Faction In Memoria

[Aspect of Defiance]

It was the nature of the Sith to commemorate the powerful among them. Those who had paved the way for the greatness of their generations were honoured for their advancements. The Valley of the Sith Lords on Korriban was the most notable testament to this, and many Sith made pilgrimages to the Holy Worlds to pay tribute in hopes of gaining knowledge and power. Others looked to their fallen knowing their sacrifice had paved the way for future generations of Sith to stand powerful amongst the greatest of the galaxy.

The witches among the Sith looked to the full moon as a sign and omen of things to come. They searched for secrets and glimpses into what the future may hold. It was not their way to dwell on the past, but rather use their magiks to bring about the events which would usher their kind to greater influence. Many sought to defy fate, or at least shape and bend it to their will. Others simply accepted the oracles of what would be and strove to bring about the promises of destiny.

Even the Sepulchral held their own traditions regarding the dead and full moon festivals. Shrines were erected throughout their temples in hopes that communing with the dead may give them greater control and influence amongst the Sith. Their constant want to manipulate and force themselves into prominence and control saw them engage in dark rituals in hopes the dead would visit them.

On Jutrand, the Sith gather together in the Emperor’s Palace, adorned with black banners and crimson lights. Each participant brings an offering for the Great Sith Lords of the past, placing them on an altar surrounded by flickering candles, which symbolize the eternal connection between the living and the dead. Tokens of remembrance for those lost in recent battles are given as tribute in recognition of their sacrifice.

As the night deepens, many find themselves engaging in dance. The magnificent and haunting ballroom is vast, with soaring ceilings adorned with intricate wrought-iron chandeliers, their flickering candles casting an eerie glow. Tall, arched windows, draped in deep crimson velvet, filter the moonlight, illuminating the black marble floor. The walls are lined with dark, ornate tapestries depicting ancient Sith battles and lore, their rich colours contrasting with the starkness of the architecture. It is here the Sith gather for a reprieve from war, knowing the next battle will be upon them soon.

A carnival of sorts is set in the palace grounds. Games reminiscent of those played during childhood offer enticing prizes for those lucky enough to win. Vendors selling confectionery goods offer samples of their sugary delights, free with the correct greeting. Those gathered seem to forget the weight of the moment in exchange for the fleeting, but greatly desired, diversion. For one night the Sith cast off the chains of their present. Their minds turn toward the dead as a reminder to live.

Offer gifts at the shrine commemorating fallen Sith. Perhaps you wish to honor a great Sith Lord, or perhaps reconnect with someone from the past. On this night, when the veil between the world of the living and the dead is thin, anything is possible. Who will you meet? Will it be the Darth Bane who established the Rule of Two, or will you call upon the spirit of someone from your own past who has since crossed over? Pay your tribute and see what may happen!

Games from memory resurface. Bob for fruit, compete in a ring toss, or knock down a pyramid of plastic holocrons to win your date a prize. Enjoy daring rides, and get junk food from the various vendors selling their greasy morsels. Feel like a child again while you walk up to the candy stalls demanding a trick or treat. The night is yours to enjoy.

Dress up, put on a mask, be what your imagination can come up with. Be fancy, or wear a costume, the choice is yours. Dance the night away as the music plays, and the festivity goes late into the night.

 

[Soldane Talon]

Objective One (For Now)​

Tag | Lunaria Talon // OPEN​

​

Soldane slithered through the crowds, pushing his way towards the Eternalist Church and its Shrines. Thousand of parishioners gathered to make offerings to their chosen Sith deity, but it was the Shrine of Typhojem that seemed to have gathered the greatest collection of offerings. Wealth, pittances from a population bereft of comfort, littered its steps. Atop the mount lay a thick black obelisk made of oily dark stone. There was nothing on it to give even a hint to its creation - no tooling marks, no seems, nothing.​

​

It stood as a monolith of Sith creation. It likely took more magicks, more knowledge of architecture and design, than Soldane could even imagine.​

​

His offering was not for Typhojem, however, so he scooted past the throngs of citizenry before passing into the other Sith Lords. Those who had been known well in the past decades, but who had died or been assumed dead for years. Busts and names of Sith like Darth Voracitos , Matsu Xiangu , Darth Adekos, Darth Vulcanus... The names and shrines stretched ad nauseam, further into the streets and alleys as the names became ever more obscure.

These were not the names he was to make an offering to. Instead, he found himself before a shrine for a man who had died during the invasion of Odavessa. Books in the Jutrand Library had informed him well of what had happened on that world hidden away from the Galaxy. Wyatt Morga ushered in a great fleet of the Alliance to break the final world of the old Sith Empire - and he had succeeded in driving them out, but his work was not as total as he may have hoped before his own death.​

​

The Sith returned, but among them was no longer Darth Maliphant. Soldane had seen holodvideos of him from his mother, Srina Talon , but they always lacked something material. It felt like his father, the man who died so long ago, was always blind to his presence. He spoke in happy tones, cooked and played piano for his wife, but he never acknowledged Soldane no matter how many times he watched the videos. He never would, nor would Soldane ever feel the embrace of his father.​

​

For all he had been raised by Darth Carnifex and his mother, a child bereft of his paternal guidance forever yearned for it - even if it wasn't always necessary.​

​

The shrine for his father had a few offerings. Small prayer seals had been stuck to the bust, scrawled with wishes of wealth and knowledge. His father had been known for these things, and had often been known as the most powerful Sith outside of the Sith Empire. It had been a good reputation, but it had not lasted. Those who wished for his guidance now didn't know the truth, that this spirit would not visit them.​

