Private An Unforeseen Asset

[Arctus Silmar]

The Shaper

The Iron Crown|| Whilstone of Prowess|| Whilstone of Acuity
Whilstone of Power|| Acharn|| Urfael|| Mithralian
Voice Sample

Location: Corbos - Shaper's Palace

The presiding months following his ascension to Paragon of Knowledge amongst the Sith Order it was only natural The Shaper would claim a planet for his own. He found it only fitting, then, that the place he would make his own would be the site of perhaps his most crushing defeat. Corbos. Where the Hundred-Year Darkness had, officially, reached a climax. Where he and his brothers and sisters had been cast down and where, now, he rose again from millennia-old ashes. Where, after weeks of work, painstaking rituals and acts of darkness best left never spoken in the light of day.... did one small mistake pierce the veil of secrecy he had worked to maintain. A project, a prize, hidden from the eyes even of the people of Corbos despite just how very close it lay, gestated and grew in utmost secrecy. A weapon the Empire would likely need in the coming trials, and one the Shaper was only too happy to forge for them.

However.

The Shaper was no fool and as the Dark Moon had briefly emitted a cry across the eternal darkness of space, like the wail of a newborn child, only for the Shaper to silence it a moment later, he understood that at least one being, somewhere, in that infinite expanse had heard it. He had felt it. It had been nearly a week since this incident and while the Shaper was not scared, nor intimidated, by the propsect of who or what may have exactly heard the Dark Moon's cry, he held nothing but contempt for the sensation of being kept waiting. In lieu of continued anxiety, of waiting, The Shaper instead shed his armor, his robes, and sat upon the singular throne he had installed in the heart of his palace. Eyes smoldering with thought as a single acolyte reached out through the Force to him, informing him of the arrival of a.... being. A woman, but not a woman, burgeoning with darkness and purpose that swirled around her as a cloud of choking ash in the Force.

The Shaper, smiling glumly, gave his approval for the being to be brought before him. He did not bother redressing, adorning himself for war, not here in the heart of his power. Instead he simply sat, unmoving, and considered the singular entrance to his throne room. Eyes fixed upon the door as he waited the arrival of his new guest. The Iron Crown glinting malevolently upon his brow.

Spoiler: Awaiting

The Shaper did not, of course, make her approach a passive, quaint thing. No. Instead he decided to probe and toy with his guest, reaching out to her mind through the Force and lightly..... testing her resolve. Pressing against her mind how one might push a hand against another's chest, half-heartedly stalling them, before changing his probing toward her thoughts, her emotions, Both attempting to incite some form of reaction in small, quaint prods at her psyche, and read any surface thoughts she may let wander too loose from her control. Altogether it was nothing but a game and one he did not doubt his guest, bearing the scent of an Illyrian much like Adron Malvern had, would be more than capable of handling.

Fauvel Astier

 

[Fauvel Astier]

Location: The Shaper's Palace, Corbos.
Tagging: Arctus Silmar

​

A full week had passed since the day she heard it call to her.

Fauvel Astier, the heir of a calamity, had learnt much during the last few years since she saw herself thrown into the center of a hell that was not of her own making. Caution was one of the many lessons that strife had gifted her with. It had not been the first time that the young witch had felt the shrieks of the Dark; quite on the contrary, her very soul seemed to draw them to her and allow them to whisper into her ear as if they were old, trusted friends. More often than not, the Lady would answer, sending whispers of her own to the stirring shadows. This time, the call had been met with silence.

This had not been the powers of her own land, not even of a Darkness that belonged to her homeworld. Something had pierced the immensity of space in a shrilling scream, before promptly being cut off. The Lady had been startled by such sudden and brief onslaught, and now the pull that was created by it would not leave her. To many, the Darkside was power. The Darkside was a tool to fuel one's own soul and bend life itself to their will. These statements would ring true to the phantom lady, but they would fall awfully short.

The Darkside was sacred.

