Private Pawn to e4.

[Serina Calis]

Location: Canto Blight.
Tag: Tenebrum ​

Serina Calis sat in a velvet-lined booth, nestled in the shadowed corner of an opulent casino in the heart of Canto Bight. The air was thick with the scent of extravagance—perfumed silks, aged wines, and the metallic tang of credit chips being exchanged in hushed deals. Golden chandeliers cast warm pools of light across the marble floors, glinting off the polished surfaces of sabacc tables and high-stakes betting pits. Laughter and whispered conversations rippled through the gilded den of indulgence, but none of it touched her.

She was not here to play.

With languid fingers, she rolled a small, half-finished figurine between her fingertips—a delicate, yet unfinished addition to the grand wargame she orchestrated in her obsidian sanctum. The piece was faceless, nameless, yet. A perfect little pawn waiting to be shaped, molded, placed upon the board. Her board.

A slow smirk curved her lips.

The Tsis'Kaar had their eyes on this one. They slithered through their usual channels, whispering in their endless webs, eager to sink their fangs into their next asset. But Serina had always been faster, hungrier. While they wove their careful intrigues, she moved first, extending her own invitation, offering something more tantalizing than simple servitude.

They would never learn.

Her fingers traced along the edges of the figurine, her mind already drifting into dark, indulgent thoughts. Corruption was a delicate art, one she had mastered with the precision of a sculptor chiseling away at marble. The slow unraveling of one's will, the whisper of temptation, the exquisite moment when resistance melted into surrender—it was a pleasure beyond measure, a dance of inevitability.

Would this new piece resist? Would they fight, struggle, protest their own fall? Oh, she hoped so.

She enjoyed that most of all.

Her armor gleamed under the dim casino lights, its obsidian plating sleek and flawless, marked only by the crimson engravings that shimmered faintly against the darkness. It was a statement, a warning, a whispered promise to those who knew her name. She had not dressed to blend in. She wanted to be seen.

Let them watch. Let them wonder.

She lifted a glass of deep violet wine to her lips, taking a slow sip, savoring the way it burned and lingered. It was expensive, obscenely so, the kind of drink only the rich and foolish indulged in. But Serina was neither. She drank not for pleasure, but for the symbolism—the act of consuming something rare, something coveted, something lesser creatures could only dream of touching.

Her gaze drifted across the casino floor, her sharp blue eyes scanning the entrance. Any moment now.

Her smirk widened as she turned the figurine over in her hand, considering its unfinished form.

Tonight, she would give it a name. Tonight, she would carve it into shape.

 

[Tenebrum]

Location: Canto Bight
Tag: Serina Calis

It was a puzzle box that Tenebrum could not open, a prospect that filled him with equal trepidation and tantalization. The message had been unsigned, its sender encrypted beyond his skills to parse, delivered without fanfare and yet laced with unspoken threat. Scarcely had Tenebrum set taloned boot within the gloomy halls of the Sith Academy when it had appeared on his datapad - a message that delicately threaded the line between invitation and summons to a particular booth in a particular casino on a particular world called Canto Bight.

The name rung unfamiliar through the admittedly dusty annals of his brain. It was an experience that was becoming familiar, yet he still had not grown used to the jarring sensation of ignorance that ruffled his feathers when confronted by a name or event or location or species he had never heard of. Were it not for the unforgettable circumstances that had landed him in these strange stars, he might have begun to suspect that old age had begun its slow but inexorable descent, that in the end he was nothing more than worm food.

Tenebrum shuddered. The fear was always there in the back of his mind, that he had missed his chance, that he was past his prime, that he would be lucky to get a footnote in the histories as an oddity of his kind, an aberration of the Caamasi people.

The gambler opposite him, a garishly dressed alien whose species too eluded Tenebrum's knowledge, finally wrapped up his rambling story with a smirk.

On cue, Tenebrum brought his taloned hands together in rapid applause, "Marvelous! Simply marvelous, old chum! Imagine the look on his face-" He burst into raucous, tipsy laughter. His counterpart, pleased, motioned to buy him another drink.

