Duel DAGGERFALL - Of Tyrants and Gods.

[Serina Calis]

Of Tyrants and Gods.
Location: Ziost
Objective: Victory.
Allies: ???
Opposing Force: Diarch Reign
Tags: ???

"Tyrants and Gods. We fight where they once stood, pay homage to their memory in the sanctity of our blood. Let us make sure they are not ashamed."​

A dead world. A cursed world.

The air crackled with whispers—long-dead voices exhaled from the fractured crust, breathed out from temple ruins and canyon mouths like secrets still too dangerous to speak aloud. Ash swirled across the wind-blasted plains, a silvery veil that danced like ghosts before vanishing into the gloom. The sky was a choked, endless red—bleeding and bruised. And beneath it all, Ziost pulsed with a wound that would never close.

And yet... she came.

Bootsteps echoed on ancient stone. Slow. Purposeful. Not tentative, but deliberate—each stride a proclamation, each step a conquest. The ash dared not settle on her.

Serina Calis moved like a goddess born from nightmare and promise, the Dark Side wrapping around her like a second cloak—sinuous, sensual, serpentine. The hem of her jagged cape stirred behind her, as if reluctant to release the cold ground she had claimed. Her eyes, glacial blue and pitiless, surveyed the desolation not with awe, but with ownership.

And across her back, clasped like a sacred burden, was Ebon Requiem—her halberd. The obsidian and phrik alloy blade shimmered faintly, its edge tracing symbols of hunger and authority, like it whispered for blood even while at rest. The shaft gleamed in pulses of light and void, as if it breathed in rhythm with her own corrupted will. A weapon not merely forged, but willed into existence. A statement of dominion.

Serina did not walk into Ziost.
She arrived.
Like inevitability.

Her presence tore through the planet's silence, not with noise—but with weight. The Force groaned as she passed, heavy with the promise of domination. Beneath her boots, dust that had lain undisturbed for millennia swirled into spirals of reverence or warning. And still she pressed on—toward the rumored tomb at the edge of the obsidian cliffs, where legend spoke of a relic that once drank the soul of a Dark Lord.

But as she crested the last rise, a pressure folded in the air—like the world inhaled.

Then she saw him.

A figure stood far ahead. Still. Distant. Silent.

He was not there moments ago. But now he was all that existed.

No armor. No banners. No weapons that she could see. And yet the Force around him shuddered, warping like glass beneath a flame.

Even across the distance, his presence radiated—a colossal force wrapped in flesh. Not seductive. Not cunning. No masks, no veils. Raw. Unfiltered. Primal. Where Serina was the whisper that corrupted empires from within, this one was a storm given form.

And the Force between them?
It screamed.

She paused.

The wind howled through the canyons. Her cape danced behind her, glowing embroidery alive with magenta pulses. Her eyes narrowed—piercing, calculating, hungry.

The halberd slid from her back with the reverence of ritual.
Ebon Requiem struck the ground beside her with a deep clang, a heartbeat forged in phrik. The impact echoed through Ziost like a challenge… or a prophecy.

She did not speak. There were no words that would not cheapen this moment.
Only her stance shifted—graceful and lethal, a serpent coiled, glowing eyes locked to the figure ahead.

He did not move.

But the Force twisted, and every instinct in her sang with warning. No... not warning. Invitation.

The two stood amidst the desolation—monoliths carved of shadow and will. Serina, corruption incarnate, mistress of elegance and ruination. He, a specter of overwhelming might, shaped by fury and ancient fire.

The clash had not begun.
But it would.

Not today. Perhaps not even tomorrow. But Ziost had seen a thousand duels between gods and tyrants—and now, it had chosen them.

This was not a meeting.

This was an omen.

And when they met again…

The galaxy would burn.

 

[Diarch Reign]

​

Location: Ziost
Tags: Serina Calis

---

Rumors had reached Reign of an ancient Sith relic upon the surface of the Sith Holy World of Ziost. He had learned much about the planet in his studies under his father, as with all the "Holy" locations of both his hated enemies, the Jedi and the Sith. So here he was, upon the desolate surface of the planet. Among the many remnants of fallen and rebirthed orders, searching for an item rumored to have Drank the Soul of a Dark Lord.

He was close, he could feel it somewhere within the caverns before him, he had stood in the same spot for what seemed like hours, studying the terrain ahead of him. He was searching for an entrance, he needed to find this relic before some chaos loving Sith or pious Jedi could discover it and either use it for ruin, or lock it away. In his hands it would be used, but safe, so he came himself. Not entrusting it to a more Junior member of his order.

