Faction Ballad of Shiraya: Crowning A Queen | CIS

[Darth Elyria]

Tag: Darth Metus
Attire: Black Itchy Frock
Location: Near A Lantern Building Table

“I will not play this game, Isley.”

His confidence was irksome. Elyria huffed a little bit, but, her prehensile hair continued to lash and braid itself around him in thin tendrils. It would seem that he found her responses incredibly amusing whilst imagining her, humorously, burdened by the depths of motherhood. Some part of her was bothered by what felt like disillusionment. Did he not believe her capable?

She lifted his thoughts without interpretation and her arms only tightened across her chest. The Vicelord might have learned to block his thoughts from his white rabbit, but Elyria, found them unfiltered and unequivocally transparent. He belonged to her regardless of the displaced timeline. He had never been able to keep himself from her. This would be no different—Almost, as if he were genetically dispositioned. She was a weakness, but also, a strength. “That oven—"

Her temper flared a little bit and he would feel the prickling sensation of night rising on the back of his neck. It was a cooling breeze, though, alive and charged with might. The scent of jasmine and rain. It was not perfume, but power, and it would betray her aged eloquence. Modern technology pissed her off. “That oven is a menace.”

“In a universe where a small version of myself existed, I will have you know that they do not scribble. They create works of abstract art, mosaics, on the walls. We should be so lucky to have that.”

The pride she felt for her non-existent offspring only doubled when he affirmed his belief that she could handle a youngling. But of course, she could. An elegant eyebrow quirked when he followed that thought with thinking her methods “odd” or “strange” but she left her sable skinned companion off the hook for the time being. He was already forced to accept that she knew multiple versions of him. He seemed to think it laughable. That he would not share.

“I am serious.”

Words, spoken, while her cheek rest in his hand. It felt normal. Natural. Yet, it was wrong for many reasons he would never accept. Dark eyes snapped open when he countered her previous commentary and she leaned forward to let her teeth snap at him a little. Baffled, by his ignorance. “Here and then. Then and now. Time has a mood, a will, and it is not pleased with us. One too many temporal disturbances.”

Elyria turned her face away.

It was something to think about. Though—She couldn’t consider it. It wasn’t destined to meet him for several decades she had no idea of the full extent of the damage they had done. Her shoulders tightened. The life she knew was so close; But fading, with every moment. “…In truth…”

“I do not know.”

It killed her to admit that. Weakness. To admit that her sight among the continuum was no longer pristine and clear. Some things came to be. Some, did not. She could no longer see the future as it had once been. It was no longer set in stone. Like sand slipping through an hourglass. Tik, tok. “If I am here now—Will I exist then?”

Or would the man she loved go without?

Would he be with someone new?

Elyria scowled. Angered.

Inconceivable.

 

[Darth Metus]

Wearing: Executive Formal Wear​

NABOO

I will not play this game, Isley.

Ah, so she would not disprove him? The Sith afforded himself the smallest hint of satisfaction whilst her hair had its way. The tendrils of onyx twisted and twained, forming what appeared to be braids as they coiled. Isley, perhaps wisely, decided not to goad the primordial woman forward. He had challenged her to disprove him - to see if his assumptions about what she desired were accurate. But, given the response he left it lie for the moment.

Meanwhile, Elyria strolled into the manor of his thoughts as if she had the spare key. It was not as if he had made much effort to deny her entry; frankly he did not make any such attempt. This was...far different than the ceaseless river that he shared with Srina. With his apprentice, it was almost as if their thoughts were one and the same at this point. Her thoughts felt like his own. Her instincts. His power. They were effectively one whole at times. Yet this? This was a willing visitor in a secluded estate. One who strolled into the darkness and found it gentle. Cold - but as a reprieve from the scorching summer.

Absently, the man tapped his temple - as if to indicate his thoughts. "I hope the furniture up here is to your liking." His remark, as per the norm, was colored with snark. Yet, her temper at the mention of the oven caused his eyebrow to raise ever so slightly. Though it was never featured in her expression, he could feel the weight of her presence upon him. Rain. Jasmine. Just like that day above Kuat. "You're right. That oven is a menace." he said aloud.

His thoughts played a much more dangerous game. That oven is an inanimate object.

Nonetheless, when she spoke of the hypothetical universe where there was a mini-Elyria, Isley chuckled. The mental image of waking up to an abstract mural, crafted solely from crayons, was far too humorous to ignore. "So, what, you'd have the wall framed? Praise the little one for gracing the Galaxy with such finesse?" He smiled, shaking his head. "Yep. The more we talk about it, the more I'm sure. Menace ovens aside - you'd be a great mother."

