Private A Crown of Velvet and Venom.

[Serina Calis]

Location: Dorvalla, Ex-Mine turned Hall.
Tag: Darth Malum of House Marr ​

The chamber had long since emptied, its echoes fading into the hush of lingering power. The air still held the weight of the meeting, of shifting allegiances and whispered ambitions, the scent of calculation thick like incense clinging to stone. Darth Malum remained, poised in thought, his shadow stretching long across the cold floor as he contemplated all that had transpired.

And yet, he was not alone.

From the far end of the hall, where the light barely touched the darkness, the masked figure remained, unmoving, a phantom still tethered to the moment. Silent, patient. Watching.

Then, at last, the air stirred.

A single sound broke the silence—a soft, deliberate click.

Like ink dissolving in water, the elaborate disguise unraveled. The flowing, masked form of the enigmatic agent wavered for but an instant before dissolving entirely.

Where shadow had stood, radiance now remained.

The fabric of deception melted away to reveal something far more striking. The deep hood vanished, allowing golden waves to cascade freely over her shoulders, shimmering as they caught the dim light. Gone was the metallic mask; in its place, a face both beautiful and terrible in its certainty—piercing blue eyes sharp with amusement, lips curling in a knowing, playful smirk.

The robe of illusions had been replaced by something far grander: form-fitting armor of gleaming obsidian and glowing crimson, sculpted with wicked elegance. The bodice bore intricate patterns that pulsed faintly, as though the Force itself coursed through its etchings. A long cape, edged in violet and lined with hues of shimmering magenta, trailed behind her like the banners of an Empress stepping onto her throne. The skirt and panels of her attire struck a delicate balance—flowing where movement was needed, armored where strength was demanded.

Serina Calis stood before Darth Malum in her full glory, her presence no longer masked, no longer hidden. No longer whispered.

She exhaled softly, taking a single step forward.

"Emperor Marr."

The words dripped from her lips like honeyed poison, smooth, teasing, heavy with implication. The title was spoken not as a jest, nor quite as a challenge—but something in between. A test. A provocation.

She watched him carefully, drinking in his reaction with quiet amusement.

"Does it fit, I wonder?" She tilted her head slightly, golden strands shifting with the motion. "Or do you find it premature?"

Her voice carried a subtle undertone, something just beneath the surface—an intoxicating blend of intrigue and indulgence, of curiosity laced with something dangerously close to pleasure.

"Ambition is such a fickle thing, is it not?" she mused, circling slowly, her armored fingers gliding lazily along the stone surface of a nearby pillar as she moved. "So many grasp for it blindly, mistaking hunger for strength, desire for destiny. And yet—" she stopped, turning her gaze back to him, eyes glinting with something unreadable, "—you, of all people, should understand the weight of it."

She let the pause breathe. Let him feel her presence, her words coiling in the space between them like an unseen thread pulling ever tighter.

"After all," she purred, stepping closer, "it was ambition that brought you here. Ambition that placed the fate of the Tsis'Kaar in your hands. Ambition that now teeters on the edge of something… greater."

Another pause. A knowing smile.

"Or perhaps… something fatal."

Serina's gaze never wavered, never hesitated. Her hands, now free of gloves, flexed slightly at her sides, revealing fingers adorned with delicate black rings that caught the dim glow of the chamber's light.

"You speak of a grand design," she continued, softer now, as if she were sharing a secret meant only for him. "A future sculpted by unseen hands. And yet, the path ahead is never so simple, is it?"

She stopped just a breath away, tilting her head ever so slightly, her expression unreadable save for the faintest trace of amusement dancing at the edges of her lips.

"I wonder…" she murmured, "do you truly see it, Emperor Marr? The throne, the Empire, the crown, the war yet to come? Or are you still waiting for someone to whisper what you already know?"

She let the words settle, watching him, measuring him. The air between them hung electric, charged with something unspeakable, something neither hostile nor friendly—something inevitable.

And for the first time since the chamber had emptied, Serina fell silent.

Waiting.

Watching.

And smiling.

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

He thought it a grand success, but, the truth of that would only be revealed in the coming days he suspected, he would need to keep his ears to the ground, listen if any words spoken in secrecy would ripple across the minds of those that were never meant to know. The Tsis'Kaar were many a thing, but an organisation that had committed treason, whose elements had abandoned their once leader, and where still remnants still waged war in her name, could never truly be trusted to not have rogue actors in its midst.

Especially, when such colourful figures made up their ranks, especially, when he fostered such ambitions in his subordinates, especially, when the powers that be were all too eager to snuff out a rising flame.

But, those would be matters to think of for another day, it had been... well more than a long day, the celebrations had gone on long, the so-called afterparty had gone on for perhaps equally long, yet, even now, as his followers had all filtered out, their minds filled with his ideals, and perhaps far too much to think on, to prepare for.

He could not yet have rest.

For after all, he was not yet alone.

