Faction The Halls of Valhalla

[Aspect of Defiance]

Life aboard a Second Legion vessel, infused with the ruthless spirit of a raider clan, was an existence forged in fire, ambition, and conquest. The immense warships were more than tools of war, they were the marauding longships of the galaxy. Their crews were bound together by a shared thirst for power, glory, and plunder. Every mission was a raid, every battle a test of worth, and every moment a step closer to immortalizing oneself in the annals of Sith dominance.

For the crew, the ship was a sea of chaos and opportunity. Soldiers, pilots, and engineers toil with relentless fervor, driven not only by fear of their Sith overlords but also by the intoxicating promise of spoils and status. When a Second Legion ship descends upon a world, it is not merely to subjugate but to strip it bare, seizing resources, technology, and conscripting soldiers to fuel the endless hunger of the Sith war machine. The crew revels in this brutal cycle, knowing that success on the battlefield brings the possibility of personal gain, from promotions to treasures taken in the aftermath.

The Sith Lords at the helm embody the raider chieftains of old, their authority absolute, their ambitions boundless. These dark warriors often lead from the front, descending upon conquered worlds like storm gods, wielding their terrifying power to inspire both awe and fear. Apprentices, the equivalent of blooded warriors, vie for their masters' favor, challenging one another in vicious duels or acts of daring to prove their strength.

The ship itself is a crucible of dark side energy, its corridors echoing with chants and battle cries as Sith acolytes train in the arts of war. Rituals reminiscent of ancient raider ceremonies mark significant events: the anointing of a new apprentice, the celebration of a victory, or the execution of a traitor. These ceremonies serve as both reminders of the crew's purpose and unifying events that draw the crew together into one cohesive unit.

Every raid is an opportunity to prove one's worth, to earn a place in the ever-evolving saga of the Sith Order. Yet this life, for all its opportunities for glory, is a perilous one.

Off-duty downtime was steeped in the feral energy of warring raiders, intense and primal as the battles waged by the ship's crew. Life on such a vessel leaves little room for rest, but when the rare moments of respite come, they are filled with activities that both prepare for the next conquest and celebrate survival in a grueling, unforgiving environment.

For the crew, downtime often resembles the camaraderie and rough leisure of a warrior clan. Communal areas echo with boisterous laughter and the clash of informal contests. Arm-wrestling matches, sparring bouts, and tests of endurance are common, as crew members seek to sharpen their skills and prove their dominance among peers. Gambling dens flourish, with bets placed on everything from arena-style combat to the outcomes of the ship's next raid. Drinks flow freely, a concoction of mead brewed from Gerwald Lechner’s own recipe, with impromptu feasts springing up to keep morale high, and camaraderie flowing.

Storytelling is another common pastime, with warriors recounting tales of epic battles, clever victories, or the terrifying power of the Sith Lords they serve. These stories are often embellished and serve to inspire younger crew members while reinforcing the ship's culture of strength and audacity. Songs and chants echo through the corridors, many blending old warrior traditions with the dark, menacing ethos of the Sith. These performances celebrate the crew's victories and create a shared identity, binding them together as a marauding force of galactic terror.

 

[Gerwald Lechner]

WEARING: This
WEAPONS: Ferrum Solus | Blodmåne | Strømafbryder
SHIP: Úlfs Reiði
TAG: OPEN

Gerwald sat back at the head table in his throne-like chair. The emblem of a wolf was etched into the top of it, gold filigree inlaid into the symbol. It was made out of the wood from a tree which had fallen in the forest near his home on Stewjon. A glass of mead which was full to the brim rested in the grip of his right hand as he looked over the ruckus of the roaring crowd. The Dread Wolf’s campaign into space which had once been occupied by the Rimward Trade League, and the Confederacy of Independent Systems was proving successful. One by one worlds fell to the raiders under his command.

Adras, Seswenna, Praesitlyn, Omwat, Xagobah, all had been added to the command of the Sith Order. The crews of his Second Legion had earned a small respite, and Gerwald was one who knew how to throw a celebration.

