Private A Shadow of Ceremonies Past

[Darth Ophidia]

Two there shall be, and only two:
A master and an apprentice; one to embody the power and one to crave it. ​

No more

no less.​

And yet, you seek to bring to knighthood a second one? Have you forsaken your apprentice? Or has he strayed from your path so that you require another?​

The voices asked of her in ghostly choir. Yet Darth Ophidia did not balk at the accusation of the Court. In many ways Darth Strosius reminded her of her own master, with his impertinence, his red temper, and his zealous ideals. He would be a fine Sith.

"Jar'kai - It is needed for what is to come to pass. They will need each other when I am gone."

The court murmured in displeasure, but appeared to accept the claim.

"You will test them when the time comes and see why it must be so."

The Rattataki Lady of the Sith, the Tsis'kaar, the Queen of Shadows and Mistress of Serpents stood on a world barren. Her bare scalp drank in the chill of the air as fine flakes of snow drifted over the barren waste. This was forgotten land, somewhere beyond the reach of orders, empires and alliances. The veil was thin here, so much so that she felt the constant tug of the hands of the dead attempting to draw her back into the depths of hell from which she had escaped.

Malum of House Marr, an heir to a proud name.

She had never believed in the weight of names, only deeds. Names carried with them chains; they were a bondage to the ghosts of the past. This was exactly why she had to be the one to teach him. She had not pampered him. She had not spared his blood because it was noble. She had not allowed him to use his name as an excuse for weakness. She respected no name but the names that carved themselves into the universe by their own force and merit. Her apprentice had been tempted by trinkets said to be left from his ancestors once before.

He spoke of a legacy of duty.

The question of where his duties lie, and whether or not he would be strong enough to carry them out would be a question that hounded him for the rest of his career. So she would pound into his mind the only duty that mattered: A duty to the legacy of the Sith, to the Order, to the Code and their Creed.

Today, he would do his duty again.

She awaited her apprentice in this desolate place far from the comforts of home or the hallowed halls of their peers.

A red sun dawned behind the jagged peaks in the distance, colouring the fresh snow with a promise of what to come.

Darth Malum of House Marr

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

There were only a few instances wherein he felt the Nether's touch so prescient, Elrood had been the most... memorable moment, when the concave seperation between reality and unreality, material and the immaterium was breached, the veil broken, to the annihilation of the self that it had been. When the Force shifted in a way far beyond the bounds of his will, it was himself that was lost, caged, chained in his mind, as something... as someone took command.

His other instance had not been such a malady, even if it had been equally so memorable. When he had been brought to the gate to the underworld, with two acquaintances, that he had since long since lost contact with. He had passed the veil then, explored a world that was most unlike the galaxy that he had stumbled in from, but... of course in a sense, that place was still within the galaxy... simply a kind of mirror of it.

It was a strange moment that they had come here, a place inbetween, a place where the veil was weak, and as his steps crunched down on the snow, his breath visible in the blizzardous wind, he could only wonder, what exactly his Mistress had planned for him. Yet, as he gazed forward, narrowing his eyes, a red dawn appearing over the horizon, as he drew his hand forward, and palm facing the heavens, emerging out flame. First a fiery orange, then a near blinding white, before settling on a pale blue, a warmth passing his finger, as the ring around his hand glowed its gemstone glow.

A warmth to his form, as much as it was to his soul.

It had been a long many years that he had served as the apprentice to the Queen of Shadows, the Serpent Queen, the Triumvir of this Sith Empire, and now the shadow behind the throne of a Corpse Emperor. He had learned much under her tutelage, he had gained much for himself and his House.

And now, as the inkling pressed keenly on his forehead.

As he thought of the battle upon the Malsheem, and the rediscovery of Alvaria...

...Did she finally think it time?

He fell upon his knees, as his trudging steps ceased, in front of him the pale figure, that he held his loyalty to.

"My Mistress..." Malum uttered, as the flame went out.

Darth Ophidia
Mentioned: Darth Empyrean

 

[Darth Ophidia]

Darth Malum of House Marr​

"Apprentice"

Her voice was calm, yet carried the sharpness of a knife. Her ashen eyelids cracked open to reveal the molten rings set in ink dark sclera, bearing down on Malum through the dim that held the light at bay. Her slender figure, draped in silk, appeared as a wound against the brightening surroundings, from which darkness spilled to keep the light at bay.

She stood above him, atop a flight of stairs at the base of a broken, pyrimidine structure long fallen to neglect. The reliefs on its stone long faded out of view. It marked this place for what it was: A graveyard of graveyards.

A place for the forgotten.

"Come, sit"

She took a step to the side and gestured to a low set table behind her, set with a pot and a pair of cups, all made from metal. On each side of the table was a simple red cushion, barely thick enough to keep one from feeling the hard stone platform beneath. In a motion surprisingly graceful, the Pale Assassin knelt on the pillow to the left of the table, expecting him to sit down on the right.

"You know why I have called you here."

It was more of a statement than a question.

"For generations, our line has been tested in this place, the valley of the forgotten lords."