It was a presence that commanded attention, but he gave it none, all apart from the most peripheral of notice, a statement that her existence was not forgotten, that should the agent wish to act as an assassin, a spy, that she would not make it past the gate. But, apart from that, he simply waited, simply breathed, simply breathed in the rocky air of this alcove.

Until his red eyes flicked to attention at the sound that emerged from the direction of his query, the click that echoed along the walls, that demanded attention.

What he saw was... unexpected to say the least.

Blue eyes shimmered with the lustre of diamonds, a nose resting prominent upon a fair weather face, a smirk that promised as much beauty as danger, all framed by golden locks that could have veritably been spun by the gods, she was... uncomfortably close to in appearance to...

He banished the thought from his mind, as his gaze fell lower, she wore the apparel well, and it was a set of accoutrement that was designed especially to draw in the eye, it was armour that might have deflected a sliding blow of his blade, while it fit her snugly enough to leave just enough to the imagination to make one wonder. The colours swirled within a conclave that one would not help but gaze upon with idle curiosity, darkness married to magenta of all things, a pragmatic weave married to that of one who demanded majesty.

Certainly, one whom demanded attention.

But that was for certain with the first words that left her lips, words which he gave no outward reaction to, even as his mind stilled. Bold, she was certainly bold, and her words flowed as easily, as dangerously, as poisoned honey. He was silent, unmoving, as she spoke, spoke of things that there was no remit to speak of, spoke of things that bordered on treason.

And yet still, he allowed her to speak, until by the end, as the caustic words filled the air, to then be joined with silence, a ghost of her haunting smile directed at him, he knew it was his time to respond. A step forward, and his cloak billowed behind him, as he threw himself off the stage, the darkened cloak as much as the shadow as the one that was drawn behind him onto the cave walls. Sure footed as always, they kissed the ground, and as the spectre, the wraith, his legs made the epicentres of quakes only he felt, as he came to tower over the younger woman. Regarding her with a glimmer of curiosity... but too, another emotion, held just beneath the surface of ruby eyes.

As with the speed of a serpent's fangs, a hand reached out, a gentle grip upon hers, as rubies drew in silent battle against sapphires, drawing her hand to his lips, and leaving the mark of his affection, before, without fanfare or festival, the hand was returned, and he continued to gaze down.

"...I believe you have me at a disadvantage, my lady, for whatever title you regard me with, I do not have your name, Lady...?" The word echoed in his mind... Emperor, it was not a title that was unknown to him, a title he had learned from childhood to respect, a title he had born upon a world though most knew not of it, a title held in dominion of a man... who as much as Malum could respect, in equal measure had to be removed.

Could he...

He banished the thought, "My ancestor might have ruled his Sith Empire in the absence of its Emperor, but not even he took upon the mantle, if the great and powerful Darth Marr did not hold the title, how could I imagie I would?" It was a safe answer, it would not be the last of his kind, "We already have an Emperor, I am not his son, I have no claim to his throne, he has lost sons, who have grandchildren, while others speak of the Empresses' goddaughter, I shall do my duty to His Majesty, and his heirs," They could claim all sorts of treason and slander against him, his words would never betray him.

His lips curved into a smirk of their own, as he took a step away from the attractive woman, his own long raven locks shifting by the movement, as he gazed away from her towards the wall nearby, "There has never been anything that has been worth undertaking without risk, it is those those bold who fortune favours, those who will ride the winds of change, am I ambitious? Certainly, but it is ambition tempered by discipline, by loyalty, by resolve, it is ambition with a certainty that I act only for the good of my people." And what tyrants had not thought the very same? What arrogance was it to believe he was any different?

Because he was... because he had to be... because he knew their histories, and he knew very well, he surrounded himself with only those that he could trust to keep his way correct, or else that he could direct to do what was necessary.

He who saves a nation violates no laws.

His eyes returned to her, the smirk still affixed upon his features, "Do I see it? I see only a Sith Empire that spans the cosmos, I see only a nation that will allow our people safety and prosperity, I see only a war against the only enemy that matters."

He leaned in closer, a closeness that had his breath flutter across her face, "...Would you join me in that vision, my lady?"

Serina Calis
Mentioned: Darth Empyrean Srina Talon Arcturus Dinn Venn Kolis Zachariah Conway Marcus Dinn Eloise Dinn Quinn Varanin

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Dorvalla, Ex-Mine turned Hall.
Tag: Darth Malum of House Marr ​

The smirk on Serina's lips deepened as Darth Malum's words spilled forth, tempered iron wrapped in gilded rhetoric. Ah, yes—he was disciplined, loyal, resolute. A man of duty, of order, of control. He wore his ambition as a mantle of righteousness, draped it over his shoulders like the armor of some grand crusader marching forth beneath the banner of destiny. How utterly exquisite.

But oh, he was ambitious. He was a seeker, a dreamer—one who saw the Empire as it could be, as it should be. And here, in this moment, she saw it as well. She saw him for what he truly was.

A man standing at the precipice.

And she was here to whisper the final temptation that would see him step off the edge.

