Private DAGGERFALL - In Cradled Silence.

[Serina Calis]

In Cradled Silence.
Location: Polis Massa.
Objective: Begin developing further relations within the Sith Order.
Allies: ???
Opposing Force: ???
Tag: Darth Strosius

If an injury has to be done to a man it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared.
​

The ancient Sith laboratory slumbered, entombed in rock and silence. Nestled within one of the countless fractured asteroids drifting through the Polis Massa belt, the place was less a structure and more a scar in the Force—a wound gouged open long ago and left to fester.

The corridors were a cathedral of rot and shadows. Black durasteel walls cracked with age. Red emergency lights flickered like dying embers, their once-commanding glow now little more than a heartbeat in the dark. The air tasted of iron, dust, and old sins—filtered through generators that hadn't seen proper calibration in centuries.

Everything hummed with the memory of agony.

This had once been a stronghold of Darth Ophidia . Serina Calis knew little of the woman beyond fragments—half-whispered rumors among the archives of Coruscant, errant mentions of a shadow-cloaked tyrant who vanished into the unknown. A master of Strosius, so the whispers went.

And now, like a spider settling into another's hollowed-out web, Serina stood in Ophidia's sanctum, awaiting the man who had survived her tutelage.

She was the first warmth this place had known in decades.

A pool of white light spilled down from a broken fixture above, illuminating her where she stood at the heart of the chamber, directly before a cracked transparisteel window that offered a silent view of the belt outside. The stars glittered like knives.

She had made no attempt to repair the place. No need. The desolation served her purpose. It spoke of endings, and Serina was here to propose a beginning.

She stood poised—elegant, commanding. Her robes were a deep obsidian, embroidered with thread-of-gold patterns in the shape of open eyes and thorned vines, one shoulder bare to the cold air. Her long blonde hair had been pulled back and braided with onyx rings, each one engraved with ancient sigils. Her lips, painted in the color of crushed roses, curled faintly in amusement as she traced her gloved fingers along the edge of a rusted operating table.

One leg crossed over the other, her stance intentional. Relaxed, but not idle.

There was nothing idle about Serina Calis.

Her halberd—Ebon Requiem—was propped beside the table, gleaming faintly with its etched luminescence, casting soft shadows against the wall behind her like a second set of limbs. Watching. Waiting.

She had sent the invitation days ago, sealed with an encrypted signature only he would recognize. No commands. No threats. Just her voice, coiled like silk.

"Darth Strosius.
I extend this summons not as your rival… but as something more useful. A variable. A constant. A key.
Come to Polis Massa. Lab Theta-9. You'll find me where the shadows still remember your master's name.
We have much to discuss.
And I, so very much to offer."

She had not signed it. She didn't need to.

The Force knew. And he would, too.

Her fingers drummed idly on the table as she exhaled into the quiet. The air was freezing, recycled and stale, but she breathed it in as though it were a fine perfume.

Plans.

So many of them. Spiraling like galaxies inside her mind.

The Tsis'Kaar were becoming loud. Predictable. Heavy-handed. She did not despise them—not yet. But they were limiting. And Serina Calis had never believed in limits.

If she was to remake the Order in her image—if she was to weave the Force itself into a throne—then she would need allies, not servants.

She would need people like him.

Darth Strosius.

Powerful. Untamed. A storm in need of direction. The kind of man who could tear through the galaxy if given the right cause—or the right company.

She would not bind him. That was foolish. He would never serve.

But she could tempt him.

Serina turned, slow and deliberate, her gaze falling on the doorway where she knew he would eventually appear. Her voice, soft as velvet, broke the silence like the first sigh in a lover's bedchamber.

"Come now, Strosius. Don't keep me waiting in this tomb. The least you could do is make it worth the chill."

She smiled—

Not a grin. Not a sneer.

But something between promise and peril.

Because today would not be about blades.

Not yet.

Today was about deals.

And Serina Calis was ready to make one.

 

[Darth Strosius]

Polis Massa had once been a stronghold of the Tsis'Kaar, He should know it well enough. He had helped establish and then tear it down after all. In more recent days it seemed to be back in their hands once again but for this particular visit He wasn't interested in the planetoid itself, in fact He wasn't interested in any active places at all. Instead He sought out an old and forgotten place amidst the various asteroids that encompassed Polis Massa, one scattered away from the well traveled areas.

Darth Strosius stood from the cockpit of the small shuttle and switched the ship off with a press, only after the ramp had lowered to allow Him a means of exit of course. That Lab Theta-9 was even powered at all was nothing short of a miracle given the years of abandonment and disuse. One that He was thankful for given the circumstances.

Mysterious invitations usually didn't tend to end all that well in His experience but the voice that accompanied it was one that He unfortunately couldn't ignore. One that He'd have preferred to silence back on D'Qar. It seems like He may just get the chance to correct that mistake today if things went well. Whatever ambush she had planned He had little doubt that He'd be able to dissect and dismantle it, piece by bloody piece if necessary.

Heavy footsteps echoed in the otherwise silent facility, Darth Strosius had no need to hide His approach or presence here. Not only was He already expected He had fought across Polis Massa twice before, no former place of His master's was any safer or more imposing than Himself. Not even one as creaking and neglected as this one. It was pitiful really, but He wasn't in the mood nor in the business of restoring a place such as this. He'd leave that to whomever had set up shop in the asteroid belt to find and take care of.

Hopefully this would be a quick affair, and more decisive than their last meeting.

The moment He stepped into the doorway He paused, a hand briefly twitching as He debated on summoning His lightsaber into His grasp or not. "Oh. So it was you. How...interesting." He drawled, tone dry and dripping with an undertone of distaste. A specialty of His it seemed. Darth Strosius decided not to draw any blades just yet given that her own weapon wasn't in her hands, but He most certainly wasn't going to move His hand away from His side just yet even as He stepped into the room.

His pace was slow and methodical, that of a beast measuring its next opponent or potential prey, despite the heavy steps there was a certain lightness to them. A deceptive show of weight hiding the ease of movement in spite of it. "Please tell me that this isn't some droll event you've dragged me all the way out here to entertain. I'm afraid I have no patience for your..." He paused for a moment as He searched for the right term. "...eccentricities that you displayed in our first bout. Malum is more receptive to such pleasantries when in combat."

And more than likely outside of combat as well if He had to guess, although He didn't know for certain. He didn't want to know for certain. Regardless this woman had a knack for trying to get under His skin and He couldn't stand such blatant threatening. He idly wondered how close they were to some sort of exterior wall, when things came to a head it would be exceedingly fitting to throw her out into space. Something to entertain later for certain, after this ruse of conversation was spent. "Now, what do you want?"

Serina Calis

 

[Serina Calis]

In Cradled Silence.
Location: Polis Massa.
Objective: Begin developing further relations within the Sith Order.
Allies: ???
Opposing Force: ???
Tag: Darth Strosius

If an injury has to be done to a man it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared.​

Serina didn't turn when the heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor. She heard them well before they reached the doorway—she had felt them. The Sith Lord's presence was impossible to mistake: sharp, cold, and coiled like a serpent with a shattered fang.

A smile curled across her lips as she let her eyes close, breathing in the remnants of his arrival the way a vintner might savor the first uncorking of something ancient and rare. Not sweet, never sweet—no, he carried with him the taste of rust, of iron, of storms that never stopped.

The Force trembled ever so faintly around him. Not in reverence. Not in fear.

In recognition.

And that, more than anything, pleased her.

Her voice broke the air just as he crossed the threshold, soft and unhurried. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd lost your edge, Darth Strosius. Or perhaps your sense of curiosity."

She didn't need to turn. She could feel the heat of his disdain from across the room, could feel the flicker of his hand where it hovered near his weapon—unsure, but ready. Predictable. Admirable. Dangerous.

And perfect.

She turned only after he spoke, her movement slow, deliberate, a calculated bloom of elegance in this broken crypt of rust and ruin. The full sweep of her cloak followed behind her like a shadow made physical, its edge kissing the cracked floor as she pivoted to face him fully.

Her stance was regal. Her expression—refined, unreadable, and yet kissed with a dangerous softness at the edges, like silk wrapped around a knife.

"Of course it was me," she purred, her voice carrying like velvet smoke, smooth and uncoiling. "Who else would have the gall to reach out to you and not beg for forgiveness while doing so?"

