swiftly disappeared into the wreck of the war machine like a shadow in the dark to begin her, for lack of a better word, camping. The old machine was weathered and torn asunder, but some parts of it proved surprisingly intact as she found what appeared to her like an old narrow ventilation duct of some sort.

The Sangnir was quick to crouch down and slide herself into the metal confines of the duct. Tight dark places never bothered her, she'd lived her whole youth breaking into apartments and buildings to unlock doors from within in much the same fashion. Granted she was a little bigger now than she was back then, but she found a sense of comfort and security within the space as she waited and sharpened her senses, trying to hear and feel all around her. With any luck anyone that came looking for her in the machine would think she had just passed through it and not remained.

Her waiting game started now...

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Objective Two: The Price of Silence
Tags: Madrona A’Mia | Darth Virelia | Delsin Shaw | Vakhari Lutris | Open

Storms were with Lysander long before Malachor V appeared through the viewport. They weren't always those of the sky, but another kind, the ones that lived in the Force, heavy and magnetic, pulling at him from systems away. He'd first felt it on Coruscant, then on Brosi in the quiet between business dealings with the Neti. There was another too, the one that lived inside him now, the aftermath of having served in two battles for the Sith Order, a shadow that now seemed to follow him no matter where he went.

The freighter's hull groaned under the turbulence, cutting straight through the sky's teeth. A canyon opened below, and then he saw spires jutting up from the planet's heart. So he set down close to this base, landing struts sinking into death itself, and before long, the ramp hissed open to chaotic winds.

Perhaps one of House Derriphan's finest, adorned in Sith Trooper armor, the plating drank the torchlight as he strode down the hall, his youthful face, pale and sharp, standing out all the more against the inky sheen, amplified by golden hair.

Beside him strode A'Mia, a companion on a path so often blood-stained, a familial presence comforting even if he never sought it. From the academy halls to the assassination of Ukatis’ king, and the proper burial of Imperial scum beneath Brosi’s fertile soil, their course continued. Truly, life had a way of remaining interesting.

Malachor V promised a different flavor.

And the teen, as always, was ever curious.

They passed between violet torches that burned with something unnatural, flames licking at the air. It wasn’t long before he saw figures gathered, none of which he recognized, yet all familiar all the same. A childhood steeped in courtly nuance, honed through studying diplomacy, had left him fluent in a language foreign to many.

Orbs of emerald, trained on the Sith Lord who stood over the head of the table; her voice, though not loud, already felt like a grasp at the back of his neck.

A brief glance was exchanged with A'Mia, before he gracefully took a seat at the center, a position chosen with calculation.

He had stepped foot in countless Sith occupied worlds before, only to leave unscathed, but this place, this cursed place, was different. The feeling of the Dark here was not just strong, it was ancient.

 

[The Lost]

Fight, take, win.

They'd been such simple words, such simple orders, but they were all consuming now. A nobody, plucked off the streets and thrown into an arena that felt more like a graveyard. Her graveyard, she figured. Around her there were others of similar background. They had just enough of a presence to be taken, but not enough training to be valued.

Fodder, one and all.

She ran once the call to begin went. Ran as far as she could from the others. It only took one to fall to desperation for violence to break out. Armed with only a knife she'd been able to steal from one of the guards, she wasn't about to take chances. They wanted her to be fodder, was it? She wouldn't be. She'd fight. She'd take. She'd win.

Whatever it was she was going to win here, at least.

The shadows felt most comfortable for her. When she hid, people didn't tend to notice she was there. Most people, anyway. That blasted guard who'd caught her and brought her here seemed to be aware enough. Could others find her then? Was she actually hiding? Fear crept in her mind as the sounds of violence echoed out.

People were already fighting. She wasn't safe. She wasn't going to be safe. The taste of metal filled her mouth before she realized she'd bit her lip in her frustration. Her eye twitched. Breath. She'd handled worse, hadn't she? It was a good enough lie to help offset the panic. She dipped under a broken piece of machinery, barely with enough space to move. Regroup first, plan an attack. If the others were as poorly skilled as she was, couldn't she take them out one at a time? Steal their belongings even. If she could get her hands on a lightsaber, then all the better.

Grant it, taking from someone with a lightsaber might just mean they'd notice her like the guard. Why was this all so damn complicated? It was better when she could just steal on the streets.

