Location: Korriban [Palace of Vardin]
Attire: XoXo
Tag: OMG SO MANY IM SO SORRY - IT'S SO LONG AND IF I MISSED SOMEONE IM SO SORRY
TLDR SRINA SOWWIE
______________________________________________________
The Ashlan prisoners were in
luck that Srina did not possess the
killing gaze of
Darth Empyrean
.
While voice after voice poured forth from the assembly the white-haired woman remained unnervingly silent. They didn't need her to affirm their decisions, nor, denounce the presence of the weaklings that stood trembling in their own filth. Instead, eyes of burnished gold bore brutal metaphysical holes into the intended offerings. She could feel the strength of her god child, taste, the cut of her (
Quinn Varanin
) ferocity while she came into her own.
Alina Tremiru
stepped forward, blunt, and made the point Srina hoped that others would come to on their own. Many of the Sith had suffered in not only their desire to return to prominence but for the very right to survive with their beliefs intact. Whether or not it had been in a war, here, with the Ashlan Crusade or on another world
entirely did not lessen the truth of what transpired. It did not lessen their value, their worthiness, or the right to do for themselves. They were strong. In the last decade the Sith had endured and persevered through the unthinkable. They weathered profound loss, where every breath was a struggle, and refused to linger in the residue of shattered pride. They pulled themselves through a harsh reality and
thrived.
Korriban was part of an ecosystem, a greater whole, and although the Empress was no historian, no scholar, she was not blind to it. It would
always be a world that meant
so much to so many. There was reason why the Light tried so hard to bury what it stood for, to break, all that had ever been. It was more significant than any one of them, singularly. Every Sith Academy hearkened to it. Every Sith worth their mettle knew it, from Acolyte, to Master—Which was why she had done her own research.
She did not have the zealotry and religion to fall back on. Only, the
Dark.
But for those who did carry their faith like a badge of honor?
The list of those who would willingly weaken themselves to strengthen Korriban spanned thousands, far more, than there were masked faces in a structured social event. Far more than the mingling bodies and forms that celebrated and danced over ancient bones and hallowed graves. Those that worshiped the teachings of this world, the secrets, the treasures, the rise and fall of the Sith Purebloods—Were not all accounted for, could not, be accounted for. With consideration to both historical significance and current progress…That was the frame of mind in which she spoke with pale fervor. To enrich Sith Society in the interests of all, to pay homage to what had once been, what would be, to ease a hungering world, to right what had been wronged…
To
give as the first Jedi Exiles had once
given.
To
give and embrace the transformative power of the Dark Side so that they might
become.
Her mercurial gaze fell to the crowd, though, it was her first and only apprentice (
Arkryion Malachar
) that she initially addressed. He gave a heartfelt pledge that to most would warrant some sort of commendation, yet, the piercing eyes of his Mistress would strike another desire into his soul. Ambition. A sense of self-worth that pushed beyond pomp and circumstance.
"…No.", Srina corrected, seamlessly, while the softness of her voice cut through the white noise like a blade.
"No, Arkryion. I do not ask for myself. Should anyone choose to answer this call…Do it for yourselves. For your future."
<<…But never me. I will never ask that of you.>>
The second half of her response her response was privately forged in though-speak so subtle that her mind would fall on his like evening rain. It was private, personal, but a lesson all the same…One that she hoped he would understand. She had not rebuked his efforts but had adjusted the goalposts. It would be jarring, likely, but it was the truth.
It was her
duty to bleed for them. Not, the other way around. She sought the aid of those present to strengthen the standing of the Sith Order both here and abroad. To bring permanence and fire toward a future that she looked forward to greeting. To a time when senseless, ridiculous, infighting was a thing of the past. To a time when the Jedi no longer spat their vile hate-mongering propaganda.
Her line of sight was cut off when a curious thing happened.
From what appeared to be nothing sprouted a miraculous, living thing, that contrasted heavily with the historically deadened nature of Korriban. Whether or not this creature managed to project its voice through the crowd or not mattered very little.
She was heard. The deference displayed was not something that Echani eyes were capable of missing, but it was the gentle regard that caused her to raise a hand to lessen the noise in the room. A breath of fresh air, twined with rustling leaves, so that assembled parties might find room to exhale.
"The galaxy is choked with beings. Billions die…Every instant, even, as we speak. The cries of the weak and inferior from every back-water world fill the Dark Side as an ineffable, inexhaustible resource as they perish in dismal circumstances. From the pain of the unfortunate that dwell beneath the boot of Coruscant on their necks to those that toil and die beneath tyrannical systems…They are all fuel to the weave you speak of. It is as interconnected as a vast network of roots beneath a thriving forest floor. I seek the extraordinary, for an extraordinary purpose."