Her eyes, bright as tarnished sapphires, found his through the mask, and for a long breath she simply looked at him. Studied him. She tilted her head slightly, as though savoring the image of him standing there in this ancient tomb of forgotten power, a ghost reborn amid the detritus of a past he helped destroy.

"You do wear contempt well," she added, a faint smirk lifting her painted lips. "But I wonder—are you always so scathing to women who seek your company, or am I simply the exception?"

The halberd remained untouched, resting silently at her side. It was deliberate. An offering, of sorts—an unspoken signal that this was not a battlefield, not yet.

"I didn't summon you here for a fight, Darth Strosius." She began to walk then—slowly, gracefully, the measured elegance of someone raised among whispers and daggers. "Not that I would object to another bout, mind you. But you'll find this invitation far more… civilized."

She stopped just a few paces from him, enough to make her proximity unsettling but not intimate. The line between professionalism and something far more decadent was where she lived, and she painted it with every breath.

"You see," Serina said, voice steady and coaxing, "I have plans. Ambitions. Some lofty. Some immediate. But none of them will succeed by strength alone. Not even mine."

Her fingers lifted, gloved in black leather etched with golden runes, and gently swept a lock of hair behind her ear, her movements casual, conversational—disarming.

"And while I do so enjoy collecting dangerous things…" her gaze wandered over his form with unashamed intrigue, "...I much prefer forming alliances with them. Alliances of benefit. Of influence. Of shared opportunity. And perhaps, if one is bold enough, something greater."

She turned her back to him then, trusting him not to strike. Or daring him to.

"There are too many voices in the Sith Order now," she said, stepping toward the viewing window, her silhouette a blade against the void. "Too many hands reaching for a crown that no longer exists. And the Tsis'Kaar… oh, they're trying, aren't they? Drowning in blood and prophecy, shoving their power into every crevice of the Order like children hammering puzzle pieces where they don't belong."

She turned her head, glancing over her shoulder. Her smile was sharp now, and knowing.

"You know them better than I. You helped build what they stand on—and you burned it down. That makes you uniquely valuable, Darth Strosius. Not just to them. But to me."

Her full attention returned to him, expression cooling into something earnest, but never vulnerable.

"I don't want to be a cog in their machine. I intend to build something else. Something that bends this Order to what it was always meant to be—an instrument of will. Of domination. Not prophecy. Not ideology. Just results."

She took a final step forward, now barely a breath away from him. Her voice dropped to a near whisper.

"And you… are very, very good at results."

A long silence stretched between them, filled with the quiet thrum of the dying facility and the subtle pull of the Force—hers like a spiderweb laced in poison, his a storm coiled behind glass.

"Now," she breathed, chin lifted in invitation or challenge, "will you hear me out? Or shall we skip ahead to the part where you try to throw me into space?"

The smirk returned. Cool. Alluring. Laced with just enough danger to be enticing.

She had stepped into the lair of his memory, lit the bones of his past with fire and promise, and held out her hand not in supplication—

But in mutuality.

 

[Darth Strosius]

"I am not one to be dulled." His steps halted when she turned, His hidden gaze watching the movement with a measured glare. Waiting for her to spring into action with some attack at the ready. Even without the halberd she could be dangerous and He wasn't one to be caught off-guard so easily. Even if her tricks and methods were...unorthodox to say the least. "Forgiveness?" He scoffed, somewhat amused by the insinuation. As if anyone would want forgiveness from Him, He didn't grant such notions anyway.

Darth Strosius tensed as their gazes met, His readied hand clenching and unclenching before He finally moved and glanced away so that the stare was broken. Watching the halberd was much more important at the moment. Until she moved away from it of course. "You presume much, gnat. My company is not typically sought, especially for anything civil." Why would women in particular be of interest in this regard anyway? She spoke in riddles and He did not care for it.

As she approached He resisted the instinct to withdraw, instead stopping and crossing His arms behind His back even as she came far too close for comfort. Evidently personal space wasn't something she was aware of. How unsettling. He raised an eyebrow as she mentioned having plans and goals, of course she did. Only a fool wouldn't and all within the Sith Order possessed ambitions above their stations. His eyes narrowed as she looked Him up and down, glancing Himself over before cocking His head and looking back at her. What in the world was she implying? He couldn't be captured that easily, He was a Sith Lord.

The temptation to strike when she had the gall to turn her back was almost too much to bear but Darth Strosius kept His hands clasped together behind His back and steeled His resolve. He'd let her say her piece first before going for the kill He supposed, it was only fair. "They're certainly...something." Far from what He would have personally preferred and definitely a far cry from what Ophidia had once planned for them. All the better in that regard, something to make her spirit wince.

He clicked His tongue as she turned back to face Him once more, His hidden expression settling into as neutral of an expression as He could manage. Which was still comprised of a slight glare of course. He tensed when she drew far too close for His liking, fingers digging into one another as He restrained Himself from lashing out instinctually, fangs grinding together in a grimace as she whispered. He sidestepped rather than stepping back, not wanting to allow her to back Him into any sort of wall or corner with her antics.

It was the most aggressive move that He would allow Himself to take for the moment.

"You speak on such grand topics and far reaching notions." Darth Strosius was no stranger to such things of course, even if she was a stranger to Him. "Don't tempt me with the spacing idea though, it isn't wise." He shot her a quick glare before taking a few long strides away from her, eager to have some distance for once. "I've heard many ambitious individuals drone on about their aspirations, both those without any power to speak of and those already sat atop a throne. Usually one that they don't deserve."

He spun around on His heel to face her once more, now situated between her and her weapon. Just in case. "You want to shake the Order itself to its core? Bend the Sith into a new form? You'll need more than simple ambition and a few alliances to make that occur I'm afraid. But I trust you already know that to some extent, you seem clever enough." Too clever really. "Which I suspect is part of the reason you've asked me here. Because I have no qualms about doing what must be done, unlike the hesitation that wracks the Tsis'Kaar and so many other Sith in these times."

Results were something He could bring indeed. Something that He delivered to the Sith Order and that He had done for the Sith Empire that preceded it. "But I am not some mere pawn to be bartered with, nor a force to be swayed. You talk of great things but I've noticed a certain vagueness to it all. A shroud that conceals the intent and goals behind such ambitions." He knew how to wield such a shroud well enough, it was a necessity given their line of work.

"So I will hear you speak and listen to what you have to tempt me with, but do be warned that I am in no mood for deceptions nor half-truths." There was assuredly an airlock nearby that she could always be thrown out of should He lose His patience. Surely. "Do not hide behind these..." He gestured at her dismissively, almost hesitantly. "Odd actions you pursue me with. Speak plainly and I will hear it. Continue to speak in circles and I will finish what I started on D'Qar."

Serina Calis

 

[Serina Calis]

In Cradled Silence.
Location: Polis Massa.
Objective: Begin developing further relations within the Sith Order.
Allies: ???
Opposing Force: ???
Tag: Darth Strosius

If an injury has to be done to a man it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared.​

Serina watched him move—slowly, carefully—calculating. A serpent brushing the edge of a flame. He was every bit the creature she had anticipated. Eyes like razors behind that mask, voice like winter steel, hands always an inch from violence. And yet...
He listened.

The first sign of victory, and she smiled with that same quiet indulgence she wore like perfume. She didn't flinch as he stepped between her and her halberd. Didn't even glance at it. Let him posture. Let him pretend she would reach for it now. If she ever needed that weapon again in his presence, it would not be in self-defense.

"You mistake me," she said softly, her words drifting through the cold air like incense. "I'm not here to shape the Sith Order into some dream of peace or justice. I've no illusions of utopia. I'm not a zealot. I'm not one of them." Her voice lingered on that last word, curling like a thorn.

Her eyes glittered in the half-light.

"I am here for one thing. One truth. One eternal, beautiful constant."

She stepped forward once, not in challenge, but as if to press the weight of her voice into the air between them. Her tone grew lower, silk laid over stone.

"Corruption."

The word struck the chamber like a bell.

"It is the only truth worth pursuing. The only force worth serving—if one can even call it that. Not the Force. Not the Sith. Not any of the gaudy banners these children raise as if they mean something."

She was no longer smirking.

Her expression was serene, reverent even. But behind her gaze burned a madness—cold, focused, terrifyingly intentional.

"I speak not of rot, nor decay. Not some weakness that seeps in from neglect. I mean corruption in its purest form. The whisper that makes a Jedi tremble when they feel the brush of desire. The moment a politician signs away a hundred lives for a single seat of power. The heat behind a lie told too easily, and the ache that follows it."

