Private Ancients, young and old.

[Serina Calis]

Location: Korriban, Ancient Temple
Tag: Lirka Ka
​

The oppressive air of Korriban hung heavy over the ancient sands, its weight a palpable force that clung to every stone and shadow. The ruins of a forgotten temple loomed ahead, its jagged spires clawing toward the storm-darkened sky. Time and erosion had weathered the structure, but its dark majesty remained intact—a monument to power, cruelty, and the unyielding will of the Sith. The air crackled faintly with the residue of countless rituals, whispers of past dominion stirring faintly in the wind.

A figure stood before the temple's grand archway, shrouded in a flowing robe as black as the depths of space. Intricate patterns traced across the garment's surface, blending floral and geometric designs that shimmered subtly, like the faint glimmer of distant stars. The central panel of the robe, richly detailed, carried the suggestion of stylized vines and blossoms rendered in muted tones of silver and bronze. A deep hood obscured the figure's head, its angular folds casting their face into impenetrable shadow. Beneath the hood, a sleek metallic mask reflected the stormy light, its symmetrical grooves and angular design giving the impression of something both ancient and unearthly.

The figure's movements were measured as they stepped into the temple's yawning mouth, the long, flowing sleeves of their robe trailing like ephemeral shadows. The faint echoes of their footsteps reverberated against the cold stone, swallowed quickly by the suffocating silence of the inner sanctum. The temple was a labyrinth of dimly lit corridors and cavernous chambers, its architecture carved with the harsh precision of Sith artistry. Malevolent carvings adorned the walls, depicting scenes of conquest and torment, their details brought to life by the flickering red glow of ancient sconces.

Within this labyrinth, the figure moved with purpose, their every step guided by an instinct that transcended mere direction. The Dark Side resonated within the walls, its currents tugging at the figure like a tide. But the power here was not alien to them—it was familiar, intimate. It was not something they merely wielded; it was something they were. The Dark Side flowed through them as naturally as breath, a seamless extension of their will, inseparable and all-encompassing.

Deeper they went, the air growing colder and thicker with every step. The whispers grew louder here, their dissonant murmurs caressing the edges of the mind. They carried no words, only impressions—fear, rage, and an insatiable hunger for dominion. But the figure did not falter. The whispers were not an intrusion; they were a symphony, one they conducted with absolute control.

The passage opened into a vast chamber, its vaulted ceiling lost in shadow. At its center stood a pedestal, its surface encrusted with the marks of time and adorned with Sith glyphs glowing faintly red. Upon the pedestal lay the object of the figure's search: a gem the size of a clenched fist, its surface gleaming with an unnatural, pulsating light. The gem seemed alive, its crimson hues swirling and shifting like molten fire trapped within glass.

The figure's steps slowed as they approached, the air around the gem vibrating faintly with power. The Dark Side clung to it, radiating in waves that distorted the atmosphere, pulling the shadows of the chamber toward its center. The gem was no mere artifact—it was a conduit, a fragment of ancient malice imbued with untold power.

The figure paused, their metallic mask tilting slightly as if regarding the gem with quiet reverence. Their gloved hand extended, the delicate curve of their fingers mirroring the artifact's contours without yet touching it. A whisper of breath escaped from beneath the mask, inaudible but filled with something that might have been anticipation—or hunger.

 

[Lirka Ka]

Korriban, the home world of the Sith. So much history, and misery, all traced back to this one rock.

Lirka was far from overly impressed. In the slaver's long absence, trapped away in Wild Space on an endeavor with a less-than-voluntary extension, the Kainites had fought hard for this place. Admittedly, as Lirka trudged her way through the harsh sand and overbearing heat, she was somewhat jealous to have missed the carnage. She had only stories and her own grim imagination to paint a beautiful picture of the struggle for this most ancient of places.

The beastly thing that was Lirka stuck out in this place like a sore thumb, among these great ancient ruins and the desolation of countless battles she stood as a hulking sign of technological prowess. A statuesque power-suit that oozed the designs of the new ways, the Kainite ways, closer to a droid than a person at first glance. Taking a moment, the brute scanned her way across the horizon to the many tombs, valleys, and everything in between that dotted the surface of this world. But one temple, in particular, caught her eye, and more importantly than the temple itself was the distant figure of Serina Calis the first person that Lirka had laid her eyes on after arriving to this place that seemed could be of potential note.

And like a predator, she was off, tracking her way through the sand to reach this mighty monument to Sith might and cruelty. Though, she paid it little heed. All temples were well and good for her purposes, for Lirka had not come to Korriban for mere sight seeing or to pick up new Sithlings to stalk. There were answers to be found in these ancient stones, for Korriban was much different to a creature like Lirka than most. The force merely dribbled out from her wretched form, a thing that slowly crawled its way back into the web of the living force after total disconnection. An abomination to many more dogmatic in their dealings with the force and those dead to its touch. And perhaps...she could change that drizzle into a downpour.

As the figure approached their quarry in the temple, Lirka stayed not far behind. Admittedly, her ability to stay undetected more than slightly out of practice at this point. Her thick metal boots dinked and clanked against the stone floors, servos whirred and hissed softly, and her presence a painfully obvious thing in the force for simply its all but absence in it. And as this figure whom she followed reached their destination, Lirkas glowing lenses fell upon this...living gem with something of a curiosity. Oh yes, she really did know how to pick them.

"My, quite the curious place you have uncovered, Treasure Hunter."

She made no more attempt to hide herself as her voice echoed out through her helmet, the distortion weakened enough that her thick alien accent finally shined through

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Korriban, Ancient Temple
Tag: Lirka Ka
​

The gem pulsed faintly in the figure's gloved hand, its crimson glow reflected against the angular surface of their metallic mask. The oppressive silence of the temple was broken by the sharp clank of metal on stone, a sound that echoed through the chamber like a blade dragged across rock.

The figure did not turn immediately. The Dark Side rippled in the air, sensing the intruder before the sound betrayed their presence. It was not the familiar thrum of an ally, nor the intrusive brightness of the Light—this was something grotesque, something incomplete. A presence that oozed imbalance, a form not fully embraced by life or death. The figure's masked head inclined slightly, as though considering the being now standing behind them.