".. I'm really karked here, huh."

 

[Adean Castor]

TAG: Darth Virelia | Delsin Shaw | Vakhari Lutris

The court itself had only been vaguely on Adean's mind for a time. Between studies and other missions, her attention had been claimed many times over. It was almost a relief to don a new pseudonym and venture into relatively unknown territory. A delightful departure from paperwork and assignments. The only complication was the familiarity some of the names attached the the court bore.

The Trials of Ash held no interest to the Epicanthix. There was little point competing in a contest she knew she could not win for prize she was convincing herself she didn't want. Even in the frankly wrong timeline in which she did stand a chance, it'd be too much attention, too many eyes on her.

The meeting above, well, attendance alone was a risk. One that Adean - no, whatever name she'd selected for this meeting, became only more aware of as she entered the room, hearing the permission to sit they'd all been given from a voice far too familiar.

She didn't give herself the opportunity to pause. She was, after all, a different person right now, as far as anyone was concerned. With an expression and gait that almost looked bored, she strode to one of the seats further into the room. "This seat isn't taken, no?" She asked, not waiting for an answer as she slid into the chair.

 

[Iskera Valest]

The arena smelled wrong. Not of blood — though there was plenty of that to come — but of iron gone stale, of metal warped and reheated, cooled too quickly in ash. Iskera inhaled it through the veil of her respirator, tasting the memory of fire in the air. Mandalorian wreckage made a clever amphitheater for slaughter: jagged hull-plating angled into peaks, broken weapon housings jutting out like teeth, and pits of grey slurry where rain and ash had conspired to drown machinery. Someone had chosen this graveyard with precision.

She liked that. Precision mattered.

Her eyes, steel with a faint violet cast, traced every contour of the ground. Where footing looked soft. Where slag had cooled unevenly, ready to fracture under weight. Where fragments of Mandalorian alloy might still hold an edge if pulled free and sharpened by urgency. She committed these to memory not as a duelist might, but as an alchemist would prepare ingredients: each an option, a reagent to be applied at the right time, in the right combination.

She had no illusions about this trial. It was not fair, nor was it meant to be. The Dark Lady had no use for fair creatures. What mattered was demonstration — clarity of purpose, consistency of method. Anyone could slash wildly in ash and heat. Fewer could do so while watching, learning, reserving themselves until intervention truly mattered.

Her hand brushed the smooth glass phial at her belt. Clear liquid shifted within, nearly invisible unless one knew to look. She carried others too, of different tinctures and densities, but always a small handful. Enough to tilt a contest. Enough to buy seconds of advantage, and with them, the possibility of survival. Poison was less about the body than about time.

She rolled her shoulders, loosening them under the fitted armor beneath her cloak. No need to draw a blade yet, though the hilt waited at her back. Let the eager ones exhaust themselves first, scattering sparks and noise like children with firecrackers. She would enter as she always entered: measured, calculating, choosing her engagements with care. Waste was vulgar.

When the horns sounded and the ash pits stirred with movement, Iskera stepped forward without flourish. She neither roared nor called a challenge. She walked into the wreckage with the steady poise of someone entering a laboratory, her gaze already marking who would be quick to bleed, and who might be worth the trouble of outlasting.

Then there was the knife-clutching stray ( The Lost ), the one who ran with what could only be presumed as panic gnawing her nerves. A body that already saw itself as fodder. Still, desperation made for sharp edges — unpredictable, frantic. Such edges cut shallow but often first. Iskera's gaze lingered only long enough to decide: useful as distraction, expendable in design.

She intended to follow, an alliance could be made.

Darth Virelia Tamsin Graves Valaine Valentine The Lost

 

[Kito]

//: Objective 1 //:
//: Valaine Valentine //:
//: Nearby: //: The Lost //: Iskera Valest //: Tamsin Graves //: Darth Virelia //:
//: Attire //: Oni Mask //: Odachi //: Wakizashi //:

Oh. Kito had noticed her saber was gone. The one that Valentine had chosen to take was the primary weapon of the wandering ronin. The morning after their encounter, Kito had gathered her things and prepared for another day of studying the darksiders that had recently begun to call Malachor V their home. Unfortunately for Kito, Valentine had kept her lips tightly shut.

She knew only fragments — and still, her saber was gone.