She paced, each step slow and deliberate, a metronome of unfolding revelation.

"To make them love you."
"To make them fear you."
"To make them see you as salvation… and become their undoing."

She turned to face him again, arms falling to her sides, her voice now almost hushed with something that bordered on awe.

"To bend the Dark Side. Not kneel before it. Not wield it like some child's saber. I will take it in hand and twist it, make it into something new. And the Light… oh, the Light will scream. It already has."

A memory flickered across her mind—D'Qar, the taste of Strosius' power still clinging to her ribs, the Force itself shuddering as she crushed its dualities under her will. She had begun then.

She lifted her hands now, palms upward as if in offering. "I will make the Force itself my plaything. The Dark, the Light—tools. Bound and bled dry to serve me. And in doing so, I will become not a Sith. Not a Jedi. But something worse. Something they will weep to forget."

She stepped close again, slowly, respectfully this time. Letting her words take precedence over her presence.

"But that is the end. That is the cathedral at the top of the mountain."

She paused. Her voice cooled, grew practical—grounded in the now.

"To get there? I need realities. I need the structure of the Sith to hold—until I am ready to break it. I need allies who can hold territory, who can kill the right people, silence the wrong ones. I need someone with... experience."

She gave him a glance then. Not flirtation. Not dominance. Recognition.

"You've broken people before. You've killed legacies. You've survived things that turn lesser Sith to ash. And that means you understand that real power isn't forged in duels and dogma. It's carved in backrooms, written in blood on contracts and coded in ships that move without oversight."

Her head tilted. "You see the rot in the Tsis'Kaar already. Their hesitations. Their fractured loyalties. The masks they wear even among themselves. They posture and preen, but few are willing to draw a dagger when it truly matters."

She approached again—not too close, not this time. She wouldn't press more than he allowed. But she would be felt.

"I don't want to control you, Strosius. That would be foolish. What I want—what I offer—is alignment. Mutual benefit. You want to act without leash? I'll give you targets. You want to strike without hesitation? I'll make sure the doors are open. You want the Tsis'Kaar dead in a ditch with their own entrails choking them?"

She smiled. Slowly.

"I'll help dig the grave."

Silence followed.

A long, cold silence in which she simply watched him.

Then, softly:

"You asked me to speak plainly. So I will." Her expression grew razor-sharp. "I want to build the foundation of something monstrous. And you are one of the only beings I've seen who understands the price of that kind of power."

She bowed her head, only slightly. Not in submission—never that. But in acknowledgment of one apex predator to another.

"So tell me, Darth Strosius. Will you be the knife at my side… or the one in my back?"

She exhaled.

"And if you are the latter, darling…"

Her eyes met his. Bright. Merciless. Daring.

"…do it beautifully."

 

[Darth Strosius]

His head cocked to the side at the word, one spoken as though it was some incantation to summon forth the ambitious ending she had been plotting. "Corruption?" What an odd mention. A tool, a weapon, a concept. But a goal? A purpose? That was something new, or at least something that He had never entertained it to be until now. Given the look in her eyes she must have indeed felt strongly about it, her words only compounding that fact. If nothing else she had certainly gained His rapt attention for the moment.

An eyebrow quirked up beneath His mask at the bold mention of subduing both sides of the Force, idly recalling their bout on D'Qar when the energy of the duel seemed to have shifted. When something like He'd never felt before had been called forth by her in a moment of need to stave off His attack. An event that He still didn't quite understand, although blasphemy seemed fitting given the comments regarding the Dark Side. She was certainly an idealistic one.

For better or worse He couldn't quite tell yet.

Darth Strosius inclined His head slightly when she stepped forward and closed too much distance between them once more, a flickering light glinting in His visor, a subtle threat for if she intended to move any closer. He was listening but He hadn't slackened. No toying would be tolerated at the moment. Had she done her approach any quicker He would have been very tempted indeed to act upon that threat but it seemed she was wise enough to do so somewhat gradually for once.

The glance made Him cross His arms over His chest rather than clasping them behind His back as they had been thus far, He could tell what she was building to already. Thankfully she didn't waste too much breath trying to compliment Him, moving right on to the point of why He of all Sith had been asked here. At least she could be prompt when needed He supposed. A welcome respite from her earlier antics.

He bristled when she managed another step forward, fixing her with a hidden glare even as He listened to her assurances of equal benefit. Her offer of an alliance of sorts rather than the more common domineering deals that the Sith so often dealt in. Himself not included. The Sith Lord didn't speak in the heavy silence that followed her words, letting them hang in the air as He mulled them over and picked apart her speech.

A request of support for some grand design had been the second most likely reason, behind an ambush or assassination attempt, that He had assumed to be behind her message. It was simply to be expected in their line of work. Unlike most of the ambitious proposals this one was far more nuanced, less about position and standing and more abstract in nature. Something that required physical and tenable aspects to bring about but not something so instantly recognizable in the common senses of power as a throne or armada would be.

For whatever it was worth she certainly wasn't dull at least, He hadn't expected such an offer as the one she presented at all. Then she had the gall to seemingly challenge Him with an almost playful line and His train of thought ceased with a twitch of His eye. He supposed He should have been expecting it at some point, she didn't seem to be able to resist such antics.

"You talk of such ornate concepts for one so young, in another life you would've made an excellent scholar or poet." Darth Strosius almost couldn't help but make a quick addition to that remark, cocking His head to the side slightly and raising a finger as He spoke again. "Although your mannerisms could use some improvement." More than some, the definition of personal space alone seemed simply anathema to her, but He chose to address one issue at a time rather than getting bogged down on one subject for too long.

"For a start, I would reign in that desire to see the Force bow before you so easily. I've seen the Force in its purest form, experienced the vast ocean that flows across the galaxy firsthand, and I can assure you that it cannot be bent." He stepped around her once more, making sure to lean back so that He didn't brush against her as He did so. "But I will concede that your assertions of the existing circumstances do mostly hold true. The Sith are more tenuously positioned than any would care to admit. Sat atop a foundation waiting to crumble unless it can be steadied, either by the culling of its weak links or by the great effort of those willing to see it stretched past its rapidly approaching breaking point."

He looked back at her over His shoulder. "The Tsis'Kaar should have died with the Pale Assassin that founded it. Malum chose to continue a ruined institution that we already tore apart because it had failed, a mistake that will one day rear its head. Sooner or later." There was a very good reason that Darth Strosius had formed the Inquisition rather than taking the mantle of the Tsis'Kaar, despite being the senior apprentice of Darth Ophidia. Some ideas were simply better left in ashes rather than being arduously rebuilt.

"And yet despite your offer of mutuality, I can't help but notice something missing. You speak of not seeking control, of opening passages, of aiding in demises, but these are all for your benefit are they not?" His words mirrored the twisting of a knife after it sank into skin, intent and dangerous yet probing rather than deadly. Wounding, scarring perhaps, but not fatal. He hadn't declined anything. Not yet at least.

"So, and do forgive my rudeness in this regard, but I can't help but wonder what exactly I stand to gain in this instance. What you could offer aside from postulated goals and wide-reaching ideals." He moved to stand before the viewport, a gloved hand idly toying with one of the prongs that extended from the bottom of His mask as His unseen gaze stared at her in the glass's reflection. "From the sounds of it you're in need of my services and skills, so what could you provide to match them? To make it worth my while, if you will."

Serina Calis

 

[Serina Calis]

In Cradled Silence.
Location: Polis Massa.
Objective: Begin developing further relations within the Sith Order.
Allies: ???
Opposing Force: ???
Tag: Darth Strosius

If an injury has to be done to a man it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared.​

He moved like a wraith, but he was no ghost. Darth Strosius had weight. Substance. Not the bloated weight of Sith sycophants, nor the gaudy plodding of those who shouted their power with oversized titles and screaming starships. No—he was lean, refined, and watching. A predator circling the edge of something unknown, not because he feared it, but because he understood what danger truly was.

Serina watched the way his body responded to her—how he sidestepped, how his fingers curled in controlled irritation, how his hand lingered always close to steel. There was a rhythm to him. Precision and pride cloaked in layers of distaste and studied cruelty. But underneath all of it, she had touched something.

Not trust—never that.

But curiosity.

And in a creature like Strosius, curiosity was the gateway to everything.

He thought he was gauging her. But Serina had already begun to unravel him.