​

It yet remained anchored, transformed through violence into something else. Empyrean, Lord of Death. Prayers of wealth would mean nothing to what his father had become - they would better be suited for the death of their enemies, or a peaceful forever sleep after a good dinner. There was nothing else to ask of him now.​

​

Soldane didn't have a great offering, he lacked the wealth of the other students due to his status as a Fifth., Still, he had made a small wax figure of his father - jagged and sharp angles defining features, it was more a matter of impression than true recreation of his father's looks. Even still, it would suffice - it had a skilled and dedicated hand carving its features, and it left no question as to who it was.​

​

He'd set it down on the edge of the bust, kept alight in its alcove by half burned wicks and nigh on flooded with wax from the long night. Soldane wasn't sure if prayer meant anything, nor was he even sure 'Typhojem' was a true being. He could not deny its possibility in the Nether, but he had seen no evidence of the Sith's gods presence in the material plane.​

​

But a prayer gave him comfort, so he let his head fall and he whispered to none but himself;​

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"Let my father find peace... and let us meet. Someday."​

 

[Gerwald Lechner]

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WEARING: xxx
WEAPONS: Ferrum Solus | Blodmåne | Strømafbryder
TAG: Naedira Darcrath | Open

War had kept the wolf away from Jutrand for longer than he liked. It was not that he missed the urban atmosphere in the way he longed for the woods of his home on Stewjon. Gerwald hated being away from his mate, Naedira Darcrath . Her words to him were always a reminder to be careful with those he had chosen to ally himself with, but also a reminder of his duty. He preferred when she went to war with him, and his hopes were that some of his work would make that more a reality than it had been in recent months.

They had always made a good team, each anticipating what the other would do and how to move accordingly. It was seamless, as though they were meant to be together, made to complement each other as partners. He knew he was better when the brunette was at his side. It did not matter if it was for the sake of war, politics, or the simple act of breathing. Gerwald Lechner was a stronger man, a better leader, and the best version of himself, because of her.

Tonight his attention and focus was about her, more than it would be anything else. Thoughts of war and the engagements to come could wait. The Sith gathered to remind themselves of why they were powerful, to celebrate the dead which had paved a path forward for them. For his own part, Gerwald was there for a night revelry. He missed the ruckus and noise of the feasts which brought his people on Stewjon together. Those he had been raised among found any reason they could to celebrate and drink themselves into oblivion.

Gerwald scanned the crowd wondering if there was anyone who he could challenge. Perhaps he would drink some unsuspecting Sithling under the table. It would certainly be entertaining. The behavior would not be anything most would associate with a member of the Dark Council. He was a warrior at heart, and there were times when that part of his nature overrode the pieces of him which had been taught propriety.

He was also a wolf. A beast lived deep at the core of who he was, and there was no denying it. The Wolf had taught Naedira how to embrace the She-Wolf which had attached itself to her. The consequences of separating her from the creature which she had been bound to and bringing her back to the land of the living had been more than Gerwald had anticipated. He had become more than her anchor. The Wolf’s decision had also changed her. She was not the same woman he had known, and yet he loved her all the more.

They stood in the courtyard and took in the scene which greeted them. A shrine was erected to the right of the entrance. Many were gathered to offer supplication to the dead and commemorate the fallen. Each culture celebrated and mourned in its own way, yet each turned to those who had gone before for guidance, strength, or power. Gerwald found it intriguing that the species which were spread across the galaxy were diverse, yet they were also very much the same.

He could hear the music coming from inside the palace where there was sure to be dancing. The thought always brought a small smirk to the corner of his mouth as it took him back to the night he knew he was in love with Naedira. He had told her he did not dance, not because he couldn’t, but because his mood had been less than jovial. In his youth, the Wolf had made impulsive relationship decisions which did not end well. Naedira had been his friend that night.

She had always been the best of friends.

Gerwald’s lie had not gotten him far as she simply called him out. The Wolf had not lied to her since. It was not because their bond prevented him from doing so, but because there was no value to it. Naedira was the one person he knew he could be completely honest with.

To the left a path lined with vendors and carnival games wound itself around to the gardens and open space. The Wolf could smell the sugar and grease from the various junk foods, candies, and desserts which they peddled. Many of the children in attendance ran around the booths chanting something along the lines of trick or treat, their exuberance eliciting a chuckle from Gerwald. It was not often he allowed himself to be visibly diverted in a public setting, but the night was designed for it.

Was there a seriousness to it, yes. The shadow of war still hung over those in attendance. Just because they took time to revel in the night did not mean they were unaware of reality. They simply chose to ignore it.

Gerwald leaned close to his mate and kissed her cheek as they stood near the gate.

“What do you want to do first? Tonight you are my queen and your every wish is my command.”

 

[Karok]

The dead were dead...What did they know?
​

Karok watched in silence, his arms crossed over his broad chest, a sneer curling at the corner of his lips. Foolish, he thought. They believe the dead can hear them. They believe these Lords, dust for centuries, can speak from beyond. That they care about offerings, about anything. But the dead don't answer back. They don't care. They're gone. His eyes followed a trembling acolyte, barely out of his youth, who knelt before the statue of Darth Bane, mumbling fervent words as if the Dark Lord would rise and grant him power. Karok felt a pang of contempt. These were the same acolytes who trembled before their overseers, believing that power came from words whispered to the air. The only thing that answers back is the wind, he thought.