The only person who had been back at the encampment was Valentine. Which made her the only culprit in the theft. Kito did give the girl the benefit of the doubt. She had been quite reckless that night; she could have dropped it and lost it in one of the crags of Malachor's surface, but as days turned to weeks, Kito realized where her blade had found its new home.

The Spire loomed, and Kito watched and waited. She had seen Valentine take her patrol, but she didn't chase. Just watched and waited for her opportunity.

Here it was. The aurodium oni mask clung to her forehead as she let her face be seen in the crowd. It didn't take the Shaper long to spot the frail Sangnir. As hard as she fought, Kito couldn't help the little knowing smile that curled at her lips. Underneath the acolyte robes, resided her stolen saber.

As the woman spoke, Kito let her mind wander, musing over the reasons why Valentine would have taken the weapon. Practicality was the most logical, as she had explained her dislike for the weapon her Mistress had given her, then the training sabers and the uncontrolled claws. But Kito allowed herself another thought, something more whimsical — that Valentine had taken it for her own reasons, reasons tied not to survival, but to memory.

Whatever the reason, she would take her blade back.

The horn blew, scattering the crowd. Kito rose, her ochre gaze fixed on Valentine slipping into the chaos. She lowered the oni mask over her face — and vanished from sight, even from the Force.

Her hunt began.

The pulse of her saber echoed in the Force. She could feel it calling for its master as she moved silently, weaving through the other combatants. As much as she had come for the saber, a part of her felt the excitement swelling in her chest to see the Sangnir again. It had been some time since their encounter, but the evidence still resided on her skin. Each one rubbed against her collar as they attempted to heal, some even poking over the edge — visible for others to see.

Maybe that was the point.

Kito moved closer, feeling the saber near, but its exact location was unknown. Frowning, the Shaper dropped her cloak and walked around the area of the dead warmachine. Her footsteps smouldering flame as she walked along the surface of the doomed planet.

"Valentine…" She called out, lifting the oni mask to rest at an angle on her forehead.

"Valentine, where are you?" Kito continued to carefully call for the girl as she did her best to pinpoint the location of the saber. It was close, but how close she didn't know.

"You have something of mine," the girl grinned, "If you wanted a keepsake, all you had to do was ask," she teased, hoping it would draw the girl out of her hiding spot.

 

[The Lost]

Another had followed.

At first, it was just an uncomfortable feeling in the back of her mind. The feeling that someone had seen her, the paranoia that someone was giving chase. That's as much as she'd attributed it to, that she was giving in to her fear here and not thinking the logic she needed to survive as she did on the streets. As she hid, though, as she stayed crouched below the scrap and ruined machinery to formulate her plans, that paranoia grew.

When she could no longer downplay it as her fear, she heard it. Footsteps.

The Lost tightened her grip on the dagger she'd pinched, her eyes narrowing. Adrenaline had always been an ally, right until it wasn't. The shakes, the quickened breathing, she wasn't as hidden as she wanted to be. It was frustrating, angering now as fear gripped her heart so firmly. She gritted her teeth. "Whoever you are, I'll kill you if you get any closer!"

Iskera Valest

 

[Valaine Valentine]

Objective 1: Trial of Ash
Equipment: The Ashblade, Perseverance, Katana Style Lightsaber (Stolen from Kito )
Tags (Focus) - Kito
Tags (Nearby) - Tamsin Graves The Lost Iskera Valest Darth Virelia

The vents were safe. The vents were cool. Absolutely nobody could find her in these vents-

"Valentine…"

Valaine's tired eyes blinked as she glanced around silently. She knew that voice and she had hoped she wouldn't actually come after her...

"Valentine, where are you?"

A bead of sweat dripped down the side of Valaine's pale face as she steadily started to move through the vents. She was as silent as a mouse in her traversal, and eventually she reached a slight opening somewhat above where she saw Kito below. A light frown crossed the Sangnir's face, she knew that challenging Kito was only going to end in swift defeat for her if she brought out her flames...

"You have something of mine,"

The Shaper's lightsaber... Valaine had it tucked away in her dark robes. Finally she had obtained a lightsaber of her own in the traditional Sith way; stealing it from another. She hadn't bled the crystal yet and frankly she lacked the knowledge to do so, and neither did she really want to, she liked the color it already had. She slunk back into the vents, deep enough that when the Sangnir spoke it sounded although her voice came from all around Kito, echoing in the bones of the old machine.

