Populate Dies Festus Mortourum | SO Populate of Tellyr Prime

[Darth Empyrean]

Empyrean's face had grown stony and cold - befitting death. Once he would smile and move with extra flails of his arms. He had enjoyed being alive - if nothing else, he enjoyed not being in constant agony as reality itself sought to tore himself away from his terrible vessel. He looked to Vector and simply nodded after a moment, a betrayal of who he once was, but fitting the Lord of Death he had become.​

​

"I recall you assisted in me in archeological efforts on Ossus. Vector Monk.", he offered back idly. For all he had lost in his death, he had retained the intelligence and memory of his species, Arkanian through and through.​

​

"I rarely forget faces."​

​

As the Empress began to take over the conversation with the man, Empyrean's eyes spotted his approach long before he truly was near. Venn Kolis moved to stand next to the Emperor - who sat without a mask or even the ability to hide his presence within the Force. He leaned back and looked over to him, speaking a low tone;​

​

"It is good to see you, my Son. You've been gone for too long.", he mused. He would smile were he able, but the afflictions that took him now were everlasting, and offered little chance for such things. Besides, he already knew that when he smiled, it looked more like a dead wolf dripping flesh.​

​

"You've chosen a rather fitting companion for the night. Is it a show piece, or do you intend to use it?", he said as he looked at the man's 'date'.​

​

His gaze nor attention, ever drifted towards the speech being made; but Elmindra Xitaar would sense he watched her as he watched them all. It was his profane ability and right do so. He didn't shift or even acknowledge her sacrifices, however, ever hard to please as he was.​

​

Srina Talon // Vector Monk​

 

[Vector Monk]

Darth Empyrean Srina Talon Venn Kolis

Vector dipped his head down. Pursed lips hovered inches from the Dread Empress' hand in a pantomime kiss. His cultured galidraani accent spoke of proper breeding. A mischievous sparkle in his eyes hinted that the archaeologist understood just how dangerous this masquerade was and thrived on such risk. Power drew him into their presence but it also threatened to melt his wings into wax should he fly too close.

"I recall you assisted in me in archeological efforts on Ossus. Vector Monk."​

"Just so, my lord!" he beamed with pride and no small measure of relief.

If the dark sentinel who moved beside Empyrean's throne unsettled Vector, he gave a masterful performance. His consort's passing interest in the historian's work however provoked another rakish grin.

"Have you any discoveries that might be of interest?"

"A fellow academic!" Vector exclaimed, "I'm afraid field work keeps me too often away from court. So you share the Dark Lord's passion for precious treasures?"

He snapped his fingers and moments later an archaic device was placed in Captain Monk's gloved palm. His pearl white cape swished in a theatrical flourish.

"Behold, my lady! Are you familiar with Sith wayfinders? I recovered this relic from a dig on Malachor V. Think of the secrets it could unlock! Where might it lead?"

 

[Diodoros]

​

Location: Korriban - Palace of Vardin
Tag: Lord Kalrath | Madrona A’Mia | OPEN​

Diodoros was giving more of his attention to some of the others around the Grand Ballroom. Plenty of powerful men and women populated the scene. None of whom he was really familiar with. He wondered if there was that Nwul guy that he’d been hearing a lot about. But he didn’t know what they looked like or if they were even here or not.

The living golden statue of a man looked back over to the pale twi’lek. A little put off by their psychic words. It wasn’t the first time he’d been addressed in such a way, but that didn’t make it any less unnerving. Diodoros was about to speak to them before his attention was grabbed by another individual who approached the duo. She looked like a tree, or at least someone wearing a haunting tree. Given the outfits he saw tonight it was hard to tell how much of it was an elaborate costume or her own unique physiology.

He looked down as she spoke of “alchemically enhanced tea,” which certainly sounded interesting. Diodoros gave an eager nod. Wondering some about what could possibly be in store if he accepted such an offer. He knew that the Hutts had wacky spice. But this ‘alchemical brew’ they spoke of sounded like some real shadow wizard chit. “Yeah that does sound pretty enticing.” In the back of his head he knew that if his handler was here with him she’d be scolding him for messing around with magic tea instead of being productive and networking with the Sith leadership here. But all that stuff was lame busy work. Never caring much for the vain workplace politics of his employers. He just needed to be pointed in the right direction and told to cause mayhem. No need to make things so complicated.

Then he heard another figure speaking, seemingly addressing the entire ballroom. He looked over at the rather tall green lady. Wondering if she was the hostess for the evening. It was actually incredibly difficult for him to discern who was in charge. For all he knew the pale twi’lek he was standing next to could’ve been Lord Nwul.​

 

[Anak Darkstar]

The Son of Shadow came to a quiet place away from the crowds of chanters. There by a pool of dark water, he stood his cape swirling behind him. When ripples of the water drew to him on the shore. He had come to seek counsel from the Convergence, more than that he sought redemption. As his heart lingered on his desires, the black water began to rise and form into a shape, a figure, a Woman. Her eyes were grey and her hair black falls of water. She approached.

“Darkstar..”

The voice was familiar, and yet not. The Son of Darkness did not stir at thus sight, all manner of unnatural things was taking place at this Eclipse.

The Dark Lady of The Lake reached the shallows and held out her hand. The Son of Perdition did not take it, he stood on the shoreline stoic.

“Darkstar.. look at what you have become. Lord of the Inferno, and cut off from The Order. You walk the forked path, which shall split you asunder..”

Anak crossed his arms, his chrome steel gauntlet wrapping around each other.

“How insightful Lake Lady, will you next foretell my fortune?”

Anak spoke with a sharpness shaped in cynicism.

The Lady brushed her hand through her waterfall locks.

“Did you not come to seek answers on the eve of this eclipse?”

The Son of Darkness scoffed.

“A fool’s hope. All that I ever find is riddles in shadow. You will no doubt read my thoughts and convince me you are some oracle who can set me on a path to atone.. I have heard it all before..”

Anak turned to walk from the pool when The Dark Lady of the Lake said,

“Go to the Palace, throw yourself before the Emperor, only he can give you pardon.”

The Son of Shadow turned, his glowing red eyes fixed on the woman.

“I am not invited.”

The Lady drew to the threshold of land.

“Darkstar.. Sith do not accept things as they are, they sieze them. Fight for your pardon! Only then when you bend events to your will and you shall be an apostate no more.”

Anak spoke in a whisper,

“Are you saying I am master of my own destiny?”

The Lady smiled as waters swelled and began to pull her back to the center of the pool, her face a great smile before the black waters pulled her under.

Darkstar stood there, and looked up at the moons which were touching. He looked in the distance at the Palace.

The Son of Darkness made his way to the Palace. The word was that The Emperor himself was there as The Dark Lady of the Lake had claimed. Anak’s only hope of lifting his apostasy was a pardon from the Dead-God, the issue was getting inside and through the throng of courtiers.

The gate of the great Palace was guarded, one of whom The Son of Perdition approached, The Captain of the Guard had short spiked blond hair, eyes wild with flame, and his vestments were crimson trimmed in gold.

“Halt.. the way is shut. Only the invited may pass”

The crescent eyes fixed on this Captain, his long crimson cape floating behind him as a tail. Anak turned to walk away, when he leapt into the air, his cape carrying him towards a turrent. The Captain called guards who threw saber pikes, the blades bounced off the dark stone, and fell. The Captain fled inside.

The Son of Darkness came to a sky light and saw all manner of pagentry and opulence as Sith royals and hierarchy gathered. There was a circle of Slaves that had formed, and the words of Elmindra Xitaar could be heard, “Sacrifice.” This was the opportunity, a pause, a lull in the Ball, when Anak felt hands grab him from behind.