The manor of his thoughts would echo a single sentiment. A sentiment he did not even realize he harbored. Envy. For the hypothetical child that would have the privilige of such support, such care, even in the midst of an objective screw up. Ruining a wall being regarded as a mosaic? Versus his own upbringing - of hurled bottles and being thrown into battle. Their hypothetical small would have it quite good. But there was no telling what the future held. Well, at least in the Sith's eyes. Elyria had seen what tomorrow could have in store. And she was of the mind that he would not share - even if it was with himself.

She wasn't pleased with his thoughts on the matter. She spoke about the "mood" of time, and how it was not pleased with them. Her displeasure on the subject was written in how she sat. How her jaw clenched and how her shoulders tightened. But in the end, she admitted that she did not know. And such an admission was not one to be poked at. The Sith simply exhaled lightly. If I am here now - Will I exist then? That was a logical question. One that deserved a logical answer.

"You see today as past. I see today as present. If you are how now, of course you'll be there tomorrow. Let's say...tomorrow was ten years from now. But you stay with me everyday for the next decade. Where will you be when that day rolls around? Right here. With me."

He settled his offhand upon the table. "By then you'll have figured out the oven and moved onto datapads."

Darth Elyria​

 

[Darth Elyria]

Tag: Darth Metus
Attire: Black Itchy Frock
Location: Near A Lantern Building Table

“The wallpaper pleases me.”

Her words were moody, as usual, but there was some attempt at regal humor. The more she thought about the damnable oven and the timer that some had claimed a “child” could use the more the scent of jasmine increased in the air. The fact that it was easier for her to walk the halls of his mind than it was for her to digest the banality of modern technology was baffling. His thoughts filtered toward her once more and she turned, fully, to shoot him an increasingly darkened stare. “I will burn your inanimate object to a cinder, again, and everything else surrounding it.”

His beloved Well would be in ruins and that would serve him well.

Her hair tightened around him to the point where it might have gotten uncomfortable before it loosened, slowly, at the talk of a youngling. He might have been right before. Might have been. She refused to give him the satisfaction if only to keep that smug grin from his features. He always thought he was right. Foolish, man. Her eyes narrowed a little when he questioned the certain genius of her hypothetical offspring. “Yes. Wouldn’t you?”

“The mind of a child is to be lifted. Not burdened or limited—”

Elyria fell silent.

Her rant would have continued for far longer despite the fact that he had already admitted to her superiority were it not for the images that drew from his memory. Loathing welled in her chest. What parent would treat their child in such a manner? They were precious, beyond measure. A legacy to carry their greatness into the future. Her brow furrowed.

Rather than to comment on it directly her temperament flipped again. On a dime. One moment she smelled of floral strength, power, and oblivion while the next found her leaning forward to let their noses touch. The small movement of back and forth before she pulled away again would be the only response she could offer. Silent, apology. Were it within her grasp to travel through the ages and rewrite history without drastic repercussions. How many of his children wouldn’t be born?

Would his nation even exist?

The words he offered about the nature of their paradox caused a sigh to escaper her lips. Her hair seemed to shift, all at once, as if it were taking a breath. “Perhaps, you’re correct.”

“But if you are wrong…Do you realize that you sentence your own future to emptiness?”

Elyria shook her head, slowly, though the faintest edge of her lips curved sardonically.

“You are wishful, Isley. Your oven is a death trap and the datapads belong in the trash compactor. I can no more discern their use than a frog can fly.”, she intoned, briefly, before looking back at him knowingly. “Without you throwing it.”

“Or paying one of your minions to throw it.”

 

[Srina Talon]

N A B O O
Tag: Rann Thress
Objective: Crowning Ceremony
Location: Bar
Dressed in: White
What Are You Doing: Drinking
_________________________________________________________​

"Wrong."

The simple word was wrapped around cold sentiment. She let the snowflake that she had created move around her fingers, briefly, while silvery orbs followed the endless creation of pristine fractals. It was an exercise in skill. In memory. It was far easier to make wide, sweeping gestures with the Force versus tearing down castles. Brick by brick, it was easy to break. Something so small and intricately delicate required focus that most wouldn't have. It was akin to threading the needle, abstract, in that there was no end. "Well, partially."

"You are a man from Onderon."

