Faction [Sith Order]: The Darkness Whispers || Korriban

[Lord Depravious]

(Open to any sith wishing to engage in RP)

|| Korriban: Valley of the Dark Lords ||​

Lord Depravious stood on the scorching sands of his home world. A world that he had at one time in his life wished to see razed to the ground - it stood for the very thing in his life that he wished to destroy.

He could feel each burning pebble of sand under his feet, as the rays of the sun encircled his armor, robes, and cybernetics. The rays of heat slamming into his form like the constant pressure that the sea places on a beach. Here stood Depravious, a Sith Lord who had spent the past several decades studying the long forgotten texts of his ancestors. Those who had come before him and failed.

Shaidin Kamari was not interested in failure. In fact his entire goal for spending the past several years in this hot desolate wasteland was to learn from the mistakes of those who had come before him. Whilst he looked upon their failures with disdain, there was something to learn from the failure of others.

Lord Depravious had been disconnected from the rest of the galaxy, spending time with the spirits of his ancestors, conversing, looking into the past with visions of darkness - but more importantly trying to see into his future. The Bogan was a fleeting mistress that exacted a heavy toll on those who would use it for their own gain - and something that Depravious learned from the fallen Emperor Vitiate - the Bogan does not like to be disrespected.

The man strode along the sands, tombs of his predecessors flanking either side of him. For years now he had perfected the ability to suppress even the faintest hint that his aura existed in the Universe. He was sure that none of those he knew before still remained - and he was even more sure that those that currently existed in the galaxy and shared his affinity for the bogan would surely see him as a threat.

Good. He thought to himself as he slowly began walking forward through the valley.

Step.. Step.. Step..

With each step he took in the sand he drew deeper within himself, releasing the murderous aura from within him - reaching out through the force to any who shared in his affinity for the darkside that resided on the planet.

For those who could sense this overwhelming release of power.. Dread, would immediately flood the mind of even a trained master in the dark side of the force. A malicious and evil presence has now shown itself on Korriban and awaits your attention.

Meanwhile, Lord Depravious allowed the darkness to extend from his form - for anyone who may have been in the immediate vicinity of him - black tendrils nearly invisible to the naked eye seemed to extend from his body as his aura was released into the galaxy.

"I believe it's time I take back my home on Raxus Secundus.. I'm sure that my people have missed me.." He whispered as an evil smile crawled across his lips from behind the cybernetic helmet adorning his head.

 

[Serina Calis]

The Darkness Whispers.
Location: Korriban
Objective:
Allies: ???
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: Lord Depravious ​

The winds of Korriban were never gentle.

They howled like ancient spirits denied rest, whipping dust across jagged rocks and forgotten monuments to dead gods. Red sands coiled in the air like incense at a funeral, clinging to flesh and cloth, staining everything in its path with the hue of spilled blood. Somewhere amidst this graveyard of titans, where the air itself seemed thick with whispering hatred and old wounds that never closed, she sat.

Not in reverence.
Not in fear.
But in delight.

A low-hung ridge carved by time and blaster-fire sheltered her from the worst of the sun's lash. There, nestled in the shadow of an ancient obelisk that bore the faded sigils of some long-dead Sith warlord, a figure reclined atop a silk-lined rug. The fibers were far too fine, far too soft, for a place like this. They belonged on a yacht orbiting Chandrila's glittering moon, not draped over cracked stone and ruin. But that was precisely why she brought it.

Because she could.

A crystal goblet swirled in one gloved hand, catching the red light like liquid rubies. Within it: deep violet Chandrilan wine, rare and old, older perhaps than the bones that lay beneath the sand. Its perfume lingered in the air, sweet and decadent, like something forbidden. Much like the woman who drank it.

Her name—if any soul dared ask—was not Serina Calis, not today. That name belonged to someone who followed rules, who still paid lip service to the Jedi Code even as she bent it around her will like molten glass.

No. Today she was something else.

Veiled in sheer silks woven through with shimmering threads, her attire was an artistic insult to the harshness of the world around her. The bodice clung like a second skin, leaving little to the imagination and offering even less forgiveness. Obsidian-black metal framed her throat, climbing like fingers toward her jaw, a mockery of a slave's collar—one she had chosen to wear. Her long golden hair was braided loosely, cascading down her bare shoulder in waves, kissed by dust and sun, framing a face painted not with cosmetics but with purpose.

Her lips—wine-dark and curved in amusement—parted just slightly as she took another sip.

He had arrived.

She did not know him. Not in name, nor in title. But the darkness? That she knew. Like a lover returning after too long. It rolled across the landscape like a thunderhead, thick and cloying, heavy with hunger and old fury. She could feel it deep in her chest, not unlike arousal. Something ancient stirred beneath her skin, fingers twitching with unbidden glee. Her body shifted on the silks like a cat stretching in the sun, every movement deliberately slow, luxurious, as though the dread rising through the Force was nothing more than a breeze across her thighs.

The Force whispered warnings—danger, power, death—but Serina only laughed.

"Oh, finally," she purred aloud to no one, voice rich with promise. "Something interesting..."

Her eyes, blue as glacier ice and twice as cutting, tracked the figure far below. He moved with purpose, his steps like thunder beneath the surface of the world. Armor shimmered beneath the sun's fury. He bled darkness with every breath, and the planet welcomed it, its ancient stones singing in resonance.

She tilted her head, studying him like art. Like prey. Like a man who might, perhaps, for a moment, be worthy of her attention.

"You poor, beautiful monster…" she whispered, amusement curling her voice like smoke. "You have no idea I'm watching you, do you?"

Tendrils of black, nearly unseen, licked across the valley like smoke. Even from this distance, she felt them slithering across her skin, brushing against her thoughts. They sought presence—his presence—and in doing so, brushed against hers.

She did not recoil.

She parted her lips and let the darkness taste her.

Let it find her.

She smiled, not sweetly. Not kindly.

But with teeth.

And as she lifted the goblet to her lips once more, she whispered with a voice like silk stretched over daggers to him:

"Come find me, little god."
"Let's see which of us devours the other."

 

[Lord Depravious]

To dust we shall all return, in due time.

With each step the ancient Sith Lords darkness expanded from inside of him, crashing into the stone monuments around him like a tidal wave of oppression.

Shaidin Kamari was acutely aware of the beings that surrounded him, both living and dead. The wailing cries of spirits did not phase him any more, he could sense the hunger of someone near him that could potentially give his namesake of Depravious a run for its money.

Her hunger felt like a bottomless void to him, so much so that instead of quaking in fear as even trained Sith Masters had done in the past - she seemed to feed on it.

His arm reached up to the helmet that adorned his battle scarred face - before removing it entirely revealing his face for the first time in what felt like Eons. The callous sun that stood looming above Korriban like a never ending fire for an instant recoiled from the darkness now exuding from within the heart of Lord Depravious.

The gaze of a predator now stared directly towards Serina Calis - his eyes filled with the fires of old and ancient betrayals.

A never ending void of bottomless hunger.. We shall see just how bottomless. He thought to himself.

And in that moment, his darkness, his power, his focus, his attention was now all aimed directly at this woman. The dark tendrils of his power climbed around her rug, her silks and then her body - clawing and cleaving their way up to her parted lips - at which point she could feel a chill enter her body. The chilling feeling of dread that entered her could cut through bone and dissolve flesh if it were made material.

At that moment a voice echoed around her ears - though if she was looking closely she could swear his mouth was not moving.

"I can hear your heart beat thrumming.. Like the beat of a war drum in your chest." The voice continued, while echoing around her ears. "Tell me, are you willing to walk along the edge of danger and into the abyss to gain a portion of the power I wield?"

 

[Serina Calis]

The Darkness Whispers.
Location: Korriban
Objective:
Allies: ???
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: Lord Depravious ​

The sands did not shift. They shivered.