“Your intruding is a violation! You shall be submit to justice!”

Anak struggled, grabbing at the Captain’s arm and tossing him over his head against the glass which cracked.

“I seek an Audience with The Emperor.”

The Captain eyed The Son of Darkness.

“An assassin! You will be charged with an attempt on the Emperor’s life!”

The Son of Shadow sighed,

“You are stretching things Captain.. I have no intention of..”

Guards swarmed the roof top. Their rifles pointed and safeties off.

“He seeks to take our Emperor’s life! Kill..”

Anak raised his hands.

“Have you been drinking Captain? I said I have no ill intent towards The Emperor, I merely seek..”

The Captain threw a knife down on the roof.

“He is Tsis’kaar traitor! He seeks to harm our blessed Lord Empyrean! Shoot him!”

The Son of Darkness holding his hands up called his saber hilts to his hands, the blades snapped to life as the Guards clicked their triggers, though no bolts flew. The Captain looked at his men,

“I gave an order! Fire!”

One of the Guards replied,

“Sir, respectfully, he hasn’t done anything.. Imperial Code states..”

The Captain shouted,

“Don’t recite Imperial Code to me Cadet! I gave you a direct order! If you hesitate, he will do great harm!”

Anak decided to do something uncharacteristic. He deactivated his sabers and laid them both on the ground, he then offered his wrists.

“I surrender.. I appeal to The Emperor’s Clemency.”

The Cadet removed cuffs from his belt and inched towards Anak, sliding the glowing yellow force field brass cuffs over her gauntels.

The Captain kicked The Son of Darkness in the chest.

“You will rot in a cell and be drawn and quartered.. no burned!”

He pulled up a datapad to identify Him.

“Anak Darkstar.. Apostate! You are charged with high treason and the attempted assassination of Emperor Empyrean.”

The Captain had Anak taken away, The Cadet furled his brow. Inside a cell, Anak was covered in chains. The Captain looked at him with disdain.

“I remember you at Fiviune Darkstar, how you stood with Tsis’kaar.. now you will face the penalty for your crimes.”

The Captain walked away. The Cadet approached.

“Is it true you were at the Battle of Fiviune?”

Anak nodded.

“Did you really side with the Assassins?”

The Son of Darkness adjusted his chains.

“I tried to save one, a girl named Alice.”

The Cadet lowered his head.

“You should have stayed away, they can burn you for your crimes..”

Anak sighed.

“When you have experienced hell fire, little else compares..”

The Cadet looked down the hall of cells. He then leaned in.

“You appealed to the Emperor.”

The Son of Darkness took a deep breath.

“By Creed it cannot be honored, I am an Apostate. Though my falling away was the manipulation of forces.. no.. I will not shirk the blame.”

The Cadet took a key pad and opened the cell.

“I can take you to The Throne Room. I can ask an audience, if The Emperor grants it, you may come before his presence and plead your case. I must warn you’d probably be better off facing Captain Jarvin’s judgment.”

Anak bowed his head.

“What is your name Cadet?”

The Young Man replied,

“Sorkin, Alan Sorkin.”

The Cadet took Anak by the chains and led him out of the cell block. He came to the Block Guard who the Cadet whispered something to. Then turning Alan escorted Anak out of the Block. Many of the courtiers did not seem to notice the chains, suspecting it was part of costume, since Anak wore a mask.

The Cadet lead Anak to alcove with a window out of sight.

“Stay here..”

Alan made hus eay into the Ball Room where slaves were poised in filthy wrags, and the Great Sith Lords and Ladies congregated and danced.

Cadet Alan spoke to a Guardsman, relaying a message to Darth Empyrean ,

“My Lord Emperor, an Anak Darkstar, apostate and traitor at Fiviune has requested an audience, to submit to your justice.”

 

[Ulysses Renoux]

H O U S E • R E N O U X​

Wearing: xxx
Tag: Deyanira Draco

“Isn’t that a question you already know the answer to,” he said as he stepped in to steal the dark haired woman for a dance.

He did not ask. Ulysses never did. Their dynamic was such that he did what he wanted, and she would respond as she pleased. It likely unnerved her to no end that he was generally correct in his assumptions as to what those responses may be. In his estimation it was all calculated risk. She would either dance with him, or she would reject him with another slap. Tonight, he did not sense she would rebuff, especially with the pheromones which had been released into the air.

Ulysses sensed them, his head feeling a little light at first. The amplified desire he felt for the woman he could never have grew. The duke had recognized it for what it was, nor did he care. Perhaps it meant the woman would finally let her guard down, and he would get a better picture of what it was she was hiding.

The man had always been curious about her. Did she truly hate him so much, or was it that she hated herself because she still loved him. The idea of the latter made his lips curl into a smile as the music played.

“You look beautiful as always, Lady Draco.”

Maybe tonight they did not need to be openly hostile with each other. After all, they were both in a mask, and among those who were not aware of the political dynamic between them.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

The figure laughed, a deep vibrating rumble. "How very humble, for a Sith. But, you are correct. The Order has been led astray far too many times, and it remains maligned by those who do not understand what needs to be done to purify the Sith in it's entirety. You possess vision, my young lord, vision that may yet see your desires through. But you will need more than vision, though I have no doubt your conviction is just as strong. You will need power, beyond what you now possess."

He reached out, gloved hand now seen emerging from the voluminous sleeve of the mysterious man's cloak. In it was clutched an object wrapped in fine silk. The figure slowly pulled back the silk, reveal a large shard of metal, jagged on one side and sharply honed on the other. After a moment's glance they would recognize it as part of a sword, part of the blade, but it had been broken away and slightly warped from an intense heat. The figure seemed to be offering it to Alisteri.

"Take this, and use it well. It contains much power, much strength, and can be remade to suit your needs." Yes, even now Alisteri would feel the dark power pulsating within the shard, almost like the rhythmic pulses of a heartbeat. But there was something else, a deep hunger as well, one that had been tempered through a great many battles. "With it, you may yet see your dreams for the Sith Order be made into reality. But, it can only be your decision, for only the hand which grips the sword can determine where it shall fall."

Darth Strosius ​

 

[Xander Blackmoore]

WEARING: xxx | xxx
WEAPONS: Lightsaber
TAG: Velda Nar-Donna

The night was certainly going to be entertaining. Something about what hung in the air had piqued Xander’s interest, and what better opportunity to learn about those who had become prominent in the order than by observing them socially. For now, it seemed they that called themselves emperor and empress sat upon their thrones and let the people, their subjects, approach them. It was a fleeting thought that they seemed uninvolved because the melody of Velda’s voice pulled his attention toward her once more.

She was the most beautiful thing he had asked to occupy his arm in some time. His sights had been long set on Chiara Viren, a princess he had known from childhood. She had wandered the path of a Jedi, and he a Sith. Years had separated them, but when they had reunited his attempts to seduce her away from the lightside had failed. There had been other women, other promises, broken hearts, and those he simply used in the same ways in which they had used him.

Xander was still uncertain which type of woman he wore on his arm tonight. Whether she was there because of his position, or simply because he had asked, was her own motivation to keep. The noble did not intend to search out her secrets, not yet anyway. Darth Vizios simply wanted the woman to trust him, and for now, it seemed she did.

It was not the mystery of him that made it easy. Xander had become adept at garnering the trust of those who were usually reluctant to give it. The man gave them what they needed to know, just enough of it. Velda knew he was there to observe. She knew he was there to find out how to reintroduce himself to the Sith without being linked to the rebellious league of assassins which had just been put down by the rest of the Sith.