"Hey Kito..." she greeted. "Yeah, I have it... But... Can we like, deal with it later...? I promise you can have it back afterwards... So, truce?" she offered as she remained hidden from sight. She really didn't want to fight her.

 

[Qyssiyana]

Location: Malachor V
Objective: Trial of Ash
Tag: Darth Virelia Tamsin Graves The Lost Iskera Valest Kito

​

How many others here were like her?

Qyssiyana swept her triocular gaze towards the gathered competitors as Darth Virelia proclaimed the beginning of the Trial of Ash. She caught sight of various expressions, ranging the gamut from animal fear to ruthless calculation. For her part, the Elryssia made to present a cold, expressionless countenance, an unreadable mask intended to conceal anything which might betray her anxieties regarding the Trial.

And of those, there were many. For one, Qyssiyana had known from the moment that she had put her name forward for the Trial that she was likely to be one of the few (potentially the only) non-Force-sensitive participants. Fortunately, the Elryssia possessed abilities that might allow her to make up for the deficiency. Still, the prospect of facing competitors who were preternaturally fast, supernaturally strong, and might be capable of manipulating physics with only a thought was enough to have her questioning her decisions even as she stepped down into the ashen arena.

Nevertheless, as soon as the signal was given, Qyissyana moved. While she wasn't a fast runner by any means, the wreck of the ancient war machine offered precious cover to conceal her movements. In that, it seemed that she had acted on the same idea as many of the others: hide and avoid being targeted.

Perhaps, she could be the first to break the prevailing meta, and utilize the cover of the terrain to get the jump on the other competitors. After all, she had entered the Trial with the intention of winning it.

Weakness embraced, would quickly see to her defeat.

Thus, Qyssiyana pressed deeper into the wreckage, exploiting the shadows to not merely to hide, but to stalk.

Spoiler: Loadout

• Viper Mk. I Skinsuit
  
  • Arms
    
    • FAE/M-02 Energized Forearm Vibroblade Mk. II - L
  • Miscellaneous Equipment and Personal Effects
    
    • Bio-Stabilizer Mask
    • Energy Projected Helmet
• Nox M-10 “Wraith”

 

[Kito]

//: Objective 1 //:
//: Valaine Valentine //:
//: Iskera Valest //: The Lost //: Tamsin Graves //: Qyssiyana //: Darth Virelia //:
//: Attire //: Oni Mask //: Odachi //: Wakizashi //:

Kito listened, but the chaos of the arena fight hindered her ability to pinpoint any sound. If Valentine had made any noise while she moved, it would have been drowned out by everything else. Still, the Shaper could feel the saber moving — which meant the little mouse was moving as well. Kito didn't move; she let the Force energy of the weapon do its best to lead her where she needed to go.

From what she could tell, the lightsaber was now above her — that proved to make things a little more difficult. Kito didn't tilt her head in that direction; she didn't want to give Valentine any indication that she could tell where her general direction was.

Instead, she stood at the center of where they were, a hand resting on the hilt of the Imbued Odachi, the other tucked in the lapel of her gi.

When Valentine finally spoke, just hearing her say her name again made the Shaper smile. It amused Kito — even with a weapon she could wield freely, Valentine still chose to hide.

Kito mused on the offer; in reality, the Shaper had no intent of harming the Sangnir. A part of her wondered if Valentine thought she would. The thought stung a bit, but she ignored it, knowing that at the end of the day, they were supposed to be enemies.

She stood mulling over Valentine's words, and she lifted her foot and scratched the back of her calf.

"Alright," she called out, doing her best to not give her knowledge away.

"We can deal with the lightsaber stuff after this. I'm not here to hurt you, I won't use my fire shaping…"

She looked around, taking a few steps now towards the vent path that would lead to where Valentine had climbed.

"Do you want to come out, Valentine… or should I drag you out myself?"

 

[Marcus Dinn]

To those who had known him, Marcus may as well have dropped off the face of the galaxy. He hadn't been "seen" publicly in nearly two years, just another link in the endless chain of acolytes vying for power and prestige. In that time, the boy had become a man; at eighteen he was a huge, hulking creature of muscle and sinew with a finely sculpted head topped by a blaze of fiery red hair. He even had a bit of stubble across his jaw. He had survived the trials of the academy, clawing his way through the ranks after being sorted into the lowest of the low, and made it this far.