It was then that he felt Her his senses screamed out in danger, and he turned slowly towards where the force seemed to groan in protest to the intrusion. As he locked eyes with her, vibrant green meeting icy blue, even across the distance that existed between them, he could feel her power. Like a corrupted wound in the force, she seemed to seep the corruption of the dark side into the force. A being a pure power, contained in the trappings of flesh.

No Matter

He thought. He was the Son of Kakus, one of the Lords of the Diarchy, he had contended with the most powerful beings the Galaxy had known. And as his eyes narrowed in response to her weapon he determined.

She shall know his fury.

 

[Serina Calis]

Of Tyrants and Gods.
Location: Ziost
Objective: Victory.
Allies: ???
Opposing Force: Diarch Reign
Tags: ???

"Tyrants and Gods. We fight where they once stood, pay homage to their memory in the sanctity of our blood. Let us make sure they are not ashamed."​

She felt him the moment his gaze turned.

A spike in the current, a knife dragged through the still waters of the Force. The world around her seemed to recoil, as though the air itself wished to flee from the tension bleeding across Ziost's barren plains. Her fingers tightened around the haft of Ebon Requiem as her eyes locked with his—vibrant green, unyielding and ancient, the kind of gaze that had stared down kings and killers alike and not flinched.

So. Reign.

The son of Kakus.
One of the two Diarchs.
A phantom whispered of in war rooms and forbidden temples.

Even his name carried a weight—Reign, a title as much as a warning. The galaxy remembered those who had the power to break it. And he had been carved from that legacy, shaped in its furnace, a creature of iron resolve and burning fury. Where others hungered for power, he commanded it, like a war-god striding between the stars.

She exhaled slowly. The breath shimmered in the frigid Ziost air, mingling with the soft glow of her blade's etchings, casting pale magenta light along the lines of her armor. The heart-shaped crest upon her chest pulsed with corrupted glee, as though it, too, knew this meeting was foretold.

She remembered his brother first.

Rellik.

How different they were. Rellik, the silver serpent of diplomacy and trickery, the blade that slipped between the cracks of empires. She had walked beside him once—if only briefly—on Dantooine. Together, they tore down a Rakatan AI that had lingered far past its time.

It was not partnership. It was necessity. And when the task was done, and the ancient machine lay silent, she remembered the look in Rellik's eyes as he watched her leave. A flicker of fear, masked by amusement. He had seen in her something his brother might now face:

A force without leash.

But this one—Reign—he was not Rellik. He did not play with words. He was not some smooth-tongued dagger in the dark. He was a storm wrapped in skin. His will was a hammer brought down upon planets, unbending and unbreakable.

She smiled.

It was slow. Poisonous. Alluring.

The kind of smile that had ruined kings and seduced titans.

Of course it would be him. Who else could stand upon Ziost, as if it were his world? Who else could draw the Force into such tension with his mere presence, forcing even the corrupted soil to shudder in anticipation?

Her voice came soft at first—honeyed venom curling in the air.

"So the Diarchy sends its fire to chase ghosts."

She stepped forward. A slow, regal advance across the ash-strewn stone. Ebon Requiem dragged beside her, its blade cutting a shallow line in the ground, humming with restrained hunger.

"I met your brother once," she mused aloud, tone almost wistful, though it glinted with something more wicked. "Rellik. Charming. Clever. Smelled of broken promises and stolen time. Together, we buried something ancient—on a world the Jedi had forgotten. He feared me by the end, though he would never admit it. I wonder..."

Her piercing blue eyes met his again.

"...do you?"

The question hung like a blade suspended by a thread. There was no wind now. The air was taut with silence. The Force buckled between them.

The ground at her feet cracked, softly, subtly—her power coiling beneath her like a serpent ready to strike. Her cape flared as if caught in a wind only she could feel, the inner violet lining pulsing like a heartbeat in tandem with the obsidian etchings of her halberd. The blade of Ebon Requiem glowed brighter now, drinking in the tension, reflecting not light—but intention.

She knew what he was.

She knew what he could become.

But Serina Calis had not come to Ziost to kneel before old legacies or dynasties of fire. She was not heir to a throne. She was the thief of destiny, the mistress of temptation, the goddess of corruption. The Dark Side did not flow through her—it answered to her.

She raised her halberd, its wicked edge gleaming like a shard of midnight.
Her voice, no longer soft, became command.

"Come then, Reign. Let the tyranny of violence rule on Ziost once more."

And the Force held its breath.

Ziost would remember this day.