If he listened closely he would hear a wintry echo of humor. She turned his words over, just as she turned the crystalline snowflake. End over end. She didn't seem to mind that the bartender was staring at them, nor, did she care that her little display was causing whispers among those that passed by. Naboo was home to the Confederacy. There were thousands of Knights Obsidian on the streets. The sooner they got used to the presence of the Force out in the open? The better. "Visual abstraction is not merely aesthetic, so to say, this snowflake is not merely beautiful. It is a sign of biological necessity. By reducing visual complexity, making it smaller, more intricate, the result increases perceptual efficiency and allows us to recognize objects, things, and people. We are given the chance to evaluate movement and orient ourselves in space with great rapidity."

"Without the abstract, the mind would be chained to detail. To every fractal; While the world passes by."

She paused, briefly, though not without letting the object roll over her fingers again. It was never about the object. It was never about a snowflake hanging in the low boughs of willowy trees, though, it made for a gentle story from Clan Talon. Eshan had the chance to boast some of the most skilled warriors in history. Flame dancers, who could literally flay a man in moments. Ceremonial artists that perfected reading others so well that they could spot an assassin from the moment their feet touched the planet. True sight was not an innate gift. It was honed, earned.

"It is a training exercise. See not the object, but, the underlying truth of reality that surrounds. Look outward. Not in."

The slender woman tended to view her surroundings with every sense she had available. Nothing, not even the Force, was quite so accurate as her eyes. She could read intent, hedge her bets, and deliver the killing blow without so much as lifting a finger. It didn't take any superior upbringing to practice and train. It took time, dedication, and a willingness to understand that not all things were as they appeared to be. If Rann Thress could learn to see as she saw, to move as she moved, he would be a step above the rest. One step closer to all that he wished for. All he longed for.

All that she ought to deny him.

"You are Sith, Rann Thress. Be a Sith. The things you've learned throughout your life, the limitations you accept, are unconscious scripts that will destroy you. There are nuances to 'being pleasant' that can make or break you. Do not ignore the many avenues you could walk in the growth of Rannon. You need only to see it. More than anything...Do not search for love. Do not search for adoration. Do not let fear of rebellion bring you low when your people very well may blame you for a poor crop, simply, because the weather turned. Take what is required. Use, what is required."

The frozen fractals dropped slowly back into the glass. Bit by bit, it broke down to base parts and became little more than water once more. The perspective of the Echani was unique. Esoteric, and more than a little eccentric. The more she explained, however, the more he would see. The way she acted. The way she moved. Her perception of the world and the perception that the world had of her was unmistakable. She held it by the throat; Always, and forever. It would breathe when she allowed it. Speak, when she allowed it.

That was reality.

"Pleasantness is preserved by an edge of obligation written by societal norms. I've never found favor in that. Rather, I read the statistical baseness of men and bet on irrefutable odds of responses they cannot hide. Their weaknesses shine bright in the dark. Pleasantries are broken, denounced at every turn, if an advantage can be gained. My name, my moniker of the Dread Queen, relies on the terror in a word. History. Fear will preserve while dread of punishment...It never fails."

 

[Rann Thress]

J E A L O U S Y​

WEARING: A simple suit Coat
TAG: Srina Talon

The length of the night had started to make itself very known to Rann as he finished his glass of wine. The warmth and weightlessness in his head were a solid indication of that.

Perhaps it’s time to stop drinking he thought to himself as he put the empty glass back on the bar, only for the bartender to absentmindedly refill it while Srina spoke, which in turn caused Rann to likewise absentmindedly take it back into his hands and continue sipping as she spoke to him, imparting her wisdom or advice onto him with every word. At least, he thought so. The eloquence with which she spoke quickly outshone the facsimile of class he attempted to portray during these social interactions. Gradually, the drink began wearing down at the façade, revealing, at least partially, the man beneath.

“Uh huh.” He said, taking another drink. As he smacked his lips, he looked down at the glass and suddenly remembered he intended to stop drinking. He looked at the bartender with his brow furrowed and lips pursed in annoyance before taking another drink and setting the almost empty glass on the bar. As the bartender again absentmindedly moved to fill it, he put a hand over his glass, “No. Move on.” he said, turning back towards Srina.

“So….” he began, “The idea isn’t the snowflake. The snowflake only matters because it shows that you are able to focus on something close while maintaining….awareness of what surrounds you?”