But a shadow of doubt lurked behind his skepticism. Karok had seen things—things that defied the certainty of death. Sith Lords lived on in holocrons, their wills preserved through sheer power. Could it be that some small part of them remained? Maybe there's truth in it, he mused, shifting uncomfortably. Maybe not all are truly dead. Maybe the Force binds them here. He shook his head, trying to banish the thought. Even if they do answer… what's left? Phantoms. Echoes. Nothing worth praying to.

Still, as much as he mocked the others, he found himself unable to tear his gaze away from the darkened shrine. The thin air of Korriban felt heavier tonight, as though the sands themselves were listening. He had no offering to give, no tribute to leave at the feet of the ancient statues. But a name had crossed his mind recently—a name he had read in the crumbling texts of the libraries. A Gen'dai like himself, a Sith Lord who had lived long before his time. Kezeroth the Hateful, they called him.

Karok glanced around the shrine, the wind picking up as a few stray acolytes continued their rituals, oblivious to his presence. What could it hurt? He stepped closer to one of the smaller statues, not caring to find the exact effigy of Kezeroth. It didn't matter. This was just for him, not for show.

In a low voice, he spoke the name. "Kezeroth the Hateful."

There was no grand gesture, no formal incantation. He didn't need one. Karok wasn't here to beg or prostrate himself. He simply spoke, his voice quiet but firm, the words plain and direct. "You're Gen'dai, like me. They say you were strong, lived through more than most could imagine. I don't have an offering to give, but I've read your name. I know your story. If you're still out there, if there's anything left of you…"

He paused, feeling the weight of his words, the absurdity of it all. Talking to the dead like a fool.

"...Then speak. Show me if you're more than just a name in an old book."

He waited, expecting nothing but silence—perhaps that was for the best.

 

[Kasir Dorran]

Objective: Shrine of the dead
Tags: Soah Ty’Jyn (Carnival)

Kasir found himself completely drawn to the event in Jutrand, the primal and ancient nature of it all carrying an irresistible allure. He could feel the pull of tradition and the promise of power, a combination that set his cold heart ablaze. Time seemed to slip away as he immersed himself in the crowds, reveling in the potent energy that surrounded him.

Step by step, he approached the shrine, as if being pulled forward by an unseen and dark force. The hood of the Sith’s cloak cast shadows over his face, veiling his features. A tinge of idolatry crossed Kasir's mind, but he quickly dismissed it, shifting his focus to the true purpose he sought, as though it were now begging for him to claim it.

It naturally felt easier to invoke names long forgotten, as he still believed they carried more power and significance.

In his hands, he cradled an obsidian dagger, its blade gleaming as if it drank in the shadows that swirled around his lithe frame. The blade was not merely a weapon; it was a token of devotion. His pale fingers traced the hilt, feeling the smooth surface, before finally offering it as a tribute.

Prostrating himself before it, he bent to the floor in a display of reverence, his being exuding a rare state of submission, as though he were summoned to fulfill a specific duty, and awaiting a command.

“Lord Kas’im,” he murmured, feeling as if he were giving up his very soul in that moment. “Bestow upon me your strength and guidance. I offer this dagger as a symbol of my deepest desire. May it serve as a reminder of my commitment to become a duelist as formidable as you. Grant me the mastery of the blade that you wielded, so that I too, may one day stand against the best.”

The assassin lingered for a moment, head bowed in homage, and his heart now beating like a war drum. Amidst the stillness, the only other sound that could reach his ears was the pulsing vibrations of air around him. "Give me the knowledge," he pleaded, his voice smooth like silk, "to destroy all who dare to stand in my path.”

As the final words escaped his lips, he felt a new surge of vigor coursing through his being. The flickering flames before him appeared to twist with approval, their tongues licking at the edges of his consciousness. He wanted to believe the plea had been acknowledged. More time would be taken to reflect the very depths of his thoughts after shifting into a kneeling position.

 

[Lunaria Talon]

Tag: Soldane Talon | Matteo Guo-Yian
Alias: Artemis Dreadmoor
Wearing: School Uniform w/Red Cloak

Lunaria couldn't move.

She couldn't go inside the Eternalist Church.

The twilight sky had bled into a deep crimson while the sun returned to slumber for the evening and a creeping cold rolled up her spine. She shivered against her will, still hidden, beneath the name Artemis while standing on the fringes of a crowd she had never imagined attending. Sith of every rank and title moved toward the towering spires of the imposing structure, celebrating, the dark and sacred traditions of their fallen ancestors. Students of Jutrand Academy had been permitted to attend so that they might learn of their roots.

So that they might learn the nature and being of true Sith leaders and paragons of what they were expected to be. Of what they were expected to become.

The air buzzed with energy, a quiet hum of reverence and power, while offerings were made and whispered incantations honored those who had passed from the material realm. It was a flurry of activity that was neither somber nor plain—And despite the movement of cloaked figures, Lunaria remained frozen in place. Soldane Talon had moved on ahead of her as the flow of the crowd bid but the flaxen-haired child felt rooted to the duracrete.

She was dressed in the uniform of Jutrand Academy with a crimson cloak made of rich hues of bloody red. It stood out amongst those who moved around her, a splash of color, with luminous platinum hair in a sea of swirling shadows. She clutched a small, intricate, but otherwise worthless offering to those around her and felt a swell of ineptitude. It wasn't enough. The bumbling art project of a Fifth wasn't enough to connect her with lost spirits…Was it? Her young mind wasn't clouded by fear. But, by something far more complex: a deep, aching sadness.

Sol was stronger than she was.