Aberration of the Caamasi indeed. Tenebrum typically paid no heed to stereotypes of his kind, but it paid to lean into them now and again. Though known in temples and courts as peace-loving and insular diplomats, the Caamasi were not so well understood among the common people of the galaxy. After all, in a galaxy such as this, what did "peace-loving" mean to a denizen of Nar Shaddaa other than "naive?" And what could "insular" signify to a cosmopolitan Coruscanti besides "simple?"

Needless to say, the aged Caamasi had long become accustomed to the polite condescension of well-meaning but ignorant beings, and though he had once loved to strut like a peacock and display the plumes of learnedness and power proudly, he now found it more useful to play the fool, to snap his beak shut and let them prattle on. This being, for instance: although he had regaled Tenebrum with a tedious and, doubtless, much embellished story about a small triumph at the workplace, Tenebrum had gleaned some small hints about the state of the Corporate Sector and its relationship with the Galactic Alliance.

"Be back in a jiffy, old man," he exclaimed, clapping the beaming alien on the back, "It seems you've cleaned me out!"

Staggering slightly as he rose, Tenebrum made for the cashiers. Slowly, as he pushed his way into the crowd, the mirth drained from his eyes, and though he still leaned on his cane, his drunken gait gave way to a measured pace along a familiar route. The message had allowed him two days travel time, so naturally he had caught the first shuttle and arrived a day early. After a quick encounter with a loudmouthed Rodian who had crowed about his day's winnings, Tenebrum had spent the day at the casino, slowly gambling away the Rodian's small fortune.

Although his initial plan had been to learn more about his mysterious sender, he had found himself at dead ends at every turn. Booth 66 had no regular patron, and indeed, nobody seemed to remember who had ever sat there. At a loss for new leads to pursue, Tenebrum had instead turned his attention towards filling in the woeful gaps in his understanding of this galaxy. As it turned out, the idle rich and the workaday gambling addicts loved having a credulous and exotic old alien to talk to as they played - doubly so if they won. Though nearly bored to tears by the endless stories of dubious romantic conquests and run-ins with local celebrities, Tenebrum was satisfied with his inexorable pursuit of knowledge.

His well-practiced path took him from the side room where he had spent the last hour to the grand hall where dazzling models fawned on career gamblers, and aristocrats danced their little dances of diplomacy over a roulette table. Tenebrum had to admit, the seedy casinos of Nar Shaddaa had nothing on the grandeur and decadence of this place. It was as if the casino itself had been carved from an asteroid-sized hunk of aurodium, and the fancy dress of the gamblers around him was almost as ravishingly exotic as the Sith balls he had attended in his time. Setting his wide-eyed gaze back into place, Tenebrum's eyes passed idly over the booths in the back of the room, eyes subtly sharpening like a hawk seeking his next meal.

Abruptly, his purposeful pace halted, and he ignored the annoyed exclamations and rough jockeying as tipsy patrons rang headlong into him. There, in the appointed booth, sat a young human female in rich red finery, sipping away at a vintage Tenebrum dared not guess the price. Could this be his mysterious stranger?

He checked his chrono. Only a few minutes shy of the appointed time. No point in standing frozen and allowing the endless possibilities, theories, and contingencies churn through his brain. Besides, her eyes were already flitting keenly across the room. Whether she knew what he looked like or not, it was a matter of only seconds before she noticed him.

As he began to cross the room, the only thing that remained to determine was how to play this encounter. By all rights, he was at a disadvantage here; clearly this woman knew something of him, and despite his best efforts, he knew nothing of her. Surely she knew he was a Sith prospect, did she not? Again trepidation trickled through him as he pondered: could she even know from whence he came?

Silencing the churn, he resolved to play it cool. There was nothing to be gained, and perhaps much to lose, in speculating what she knew. Better to dabble in niceties while he determined what cards were in her hand before he made any bold moves.

Arriving at the booth, he tapped his cane against the table, a kindly smile forming in his eyes as he peered down at the seated woman, "Expecting company, my dear?"

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Canto Blight.
Tag: Tenebrum ​

Serina had been watching him long before he had noticed her.

She sat languidly in her seat, the picture of indulgent leisure, but behind the relaxed posture and the slow, deliberate sips of her vintage, her mind was coiled, sharp and waiting. The casino floor was a stage, and she had already determined the movements of its actors. The gamblers lost in their fortunes, the fawning aristocrats whispering false promises, the hired hands keeping quiet order in the shadows—none of them mattered. Not tonight.