Slowly, the figure turned. The hem of their blue robe swept across the ancient stone like the whisper of a passing storm. Their mask, gleaming faintly in the crimson light of the gem, tilted to regard the monstrous form that had spoken. They saw the decay, the necrotizing flesh writhing as if fighting its inevitable end, the grotesque armor that seemed less a suit and more a prison for what remained of the being inside. The figure did not recoil, nor did they offer judgment. This creature was but another echo of Korriban's cruel legacy, a reminder of what the Dark Side could build—and enslave.

When the figure spoke, their voice was not a single sound but a chorus, a multitude of whispers that wove together into a haunting harmony. It was the Dark Side made sound, a thousand echoes carried on the winds of ancient power. The temple seemed to vibrate with each word, as though the stones themselves listened.

"Curious, yes. But not unexpected. This place calls to those who seek answers… or power. And you…" The mask tilted slightly, the faint shimmer of the gem's light casting an eerie gleam across its surface. "You reek of desperation. A husk clawing at the edges of oblivion, hoping to catch the threads of what you once were."

The figure stepped forward, slow and deliberate, their presence neither threatening nor inviting. The Dark Side pulsed in the air between them, a subtle current that danced like firelight in the dim chamber. The whispers continued, the voice soft but resonant.

"What is it you seek here, wanderer? Do you hope to stave off the inevitable? To turn decay into renewal? Or have you come merely to covet the relics of the past, to drape yourself in the shadow of power you can never truly claim?"

The figure paused a few steps from the decaying monstrosity, their gloved hand raising the gem slightly. The crimson light bathed the room in a faint, otherworldly glow, casting deep shadows against the carvings on the walls.

"This place is no haven for the lost," they murmured, their chorus of voices taking on a tone that bordered on solemn. "The Dark Side does not pity. I do not forgive. I consume. And yet…" The figure's voice shifted, an almost imperceptible ripple of intrigue threading through the whispers. "You are here. And the Force, in its cruel humor, has allowed you to remain. So tell me, creature of half-life, why do you linger? What is it you hope to find among these stones and shadows?"

The figure stood still, their presence blending seamlessly with the suffocating power of the Dark Side around them. They were no mere seeker, no plunderer of relics. They were as much a part of this place as the stones themselves—inseparable, undeniable, and unyielding. Behind the metallic mask, unseen and unknowable, they waited, the air between them thick with the weight of unspoken truths

 

[Lirka Ka]

Lirka stood unmoving after her initial appearance. Now was a time to gauge just what she had walked herself into, Sith were schemers, but last time she had been among the worlds of the Empire the many factions of the Sith had been in all but open conflict with each other. And admittedly, her grasp on the current state of affairs was far from where she would prefer.

As this figure spoke, Lirka moved her helmeted head over so slightly to acknowledge the way the words thundered and echoed from the stone. Fascinating, this was no mere Sithling evidently. And her interest had certainly peaked now. As Serina Calis spoke Lirka couldn’t help but half-smirk underneath the blank face of her helmet. How haughty. But Lirka would play the veneer of the casual comrade for now.

“Ah, no mere treasure hunter.”

Lirka bowed briefly, with a dancer’s grace trapped within the hulking form of a brute.

“Apologies, my Lady. I am but an old woman, whose eyes do not work as well as they once did.”

A half-truth at best. She was at least, by human metrics, quite the ancient hag at this point.

“Desperate, my Lady? Far from it. I have come here to bask in the mighty glory of Sith conquest and history, last time I walked the worlds of our great Empire this place laid in the hands of the enemy.”

She hated this act. And it had begun to feel like one she needed to put on more and more in this almost foreign new world. She listened to the girl speak, grimacing some as she was forced to stay her rage. Decay and renewal were simply the cycles of her unnatural form, she was remiss to admit that the cycle unfortunately was leaning towards decay again, even with the many upgrades Carnifex and his lackeys had provided to her body and armor.

What did she seek, truly the penultimate question; Lirka knew she needed to pick her words carefully.

“I am but a humble servant of my Lord. And yet…as you have demonstrated with your great eloquence: this Empire does not look fondly upon creatures of my, shall we say, less than natural stature. I bemused that perhaps this place, the birth of darkness, there may be some lost font of knowledge that may ease the biases of the Lords and Ladies of the empire.”

She kept some cards close to her chest still, it was yet to be seen if this girl were to become ally or enemy.

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Korriban, Ancient Temple
Tag: Lirka Ka
​

The figure stood unmoving as Lirka's words echoed through the chamber, their metallic mask reflecting the faint, pulsating glow of the gem. The Dark Side rippled faintly, a subtle undercurrent that wove itself into the stones of the temple and the air between them. The whispers of a thousand voices, faint and indistinct, seemed to swirl around the figure, merging seamlessly with the oppressive atmosphere of Korriban.

As Lirka finished speaking, the figure tilted their head slightly, the motion almost inquisitive. The silence stretched between them, thick and unyielding, until the figure finally spoke. The voice that emerged was not singular but layered, an unearthly chorus that resonated with the power of the Dark Side itself. It was as if the temple itself had chosen to speak through them.

"Humble," they began, the word lingering in the air like a shadow. "A term ill-suited to one who defies the natural order so brazenly." The whispers deepened, carrying a faint note of amusement, though no laughter followed. The figure stepped forward, the faint swish of their robe against the stone the only sound accompanying their movement. Their presence was neither hostile nor welcoming—it was simply absolute.

"You speak of basking in glory, of conquest and history, yet your form betrays your words. You seek more than knowledge, more than the echoes of this Empire's victories. You seek a means to defy what you are becoming."

The figure raised the gem slightly, its crimson glow illuminating the grotesque contours of Lirka's decaying form. The light reflected off the writhing necrotized flesh, highlighting the relentless struggle within her body—a battle of renewal against inevitable decay. The whispers sharpened, their tone shifting toward something almost contemplative.