But one thing hadn't changed about Marcus Dinn: he was still a coward. The moment the competition began, he rushed to find a hiding spot amid the wreckage, a giant fleeing from ants. He told himself that he was being smart, seeking cover from the enemy attacks. In reality he was scared shitless - of being shot, bludgeoned, blasted, stabbed, or cut to ribbons by his fellow acolytes. He might as well have been running away from cannibals. A painfully apt metaphor, that.

Diving behind a hunk of fallen hull from the downed Mandalorian warship, he huddled down in the ash. Soon his skin was covered in the fine gray dust. The grit bit into his palms, dirtying his nails as he gripped the hilt of his lightsaber.

Someone was coming. He sensed movement, rapid and relentless. The ash shifted with their footfalls, vibrations carried through the earth. As soon as they came close, he would gut them. Standing up at precisely the right time, arm outstretched, he would activate his blade and impale whoever the miserable wretch was. Provided they came his way. He sort of hoped they wouldn't. He would much rather hide and wait until everyone killed each other, then emerge to pick off the survivors, having saved his strength until theirs was spent. That was how he had survived the other trials. Patience. Right...

Qyssiyana​

 

[Viscountess Pandora]

"Embrace Your Strengths"
Obj-1 Trial Of Ash
Equipment- Red Lightwhip ,Cortosis Vibroblade
Tags - Valaine Valentine Qyssiyana Marcus Dinn Kito Iskera Valest The Lost Tamsin Graves

"The Trial of Ash begins."

Her voice carried easily, cutting through the storm.

"There are no allies here, no bonds that will save you. Strike as you will, trust as you dare, betray when it suits you. There is but one law: endure. At the end, one shall stand above the rest, and they shall claim a prize of power from my hand. The rest will leave with scars — and lessons burned into their flesh."

Pandora felt a sense of pride when she heard her mistress announce the beginnings of the Trial of Ash. A compeition for a reward and recognition from the Dark Lady herself. This was something she could not afford to lose. Especially there was non Dark Court members allowed to take part in this. Pandora disliked such a notion of outsiders coming in, but her Mistress must have something planned. Perhaps another way to perfect combat skills. Pandora seemed to accept that reasoning as she watched the other conestants begin to move. All of them trying to use the shadows and Malachor V's lack of light to their advantage.

Pandora knew what it was like to hunt from the shadows. Dromund Kaas taught her that. As much as she would like to reenact those days, Pandora did not have the time to play hide and seek. So she jogged to the side of the fortress facing the arena opening up a panel. Pandora jacked herself into the system, feeling the flood of information run through her cybernetics. From there she directed the fortress's floodlights, to the arena, their bright beams erasing as many shaded areas possible.

"Do not hide. Bask in the honor our Mistress!" Pandora would say to the combatants of the arena via the fortress's PA system "Let us give her a proper show now."

Pandora unplugged herself from the fortress and then leapt down into the arena, landing near scrap pile. Something caught her eye. Three intact Turret-Droids. Pandora quickly examined them, as she spent time looking for replacement fuel cells and wires from the other scrap piles on the battlefield. Pandora repaired these automated turret-droids, allowing them to fire paintful stun bolts at the other combatants. Pandora gave a smile as she then ran around the arena, placing a turret at key choke points, laying down possible traps for her enemies to run into.

 

[Tamsin Graves]

Objective: Trial of Ash
Theme: Wreak Havoc
Equipment: Twin Omen | Talisman of stars enchained | Mind Crown | Combat Knife | Black Robes | Black Mask | Painted Face
Nearby Tags: Valaine Valentine | The Lost | Iskera Valest | Kito | Qyssiyana | Marcus Dinn | Viscountess Pandora

All the other combatants had ran off into the arena to find their spots to ambush or attack. Yet the diminutive figure just finished its dance of the spiraled spider web finishing up at the exact center of the design it had danced near the entrance of the arena. As it finished someone hijacked the intercom system.

"Do not hide. Bask in the honor our Mistress!"