He had pressed forward, vanishing into the gloom of the church's towering archways. Her twin seemed to have embraced this day fully, with resolve, and the cold determination and respect their lineage demanded. But for Lunaria, this night was different. The weight of Sith legacy, the lives taken, the power gained, and the sacrifices made so they could all be where they were in that moment—It all pressed down on her heart like a crushing wave.

They had not seen their mother ( Srina Talon ) for weeks since the First War with the Galactic Alliance. For literal, weeks. Whispers of the various battles had spread through the Academy like wildfire and Lunaria could only soak up the information, true or false, like a sponge. There were rumors that the Empress had been seen at the great Kaggath but even then, something felt wrong. She knew that distance was a necessity to keep their identity secret—But it was overwhelming. She didn't know where to put her feelings or how to express them…Would their mother recover?

What would their father do if their mother did not?

What of Haru? Who would care for them?

Who would…Who would even know they existed?

The desire to be seen was so strong that Luna felt her eyes burn while small fingers held tighter to her offering. As if the sharp edges might wake her up, might, let her move forward. The only comfort she had in the moment was the sight of the Eternalist Church looking over her like a silent sentinel. If the Empress of the Sith had passed away…Surely, it would be on the Holo-Net.

Surely…Her mother's statue and likeness would also be among those being recognized.

Emotions churned within her—grief, guilt, nostalgia, invisibility—while simultaneously leaving her feeling as if there was something stuck in her throat. A parishioner bumped into her from behind without thought, oblivious, to the state of a dawdling youth and the offering fell from her hand. She gasped and tried to catch it but it was swiftly lost to shuffling feet. Didn't she need it to honor the dead? What else could she give? What else was there to offer?

Luna didn't know the answer to that and remained where she was. Still. A pale shadow caught between worlds, waiting, for the strength to confront both literal and metaphorical ghosts.

"Naneth…"

She missed her mother. She had…No father. No father that would ever see them, know them, as the entity within him might execute them on the spot.

Aside from the spirits…

They really were alone.

 

[Marcus Dinn]

"Kezeroth the Hateful."

"You're Gen'dai, like me. They say you were strong, lived through more than most could imagine. I don't have an offering to give, but I've read your name. I know your story. If you're still out there, if there's anything left of you…"

"...Then speak. Show me if you're more than just a name in an old book."

"Who dares to call upon me?" A deep, sonorous voice replied. "Can't you see I'm trying to get some eternal rest here? This better be good!"

The voice was noticeably coming from somewhere behind the shrine, obscured by a black velvet curtain.

Karok​

 

[Kaila Irons]

TAGS - OPEN​

The dark side was perhaps more potent here than anywhere else on Jutrand tonight. Within this church were shrines to beings of ancient and dark power, bolstered still by the dark reverence of the faithful and the downtrodden, or those with ambition who were not too proud to pray their way into success. Others were mere children, orphans of war or worse, the offspring of callous Sith who would never give them the time of day even if they were still alive.

Darth Anathemous wondered if she were like them.

Did she even have parents? Where they perhaps looking for her, even now? Would they even recognize her anymore? Or perhaps they were dead, there was no way to know now.

She assumed it would be best not to dwell on such things. They were but memories long gone, washed away by a cranial injury so many years ago that even awakening in the hospital was a little more difficult to recall than it had once been. Tonight was a night to focus on the present, to make merry and distract oneself from the tiresome affairs of war and politics that would no doubt dominate the lives of everyone here for the rest of the year.

It was the one night she was meant to relax. Xyrah in particular had been adamant that she must take time away from her work as the new governor of Echnos.

But what remained of Kaila was, as she always had been, still thinking of the future.

And odd thing to be thinking about in a shrine to those long past.

But in her experience, the past and the future were always linked, and so it was that she had come to this place seeking a particular figure from ancient sith history. She had learned from the ghost of Parasideus some that a few figures had kept his cult alive for some time even after his death during the 400 year darkness, and so it was that she was able to determine that one of these shrines was in fact dedicated to a sith lord who had been one of the last to guard the secrets of this cult, secrets which died with him whilst fighting the Jedi.

The tale of Darth Nyto was as obscure as one might expect from a sith assassin, her legend having faded such that hers was a shrine at the far end of the church, no doubt constructed by some scholar who wished to keep even the most obscure of history alive if only for the passion of study itself. Someone like Anathemous in that regard.

And like them, Anathemous had done her research.

"Your favorite tea, Nyto. And a way for your legend to continue. So offers Darth Anathemous, dark lord of the sith"

She spoke in enticing whispers, as if peddling illegal wares in a dark alley. But, unlike so many offerings that night, they were exactly what she needed to get the attention of this ancient spirit. For if she as a Sith had bothered to research such a trivial detail, how much more might she possibly know? It was too strange and fascinating a question for the spirit to leave unanswered.

"You... remembered?"

The translucent figure of a hooded woman whispered into her ear, circling around to sit weightlessly atop the obsidian tablet in which her name had been carved. All the while, she observed Anathemous keenly, the youngest darth to be risen in recent years, a pretty little blonde thing on her knees, hands clasped together in supposed reverence.

"You're not like those who've prayed here before. Your offering is less a bargain, more an appetizer for something greater, or so you imply... You have my attention, little Darth... What do you truly offer?"

"A way for you travel the galaxy again, to fight Sith and Jedi alike"

The spirit was silent for a time, narrowing spectral eyes on the living woman.

"...how?"

Anathemous inhaled sharply as she reached out, eyes opening, and when they did, they shone a violet hue that cast a twisted glow such that it drowned out the candle light in this dark corner of the shrine.