He looked around the room, wondering if he could do that. If he understood what it was she tried to teach him, she was able to form the snowflake, talk with Rann, and be acutely aware of the goings on in the vicinity. Multitasking and an omniscience that the course of this conversation, everything he knew of her person told him she was entirely capable of such a feat. A feat he knew himself incapable of. He was not even aware of the bartender’s movements not three feet away from him. The idea was more than a little frustrating, on top of everything else. And he couldn’t help but wonder if Srina’s following words to “Be a Sith” were encouragement, or perhaps permission in a weird way, to kill the bartender for this perceived slight, he thought with a smile. Probably not, but it was a cathartic thought for a second.

“Hm.” Rann put a shoulder on the bar and tapped his cold metallic fingers on the surface, producing loud ping sounds with each impact.

“Be a Sith. hm. Work towards my goal with no regards towards any potential outcomes? As long as what I do advances my cause? Hm.” He gave real thought and a long pause for these questions he more asked himself than her.

“I do wonder if I’ve been towing the line more than I should, actually.” A drink.

“Too much in the grey. Trying to be something. I don’t know. Trying to find something to be instead of being what I am. Be a sith.” he said, incredulously, scanning his surroundings. If only it was that easy.
But is that who I am? What I am? he thought. He hadn’t acted like one. He hadn’t been a boogeyman. He hadn’t schemed to control the galaxy like some Palpatine-esque villain. He hadn’t destroyed the Jedi, destroyed other Sith, killed his master, destroyed worlds.

He was just a man who was unfortunate enough to be caught in a traumatic situation and handled it in the worst possible way. He had given name to this feeling, this presence within him that felt more like him than he did. Darth Qanah. A gnawing at him, the Dark Side given form. But at this point Rann Thress and Darth Qanah had gradually melded into something else. Not one, not the other. But both. Able to go one way or the other. But what good was non committance? The time would come, one day, for a path to be chosen. It was clear which one Srina Talon would prefer.

“You’ve given me much to think about. Thank you,” he said, reflecting on her words as he finished the last of his glass. Against his better judgement, he flagged the bartender down for a refill and continued sipping at it. The calmness it gave him was worth whatever came after.

After a minute of quiet thinking, he spoke,

“I do appreciate the words. I think it will take more than this night for me to walk away with some new understanding of the world,” he chuckled, “but I will try. I...well, I feel I understand what you’re saying, where you’re coming from, and your intention. I...I think.” another chuckle, another drink. “I don’t know. I think I’ve reached my limit for emotionally stimulating conversations while at parties.” he finished, speaking into his glass before drinking once more, drinking it all down and placing it back down on the bar. “This advice. Help. Guidance, orders, whatever. This conversation won’t be forgotten.” For better or worse.

If he chose to follow this advice of hers to the letter…. What would he be? Was Srina Talon aware of what path she could set him on? He'd be a Monster.

“Dread Queen. Hm.” he chuckled at the name. One she had earned, of course. “You’re many things. I’m not quite sure motivational speaker is one of them. But, this was a nice conversation nonetheless. I only wish it...well. The topic seemed to be me. I only wish we spoke more about you, or anything else. I’m not my favorite subject.” he laughed, fueled by the drink that had now taken a hold over him. “But let’s let this be the last self-discovery discussion we have while at a party.” he laughed more. “Next one I’m at, I swear. No one better try to talk to me about my life choices. Three times is too many.”

​

 

[Srina Talon]

N A B O O
Tag: Rann Thress
Objective: Crowning Ceremony
Location: Bar
Dressed in: White
What Are You Doing: Socializing....?
_________________________________________________________​

There was always a moment when the mask came down.

The Rann Thress that she had met for the first time on Dorvalla had been almost hungry for his own greatness in the wake of her shadow. This boy played a game of pretend to try and appear how he thought the galaxy expected to see him. The Lord of Rannon, of course, commanded respect. He was titled and had the proper parentage. And yet…He was brought down to a level of simple humanity by a few glasses of alcohol from the bar at a party.

If she wanted him dead—Now would be the time.

She waited for her companion to decide whether or not he wanted to add more poison to his veins and let the snowflake twirl in delicate fingers. “Exactly. See all that there is—Not just what lays before you.”

Perhaps, he could be taught.

Silvery hair gleamed in the lantern light that almost seemed to make it taken on a golden hue. So often she would seem otherworldly, barely there, and yet the weight of her presence in the Force would feel overwhelming. The display she gave with the crystalline snowflake was simply a drop of water in the body of an ocean. Dark as night and seemingly endless.

“We all have a part to play. Sometimes, it is the part we choose. Sometimes, it is chosen for us. All that matters is that we play it well. Be what you are meant to be.”