Several wild beasts, procured from their most recent victory, roasted over the fire pit which was in the center of the mess hall. It had been designed to reflect the longhouses of Stewjon, the one from Gerwald’s childhood village to be precise. While the memories of those years were not always pleasant, the Dread Wolf had always recalled the joy and life his people had lived loudly. It was the kind of life which Gerwald emulated for those under his command. He was strict, harsh, and there were those who thought he was cruel, yet the Lupo could throw one enormous celebration when time called for it.

A smile pulled at his lips, knowing everyone represented in the room had earned this. The fragrant aroma of the meal filled his nostrils, and made his mouth water in anticipation of it all. His goblet finally lifted to his lips as he took a long drink from the amber liquid which filled the glass. It was cool, and better than anything the Confederacy had ever offered. Giving the Sith Order his own recipe was the result of a lesson learned. It was going to be a long campaign, and the mead was just one simple taste of home he could bring with him.

“Feast!”

His voice echoed and boomed over the crowd as he slammed his goblet on the wooden table.

“The worlds we have set to control have fallen to the Sith Order by your weapons and will. Our might, the might of the Second Legion, will soon strike dread and terror into the hearts of those who hear the simple mention of it. This is all because of you. Tonight belongs to you. Eat, drink, be merry, for tomorrow we set our attention toward Susevfi itself.”

Gerwald raised his glass.

“No mercy. No surrender. Only victory and glory!”

The room roared, echoing the cry of the Second Legion as they lifted their glasses and drank. The Dread Wolf sat back down as he watched the crew once more. He celebrated the same way he fought. His boots were on the ground first and they came off the ground last. His soldiers would get their food first, and his plate would be made of what remained. It was not the Sith way, but it was his way. It was a lesson Gerwald had learned from Naedira. It was the same lesson Srina Talon taught him in her own way.

Duty demanded sacrifice.

Gerwald chose to model what that meant. His followers did not just follow him because he demanded loyalty, but they would comply because he proved he was a leader worth following. He expected the best, but he also gave the best.

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Gerwald Lechner //:
//: Attire //:

The Second Legion was a culture shock to the pristine and poised Echani Princess. She could feel those aboard's bloodlust with the deep desire to prove themselves to their Lord. Quinn sat in the assigned room, pinching the bridge of her nose and breathing deeply. She hated the thick emotions in the air and the constant need to excuse herself so her mind could mitigate its effect. The silence in her room was pleasant, and Gerwald had been kind to her despite the bloodlust he fostered in his followers and legionnaires.

Outside her door, a knock echoed, and Quinn sighed profoundly and stood to answer it. Moments like this, she wished to be home and not on the ship where she didn't have proper privacy. "Coming." She announced, making her way towards the door and grabbing her lightsaber. The weapon found its place on her hip and she pushed a button to allow the interupter to see her unamused look. "Princess." A tall woman grinned, expressing a hungry excitement at seeing the smaller Echani woman. Quinn's stomach churned as she had been trying to avoid this legionnaire for some time. The woman had an odd obsession with the young Lordling and Quinn while typically enamored with that type of attention; this one aggravated her.

"Yes?" She responded, annoyed. "No need to be so upset to see me." The larger woman grinned as she leaned into the doorway, attempting to draw closer to the Princess. "I'm tired, Drakara." Quinn quipped.

Another step into Quinn's room, and the woman held the upper part of the doorway, flexing her muscles in hopes of impressing the stone-faced Princess. "There's a party right now, and you're missing it, Princess." Her face drew closer to Quinn's, "Or we could have our own-" A hand found its place on Drakara's sternum, stopping her movement further into the room. "No, you've misread my intentions once more; it was one time - and it will only be one time." Quinn remained stern as she used the Force to push the woman back.

Laughter erupted in the abandoned hallway as Drakara shook her head. "Understood, Princess, but you'll be back - especially when you're ready to loosen up." The woman kept her upbeat smile as she bowed slightly and waved her arm, directing the Echani to the hallway. "You are being requested; I figured it was better to have me than one of my more unattractive brothers - who may not understand the word no." Drakara stood straight, her helmet finding its way back on her head.