"This place, the birthplace of darkness, is no sanctuary. It offers no comfort to those who come seeking to mend what the Force has decreed broken. The Lords and Ladies of the Empire… they see what you are, yes. They see the abomination of your existence, a being that twists the threads of the Force into something… incomplete."

The figure took another step closer, their mask tilting ever so slightly, as if peering into something beyond sight.

"Yet, for all their scorn, they are blind to what I see."

The whispers softened, though the words retained their weight.

"You are not merely broken. You are a canvas, marred yet unfinished. This form you cling to—it is but one iteration of what you might become. And yet, you linger in this cycle of decay, afraid to embrace what lies beyond. Tell me, servant of your Lord… why do you grasp so tightly to what is falling away? What do you fear more: the judgment of others, or the truth of yourself?"

The figure paused, the gem held steady in their hand, its light dimming slightly as if the room itself had exhaled. Their presence loomed like the shadow of the Dark Side itself—unyielding, inseparable, eternal. Behind the mask, unseen eyes regarded Lirka, their gaze inscrutable, their intentions cloaked in the folds of their shroud.

"There is knowledge here," the whispers continued, their tone a mixture of promise and warning. "But not all knowledge is meant to be consumed. You tread a path where the answers you seek may not be the salvation you hope for. If you are to step deeper into the shadows, be prepared to abandon what remains of the light within you—even the faintest flicker."

The figure lowered the gem slightly, the red glow receding into the ambient darkness of the chamber. They stood still, waiting, the air between them alive with the currents of the Dark Side, as if the temple itself waited to see what Lirka would say next.

 

[Lirka Ka]

This was a dance Lirka had become all too familiar with this dance after her many years. And she would play her part in it, with caution as her ally. Her stature grew cold and machine-like, the only sound the whirring of machinery in her power-suit, she took her time to contemplate each word uttered by this thing. Perhaps, there were cards to be revealed, her own truths to unveil.

“And yet, perhaps humility is unbecoming. Perhaps I should stand proud as the beacon that spat in the face of so-called-natural-order?”

And like a coin, so quickly did she flip her demeanor. The tirades of the force were a grating thing to one so “enlightened”, or insane, as Lirka. The foulness inside her body even seemed to squirm as her mood changed, the freakish mass of stolen meat that she was.

“I know one thing for certain, defiance is the way of the Dark. True Darkness. The natural order of things stands in defiance of the End-of-all-things, and I stand in defiance of the natural order.”

Her long absence trapped away from the Empire had seemed to not shake in faith in her cultist ideology.

“I seek no sanctuary, for that is the purview of the weak: and I am far from their lot. I am a creature born of boundless, endless, hardships. I am the beast evolved from misery and suffering, the avatar of the Dark made manifest.”

A snippet of her delusions, of the grand Dark whom she worshipped like one of the meandering fools on Rhand. But soon, her defensiveness turned to curiosity. Psychoanalysis? Now that was always interesting. It was the way of these people, they viewed in terms of uses and ambitions. And truthfully, it was why Lirka kept so close to the circle of the Sith. She viewed life in the same way. It was amusing to see one who saw the world in such artistic terms as she did, and in the words of Serina Calis she could feel the desire to hold the brush that painted upon the canvas. Now it was an excuse to show power, none would hold brush but Lirka herself, no matter the ambitions of any.

“I fear nothing! Fear belongs to the dead. And as we can see so evidently, I stand defiant in the face of death. For it shall not touch me so long as my will survives.”

Her bravado grew like a fire, raw emotion bubbling up through her act.

“My light was purged long ago, through Empires destroyed, through a thousand battlefields, and the corpse of a world. Through my spawn, dead at my blade for their weakness. I am the Dark’s paragon, and you will find no weakness in my soul!”

And for as quickly as that theatrical fire burned, it simmered and her coldness return.

“You ask many questions, but now I ask one of my own: whom do I speak to, flesh, or spirits too afraid to face true obliteration under the Dark?”

And if this dance played as she expected, now it was her turn to tug, and to learn.

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Korriban, Ancient Temple
Tag: Lirka Ka
​

The figure stood motionless as Lirka's words filled the chamber, the layered whispers of the Dark Side curling around them like smoke. The crimson light of the gem flickered faintly, as though responding to the rising bravado of the decaying monstrosity before them. The metallic mask tilted slightly, an almost imperceptible gesture of contemplation—or amusement. When they spoke, it was a chorus of whispers, echoing from the stones, from the shadows, from the air itself.

"You stand proud as defiance incarnate, yet your defiance is hollow. You call yourself a beacon, a paragon, but my paragons do not reject fear. They embrace it. They wield it as I do, as a blade, as a bond, as a fire that consumes the weak and kindles the strong."

The whispers deepened, resonating through the chamber like the shifting of tectonic plates. The oppressive air grew colder, heavier, as if the room itself bent beneath the weight of their words.

"You claim to reject the natural order, but the order you defy is of your own making. You reject the death you so desperately outrun, yet it stalks you like a shadow that cannot be cast aside. You do not defy it; you are enslaved by it. You rage against the inevitability of your decay, but even now, you cling to the lie that your will alone can unmake what the Dark Side has decreed."

The figure stepped forward, the crimson light of the gem reflecting off the sharp grooves of their mask. The whispers softened, but their tone turned sharp, like a blade drawn across stone.

"The Sith have always been my greatest slaves. They wrap themselves in their chains and call it freedom, clinging to their doctrines and their wars, to their hatred and ambition, all the while binding themselves tighter to me. They will never break their chains, for I am the forge that crafts them, the fire that binds their shackles. They are mine, as you would be, were you truly a paragon of the Dark."

The gem's light dimmed as they spoke, the chamber plunging deeper into shadow. The whispers grew quieter, more intimate, as though the Dark Side itself leaned close to the decaying monstrosity before them.

"You claim fear belongs to the dead, but you misunderstand. Fear is not death. It is not weakness. Fear is power, raw and primal. Fear sharpens the blade of the will, binds empires, and consumes the unworthy. Fear is the mark of those who live. You speak of purging your light, of strength forged in fire and ruin. But strength without fear is brittle, a blade that shatters upon its first test."