The comparison was, thoughtfully, made for the Neti. It was not the first of her kind that Srina had encountered but she was one of the more well-spoken. The ivory woman did not take offense to being questioned, nor, guided when it seemed appropriate. The ability to
listen was a hallmark of effective leadership, regardless, of her moral alignment.
"I believe that my care for our people may be corrupting my intent. Understand…I do not doubt the Marquess nor the labors, life, and expenditures required to recover Korriban from those who sought desecration."
Her focus swerved back toward the pitiful Ashlan that waited, not defiant, nor steadfast in their faux righteousness but brittle to the point of fragility when their lives were the price of their actions. It would be simple to see, to understand, where her ire lay. While her distaste was chilled to the bone and buried beneath an iron will…She also considered the grand design. Not simply the will of Korriban, nor Jutrand, nor even that of her beloved husband—But the fate of all Sith.
"Korriban has been in decline (x) for the past several thousand years. I merely wish to see it truly restored." (x-Taken from The Book of the Sith)
The Sith Empire had done their best. But, their efforts had been almost entirely undone. The Five-Hundred years of Darkness and the Gulag Plague had also taken its toll. It was a
pleasure to lay vengeance down on those who had thought to step on their betters when the opportunity arose. It would be a pleasure, for most, to bring the end of an enemy in any form. What held Srina hostage, what brought her words, her speech from the ether, was the notion of sacrifice. To perform it, to forcibly exact it, was one thing. She believed that sacrifice required additional
personal cost.
The price of something dear, especially, for those that had been engaged elsewhere during much of the War. As powerful as many of them were…They lacked the ability to be in two places at the same time. Her blood, her sweat, tissue, and tears were littered across the galaxy like so many stars from various clashes, fighting, for what she believed. But, not here. Srina had not been capable of being present for Korriban prior to this engagement, however, she was there—
Now.
That was the point.
For the first time in Sith Order History, the majority had come to a consensus without trying to kill each other.
Not simply because she asked, not, because they'd been invited to a grand world-wide event…But because Korriban mattered. The preservation of it, the celebration of it, the uplifting and restoration of it. It mattered. Both to her…And to many, many others.
Her focus shifted from the Neti (
Madrona A’Mia
) to the Herald of Korriban (
Elmindra Xitaar
) when she was addressed directly. Every mention of her title within the Order made her internally grimace, even though, she knew it was part of the territory. It even bothered her when she had to acknowledge it in her own mind. She had been born of common blood, without nobility, and it would never feel normal or natural to be addressed in such a way. The first thing she noted, aside, from the
almost mystical air of the Falleen woman was righteous, clear, anger.
Fury. In truth, it
surprised her.
Rage was a sensation she knew well, too well, not to feel and taste it laced through pointed words and purposefully practical dialogue. The tension in the room was suddenly palpable as Captain Xitaar continued with her impassioned response. The expression of the statuesque Echani remained silent, unyielding, while the molten gold of distant orbs betrayed no sentiment. It would be easy to see the way the crowd hung on every word, carefully, replying in such a way that wouldn't offend either of them.
Just as Srina had carefully considered the words of the shapeshifting tree-like female she extended the same courtesy toward the one meant to lead the ceremony. The Falleen woman's proposal seemed to resonate with the darkest desires of the Sith, creating a twisted dance, that echoed with a twining advantage of power and revenge. Blood-red skirts floated with sordid grace while she drew nearer to the stage to hear better, as always, calculating the outcome. Weighing the potential benefit against the negative. Srina, was a tactician. A warrior of pragmatism and analytical thought that spared the feelings of
none when it came to what she felt was the right course, given, the data provided.
For an almost robotic creature…
It was a very
careful consideration. The tantalizing thought of blood and vengeance combined with the delicate balance of tradition and the demands of a fractured world was…
Not to be taken lightly. Even as she did so, however, she could
feel the eclipse coming. Restless spirits.
Restless power. That meant, if the expression of the Marquess was anything to go by…That time for deliberation was running short.
Pale lips parted to respond but a familiar energy resonating at her back held her tongue. If anyone in the room was capable of stilling her being, inside and out, it was her husband. He moved like a wraith among the crowd and she fell into his dangerous wake as if on auto-pilot. Many of the Sith that flocked to her, easily, cringed away from the Corpse King. She would not. His wife found an alluring sense of calm in him that…Nothing else provided. Their relationship was viewed quite strangely, though, she never seemed to bat an eye. He was her all.
Everything.