"I appreciate it; maybe you're not so bad," Quinn smirked as she allowed her mind to wander for just a moment. "In all aspects of how I know you." Quinn continued ahead of Drakara, who took a moment to admire the woman that she would never be able to possess. Despite this, she enjoyed the show and vowed to protect her through her time within the Second Legion.

Quinn continued as Drakara peeled off and joined her fellows. She moved through the crowd, drawing the eyes of the acolytes and other legionnaires. Despite her stature, those around knew to respect her. To them, she was an extension of their beloved Empress, one that their Lord had the ultimate loyalty. Because of this relationship, Quinn graced the corridors of the Second Legion. She made her way towards the seat near the large throne; being one of the Sith Lords aboard, she was allotted this privilege.

She joined the table after the wolf made the announcements by choice. Carefully, she placed the napkin on her lap and waited for one of her ladies to serve her plate. Looking towards Gerwald, she raised a brow and smirked.

"Interesting way you're running this place? Quite barbaric, is there a reason for it?" She looked back towards the rest of the tables that were full of celebration. "They are an enthusiastic bunch, aren't they?" Her eyes wandered towards the woman from before, watching her slam mugs of alcohol about with her brethren.

"Are all the Empire's legions like this?" Quinn asked as a woman carefully placed a full plate in front of her.

 

[Gerwald Lechner]

WEARING: This
WEAPONS: Ferrum Solus | Blodmåne | Strømafbryder
SHIP: Úlfs Reiði
TAG: Quinn Varanin

The atmosphere roared with the noise of a jubilant crew. They were well drunk and feasting on the beasts which Gerwald had set on rotisserie for several hours. Stomachs would have rumbled through the day as the fragrance of cooking meat filled the ventilation system of the entire ship. He sought to motivate his crew to remain victorious by creating a culture where their fearsome and brutal accomplishments were celebrated.

His eyes drifted to the seat which had been reserved for his mate once as he looked away from the crowd. Memories wandered to the first battle in which Naedira had joined him. She had melded their minds. It left a bond which was unintended. It should not have happened based on what had been explained to him, but it seemed the force had other wishes. Maybe it had been the Lupo part of him, the wolf did not want to let go of her completely. Now that she was back from the Netherworld, and had his nature, they accomplished more than what they ever had on that first mission with the Confederacy.

A voice pulled the Wolf away from the memory. His eyes looked up to see the ebony clad Echani. @Srina Talon’s niece, goddaughter, her favorite, had accompanied the Second Legion for this campaign. Gerwald had offered her a place on his ship when it was clear she wanted to ascend through the ranks and see the Sith Order from a different perspective than what she already knew.

He laughed.

“No, the other legions are not this way.”

Gerwald flicked his wrist and the seat on his other side pulled back from the table.

“Join me,” he said as he motioned toward the chair.

A goblet of mead was poured for the princess, and Gerwald raised his brow with an invitation for her to drink. If the Echani was going to be on his ship, she would embrace the life which it offered. Was it barbaric? To her perhaps it was. The Dread Wolf embraced the ways of his people from Stewjon. He brought to life some of the forgotten ways of how his species used to live, the ones he agreed with.

“I find that keeping them in touch with a baser approach makes them effective for the task at hand. We raid, plunder, take what we want, all to create chaos. It allows the order which the Sith Order offers more palatable than our remaining presence.”

He drank from his tankard and set it on the table.

“Do you find it distasteful?”

 

[Kaila Irons]

Wearing: Armor | Circlet
Tag: Gerwald Lechner Quinn Varanin

"Chug! chug! chug!" a small crowd began to chant.

They'd flocked around Darth Anathemous further down the table a couple tankards ago, having expected the lithe young sorceress to pass out shortly after starting her second tankard of strong mead.

Now she was on her third.

She threw her head back and her arm out in a dramatic gesture as if welcoming a challenger on the field of battle as her drink began to vanish with alarming speed, certainly for one reputed to be such a lady and a scholar. Tankards clattered and men roared as one one of the younger recruits peered over the sorceress' shoulder to gauge her progress.

"It's half empty!" he laughed, and so the cheers reached a crescendo.