His quips—cut from the same cloth as his blade—were deflections. His stillness, his distance, the theatrical movements—all practiced defense. But what truly gave him away was where he placed himself: between her and her weapon.

Not because he feared her reaching for it.

Because he recognized that she didn't need it.

He'd seen the raw edges of what she was capable of on D'Qar. He remembered the scream in the Force. He remembered what had brushed the edges of his mind—not Light, not Dark, but something that dared to tread between.

Yes. He was listening now. And he hated that he was.

Her lips curved as he turned his back, hand toying idly with the lower edge of his mask. That alone told her volumes. He did not trust her gaze. He would not give her the satisfaction of knowing where he looked or how he processed. She admired that. A man of war and deception—not just one or the other.

When he finally spoke, asking—demanding—what was in it for him, she felt the moment click into place.

The trap did not spring.

It welcomed him inside.

She moved, her stride unhurried, smooth—like liquid thought poured into human shape. She didn't walk so much as glide, the sound of her boots softened by the ancient stone beneath. She approached not with urgency, but intent, the sort of presence that made diplomats wary and generals wary of their own resolve.

"You've killed dreamers before." Her voice was soft but clear, echoing just slightly in the hollow chamber. "They speak of glory. Of meaning. Of some new golden age. You've watched them bleed dry on marble floors and still dared to call themselves righteous with their last breath."

She came to stand not beside him, but just off to his flank. Not blocking his view. Complementing it. Her reflection in the viewport shimmered beside his—hers a column of dark robes, crimson sigils, and unblinking poise.

"I do not offer you righteousness, Strosius. I offer you indulgence."

Her gaze turned toward the stars, and she spoke low—measured. "You said I would make a good poet. But corruption has no need for poems. It writes them. In blood. In silence. In the things you make men do when they no longer believe they have a choice."

She turned her head then, letting her voice move closer—not quite touching him, but enough that he would feel it near the edge of his ear, just above the hiss of his respirator.

"You speak of the Force as an ocean. And you're right—it is vast. Boundless. And you, Darth Strosius, are a blade sharpened by that current. You cut through the waves. You part storms. But you do not drown. That's why you're still standing."

Her smile returned—cool, elegant, and just a touch amused. "That's why I chose you."

She took a step back then. Giving him space. She wasn't here to bait a strike—she wanted investment.

"I offer you no leash. No chain. I do not presume to tame you." Her eyes caught the light from the shattered ceiling, gleaming like blue fire. "But I know what you crave. Not authority. Not legacy. Control."

She raised a gloved hand slowly, gesturing toward the expanse beyond the viewport.

"The Tsis'Kaar are a theater troupe playing at menace. You were part of the stage once. You attempted to burn it down. And now you get to write the next act. I'm offering you a hand in the script. In who lives. Who dies. Who we replace. I will not ask you to serve—I will ask you to choose."

Her voice deepened with intention.

"You want assassins who kill on command? I can offer you infiltration, shadows that speak your name in the dark. You want scholars with power? My archives are deep—deeper than you know. Tomes that weren't meant to survive the fire of several purges. You want a world to test your designs? I will give you one. One unclaimed. One undefended."

She took another step forward, her tone intimate now—dangerously close to a promise.

"But I need the Tsis'Kaar."

"I will not tempt you with flattery, nor attempt to buy your blade with baubles. What I offer you, Darth Strosius, is choice. A partnership of terror. A dance in which we both lead—where your skill is matched not by leash or coin, but by someone who sees the world exactly as you do."

She paused, then whispered the final line like scripture.

"Not good. Not evil. Not light. Not dark. Just power. And those too slow to seize it."

She moved away once more, circling slowly, never fully turning her back. Her hands folded before her, posture once more composed—regal, even. But her eyes never left his reflection.

"You said I was young," she murmured. "And you're right. But corruption… true corruption… does not care for age. It doesn't wait. It spreads. And like a wound beneath gilded skin, I will fester my way into every inch of the Sith. With or without you."

She let that hang in the air, not as a threat, but as an inevitability.

Then, after a breath:

"But I would rather do it with you."

And with that, Serina Calis fell silent. Not retreating. Not pressuring. Simply waiting, poised as the serpent whose venom was already in his veins. All that remained now—was whether he would resist the bite…

Or help her aim the next fang.

 

[Darth Strosius]

He tensed as she stood beside Him, His hidden gaze watching her from the corner of His visor as though He still expected her to strike. Perhaps not physically, but she would indeed strike. That much was clear. "I've seen a lack of conviction in final moments if anything. But I have heard plenty dreams of a new era for Sith, only for them to be strangled in their own complacency and weakness." He mused in return with a slight shrug of His shoulders, the most casual act that He dared to commit for now.

A subtle show of reluctant acceptance in her remarks. For now. Although He did have to admit that she was much more adept at making use of body language than He was, even with a lifetime spent donning a mask to call upon for experience. Thankfully it seemed like she was more willing to speak than move for the moment even if she did seem compelled to shift closer in more obscure ways that made His skin crawl even as He forced Himself to remain still for the sake of keeping up appearances.

Indulgence and corruption could both be tantalizing ideals but Darth Strosius only really cared for the latter, and it seemed that she was similar in that regard. They were both after an advantage within the wider Order but both were being coy about what precisely they wanted from the other. Or indeed what the other could even offer to entice them in the first place. Her compliment did make Him tilt His head towards her, away from the view of the stars beyond, with a scrutinizing expression hidden beneath His mask.

What an interesting remark. One that was fairly apt as well, more than she would know.

The step back was a welcome reprieve from her closeness but He didn't relax in the slightest as she spoke of the Tsis'Kaar once more. Her next few words made it all click into place at once, and the most damning of all was when she said it herself. She needed the Tsis'Kaar. For the first time since arriving on the desolate station a smirk spread across His features, morphing into a fanged grin even as she circled around Him. His gaze did still track her movements but with a note of assurance, of confidence. That she wouldn't strike as He had thought.

When she fell silent He shifted His gaze back to the viewport and the galaxy beyond as He seemed to mull over her words for a moment. Then, He chuckled. It was a surprisingly low sound, something slipping between teeth that had clenched to try and suppress it yet the noise escaped alongside an exhale that made Him roll His shoulders as though some great relief had befallen Him. "Ah. I see." Darth Strosius sounded amused. Dangerously amused.

"And how far have you festered already, I wonder?" The masked man turned to face her, a gloved hand propping up under His chin as though in thought despite how certain He sounded. "You were at that little meeting of Malum's weren't you? You've already wormed your way into the Tsis'Kaar enough to have a seat at the table. But that's never enough is it? Not when you can see the cracks in the foundation even from the top down." He was starting to get an odd sense of deja vu but He put the notion aside for now.

"How much better do you believe you could do than the Heir of Marr, hm?" A question that He had often pondered Himself but one that He wasn't interested in hearing her answer in truth. The response hardly mattered when one only really sought power and control. "Would you return the Tsis'Kaar into the shadows? Would you become the kingmaker of the Order with your veiled influence? Would you simply remain course but find a different heading? So many options to pursue, so little time."

It was His turn to approach, although He did so from the side. Mirroring the circling steps that she herself had committed but a few moments before. "You know, while they could always improve I find the Tsis'Kaar to be just fine as it stands. Out of my way and willing to aid me so long as I play nice whenever they need a helping hand in kind. A rather good deal isn't it?" One that she had already offered in kind, albeit seemingly with far less restrictions. Whether or not she ever intended to honor such a bargain was another matter.

She didn't particularly seem the trustworthy type, no doubt she had already whispered some version of her aspirations to Malum in order to have some standing within the Tsis'Kaar only to plot his downfall. No doubt she'd already accounted for if He turned her offer down and how best she would handle Him as a threat to her plans. He'd be so curious to see it, to see who or what she could sway to try and end Him. There wasn't exactly a shortage of candidates. But as tempting as the thought was, it was dismissed.

"You seem so intent on the Tsis'Kaar, but do tell me young one, what happens after?" He stopped His circling and folded an arm out, fingers splayed wide as though gesturing to some unseen throne that she was free to take. "You have the Tsis'Kaar at your beck and call, you shape it as you see fit to better align with your aspirations, but what then? What of the corpse on the throne? The Twice-Failed Emperor and his ilk? And all those that would follow them into another crumbling empire?"