That had been the beginning of her quarrel. An unknown force had called to her, from somewhere distant and foreign, her lands were kept from chaos only by her presence, and the shadows had threats of their own to turn upon Blood Reign that were already a concern of hers. But how could she possibly bring herself to leave such an event unanswered? No. Doing such a thing would have bordered on being sacrilegious. So instead, the Illyrian had prepared. She had taken her time, and left her province in as much order as she possibly could before embarking on a journey towards this foreign obscurity.

Fauvel had foregone company during this trip, allowing her siblings to remain in Blood Reign to oversee it and with the knowledge that their connection would alert them should anything go awry. The Dark was holy, yet it was also devious - even against its own followers. She had no way of knowing what awaited on Corbos, and what she would find came as no small surprise. Ghouls, wraiths, and ghosts were what the blazing red gaze of the young Lady was used to finding. Creatures spawned of corruption that she was sworn by her faith to destroy or subjugate to her own.

Today she was met with a palace, and a Lord of the Sith. Something was at play on Corbos, and the shadows had deemed it fit for her to be brought forth and witness it - should its veil be uncovered. The tail of her black dress slid across the floor of the throne room as she walked, a dark red sash wrapped around her waist, long sleeves giving way to pale hands that ended in sharp claws. She came from a haunted land, and carried on its haunting beauty, equal parts ominous and enthralling.

Her gaze met the Sith Lord's, glowing and yet cold, guarded. Fauvel felt the foreign influence attempt to breach into her mind, one feel of the Sith Lord's presence was enough for the witch to know her chances of repelling him would have been grim, if this had been more than just a test of will. He was playing a game, and while keeping the same straight face, as though there was nothing to note of this whole scenario she saw herself in, Fauvel decided to entertain him. He would not be simply held at bay from her thoughts, but instead shown images of the horrifying monstrosities she had seen before in her homeland. It would certainly not rattle a Sith Lord, but it would send a message. As aware and respectful as she was of the power that divided them, she was not afraid of him. She could never be afraid of the Darkness.

"I would apologize for the intrusion but I suppose we can now call it square," Her voice was also laced with an eerie melody, pleasant and still daunting. She had arrived unannounced, even though he must have known someone was coming. He had made an attempt on her privacy, even though she was allowed to withstand it. For the time being she held off on a proper introduction, playing her cards slowly and wisely. A Sith Lord was not to be trifled with.

 

[Arctus Silmar]

The Shaper

The Iron Crown|| Whilstone of Prowess|| Whilstone of Acuity
Whilstone of Power|| Acharn|| Urfael|| Mithralian
Voice Sample

The Shaper, idly leaning his cheek into the grasp of one hand, took in the form of Fauvel as she approached in much the same way a jungle cat might watch prey it was vaguely interested in from afar. His implacable grey eyes almost applying an unseen pressure to Fauvel wherever they roamed and to say he gazed upon her in a dehumanizing way would be to put it... mildly. In his sight she was not a person, not yet, she was an inconvenience and a loose end. The particular feeling of an Illyrian all too familiar to The Shaper as he stood from his throne, his black silken hair falling behind his body as skin as smooth and flawless as worked marbled almost glimmered in contrast to the raven locks.

When Fauvel spoke The Shaper betrayed a very small, very slight, raise of his brow. She spoke frankly, almost casually, despite her demeanor and while some Sith of his standing would consider such a thing a grievous insult The Shaper took it in stride and approached her. his footsteps thudding and echoing in the large, now empty throne room. He did not get within arm's reach of Fauvel, never mind in reach of a blade, but calmly laced his arms behind his back and asked her calmly "Could we? You seem to be here with purpose, Illyrian, and considering the confrontation I have had with Adron in the past... am I to assume your intentions here are anything but hostile?"

