Duel DAGGERFALL - Ashlan Revenant.

[Serina Calis]

Ashlan Revenant.
Location: Korriban
Objective: Victory.
Allies: ???
Opposing Force: Heinrich Faust
Tags: ???

"History is not written by the winners, but by those who are left."​

The wind howled like a dirge across the scarred skin of Korriban. It whispered the names of the dead — Sith Lords long turned to dust, tyrants whose bones still remembered thrones that bled galaxies. Sand slithered across the cracked valley floor, rust-red and thick with memory, clinging to the cursed stone like blood refusing to dry. The skies above were a roiling vault of bronze and shadow, lit by the distant flare of a dying star that cast everything in hues of ruin and fire. Time had no dominion here. Only power did.

She walked alone.

Each footstep sank slightly into the ancient dust, leaving behind impressions as if the planet itself recoiled at her presence. Her form moved with grace sculpted from domination, wrapped in the silken folds of a cape that billowed with phantom motion. The obsidian and crimson of her armor pulsed faintly with life — veins of corruption flowing through her like a second heartbeat, a song whispered by the Dark Side itself. Her golden hair spilled from beneath a shadowed hood like sunlight sinking into an abyss, catching the dim light and turning it blasphemous.

Her name was Serina.

The Force bent around her like a curtain drawn taut — not with weight, but with seduction. Her presence called to the ruins and tombs, not as a guest but as a daughter returning home. She was corruption given form, sin walking on two legs, each movement a promise of power… and destruction. Where others clung to hatred or passion like infants, she wielded them as instruments — no more emotional than the blade that lay across her back, humming with murderous purpose.

Ebon Requiem.

Its haft was the spine of a forgotten god, its blade a whisper etched in phrik and fire. Runed etchings glowed faintly in the thick, death-tainted air. It wasn't a weapon. It was a herald. A prophecy. And it shone like a star fallen from grace upon her back.

She had come to Korriban to claim what was hers.

An artefact—lost to time, obscured by purpose. A relic older than the Sith themselves, hidden beneath layers of darkness so deep they had swallowed even the memory of the stars above. But she had heard the whisper. She always heard the whispers. And now, the planet had begun to sing.

Yet it was not that which made her pause.

Atop a ridge of shattered basalt, far beyond the reach of her immediate senses but within the eternal grasp of the Force, stood a figure.

A silhouette cut in pale gold against the storm.

She felt them before she truly saw them. Not as an image, but as a disturbance — a ripple of light, burning and pure and alien in this place of rot and ruin. The Light Side. Raw and incandescent. Not passive. Not serene. But unyielding. It struck her like a blade made of judgment. And in that moment, for the first time in many months, Serina's smile faded.

The figure did not move. Did not speak. It simply was — a column of presence that defied the natural order of this world.

For a moment, all was still.

Then, slowly, Serina reached behind her back. Her fingers brushed the haft of her weapon. Ebon Requiem stirred in answer, the runes glowing brighter as her will poured into it. The air warped around her as if the Force itself dared not touch her without permission. She drew the halberd free in a single, elegant motion, its wicked crescent blade casting warped reflections in the dusty light.

And yet she did not advance. Nor did the figure retreat.

They watched one another across the gulf of shattered stone and spiritual fury. Not adversaries… not yet. But inevitabilities. Light and Dark had danced this waltz before, but never like this. Not with her. Not with them.

Her grip tightened on the halberd. The pulse of ancient Korriban beat beneath her feet.

She felt the tension — not fear, never that — but something deeper. The recognition of a worthy thread in the tapestry. Something radiant. Something dangerous. Something she might one day break… or be broken by.

"So," Serina whispered, her voice low and sweet as poisoned honey, though none stood near enough to hear it. "You shine so brightly… but how long before your light flickers out?"

The figure said nothing. But the Force roared between them.

This was no meeting of chance. This was a standoff carved by destiny itself — the beginning of a thread that would stretch through temples and tombs, across blades and bloodshed, until one of them stood alone atop the ruin of the other.

Serina smiled again, but now it was slow… wicked… delighted.

 

[Heinrich Faust]

Heinrich Faust: Grand Marshal of the Ashlan Crusade

Tags: Serina Calis

It had been some time since Heinrich had visited the cursed wastes of Korriban. Not since the absolute madness of Pietro Demici had he been called here, and even then, Heinrich's presence was only in opposition. He had spent the past months questioning what had brought him here... no... not just him, but the movement as a whole. The Crusade had lost their way, and it led to their fall...