As he leaned in, his breath warm against her skin, she did not move away. She did not shrink, did not hesitate. Instead, she mirrored him, tilting her chin ever so slightly, letting the moment stretch taut between them, the air between them electric with something neither hostile nor tender, but something far more dangerous.

Oh, how his words caressed the very essence of her being. How deliciously he wove his convictions into something intoxicating, something almost pure. Almost.

Her lips parted slightly, a breath escaping in something just shy of a sigh, just shy of indulgence. And then she laughed.

Softly at first, the sound like silk dragging over bare skin, a whisper of amusement laced with something darker.

"Join you?" she echoed, her voice sultry, smooth, slipping into the space between them like a thief in the night.

She raised a gloved hand—not to push him away, but to trail the tips of her fingers along the edge of his cloak, a languid, slow gesture. The barest brush of contact, yet weighted with intent.

"My dear Emperor Marr—" oh, she lingered on the title this time, let it stretch, let it settle into the air like a slow-acting poison, "—why would I need to join something I have always been a part of?"

Her hand ghosted lower, barely there, barely felt. A promise, a shadow, a tease.

"You are building something, forging something grand and terrible and magnificent—" she leaned in, so close now that her lips hovered near the shell of his ear, her voice dropping to something just above a whisper, "—and I have already begun shaping it in the dark."

A pause. The suggestion left hanging in the air, in the unseen places between words, between intentions.

And then—finally, she drew back, just enough that their eyes locked once more, sapphire against ruby, ice against fire.

"Do you know what I see, Malum?" she purred, the smirk never leaving her lips. "I see a throne carved from the bones of those who would deny you. I see a war that will make the stars themselves weep. I see an Empire that stretches so far, that time itself will forget there was ever a world before it."

Her fingers traced the air between them, sketching the shape of a vision that only she could see.

"And I see you."

The word dripped with something beyond admiration, beyond devotion—something older, something far more dangerous.

"You will be the one who shapes this galaxy, you will be the one whose name is spoken in hushed reverence, whose empire will eclipse all before it."

She let the words settle before tilting her head, amusement dancing in her expression. Playing into his delusions? No, no—this was something far sweeter. Encouraging them. Feeding them. Cultivating them.

She was not here to fight against him. She was not here to challenge him. She was here to become indispensable to him.

And then, at last, she let the moment come.

Her name.

The moment where veiled mystery gave way to something greater.

She stepped back, slow, deliberate, hands clasping in front of her as though preparing for an imperial decree.

"But then," she murmured, lowering her lashes just enough to let the moment breathe, to let the tension coil and stretch and snap, "you already know all of this, don't you?"

And then she lifted her gaze once more, and when she spoke, her voice did not simply say her name.

It was her name.

It was a name not meant to be spoken—it was meant to be felt, to be imbibed, to be savored like the first forbidden taste of something intoxicating, something that would ruin a man yet leave him begging for more.

It was corruption given form, temptation woven into syllables, syllables that curled and slithered into the air, their weight heavy with the knowledge that once heard, they could never be unheard.

It was the sound of silk sliding over bare skin, of warm breath against the shell of an ear, of fingers dragging down a spine in a touch that promised both ecstasy and destruction. It was the whisper that lingers at the edge of reason, coaxing, coaxing, ever coaxing, until resistance is not merely abandoned—it is offered up willingly, a tribute to something greater, something inevitable.

It was the first promise of a sin so deliciously pure that it demanded to be indulged. The kind of sin that ruins dynasties, that topples empires, that has sent rulers to war not for power, not for conquest, but for the mere privilege of belonging to it.

It was the whisper of the serpent in the garden, the first spoken word that turned desire into action, the spark that set the first ambition alight and let it burn unchecked across the ages.

It was a name that did not simply exist now—no, it had always been. It was ancient, woven into the very foundation of power itself, lurking in the shadows of every throne ever taken, every war ever waged, every dynasty ever corrupted. It had been whispered in the breathless gasps of kings who knew they were damned but could not bring themselves to stop, in the quiet, shuddering prayers of those who had once been devout, only to find themselves on their knees before something far more worthy of their devotion.

It was not a name that begged to be remembered.

It was a name that refused to be forgotten.

She exhaled, her lips parting, her tongue curling around each syllable as though her very voice was tasting the weight of it, as though she relished the sheer inevitability of what she was.

"I am Serina Calis."

And the words did not simply pulse in the air.

They throbbed.

Like a heartbeat quickening under a lover's touch. Like the press of nails against skin, the scrape of teeth against a bared throat, the slow drag of a blade too close to the pulse.

It was a declaration. A pronouncement. A binding.

A trap already snapped shut.

Her smirk deepened, indulgent, knowing, as though she had already won whatever game had begun here tonight.

"And I have been waiting for you, Malum."

Not searching. Not seeking.

Waiting.

As though he had been destined to come to her.

As though, in the end, all roads led back to her.

And oh, how sweet it would be when he realized it.