Around her, the crimson dunes no longer whispered but moaned, their sighs rising with the surge of something vast and ancient—something that now saw her. She felt it before she saw it. The air thickened, dense and honey-slow, laced with a cloying power so vile and rich that it caressed the skin like oil. Her wine turned bitter on her tongue as the first of the tendrils reached her. They did not simply coil around her silks and flesh—they claimed her, like vines around a willing sacrifice.

She exhaled, slowly.

A lesser woman might have recoiled, might have scrambled for her lightsaber or drawn upon the Force like a shield. Serina Calis did not. She leaned back further on her pillows, letting her limbs spread, bare feet sliding languidly across the silks as the shadows tasted her. The wind caught the slit in her sheer garment and pulled it open wider, revealing the curve of her thigh, the hollow at her hip, a glimpse of delicate ink etched in old Sith down her side—for beauty and ruin alike.

Her lips, stained wine-dark, parted with a sigh that was somewhere between laughter and arousal.

"Oh my..." she purred, her voice low and velvet-rich, every syllable dipped in molten sin. "I was wondering whether you'd notice me eventually. Though I confess, I imagined a more traditional introduction—perhaps I dropped my goblet, and you stooped to return it. Something chivalrous."

She chuckled, a sound that dripped like honey into poisoned tea.

"But this... this is better."

The tendrils pressed tighter against her flesh now—whispers of claws teasing the skin of her throat, curling around the curve of her hip, slithering up her spine like a lover's caress. When the chill entered her—deep, primal, true—she did not flinch. She arched, the motion subtle but unmistakable. Not submission.

Invitation.

And then the voice came. Not with breath. Not with lips. But with presence.

It curled around her like a serpent, hissing against her ear with the intimacy of a kiss. It spoke not to her mind but to the part of her soul she had long ago stripped bare—the place where ambition nestled against desire, where power was a perfume she wore instead of fear.

Yes, she thought. Let it drum. Let it beckon.

Her smile widened slowly, revealing the gleam of white teeth and something altogether more dangerous behind them. She stood, finally—slow and statuesque, the silks clinging to her like fog. Her movements were ritual, deliberate, theatrical in the most obscene way. As if every step toward him was a seduction… or a summoning.

She raised the goblet high in one hand, let the remaining wine pour out in a smooth, arcing stream. It splashed onto the sand like spilled blood, soaking into Korriban's ancient thirst.

"Walk the edge?" she echoed, voice languid as a courtesan's lullaby. "Darling, I live on the edge. I've danced blindfolded on the knife between ecstasy and oblivion, and smiled when it cut."

Another step.

"I have studied with Jedi who feared my questions. I have kissed Sith Lords as they begged me for absolution. I have whispered sweet ruin into the ears of kings and slit their throats before the echo faded."

Another.

"I've held the Force in my palm like a lover's pulse, and told it what I wanted."

She stopped, close now. Close enough that the air between them crackled like something alive. Close enough that if he had eyes for it, he'd see her irises flicker—not with fear, but with fire. Ancient, golden, hungry.

"So let me answer your question…"

She reached up and gently, with slow precision, ran one gloved finger along the line of her collarbone, then down—tracing the path the tendrils had taken, a sensual mimicry that burned hotter than any flame.

"I don't want a portion of your power…"

Her head tilted, gaze predatory.

"I want to take it."

A pause. Then:

"Or—if you're lucky... share it. After all..." Her voice dropped to a husky whisper, just loud enough for the darkness to carry it to his bones. "Isn't corruption more delightful when it's mutual?"

 

[Lord Depravious]

Tag: Serina Calis

Shaidin took note of the honey coated poison that dripped from her lips. The venomous scent in the air that lingered on every single word that she spoke, and with every single step that she took and every word that she spoke as she grew closer a smile crept along Lord Depravious's face.

Lord Depravious was surely not like the other Sith Lords that this woman had tempted. Her words travelled through the air like a warm summer breeze that forbodes an incoming thunderstorm.

For but a moment Shaidin Kamari found himself enraptured. Not with the temptations themselves, but with her skill and ability of temptation. She also had a confidence that reminded the Sith Lord of himself many years ago.

As she grew close to Shaidin, the air between them thickened like honey warmed by the sun, rich with the weight of her temptation.

"My chivalry died years ago." As he spoke the weight of his words caused sorrow to flash across the mans smile for an almost imperceptible moment.

"Perhaps in time, you will come to learn why" His voice was deep and sultry, roughened by years of battle like a blade honed yet never dulled. Though time had carved its weight into his soul, the dark rituals he mastered kept his body untouched by age, a vessel of youth carrying the echoes of countless wars.

Lord Depravious closed the distance with deliberate steps, his presence pressing into the space between them like a shadow creeping over the last light of day. Within moments, his face hovered beside her ear, his gaze fixed straight ahead—eyes a smoldering mix of yellow and red. His voice, smooth yet edged with something ancient and unyielding, slithered into her ear.

"Your temptations will not sway me… but I have use for them."

His hand lifted as if to caress her face, yet he never quite made contact, his fingers lingering mere millimeters from her skin. Slowly, his head tilted, his piercing gaze shifting to meet hers, the weight of his words coiling around her like unseen chains.

"I require complete obedience. If you cannot submit… then know this—I have already felt the shattering of my heart. It will not break again."

As his whisper coiled into her ear, the space between them pulsed with arcane power. The air itself seemed to tighten, charged with an unseen force, and the tendrils of his presence slithered like vipers, winding around her, suffocating yet inescapable.

 

[Serina Calis]

The Darkness Whispers.
Location: Korriban
Objective:
Allies: ???
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: Lord Depravious ​

The air quivered with pressure.

Heat licked against her skin, not from Korriban's twin suns but from him—from that voice, those words, each syllable dragging across her senses like the edge of a finely whetted blade. The weight of his sorrow, brief though it was, hung in the air like incense. Delicious, she thought, savoring it like a rare spice. Pain laced with power… such a beautiful combination.

She didn't blink when he moved closer.

She didn't flinch when his breath touched her ear like a phantom kiss, nor when the space between them thickened with the sheer gravity of his will. His voice—rich, rough, eternal—told her what he required.

Obedience. Submission.

Oh, how many had asked that of her.

And how many had bled when they realized she never truly gave it.

The tendrils gripped tighter, sensing the moment—curling, constricting, eager to dominate. But Serina Calis, smiling like a serpent sunbathing on a tombstone, tilted her head ever so slightly, her breath warm against his cheek.

"Mmm… what a pity," she whispered, voice drenched in silk and venom. "I was just starting to enjoy this little performance."

Her hand lifted—not fast, not sudden, but with the smooth grace of a woman who knew exactly what she was doing. Her fingertips hovered before his chest, as if offering a lover's touch. And then—

She exhaled.

Not breath, not air, but light.

Force Resistance.

A radiant pulse, soft gold tinged with the barest hue of twilight violet, burst from her palm in a perfect, rippling ring. It was not the clean, pristine light of the Jedi—no, this was corrupted, impure, claimed. The Light twisted by ownership, not submission. A thing tamed and made to heel.

The tendrils recoiled.

They shrieked in silent agony, ripped back from her body as though seared by holiness. And yet… the light carried no righteousness. It was not hope, not justice. It was power. Hers.

"I don't submit," she said, voice now razor-sharp beneath the velvet. "I negotiate."

Her eyes lifted to meet his fully now, cold blue irises catching the blood-hue of his gaze, their locked stare electric—combustible. Around them, the Force trembled in conflict. Predator versus predator. Fire against the sea.

"I don't know your name. I don't know your scars. I don't care what your ghosts whisper to you while you sleep." Her tone did not falter, even as the remnants of his power still coiled in the dust around her feet. "You think I am here to tempt you? No. I am here because I sensed something hungry—something old—and I wanted to know what was worth feeding on this dead rock."

Her hands drifted down to her sides, brushing her silks, reclaiming her sensuality with ease. "You want obedience? Get in line. There are gods who tried to leash me. They're gone now."