With a cloth of white, she lifted the kettle from the gentle flame. She poured a fragrant liquid into the two cups. Malum's cup was filled first, brimming with a subtle fragrancy that vined its way through the chill. She shifted her grip, then poured her own cup. Behind them both, standing vigil on the sides of the valley, faceless figures beheld the simple procedure.

With a gesture, she offered him to drink.

"Darth Ferus tested me, as Darth Vulcanus tested him, as I tested Darth Strosius"

Her hands disappeared into her sleeves, and produced a thin blade of glass. At its thickest, it was no thicker than a finger, and tapered down to an almost imperceptible point. In its core, a black liquid swirled. She made no effort to hide it. Which, between them, was akin to asking for his attention on the matter.

"Today, you will die, Malum."

She turned the glass blade horizontally in her hand, allowing him to see it more closely.

"And if you are powerful enough, then you will be reborn, stronger than ever."

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

The slightest tremour travelled down his spine at the utterance of her words, it was not a word that was at all surprising to him, indeed, it was very much the word one would expect in the type of relationship they shared, master and apprentice, yet, still, spoken by Darth Ophidia, the Pale Assassin, there was a certain... prolixity, that he could not put in words himself...

...But it was certainly felt, felt as deeply as the organs within him that resided underneath skin, flesh, and bone.

He swallowed his emotions at the sight of her, at the strangeness of the air, he could only wonder if those that were not force sensitive, would be as similarly choked in this place as they were, if those that once inhabited this world were primarily those of the Force... or if indeed those not touched as they were...

...Well it was little wonder, that this place was a forgotten ruin, its original builders long gone.

He took the offered seat without words exchanged, casting a curious glance towards the pot and cups, despite his suspicions, there was every chance that he was wrong, that even if this was a test, it might be a very different kind of test from the one he assumed. He had seen his Mistresses' very special pot once after all...

...Would it be the most surprising outcome that he would be poisoned tonight? He supposed, the true irony was that in either outcome, he would be facing his own mortality head on. He allowed a grunt to pass his lips, as his knees fell upon the shallow pillows, he was no stranger to time spent on his knees, for all the art of meditation was a Jedi art, there were times where tranquility were of use, still, even if the knees were used to elongated periods of pain.

It did not much stop the fact of the pain itself.

His vision stayed on the Rattataki as she continued to speak, offering a silent nod of his head at her words, he did know... yet, as he felt the anvil press down upon his chest, he was entirely unsure if he was ready for such thing. There had been a strange ease in being an apprentice, a security, one which once he was flung out of the nest he was hardly certain he would ever feel again.

...But if there was one who had flown the coop as many times to not require such protection, was it not him? Was it not all necessary for all what would come next? After all, he might have bent his knees to their new Emperor, but his loyalty... it was to the woman before him.

He swallowed down his emotions again, as his tea was poured, the steam wafting across his face, along with the scent of sweetness. A chill running up his spine, at the sight of ghostly spectres surrounding them... this place had history, that much was evident, but this history... it added gravity to ever motion.

Ferus... Vulcanus...

The Red Assassin.

A Once Sith Emperor.

It was humourous in some regard, his lineage was of a great regard, even beyond his blood.

Words that might have been spoken went unuttered, as the shikkar was drawn forth, Malum parsing his thin lips, as confirmation of what was to occur filled heart and mind in equal measure.

That he was staring at the blade that would kill him... strangely, did not make him as terrified, nay even worried, as he imagined.

He allowed himself a shaky breath, as he brought his hand around the amulet tied around his neck, its fire, a warning of impending doom, that had to be ignored for him to take this step forward. The chain pooled by his feet, as it was unwound from his form... "...I pray that you do not lose your investment then," He japed, even as the tone was more sombre than the words would imply.

As with one hand he brought the cup to his lips, perhaps his last drink, as his gaze remained afixed to the blade.

To the blade, and the poison that swirled within.

Darth Ophidia
Mentioned: Darth Empyrean The Red Darth Vulcanus

 

[Darth Ophidia]

Darth Malum of House Marr​

"Do not pray, apprentice. Know."

She answered with utter sincerity, her face dropping all pretense of kindness or humour. The knife sharpness of her voice suddenly had the backing of tremendous force, darkening the shadows around them from blue to pits of sable. The very stone beneath them seemed to shift uncomfortably under the weight of her intensity.

"I will have what is mine."

The shikkar rolled from her fingers and fell to the table between them, scattering to ash the moment it abandoned her touch.

As Malum had guessed, the toxin was in the tea. The blade was simply a distraction, an illusion even. A lesson to be learned about the threats that are seen and the threats that are real. One last lesson before the trial of the second death, the trial of the forgotten.

"Success or death, Malum of house Marr."

Darth Ophidia's hands tucked into her sleeves as she closed her eyes and focused her breath. There was no tranquility in her meditation, but the slow fanning of a flame of old malice that lit her way through the maze of the dark side of the Force. She nurtured her hatred in a mockery of Jedi traditions, and with it sharpened her attunement to the Force.