Spurred on by the rowdy atmosphere, Anathemous leaned back in her seat, gulping down the remainder of her drink even faster than the last. But suddenly everything went quiet as her lips parted from the tankard, her movements a little slow as she squeezed her eyes shut.

"...frakk." she muttered, shaking her head.

She coughed bitterly, before peering at the bunch through one golden eye. So many faces waiting with baited breath to see if their newest drinking buddy would succeed or fall out of her seat.

The smile she gave them was devious as she slammed the empty tankard down on the table.

"One more!"

And so the thunderous cycle began anew.

Though a little red in the face, Anathemous took the next with a smile, watching the food be set out across the other side of the table as the cooks worked their way through the legion. It was nice in a way, to see the bunch who's logistics she was supplying, even spotting a few of the energy sinks and communicators on their belts which her factories produced on Echnos.

Though something else, or rather someone else drew her golden gaze from over the rim of her tankard.

None other than the Princess of Eshan, Quinn Varanin .

"Mm-" she swallowed sooner than expected, patting one of the troopers on the shoulder as she stood.

"Alright, that's enough for one evening. I'm going to eat now."

She waved off the protests with what seemed at the moment an uncharacteristically graceful flick of the wrist as she made her way passed the rambunctious crowd, finding a seat next to her favorite royal.

"Lord Lechner," she nodded to Gerwald Lechner upon his throne before turning her attention to Quinn.

"Princess." she smiled, her voice a friendly hum most unusual of the warrior-sorceress.

"I trust you haven't had to beat up any of his legionnaires yet, yes?"

​

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Grand Feast
Tag: Quinn Varanin Kaila Irons Gerwald Lechner
​

The Second Legion's vessel pulsed with a primal energy that could almost be tasted in the air. The corridors thrummed with the boisterous revelry of the legionnaires, a symphony of raised voices, clinking tankards, and roaring laughter. Within the vast hall, its design reminiscent of an ancient longhouse, flames crackled and cast flickering light across the walls, mingling with the golden glow of artificial sconces. The scent of roasted meats and spiced mead thickened the air, weaving itself into the cacophony of celebration.

Amid the chaos, a figure moved like a shadow against the brightness of the hall. Shrouded in a flowing, blue robe adorned with intricate floral and geometric patterns, the figure blended into the dimmer corners of the room. Their elaborate garb shimmered faintly in the firelight, the central panel's ornate designs catching subtle flashes of gold and silver as they walked. Wide sleeves trailed behind them like wisps of darkness, and a metallic mask concealed their face entirely. Its sharp, angular grooves reflected the surrounding light, giving the impression of something both human and otherworldly.

The figure moved with deliberate grace, neither hurried nor hesitant, their presence commanding attention without demanding it. The mask tilted subtly as they passed a circle of rowdy legionnaires, where a soldier slammed a tankard down with such force it sent foamy liquid splashing across the table to uproarious cheers. The figure's steps carried them further into the hall, weaving through the throng with ease, until they stopped near the periphery of the grand feast.

From their vantage point, they observed the scene in silence. The towering throne at the center of the room dominated their attention first. The wolf emblem etched into its wooden crest gleamed under the firelight, a testament to the power of the one seated there. The figure studied Lord Lechner as he raised his goblet high, his voice booming over the hall as he praised the victories of the Second Legion. The crowd roared in response, and for a moment, the figure's mask inclined ever so slightly, as if acknowledging the energy in the room.

Their attention shifted next, scanning the crowd until it settled on a familiar sight. Seated near the head of the table, the poised form of the Echani Princess, Quinn, stood in stark contrast to the wild fervor around her. The Princess exuded an air of serene detachment, yet her sharp eyes missed nothing. The figure watched as Quinn addressed Lord Lechner with her usual mix of wry humor and subtle authority, her words carrying easily above the din. A faint tilt of the head behind the mask hinted at the figure's quiet fondness, though no outward sign of emotion betrayed their true thoughts.