"I am Velveta." She said the name like a threat, a promise, a curse. "I am not some Sithling acolyte desperate for your approval, nor some Jedi clinging to doctrine. I am the middle path corrupted, and I walk it in heels and shadows."

Her lips parted once more, the flirtation returning like a lover never far.

"But…"

A pause, heavy.

"You interest me."

The statement hung in the air like a drop of wine poised to spill.

"I've had my fill of broken men pretending to be gods. But if you are truly what the Force whispered in my ear before I landed on this wasteland, then perhaps we might… exchange favors."

Another step forward. Close again. Not as prey. As a mirror.

"I am not here to offer you my soul. I'm here to see if I can take a bite of yours."

And then, with exquisite grace, she smiled—head tilting just enough to let her golden hair cascade like spilled light over her shoulder.

"So…"

The air began to still again, as if Korriban itself listened.

"Are you going to tell me your name, or shall I keep calling you my newest obsession?"

 

[Lord Depravious]

Tags: Serina Calis


Disgust.

Disgust seeped into the hollow void where his soul had once lain, safeguarded and still—before it had been shattered beyond repair. Yet this revulsion did not stem from her defiance; he had known, even as the words left his lips, that she would never submit. Like him, she had her own ambitions, her own carefully woven schemes. No, his disgust ran deeper. She was one who danced on the precipice of light and dark, never truly understanding the cost—the inexorable toll that the Bogan demanded.

It became painfully clear to Lord Depravious that she did not wield the dark side; she fed off the suffering it wrought in others, drinking in their agony to nourish the abyss within her. A parasite masquerading as a master.

Whatever soul she claimed to possess had long since been torn asunder. And yet, despite his disdain, she could still serve a purpose. She might even provide him amusement, a fleeting diversion in the endless march of time. But nothing more. She would mean nothing to him in the end—just as he was certain he would mean nothing to her.

Then, with a subtle motion, she twisted her defiance into a weapon, turning it inward, forcing the tendrils of his power to recoil. For a breath, his presence stilled, the oppressive weight of his arcane energy vanishing into silence.

And then it came roaring back.

Not touching her—no, not directly—but surrounding her, engulfing her. The tendrils, imperceptible to the untrained eye, coiled closer to him, yet the presence he commanded pressed against the very air, thick and suffocating. His darkness, long restrained, now erupted, swallowing the space between them in a relentless tide of shadow.

For the first time in an eternity, the sun over Korriban seemed to dim—if only within the small, inescapable void that had formed between them.

"Forgive my lack of manners." His words rang out, now booming with an underlying arcane power, the force of them crashing through the air. The disgust and disdain in his tone were like sharpened blades, cutting through the space between them.

"You may call me Lord Depravious, although your obession will also do" he continued, the words dripping with contempt, the bitterness still clinging to the edges of his voice.

"You have made your desires clear, but what is it you offer in return? Will you slit the throats of kings, bring down broken men masquerading as gods—all in my name?"

His choice to not ask her name was intentional – for now he cared not for a paltry thing such as a name or title, her potential usefulness to him was the only thing that kept his blade from her throat.

Shaidin had no illusion that this woman would be easy to tame; she was a tempest, wild and unpredictable. But he had bent far stronger wills with far fewer tools at his disposal. She may yet prove useful, depending on what venomous words slipped from her lips next.

 

[Serina Calis]

The Darkness Whispers.
Location: Korriban
Objective:
Allies: ???
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: Lord Depravious
​

The dark surged again—like a leviathan breaching the depths of the abyss.

It clawed across the air, a tidal wave of shadows collapsing inward on her like the falling walls of a temple, a force that would have shattered lesser things. But Serina Calis was not lesser. She was refined, distilled from fire and ice and secrets older than the Sith scripts engraved on the tombs around them.

The air grew cold. Not with chill, but with knowing.
With memory.

"Lord Depravious," she murmured softly as he declared his name, his voice crashing through the desolate valley like judgment from the grave.

She let it hang there on her tongue, tasting its bitterness like old wine.

Around her, the darkness writhed—his darkness—and yet again it found no purchase on her skin. The space around her shimmered with light, not in defiance but in perfect, measured dominion. A soft radiance pulsed outward from her form, golden with amethyst veins, not cleansing but twisting, corrupted in rhythm with her heartbeat. It was not opposition to the dark, nor a shield—it was an acknowledgment.

A pet light, long since broken and collared, purring for its mistress.

The tendrils recoiled once more, not from pain this time, but from deference. They knew, now. She was not prey.

"Forgive you?" she echoed back, her voice like satin soaked in sin. "Oh, my lord, you're already forgiven. For a man cloaked in sorrow, your arrogance is such a comfort."

And then she stepped forward.

Through his pressure. Through the suffocating void that hung around him like a death shroud. The moment her feet touched the stone again, the darkness yielded, not from weakness—but from recognition. It knew her. The Force did. Light and Dark alike.

They had each knelt for her once before.

Her smile returned, slow and knowing, carved like a dagger into lips the color of murder.

"You ask what I offer?" she said. Her eyes glinted now, blue ice ringed with golden flame. "Do not mistake me for a waif with daggers behind her smile. I have spilled the blood of kings without being asked. I have climbed into the minds of prophets and whispered heresies until they shattered on their altars."

The wind picked up now, as if summoned by her breath alone. The Force shimmered around her, a heat-haze of blasphemy and seduction. She lifted a single hand, fingers spread in mock prayer.

"I have already sworn my throat to another," she said softly, and something in her voice shifted—a reverence, unshakable and terrifying. "To the storm incarnate, sovereign of the Unknown. I serve her still. I will serve her until the last stars rot."

A pause. Her tongue flicked against her lower lip.

"But loyalty is not contradiction. The galaxy is large, and the appetites of gods are vast."

She let the words linger between them like perfume.

"He marked me. Deep in his sanctum, in the bowels of Dromund Kaas. I knelt before the abyss itself, and it breathed me in. You, Lord Depravious… you are strong. Undeniably. More than most I've tasted in this decadent, dying age. But I have looked into the abyss at its most feral. I have walked through it. And when it tried to devour me, I licked its teeth."

A sharp step forward now, until her breath warmed his chestplate. No armor, no darkness, no cruelty in this galaxy could obscure the scent of her power when she wished it felt.

"I will not kneel. But I will deal."

She leaned in now, until her voice was pressed into his ear, her breath cold as winter but sweet as bloodied honey.

"I offer tools you've never seen, whispers in courts you've never touched. I can make your enemies slit their own throats, smiling. I can give you knowledge that even your spirits never dared show you."

She pulled back, just enough for her gaze to burn into his—those swirling infernos of yellow and red now reflected in her own, like a star catching flame in water.

"I do want to feed on you. In some way or another. I do want your attention, your wrath, your hate—your power. But not because I need it. I crave the shape of you. The cut of your will. The artistry of your shadow."

Another step back, just enough to let her silhouette stretch long and seductive in the dimming sun, the light casting her like an ancient statue carved for blasphemy and desire.

"So ask not if I'll slit throats in your name," she said finally, voice almost a purr. "Ask what I will cost you, when the time comes that you decide I am worth the risk."

And she raised her hand once more—her corrupted light pulsing faintly, her leash of dominion glittering between the twin poles of night and radiance.

"Now… shall we walk the sands like allies, my lord? Or shall we entertain each other's pride until one of us tires of the game? I believe it is time to skip the theatrics and move to the grander scheme at large..."

 

[Lord Depravious]

Tag Serina Calis

Temptation had toppled empires. Entire wars had been ignited over acts like this woman's. Yet, even through his disgust, Lord Depravious couldn't deny her cunning—the way she held her composure, even with oblivion looming before her.

Her resistance to the Force was formidable, a fortress against his power. But battles weren't fought through will alone. Even the strongest ships could be shattered by the right storm.