Disgust began to seep into His confident and probing words but He quickly continued before it could set in and fully taint His remarks. "Malum has assured and displayed an, albeit reluctant, willingness to do what is needed and see the old powers and their kind out of the Sith. Not nearly in the methods or as quickly as I'd like, but still a willingness to do so. How can I be so certain that you would do the same if I were to aid you? That you wouldn't fall into complacency in your new role? That you wouldn't stagnate like all the rest of them?"

Serina Calis

 

[Serina Calis]

In Cradled Silence.
Location: Polis Massa.
Objective: Begin developing further relations within the Sith Order.
Allies: ???
Opposing Force: ???
Tag: Darth Strosius

If an injury has to be done to a man it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared.​

Serina listened. She always listened.

Even as Strosius circled her like a warden judging a prisoner's cell for weakness. Even as he played predator, letting amusement flicker behind fangs, she simply remained poised. Not because she lacked response—no, she had one for every breath he'd spoken. But because silence was the sharpest knife in her arsenal.

His voice was the sound of a guillotine lowered with surgical deliberation. But she noticed the twitch behind his laughter, the careful word choices, the calculated curiosity barely veiled beneath that armored sneer.

When he asked, how far have you festered?, her lips parted in a slow, deliberate smile. He already knew the answer. And that delighted her.

She didn't move to speak immediately. No—she waited. Let the question breathe. Let it claw around the edges of the room. Let it try and crawl into his own head, the way she already had.

Then, finally—she turned.

Not sharply. Not with the dramatic flourish of one used to commanding armies. No, hers was the slow, sinuous shift of someone who knew she had already won the room and was now merely adjusting its temperature.

"'How far have I festered?'" she repeated, her voice low and velvet-smooth, echoing faintly in the hollow chamber. "Far enough to be called darling by the Darkness, and trusted with the blade meant for it's throat."

She stepped forward—no longer circling, no longer coy. This time her pace was precise. Calculated. She stopped just out of reach, a respect she had finally chosen to grant, now that the moment had ripened.

"I was at the meeting," she admitted. "Of course I was. Did you really think I would refuse a seat at any table?"

Her voice held a lilt of wicked humor now. "The Tsis'Kaar aren't my endgame. They're not even the path. They're the terrain. You don't walk on it because you admire the dirt—you walk on it because it gets you where you're going. And if the terrain proves treacherous…"

A pause. A smile.

"…then I pave it with bone."

Her gaze glittered as she observed his reaction, as carefully as he had once watched hers. "I knew you'd bring up Malum. It's always Malum. The gilded heir to the ashes of legacy. You call him willing—I call him slow. He is a torchbearer in a windstorm, trying to keep the flame alive while the storm eats the sky. Admirable, in a tragic sort of way. And useful… until he isn't."

She raised her chin slightly, the bare curve of her throat catching the pale overhead light like a blade. "You think I'll rot in place once I'm in power? That I'll cling to it, like so many who confuse the attainment of influence with its purpose?"

Her smile faded. The room shifted.

She took one slow step forward, her tone deepening, cold and clear.

"No. I am not a ruler. I am a disease."

The words hung there, quiet and unforgiving.

"I don't crave a throne—I crave the system that places someone on it. I don't want to sit above the Tsis'Kaar. I want to permeate them. To make them mine in everything but name. Not by conquest. By conversion. Every whisper, every knife in the dark, every operation signed in crimson ink and codename—mine, whether they know it or not. Whether they realize it as their knees touch the floor."

Her eyes darkened as she continued, now openly, unapologetically revealing the scope of her design.

"You think this is about reformation. About fixing the Sith. It isn't. I don't want to save the Sith Order, Strosius. I want to become it. To wear it like a second skin. I will make myself so essential, so foundational, that they will build doctrines around me just to explain why I exist."

She moved again, slowly now, like a specter across the room—like smoke trailing the flickering flame of a pyre.

"They won't even remember how it happened. Like a dream they wake from too slowly. One day, they will look around and realize they are speaking my thoughts. Killing by my logic. Planning by my doctrine. They will call it evolution. They will call it power. But it will be me. Always me."

She exhaled, and the sharpness of her vision softened—but did not dim.

"That's why I don't care for temporary thrones. For fleeting coronations. Let the Emperor waste his days. Let Malum play his game of balance and continuity. I will be behind them all. Whispering. Pulling. Infecting. The Sith Order will not know where I begin and where it ends."

She now mirrored his earlier pose, standing at the viewport with one hand lazily tracing the curve of the transparisteel. The stars outside seemed dimmer now, distant.

"But I'm not there yet," she admitted, with a poise that almost made the words sound triumphant instead of humble. "Which is why I'm here. Which is why I need you."

She turned her head slightly, enough for him to see the glint of her eye beneath the long shadow of her lashes.

"You asked what you gain. You gain freedom, Strosius. The kind you've never had. The kind you've only tasted in brief moments, when the blade sinks in just right and no one dares tell you no."

She turned fully, walking back toward him with a steady grace.

"You gain impact. Not just slaughter. Not just orders from above you in the hierarchy. You gain a voice in how this new age is built. Because I will build it. With you at my side, or without you in the way. But I would rather it be the former. You are too sharp, too precise, too necessary to leave out of the equation."

Her voice dipped low again, just enough to edge into that terrible seduction she wore like a second skin.

"Let me be the corruption that slips beneath your armor. Not to weaken you. To purify you—of limits. Of indecision. Of wasted years spent under the yoke of failing regimes."

She came to a halt before him, not touching, not threatening, but offering.

Not with outstretched hands—no, Serina Calis never begged. She simply invited.

"I don't want your loyalty. I want your vision. Your ruthlessness. Your precision. You are a man who carves truth out of fiction. Let me give you fiction worth carving through."

She tilted her head slightly, voice a whisper once more.

"Let the galaxy rot. And while it does, let's decide which pieces are worth saving... and which should be fed to the fire together."

And there she stood. Still. Serene. The serpent in silks. The corruption in flesh. Waiting to see if he would finally, finally, step into the abyss she had laid before him—
not with threats, not with chains—

But with the quiet promise.

 

[Darth Strosius]

Darth Strosius blinked and raised an eyebrow at her rather interesting choice of answer to His first idle question, wondering how much of it was metaphorical and how much was literal. She did have a habit of using very...colorful language that made it difficult to discern what was intended. Whether she was referring to the Tsis'Kaar in particular or hinting at some level of influence in the wider Sith Order was unclear and He could only assume that was intentional.

It would be foolish to reveal all of her cards so easily, or even at all really, but she did at least confirm that she was imbedded in the Tsis'Kaar as He had thought. What exactly she did within their ranks was unclear but at the moment it hardly mattered. She knew enough to be clever about her ambitions and have a seat at a table that He also occupied, which meant enough despite the lack of specifics.

He inclined His head slightly when she mentioned Malum, His assured disposition very briefly revealing a more curious and cautious eye beneath it. "How apt of a description." A bit harsher than what He would have said Himself but overall accurate. "Although I find myself wondering, if you talk so gravely of your current superior behind His back as you do now, I can only guess at what you might whisper of me when we have parted company." Not that it mattered, they'd both no doubt be plotting against one another even if they did come to an accord here and now. He could only imagine who she might wield against Him when the time came that she though she had surpassed Him.

As her smile fled though such musings quickly vanished with it, the unusual absence of a disturbingly pleased expression making Him tense and fix her with a suspicious look. "A...disease?" What an odd thing to call oneself. Sure she was a bit soft for one that entangled themselves in the Sith, and not to mention frustratingly obtuse, but she wasn't that horrid. He cocked His head to the side, His words riddled with genuine surprise for a moment before a bit of dry sarcasm slipped into His tone. "Don't tell me you're contagious."

Whereas before her grandiose designs were vague and not too dissimilar to those that Darth Strosius had heard so many times before, now she was a bit more generous in her wording. Not nearly as exact as He would have preferred but just implicit enough to paint a mental image of what she spoke. One that while still riddled with eccentricities was fairly enlightening given the circumstances.

He clasped His hands behind His back as she continued, His mask concealing an expression somewhere between a glare and a grimace. He could see what she wanted more plainly than she was describing it. He could even see the path towards it paved very clearly in His mind's eye. Because she wasn't the first to walk it. Wouldn't be the first to slip into the Order and make use of it for her purposes, bend it for her own means.

The Worm had done the same once upon a time, and now the Corpse inherited a cobbled-together throne that none had agreed should exist.