And through it, she attuned her will to dominate to the reverberations of Malum's presence in the Force, just as her master had done when she had gone through the same trial all those years ago.

Indeed, success or death.

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

His gaze fell as easily as the blade from her hands, as the sweat trailed his brow, and the voice of his Mistress trailed away to... it may as well have been Geonosian to him, for all the use it would give him. His eyes drooped low as he felt the coldness run through him, as if it was ice flowing through his veins, he felt the... it was not a pain in his chest, pain would have implied an aversion this was...

...It was as if a blade was sat upon his chest, pressing down, an ever-present threat, but not yet beginning to cut.

His lips were dry; his mouth was dry; his tongue was dry, and his throat was dry. Trying to swallow was an exercise in futility as the saliva refused to produce, as the tea that might have saved him clattered to the ground, as the weakness, the weakness, fell unto him. No more had he so regretted removing the amulet, with it... the poison might have been neutralised, to know one was to be poisoned, and experiencing it, of one of such lethality, was proving a vastly different process.

So focused on the blade, even when he had known to be suspicious of the tea.

Yet, as he brought his hand to his throat, his fingers curling, as nails bit, as red eyes began to swell with tears, as he gazed up to high heaven, there was one set of words that still peered through his mind.

"Success or death, Malum of House Marr."

He had clarity for a single moment, as he breathed a heady breath. The test.

It was his last breath.

​

Malum scrambled up his feet, as he drew in fresh air into his lungs, his lips alive, his eyes full and blinking in familiar sight, his form restored to its strength, as his head gazed around the room he found himself in. Familiar was an understatement... this was...

He bit his lip, as his gaze rested upon the large doorway that led into the appropriately large room, rectangular in shape, it had many smaller rectangles within its rotundness. He was home, this was the Manse's interior training yard, which meant... the sun seeped through the windows, dawn breaking and a signal he knew all too well.

Steps echoed along the wall, as Malum's gaze flicked towards the door, stepping through, a familiar sight.

Too familiar.

There he stood, a younger man, having just so recently escaped the chains of teenagehood and not realising he was to enter the shackles of adulthood.

"You have grown," His opposite spoke idly as he reached towards his side and beckoned forth out from sheath, the hilt of a lightsabre that he knew far too well, its pair, held in reserve, as Malum would have done too, "Yet, our House's name remains still mocked, you went to Korriban, you went to Dromund Kaas, you have the Holocron, you have the amulet, why have you not restored our prestige? Why have you not gone to Zakuul for the lightsabre, why do you fear to look upon the true mask?" His younger self spoke with a certainty that... Malum was unsure if his younger self had, let alone his current self.

He had been confident sure, he had been arrogant certainly, but assured? Certain? Never that.

"...Our House has reached heights beyond, none of our line since the Gulag Plague has reached the heights I have, apprentice to Darth Ophidia, she who rules the Empire from the shadows, our family has only benefitted from my actions, I have warred on our frontiers, I have brought victories, I have brought glory, I have brought us prestige." The words tasted of ash as soon as they were spoken, memories of the dim throne room on Jutrand... even he knew, making agreements as he had, that this was not enough, not enough to fulfil his goals.

But his goals had far expanded beyond that of childhood dreams to restore their House, had it not?

It seemed the younger Marr realised that too, narrowing his eyes. With a hiss, the red lightsabre ignited, drawn, and pointed his way: "You have forgotten our dreams in favour of your flights of fancy... no matter, if I triumph today, with all you have learned, I can return us to the correct path."

Malum parsed his lips, as the pride for which he was so... himself, turned against him when facing one equally as so, answering in kind, drawing forth his hilt, of the very same drawn against him, the red hiss of the plasma singing through the air, as he settled into the open ease of Makashi.

"It is my choice, you would have made the same." Malum tried one last time, to avoid this calamity.

"I would not have betrayed what was held most dear." The words slipped out with the heat of youth, as without hesitation he struck forward, his feet and legs taking with them, the full fancy of all his training, as with the wind at his back, he struck forth with all the power of muscle and bone towards... himself.

Malum grunted, as he sidestepped the strike, immediately his feet doubled back, backpedaling, as the need to create distance rung in his mind. Knowing how he fought, knowing this needed to be ended quickly, raising his fingers, as the air punctuated his lungs, he allowed the Force to flow freely through him, commanding that it obey his will, demanding it execute his will.

As the brilliant shards of blue lightning, like the roots of a tree strummed out of his hand, to collide directly with the oncoming Sith, found upon the acolyte's blade, only for the older Malum to take the opportunity to charge forth, the time slowing in his mind, as every step seemed to be the epicentres of quakes only he felt, as he felt his heart beating in his ear.

The blade found true, as time returned to its relentless march forward.

"...I will never betray what I hold most dear." Malum whispered, cradling the figure... cradling himself, his blade having broken skin, flesh, and even bone.

As he closed his eyes.

And he was somewhere else.

Darth Ophidia
Mentioned: Darth Empyrean