She closed the distance, her breath warm against the cold metal of his breastplate. In a flash, his hand was at her throat—not to dominate, not to threaten, but to remind her. The Force wasn't the only war being waged here.

His fingers coiled around her neck like a serpent tasting the air, firm yet deliberate, drawing her face toward his until their breath mingled in the narrow space between. The scent that clung to him was sharp, acrid—like venom blooming in a field of dying roses—every inhalation a subtle poison that dared her lungs to resist.

For a heartbeat, he lingered in silence, a storm gathering behind his eyes. Regret flickered like dying starlight—what a force she might have been, had fate not carved her path before his own shadow fell upon it. A weapon forged without his fire, a blade honed by another's hand.

He leaned in further, until their lips hovered like rival blades at the cusp of war—close enough to kiss, close enough to kill.

"Fortunately for you," he murmured, his voice threading through the tension like silk over steel, slow and deliberate. The words seemed to hum in the air between them, thick with unspoken promises. "I find myself without allies—and I can already imagine the... uses for someone with your particular..."

His hand, once curled possessively around her throat, drifted upward. A thumb grazed her bottom lip like a brushstroke across fine porcelain, reverent and dangerous. His voice dropped, a blade wrapped in velvet.

"Talents."

His gaze followed the path of his touch as if tracing constellations in the dark, eyes devouring every inch of skin like a starving thing savoring its first meal.

"And should even a whisper of betrayal cross your thoughts," he breathed, "know that I have razed worlds to ash, unraveled souls thread by thread across the span of years—and pleasure," his smile a wolfish curve, "can be carved from your skin in more ways than one."

 

[Serina Calis]

The Darkness Whispers.
Location: Korriban
Objective:
Allies: ???
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: Lord Depravious
​

He reached for her.

Serina did not flinch. She anticipated it—welcomed it, even, like a flick of heat after a long bath in flame. Fingers like coiled iron slipped around the slender column of her throat, and for the span of a breath, they were a portrait carved of lust and annihilation—two gods poised at the brink of a battlefield, so alike in their brokenness that the air ached to see them meet.

And yet, as his thumb brushed her lip with that calculated, reverent touch…

She moved.

Not abruptly. Not like prey.

But with the slow, inexorable grace of a serpent slithering out from under a would-be boot.

Her fingers rose, not to stop him, but to still him—pressing lightly against his breastplate with power not of muscle but of will. Not rejection, but refusal.

A flare of corrupted light—soft, seductive, pliant in appearance—pulsed gently from her touch. It did not strike him. It did not wound. It simply reminded him that she could, if she wanted to. That she was not a flower to be picked, nor a chalice to drink from, but a knife.

She drew back just enough that the electricity between them stretched, taut like a wire strung over a precipice. Not severed—savored.

"You move like a man used to being obeyed," she said softly, lips brushing the words as though tasting each one for venom. "But I don't bend for power alone."

Her voice remained velvet-rich, her tone low and dangerously intimate, but something else had crept into her gaze now—something colder. Not disdain, but calculation. The shift was subtle but total. The coquette did not vanish—she was simply rearranged, like a dagger hidden in the folds of silk.

"If I were half the fool most men take me for, I'd let you throw your shadow over me and call it a crown." A slow tilt of her head, golden hair cascading like a veil down one shoulder. "But I've seen too many Sith who mistake hunger for vision. And I've followed one too many broken tyrants into dying flames."

The air hissed around her with a faint halo of heat and darkness-light, the Force curling along her spine like a loyal pet.

Her eyes—those glacial, star-bright things—fixed on him, sharp now, no longer draped in sweet musk and bedroom dreams.

"So before I wrap myself around your ambitions like silk around steel," she said, tone turning razor-honed despite its softness, "you'll tell me what those ambitions are. What storm you intend to raise. What throne you think to carve from this graveyard of failure."

Her fingers, still resting lightly against his armor, tapped once—just once—like a knell ringing from a temple bell.

"Because I am interested, Lord Depravious. I do admire strength. I do indulge in... dangerous company." She stepped around him slowly, languid and feline, trailing a circle, her voice a whisper at his back now. "But I've knelt before Darth Prazutis in his sanctum on Dromund Kaas. I've been bound and baptized in his fire. And long before that, I was claimed by one far greater still."

The lack of a name alone caused the Force to ripple. Not as a threat. Not as challenge.

As history.

"Her will stretches into the Unknown Regions like shadow across a dying star. She commands my loyalty, and I—" she paused, glancing at him now over her shoulder, voice dipped in silk again, "—I command the rest of me."

She came to a halt before him once more. Close—but not too close. Never again too close.

"Temptation is delightful, my lord. But it's never been what moves me. Purpose does. Precision." Her hand rose once more—not to touch, but to hover before him like an invitation he had not yet earned. "You want my talents?"

A slow smile curved her lips again, decadent and devastating.

"Then show me your vision."

A pause.

"And convince me you're not just another phantom of power, waiting to be buried in Korriban's sand."

 

[Lord Depravious]

Tags: Serina Calis

Finally, her true self comes to the surface.

Lord Depravious's gaze followed her as she slipped behind him, her movements as fluid as ink in water, each step gliding like wind through high grass. The silks that clung to her swayed like banners in a silent war, concealing more than they revealed. He knew, with the certainty of a blade finding bone, that he was not the first Sith Lord to whom she had extended this honeyed approach. There were many before him, their names spoken like old ghost stories—except one, held back like a secret too sharp to be shared.

She was a knife—sleek, cold, and forged for use, meant to be discarded when the blood dried. Her newfound pragmatism, which had long lurked beneath her surface like a shark beneath still tides, now shimmered in the open and to Shaidin, it was as refreshing as a desert wind after a storm.

In that moment, Lord Depravious became keenly aware—as if a cold breath had touched the back of his neck—that her true loyalties, wherever they lay, were likely listening now, perhaps through shadows or circuits. The question she posed hung between them like incense in a darkened temple—sweet, obscure, and with hidden purpose. Its desire wrapped around intent like velvet around a dagger, masking the sting beneath softness.

What Shaidin craved was not another blade to sheath, not a tool polished for temporary use; but a partner, a mirror of flame to his own, who could move through corners of the galaxy where his influence waned. With each subtle motion she made, the fire behind his eyes smoldered like coals stirred in anticipation—his mind mapping her like a battlefield, each muscle fiber a potential weapon, each word a calculated step in a dance too dangerous to misstep.

As he spoke, his voice struck her like flame meeting frost—burning through the chill of her calculations with a smoldering heat, each word threaded like the fibers of her gown: woven from passion and purpose.
"Before I reveal my goals, my dreams, and my ideals," he said, his hand slowly outstretching toward her, "allow me to offer you my past—so you might glimpse the fire that shapes my future."

"It will hurt," he warned softly, "but only for a moment. You must let me enter your mind."

His hand lingered in the air between them—a bridge offered, not demanded. He knew the weight of his request, just as he knew the sharp edge of the risk she might refuse him. And yet, if she were to truly grasp the grief that forged him, the sorrow that armored him, and the destiny that burned in his wake like the trail of a falling star she would need to see the origin of the inferno hidden beneath his steel.

 

[Serina Calis]

The Darkness Whispers.
Location: Korriban
Objective:
Allies: ???
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: Lord Depravious
​

The moment stretched, breathless and suspended between two titans who wore masks of skin and silk. Her eyes flicked to his hand—extended, offered, not forced. That alone intrigued her.

Not demanded? Rare. Refreshing.

And dangerous.

The air between them shimmered, heavy with the kind of tension that made assassins hesitate and kings weep. She felt it press against her skin—not his power, not his will, but the invitation. The act of vulnerability masquerading as strength. He wanted her to see him—not the warlord cloaked in darkness, not the Lord draped in dread, but the man—the pain, the ember, the forge.

It was… almost romantic.