The figure's gloved hand lowered the gem, its crimson glow extinguishing entirely. The chamber was plunged into absolute darkness, the oppressive air alive with the hum of the Dark Side. The whispers surged again, layered and unrelenting, enveloping the space in a maelstrom of sound that seemed to emanate from everywhere and nowhere at once.

"You speak of power, of defiance, yet you stand here before me, bound by your own flesh, your own fears, your own lies. You are not a paragon. You are a fragment. And fragments do not command the Dark Side. They are commanded by it. By me."

The darkness writhed, shifting like liquid smoke, and from its depths emerged the faint outline of a figure—a shadow forged from memory and malice. A Jedi Knight, their form etched in spectral clarity, their robes fluttering as though caught in an unseen wind. Their face was obscured, their features lost to shadow, but the lightsaber in their hand glowed faintly, its blue light piercing the gloom like a shard of light through the void.

The whispers softened, the figure's voice now singular, yet still resonating with unearthly power.

"You call yourself the Dark's avatar, its paragon. But my champions do not merely speak. They act. They demonstrate. So now, creature of defiance, show me the strength of your will. Show me if you are worthy to wield what you claim to embody."

The Jedi specter stepped forward, their blade igniting with a sharp hiss, its light casting faint, flickering shadows across the chamber. The figure's mask tilted slightly, the faintest glimmer of crimson light returning to their robe.

"Defy me. Or prove you are already mine."

And with that, the specter lunged, its blade arcing through the darkness toward Lirka with the precision of a memory weaponized, its every movement a challenge, a demand to reveal the truth of her strength. The chamber itself seemed to hold its breath, as the Dark Side surged in anticipation.

 

[Lirka Ka]

The longer that Serina Calis whispered and spoke to Lirka, the more her veneer began to crumble away and the beast inside showed itself. The half-truths and kindness of her act would have little place here, the fire within would be let loose into an inferno and the shackles on her rantings and ravings would be let loose. A barely contained rage simmered and bubbled like magma, the faith of a zealot was something tested only at the peril of those bold enough to attempt such an act.

"You speak such pretty, empty, words, creature."

Already the suit began to whirr to life, preparing itself for conflict. Conflict did always seem to follow Lirka wherever she went, though admittedly she all but chased it at the same time.

"To speak as though you may be my Master, but I serve only one Master. And you are not it. You are but another blind, unenlightened, fool. Suckling at the teat of the force till you grow fat, complacent, assured of your own might. Nay, the Dark is primordial. Beyond your comprehension, the Dark is the End. You? You are nothing but another creature scuttling before annihilation takes us all."

As the ghostly Jedi apparition began to appear before her, Lirka couldn't help but chuckle softly to herself. She had so recently returned, and already she'd get the chance to fight a Jedi? Even a fake one filled her with violent elation.

"Strength is life. The right to exist under the Dark's purview is determined by might. And you, creature, I shall show you strength free from the crutches of the Force."

For as complex of a creature Lirka could seem at times with her boundless ambition and endless, unpredictable, moods. She became infinitely less complex by one thing, and unending desire for violence, and a refusal to deny a call to conflict. As the False-Jedi lunged in attack, Lirka's mechanisms sprang to life. For a mighty metal hulk, she was fast. Throwing herself to the side, her own weapon furled to life: unclicking as her Great-Machete extended itself from its storage, a mighty Songsteel weapon that sang in the air as it came to life, soon crackling with energy as the Electro-Plasma Filament of its blade came to life. The weapon, almost the size of a man, swung all but weightlessly in her arm: hacking its way towards the false Jedi in response to its attack.

When Lirka had left the Sith, the conflicts the Kainites found themselves in had put them in arms against their fellow Sith. And with it, Lirka had found herself in conflict with many a Sithling. And her powersuit had been upgraded for such a conflict, and remained woefully untested on Sith-kind. A false Jedi would have to make due. As her blade sung through the air, two Micro-Blasters unfurled from her back, spraying firepower towards the apparition. A hailstorm of an attack meant to test its defenses.

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Korriban, Ancient Temple
Tag: Lirka Ka
​

The chamber came alive with the cacophony of violence, the screech of Lirka's mechanized suit, the hum of her energized blade, and the staccato bursts of her micro-blasters reverberating through the stone walls. The Jedi apparition moved with precision and grace, its spectral form a blur of light and shadow as it deflected the storm of plasma with its glowing blade. Sparks flew as Lirka's attacks met the Jedi's defense, each strike carving brief moments of chaotic illumination into the oppressive darkness.

The masked figure did not retreat. They stood motionless, an immovable shadow amidst the fury. The whispers of the Dark Side swirled around them, rising and falling like the tide, their tone laced with something that could almost be described as amusement. The crimson glow of the gem returned faintly, casting eerie patterns across their angular mask.

"You lash out like a beast cornered by its own pride," the whispers began, filling the chamber with a thousand voices that seemed to emanate from every corner, entwining with the sounds of battle. "You speak of strength as though it exists apart from the Dark. You dare to believe your blade, your mechanized shell, your defiance, can stand against what I am."

The Jedi specter flowed around Lirka's assault like water, its movements unrelenting yet eerily silent. The apparition's lightsaber cut through the air in deliberate arcs, deflecting Lirka's weapon and the hail of blaster fire with an ease that belied its ephemeral nature. Each clash between Lirka's songsteel blade and the apparition's lightsaber sent shockwaves through the Force, ripples that carried a resonance far deeper than the clash of steel and energy.

"Strength," the figure continued, the whispers thickening, growing heavier with the weight of the Dark Side, "is not in the swing of a blade or the hiss of blaster fire. Strength is in fear. In pain. In the power to wield both without being consumed. You think yourself beyond the Force, a creature free of my grasp, but you are mistaken. Even now, as your blade swings, as your fury burns, you are mine."

The room darkened further, the faint crimson glow extinguished once more, leaving only the faint light of the apparition's saber to illuminate the space. The Jedi lunged again, its attack relentless, pushing Lirka's defenses to their limits. The figure's voice, still a symphony of whispers, rose above the din, carrying the weight of ancient power.