Some of that order were in the room, and he could sense them. It was odd that Darth Empyrean had spared them. A smile pulled at his face thinking about how he would have handled the situation personally. Marr and Haxim would not have been permitted to live.

Tonight, rather than a Falleen making sacrifices of Ashlan captives, the traitorous Sith among them should be on display, their bodies hanging from the rafters, and their heads in pikes for all to see. The Assassin could not determine what Empyrean was basing his rule on. Thus far the Sith had determined he was neither feared, nor was he respected. Where did his loyalty come from then?

“What do you know of our hosts?”

One of them stood on the Dias overlooking the guests and making a grand speech. Her entourage had already begun spreading themselves about the palace. The noble Sith pulled the woman he was dancing with closer as his eyes dipped from hers to the exposed flesh of her chest. A sudden attraction beyond what he felt upon seeing her in the dress for the first time had gripped him in the moment. Even as they danced and moved he felt as though she were not close enough.

“Tell me everything.”

He leaned closer to her ear.

“Are they worth investing effort in getting to know, or should we just dance long enough to be seen and retire somewhere private a little early?”

 

[Anak Darkstar]

TAG: OPEN

Cadet Sorkin recieved the message and went back to Anak who stood as sentinel. The Cadet sighed.

“The Emperor it seems has not heard of these matters. I do not believe you will receive an audience.”

The Son of Hell nodded.

“So be it.”

The Cadet furrowed his brow.

“If The Emperor does not condemn you, then Captain Javin has no case.”

The Hell Spawn made the chains around him heat as orange flame and break off, all but the one at the waist.

“I shall forge my own destiny then.”

The Cadet nodded.

“I hope you find whatever you are looking for.”

The Lord of Inferno placed his gauntlet hand on the shoulder of the Alan.

“You have my thanks for all you have done. You are a credit to the Order.”

With that the Son of Darkness bid the Cadet farewell as he made his way into the Masquerade. The dancing was something amusing to him, he had tried it once and never quite learned the rhythm.

 

[Tarus Undara]

Korriban
Objective I

​

“I heard the drinks were amazing,” he joked. His eyes wandered to one of the headless corpses carrying crimson beverages around the room.

Seriously, do Sith ever drink water?

“In truth, I suppose I’m here to make connections. My web of contacts is admittedly thin.” He sighed, swirling the blood-wine absentmindedly.

“Never know when you’ll need to call upon a friend.”

Especially friends of Carnifex, he reasoned, if he planned to remain on the Holy Worlds. Korriban was a dark place, but the old energy here was so unique and ancient. It called to Tarus like a siren.

The fallen Jedi could pursue many things here if he played his cards right. Things that didn’t require dark rituals, necromancy, or wanton murder. He just had to remember who his true allegiance was to.

He couldn’t forget the Covenant.

- Teresa Pelles | Darth Pellax -​

 

[Rayth]

"Funny you should say that.." she grinned, it was as if he had read her mind and the roller coaster of sensations the force was causing on the young novice. "In a fight, like at the melee trials, I guess it's easier because you know the other person wants to harm you. This is a different kind of minefield. But it's kinda fun to try and work out what other people are thinking right?"

It was quite clear to Rayth that Annika had a much better grasp on the intricacies of Sith social movements. This wasn't a popularity contest, it was life or death.

She knew that - or else she was a halfwit - and yet she still found the game enjoyable.

Rayth wished he could. Instead he felt ill at ease. He felt exposed, out in the open, in the light.

Rayth offered a low bow to Darth Nwul. Her pleasant mannerisms did not seem to match the shadow she carved in the Force, the way she floated across the ground as an obvious show of her power.

Rayth moved slightly closer to Annika.

"Would you walk with me?" he asked. "Play a game and tell me what you think you see here? And perhaps a dance?"

 

[Darth Strosius]

Darth Carnifex

Darth Strosius fixed the mysterious figure with a masked glare as the other laughed, wondering what exactly had been so humorous. He had spoken the truth had he not? Perhaps it was just the humility of his response, if one could call it humility when it was a simple statement of truth, as opposed to anything else. Most Sith would jump at the chance to proclaim their bid for a throne after all. "Power will come in time. Faith and dedication have been enough for me thus far, they will be enough going forward."

He knew well enough that power would be needed, far greater power than he could possess. Years of scraping and scratching for whatever power he could gain and wield had led to him striking down his master and even then he hadn't been able to do it alone. But he didn't necessarily need power to do what needed to be done, he just needed opportunity. Even if he had to carve out that opportunity himself.

The sword piece took up his attention immediately, its essence and presence more than making up for the apparent lack of such in the figure themselves. It was storied and hungry like some veteran warrior tensing up before their next kill. And it was being offered to him on a silken platter. He considered it for a moment, running his gaze over the deformed and damaged metal and idly thinking about he he could reforge it into a usable state once more, but he shook his head. "Tempting," He admitted. "But no."

His gaze returned to the ominous eyes of the figure as his arms crossed behind his back. "I do not take handouts. If I am to ever achieve my goal of purifying the Sith and claiming the galaxy itself for the Dark Side then I must do it with my own skills and capabilities, not those of some mysterious blade. I will do such as the Sith of old had done, with blood, with sweat, and with effort. Anything less and any victory that I achieve would be spoiled by my own lacking ability to do so otherwise."

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

"I see you, b-betrayer."

The thus far silent spectre of his Mistress, his dead Mistress, spoke.

Voices that had been restricted to his mind, materialised into reality, spoken out of the black-cloaked figure, the Pale Assassin, as her moniker went, for through the darkness of her veil, stood contrast the woman...

...The woman he had murdered.

"H-Hate."

His breath hitched, his fingers held firmly around his amulet, the only article on his form that yet bound him to existence, yet his hand protested every second of the touch, so hot the amulet had become. The ashes swirling in anguish, as the un-dead remains of Darth Marr, desperately attempted to keep his mind in the here and now.

Yet, even they could not.

His vision flickered between the bright vivid reds of Korriban's masquerade ball, desperately trying to take in the sights before him, desperately attempting to commit them to his memory, desperately... holding on. He saw the partisans of the Golden Covenant, the partisans of Caedes, most of which he could not put names to their face... not aided by the fact he could not exactly see their faces. He saw others, those unaffiliated, those carefree, those unburdened with the price of victory. He saw the arrival of the Praetorians, the Empress, and the Emperor.

A reminder of the very burden which he now carried.

Knowledge which he was cursed with.

Knowledge they could never know he held.

It stood in cold contrast to the darkness that was the Cradle of Contempt. Atop its craggy cliff side, even from this distance, he could see the far away valley below him, where long ago the excavations, the archaeology, the search for that knowledge hidden deep in the depths had long since ceased. The wind ran up to his face, shivering his form, before retreating and billowing back in quick succession. There was a miasma of death that covered this place, though, that was Fiviune at the best of times.

But no, this was recent.

If the world was not desolate and dead, no doubt the carrion would be feasting upon the corpses, left behind to rot, and become a further testament to this... the tomb of a world.

Of to the far-off distance, he spotted the crashed remnant of a familiar sight, the ship he had commanded for its maiden voyage, only to fall in its first battle.

Yet the Mors Vistra had survived the battle... hadn't it?

His vision flickered back to Korriban.

Headless servants, with suspiciously bloody drinks, another wasteful celebration, when the enemy was at the gates. The Kainites had not even participated in the fall of the Tsis'Kaar, yet they celebrated, as if another victory to add to the false Emperor's crown.

It sickened him.

"I see you... traitor."