Serina's lips parted in a slow, delighted breath. Her smile curled upward like a blood-slicked petal, beautiful and vicious. She did not step back. She did not move at all, save for the slight tilt of her chin and the slow drag of her tongue across her lower lip, tasting the possibility in the air like spice.

"My lord," she breathed, voice sultry, hushed—dangerously close to reverence, and yet not quite. "You've no idea how much I adore a man who bleeds through poetry."

She stepped forward—not to meet his hand, but to close the space between them until her body hovered just shy of his, an atom's breadth away, the Force around her pulsing like a held breath, hot and trembling with suppressed violence.

"But you offer me pain as a gift…" she whispered, her breath brushing his jaw. "You offer me memory."

Her fingers rose slowly, delicately—first brushing the edge of her own clavicle, tracing up the line of her throat with calculated sensuality, until they came to rest against the bottom of his outstretched palm. She did not take it. She tasted it—running the edge of one nail along the inside of his hand, as if learning the texture of his intent.

"Do you know," she murmured, her voice molten now, dripping with gold and grief, "how many men have tried to claim me through tragedy? Tried to wrap me in their history like a noose of shared sorrow?"

Her smile deepened—languid, dangerous, amused.

"Most of them died still believing they were the only one."

The Force shimmered around her again—an oil-slick of light and shadow, corrupted and divine, the twin polarities of existence wrapped tight around her like a lover's arms. It did not flinch at the dark. It welcomed it. Cradled it. Because Serina Calis was not simply a servant of the Force.

She was its desire.

"But you…" she said now, her tone shifting, a blade behind a kiss. "You are no petty conqueror. You bleed in ways that echo."

And finally, finally, she took his hand—not delicately, not passively. She grasped it, fingers curling around his palm with the command of a woman seizing a weapon she already knew how to wield.

"You want to show me the wound that made the fire," she said, eyes locked with his. "Then show it. Let it burn."

But before he could act—before the connection could begin—she leaned forward, and placed a kiss against the hollow just beneath his ear. Not soft. Not kind. It was a kiss like a claim. Like sealing a ritual. Like branding a beast that was never meant to be tamed.

Her voice poured into his skin like molten silver.

"Just know, Depravious—if I step into your mind, I won't tiptoe. I won't merely watch. I'll walk its halls with bare feet and dig through the ashes until I find what you're hiding behind all that ruin."

She pulled back, just far enough to lock eyes with him again. The corrupted light coiled up her spine, the twisted echo of the Light Side still wrapped around her like stolen silk.

"And if I like what I find… I might stay awhile."

A pause, lips parted, gaze scorching.

"Or I might burn it down just to see if you'll rebuild it better."

Then, slowly, she closed her eyes, and whispered—

"Enter, if you dare."

 

[Lord Depravious]

Tags: Serina Calis

Time to burn a hole in your heart.


The moment that she took Shaidin's hand the force began to once again spread around her – but this was not his darkness, no this was pure arcane energy that began at her palm, before rushing like electricity rippling up her arm, through her neck, and into her temples, there it spun like an electrical current, spinning inside of her skull. With every moment the threat of her brain liquefying became more and more powerful. The only solace for this pain, was the soft touch of his hand on hers like the first drops of a thunderstorm in the middle of summer.

The arcane energy crackled and ripped into her mind – causing the energies of the force to surge around them both, and for a moment connecting her and him in an ever twisting void of swirling arcane energy.

For a moment all she could feel was the emotions of another. Pure, and raw. Emotions stretching back what felt like centuries in their purest form. Anger, hatred, and a deep unrelenting sorrow. In the darkness of her mind, a sea of sorrow began to fill every single thought, every single instant like the weight of all the water in the galaxy was now bearing down upon her.

Images began to flash before her mind's eye. Entire worlds engulfed in fire – Sith and Jedi alike smoldering in the wake of a shadow. Worlds that gleamed with the glinting ire of gold, and assortments of currencies. Halls of castles overflowing with treasure, roads paved in it.

These images turned into genuine memories, indistinguishable from her own like she was seeing it for the first time, but it somehow always belonged there. She found herself in a field of summer flowers on the edge of a darkening forest. The sun shining upon her and her silk robes, a comforting warmth caressed every inch of her skin like a warm blanket. From the woods she heard a branch snap, before a woman came bounding out of the forest, and through her like a ghost. Upon turning she would find a younger Shaidin, his complexion less pale, his eyes with a hint of yellow but none of the battle scars that he had in his current form. The two embraced like lovers that had loved each other since the beginning of time and for the first time since she met him – she saw Shaidin genuinely happy. And the feeling that filled up inside of her was the same happiness that he felt on that day. A feeling of longing, not for power, not for purpose – but a genuine need for another soul and the feeling of fulfillment that most Sith go their entire lives unable to even dream of.

Flash.

Another scene appeared before her eyes as the previous one shifted out of view. This time a throne room surrounded her. Dark grey stone floors and walls lined the chambers, under her feet was the sigil of a dragon that if she paid close attention rested on the pommel of Lord Depravious's lightsaber hilt.

Four individuals aside from herself graced the throne room. The names of all three individuals seemed to some how enter her mind as if she had known them the majority of her life. The female that she had seen earlier stood in the throne room – her head bowed extremely low she knew by the name of Cylaeria, Shaidin stood head bowed low in complete respect, Osamu Kamari also stood his head bowed before a figure on the throne. Upon the throne sat Lord Shadow Kamari – a man who she could feel held the respect of every member in this room – not because he commanded it but because he had earned it.

Serina could feel not only Shaidins respect for this man was absolute – but she could feel the connection that he had with each other person stood in the room. Cylaeria was very much Shaidins lover that she saw earlier in the woods. And Osamu his brother. Not just in blood but in bond. The history between the two ran deep – they had grown up in the Sith Order with each other. A true undying bond existed between the three of them, each would lay down their life for the other.

Flash.

The imagery faded from her mind once more.

She now stood in an empty space, with nothing but Darkness surrounding her, before the man that she had met in the tombs of Korriban now stood before her.

"Now I will show you my pain, you trusted me until now – so I shall trust you" his voice ached with a longing as if it was constantly reaching out into the void before them – but finding no purchase.

The memory stormed into her mind like a firestorm through dry brush.

It began before the bloodshed before the hangar, before the rain. A fortress deep in the Outer Rim, carved into the side of a mountain and built with obsidian and agony. The three Kamari brothers had trained there once, their sabers clashing under the watchful gaze of their cruel Sith Master. They had been brothers by blood and by blade Shaidin, the eldest, the war-forged tactician; Shadow, the mirror of his twin, brilliant and cold; and Osamu, the youngest, once gentle, now sharpened into something darker.

And Cyraelia. She had been a flame drawn to their orbit a Sith of grace and ambition, once rescued from slavery by Shaidin himself. He had taught her to channel her rage, to wield her power not as a weapon of destruction, but of purpose. She had been his apprentice, then his equal... then something more. They shared whispers in the dark, quiet smiles after battle. A bond forged not just in power, but in trust.

But trust is a fragile thing in the world of Sith.

Over time, whispers spread through the fortress like rot. Osamu had grown bitter, his envy of his older brothers curdling into contempt. Shadow, ever the strategist, began to speak of a new order—a Sith triumvirate that could rival the Council itself. He saw Shaidin's ideals as weakness. He believed Cyraelia deserved more than to be bound to a man who still believed in tradition and honor.

Together, they seeded doubt. In Cyraelia, they planted visions of a galaxy where she reigned not beside Shaidin, but above him. They promised her power unshackled, glory unchained. And slowly, piece by piece, they turned her heart.

The hangar bay. Scorched and scarred from a battle too fresh. The scent of ozone and blood. The sound of rain hammering against durasteel. Shaidin stood beneath the wings of a half-destroyed starfighter, his crimson saber ignited but low, casting a long, quivering shadow.

Across from him, Cyraelia.