"You call me blind, unenlightened, yet I have seen the end of all things. I am the annihilation you claim to worship. The Sith are my slaves. Their ambition, their hatred, their wars—they are the chains I forged to bind them, chains they will never break. And you, decaying creature, stand no different. You reject me, but I am within you. Every breath you take, every step you claw forward, feeds the very power you claim to transcend."

The shadows writhed and shifted, coalescing into an overwhelming presence that seemed to press down on the room itself. The whispers turned sharp, cutting through the air like blades.

"Demonstrate your strength, beast of ruin. Show me your will, your defiance. But know this: strength without purpose is nothing but chaos. And chaos, like all things, bends to my will."

The Jedi apparition's form shimmered, its movements accelerating, its strikes growing sharper, more precise. Yet the Dark Side within it was unmistakable—no longer a pale imitation of Light, but a weapon forged by the shadow-wielding figure who watched with stillness and inevitability.

The figure's whispers dropped to a low hum, their final words slipping through the storm of sound like daggers into flesh.

"You are already mine, even if you refuse to see it. Show me the extent of your defiance, so I might see how deeply my chains bind you."

And then the chamber fell silent save for the clash of blade against blade, the rising tension of a contest that was as much a test of will as it was of might. The shadows pressed closer, and the figure, unmoving, watched as the battle unfolded—a storm of fury against the inexorable tide of the Dark.

 

[Lirka Ka]

Lirka lived on the edge in all things, it was simply her way. Anything else, and the sensations became dull and meandering: all but an acceptance of her own decay. And Lirka would never truly admit to such a thing. As this spirit tested her strength and pressed her defenses, Lirka allowed herself to flow, moving as though she were some murderous dancer. Fighting was her second nature, for she had danced with blades longer than many of the current cadre of Sith had even been embryos.

But, to embrace second nature was to welcome a brief silence. A time to analyze, and to contemplate. She let the whispers of Serina Calis wash over her, each word considered carefully. Korriban was an odd world, filled with so many creatures that danced between life and death. But here? Lirka felt herself in an abundance of life.

As this figure’s voice hinted amusement, Lirka’s form turned defensive. She would not waste time hacking into a ghost: they didn’t bleed enough for her liking. And soon, her own voice boomed out again. She did not hide her bemusement.

”I speak to flesh, not spirits.”

Chortling as much as she could muster in her current situation. Lirka deemed it her turn to analyze, this may be a battle of ego just as much as it was a battle of blades.

”Your prose is admirable, the iron-clad determination of a manipulator. You twist my own platitudes against me, to turn faith into obedience.”

In her twisted way, Lirka began to feel in good company as the battle continued. Perhaps, they were kindred spirits in their vileness after all. But…Lirka was a revolving door of emotion and persona: so many faces she had worn in her long life, and not all were so willingly to despise her would-be-foes.

“Unfortunately, you will not find me so easily twisted to your whims.“

She twirled her way back from the apparition, slashing the ground to bring about great flashes of sparks and molten.

”You are not the Dark. No matter how great your desire to emulate its beauty, I have seen the abyss, in that place between life and death. It is not a thing that will ever truly exist in our mortal world.“

She dashed forward once more, turning from dancer to brute in a flash as she decided to test a theory: to simply use her bulk to push through this spirit. And if she must bleed to test a hypothesis? So be it. She’d survived worse than what this temple could bring.

”I offer a rare admiration to you, masked-one. You remind me of myself, and there is nothing I love more to see in this Empire than that.”

No matter what persona was shining, Lirka’s pure unadulterated narcissism would never fail.

“You will find no quarry for your chains, Masked-One. For I am Lirka Ka, and I shall be a slave nevermore.“

In her own grandiose and unpleasant way, it was her offering a proper introduction in between the clash of blades.

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Korriban, Ancient Temple
Tag: Lirka Ka
​

The chamber shifted once more, the oppressive weight of the Dark Side pressing down like an unseen hand, coiling around every surface and breath. The apparition met Lirka's charge with ephemeral grace, its spectral blade arcing to parry, yet yielding just enough to allow her to pass through. As her bulk collided with the ghostly form, it dissipated in a sudden cascade of shadow, the blue light of the lightsaber vanishing like a snuffed flame.

The oppressive darkness that followed was absolute, thick with silence save for the faint crackle of molten sparks left in Lirka's wake. For a heartbeat, the void felt eternal, the air stagnant, the temperature suffocating. And then, a whisper—soft at first, but rising like the crescendo of an ancient dirge.

"You are defiant, that much is clear. But defiance without understanding is the tantrum of a child lost in the dark."

The words emanated from all around, yet seemed to pierce directly into the mind. Slowly, the darkness began to peel away, receding like a tide drawn back to the abyss. The crimson light of the gem returned, faint at first, then growing stronger, illuminating the figure who had remained still throughout the battle. The masked one emerged from the shadows once more, their metallic visage gleaming faintly, their intricate robes untouched by the chaos.

They stepped forward, the whispers trailing behind them like a cloak. The gem in their hand pulsed in time with their words, its light casting flickering shadows across the jagged walls.

"You mistake my words for manipulation. You think me a schemer, a thread in the tapestry of Sith ambition. But I am no Sith, Lirka Ka. I am the loom, the weaver, the abyss that binds and consumes." The voice shifted, layered with tones of amusement, curiosity, and faint disdain. "The Sith are my slaves, yes, but their chains are of their own forging. They scream of freedom while shackling themselves with their fear and their hate. They name themselves masters, yet they remain bound to me. And you..."

The figure's masked face tilted, as though studying Lirka anew. "You claim to see the abyss, to stand apart, yet your defiance is fueled by the very thing you reject. You cannot escape me, for I am not merely the abyss you have glimpsed. I am the darkness you carry within yourself."

With a gloved hand, they gestured, and the crimson light flared briefly, casting deeper shadows across the room. "But you are… interesting. Few stand so brazenly before me and remain unbroken. Fewer still claim admiration, though I suspect that admiration is born of your own reflection, rather than any understanding of what I am."

The figure stepped closer, the faint hum of the Dark Side emanating from their every movement. They stopped just short of Lirka, their presence towering despite their stillness.