His dark presence resonated with her own and she found a bridge in the words he shared with the Marquess. She was…
Impressed. Normally, she was the one to temper him. It was infrequent that such a thing happened in the reverse. At least until she caught him whispering something in the ear of the Falleen. She couldn't tell what it was. While most wives would be exceedingly
annoyed or jealous while their significant other murmured sweet nothings to another…Srina knew it was anything but sweet.
<<…Meldanya…>>
(xBeloved.)
The mental warning that she issued to
Darth Empyrean
would assure him that she knew what he was up to. She couldn't hear the exact words from the floor, but she knew him well enough to know when he was up to something. She didn't want the Falleen harmed for trying to do the best she could with what she had. It was the same approach she had taken to Malum, and why, he still lived and breathed versus readying himself for the long sleep.
They did not eat their young.
Before she could investigate it further the Emperor gave Elmindra of himself. As she had pledged.
Then…There was something
new.
As if the weight of the Emperor of the Sith wasn't enough to bring cloying air to a room that suddenly felt ten times too small her cognizance felt as if in might fall away. Fall and sweep through the timeless sands of Korriban, find bone, tomb, and creatures in the nearly-there astrological phenomena. Her hand rose to reflexively protect the small phylactery, belonging to
Darth Carnifex
, that hung almost permanently around her neck—While a voice (
Darth Caedes
) slithered hauntingly through the corridors of her mind. It brought…
anticipation for the impending ritual.
Whether it was intoxicating or menacing seemed to be a point not worth making. It was rare that anything could breach her mental faculties, especially, when she was within the sphere of
Darth Empyrean
. The melody wasn't forceful. Perhaps, that was why felt it so clearly. The undertones were nuanced…Almost seeking permission over trying to break into her bastion of lucid thoughts. An echo, channeling, the raw and open abyss that seemed to be breaking away the barrier between the wounded Korriban and the world they all knew it could be.
The Empress found…
Quiet.
Such endless, eternal, beautiful quiet. A place where stars might whisper, where secrets, ancient and forbidden burrowed beneath their skin. Was that it? The measure of their worth all coupled and mangled into a singular conclusion? Her eyes focused on the metallic orbs of her husband while knowledge fell around her. True understanding of that which she had only felt…
…One other time.
To end discord. To end…Disunity. To find common ground and meet one another in the middle versus trying to behead those that opposed them. To turn their hatred outward versus in. There lay the secret that they all inherently vehemently fought…
Surrender. Perhaps, not to each other, but to the
will of the Darkside. It called with heavy, complicated, and terrifying possibilities…And the flaxen-haired woman would have been remiss not to fully answer.
Time was up.
"The weight of your convictions is moving, Elmindra Xitaar. It is to my understanding that we share the same designs. If my words have brought disquiet I bid, rather than that, that you take my actions into account. My contribution to your efforts…As promised."
Srina Talon was…Quite possibly the worst choice for a ruler. She saw the Sith as fire…Not venom. It was within flame that power could be shared, lifted, and brightened with more hands that held a proverbial torch high. A whole world could be lit by that spark. Whereas venom…When venom was diluted through too many it became ineffective. Their world was one of challenge, conquest, and quite often—
Sacrifice. She could have been a silent partner. A silent…Empress, a jewel, that horded secrets like a dragon looming over a glittering hoard while the nearby city burned.
But her path was
not one of personal gain. It was a step toward security, flying, in the face of the Rule of Two that would with any luck bring greater power for them all.
Her wrists rose, parallel, and delicate skin split for Elmindra as if there were an invisible knife present.
The same blood bending that she had utilized on
Elrood pulled that which let her heartbeat from the source. Her essence pressed forward, surging as if it had a life and a will of its own.
So very red…The viscous liquid condensed into an orb that moved through the crowd before wrapping around the tar-like clot that Empyrean had donated in lieu of a working circulatory system. It was concentrated in all that he was, consecrated, and almost pulsed when her blood came in contact with it. The living fluid that she offered seemed almost eager to join that which had been liberated from the dead.
Srina watched as it fully ensconced what her husband offered, spinning slowly, as if supported by unseen gravity emitters. The poised creature did not find the act distasteful, merely, a part of being. Her hands slowly lowered and thin wounds pressed themselves into tight red lines. They would bleed…But if it hurt the seemingly delicate woman? None, save perhaps Empyrean, would be the wiser. The Corpse King would see the distance in gold-hewn eyes. The way veins of darkness just barely manifested itself beneath pallid skin. Perhaps, she had given a little too much.
It mattered not.
Too much would have only been a consideration if her heart had stopped.