As she swept over to the viewport He pushed down the urge to wretch, then stifled the urge to lash out, then bit back the clever remark sitting at the tip of His tongue. There was no small part of Him that wanted to wring her neck. Not for her previous aggravations or insults, not for her lack of common decency and explicit verbiage, not even for daring to stand against Him on D'Qar. Rather just so that He could have the solace that He'd had one victory over that despicable Worm. But the notions were cast aside as she turned to regard Him once more.

Darth Strosius stood solemn as ever as she approached, His disgust and apprehension no more notable than the twitch of His tendrils as the idly flickered in the air behind Him. He took a breath as she finalized her pitch and waited expectantly for Him to either accept or deny what must have been something of a generous offer in her mind. As she waited to determine whether He was to be targeted now or later on. Not that it mattered, she'd never be in a position to kill Him outright. Nor would any that she could sic upon Him like a hound. Of that He was certain.

"Nothing seeps beneath my armor, and I am as pure as any can be." He corrected with no small measure of pride in His voice. "And I have long since outgrown any hierarchy. Rest assured young one, there are none above me save the Force itself." The tension in His shoulders slackened ever so slightly as He brought His hands before Him rather than behind, still clasping them together but this time in full view and without the potential of some hidden aggression. For now.

"However, you have swayed my interest enough. Consider me intrigued by the vision you've shared, even if my gains are still something to be discussed later on." That part would not be done in vague assertions and half-promises. It could, and most certainly would, be properly spelled out sometime in the future once more concrete plans in general had been drafted. "You want my vision? My ruthlessness? My precision? My assistance? You may have access to it." A very carefully worded remark. One of support but not of engagement, of promise.

"If I am to aid you though I must have some more details on what you've already achieved and laid out." Darth Strosius gestured towards her, a rather guarded motion that didn't allow His hand to drift too far away from His body. "You have some level of standing in the Tsis'Kaar and you possess the blessings of the Force. Even some more...unorthodox ones at that. But for a dream as expansive as yours I will need to know more if I am to assist in its realization in any meaningful sense. I don't believe you've even introduced yourself to me properly, for a start."

Serina Calis

 

[Serina Calis]

In Cradled Silence.
Location: Polis Massa.
Objective: Begin developing further relations within the Sith Order.
Allies: ???
Opposing Force: ???
Tag: Darth Strosius

If an injury has to be done to a man it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared.​

He did not draw a blade. He did not walk away.

That was enough.

Serina did not smile—not right away. The moment was too sharp, too delicate. It was a thread stretched tight across a chasm, and both of them were walking it. One wrong step, one too-clever remark, and it would snap.

But he didn't pull away. He didn't sneer and vanish into the void. He didn't even cut her down, though she knew the thought had danced behind his visor more than once.

He stayed.

And that, to Serina Calis, meant everything.

He would never trust her. She would never ask him to.

But he had given her what she needed—room. Room to maneuver, to build, to breathe her poison into the air of this crumbling empire and make it hers.

He was watching her now not like a target, but like a variable. That alone made him dangerous. But it also made him useful.

She turned to him slowly, letting his words settle in the air like the aftertaste of good wine. Nothing seeps beneath my armor. I am as pure as any can be. The pride was unmistakable.

He believed it, too.

Which was why she knew she was already in.

Not through deception. Not through honeyed lies or whispered allure. But through recognition. He had looked at her—and for all his disdain, his sarcasm, his revulsion—he had seen something he understood.

Something familiar.

Something that looked very much like him.

She took her time before answering, pacing to the side again—but this time not circling, not prowling. She moved like a dancer preparing a stage.

"You say you are pure," she said, softly, "and I don't doubt it. You are exactly what you were forged to be. Not by the Sith. Not by any Empire or Order. But by trial. You are purity of purpose, unmarred by the self-delusions others cling to. No masks. No excuses. Just the sharpened edge of will."

She stopped and turned back to him, finally allowing herself the faintest curl of a smile. Not coy, not mocking—appreciative.

"That's why I came to you."

He had asked for details. For what she had done. For who she was.

Fair.

She dipped her chin slightly, folding her hands before her, her voice taking on a cadence that was deliberate, even—more formal than before. The seduction didn't vanish, it was simply folded into a different kind of power. The kind that ruled courts and councils.

"My name is Serina Calis."

She let the words ring clean through the hollow, abandoned chamber. Not shouted. Not whispered. Pronounced.

"I was born on Chandrila. Taken to the Jedi Temple before I was four. Trained, raised, cultivated in silence and serenity. And all the while—I watched."

There was a note of distant memory in her voice. Not fondness—just observation.

"I watched Jedi Masters lie to their apprentices. I watched them warn us against fear while clinging to it themselves. I watched them speak of peace while moving pawns across galactic battlefields. And I saw the truth: the Force was never about balance. That was just another leash. Another fiction. What mattered… was will."

She stepped closer again—but this time without ceremony. Just a woman walking toward a man with something real to say.

"I left. I made sure it wasn't known how, or why. I faked compliance, staged my disappearance, buried my name. I made myself no one. And then… I waited. I wandered. I watched."

Her gloved hand gestured around the lab. "I came to places like this. I walked the bones of the Sith, breathed in their madness, their brilliance, their contradictions. And I began to understand what I already knew: that the Jedi were wrong. And so were the Sith."

A pause.

"But they were useful."

She stopped before him again, eyes fixed on his visor without fear, without bravado.

"I haven't accomplished anything yet, Lord Strosius."

She let the confession hang there like a stone dropped in water.

"No armies. No fleet. No star system bearing my name. Not even a throne to burn."

Her voice was calm. Steady. Deadly certain.

"Because I didn't come here to take what others built. I came to replace it. And to do that, I have to know it. All of it. How it breathes. How it rots. Every nerve ending. Every rot-veined artery. Every mistake the Sith keep repeating while pretending they're winning."

She moved to the console beside them, brushing dust from an ancient control panel with a single elegant motion, revealing a flickering holomap of the wider Empire.

"You asked what comes after the Tsis'Kaar."

The red dots flickered on the map—major strongholds, active fleets, holdings too proud to see their foundations cracking.

"This," she said, her voice nearly reverent, "is the corpse. The Empire still twitches, because the parasites haven't finished feeding. But it's dying. You know it. I know it. Malum knows it, whether he says it aloud or not."

She turned to him again.

"I don't want to lead this. I want to end it. Let them cling to tradition. Let them prop up one more False Emperor after the next. Let them shout oaths and rites until their tongues rot in their skulls. And while they do?"

She pointed to one corner of the map—a minor world. A little nothing, unnamed and unnoticed.

"I'll take this one. And then another. Quietly. Carefully. I'll build networks. Cells. Orders within Orders. Not loud. Not proud. But patient. The kind that survives every purge."

Her voice was a whisper now.

"Until the day comes when someone dares speak against me… and finds they are speaking against half the Empire itself."

She stepped back. Just enough to look at him fully once more.

"That's what I've done so far. Nothing."

She lifted her chin. Not ashamed. Not defensive. But hungry.

"But I've prepared. I've studied. I've wrapped myself in the skin of the Sith so thoroughly that when I shed it, they won't even know they were hollow until the wind passes through them."

Her smile returned—this time full of wicked pleasure.

"I'm not here to sell you what I've done. I'm here to invite you into what comes next. The shaping of the new corruption. Not another Order. Not another throne. But a design that cannot die with one body. Something that doesn't care who calls themselves Emperor. Something that outlives all of them."

Then—softly, without pressure:

"So now you know. All of it."

She folded her hands behind her back, echoing his posture now with subtle mirroring. Not mockery. Understanding.

"I've made no mark yet, Darth Strosius. But I will. And if you're still standing when the galaxy asks who lit the fire, I'd very much like your answer to be: 'I did.'"

She tilted her head slightly. One last breath of poison-laced silk.

"And she showed me where to strike."

 

[Darth Strosius]

As ever His gaze tracked her movements and noted her initial silence, something that would have been a blessing moments ago but now served as the subtlest of ires when there was so much to be discussed, without much heat behind the observations like there was before. There was something of an understanding now. An unspoken agreement that hostilities were unnecessary and unwarranted, one that she herself had already been aware of since He step foot onto the station even though He was only privy to it now.

The compliments were calculated and yet seemed to be intentionally vague, providing just enough fluff to try and string Him along with her scheme without having to give much weight or honesty in her words. If nothing else she was an exceptionally clever orator. If Darth Strosius wasn't so wise with the games of deception and delusion that the Sith so often delved into then perhaps He'd almost believe her honeyed words. Perhaps, but He doubted it.