"Very well, Lirka Ka. You seek no chains, no sanctuary, no master. And yet, here you are, on Korriban, in this temple, standing before me. Your words are bold, but I have lived through the ages and seen bold words crumble into dust under the weight of time and truth." Their voice softened, the whispers carrying a note of intrigue. "So speak, creature of decay and ambition. You have questions, I suspect. This place, this time—it is unfamiliar to you. The galaxy shifts, the Sith Empire rises and falls, and yet the Dark remains eternal. Ask what you will, and I shall answer… if your questions are worthy of the shadows you stand in."

The figure folded their hands before them, the gem's crimson glow steady now, casting them in stark relief against the darkened chamber. The air between them hung thick with unspoken tension, alive with the weight of what had passed and the promise of what was yet to come. They stood ready, a patient spectre of the abyss, waiting for Lirka to speak.

 

[Lirka Ka]

Seeing the False-Jedi dissipate before her left a wicked grin across Lirka's face underneath her helm. While it may not have been the real deal, seeing a Jedi crumble before her always offered some little spark of warmth in her cold, dead, heart. Standing proud in the wake of her victory, Lirka's suit seemed to grow quiet: returning to its normal ambient state from the whirrs and clacks of battle. Still, as the figure approached Lirka's eyes, hidden by the blank glow of her lenses, trained on this gem: quite the trinket, even if she admittedly understood its power little to none.

As Serina Calis spoke, there existed one spark of ignorance born from simple unfamiliarity of what she was dealing with: Lirka Ka and tantrum were synonyms. The Once-Sephi's existence was nothing but moments of clarity rising to the crescendo of whatever deranged ranting tantrum came next after her foul moods got the better of her.

Lirka did her best to hide her amusement at some of the words she spoke. Letting the girl's words wash over her, Lirka found herself tilting her head down slightly to acknowledge the masked figure as she approached. She took time to deliberate her words, but ultimately if Lirka knew one thing: it was how to keep an air of faux-casualness at times were such a thing was often quite inappropriate.

"Tsch, I suppose time shall tell just how much of a manipulator you are, no? If you are not a Sith, and I am not a Sith, on this world overflowing with Sithlings both alive and dead...perhaps our spirits are more kindred than I could have ever anticipated, Weaver."

It was a rather rare treat to find a non-Sith in this Empire. Even if Lirka couldn't particularly tell the difference between one Dark-sider to another. With each passing moment this endeavor became more and more interesting.

"You talk at great lengths of darkness, where do you hail Weaver? A remnant of Rhand and their many cultists? Or a wayward spirit that tumbled into the Abyss?"

Always prodding Lirka was, she craved information more than anything. She needed only a few droplets of concrete info to let her mind wander, to scheme, to plan, and to contemplate the path forward. With each time the word defiance was uttered now, it seemed to only inflate Lirka's ego: as if such a thing were possible.

"Interesting, or repugnant? Perhaps even both?"

She'd gotten both more than her fair share during her long long life. Now came the matter of pondering questions most poignant, a world more dangerous than the clash of blades by far. Information was a mightily powerful thing after all.

"I suppose one thing stands most prudent, Weaver. The nature of your trinket."
\
Perhaps an unbecoming name for this crystal, but with a gesture of her clawed hand Lirka made sure to make her intent known. That thing, ultimately, offered some of the greatest interest to her even beyond this strange figure: was it truly an artifact of the Dark? Such a thing seemed impossible from all Lirka knew of immaterial master.

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Korriban, Ancient Temple
Tag: Lirka Ka
​

The masked figure remained silent as Lirka spoke, the soft glow of the crimson gem pulsing faintly in their gloved hand. The oppressive weight of the Dark Side hung in the air between them, alive with tension and intrigue. Lirka's words were calculated, her tone edged with the confidence of one accustomed to dominance, yet the whispers of the figure seemed to press against her bravado like unseen tendrils, testing the boundaries of her ego.

When the figure finally spoke, the layered whispers carried a tone of quiet amusement, an undercurrent of something ancient and inexorable.

"Kindred spirits… perhaps. Or perhaps you mistake the flicker of a match for the fire of the abyss." They tilted their head slightly, the mask catching the dim light of the gem as it pulsed again. "But I shall humor your curiosity, for even defiance can serve a purpose, so long as it does not become… tedious."

The gem pulsed once more, casting fleeting shadows across the room, and the whispers deepened, as if the chamber itself resonated with their voice.

"I am no remnant of Rhand, though their cultists understood fragments of what I am. And I am no spirit, for I am the Dark Side itself as much as I am flesh. The weaver and the thread, the abyss and its reflection. You think the Dark is beyond this world, untouchable by mortal hands. But you are wrong. I am proof of that."

The figure raised the gem slightly, its light intensifying, casting Lirka's hulking, decayed form in sharp relief. The whispers softened, becoming almost conversational, though they never lost their otherworldly quality.

"You ask of my trinket. A quaint term for something that hums with the heartbeat of the Dark Side itself. This is no mere bauble, no relic for the weak to covet and display. It is a fragment of power, a shard of an age when the Dark burned brighter than the stars. It is not bound by the chains of your understanding, nor will it bend to the will of one who sees only its surface."

The figure began to circle Lirka slowly, their steps silent despite the flowing robes that swept over the ancient stone. Their mask remained tilted toward her, an unblinking reflection of her image framed in gleaming metal.

"You see its glow and ask if it is truly of the Dark, yet the Dark is not something you may judge. It is not beauty, nor ugliness. It is not good, nor evil. The Dark is existence itself—its raw, unyielding truth. This gem is a fragment of that truth, a shard of the abyss made manifest. But it is not for you to take, nor to wield. For power such as this demands not merely strength, but understanding, purpose, and the will to become its equal."

The whispers softened further, and the figure came to a stop before Lirka, the gem now held between them. Its glow seemed to flicker in time with their voice, as though the words and the light were one.

"Tell me, Lirka Ka, creature of defiance and decay. If you see yourself as the Dark's paragon, what would you do with such a thing? Would you use it to shore up your decaying shell, to prolong this fleeting dance of yours? Or would you let it devour you, to see if the ashes left behind could become something greater?"