Only he did.

Tenebrum. The aberration. The misplaced piece. The puzzle box yet to be solved.

She had expected something intriguing, and he did not disappoint. An aged Caamasi, one who did not move with the serene dignity of his kind, but with something far more deliberate. The way he staggered through his performance, the theatrical drunkenness, the knowing glint behind his avian eyes—it was all carefully calculated. Oh, she liked that. How utterly amusing it was to watch an old man still learning new tricks.

And yet, for all his careful steps, here he stood at her table.

As his cane tapped against the surface, Serina exhaled a quiet breath, setting her glass down with delicate precision. Slowly, she rolled the unfinished figure between her fingers, the tiny, formless piece turning over and over in her palm. He was observant—of course he was—but had he noticed it yet? Had he seen the way she touched it? Had he sensed that, in her mind, he had already been added to her game?

Her gaze lifted to meet his, and her smile was slow, languid, knowing.

"Company?" she repeated, savoring the word as though tasting the last drop of a particularly fine wine. Her voice was rich, sultry, laced with something wicked, something playful. Something dangerous.

She tilted her head, studying him. A lesser being might have withered under her scrutiny, but Tenebrum was no fool. He was already measuring her, calculating, waiting to see what role she intended for him. Good. Let him think he was on equal footing. That was the most delicious part—watching them think they had control, until they realized the strings had already been wrapped around their throats.

"You make it sound so mundane," she continued, voice lilting with amusement. "Expecting company implies the usual things, does it not? A meeting. A discussion. Perhaps even an agreement."

Her fingers traced slow, lazy circles over the figure, feeling its edges, its imperfections. It was not yet shaped, not yet complete. Just like him.

"But you and I both know," she said, her voice dropping just slightly, her tone shifting into something more intimate, more seductive, "that this is no ordinary meeting, and you are no ordinary guest."

She leaned forward slightly, resting her chin against her palm, her piercing blue eyes gleaming like a predator toying with its prey.

"Come now," she purred. "We both know that you wouldn't have come all this way just to ask such dull little questions. Have a seat, darling. Let's play a more interesting game."

She gestured toward the seat opposite her with the faintest flick of her fingers, her expression one of invitation—but not one that could be refused. The choice had already been made for him the moment he stepped into her orbit.

The only question left was whether he had realized it yet.

 

[Tenebrum]

TAG: Serina Calis

The woman was a paradox, that much was certain. Scarcely old enough to merit the term "woman" rather than "girl," there was nothing girlish about the measured way her gaze rose to regard the Caamasi, eyes awash with a strange knowingness. She appeared utterly at ease, and although everything about her appearance suggested a bored aristocrat, her first words dripped with a poisoned honey far more quietly confident than the languor of a rich girl who has never worked a day in her life.

There was no doubt in Tenebrum's mind that this was the origin of the mysterious message. But as the woman began to speak, doubt of another sort began to creep into his mind. The way she spoke was intriguing, yes, but there was something manufactured about it, as if the way she presented herself was carefully designed to pique his interest, rather than being truly interesting. It was the way a romance scammer sweet-talked a wealthy octogenarian, the way a con man flattered a naive young nobleman – the way Tenebrum had hung on every word of his quarries this very evening.

Tenebrum's eyes narrowed. Had he overestimated the import of the message he'd received, traveled all this way for a common thief to prey on the lascivious loneliness of an old man? A smile tugged at his beak. If that was the case, she was more frighteningly correct than she knew; he was indeed no ordinary guest. For wasting his time so carelessly, he would be certain to derive what enjoyment he could from the encounter, and he could be sure she would not be so delighted with his choice of entertainment.

"Come now," he chuckled, playing along, "what reason could a young thing like yourself have to flatter an old hoot so?"