Her eyes those violet stars that once guided him through the dark—were rimmed in tears, but her hands gripped her saber with certainty. She wore the robes he'd given her when she took her first steps as a Sith. The robes she had now bloodied with treachery.

Behind her, stepping from the shadows like ghosts summoned from the abyss, came two figures: Lord Shadow Kamari Shaidin's own twin and Osamu, the youngest, no longer the timid boy he once protected, but a man veiled in darkness.

Serina felt the pain hit like a blaster bolt to the chest. Not a pang. Not a flash. A full, soul-ripping scream of agony.

"Why?" Shaidin's voice trembled in the memory, a sound she never thought him capable of. "You were my breath, Cyraelia. You were my fire."

Cyraelia's lip quivered, but she said nothing. It was Shadow who stepped forward, face a cold, beautiful mask of betrayal.

"The galaxy needs something greater than your obsession with honor, Shaidin," he said. "We gave her purpose. You gave her chains."

Osamu's eyes, once wide with wonder, now stared with the emptiness of conviction. His silence was crueler than words.

"You broke me," Shaidin whispered. "You broke us."

Serina could feel it—the moment it all cracked. The rage that bloomed in him wasn't like the fire she knew. It was colder. Sharper. Like obsidian driven into the soul.

In the memory, Shaidin moved like a storm given flesh. His saber sang the song of betrayal and grief, and Cyraelia oh, Cyraelia met him with one last tear on her cheek and a final whisper through the Force:

"I never stopped loving you."

The blow was clean. Her heart, pierced by his blade, flickered in the Force like a dying star.

As the imagery faded – the forces grip over her mind also faded. Reality began to set in and Lord Depravious let go of the womans hand before looking at her.

"After what you have seen, do you still wish to know my goals?" The words that fell from his mouth tasted like ash, and the bitterness in his soul was once again turned against him like a knife twisted in his wound.

 

[Serina Calis]

The Darkness Whispers.
Location: Korriban
Objective:
Allies: ???
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: Lord Depravious
​

The moment the connection severed, reality crashed back like a tide drawn too far.

The cold air of Korriban returned first—thin and acrid, laced with ancient ash and graveyard silence. The ruined tombs around them stood unchanged, but she had shifted.

Serina stood still for a breath, her eyes half-lidded, lips parted as though the memory still pulsed on her tongue like the taste of blood and forbidden fruit. The phantom sensations lingered: the weight of betrayal, the scream of dying trust, the ghost of Cyraelia's kiss on the wind. Not her kiss—but Serina would have kissed her. Right before turning her against him.

She slowly, luxuriously, licked her lips.

"Mm…" she finally purred, dragging the syllable out like a moan echoing through a lover's throat. "Cyraelia. What a thing she was…"

Her eyes flicked to Lord Depravious now, half-lidded and hungry—not for him, but for the woman he once lost. "You poor, cursed man… how dare you keep her hidden from the galaxy."

Serina began to pace, slow, swaying in that silk-draped stride that haunted men's dreams and starved the Light of its saints. Her fingers brushed along her own collarbone like she were imagining another's touch—Cyraelia's touch.

"That woman…" she exhaled, nostrils flaring slightly, eyes alight. "Violet eyes made for worship. A loyal apprentice… bent into betrayal. Tragic." A beat. Her voice lowered, turned molten. "Delicious."

She turned back toward him now, smile sharp and sin-laced.

"You know, if she were mine…" Her tongue clicked against her teeth, a sensual little sound of hunger. "I'd have twisted her with kisses instead of doubt. Taught her pleasure and power so complete that loyalty would become obsolete. I'd have her saying my name as she drove a blade through your ribs. And she'd thank me for it."

She sighed as if the mere idea brought her to the edge of rapture. "Such a waste. Or perhaps… not? Who knows what survives in the dark. Perhaps I'll find her. Perhaps I'll finish what Shadow began."

A pause. She tilted her head, eyes studying him not like a woman, but like a queen contemplating a ruin. "Of course," she added sweetly, "I would never say these things to you if I didn't respect what you've been through."

She stepped close again—closer than she had dared before the mindshare. The scent of spice and sin clung to her like perfume, and the Light twisted around her like an addict clinging to a toxic muse.

"But now we're past masks, aren't we?" Her voice was velvet laced with thorns. "You wanted me to see. You let me see. And I will not pretend to weep for your wounds. I admire them—carved deep, bleeding still. That kind of agony… it's the richest soil for ambition."

She leaned in, her breath brushing against the shell of his ear, her words like honey poured over arsenic.

"But know this, Shaidin Kamari—Depravious—whatever it is you felt… whatever trust you think you've granted me? That's not a gift. It's leverage."

She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, her eyes glittering like jewels above a pit.

"You gave me your sorrow. And sorrow, my love, can be forged into any blade I like. If it had been anyone else standing here, someone like me—truly like me—you'd already be on your knees with a dagger at your spine and your heart whispering your brother's name."

A beat. Her expression softened. Not with empathy, but with polished performance.

"I won't do that. Not today." Her lips curled upward with seduction that bordered on mockery. "Because I like the way you burn. And I'm far too curious about the shape your fire intends to take."

She stepped back again, finally granting him breath. Her corrupted Light rippled subtly through the Force, like smoke slinking between sunbeams.

"So now," she said, voice calm, direct, and unflinching, "you'll tell me what you plan, Depravious. What empire you intend to raise from the ashes of your pain. What vision justifies the ghosts you've birthed. Because I've seen your past, and I didn't flinch."

A final step. A smirk.

"Convince me your future is worth killing for."

 

[Lord Depravious]

Tags Serina Calis

Disgust, disrespect, leverage.

Her confidence seemed to know no bounds. The honey that coated the poison suddenly had lost its luster, and his respect for her waned like that of a dying star's final days.

"If her name falls from your wretched mouth.. One.. More.. Time" each word a reminder of the last, his voice now descending into a deep and guttural growl, like an animal that had been poked one too many times, who's meal stood before it. The veins on either side of his eyes seemed to be extending as the bogan side of the force swelled around him. Not a cheap manifestation, or one that was manipulated but the darkside of the force in its purest form – forged from ones own hatred and suffering. This kind of bogan energy could only be achieved through the sacrifice that the darkside required – not through cheap imitation that stood before him now.

"I will bury you in this sand in an unmarked and forgotten grave."


His voice retained its low and guttural tone, his eyes now piercing through her very flesh like a thousand blades raining from the sky. Bitterness had taken root and flourished in the bones of his soul, and the curved hilt that had once adorned his hip was now firmly and squarely placed in the palm of his hand, unignited but a reminder that her twisted manipulation of the force was no saving grace, no it simply detracted her focus from the real threat that now stood before her.

"I will tell you my plans, not because you command it of me, but because I want those who control you to know when you slither back into their carefully crafted cages." His words carried a new weight of hatred behind them now, he was no longer playing into her games and enjoying her company – her usefulness had run its course.

"Tell those you serve that I come not to rule, but to devour. You need only to look to Nathema to see my plans for the galaxy. I.." The pause hung in the air between them, the crystal in his lightsaber aching to be released, screaming out in the force for any to hear. "Will snuff out the life force every single being in the galaxy."

"So run now little pet and ensure that you're not the first."

The ignition of his crimson lightsaber pierced through their conversation like a dagger through the heart. It hummed with pleasure as particles of sand were eviscerated against the heat of the blade, yearning to be buried deep, and to humble the fake bravado that now stood before him.

 

[Serina Calis]

The Darkness Whispers.
Location: Korriban
Objective:
Allies: ???
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: Lord Depravious
​

The ignition of his blade was magnificent.

Tragic, but magnificent.

Serina did not flinch. She stood still as stone, as silk, as shadow—one hand draped lazily at her side, the other lifting slowly to brush a golden strand of hair from her cheek, her eyes never leaving the blade now humming before her like a predator salivating for the kill.

And she laughed.