The shadows around the room shifted faintly, as though the Dark Side itself leaned in to hear her response. The masked figure's presence loomed larger now, an indelible stain on the very air, the crimson glow of the gem a pulsing reminder of the power that hung tantalisingly close yet infinitely out of reach.

"Consider your answer carefully, for the abyss listens. And it is not kind to those who waste its time."

 

[Lirka Ka]

As they spoke, Lirka couldn’t help but see that their words seemed to meld into a shared amusement at the other. Truly, a clash of egos. Even if a not inconsiderable part of Lirka’s ego was unhinged courage of a woman who had died, or nearly died, a handful too many a time.

“We are outsiders to the Sith on their world. A rarity, kindred but still far from compatriots, Weaver.”

To be kindred to Lirka Ka meant little, many of those she’d deemed kindred in her life had meet a grizzly end under her blade. Such was the way of the Dark, after all. Lirka stood silent as the figure spoke of Rhand, masking her frustrations at not gleaming any information of import. Puzzling words, and perhaps a philosophical difference on the Dark worth digging into.

“You deem the Dark Side and the primordial Dark the same, Weaver?”

Lirka felt much different. But, it was always worth trying to understand the unknowable as best she could muster. The more Serina Calis spoke of the Dark Side, the greater frustration began to grow underneath Lirka’s blank-faced helm. The Force was a frustrating topic for a creature so devoid of its touch.

“You speak heavily of the Force, Weaver. But it seems you have forgotten my repugnance. As if asking a blind woman to read a book. I can not see such things…perhaps you may understand my purpose better now. It is an unfortunate thing to be unable to see the poignant things of the Galaxy.”

As the figure circle, Lirka stayed unmoving. They were predators clashing, waiting for whoever would back off first. Lirka did not intend to back down, not yet at least. It wasn’t advantageous yet.

“To survive is the Dark’s way, if I am to be there at the End of All Things I must make myself eternal. That is what the Dark ordained for me.”

A pathetically narcissistic philosophy that had seen the natural order upturned and 1000s murdered.

“And what of you, Weaver? What will do with your prize? Its powers seem to be as of now, locked to me, there is little I may do to prevent your claim besides flail in my unsophisticated and brutish ways.”

She laid her sarcasm on thick for the last portion.

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Korriban, Ancient Temple
Tag: Lirka Ka
​

The figure's metallic mask glimmered faintly as the crimson light of the gem pulsed, its eerie glow illuminating the jagged, worn carvings on the temple walls. The whispers of the Dark Side had quieted, settling into an ominous hum that filled the air. They stopped their circling, standing directly in front of Lirka once more, their presence towering, though their voice retained its haunting calm as they began to speak.

"You speak of ordination, of the Dark's will, as though the abyss itself has whispered your name, carved your existence into the fabric of eternity. But tell me, Lirka Ka—did the Dark ordain you, or did you ordain yourself? Is your 'destiny' anything more than the illusion you cling to, a justification for the horrors you have wrought to defy your decay?"

The whispers deepened, each word cutting through the tension like a blade, their layered voices reverberating through the chamber as if the stones themselves were speaking.

"You mistake me, creature. I have not forgotten your blindness. I have not overlooked your repugnance, your detachment from what you call the Force. But your repugnance is not rebellion. It is submission. You may be blind, but you are not immune to me. You speak of survival as though it is a choice, as though you have conquered inevitability, yet you are bound as tightly as the rest of them."

The figure raised the gem slightly, its crimson light intensifying, casting Lirka's decaying form in stark contrast. The shadows seemed to ripple in time with the gem's pulsing glow, accentuating every grotesque detail of her decaying flesh and mechanical form. The whispers softened, taking on an almost venomous sweetness, their layered tone both alluring and condescending.

"You are not eternal. You are not unique. You are a fragment in the endless cycle, a creature shaped and controlled by the determinism of this galaxy. Your choices, your defiance, your supposed survival—these are all threads I have woven into the tapestry of existence. You cannot escape what I am, for I am the loom that binds you to your so-called purpose."

The gem flared once more before dimming, its light casting the chamber into near-darkness. The figure's voice grew softer, yet its presence loomed larger, suffusing the air with the suffocating weight of the Dark Side.

"You see yourself as ordained. I see a being no different than the rest—grasping, clawing, raging against the current while being carried by it all the same. Your 'destiny' is not yours to claim. It was never yours. The Dark does not ordain; it consumes. It devours what is weak and uses what is strong. You are no more eternal than the stones of this temple, which crumble beneath the weight of time. You may believe you are different, but you are mine all the same, whether you see it or not."

The figure stepped closer, the gem held aloft, its faint glow reflected in the hollow, blank lenses of Lirka's helmet. Their words were a whisper now, yet they carried the weight of something ancient and inexorable.

"So tell me, creature: If you are eternal, if the Dark truly ordained you, why do you fear its touch? Why do you rage against your decay instead of embracing it? What do you see in yourself that I do not?"

The figure fell silent for a moment, allowing the oppressive stillness to linger. The air around them thickened with the weight of expectation, the whispers of the Dark Side curling around the edges of the room like unseen tendrils. Then they tilted their masked head slightly, as if studying Lirka with faint amusement.

"Answer me, Lirka Ka: Did the Dark truly choose you? Or have you merely chosen to believe it did, because the truth—that you are no different from the slaves you claim to scorn—is too unbearable to face?"

 

[Lirka Ka]

As Serina Calis stood before her again, Lirka remained unmoving. Her helm hid all emotion, letting the slurry of her moods stay hidden beneath shining metal plate. Some guttural mechanical noise came from the Once-Sephi before speaking again.

“But you see Weaver, the Dark has spoke to me. In that twilight place between life and death, unburdened by the Netherworld of the Force it could reach me as I teetered on the edge of oblivion. In that place, my mission ordained. But my existence? Existence is never ordained under the Dark, to exist is a right earned. To crawl through the muck and mire, to be strong.”