All of that was pushed to the back of his mind, for Heinrich had pledged to give up the cause long ago. Yet, try as he might, the Dark Side would never relent. Heinrich would tell his wife Oraada that he was done defending the galaxy, but even she knew that wasn't a promise he could keep.

His feet touched down upon the cursed dirt of Korriban, his intuition guiding him as best as it could. The Force guided him, sure, but he couldn't help but to ask which aspect of it guided his hand. Though a devout follower of the Ashla, Heinrich couldn't shake the feeling that his dark past might be what was guiding him here. It was enough to cause him to say a silent prayer, hoping that he would continue down the road laid before him by his holy goddess.

Soon enough, the dark energy seemed to coalesce, swirling about around a singular source. Heinrich looked upon the stranger, his heart heavy as he attempted to plead with them.

"The light endures... I pray that you may see its warm embrace."

It was not a threat, but rather a last ditch effort to save a single soul. Ashla knows he had tried so many times...

 

[Serina Calis]

Ashlan Revenant.
Location: Korriban
Objective: Victory.
Allies: ???
Opposing Force: Heinrich Faust
Tags: ???

"History is not written by the winners, but by those who are left."​

The wind whispered secrets to her.

Foul, ancient breath slid across Serina's skin like a lover's touch—neither warm nor cold, but knowing. The ghosts of dead Sith stirred in the sand, drawn not by reverence but recognition. This was not a pilgrim come to kneel. This was a conqueror come to claim.

And then… a voice.

A man's voice, strained by sorrow, gilded in righteousness.

Serina did not answer at first. She stood unmoving, the curve of her halberd's wicked blade catching the pallid light like a serpent's fang glinting in the dark. The distance between them was measured not in meters, but in meaning—the space between absolution and desecration.

She slowly turned.

Golden hair caught the wind, streaming behind her like a banner of damnation. Her cape curled and coiled, alive with unseen malice. The glowing crest upon her chest, shaped like a heart and pulsing in wicked violet, seemed to throb faster as the light side dared to speak to her.

He stood tall. The righteous one. Cloaked in strength. Haunted by conviction. She did not know his name, but the Force made it deliciously clear—he was not simply an interloper. He was the opposite. A warden of the light, standing in defiance of what she was, what she had become.

Her blue eyes, crystalline and cold, found him.

Then she smiled.

Not warmly. Not gently. But deeply. Seductively. Terrifyingly.

A smile that did not ask for permission—it took.

And then she spoke, her voice rich with unholy music, dripping from her lips like velvet dipped in poison.

"The Light…" she echoed, stepping forward, "is a cage lined in gold leaf and good intentions."

Another step. Her halberd lowered slightly, the blade dragging across the ancient stone with a sound like a tomb opening. She did not raise her voice—there was no need. Her presence filled the air, like smoke, like silk, like rot.

"It endures, yes. Like a hymn trapped in the throat of a dying man. But tell me, holy one…" Her head tilted, just slightly. "How many lives must you watch burn before you realize your precious Light does not save? It shackles. It delays the inevitable. It forgives the unforgivable. And it is so… dreadfully predictable."

She stepped closer.

"I am not here for its warmth."

Her hand caressed the edge of her halberd, the runes glowing brighter as the weapon responded to her voice, to her hunger.

"I am here to snuff it out."

The wind screamed through the valley. The dark side stirred violently now, as though emboldened by her declaration. Her aura expanded, curling tendrils of shadow into the edges of his perception. Her voice dropped, becoming softer… more intimate… more invasive.

"But you... you still burn with it, don't you?"

She could feel it now. Like a fire trying to survive a hurricane. The resistance. The hope. His aura was a fortress—and oh, how she loved breaking those down.

"You speak of mercy," she purred, "but I see torment. I see doubt. I see a man who has buried too many good intentions, who has asked why one too many times. And still... you came here. To me."

Her eyes shimmered.

"Was it your Light who guided you? Or the part of you that wants to fall?"

She let that hang in the air like a spell.

Another step. Now she stood close enough for her shadow to touch his boots. Her halberd remained still, like a serpent waiting for the perfect strike.

"I do not want to destroy the Light, Jedi. Not truly."

She leaned forward, her voice now a whisper meant only for him.

"I want to own it. I want to break it until it begs to serve me. I want to corrupt its every acolyte until they kneel and thank me for their liberation. I want to take you, pure and defiant as you stand… and hear you weep when you finally see the truth of what you are beneath all that armor."

The Force rippled with tension. Her words weren't just words—they were a current, seeking cracks in his foundation.

And then, with sudden stillness, she straightened again. That smirk returned, like a slash carved across porcelain.

"Let us witness the Light cry once more!"

She readied for battle.