His question was a sharp probe, all but accusatory, and his eyes narrowed at her just a bit. He did not sense hostility from her, merely curiosity mixed with an intense purpose and though he secretly doubted she was here on behalf of Malvern the comment was instead meant to put her off-balance. Get her to speak and, perhaps, she would reveal something when pressured. Given her inhuman speech pattern The Shaper took a small gamble and pushed just a bit more. "If you've a purpose here other than my assassination then I would suggest stating it now. You are not human, much as you may pretend with your form, and given your rather unique heritage I can promise you this. If your intentions are to kill me, I will not return the same kindness, for there are many in the galaxy who would desire to own one as..... exotic as you for other purposes. Most of them involving study."

Taking a step forward The Shaper moved his arms to cross them over his chest, gazing down with an intense scrutiny for Fauvel, the Force beginning to billow and coil around him in dark, murmuring tendrils while the muscles of his physical form tensed ever so slightly. Ready to respond should her reaction be anything but formal or respectful.


Fauvel Astier

 

[Fauvel Astier]

Location: The Shaper's Palace, Corbos.
Tagging: Arctus Silmar

​

Her eyes followed him as he moved, approaching her. The look in the Sith Lord's gaze was one the Illyrian knew well. It was one she had been expecting, in fact. To him she was little more than a loose end, and if her assessment of him was right that was not something the Sith Lord would suffer. What he said next seemed to strike a cord within her, before her coming here Fauvel had been unaware of what she would find. Finding an Lord of Darkness was dangerous in and of itself, but finding one who was an enemy of her King...The Astier's brow furrowed slightly, her expression darkening.

His next demand came accompanied with a threat. Funny, considering he was quite inhuman himself. The heir to a noble house who had stood for centuries upon centuries, one would have believed her pride would have been hurt by such a statement. Blatantly disrespectful, degrading her to the likes of slaves and lab rats. However, if such was the case, not a inkling of it reached her expression. The Lady held his gaze, there was no defiance in it save for the same point her demeanor had already proved. Intimidation did no longer work on her. She knew her risks, and she had come here anyways. Facing them was something Fauvel was ready for.

"One could think of many ways in which to make an attempt on the Lord's life and I doubt any of them would involve walking alone and unarmed into his palace and requesting an audience," He thought very little of her if he believed her capable of making such a gross mistake, or carrying such delusions of grandeur. Then again, that was no surprise. "I came here unaccompanied and out of my own volition," Adron had not sent her, and in fact had she known of the past history between the Lord and the King - chances were she would have stayed away. That had been, perhaps, the only misstep she had not accounted for. It was too late to remedy it now.

"It was your planet, or whatever forces are at play on it, that called to me," She stated what they both knew. Fauvel did not have an ulterior motive, because her coming here had not been instigated until the moment a shadowed shriek ripped through the void of space seven days ago. Her hands moved, gliding towards her sides to emphasize the simplicity of her coming here. There was, however, something that would catch the eye. The Cinpeliers that were forever wrapped around her wrists, biting into the pale skin, dangled hauntingly in plain sight. "I simply followed that call in search for answers. The will of the Darkside, if you may."

 

[Arctus Silmar]

The Shaper

The Iron Crown|| Whilstone of Prowess|| Whilstone of Acuity || Whilstone of Power||
Acharn|| Urfael|| Mithralian || Empyrean Gland
Voice Sample

As Fauvel spoke The Shaper's steely silver eyes watched her with an unnaturally unblinking gaze, his verbal challenge set, as he waited to see how she navigated his web of words. In the end Fauvel took the expected path, the clearest path, to dissuade and cast away doubt surrounding her purposes here, and clarify the reasoning as such. The Shaper nodded, if only slightly, and found the response acceptable. As she knew, as they both knew, her reasoning for being here were obvious. Only her last small sentence made The Shaper tilt his head, regard her with a small amount of curiosity, and ask in an amused tone. "Indeed? It would seem so. The Force, much as it is a tool, weapon and source of power, often has plans of it's own it would seem."