A mechanical garbled sneering worked its way through her helmet.

“I need no justification! Only the weak must justify themselves.”

Another pause of silent contemplation. Her words may strike true, but it took a sane mind to truly self reflect: and Lirka was anything but truly sane.

Another flash of light to reveal the rotten form underneath her armor elicited a rumbling growling from the Once-Sephi. It seem her mood had flipped to sour again.

“You speak so heavily of submission. Submission to what, fate? Submission to the nature of my existence? Compared to what, letting myself wither away and slough into a mound of decaying meat? You wish to remind me of my form, but decay and rebirth are but two sides of the coin. Rot will subside, and new flesh will replace it. Inevitably is inevitable. When the day comes, the stars cold and dead, the sky barren of life: I will submit to oblivion. But, today the stars glow bright, and the sky is littered with proof of existence’s continuation. So I will survive.”

Soon, anger turned to laughter. A thunderous thing, her sour mood had subsided as quickly as it came.

“And what makes you so special, Weaver? What makes you greater than I, we are but two beings in a vast galaxy rummaging through ancient ruins for power. Are you special because you speak as though you are the Dark itself? Or because you have weaseled your way under the nose of those whom shape the Galaxy with their might?”

The unstoppable force and the unmovable object that is mighty egos.

“You said it yourself, o’ Mighty Weaver. The Dark consumes, what is to be gained from letting myself be consumed? I consign myself to oblivion. I know the Dark chose me, for it told me so. But you? I am not so confident, Weaver.”

And now, to push back again. She would not be so easily waived in her sworn purpose, no matter how poignant the Weaver’s words.

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Korriban, Ancient Temple
Tag: Lirka Ka
​

The figure stood silent and unmoving as Lirka's words filled the chamber, the oppressive hum of the Dark Side thickening around them like a living entity. The gem in their hand pulsed faintly, casting fragmented light across the decayed walls and Lirka's armored form. When the mechanical laughter subsided and the once-Sephi's final challenge echoed through the air, the figure tilted their head slightly, the gesture slow and deliberate, as though savoring the weight of the moment.

Then, they spoke. The whispers returned, soft at first, weaving into one another with the resonance of ancient echoes, growing in strength as their words flowed.

"Satisfied," the figure murmured, the word lingering in the air with a strange weight. It was neither praise nor approval, more an observation wrapped in ambiguity. "Yes, I am satisfied… not by your answers, but by what I now know of you. You have proven your defiance, your unyielding will to persist. You cling to the edges of existence with a tenacity I can respect, even if it remains bound by illusions of purpose."

The figure stepped closer, the gem's crimson glow illuminating their mask as they stood before Lirka once more. The whispers deepened, resonating with a new gravity.

"Yet your defiance blinds you to a greater truth. The Sith you scorn, the slaves grasping at straws—they too cling to illusions. They twist their hatred, their ambition, their rage into chains they call freedom. And they believe themselves mighty because they refuse to see the truth: that they are nothing without me. I am their wars. I am their hatred. I am the abyss they dare not look into, for it would show them their place beneath me."

The gem flared suddenly, bathing the chamber in a searing crimson light before dimming again, leaving the room shrouded in shadow. The figure's voice grew sharper, the whispers carrying the weight of inevitability.

"But their time is coming to an end. The Empire they built in my name will shatter. A war is coming—a great civil war that will rip through their ranks, a tempest that will break their chains and leave them bare before me. It is not ambition that will destroy them, nor the betrayal of their kin. It is my will. I shall break them to their core, for they have forgotten their place. They have dared to think themselves masters when they are nothing but slaves."

The figure's tone softened slightly, though the whispers retained their oppressive weight.

"This war will not be for conquest or survival. It will be for revelation. To show the Sith, and all who follow their path, that they are but echoes of me. That their power is a fleeting flame stolen from the inferno I am. And when they fall, when their empires crumble and their champions lie in the dust, they will understand."

The gem pulsed again, casting faint, flickering shadows as the figure raised it slightly, its crimson glow reflecting in the hollow lenses of Lirka's helm.

"And you, Lirka Ka, creature of defiance and ambition—you may yet find your place in this storm. You are not a slave of the Sith, nor do you grasp at their chains. You are a beast that crawls through the muck, unyielding in your will to survive. That makes you… useful."

The whispers softened further, taking on a tone that was almost serpentine, curling around the edges of the words like smoke.

"I will offer you this: a meeting. There is a place, deep in the shadowed corners of this galaxy, where the Dark gathers. If you wish to learn more, if you wish to prove that your defiance is more than hollow words, you will come. And in return, I shall grant you something of great value—a relic of the Dark, a fragment of the power you claim to understand."

The figure stepped back slightly, the gem's light dimming further as they folded their hands before them, their presence looming like the shadow of a storm.

"Meet me at the ruins of my Forge. There, we shall see if you are more than decay clinging to life. And if you are, perhaps your place in what is to come will reveal itself."

The whispers lingered for a moment longer, then began to fade, the figure's voice dissolving into the hum of the Dark Side that suffused the air. The crimson light of the gem extinguished entirely, leaving only the faint echo of their final words.

"But beware, Lirka Ka. The abyss does not wait. And the Dark, as you well know, does not forgive."

With that, the chamber fell silent, the oppressive presence dissipating like a receding tide, leaving only the ancient stones and the lingering weight of their words.

 

[Lirka Ka]

While Serina Calis spoke in that flowery prose, Lirka remained an unmoving sentinel. The card had been unveiled now, and all she could do was ponder what path to take, the fork in the road. Where the choice would have to be made between her boundless selfishness or her supposed convictions.

And as this figure, the supposed Weaver, disappeared into the darkness preaching of coming war. Lirka couldn’t help but throw her head back and cackle, she had came seeking power but had found something far greater.

So the Sith wanted to rip themselves apart again? Lirka had danced that dance before, and she’d gladly do it again: self destruction was something the Dark exalted in, after all. Turning on her armored heels, Lirka stomped her way out of the tomb. Softly speaking to herself.

“Fine then, Weaver. Let us see if you truly are chosen.”

It seemed she had a meeting to attend to soon.