Further down the table, amidst a cluster of raucous legionnaires, another presence caught their attention—a golden-haired sorceress, her face flushed from too many tankards of mead. The figure's gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, as if drawn by something unspoken. This was no casual acquaintance; the connection ran deeper, forged long ago and hidden beneath layers of time and circumstance, she could tell her apart by merely sensing her presence in the force. The sorceress—Kaila—was not just an ally but someone who held a place of significance in the figure's shadowed past. That she still lived, still thrived in the chaos, stirred something within the observer, she had not failed her yet.

Kaila's boisterous drinking contest came to an end as she stood with a graceful wave of her hand, dismissing the cheers and jeers of the crowd. The sorceress made her way toward the Princess, her steps steady despite the mead. The figure's mask followed her progress, tilting slightly as Kaila reached Quinn and took a seat beside her. The two began to converse, their voices momentarily drowned out by the revelry around them, but the masked figure did not move closer. Not yet.

The figure remained still, surveying the scene like a phantom bound to the edges of the light. They noted every detail: the camaraderie of the legionnaires, the deference shown to Quinn by those around her, the way Kaila's golden gaze flickered between amusement and curiosity as she spoke. The figure's gloved hands remained clasped before them, their posture poised and unreadable.

They had not come to disrupt the celebration, nor to draw attention to themselves. Their purpose tonight was quieter, more deliberate. The news they carried was a heavy burden—one that would reshape the lives of those it touched. But this was not the moment to speak of such things. For now, they watched, waiting for the right time to approach, to ensure that the truths they carried would be heard when the revelry gave way to silence.

In the firelight, their mask gleamed faintly, a reflection of the vibrant chaos around them. But behind the metallic facade, unseen and unknown, lay a calculated patience. There was no rush; the moment would come. Until then, they remained a silent observer, a shadow within the storm of celebration, waiting for the threads of fate to weave themselves into place.

She hoped when the time had come, Kaila was ready.

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Gerwald Lechner //: Kaila Irons //: Serina Calis //:
//: Attire //:

Quinn watched as her goblet was filled with the amber liquid. She could smell the sweetness of the fruit that had made the mead. A drink she had never tasted - her world was filled with fine wines. Quinn watched the alcohol with hesitation; she would only partake the moment Gerwald had motioned for her to drink. Taking a sip of the mead, she held the liquid in her mouth, tasting the different flavors of the aged alcohol. Swallowing, Quinn leaned back slightly. Her eyebrows raised as she took another sip. She wouldn't admit to liking the alcohol, but she continued to sip it as if it were wine.

"Mm, not distasteful." she mused, "Just different. I've never been around this kind of lifestyle - but I've heard about it among Mandalorian Raiders." Another sip of mead as her eyes left the Wolf. There had been a sudden commotion occurring towards one of the tables. She paused and watched the excitement as one woman finally stood, and the legionnaires cheered.

Suddenly, Quinn became enthralled with the barbaric practices of the Second Legion. Her chin rested in her hand as she watched the woman continue drinking several spiced mead tankards. "Uh," Quinn paused, remembering she was talking to Gerwald about the workings of the second legion. Her head turned slightly, and she looked back to Gerwald. "I can see your reasons, pillaging, drinking, and partying - must always be pretty lively here often."

As Kaila walked up, Quinn looked her way, nearly looking through Gerwald. She smirked, "I can get used to the antics here." Kaila made it to her and Gerwald. Quinn laughed at the quip from the Governor of Echnos. It was a surprise that the woman would be here of all places. She remembered her suggestion and that the woman had been already recruited. "No, they're safe from my wrath," the Princess smirked as her hand caressed the curve of her face while she continued to examine the blonde, "Looks like you were having a good time down there? Did you win?"

As much as she wanted to sit here and spend the rest of the dinner talking to Kaila, Quinn wanted to keep her relations quiet, especially from the Wolf. She was now working with Kaila, which meant they would see each other more often than not. The thought made Quinn smile slightly the more she thought about it. It would be more of a reason to see the woman without having to work around their schedules.

Quinn felt it instantly; there was a shift in the air. The woman shivered slightly and regretted not bringing a thicker cloak. She tried to shake the dreadful feeling as she looked to Kaila and poured the woman another goblet of mead. "Are you cutting yourself off, or can you have a bit more?" She wanted to do something to distract herself; the dreadful feeling was starting to make her stomach twist. Whatever it was, it seemed focused on the three of them.