He bit down on his teeth, as his vision warped back to the darkness.

The Serpentine Throne, and at its feet, lay one of the three hydra heads of the Tsis'Kaar. Vampiric Darth Strosius, masked as he always was in the secrets of his shroud, the man he trusted nearly implicity, despite not even knowing what was hidden underneath. Ali's back was scorched, through it to his front, the telltale sign of a mortal wound by a lightsaber.

Something that even the famed Sangnir's regeneration had been unable to save him from.

Something you were unable to save him from.

Malum's kneels fell to the cold floor, to think, the last they spoke of... heh... the last thing they shouted at each other, was of such vulgarity and anger. Of such hatred and loathing. Of Ali's righteousness, and his own... guilt.

What did such grand words, grand meanings, and grand feelings, mean in the face of the reality of their demise though? Did it matter that they thought those thoughts, that they said those words, did it matter how real they were, in the face of the coldness of what came after?

The silence gripped him into action, his fellow apprentice, his friend, his... battlebrother, deserved better than this. Fighting against the weight that demanded he fall to the ground, he stood, he would cradle the corpse with all the care that was warranted to it, and bury it. Bury it among those of their order who had fallen, fighting for all they had believed in.

He might have chuckled, if he were not so choked so, he had a feeling it was exactly what Ali would have wanted.

Yet failure plagued him ever still, for as the body was lifted up, the mask fell.

He stared.

He stared.

Stared into nothing.

After all, the mind could not generate, what it did not know.

He let the corpse fall without grace, with undignified indecency. As Malum clutched his chest, gazing down at the blank face, wearing the skin and arms of a very alive Ali. He did now chuckle, chuckled with the intensity and register, that one might have misconstrued for madness, after all, Darth Strosius was not dead, Ali... Ali could not die.

He would not leave him alone with their sins.

Malum levelled his gaze around them.

This was not how it had happened.

You know how it happened.

Fiviune was far behind them, they were at Korriban.

They had triumphed.

They were now celebrating.

His vision settled, warping in that all-familiar way.

But she would not let him leave so easily.

"Malum"

He stared down at the forgery of the corpse, out from its lips her voice spoke, speaking out of the face of a... stranger. A handsome stranger, whose black locks framed his features, whose eyes glew with the cool energy of twin suns, whose face was marred with darkened streaks, of ink or blood, remaining hard to define.

Who...? Was this?

What was this?

The corpse provided no answer, laying unnaturally still, able to speak... however... certainly dead.

Yet, dead or alive, it shackled him to this plain, its chains invisible, yet so obvious. He was not at Fiviune, was upon Korriban.

That was the truth.

The undeniable truth.

Or was it?

His body felt the wind glide across its skin, with his hairs standing to attention, as seamlessly, and easily, as he would at any other time.

He could breathe in the air, and feel his chest bloom.

He could gaze upon all which was within the world, and see it as clear as it was day.

So how could he think this was not reality?

For not even reality could bend itself so easily. For not even reality would suddenly vanish the now-faced corpse before him. For not even reality would take him to the craggy cliffside, the one where... he first met his mistress.

"What darkness has gripped your m-heart?"

He turned his away from the cliffside, and there, in the flesh, was Darth Ophidia. Her cloak abandoned, and her pale Rattataki skin revealed bare for the darkened planet to witness, standing from the ground from where she knelt, her eyes blazing with emotion, that swirled plainly around them both.

This was not how this had happened.

Yet, there was no time to question, to argue, to think, for as her hand raised, as the emotions swirled, as the Force itself was unleashed.

As the lightning struck his form, his upper body buckled, feeling in full force that all so familiar feeling, the one which had been inflicted upon him, and which he had inflicted on others, with reckless abandon, and ceaseless enjoyment. The power of the light, made manifest, through darkness, the power which brought on sizzling flesh, muscle aches, burned bones.

So why did he smile?

Why did he grin?

Smile a grin, which was not his.

"If you make such bold claims, then be ready to bet your life, or lay down and die a pretender."

Not his words.

His hands wrapped around his shoulders, his fingers as talons, raking over his form, as the sky behind him grew darker, what little light made it through Fiviune, to be choked out by his very presence.

Not his actions.

And then, they whipped out, with the speed of a blaster. Out of his hands flowed forth freely, the only response to an acolyte's arrogance.

White lightning, a colour which he had never drawn from his fingers, the colour of the hottest substance, seemingly stolen from the very sky behind them, and with that expectation. The thunder echoed around them, booming from his fingers, as they fired straight for a singular target, the Ghost of Ophidia, the face which haunted him so, finally, finally, put to bed.

Yet ghosts were not real.

Korriban revealed itself to him.

Sophia of House Marr 's face, his sweet, beautiful sister, the only one which he could see.

His hands drawn, the white lightning erupting out of them. His paling face, hidden behind a mask, sweat trailing his brow, looking sickly, as his eyes grew wider than they had ever been.

No!

No!

"Yes!"

She was too close.

No!

No!

No!

Tear drops grew in his eyes, threatening to spill down his face.

Time slowed, as the lightning spilled forth out of his fingers, the lightning which had never struck him that day on Fiviune. Yet he knew with utmost certainty what would have happened if it had.

Would another fall for his sins?

No...

...No...

No...

Anyone, but Sophia.

The voice of his Mistress stood in silence.

Please.

Anyone but his baby sister.

His mind grew heady.

The silence continued.

The lightning pressed forth, every moment it grew closer, time slowed further.

Was this to be his fate? To watch, his sister's execution... that would never come?

To be stuck in this forever reality, to be consigned to his torture?

It was in that moment, that twin presences in his mind would reveal themselves. Both familiar, however, both too, essentially strangers, if one considered how long he had truly known them. Yet, Darth Nwul and Quinn Varanin , would unknowingly find themselves holding his debt for life. As their soothing comfort, for reasons he could not at this moment fathom, or let alone hope to understand, gave him, a singular chance, to beat fate at her own game.

His fingers, twisted, his hand moved in desperation, and his arm followed with what will it had, within the present moment, of milliseconds before disaster.

Time returned to its relentless march, as the lightning finally shot forth from his fingers, as the sweat burned out of him, and the tears, dripped down his cheek.

Yet the target had shifted, for the ballroom above them.

Spoiler

Darth Caedes Rayth Annika Starfire Tarus Undara Deyanira Draco @Teresa Pelles Darth Pellax Lord Kalrath Gospivost Avgustor Ulysses Renoux Xander Blackmoore Lucia Naberrie Gerwald Lechner Diodoros Mazrith Drihl Darth Empyrean Srina Talon O Osisa Sophia of House Marr Naedira Darcrath Darth Nwul Vector Monk Madrona A’Mia Zal Aditi Adeline Noctua Venn Kolis Arkryion Malachar Anak Darkstar Ashka Tamas Quinn Varanin Alina Tremiru Velda Nar-Donna

Coincidentally, quite the light show for the about-to-be-presented King of Korriban, as the white lightning took the form of a great snake, circling the ballroom in its glow, sparking and hissing at those below, its origins a mystery to most, as for as quickly as it made its appearance, the light show disappeared into nothingness.

Yet for those who did know, they would find the masked Malum, desperately embracing his sister. Expectations, etiquette, decorum, they could all be utterly damned.

He had almost killed his sister.

He... had almost killed his sister.

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry... Sophia," He whispered in utter desperation, his masked face pressed against her shoulder, and any wetness which leaked out, clearly a shared hallucination for any who claimed to have witnessed, "Please... forgive me," He did not deserve it, but he certainly needed it, forgiveness was the balm that would free him, free him from all that plagued him.

