Private Whispers in My Head

[Darth Feira]

Ordo.

A man, a god, a vessel for the Dark Lord...her father. She blinked, rising from the chair in the centre of the bridge, the chain links of her jewellery clinking gently as she moved close to the viewport, staring down at the shimmering ochre planet below. Handmaidens knelt in a circle around the edges of the room, the ships operators sunk unto the floor beneath them.

Ordo, a planet.

A planet from which a call had come, a plea for help, for civilians under attack, civilians that were irrelevant. Feira was not here for them, Feira was here to follow curiosity. The man who had sired her, who had been a vessel to the Dark Lord was supposed to be dead, but she had seen him. She had seen him in her dreams, Isolda had seen him in her visions. So when a planet called Ordo was whispered through the Malsheem...

Feira closed her eyes, reaching out across the planet, searching for the one who had called, for the one they called Malum. She passed over smaller towns, pausing to satiate her hunger, snatching souls, leaving unexplained husks as her mind swept over the sands. She could have had them all, but it was a distraction.

Malum...

Malum...​

Heir to the House of Marr.​

Whispers ran ahead of her rippling through the force as she found his mind, latching onto it with a barbed hook. "There you are." She vanished from the bridge. The sand was hot beneath her bare feet as she appeared in front of him, yet also behind each of his shoulders. "Lord Marr." The one in front spoke first.

"Are you sad for the dead?" the one at his right shoulder spoke.

"Or are you sad for your failure?" the one at his left spoke.

The one before him tilted her head, she was curious to know the answer.

Darth Malum of House Marr

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

Malum sat kneeling on the ground.

He had spoken so often in the back of his mind, that he would never kneel again, that of all the three immortal tyrants he had kneeled to, one was dead.

And the other two were all that remained of his inferiority, of his servitude, of his subordination.

Yet here he was kneeling upon the dirty ground.

Around him, the corpses of Iron Wolves, Moridini- Mandalorian, and civilians alike were strung around, in death, all differences they held in power, in rank, in station, mattered little, and little else.

They all would be sentenced to the same eternity.

Here he was, upon his knees, a husk of a settlement.

There was none else, but the dead.

The civilians made refugees had been evacuated.

The Iron Wolves were gone.

The Moridini- Mandalorians had left, once their vengeance was complete.

Here he was, only alive because Jasper Ordo had not considered him a threat.

Because Mia Monroe had vouched for him.

Mia... they had made a pact that day on Zanbar, was it all null and void? What was the point of such a promise if one's own brother held the capability to turn his anger, not towards those that had burned your home...

...But to those who simply had made home here?

The burned-out husks of constructs were to be the constant reminder for him, as the sand and ash fell across all over him, Ali- Darth Strosius and Zachariah Conway had long since left, their concern had been palpable, but they had too succeeded at the goal, despite the casualties, most of the civilians had been able to be evacuated.

They did not know why his heart pained so.

In times like these, he would have turned to Elise Ahana-Gwyneira , yet... after what had happened on Moridin- Mandalore... after what he had almost done...

...After this confession...

...How could he face her?

It was easier to feel the cold winds, to allow time to pass, to be stuck within his own mind.

It was comfortable.

It hurt so much.

And in an instant, he was no longer alone with his thoughts.

A beautiful woman was before him, tall even taller than him by his estimation if barely, lithe, her skin was bare, pale, but adorned in darkness, tattoos or otherwise, all leading upwards to raven locks, and red eyes, not so dissimilar to his own.

Yet this was no Marr.

And she was not alone.

He was reminded of that day on Alvaria, when he had met with Gerwald Lechner and Srina Talon , he was no stranger to the use of doppelgangers.

From others, or even himself.

Surprise gave way to narrowed eyes.

And in a moment, waves of darkness flowed out, concealing the kneeling Darth Malum, the darkside made manifest and real pulsing out of the epicentre as if the beginning of an earthquake, the emotions of hatred, of loss, of depression, of anger, all made real and felt, as the street in which they stood became covered in the black of smog and ash.

Before it was all suddenly gone, and he was standing on both feet, gazing dangerously at all three women surrounding him, with three darkshears ready and waiting for an order, to strike right through those that dared approach him.

"The better question," He ground out, "Who are you?"

Darth Feira