"By Becoming One."

Tendrils of light crept from her chest, coiling around the spirit who hissed in protest.

"Foolish girl! I am Darth Nyto, Last of the many faced cult. Who are you to challenge us?!"

But then a third figure joined them, appearing over the shoulders of Anathemous as Parasideus' faceless presence was commanded against the spirit of Nyto.

"Master...?"

"Traitor." A thousand voices whispered all at once, withering the first spirit's defenses.

 

[Nouqai Veil]

Falentra had been to the palace of Jutrand once... and it had not been quite a pleasant experience given she was a captive to Srina Talon , the Sith Empress then. At that time, she had not gotten a chance to see the outside the quarters she was held in, but this was different, it was a cause of celebration and memorial.

She couldn't not bring her best-friend along. Although he was based far across the galaxy at the edge of the tingel arm, he had agreed to join her when she extended the invitation. Falentra had requested he wore something nice and not-jedi with a ball taking place within the palace halls in conjunction to the carnival.

As usual, Falentra had met up with her friend as he landed, greeting him in a hug. While her facial features were obscurred behind a horned masked with golden scales, her distinctive tentacles were not, they seemed to have growned out since the last time they met, the tendrils reaching her waist. This was one of the rarer times she was all dressed up for such an occassion but nothing too frivolous, a blue dress and small purse - with her handy lightsaber. "I've got you one too." She said, pulling out another mask complimenting her own.

"Come, don't want to miss out on all the fun." She said pulling him along.

Balun Dashiell

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

It was an odd sight, the statue of Darth Marr stood upright and unrelenting, red and black ran up across his form, even after more than four thousand years, his memory ran still so deep that every precise detail of his make and wear was remembered enough for who knew how many craftsman, how many artisans to make an exact statue of his make, of his nature.

Yet, there was, of course, one detail they could never get right, a detail that not even one related to this great man could provide the answer to. Staring forward, Malum could only gaze into the depths of the mask that he had known his entire life. What hid beneath the mask, the face of the man whom his family had found their name... whose blood flowed through their veins, who had given them an identity even through millennia of beggary or prominence, they still held firm.

Of course, it was not the statue of Darth Marr which was an odd sight, immortalised as the Lord of Duty, remembered as the defender of his Empire, canonised as a Sith Saint of the Eternalist Church, even though the offerings made below him, were not as prominent in quality or quantity as those of the so-called 'Sith Gods', they were nothing to scoff at. Indeed, it was not at all odd that in this temple, one of the greatest Sith in their history would find home.

What was odd, was that facing the statued mask of Darth Marr, was another of his masks. Both forgeries, both mere copies of the true, yet, for all who witnessed, for all who had come to pay their respects, for all who had come to worship, it was a truly galling sight, armour rose down from a tall, lithe form, of black in nature, yet red highlighted, the one who a once Emperor had named the second Darth Marr.

The one who had too defended his Empire, led the Tsis'Kaar, ruled worlds, and as his famous forebearer, sat the Dark Council.

The one that never felt such comparison with greatness was warranted, yet so much wished for it to be.

Darth Malum.

"Why are you silent?" The masked Sith Lord questioned.

There was no offer in his hands, held tightly by his sides, as instead two twinned forms, one inanimate, the other even still, certainly animate simply stood, as resolutely as a marble statue.

"I have heard your voice... through vision... through mind... so why... why when I need you most, are you still silent?" He continued on, even as the amulet burned in his chest, a mere fragment, a mere shard of a real ghost, a voice normally so... restrained, held a watery quality to it.

"Your holocron remains closed to me, your lightsabre still lost, the mask still broken... I am sorry that I have not found all that is yours, I am sorry that even now, I am unable to restore us to the heights that we deserve... but... why do you remain elusive to me?" His heart beat heavy against his chest, his fists clenched, as easily as his maw.

"Do I so disappoint you, father of all my fathers? Have I not raised our family to heights we have never seen? Have I not kept to your teachings? Have I not fought for the Sith despite all which is wrong with us?" The questions fell easily out of a hidden mouth, but for an answer to emerge out from its twin, proved impossible.

Eyes had been drawn easily to him, they only widened, as much as more grew as he fell upon his knees, "I face the greatest battle I have ever faced soon, and your silence still looms as the greatest spectre," His breath was heavy, far beyond the confines of the mask, "I am peer to the greatest Sith of my generation, yet still feel ever the peon, still ever the pawn, where have you been?" The questions grew more desperate, the questions grew more urgent, "I could face my death... I have faced it so many times, across various battlefields across my life, just as you did, but now, in this moment... it feels so certain... where are you?" The wind blew heavy tonight.

It was his only answer.

A soft chuckle escaped the masked man, as from his knees, he rose back to his prominence, no longer the boy standing upon the shoulders of giants, "...Was this how you felt, when you faced your Emperor?" The whisper asked easily enough, would this be how he felt, when he faced his Emperor? Would fate... would destiny... act against him too? Would he have transcended both?

Would he even have the chance?

The Lord of Deceit reached into his robes, a shimmer of light as it refracted off the Shikkar, his hand turned the blade, its hilt facing the statue, the glass facing him, and he pressed down.

The glass shattered into hundreds of tiny pieces, as the blood dripped down his hand, pooling at the foundation of his forefather's resolute stand.

"Blood of my blood..." He had long wondered, what the great Darth Marr would think of his heir wielding Shikkars, being the dishonourable assassin, "...protect all that is dear to me..." So much... so many... "protect my family..." A family he had said he had done all this for, a family he had long neglected, a family that was here, "...protect me." A beat passed.