"Hmph" mocked the lips beneath the mask as the girl promptly sat down in fluid movement into a Lotus pose. Their right arm then moved outward closing the hand leaving the index and middle finger out. It began twirling like it was conducting an invisible orchestra out in front of them. As it did so a violet smoke ichor began to form and snake around the fingers. As the hand reached out and touched then end of the spiral web the violet ichor spreading to it and spiraled out in every direction from the center point where the girl sat.

It slowly grew the web spreading out, soon all life in the arena would be ensnared in the web the girl had cast. Like spiders to a fly, she could sense all life that stood within the strains of the grow web. A spell of old magic combining Life Sense and Control web allowing one to sense more than one life at a time and if the wielder was powerful enough could use that web as a method of attack on its enemies.

"I do not hide, and no one can hide from me." The girl whispered to herself as she started to feel the combatants and the thralls watching above. Then she pulled her saber from with in her robes and set it out in front of where she sat near the entrance to the arena.

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

Lysander von Ascania | Darth Virelia | Delsin Shaw
Adean Castor | Vakhari Lutris | Others on Obj. 2

​

For her part, the arboreal woman was serene. She was the calm within the storm, the Eye. Fitting for Lord Seer of Korriban.

A'Mia walked side by side with Lysander von Ascania , the young man having proven himself a genius student and cunning, pioneering business partner. The neti also happened to have taken a liking to him and now considered the human yet another member of her Grove.

As best she could deduce, lichen might be able to grow on the planet they now walked, the odd microscopic organisms as well of course, but sentients that made their home in such a place had to eke out survival tooth and nail, however they could. A'Mia was a bloom of verdancy in such a barren place; her very existence was a rebellious act against the surrounding environment, and her mind wandered dreamily down paths of possibility at what could be on Malachor if only chance were given the right nudge.

Resplendent in new robes, she looked every inch the diplomat or wealthy businesswoman. To some, she might even appear as a kind of religious or holy figure. In truth? The most accurate description of her was a deeply curious and opportunistic scientist, but A'Mia had never been the type to allow labels to define her, and she happily contained multitudes.

When they reached the chamber where there was to be a meeting, A'Mia's helm retracted, and her face became visible to those present. Whether manners had dictated the change or the woman simply felt at ease enough to do so was unclear.
She remained standing for a beat longer than her companion, one slender hand resting atop Lysander's shoulder. The gesture was protective, familial even, and in so doing the neti wove further protections about both of their minds.

She trusted in Lysander's strength and cunning, as well as her own, but shoring up their defenses felt wise all the same. Only when a metaphysical briar thicket encased their consciousnesses did the woman take her seat beside him. Hands folded in her lap, she gazed on with interest. Those large, strange, pupil-less eyes of hers swept across the faces of those gathered.

A'Mia chose watchfulness over words, chose to listen first and speak later, should the opportune moment arise.

​

​

 

[Valaine Valentine]

Objective 1: Trial of Ash
Equipment: The Ashblade, Perseverance, Katana Style Lightsaber (Stolen from Kito )
Tags (Focus) - Kito
Tags (Nearby) - Tamsin Graves The Lost Iskera Valest Marcus Dinn Viscountess Pandora Qyssiyana Darth Virelia

"Do you want to come out, Valentine… or should I drag you out myself?"

There was a pause of silence before a light shuffling and bumping through the vents was heard. "I'm coming, I'm coming..." came the response as Valaine navigated the vents once more. Kito could see the exit was at ground level, or least it sounded like that was where the young Sangnir was heading towards. Eventually the Shaper would see pale slender fingers grip the edge of the exit as Valaine started to pull herself out from the vents head first with a wince.

A huff followed as Valaine's head would soon appear, facing up towards the ceiling and looking up at Kito as she paused for a moment. "It's... Kinda quiet isn't it? For a battle?" she asked as she reached a hand up towards her for some help getting out of the vents, she might actually be stuck but didn't want to admit it. It was then that they heard the PA system and the voice of Viscountess Pandora addressing the arena.

Valaine obviously recognized the voice, "Oh, that's uh... Pandora, another apprentice. She's good with the Force from what I understand but... I don't know much else about her combat abilities... I think I could take her if I got close enough." she commented before the floodlights lit the whole arena. Thankfully the part Valaine and Kito were in was relatively sheltered from the lights, but beams of white still managed to get into the interior of the section of the machine they were in through gaps and cracks in the hull.