She listened quietly while he contemplated his place. Be a Sith. It seemed so simple. He wore the corruption of one like a mantle. It weighed him down when it should have made him stand tall with an impression that lasted for miles. It almost felt like he didn’t know what to do with it. All that power, strength, and purpose present and ready at the tips of his fingers. Perhaps, he simply liked the chase.

Some men liked the idea of power. They liked the thought of others looking at them with subservient dependence and awe. They never really fathomed what it was that they would do with it once it was given. How to wield it. “There are many different types of Sith. I am. The Dark is my ever-present companion in this world and nothing, no one, knows me better. Do I sacrifice my own people?”

“Do I turn my back on my Master? Destroy him?”

The answer to that was fairly simple. There were many things he could be. Any number of things. He simply needed to be it rather than pretending to fit into some sort of imaginary mold. Srina herself did not prefer that he chose one specific path over the other. She simply preferred that he chose a path. The longer he waited the more confused he would become.

The less certain his future would be.

He thanked her for her advice and she nodded her head slowly when her snowflake disappeared. The words that left him seemed honest in comparison to the way he saw himself. The kiss of her lips twitched, briefly, while she with-held something that might have been a smile. She glanced down at her water and picked it up to take sip. It was still cold, but her touch made the glass frost over. Better.

“I am glad that you will not forget Rann Thress.”

What he became at the end of his path would always be up to him. If he chose to become that which he no longer recognized? That would be his decision. If he chose to give up his pursuit for greatness in the form of a corrupted Sith Lord? That would also, be his choice. She would respect either one but lingering with indecision and strangely romantic notions of significance? That was dangerous all on its own.

A ruler only had one task. Rule.

If they wavered?

They wouldn’t be ruling long.

“If you would like to continue this line of discussion in a less social setting—I do have a residence on Naboo. You can procure the address from the Presidium.”

He seemed to wish to know more about her, though. That was a first. Few people aside from Darth Empyrean or Darth Metus seemed to really care about her personal life. She had duty. Responsibility. None of that required knowledge of her in any capacity other than for her to perform adequately. Rann Thress would not understand that he was far more interesting than she was. “Where I am from…Everyone is the same. Mothers, daughters, sisters, all seem nigh identical. Outsiders often won’t know the difference between us unless told. I hold an affinity for ice. So does my mother.”

“I assure you...It is very dull."

 

[Rann Thress]

P A R T Y​

WEARING:

TAG: Srina Talon

Rann took a deep breath and pushed his glass away from the edge of the bar, away from him, with his hand and stood up as straight as he could, with a hand to stabilize him on the bar. His head was lightened by the wine he had drank and he gave extra caution and care to the movements he made and the words he spoke.



When offered a chance to continue the line of discussion elsewhere, her private residence, he blinked. So formal, even when offering to invite him over for discussion and mentoring. “Huh…heh” he let out a solitary chuckle and a smile, “Sure. I’d like that. What’s the worst that can happen.” He said. Emotionally or mentally stimulating conversations at parties had run their course. In a private setting, the two of them would, perhaps, be allowed to be more of who they truly were. Although Rann knew better than to think Srina Talon put on a persona, he did think that maybe there was something more to be gained if they, or at least he, felt he could speak freely.



“So…” he pondered.



“Really, how do I know that the you I’m talking to now is the you I fought next to on Dorvalla?” He blinked and shook his head, “ah, never mind. That’s silly. I don’t know. From what I see you’re better then most everything then I am. A planet full of superior beings like that? If they’re all at least somewhat like you? A lot to learn from.” He turned his gaze towards the people dancing near them, enjoying themselves.



“It can’t be all bad.” He stated, finally, with a shrug. “Probably a bit frustrating. I can imagine I’d be pretty annoyed.” He turned his head to the ground and mumbled “I bet even the children can beat me at most things.” He imagined all the children’s games he played growing up, and how Echani children likely knew how to perfectly execute everything about them. Expertly timed jumps in jump rope, perfect tracking for hide and seek. Rann wouldn’t stand a chance.



He laughed to himself and lifted his head back towards Srina, “I’m happy you never turned against my father. Either he’d be dead, so who knows where I’d be. Or you’d be dead, and…well who knows where I’d be. You didn’t, now I’m here. Drinking and talking with my Father’s apprentice. Huh. What a time to be alive.” He turned back towards the bartender and signaled for another drink, despite his best interest.

“I don’t know what I want. Not…for sure, not exactly. I want to be the best me that I can be. Whatever road that requires, whatever path I take. That’s the goal, that’s my goal.” He took a sip when the bartender topped him off.

​