The amulet burned hot against his chest, as the cold winds whistled in his ears, as the silence dragged on.

He had long since accepted them.

Sophia of House Marr Elise of House Marr
Mentions: Darth Empyrean

 

[Matteo Guo-Yian]

Matteo didn't understand much of what was occuring. Oh, he understood the concept, but his parents had never bothered to memoralize any of the dead. Whenever one of theirs passed away in the line of duty, they were erased, forgotten and not acknowledged. It was safer that way while they were infiltrated within the Tionese society and pretending to be respected members of it.

So while the crowd continued onwards he paused and let the crowd lead him this or that way. Maybe it was the Force that actually led him, because eventually he brushed against a still figure and a moment after he realized it was someone he knew.

"Artemis?" Curiously looking down at her as his hand settled on her shoulder.

It didn't take a genius to realize she was upset, but Matteo wasn't sure why. He had to assume this entire event was getting to her. It was odd how... empathic his friend was compared to the rest of the crowd. Everyone else treated it as a holiday, sober and somber perhaps, but there was dancing and a carnival. She on the other hand...

"Hey, it's okay."

With a gentle touch he'd lead her out of the crowd, because in their revelry they were bumping into her left and right, which couldn't do wonders for what she was experiencing either.

"Let's stick together. There is a carnival? That could be fun."

Unless she was violently opposed he'd guide her away from that dominating church and towards the carnival. To try and distract her.

Lunaria Talon

 

[Balun Dashiell]

Present Company: Nouqai Veil .
Wearing: White Collar Suit, Lightsaber.

​

Balun Dashiell found himself grappling with the shifts in his life over the past few years. No longer could he retreat to the simplicity of his old Jedi robes, an outfit that had been his go-to for so long. Now, the young man was still adjusting to the nuances of civilian life—especially the need to cultivate a new sense of fashion. His father, no doubt, would have been beaming with pride at seeing him in such a fine suit, but Balun couldn't help but feel uncomfortable in it.

Yes, he was a business owner now, having recently secured a prestigious contract for Crown Dream Lines' newest luxury liner. His newfound wealth afforded him a sense of financial freedom he wasn't used to, but it hadn't stripped away his humble roots or love for life's simple pleasures. And when he was invited to this particular event alongside Nouqai Veil, his best friend since childhood, he had reluctantly heeded her plea to abandon his usual Jedi robes in favor of something more formal.

Just when he thought he might escape the evening with minimal discomfort, Nouqai handed him a small mask—the smaller of the two. It was certainly not what he had expected to wear. Still, he had promised to do his best to blend in and avoid drawing any unwanted attention. With a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, he put on the mask, muttering playfully, "The things I do for you." Though there was a hint of teasing in his voice, there was no real resentment.

In truth, Balun needed a break from his daily responsibilities. His father had often urged him to "be a kid" now and then, and tonight offered just that opportunity. He and Nouqai Veil had been through so much together—countless adventures filled with danger and excitement—but this evening wasn't about peril. It was a chance for them to relax, have fun, and just hang out without the looming threat of recognition or the pressure of his station in the Tingle Arm Coalition.

With a playful grin, he nudged Nouqai and asked, "So, what's the plan? No sacrifices or anything, right?" His tone was light, his humor an easy distraction from the fact that, despite everything, he remained a Lightside Force user in a room likely filled with Sith.

 

[Svenja Fürstin Von Exocron]

Objective One
Tags: Soldane Talon | Lunaria Talon

The streets were filled with people. All providing offerings to the dead, or were seeking to commune with those who were no longer in the world of the living. While there was a portion of me who wanted to try and seek out power from those who were gone, it was not in me to do so. Earning personal strength and fortitude, was done on one's own. With the rest of the worlds, peoples, and individuals influencing their choices. It's partly why I was okay with being sent to the Sith Academies. It was a time for me to learn and to grow not just as a Sith, not just as the heir for a ruling family, but also because maybe I would have a chance to find out who I actually was. What I could actually do.

This opportunity was not given to me by my father, but the Sith who had come before. This chance that was given to me is something I must not squander. For that, I felt it would be best if I paid respects to those who had come before. Namely, The previous Emperor. As his most recent changes led to the Order and its grandeur. One in which allowed me to seek my own.

Holding within my clasped hands, was a small wooden figure. In anticipation for this, I decided to use a simple knife to shape and form some wood from my home into a small effigy of the man. It was by no means perfect, or even truly accurate to the man as a whole. However, my religion and faith with the gods I sought my soul in, we gave them tributes not in flowers, or blood, but an offering of thanks. An offering could be anything that was of value. Sometimes even a gift for them so that their souls could find a place to aid those who sought them.

Respecting the man in my own way, with our own customs, a man who was not native to Exocron, was a high honor among our people. It was essentially giving him rights and power among the people in a more intimate way. The little effigy rolled around in my hands as I closed the distance to his form. HIs form imposing. The pure aura of the area was steeped in the force. It was striking me with a sense of awe for which I could only respect. While others gave their own offerings, I knelt down in my Academy uniform. Daring to scuff the knees in order to place it at the feet of the Emperor.

Standing up, I saw others who came to do the same. However, one drew my eyes. He looked to be one of the other students at the academy that I had not really spoken to before. Part of that was my fault with always having my nose shoved into a tome or scrolling through a holopad. I looked upon him for a moment before walking over. Bowing my head lightly to show respect in this time of reverence.