Yet nothing would be that simple.

There was, of course, still the rather new presence of a hand upon his shoulder, gazing up, from the peripheral of his site... Adeline Noctua . If only this was upon better circumstances, her words echoed in his ear, enough to give him pause from the current delirium. What would she think of him, cursed, broken, almost a kinslayer.

A strange first date, if there ever could be one.

"I..." What exactly he could say? "This is Sophia, my youngest sister, out of four, two older, another younger." He answered the unasked question, it was easier to do that than confront the questions she would no doubt want to ask. Questions that... as awkward as they were, would need to be answered.

Of course, the little detail that he did not even know the answers, made that slightly difficult.

The voice of another raised his head fully from Sophia's shoulder, a man, kind on the eyes, with white locks, that were not too dissimilar to the ones which Adeline held. A man... who knew his sister? Who had seen him act as he had? Who... knew who he was?

Had it been upon better circumstances, he might have queried those thoughts further.

Yet, he simply did not have it within him.

So it was that he would do something most uncharacteristic, "I will... tell you everything after this," He promised, his red orbs staring straight into hers, he breathed out softly, gulping to restore moisture to his drying mouth, "Go with... your friend," He could not believe he was saying this, "Come to me if you should require of anything." He finished, levelling a glare upon the white-haired figure, with the silent threat. He received an opportunity, one none would have if Malum had it his way.

And if he abused that opportunity.

None would stem his vengeance.

So not fully out of character.

He stood his back straightening, as he turned towards his date, for all the problems there were in their... whatever this was, he had never thought his mind might become the foremost one.

And truly, he did not want to think any more of it.

"Dance?" He offered, with the ghost of a smile one which he did not feel, beneath his mask, extending his hand forth. His mind, for at least this moment... was thankfully still.

 

[Osisa]

"It is a shame that you are a caporal shadow and not a fully fleshed out being, otherwise I could show you the equipment in question and you might enjoy yourself. But alas there is no pleasure in touching the non existent."

The ghost went silent for a moment, tilting her would-be head to the side.

<"What a strange thing to say out loud.">

Perhaps she imagined his answer would've been more…gentlemanly given their setting. For a moment, Osisa felt the parental affection of Darth Nwul as her creator swept into the room, all feminine curves and grace. A mote of happiness briefly rippled in the Force before she turned back towards her conversation partner.

<"I am called Osisa. You are keen to notice that I am Jensaa. May I know your name?">

A hush rolled through the venue as their host addressed them. Varying reactions shifted in both the physical plane and the Force as a slew of prisoners were trotted out on stage, poised for sacrifice.

<"How miserable they look.">

The specter supposed that she too would be miserable if paraded out for slaughter.

 

[Venn Kolis]

The Sith Order
Dies Festus Mortourum | SO Populate of Tellyr Prime

​

As he rose to stand beside the Dread God, Venn grinned ruefully at the soft chiding he'd received. The war for Kesh had been fruitful, but had

commanded far too much of his presence and time. At his master's question, Venn waved a hand dismissively at his monstrous attendant. "The Ghast is a gift for my master, a reminder of my love and gratitude. To all those assembled, a reminder of my eternal fealty." Now the beast was being led from the palace hall by a pair of praetorians; for all its grand ferocity, it seemed eager to escape Darth Empyrean's gaze. Venn lowered his voice slightly as he added, "Fourteen others have been completed, as of now. The Amon-Sev are ferrying them to hidden enclaves across the Galaxy. Wherever the Sith Eternal should need such a beast's service, it will be ready."

A single eyebrow raised at the theatrical presentation of a Wayfinder to the Empress. Personally, Venn had never had much patience for those old curios, which were really just inferior holocrons. Then again, he supposed an ancient map was always an intriguing gift.

Dripping with guilt and agony, a black needle of regret pierced Venn in the deep of his stomach, nearly bowling him over. He knew this presence, this particular flavor of self-loathing. With worried eyes, he searched the crowd from his post beside his master.

But ah, there he was, and seemingly doing just fine, with a lady on his arm. Well, ok, maybe it was more accurate to say he was on her arm. Despite appearing composed, Malum seemed weary in body and soul. Whether you were an ascendent Sith God or the young heir to a rising family line, it seemed the secret to conquering internal turmoil was a beautiful and powerful woman at your side. This thought made Venn think, not for the first time, how grateful he was for Srina Talon in his master's life.

Beyond the gratitude, and concern for his old friend, a strange ache began to blossom in his chest as he watched Malum gesture towards the dance floor- wait just a moment, he knew that face...!

Noctua. What was it with Malum and Sangnir? This was a development he hadn't seen coming. Though he'd never properly met Darth Keres as it was, (Perhaps in passing? Had she been at Odavessa?), one couldn't be apprentice to the Sith'ari and not keep tabs on the more powerful of the Eternalist Lords and Ladies. Though unexpected, Malum's choice of evening date was not unwelcome. Anything linking House Marr to the Eternalists was a gladsome omen.

Venn's disastrous friendship with Darth Strosius had given him a blazing conviction for the future: no more infighting. The path to prosperity and power was not paved with Sith screaming 'heretic' at each other and clashing swords. Oh yes, there would always be feuds and duels and spats and skirmishes. It was in the nature of the Dark Side. But to prevent another Ouroboros? The Cinder Hierophant would stop at nothing.

To that end, it was about time he made good on an old promise. Before that though, it was only polite he present himself before Lady Talon. Nothing to do but wait his turn for an audience. Venn remained at his master's side, where he belonged, content to watch over the gathering with eyes of warm flame.

​

Darth Empyrean Srina Talon Darth Malum of House Marr Adeline Noctua Vector Monk

 

[Ashka Tamas]

Ashka continued to sell his trinkets to pilgrims. His bowl full of gold coin. He watched as the world was alive in jubilation. It must be nice to be part of something that means something. For him only money and the thrill of adventure was left. The Ashla Cultists had taken everything else, including Zelda. His silver helm tilted down at memory of her, he could see her soft white cheeks, blue eyes, and her pointed Sephi ears. How many times beneath the weeping willows had he cuffed those ears and kissed those lips.

Then came the day when he charted a ship to run away, and there at the station, she did not appear, the steam of the speeders fogging the ramp as he looked for her. She stayed with Them.

As this memory flooded his kind, a pilgrim approached, who dropped something in the brass. It was not a coin or credit. Looking up he nearly tumbled to the ground.

Standing there was a blond haired Beauty with the same features as Zelda, and she even smiled the same.

Ashka rose back up and said,

“Hot dank! This ale is either strong or one of those witches put a spell on me.”

The Sephi laughed.

“You haven’t changed Ash.”

The Dark Jedi felt his pulse.

“What.. no.. this is a hallucination from some brew or these twisted Sith Lords are toying with me!”

Zelda took his hand and held it to her cheek.

“I am not a dream, nor an illusion. I am here, now.”

The Dark Jedi felt with his glove, she was no spectra.

“How.. how can this be?”

Zelda placed her hand on his mask’s chin.

“We came for the Eclipse and when I heard someone with a booth matching your description was selling stuff, I knew it had to be you.”

Ashka took her hand in his.

“So you are still with Them..”

Zelda nodded.

“Much had changed since you left. Master Monma became One with the Force and Xaad took over. He had instituted reforms.. including marriage.”

The Dark Jedi let go of her hand.

“So you have come to collect the Lost Sheep.. trust me, I prefer being lost.”

Zelda’s face became etched with sadness, her long pointed ears lowering like wings of a bird.

“No.. no! I came to see you.. for us!”