Her name wasn't nearly as familiar as He had thought it might be but the reason became clear the moment she began speaking of her past, or a past that she wished to present at least. If Lady Calis was indeed a former Jedi rather than a fresh Sith then it was little wonder why He hadn't heard of her until fairly recently. It would also explain how she had become so adept at manipulation and wordcraft, such was the Jedi's specialty after all. Her more unusual Force abilities could be a result of that training as well.

It almost fit together too well, too genuinely, and that made Him all the more suspicious. But all the more intrigued.

An eyebrow quirked up beneath His mask at the bold and rather offensive remark regarding the Sith but at least she had mentioned the Jedi were in the wrong, even if she was as well. A lingering symptom of her past perhaps. Luckily enough for her Darth Strosius was far too interested to take any real offense and chose to simply the remark away for the moment as she stopped before Him. He scoffed at the apparent admission, arms crossing over His chest in a clear show of doubt. She indeed be lacking in forces or other such metrics of power but to say that she had nothing at all to her name would be a blatant lie. It had to be.

"Well you've come to the right place then." The masked man gestured to the abandoned walls around them with a nod. "And to the right Sith as well. None know the faults of our order better than I, for I have been forced to endure them for a lifetime." Perhaps that was partially why Lady Calis had summoned Him here, that she had caught wind of His long service to the Sith and His verbose disagreements with the powers that sought to steer the Order as it was.

Darth Strosius glanced at the dots on the flickering map and idly noted their names and locations in the back of His mind, knowing well enough what each of them were already. He hummed in agreement in regards to the dying Sith domain still festering with parasites but it would seem they did disagree on the terminal diagnosis. Whereas she wanted to perform euthanasia, He much preferred an amputation. A rather drastic amputation at that but one that would work nonetheless.

Her method of spreading from one minor world to another without arousing any great suspicion was something that He could align with fully though, such was His own method of influence. Hopefully they would not clash in their approaches and territories given the similar practices yet diverging goals, at least not until He had gotten all the use from Lady Calis that she could provide for Him. Her vision may have differed from His own but they both would face the same obstacles to reach their results so there was little need to argue and bicker amongst themselves when the first hurdle had yet to be crossed.

The conclusion of her series of reveals was not unlike the beginning, succinct and yet with some hidden meaning that lingered and probed at His mind. Something that set off the senses not to alert Him to some danger or to spur Him into action but rather to simply entice His interest in her proposed corruption. Her plans and even she herself were supposedly laid bare for Him to peruse and yet that tone of hers implied otherwise. That there was yet more meaning to be found that she wasn't willing to provide so easily.

"I see." Darth Strosius let the reply slip out with an exhale as though He had gained some epiphany that solved an unknown yet tedious issue. In a sense He had. "I understand what it is you ask of me now, and I am willing to provide." Until the time came to slide the knife into their handshake at least. "I must admit that I do not enjoy pure desolation as you would seem to but I consider such a discrepancy very minor considering what odds we both face."

A turn of His hand, an admission of adversity smothered by necessity when it could so easily bloom into a proper and decidedly messy animosity. "I too long to see the current state of affairs dissolved and supplanted by something proper and long lasting, and I too know what knots to tug at in order to accomplish such." He clicked His tongue before gesturing to Himself and continuing in His reply. "As you may well know however I am something of a pariah despite the necessity of my actions in order to preserve the Sith Order from further degradation."

His gloved hand then gestured to Lady Calis in kind. "For the moment however, you are lacking such a reputation. We both have something that the other could direly need in days to come and we both have the same obstacles to tackle. I am more than willing to set aside our past grievance in order to work together towards a proper future. One free of the parasites and decay that we find our surroundings infested with now." Of course after such obstacles had been wiped away matters would become all the more complicated but such was a concern for the future.

Serina Calis

 

[Serina Calis]

In Cradled Silence.
Location: Polis Massa.
Objective: Begin developing further relations within the Sith Order.
Allies: ???
Opposing Force: ???
Tag: Darth Strosius

If an injury has to be done to a man it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared.​

Serina Calis stood still, and in that stillness, a thousand small victories nested themselves.

Not a single word of praise passed from his lips. No capitulation. No flowery declarations. But he remained. Not by duty, not by manipulation, not even by the promise of immediate reward.

He had come to test her. And she had passed.

Barely.

But she had passed.

Strosius' response was precise—measured. He had folded his disdain into a cold calculus and come away with a conclusion: useful.

And in Serina's world, useful was a kiss on the mouth.

She breathed in slowly, savoring the air around them. Ancient. Stagnant. Thick with the mold of old sins and failed experiments. It smelled like opportunity.

His admission struck her harder than any blade could have. I too know what knots to tug at.

Of course he did. She had watched him in every record she could find, in whispered anecdotes over encrypted frequencies, in battlefield reports delivered in stammering tones. He moved through the Sith like a surgeon—one who knew exactly which parts to cut and when to cauterize.

The fact that he still walked free after all he had done was a testament not to mercy, but to utility. The Sith feared his results, but they feared irrelevance more.

And now he had offered those results to her.

She stepped forward again—not with urgency, not to press, but with the quiet confidence of a woman who no longer needed to perform. Her poise softened into something more authentic, but no less deadly.

"You see clearly, as I knew you would."

Her voice was low, warm like velvet caught between gloved fingers, rich with something that might've passed for gratitude—if it weren't laced with that same unmistakable thread of danger.

"You watched me with suspicion. You held your tongue where others would've lashed out. You measured me not by what I claimed, but by what I chose not to say."

Her gaze met his—cool green beneath pale lashes, piercing and unreadable.

"And now here we stand. Not as adversaries. Not yet as allies. But as sharpened instruments, turned toward the same flawed machine."

She turned, walking with slow, deliberate steps back toward the viewport, letting her words trail behind her like silk scarves caught on the air.

"You said you've endured the faults of our Order for a lifetime. I believe you. I see it in your posture, in the weight you carry, in the way your hands never quite unclench, as though you're always bracing for betrayal."

She smiled faintly, facing the stars.

"It's what makes you so fascinating. You're not jaded. You're not weary. You're prepared. You know it will come—the knife, the failure, the purge. You're just waiting for the moment it does, and who wields it."

A pause. A breath.

"And yet you choose to remain."

She turned again, facing him fully. Her hair fell in a slow arc over one shoulder, the faint gold of it catching in the broken overhead light like a flicker of dying fire.

"You've lived in a battlefield of ideas long enough to know that sometimes the only way to save the house is to raze it and build from the ashes. You don't want to sit on the throne."

She stepped closer, her voice a whisper now.

"You want to decide who survives it."

Another breath. And then the licentious edge returned—sharp, poised, like a poisoned needle hidden beneath silk.

"And I've no intention of sitting on it either. No one sees the spider in the rafters when they're busy watching the wolves tear each other apart."

She moved past him this time, deliberately not looking back, pausing only once her steps took her to the opposite side of the flickering holomap. She rested a hand lightly on the console.

"I would have lied to you, Strosius. If I thought it would work. If I thought you would fall for praise and poetry. But I knew you wouldn't. So I told you the truth. The whole, naked, hideous thing."

The flickering lights danced across her face—cast her as something ancient and sacred, or monstrous and glorious.

"Because that's the pact I offer. Not false loyalty. Not empty power. But the truth beneath all the rot. The whispered truth that no Sith ever admits aloud: that we have already lost."

She looked up at him now, the truth gleaming in her eyes.

"And the only way forward is to become the very thing we were told never to be. Not balanced. Not dogmatic. But inevitable."

She stepped back into the center of the room now, reclaiming the space between them. Her halberd still stood undisturbed, silent and elegant as ever.

"I want you beside me, Strosius. Not because I need you to carve the path. But because when the time comes to tear it all down and salt the earth, I want someone beside me who will not hesitate. Who will not look away. Who will enjoy it."

Her eyes narrowed, her voice dipping to a velvety promise.

"You will not regret working with me. You may grow to fear it. You may wonder if you should have stopped me sooner. But regret? No. Never that."

A slow smile—finally—touched her lips again. The kind that had ruined empires and burned down temples.

"And I, in turn, will not insult you with piety or petition. I will make offers, and you will take them when you wish, strike them down when you must. But make no mistake: we are bound now. Not by oaths. Not by cause."