"Apologies for the intrusion. I am Svenja Dietrich. Just wanted to wish you a good Memoria, and that its good to see some students outside of the academy."

My words had no ill intent, nor desire. Merely what they were. Truthful and honest to what was happening. Seeing some students around was good. To show that we were slowly becoming Sith ourselves. However, it also seemed like the young man in question also was stuck in their own thoughts. And sometimes, that can lead to some disastrous results. Even a Sith needs to take a break from being angry and hateful sometime right?

 

[Adean Castor]

TAG: Darth Malum of House Marr
WEARING: x | x

There was a sort of comfort to be found in a masquerade. Wearing a mask with the intention of wearing one, knowing others would be doing so as well. For once in all the month's she'd been sequestered to the Sith academy, there would be no Brassius Zambrano. Adean could simply be, well, Adean. The corset that hugged her torso was another source of comfort, as limiting in movement as the boned piece was meant to be. The mask tied around her head was a tolerable nuisance, well worth it for a night of letting loose.

The figure of dark and green slipped about the outskirts of the dance floor - for it simply wouldn't do to enter a dance proper without a partner. Instead, she made her way to a section of drinks and snacks, taking up a flute of liquid in her hand. Finding a small group of individuals similarly not dancing at the current moment, she slid into the small group seamlessly, as if she had been there the whole time.

"Some party, no?"

 

[Lina Ovmar]

Lina was a shadow, incorporeal and shifting like smoke as she moved among the shrines catching murmurs of prayer, observing those who wished to pledge or beg for something from so-called gods. She was seen by none,passin as a mere a shiver down a spine, or a movement in the corner of one's eye. Unwilling to impose on any, yes too curious to not simply listen.

She couldn't understand it, the devotion to the dead. They were dead, they cared little for the living, and if they were fortunate enough to be considered alive? Her gaze lingered on the statue of Darth Empyrean and she pursed her lips. She had yet to decipher him, to understand what it was that drove the corpse emperor, but she was fairly certain that he had no real care for these people either. They were beneath him.

Lina turned away, heading for the exit, her form becoming more solid, her head bowed beneath her hood as she slipped past those making their way into the church. She might have missed it had she not been looking down, a crudely carved offering skittering between people's feet. She reached a hand out, tugging it to her with the force, she inspected it, blackened fingers trailing over its edges leaving wisps of smokey shadow in their wake.

She lifted her head, the obsidian that had over ridden her normally emerald eyes in this form scanning for its owner. She wasn't hard to spot, an silver haired echani girl who seemed frozen, encased in raw emotion…fear…grief all of it tangible in the force. Lina blinked her head tilting before she shifted towards her only to stop as a young boy approached her. She watched them slip out of the crowded pathway.

After a moment consideration, she moved. Her movement was unnatural, like she was passing from the shadow of one person to the next, but it was so fast it was impossible to truly tell.

"Hello, little doves." she said softly as she appeared in front of the pair of them, a great shadow encircling them like huge wings, protecting them from prying eyes. She held her hand out the offering resting in her palm for her to take. "I think this might be yours."

Lunaria Talon Matteo Guo-Yian

 

[Irina Jesart]

Tags: OPEN

This was her first time outside of the academy since the entrance exams, Irina should have been excited and filled with joy at the prospect of an evening full of carnival games where the only pressure would be how many sweets she could consume without throwing up, but as she wandered between the stalls, her eyes roaming over the different games, she couldn't help but feel like she would rather be back inside the walls of the academy.

She'd always expected the first free time trip outside to be spent with her father, telling him about all the things she was learning, about her friends and rivals… the greif came up like a tidal wave, threatening to drown her. She'd spent weeks locking it away behind a mask, refusing to let anyone beside Aerik Lechner know the pain she was in. She swallowed against the lump in her throat, blinking away the tears as she moved herself off the main concourse.

Her feet pulling her away from the noise until she found a quiet emtpy bench and sank into it. She buried her face in her hands and took slow deliberate breaths. She should ahve stayed at the academy, stayed where she was safe from her own sorrow, where she could focus on anything and everything except that her father was dead.

 

[Kasir Dorran]

Tag: Soah Ty’Jyn

As another prayer escaped Kasir's lips, a low hum pressed through his chest, grounding him. It was followed by a reflection of his choices that lurked within. Different thoughts swirled in his mind; those of vengeance mixed with others of lost opportunities and even regret. Still, the lingering shadow of darkness clung to his being like a second skin, constantly threatening to pull him back into the depths of madness.

When he rose from the kneeling position at last, a sense of clarity washed over him; he began to feel more aware of his purpose, surely ready to embrace whatever lay ahead. Taking a deep breath, he stepped through the doors of the building, and shifted his focus elsewhere. The sounds of the nearby carnival quickly drifted to him, oddly bright and seemingly even chaotic. It was a stark contrast to where he made his offering just minutes prior. Continuing to stride forward, the vibrant colors of the event had a way of lighting up his path, beckoning him to have fun, as he now sought out a specific individual.

To the Sith, this very event made the capital look weak. How could everyone be so easily distracted by music and games? Several different sentient species raced past him, their faces painted as though they were pretending to be something else. Kasir scowled, the corners of his mouth displaying disdain for what he was witnessing.

This was not a place of strength or purpose, and didn’t represent the true nature that came along with the harsh realities of existence. People of all ages clutching to snacks, couples spinning on rides, and there were even friends sharing stories amongst one another–all of it was alien to him.

But he pressed on, for he knew that this was a different kind of battle, against the insanity of the galaxy itself, and maybe nothing more than another test.