Ashka turned and rifled through a crate of more trinkets.

“There is no us.. you chose Them.”

Zelda grabbed his arm, tears rippling in her great blue eyes, poised to drop.

“You don’t understand.. they locked me in our Tree Hut! By the Creek were we pledged our love to one another. I tried to escape!”

Ash turned, he dropped a Exar Kun statue, the saber of stone broke off.

“What?!”

Zelda grabbed both sides of his mask, she pawed at it to take it off.

“When I arrived at the station you were gone. I had no idea where you went all these years!”

The Dark Jedi let her take his mask off, his cheeks wet with tears.

“Zelda..”

She grabbed him and the two kissed, he took her in his arms, her white and pink dress flowing in the air as they spun in a circle.

Letting her down she broke from the kiss and smiled, holding her hands against his face.

“My love.. you see, The Force has brought us back together!”

Ashka smiled and kisser her hand. A kid walked up and asksd for Eye of Bogan amulet.

“Just take it kid! Its on the house!”

 

[Anak Darkstar]

TAG: OPEN
Erion Justeene

His chains were broken and yet he still felt them.

The Son of Darkness recognized most of the High Lords and Acolytes who had found their place in this Palace gathering. The Circle of Slaves staneing as flesh marble, preparing for some ritual. His red crescent eyes tracking them. He was not sure to what intent they were to be sacrificed, that word could be literal or figurative, he knew better than most.

He heard voices of Fivuine come forth from Darth Malum of House Marr , he thought of Cecilia who he slayed and Alice, now known as Darth Sarlaac, who he still shared a bond with. At the time he felt fated to be with her, to protect her, then he realized she needed no protector. Still they were as kinsmen now, if she called he would come and offer aid without hesitation, the same for her if he hailed her. It was nice to have someone to depend upon, who braved hell for you.

Seeing a table adorned with all manner of succulent meats, ripe fruits, and salads, Anak walked over to a punch bowl that swirled with green liquid, it was Ichor based, which meant a Night Sister was here. He took a glass, the finest crystal and held it in his riveted metal fingers, scooping the peridot green drink into his glass, he then unlatched the chin of his mask, it making a sound of air releasing and some steam. His lips touched the edge of crystal, a great scar on gis left cheek visible. He sippd the Ichor Punch, it had a hint of lime with a cider base, that burned the throat a little. It was quite good, and he instantly felt the effects of the magick, his hand pulsating as if the motion was delayed and he could see a shadow of it move around it.

“This stuff should be illegal..”

The Hellspawn looked about and saw that a few at court were open, he approached Erion Justeene . Most of the Sith were wearing masks, but this One wore an Ubese helm and that meant like Anak and Darth Strosius he concealed his face daily.

“Greetings..”

 

[Srina Talon]

Location: Korriban [Palace of Vardin]
Attire: XoXo
Tag: Darth Empyrean | Arkryion Malachar | Vector Monk | +Anyone In Ballroom/Hall
______________________________________________________​

A demonic creature of sorts approached at the behest of a hooded figure ( Venn Kolis ) she had yet to meet. A prodigal son that…Stayed hidden from her sight. She knew of his work—Not his person.

It was a lacking that she would swiftly resolve.

Vector Monk would find that her attention momentarily shifted while the Sithspawn lumbered forward with many arms, horns, and a strange heat that reminded her of a barely contained furnace. It was a wonder that the ballroom kept turning, kept moving, while this ten-foot monstrosity moved after it's master like a loyal pup. It wasn't fear that the Empress expressed…But a frigid exactness that visually and clinically assessed threat. Her gaze remained sharp, as only broken glass could be, but when her nightmarish better half seemed pleased with it—She came to immediate terms.

The golden eyes of the seemingly demure Echani slipped back to her guest respectfully. He would be near enough to see the change in her. From a statue that had been carved from some unknown, unblemished material, to something other, something new, which had no name. The silvery woman was a blade if ever there was one. Forged with precision and a demeanor of chilling elegance that cut through the inherent noise and buzz of the gathering with relative ease.

She knew that her apprentice, too, lingered in the throngs of Sith that made their way through the gilded hall…But it was hardly a social affair. The ivory-haired woman had caught his quiet glance over the shoulder of the cultured Captain she engaged. It was work. Srina had tasked Arkryion Malachar with gaining better control of the political climate and the cordialities that Sith seemed to be so fond of. She would not let her failing, be his. She held…pride that he endured the licentious masses without complaint. It would have been so easy, so simple, for him to hide in the shadow the royal pair created. Instead—Arkyrion chose to create his own path.

"Forgive me…", Srina apologized without thought for the momentary distraction. Anyone with a good sense of self-preservation would glance twice at the beast that had been brought to bear—But an expression of contrition from the ruling class was often…Unheard of. It was one more thing the Sepulcher would scold her for when they returned to Jutrand. The infernal loyalists that served the Emperor had a perverse love for placing the wife of their liege in situations they knew she would find…Trying. "It seems that you've discovered my long-sought weakness."

"My knowledge of artifacts is certainly lacking in comparison to one who works in reclamation...But I do have a certain curiosity for relics of the past."

The Sith Wayfinder that Captain Monk displayed caused her to lean forward just slightly to get a better look. It was from Malachor V? Her mind swirled with the possibilities as the older gentleman spoke the words and she could only echo that sentiment. There had been much gained from her extensive stays in various well-stocked repositories. She had a connection to the Force that was based on an intelligent quota, combined, with her own philosophy.

To an Echani?

The Dark Side was simply the better weapon.

It left her inquisitive. What else had been forgotten to time? Echani often…Craved data. Information that they might put toward their predictions of what may come to pass. Srina had been either cursed or blessed with some measure of divining but it was always her cultural instincts that she fell back on. Where the Force could be unpredictable…Her heritage was always there to draw strength from. "Do they not always exist in pairs, Captain? Have you been able to ascertain whether the other still exists?"

There was a high chance that it had been destroyed in one of many Jedi purges…But the seemingly young woman was always open to possibility. It was not hope, nothing so feeble, but a dependence on the potential of probability.

Regardless her interest in the Wayfinder she remained aware of her surroundings. This led her to the grace of her god-daughter and her partner, lost, among a flickering pool of burgeoning souls. There were so many of repute in attendance that it could be difficult to pick out individual people. The swift glance that she caught of Quinn Varanin and Alina Tremiru whom the former, at least, she had expected.

<<Your partner has our likeness, though, I feel that they may have more in common with Empyrean. Death…Strangely becomes us. Be well, my own.>>

Quinn would feel the words brush against her mind with a gentleness that none would believe the Empress capable of. Her words were based purely on observation…But it was just one more thing she had in common with her niece. Lady Tremiru was often in the mind and heart of one most dear to her…It was natural that she might investigate, take stock, of what public record had to offer.

She might have continued the conversation with Vector Monk (clearly, his mistake for bringing one of her interests to the forefront) were it not for the interruption of Elmindra Xitaar in a display of organized theatrics. Srina drew her eyes upward to listen to the address and could not disagree with the sentiment. Long had she wished for unification among the Sith. It had been a distant dream that had lingered from her time in the Confederacy and had carried into the Order in earnest.

\\"...Sacrifice…"//
​

That was the word that would catch the attention of many of their brethren. Whispers followed the declaration in a wave while pathetic expressions of life were shuffled into grandeur. It made their pitiful status even more apparent, unwilling as they were, to be the bread and wine of the evening for the christening of a Korriban reborn. Srina was already standing when a burst of white light erupted from the other side of the hall. It was not touched with Light but with an insidious parody of such holy brightness. She could smell ozone in air that was touched with madness and guilt.