Not loud. Not mocking. But soft. Sultry. Like the purr of silk sheets being pulled down before a storm. Her lips parted into a smile that could have broken empires—one lined with poison, velvet, and an ancient truth.

"Now there he is," she whispered, voice thick with admiration and something deeper. "I wondered when you'd stop pretending to be a man and finally bare your fangs."

She stepped forward—into the threat. Her body moved with utter ease, hips swaying, posture poised, that wicked smile never fading. The tip of his blade hissed inches from her skin, but she regarded it no more seriously than a wineglass in poor taste.

"You poor, pitiful creature," she crooned, her tone shifting—not mocking, but honest. Too honest. "You still don't understand the game you're playing. That's your flaw. That's what will end you."

Her eyes sharpened. Not with fear. Not with pity. But with the razor clarity of a woman who had danced through tombs like this before.

"You think your pain gives you strength. And in many ways, it does." She gestured gently toward him, toward the veins at his temple, the howling of his saber, the waves of unfiltered Dark Side coiling like smoke around his soul. "But the rawness of it... the openness? That makes you a tool. One just begging to be sharpened and used by something greater."

Her voice hardened like ice beneath flame.

"Cyraelia betrayed you not because she craved freedom. Not because she was corrupted. She betrayed you because you made yourself predictable. You handed her your soul and dared her not to cut it open. She did."

She closed the gap again, until the blade kissed the heat off her skin. The Force shimmered around her—neither defense nor offense. Just presence. Control.

"And now you do the same. With me. With anyone who dares to prod the wound you won't cauterize. You lash out with sabers and threats because you still think it'll protect you. You're wrong."

Her voice dropped now—lower, slower, a serpent coiled around scripture.

"This galaxy? It doesn't bend to raw hatred. Not anymore. It uses it. People like me use it. Do you know how many Sith Lords I've watched rise and fall? They burn fast, beautiful, loud—and they always die. Because they don't understand the one rule that matters."

A pause. A breath. Her voice was now a whisper at the base of his skull.

"Never reveal everything."

She smiled again. Darker now. More honest.

"Not your pain. Not your plans. Not your name. You gave me all three. You showed me your whole game before the board was even set. And now?"

Her hand rose—fingers still soft, still sensual—but this time she pressed them gently against the very tip of his lightsaber. Her skin did not burn. The Force curved around it, bending heat and matter like the universe held its breath for her.

"Now you've revealed yourself to anyone watching."

She stepped back, finally, dragging her fingers off the blade with a lazy grace.

"I'm not here to stop you, my dear. Not to fight. I find the idea of watching you try to devour the galaxy quite… arousing, in a way. But don't delude yourself."

Her tone turned glacial, the seductive edge sharpened to a scalpel.

"You won't get far if you can't leash your rage. Sith politics will chew you up, spit you out, and wear your corpse as a warning."

And then, just as suddenly, her warmth returned—like the sun breaking through a poisonous fog. She smirked, radiant and corrupt, tilting her head with mock sweetness.

"But I'd love to see you try."

She turned then—graceful, dismissive, like a queen bored of her newest suitor. But she paused once more, glancing over her shoulder with a smile that could curdle sunlight.

"Turn off your saber, Depravious. You're not ready to use it the way you think you are. Not yet."

A final look. Glimmering. Lethal.

"And if you are ready... then next time, try not to tremble when a woman speaks the name of your ghost."

Then she walked, hips swaying, hair catching the dying light. Not retreating. Not fleeing.
Departing.
Because this game was just beginning.

 

[Lord Depravious]

Tags: Serina Calis

Mistakes had been made.

The first? Testing his warning.

Lord Depravious did not deal in idle threats. His words were blades, forged with intent, and sharpened by centuries of blood-soaked conviction.

She had been right about one thing he had bared something vulnerable to her. A glimpse. A sliver. A truth twisted in shadow. And perhaps Sith politics would salivate at the chance to drag him down, to crucify him for such a show of weakness.

But she misunderstood the very bedrock of Sith tradition. The tombs that loomed around them like silent judges knew the truth. The Sith revere strength, not deception. War, not diplomacy. Blood over bond. Nature over pretense. And now, that history screamed its verdict in silence.

Her second mistake was thinking she had seen it all. That his revelations were complete.

She had merely seen what he allowed. A curated agony. A façade of vulnerability. Had she truly pressed deeper, dug through the rot of memory rather than provoking the beast that slumbered beneath his skin, she might have glimpsed the fate of the others traitors who thought themselves clever.

He had given his lover the mercy of a clean death, blade to heart.

The others? They were unspooled, soul by soul, over years. Their agony became legend. Their suffering, a prayer offered to the Bogan.

And the Bogan listens only when hope has been annihilated when all that remains is submission to the dark.

Then came her final mistake: speaking that name again, like an invocation. And stepping within reach. So brazen. So certain.

But the dead do not barter in politics. Nor do the damned. In the galaxy of ash and ruin that Depravious walked, only power mattered. And she had dared to question his.

The tendrils of darkness stirred not to strike her, but to fray the edges of her focus. Hidden in the granular shadows of the sand, they writhed just beneath the surface like starved serpents. She may have believed her light a shield, but light can be tricked, bent, distracted.

As her attention locked upon him, the sand at her feet erupted obliterated by the void-born limbs below. The ground gave way, subtly but swiftly, as if the very planet had conspired to swallow her.

And in that breathless moment when stance and footing may have faltered, when balance teetered on the edge of chaos his crimson blade whispered through the air. A clean, ruthless arc from right to left, aimed with martial precision, not fury. The saber did not howl. It sang. A death-song offered without anger, only inevitability.

If she thought herself his equal in knowledge, perhaps she was right.

But in the dance of death, very few held a candle to Lord Depravious.

 

[Serina Calis]

The Darkness Whispers.
Location: Korriban
Objective:
Allies: ???
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: Lord Depravious
​

The sand exploded beneath her feet.

The void-born tendrils surged with ravenous hunger, dark as unlit void, wild and writhing like serpents promised a feast. His blade followed—an executioner's arc, clean and precise. The swing of a man who had slain without hesitation, without hesitation, without doubt.

But Serina Calis was not built to die in the dust.

Her body spun—elegance incarnate—as if the world itself bowed to her timing. One hand flicked downward, corrupted Light coiling in her palm and bursting beneath her with a thunderclap of telekinetic force. The tendrils recoiled—not banished, but disrupted—and the saber's crimson arc sliced through the air just shy of her throat, trailing sparks from a strand of golden hair it kissed.

She landed in a low crouch several meters away, sand dancing around her like ashes caught in the wake of a storm. Her robes, torn slightly at the thigh, only furthered the image she wore like second skin—temptation draped in annihilation. She rose slowly, lips curling in amusement, not fear. Never fear.

The sound that left her throat was not a gasp, but a laugh.

Low. Smoky. Sinful.

"Oh, Depravious…" she purred, brushing the scorched edge of her silk gown with delicate fingers. "You almost made me excited."

She tilted her head, licking her lips like a wolf savoring blood from its own teeth.

"And not in the way you'd like."

Then she began to walk again—slow, deliberate, hips swaying in rhythm with the void, not resisting its presence but claiming it—like she'd long ago made a bed in the darkness and dared the stars to take her back.

"You still don't understand," she said, voice now smoother than oiled sin. "You still believe that your rage—your heartbreak—makes you unassailable. That if you hurt enough, kill enough, suffer enough… the galaxy will kneel."

She dragged her finger down her own throat in mockery of his saber's path.

"But what you don't see, my tragic prince of ash, is that you're still bleeding."

Then, as if to twist the knife, she smiled with a slow, wicked bloom of delight.

"Cyraelia."

The name dripped from her lips like honeyed venom.

"Cyraelia… so beautiful. So lost. I'd find her, if she were still alive. Take her in—slowly. Start with obedience. With pleasure. Whisper promises of power in her ear while she shivered beneath my hands."

She took another step closer, now circling him, voice growing husky, sultry, filled with intent.