Kasir could feel the vibrant energy of the event pulsing through the air, and for a heartbeat, he honed to a single task - locating the Felacatian.

<<I’m near some giant structure that looks like a wheel. And it’s spinning. Where are you?>>

His words dripped with an odd, and desperate sense of urgency. It was another plea, but now for escape–or perhaps a companion to share the torment with. All around, the flashes of light began irritating him.

<<I've traveled every corner of the galaxy, and this might just be the most grotesque spectacle I've ever seen.>>

For a moment, his brown orbs seemed to widen, while consuming all that lay before him.

<<Soah, have you seen the clowns with big red smiles? I already hate them.>>

 

[Karok]

"Who dares to call upon me?" A deep, sonorous voice replied. "Can't you see I'm trying to get some eternal rest here? This better be good!"

The voice was noticeably coming from somewhere behind the shrine, obscured by a black velvet curtain.

Karok's eyes narrowed immediately, his instincts on edge as the deep voice rang out behind him, cutting through the silence with mock indignation. His mind raced—had he actually summoned something?!!?! His body tensed, ready for a fight. But then the words themselves registered: sarcastic, dismissive, and utterly unimpressive. He turned slowly, his large frame moving deliberately, gaze fixed on the source.

The voice was coming from behind a black velvet curtain draped at the far end of the shrine, obscuring whatever lay beyond. Karok's muscles relaxed, his suspicion giving way to irritation. Of course, he thought, just another fool playing games.

As he approached the curtain, his heavy boots stirred the dust on the ancient stone floor. Without a word, he grabbed the edge of the curtain and yanked it aside with a quick motion. There, standing behind it was the culprit. Marcus Dinn

Karok stared at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. He took in the scene, Marcus's mockery, the ridiculousness of it all—and then a low growl escaped his throat. Gods how stupid I must look.

"Marcus," Karok said, his voice cold and heavy with disdain. Although he couldn't help but smirk slightly at the situation. " Coming to join me in playing pretend?"

 

[Soah Ty’Jyn]

Objective: Carnival Row

Location: Carnival Row
Interacting with: Kasir Dorran

​

If there was one small mercy in this whole ordeal, it was that Soah didn't have to wear the suffocating Academy uniform. The stiff fabric always seemed to cling too tightly to her body, restricting her movement in a way that made her skin itch with frustration. Instead, she opted for her usual attire -- a worn leather tunic and breeches that allowed her limbs to move freely. Her dark hood covered most of her face, but the long, thick braids spilled forward, and the inky black tattoos swirled and rippled across her dusky skin, as if alive with their own restless energy.

What grated on her nerves far more than her clothing was the overwhelming noise -- the constant drone of voices, laughter, and strange music assaulting her ears. It was a cacophony that made her head ache. And the scents -- so many competing odors, all swirling together in an offensive cloud. Sweat, food, smoke, perfume... all of it grated against her sensitive senses. She could feel the low thrum of anxiety building, like an itch she couldn't scratch.

<<I'm near some giant structure that looks like a wheel. And it's spinning. Where are you?>>

And, of course, just as the tension simmered, that all-too-familiar voice slithered into her mind. Kasir. His presence brushed against her thoughts, carried by the Force, and Soah's upper lip curled in disgust.

<<I'm near some giant structure that looks like a wheel. And it's spinning. Where are you?>>

She hated when he did this -- when he spoke to her through the Force like that. It felt invasive. Unnatural.

<<I'm near some giant structure that looks like a wheel. And it's spinning. Where are you?>>

She didn't bother responding. Refused to. If Kasir wanted to play these games, let him. She wasn't going to indulge him by answering back. Instead, her nostrils flared as she inhaled deeply, catching the faint scent of his musk amidst the chaos. She'd learned to track him this way, memorizing the distinct scent that clung to him. A hunter needed to know her prey, after all.

Weaving through the crowd with feline grace, she moved quickly, her eyes darting around until she spotted him. He stood near one of the spinning wheels -- the one he'd mentioned in his cryptic message. A crowd had gathered around it, though why anyone would want to be near that contraption was beyond her. Maybe they all had a death wish.

Her attention shifted, and her gaze locked onto one of the painted revelers nearby. The garish red smile plastered across its face made her stomach churn. They were disgusting, all of them. Creepy, with those frozen grins.

"How about carving a better smile on their faces?" she muttered, her voice dripping with contempt as she approached Kasir. "Might make them look a little better."

Her hand twitched, her claws itching to unsheathe themselves. The inky black tattoos on her skin shifted subtly, responding to her agitation. It was only stubborn determination that kept her from acting on the impulse -- at least, for now.

 

[Marcus Dinn]

Marcus was grinning from ear to ear as Karok yanked back the curtain. He didn’t expect the burly Gen’dai to catch on so quickly—but for the brief time in which he had believed he was hearing the voice of the dead, his reaction had been priceless.

"Marcus," Karok said, his voice cold and heavy with disdain. Although he couldn't help but smirk slightly at the situation. "Coming to join me in playing pretend?"

“It was a prank, actually.” Marcus stepped forward, looking straight at Karok and still grinning. “You just happened to be my first victim.” He wondered how Irina Jesart or any of the other acolytes would’ve taken it. Assuming they were smart enough to figure out the deception.

He turned, glancing at the altar. “I’ve been a god, but I don’t believe in gods. I know there’s an afterlife, but I don’t bother trying to speak to the dead. I can see the future, but it means nothing.” Facing Karok again, he spread his hands. “What am I?”

Karok​