The Shaper would turn away from Fauvel, even now thinking of how to turn her unexpected presence to his advantage, before a slow, meaningful smile graced his features as he approached his throne. Turning back to her he level that cool smile at her before drawing a robe about himself, seemingly much more casual as his plan took full root in his mind. "I imagine, then, that you've a burning curiosity about you. As such, allow me to extend my hospitality, and offer to sate your appetite." Tying the robe about himself The Shaper would approach Fauvel and offer her his arm, the aura about him now relaxed and a drastic shift in temperament as he now gazed down at Fauvel with an expression teetering between amusement and an odd form of possessiveness as if she were a very useful piece upon a dejarik board.

"I will show you exactly what it is that drew you here, if you wish, and you will be welcome as a guest here. Should you wish the honor, that is." Though The Shaper presented it as an option, there was a poignant sharpness to his gaze that told Fauvel that now that she had walked into the lion's den it wasn't so much a choice as a courtesy being offered. Reaching out to the armrest of the throne The Shaper calmly pressed a button and opened up communications with the landing pad safely tucked away within the palace. "Captain, prepare my shuttle. We are to visit my project." There was the briefest of pauses before a curt "As you wish my Lord." was offered in return. Glancing sidelong at Fauvel The Shaper would politely motion with a hand toward another door, a small smile morphing his crafted features to what one might call charming. "It would be this way."

After taking the time to exit the throne room, their footfalls the only sound within the empty halls of the palace, The Shaper would keep his gaze directed ahead now. Mind working even as he drew in a breathe "So then, since you are not here to kill me, I make it a point to know the names of my guests Miss....?" He trailed off, leaving an opening for her to finish the sentence. Even as dark whispers spilled from the very walls of this place, murmurings of the Dark Side Fauvel would recognize all too well. Obviously The Shaper had done many dark things here, but specifically what or to whom was anyone's guess.

 

[Fauvel Astier]

Location: The Shaper's Palace, Corbos.
Tagging: Arctus Silmar

​

Impassiveness had become an art form for the Illyrian. Emotion often told a lot more than words did, and so her face did not show any - it was often that Fauvel held the poise of a masterfully sculpted living statue rather than that of a living, feeling being. Only a select few ever got to see beneath the frigid veil, right not only a feeble glint of curiosity shined in the blood red gaze. "That it does, yes." The Force, just as them two, held power, and all who held power held will. It was up to them to discover a way in which it was not the will of the Force but their own the one driving their journeys - to seize its power into their own until only their will remained.

His next words, however, would surprise her. The starweird tilted her head ever so slightly, a brow raising barely a milimeter over its usual positioning - almost imperceptible. If the galaxy had one thing to offer in abundance it was fools, and Fauvel did not count herself among them. Everything was done with a purpose, and the Sith Lord's unexpected generosity was nothing if not the cover of one too. A dance with a devil, many would find it saddening to learn that despite her youth it would not be her first one - but now it was up for her to decide whether she wanted to humor this little game or not, or even if backing out now was still among her options.

A decision made with a lot less information than the one she would have preferred to possess, perhaps more correctly called a gamble. "Your assessment is correct, such a kind gesture to entertain my intrigue." The ghost of smile stretched the Lady's lips as the sweetened words of propriety were spewed from them. Of course, the young woman had no intention to try to fool him with the compliment - quite on the contrary, it was meant to make her own awareness of her position all the more evident. He could try to play with her, and he certainly held the strongest hand, but she would not fake naivety nor grant the comfort of blind compliance. The man represented and immense danger, and yet he also seemed to inspire the more enthralling side of her curiosity.

Fauvel would follow his lead silently, the fabric of her dress sliding silently against the marbled floors of his hall. The very pillars of his palace were permeated by the Darkside, and it would seem with every step a new question dawned within her - to be saved for later when her thoughts had the time to wrap around them freely and her attention was not best kept on her host. "Lady Fauvel Astier of Illyria," She answered, also keeping her gaze locked to the path ahead of them, until she allowed them to move towards him once more, the smile on her lips grew slightly wider. "And how shall I address my host?"