A snake made of Sith Lightning.

Everyone stilled.

Some clapped, some murmured, while others wondered aloud. Was it part of the show?

The irony of it all, the insult, was not lost to her that the mark of the Serpent was forced above the heads of an Order that had finally rid themselves of a meddlesome third of the original triumvirate. Eyes of molten gold would find Darth Malum of House Marr but just as quickly her attention would deviate back toward Elmindra Xitaar while she paved the way for Darth Caedes .

"Are these wretched things to be our gift to Korriban?"
​

The smooth frigidly of her voice echoing in the Force resonated with a cosmic clarity that transcended sound waves. Her tone was both a soothing melody and a thunderous roar. Those near and far would be able to hear the wintry-woman with ease, even if, they couldn't see her over the heads of much taller guests. She drew attention away from Heir Marr while simultaneously addressing an issue that she found to be…Ungainly. She did not know what afflicted the young man but she did not, for a moment, believe he was part of the festivities. "Is this the bounty that we intend to provide?"

This ritual felt too important, having been brought before the entirety of the court, to be left to such mortal leftovers. It left a sour taste in her mouth—Expressing a grotesque pantomime of power. The white-haired woman did not hold the religious zealotry for Korriban that most did but she did know the intensity of blood and death when blended correctly. She did not denounce this assembly nor the power that they inherently drew from such irreverent acts but the means by which they did so. "The blood of these prisoners, impure and inferior, would be a stain on this ground. It is an affront to the very essence of the Sith. Are we to believe that these weak, broken, and pathetic souls would be worthy offerings to Korriban? To its King? To your Emperor—To yourselves?"

"No…It is an insult—And I refuse to allow insult to those who spent flesh and bone to bring your worlds back to you. To feed upon the weak is an act of desperation and a sign that our strength falters. True power comes from the very core of our being. The strong should give of themselves willingly, proving and solidifying their might and intent…", her words hung in the air, lightly, challenging what appeared to be the established norm. It might have been considered rude to counter Elmindra Xitaar but Srina never had been the most skilled in navigating expected decorum. She had never wanted a crown—But it was the mistake of the Sepulcher to let her use it with impunity. "Tell me…What is more worthy?"

"The death of a few mice—Or the blood of warriors."

Of warriors, of Sith, who had proud ancestry and strength in their veins to likes that which these prisoners knew nothing of. Srina did not think herself above the assembled parties and in truth did not seek to undermine the efforts that had been made, rather, to consecrate them. To provide meaning and validity to the claim that they were amalgamated in the labors of restoration. Her hands twisted toward the ceiling to expose pale wrists, plainly, inviting what she proposed.

Srina did not expect anyone to do something she would not. Empress...Or otherwise.

"I will bleed for us, willingly, and without hesitation…Will any of you?"

 

[Sophia of House Marr]

​

Tag: Darth Malum of House Marr | Adeline Noctua | Arkryion Malachar [OPEN]
Location: Korriban
Objective: Masquerade
Wearing: Expensive
___________

Quote of the Moment:
"The strength of a family, like the strength of an army, lies in its loyalty to each other."
___________​

Sophia frowned.

Her brother still didn't seem to be hearing her or even acknowledging that she was there in the slightest. For all their experiences growing up, she'd never had to endure him ignoring her and it left her with a rush of misplaced anger. (Who could ignore her of all people? It was rude, moreover, she was trying to be nice.) Only…For that bonfire of sentiment to burn itself out into something that she was unfamiliar with. It was the feeling she got when Malum stole away at a moment's notice to systems unknown, with enemies unknown, and allies in the wind. Was this worry?

It felt stronger than that.

"…Malum…?"

A familiar presence pulled her eyes away from her brother and she found herself looking at the gleaming eyes of Arkryion Malachar not far away. She knew his face but the whole scenario felt surreal. A moment clipped in time where she admittedly lost her footing. There was a new feeling, rising. Anxiety. Oh. She hated that one. House Marr couldn't be seen to have any sort of distress in a public forum. Their very survival was dependent on maintaining the perfect façade of untouchable nobility—And right now? Malum was the opposite of that. She couldn't read his mind without…Without breeching his trust but she could feel him fighting what seemed to be a losing battle.

A storm in a bottle, barely, managing not to break the glass.

Malum didn't even seem to acknowledge Adeline Noctua for whom Sophia could only imagine he might have broken this haze for. Surely, he wouldn't agree to spend an evening with someone that he despised…But even that…Even that…It wasn't enough. "Arkryion—", she spoke the name of the white-haired acolyte that she had known during her time in the Jutrand Academy, "—Yes, this is my eldest brother. Malum of H-House Marr."

Normally it was something she spoke with her chest puffed. So full of pride that anyone in her vicinity would be able to feel how highly she thought of her family, her brother, but in the moment, it was only years of training and honing her instincts that kept her from rushing him out of the ballroom. Something was wrong. So very, very wrong that she had no name for it.

It was then that she noticed sparks forming around Malum's clenched fist.

Sophia fought a flinch when thunder that wasn't there echoed in her mind.

The littlest Marr wasn't afraid of anything. She couldn't be moved by any known force in the galaxy and had a stubbornness that was so legendary her parents questioned if their youngest hadn't been switched at birth. Were it not for her telltale ruby-red eyes and raven-dark hair, perhaps, they might have even investigated it. Sophia unwittingly almost backed up into Arkryion when the weight of what Malum was experiencing made itself known whether he wore a mask or not. She knew him too well not to know him now—And that was what made her heart painfully constrict.

For the first time in her life, she was afraid of Malum.

She couldn't speak.

She couldn't acknowledge the speech that Elmindra Xitaar was giving.

The domino mask that she'd held between two fingers slipped to the group while confused crimson orbs tried to find the face of her loving brother behind the mask. Sophia wanted to reach up and tear it away from him while her eyes began to burn against her will. She wanted to demand that he look at her while her heart started beating as if it were a hummingbird trapped in her chest. Her ribs—The cage it wanted to escape. Every thud hit her ears so loudly that she feared present company could hear it too. Would Malum really do it? In whatever psychosis had gripped him would he really attack her? Was he so far gone that he, rather suddenly, no longer recognized her?

His own flesh and blood?

The electrifying power that grew in the palm of his hand reflected in her eyes while they grew wide and the brightness began to it blot out the color their family was so well known for. "Brother…brother please…", she whispered, trying, to make her voice sound as steady as it usually was. Strong. It took more effort than she was willing to admit and her jaw tightened while Sophia tried to hold her ground. The fine baby hair on her arms was starting to rise from the electricity in the air and it was with a blinding flash that she truly expected to feel pain. Feel…Electricity course through her veins while her cells shriveled and tissue blackened. While eardrums ruptured.

Only…She didn't. Instead, her arms were suddenly full.

Her body remained rigid for a moment whilst being smothered in an embrace that was reserved for the privacy of their own home, but moreso, because she had forgotten how to breathe. His apology caused her arms to wrap around his waist in a silence that was filled with relief, shock, and concern. He asked…No…He begged for her forgiveness. "You didn't hurt me.", she whispered back while she slowly regained her faculties. He hid his face in her shoulder and she tilted her head so that her cheek would rest against his. A modicum of comfort. So much more than they were used to…But still not enough. "You didn't."

He could have. But, he hadn't. Malum would never hurt her.

Malum would never hurt her.

Malum would never hurt her.​

She released a shuddering breath and placed her best mask on. Malum…He couldn't be strong right now. So—She would do her best to be. Sophia could do that, for him, if nothing else.