Still, he couldn't be certain he had discovered her true nature yet. There was an unmistakable tone of entitlement in her voice, the sound of one used to getting what she wanted. The hallmark of a noblewoman, to be sure, or even a con artist used to easy marks. But the immaculately maintained armor she wore contradicted both of these personas. It spoke of danger lurking behind the starry eyes, reminiscent to him of the elegant battle armor of Sith Ladies. But unlike those Sith Ladies, from whom dark side power exuded like a malevolent halo, he could sense no such aura from this one. Either her power was so great that she had mastered the art of concealing her affinity . . . or her garb was a sham designed to intimidate lower beings such as herself who knew no more of what power meant than they possessed the abilities that defined it. Likewise, the way she made a show of toying with a game piece could mean only one thing. More than anything, she wanted him to believe that she was in control.

Tenebrum's smile grew to match hers. "A more interesting game" indeed. Either she held all the cards, or he did; there was no in-between. One way or another, one of them would not leave Canto Bight the same person. If they left the planet at all.

"Then a game you shall have!" He crowed as he gently let himself down into the seat opposite hers. No need to let on just yet that he was wise to her little show; after all, she so clearly anticipated the game to come, and what fun was a game without an element of surprise and mystery? They were still in their opening moves.

"What will it be then?" Tenebrum motioned to a waiter carrying the free champagne flutes designed to entice guests to stay for just one more game. He, at least, had time to stay for just one more. "Dejarik? Sabbacc? Or perhaps you care to roll the dice? And meantime, perhaps you can enlighten this old soul what he did to merit an audience with a woman such as yourself?"

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Canto Blight.
Tag: Tenebrum ​

Serina's smile deepened, slow and indulgent, like the first sip of a vintage meant only for the most decadent of palates. Her fingers never stopped moving, rolling the small, unfinished figure between them as if she were contemplating its fate, as if its very shape depended on her whim.

"Oh, my dear Tenebrum," she purred, the syllables of his name rolling over her tongue like silk, deliberate, intimate, possessive. "Sabbacc, Dejarik, dice? So crude. So predictable. Those games rely too much on chance, on numbers and rules that limit the pleasure of play. No, I prefer something more... intricate. More personal. A game where every move is a caress, every feint a whispered promise, every conquest an inevitability that unfolds so slowly that, by the time my opponent realizes they've lost, they're already begging for me to finish them."

She lifted the game piece to eye level, tilting her head just slightly, letting the dim casino light gleam along its smooth, unfinished form. "I call it Domination," she continued, her voice a languid drawl, rich and honeyed, as if she were sharing a most intimate secret. "I play it alone, of course. It would be cruel to let others think they ever had a chance."

Her other hand traced slow, lazy circles along the table's edge, the movement mirroring the rhythm of her words, a teasing glide meant to enrapture. "The game begins simply. I choose a planet—oh, it could be anywhere, anywhere at all, a world ripe for the taking. And then… I introduce myself. Not as a conqueror. No, that would be so boring, wouldn't it? A brute's method, all force and fire and screaming submission. No, I prefer… erosion."

She let the word linger, savoring the shape of it before continuing.

"I start with something small—a whisper, a gift, a favor done without expectation. A touch so light, so harmless, that they barely even notice it. Perhaps a struggling merchant suddenly finds their debts mysteriously erased, or a politician is offered a secret that keeps them just one step ahead of their rivals. Perhaps an entire fleet finds itself stranded in my domain, not as prisoners, but as guests—pampered, indulged, pleasured beyond reason, until they forget why they ever wanted to leave."

Serina's nails tapped against the figure in her palm, a steady, calculated rhythm. "Then the real fun begins. They start to rely on me, to trust me, to crave what I give them. Their economy bends around my influence, their soldiers fight wars with weapons I provide, their leaders start to think that their power comes from their own brilliance when, in truth, it drips from my fingertips. And once they are mine—truly mine—once they know they are mine… oh, darling, that's when I take them completely. And they love me for it."

She exhaled, slow and satisfied, before taking another sip of her wine, letting the moment settle, letting the weight of her words press against him.

"And that," she murmured, setting her glass down with delicate finality, "is how I play my games."

She tilted her head, regarding him with a gaze that was half amusement, half invitation. "Now tell me, Tenebrum," she whispered, rolling the unfinished game piece between her fingers one last time before setting it down before him, its smooth, blank form gleaming under the casino lights. "What kind of piece do you think you will be?"