"I'd unmake every inch of her faith in you. Erode it with ecstasy. Make her kneel. Make her beg. Make her forget your name even existed—until the only name on her lips was mine, said in the dark, carved into her spine like scripture."

A beat. She leaned in, just far enough to let her breath brush the air near his ear.

"And I'd never raise a saber to do it."

She stepped back, now standing tall in the red haze of the dying light, her corrupted aura pulsing with that unnatural balance—Light collared by desire, Dark kept on a leash she alone could hold. Her voice cooled again, not softening but sharpening.

"You say the Sith revere strength, not deception. And yet, every Sith Lord who ever truly won—played the game. They did not burn with sorrow. They built with it."

A flick of her wrist, and a tendril of her own twisted energy unspooled behind her like the tail of a predator.

"Your sentiment is your chain. And every time I say her name, you twitch. I can feel it. That raw edge beneath your voice. You don't bury the wound. You feed it. Let it fester. You call it power, but it's leverage, Shaidin. You handed me a blade and begged me not to stab you."

She sighed, mockingly wistful.

"If you were truly free of her… you wouldn't care how I spoke of her. You'd let me whisper the obscene things I'd do to her without flinching. Without hate. Because hate means I still matter to you. She still matters. And that… is weakness."

A pause. She raised her eyes again—crystalline and cruel, cold enough to slice flesh.

"I could say her name a hundred times, and you'd ignite your blade a hundred more. You'll never kill me, Depravious. Not because you can't."

She leaned forward, voice low.

"But because you don't want to admit I'm right."

And then, with a smirk carved from the sins of a hundred lovers, she turned her back to him—not in disrespect, but in dominance.

"You're too raw. Too wounded. Go heal, warlord."

She glanced back over her shoulder, eyes gleaming.

"Then come find me. When you're ready to stop being the broken lover, and start being the storm."

 

[Lord Depravious]

Tags: Serina Calis

She simply couldn't help herself—another mistake in a string of fatal mistakes.

Turning her back on Lord Depravious may have been intended as an act of dominance, but all it truly did was gift him the very opportunity he needed. Worse still, the concentration she had spent maintaining her resistance shattered the moment she summoned her own tendril of darkness—a hungry, writhing serpent of void-born malice.

But it was predictable. Amateurish, even.

Psychological warfare was a delicate art, and she wielded it like a blunt knife—forgetting that the man behind her had perfected that art before she'd even been born, had taught it to monsters whose names had been purged from history.

And then she spoke her name again.
Cyraelia.

The galaxy itself flinched.

The dark side roared in his veins—possessive, jealous, like a dragon awakened beneath his skin. It drank his pain, weaponized it. Every word from Serina's mouth was a bellows to the forge of his fury.

Then he moved.

Faster than trained perception could register, he surged forward, a blur in the heatwave of Korriban's cursed sands. As her tendril lashed out to guard her flank—a sinuous, flesh-eating whip of pure malice—it found nothing but air.

He was already past it.

Depravious turned his momentum into a lethal flourish, skimming beneath the tendril's arc with a pivot that would've looked effortless if it hadn't been so precise. The dark aura of the tendril may have brushed his trailing cloak, but not his flesh—not a fiber of him was touched.

And now… he stood at her back.

Too close. Far too close.

She wouldn't see the blade. Only hear it.
The blood-red snap-hiss of his saber igniting mid-motion, already swinging—a punishing arc toward the vulnerable, torn seam at her thigh. A strike meant not to kill… but to cripple.

"Let me enlighten you…"

His voice came not from behind, but from everywhere. The Force itself carried it now.

"You are correct. I can kill you."

Before the saber could connect, it struck her in another way.
Not steel.
But stillness.

A frost began to bloom up her spine—phantom ice clawing into her nervous system. Joints stiffened. Fingers numbed. Force Stasis took hold—not fully yet, but enough. Enough to halt retreat. Enough to make her choose.

From Depravious's point of view, the trap had snapped shut.

She had two choices.

Lose a limb and hope her charm softened the blow.
Or gamble that the creeping paralysis would fade before his saber returned to finish what it started.

He didn't press the attack—not yet.
He didn't need to.

"Submit," his voice echoed, no longer a threat.

"And you may yet find a modicum of mercy."

Not a demand.
Not even a plea.
Just a truth.

The kind that left no room for pride.


"We can turn this galaxy into ash together – should you do so."

 

[Serina Calis]

The Darkness Whispers.
Location: Korriban
Objective:
Allies: ???
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: Lord Depravious
​

The blood-red hiss of the saber hummed in the air—sweet, violent music—and then came the cold.

It was the kind of chill that didn't touch skin but slithered beneath it, freezing thought before motion, slowing the pulse, dulling the edges of will. Serina's breath caught in her throat not with fear—but irritation.

She had dealt with this technique before, she had learned from her murder on Rakata Prime. She won't die the same way again.

Of course he would be this predictable.

Of course the tantrum would escalate.

She had given him every opportunity—every excuse—to prove he was something more than a saber-waving relic gripped by his own pathetic sentimentality. And now, here he stood, blade to her flesh, her muscles seizing beneath the creeping kiss of Force Stasis, her thigh singed by the near-touch of crimson plasma.

Not killing her.

No, that would have taken conviction.

He was giving her a chance. A choice.

And that, above all, was his final failure.

A slow, wicked smile painted her lips as she turned her head over her shoulder, gaze molten with seductive amusement, even as the frost laced her spine.

"Oh, darling," she purred, her voice drenched in syrup and sharpened glass. "You just failed your own test."

Her corrupted light surged—not as a blast, not in defense, but in sheer presence. The stasis weakened. Not because she fought it—but because she let it go, allowed it to slip free as effortlessly as a silk glove off a wrist. Her power was not raw. It was not loud. It was trained, mature, composed—the kind of composure that left no cracks to claw through.

She stepped forward—not from fear, but with calculated abandon, letting the tip of his saber kiss the hem of her thigh, slicing the fabric just enough to tease the skin beneath.

A smirk followed.

"I never submit. Especially not to a man who confuses obsession with vision."

She turned now, slowly, deliberately, ignoring the blade at her flank, meeting his eyes with the full weight of her contempt—beautiful, coiled contempt, as intoxicating as it was lethal.

"I wanted to believe you had potential," she said, no longer coy. Her voice was low, level, and more dangerous than it had ever been while playing seductress. "But you're just another failure wrapped in old pain and bad poetry. Another would-be god with too much emotion and not enough discipline. You mistake darkness for depth. Rage for purpose."

A step closer. No weapon. No guard. Just truth.

"You think you're Sith." Her eyes narrowed. "But you're just a broken man with a saber who got too good at punishing himself."

A pause.

Then her smile widened—sultry again, teasing again, the kind of look that ruined empires. But the cruelty behind it was cold now. Calculated.

"Let me give you a secret, Depravious. I'm not Sith. I'm Dark Jedi—and you know what that means?"

She leaned in now, voice like silk wrapping around a knife.

"I'm not shackled by ideology. Not pretending to follow a 'Code.' Not choking on the bones of a dead religion that eats its own children."

She let the words breathe, heavy and hot.

"You think you know power because you hurt. You think Cyraelia's betrayal made you stronger? No. It defined you. You let her break you. I would've completed her."

Her voice dropped to a whisper.

"I would've made her divine."

She pulled back, finally, and turned away from him again—but not as before. Not as a performance.

As a dismissal.

"You were never going to turn this galaxy to ash," she said flatly, walking away. "You're too busy burning yourself down first."

The sands stirred around her as she moved, the Force shifting like the tide behind her, coiling to her command—serene and suffocating all at once. She didn't run. She didn't vanish. She simply left him there, saber in hand, fury wasted, past still owning him.

Over her shoulder came one last purr, sensual and cruel:

"Next time… send your brother. He sounded like he could finish what you never could."

And then she was gone.
Leaving only silence.
And shame.