"There's nothing to forgive. But if you need it…I do, Malum. I forgive you."

His littlest sister would have forgiven him even if his thunderous snake had scorched her into a barbeque dish in a charred frock. (It would have been a waste of precious gems but in the wake of potentially being dead…Perspective.) She let her head duck respectfully toward Adeline Noctua once more and quietly accepted the situation being paved over. The Empress was speaking now and if anything could draw attention from the snake-shaped fireworks—It was that.

She nodded her head when Malum promised to tell her everything. The dismissal…Wasn't really a dismissal. It was a 'We'll discuss this in private, we've caused enough of a potential scandal' dismissal. Sophia slowly unwound herself from him and heeded his suggestion that she visit with Arkryion Malachar. That…That gave her reason to pause. Her brother was sending her toward a reasonably attractive man? Of his own free will?

Not away from one?

Maybe he had gone crazy.

Oh, she hadn't missed the glare. But this was…Unprecedented. Sophia let her hand slip into the arm of the white-haired man at her side with assumed impudence. "I assume it is…Perfectly fine for you to steal me away.", Sophia repeated the words, almost, as if on auto-pilot. A trained medical professional would have suggested that she was in shock but it wasn't an option for a Scion of House Marr. The hand that rest on Arkryion's arm…Trembled.

A close inspection would find that she trembled, all the while, keeping her chin held high.

The challenge Ark issued mollified some of that.

"Of course, I know how to dance. Weren't you expelled?"

Her little barb, which, if he knew her to any capacity was a defense mechanism. The voice of Srina Talon made her feel unsettled in ways she couldn't describe. Were it not for the fact that the person she trusted more than anything in the universe just tried to flambe hers…She might have had more defense against it. Truthfully, she could barely understand what was happening. Some of it made sense and the dull convicts did offend her every sensibility—But she just couldn't focus.

For the moment…Sophia leaned into an old friend. She breathed in deeply before slowly, slowly exhaling. She didn't stay quite as formal with Arkryion as she might have with a rando Korriban resident from the crowd. There was a history there. Enough, that she trusted him to play defense for her for a little while. Turn the busybodies away. "You can't…"

"You can't talk about that. Ever."

Her voice was barely above a whisper so as not to interrupt the main attraction. The whirlwind of emotion that had torn through her with abandon by a near-tragic form of fratricide was making it harder to recover than she wanted it to. The desperate apologies that Malum had uttered rang in her mind over and over. He was just…Battling demons.

Malum wouldn't hurt her.

Malum wouldn't.

Wouldn't.

(Right?)

 

[Darth Empyrean]

Empyrean had ignored the crowds in favor of those nearest him - petitioners and sycophants alike. Of those, Vector Monk and Venn Kolis would garner most of his attention, split as it was; but it was the lightning, reeking of emotion that forced his gaze away from either of them. He didn't stand, nor jerk about in surprise - but for the Emperor, even turning his head had become something of note now. Others stirred as he watched the display with metal, alchemic eyes, but his expression was unreadable.​

​

Internally, he could feel the every sensation of his Wife and still-living-half. Srina Talon rose from her seat and addressed the crowd; and in almost every instance of this exact situation, the Emperor would rise to match her fury and lay this crowd low with his strength. It would be such a little thing to force them to their knees, to beg for his forgiveness, to let the Dark Side feed on their paltry excuse for power. Perhaps that was his corruption speaking, the Worm festering its great ideals in his mind - that one more soul consumed might push the tide in its favor.​

​

He did not do anything, however, not overtly. Instead, he was curious how someone would reply. Once upon a time, someone had not feared Srina as they aught, insulting and threatening to strike her in spite of their own survival. It had led to their last great gathering turning into an Order wide blood bath leading to the death of more of House Io's assets than they were likely willing to lose. They had of course claimed they had taken out more of the Sith's own forces - but a minor power like the Io were negligible in all things compared to Empyrean's own hegemony.​

​

The Emperor leaned forward, looking towards the crowd with a hand on his chin - waiting for someone to rise to his subtle challenge. Face the Empress, and you'd face him - it was how it always would be, even in death. To disrespect her was to sully his own name, the name of their unknown children, and everything he would ever be or was. He couldn't stand for such a thing - and neither would he.​

​

So he waited and watched, willing to let his Empress speak while he waited for the first head to cut down.​

​

Srina Talon​

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Alina Tremiru //: Srina Talon //:
//: Elmindra Xitaar //:
​

Hearing Alina's voice grounded the Princess more than the Sangnir could imagine. She would never admit it, but when things were hard, Quinn found herself flow walking memories. The memories she would lean to were tender moments the pair had shared. They would be the driving force behind Quinn's accelerated learning. She wanted Alina back; she wanted the life she had shared with the woman and all its potential outcomes. Quinn wasn't ready to let Alina go. If there was one page she took out of Vesta's book, it was this. She would create an outcome, a reality where she could be with Alina.

Quinn listened, taking in the information that Alina was catching up on. There was more mention of the dead, and Quinn wondered if this Darth Caedes was a necromancer. Had he fallen so deep into the Dark Side that even death cannot give his enemies an escape? The thought brought fear to her heart. Being undead and puppeted by an enemy had become her worst fear; she remained close to Alina and pushed the thoughts from her mind. "No more politics; Force knows I've grown tired of them already." Quinn's fingers played gently along with Alina's as she enjoyed the tenderness in their touch. "I hope you haven't forgotten how to dance," She smirked, playfully jesting with the Sangnir. "But if you have my love, I've become quite the lead." The Echani knew she was safe; nothing would come to harm her now that she had returned to the public's eye. Safety came with Alina's embrace and the Empress' gaze.

Calm washed over the Echani as she felt the woman's presence wash over her mind. It was comforting, especially regarding the acceptance. A hand touched lightly against Alina's arm, giving it a slight squeeze while feeling the Empress' brief message finish. They would have to celebrate later; Quinn would explain what happened in detail. Having any semblance of acceptance from Srina was enough for the Princess to become giddy. Her parents be damned; at this point, she had chosen her life partner.

As quickly as the joy swelled the young woman's heart, one singular word brought her back to reality. Her head turned towards the parade of people. They were frail, thin, and unkempt. This was a horror she hadn't expected to see, not since before her Mother's time as Empress of the Sith. Quinn remained silent, anger seething from her pours as the woman continued to speak. The Force forsaken Falleen from the Gala was at the head; already, that woman was a stain on Quinn's mind. Her eyes looked to Alina, remembering the desire for equality among the Sith the woman had shared with her. Did that desire still remain after death? Now wasn't the time to question her lover, but Quinn needed to act. Drawing Alina's eyes, she whispered Protect me. There wasn't much that Alina could do in this situation. Being the head of Dromond Kaas meant she had a reputation to uphold. Quinn, on the other hand, her reputation was in her control. A child of royalty, of Sith royalty in her mind, gave the woman an added footing.

She also couldn't let her godmother stand on her own.

"I will bleed for Korriban as a true daughter of the Sith." Quinn stepped forward, pushing herself through the slight parting of the crowd. "Finally, we have Korriban back, and you want to continue desecrating it?" Quinn stopped and looked at each of the terrified beings dragged in. "As a Sith, where is your pride?" Knowing what the Sith had gained and lost over the decades. She learned her place within the folds of the Empire and tried to avoid the mistakes her parents had made while honoring their sacrifices. She couldn't let acts such as this weigh heavily on the unwanted members of their society. To bleed, to protect, to foster, and to expand - that was the challenge and the duty of the warriors and the nobility.

"Answer your Empress, will you bleed for Korriban? For your Empire?"​