She tilted her head, watching him.

"But by design."

The air around her felt heavier now—not with threat, but with intention. The kind of weight that shifted rooms and toppled palaces.

Serina Calis had just begun the first act of her great, operatic betrayal.
And Strosius, whether he knew it or not, had taken the lead beside her.

The pact was formed.

The fire had found its wind.

 

[Darth Strosius]

Darth Strosius surprisingly didn't raise any sort of fuss even when she stepped forward, content that she knew better than to get too close for her own good. They may be aligned but there wasn't any sort of comfortability between them at all. From what He could tell such flamboyance was some very strange and unorthodox type of intimidation tactic anyway and she had no reason to perform it now. She had gotten what she wanted already after all.

Although despite it all He did have to admit to Himself that there was something in Lady Calis's tone that did still put Him on edge even if He didn't show any signs of such a reaction. The fairly accurate mention of how He had "measured" her during her speeches did make Him narrow His eyes behind His mask somewhat but He offered nothing more than a slight nod to confirm the statement. When she turned away He did allow some tension to leave His shoulders but He simply masked it by clasping His hands together behind His back.

The assessment she gave did intrigue Him, and more for than just the reason that it was about Himself of course. Darth Strosius's service to the Sith had spanned four iterations and even more changes of leadership, each having left a lasting impression on Him. Perhaps none more so than the first and the current that He had taken part in. Him being prepared was something of an understatement in that regard. He had weathered the changes to the Sith before but as of late He had a far more vested interest in bringing them about on His own terms.

This discussion with Lady Calis was simply another potential shift for Him to manage and oversee.

"Not even the slightest intention to sit upon it, Lady Calis?" His unseen gaze tracked her as she passed by Him, hidden by His visor but no less intense because of it. It was a simple question but one that held considerable weight. To be a kingmaker was to hold power above a throne, to be immune to disruptions or consequences no matter who might sit upon it. A terribly difficult position to secure, it was far easier to simply claim the throne itself. A realization that He had made not all that long ago but one that had gotten Him killed.

Darth Strosius blinked at the claim that she had indeed told Him the whole truth, allowing a small nod even though He still held His doubts. She had a fair point that He would be able to discern fact from fiction no matter how intricate a weave she spun, but at the same time there was far more incentive to lie than there ever was to speak the truth. No matter how genuine she seemed He knew better than most how assuring and honest a mask could be. And to anyone that had spent too much time wearing one, they could almost believe the lie themselves.

"Good. I am not a man that lives with regret tainting his heart." Honesty for honesty, a mask for a mask. That He wouldn't be expected to entertain Lady Calis's every scheme was more than fortunate, and saved Him from having to negotiate such an agreement Himself. While He of all Sith had no qualms about "rocking the boat" as it were His position within the Order was already fragile and untenable as it was. He had no more good will or second chances to exhaust as she did.

He'd let her make her own waves first and decide where best to throw His lot in the wakes that she left behind. Undoubtedly she must have already had some other connections and allies to call upon before this little meeting was ever arranged, so He had no worry of leaving her without aid initially. Besides, if she ran off and got herself killed after their little chat today then He hardly lost out on anything anyway. "Bound by design hm? How fascinating of a concept."

Darth Strosius gazed at the projected map and gestured to it with an idle hand. "I do wonder where your first act of corruption shall be harnessed, Lady Calis. So many options to exploit and so many potential enemies to be made in the process." No ambitious deed went completely unnoticed and none at all went unpunished. The Sith Order was built on a system of taking from others just as the corpse at the head of it all had stolen the throne he sat on to lead it.

"I'd be careful where I choose to make my mark if I were you, we wouldn't want to attract too much attention too quickly." Public acts demanded public responses after all. "You'll need to find something weak to exploit, something that won't be missed and won't cause too much of a stir. From there you can begin working towards a position of strength and delve into greater and grander designs once you've established some security and assurance in your operations."

If there was only one topic that the masked man could be an expert on it was this, building ones power away from prying eyes until it was too late to be nipped in the bud and too early to warrant a proper strike to the throat. It was a careful balancing act that He had done once before and unfortunately found Himself performing once again. "Between the Alliance to the north and the new powers rising in Wild Space to our east, you'll have the cover you need to imbed yourself deep. So long as you are as clever with your methods as you are with your words."

Serina Calis

 

[Serina Calis]

"If an injury has to be done to a man it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared."

Tag - Darth Strosius ,



Serina did not move when he spoke again. She didn't need to—not when she could feel him behind her, pacing silently around the ruins of a long-dead sanctum, hands clasped behind his back like a man guarding something precious. Himself, perhaps. Or his patience. Or, more likely, his future.

He was calm now. Cold, even. But she could still feel it. That coil of tension beneath the surface, never quite spent. Always measuring. Always ready.

"Not even the slightest intention to sit upon it, Lady Calis?"

His question lingered in the space like a breath held too long.

Her lips curled, faint and slow.

"No, Lord Strosius. Not even a little."

She turned, at last, to face him again—elegant and deliberate in every inch of movement. That smile never faded. It simply deepened at the edges, like ink soaking into silk.

"Because thrones invite challengers. Crowns attract blades. I prefer to rule from behind the mirror."

Her eyes fixed on him, that smile never reaching them. "Let others break themselves climbing toward a gilded corpse. Let them die for symbols. I don't need to be the symbol. I only need to make the symbols serve me."

It was not a lie. And it was not the full truth. Not quite. Because of course she wanted to be worshipped. Of course she wanted to be feared and revered and adored. But she was too clever to say it aloud. Too clever to let him see how deep that want ran beneath her skin.

And that, too, was power.

She watched his hand as it gestured toward the map, the flickering stars of the Empire sputtering in pale red and dull gold. That he offered strategic advice now, without posturing, without condescension—that was the real tell. Not his words. Not his tone.

But his restraint.

He was invested. Not emotionally. Not foolishly. But in the way predators grow interested in the shape of their shared hunting grounds.

When he finished, Serina finally moved again, stepping lightly around the map's edge as if pacing the perimeter of a future not yet built. Her heels tapped quietly on the durasteel floor, each step steady and poised.

"You're not wrong," she said at last. "To strike too boldly would be to invite teeth before the tongue has had its say. The Sith are creatures of pride, of suspicion. They react before they understand. They attack not because they see threat—but because they smell ambition."

She paused, eyes flicking to his visor.

"Which means I must give them a reason to look away."

Her fingers danced across the edge of the console, as if tracing lines on a battlefield only she could see.

"I've been subtle, until now. Careful. Wove myself into the cracks, whispered in the right ears, made myself useful in ways that didn't raise questions."

She turned to face him fully once more, the playfulness returning—slight, but undeniable. Like the glint of venom beneath a smile.

"But you must understand, Lord Strosius—subtlety is not my nature."

A beat.

"It is a mask I wear. One of many. And while it has served me well… it is time I shed it, even for a little."

She stepped forward again, not enough to breach his sense of space, but enough to shift the energy between them—close enough for her voice to drop, just slightly.

"I've spent my life playing beneath notice. Being the whisper behind the curtain. But the Empire must know me, feel me, before I truly infect it. And I intend to make sure my name is spoken in its great halls. Whimpered in its chambers. And carved into the minds of those who still believe they hold power."

She smiled again, softer now.

"There will be a test. Soon. A very public one. Designed to… see who blinks first."

No detail. No hint. Just the shape of threat, traced like a fingertip down the back of the Order.

"I don't expect you to approve. I certainly don't expect you to assist. I only want you to watch. Watch how they react. Watch who squirms. Who calls for blood. Who looks the other way."

She walked past him then, glancing sideways as she did—offering him the barest tilt of her head.

"And most importantly, watch what I don't do. Because what I withhold will tell you more than any speech I could give."

She paused just beyond him now, before the cracked doorway that led back to the hangar. The shadows of the old station stretched long here, broken by pale emergency light.

"I know what you're thinking. That it's foolish. Too early. Too loud. Too much."

She looked back over her shoulder, eyes gleaming faintly with amusement.

"But you forget, Lord Strosius… I am not trying to build a power base. I'm trying to start a plague. And that requires a little screaming."

A final smile. Dark. Magnetic. Terrifying in its simplicity.

She did not wait for him to respond. Didn't need to. She had told him just enough.
No more.

The spider had lifted one leg. And now, all she had to do—was wait for the web to tremble.