 

[Gerwald Lechner]

WEARING: This
WEAPONS: Ferrum Solus | Blodmåne | Strømafbryder
SHIP: Úlfs Reiði
TAGS: Kaila Irons | Quinn Varanin | Serina Calis

Different was a kinder word. Gerwald did not expect Quinn to be the type to be dishonest, so her answer was satisfactory. The Imperator of the Second Legion did keep the atmosphere lively. What he demanded of those that served on his ships was considered by many to be nothing short of suicide. They broke through ships, boarded heavily crewed vessels, raided and plundered worlds that often put up heavy resistance, and yet they were still victorious. Their success deserved to be celebrated, and for those who would not live beyond the next raid, they deserved to truly live another night.

“I cannot ask them to die tomorrow without letting them live tonight,” he answered. “It is as simple as that. They are not here to serve some hidden agenda. Each knows that the next raid is likely to be their last. We honor the fallen, and celebrate the living. There is no greater cause.”

It was true freedom. Gerwald often reminisced on his days before the Confederacy had come to his part of Stewjon. Life had not been easy, but it had been simple. There was something to it which was still appealing. He did not long for the ignorance which his mother had kept him in, nor did he want to imagine a life without Naedira Darcrath , yet he did often wish he could have shared that kind of life with her.

The constant pull to war and battle was something Gerwald had lived since joining the Knights Obsidian. It seemed that every time peace was within the galaxy’s grasp some new force or threat to it would appear. There was a weariness to it, and yet the Dread Wolf pushed through. It was why nights like this, where his crew and legion could celebrate life itself, was important.

Kaila Irons broke the silence of his thoughts when she approached. Her greeting produced a nod. His glass raised to her.

“I see you have no problem fitting in among the rabble here. You are enjoying life and freedom then?”

It was a simple question as her eyes and gaze did not lie. Gerwald could see the greeting was more from respect and duty. It was her means to speak with the princess.

The Dread Wolf looked over to the Echani and quirked a brow. Whatever she chose to do with her time was her decision of course. Gerwald was not about to meddle in the affairs of youthful exploits. How could he when he was providing the atmosphere in which some level of folly was bound to take place. If the princess wanted to experience life amongst the Second Legion she would certainly get a taste of what she was in store for.

Gerwald’s gaze shifted to another, sitting in shadow. The dance of firelight against their mask drew the Wolf’s attention. It seemed there was a silent observer among his crew tonight. His legion was open to all, any who wished to join. Without breaking their need for anonymity, Gerwald raised his glass in the general direction simply to say… you are seen and welcome.

He turned back to the pair at his table.

“It seems I am being out drunk here… I think I need to remedy this.”

With that, Gerwald drained a full tankard of mead in a few short seconds, a loud belch announcing his grandiose accomplishment.

 

[Kaila Irons]

Wearing: Armor | Circlet
Tag: Quinn Varanin Gerwald Lechner Serina Calis

Did she win?

Kaila grinned in such a way that betrayed the true affect of her drinking games as she lifted a few fingers, credit sticks glinting in the torchlight between each.

What followed was a deep, almost fiendish chuckle.

The princess seemed eager to keep the governor of Echnos on her toes however, pouring what must have been her fifth tankard, or goblet or what have you, of mead. Coming from lands where the Ne'tra gal flowed had done much to give the young Darth an edge in the tavern, this was true, but it had been quite some time and even her discarded people had limits.

"Are you cutting yourself off, or can you have a bit more?"

✱Oomph✱ she exhaled, puffing her cheeks out as she stared the goblet down.

But a glance up at Quinn was all the encouragement she needed, catching onto that look which she was beginning to understand meant the echani royal was in desperate need of distraction from whatever the poor soul was thinking.

"I suppose It's lucky I used to be Mandalorian." she stifled a chuckle, patting the princess on the shoulder whilst starting her fifth cup.

“I see you have no problem fitting in among the rabble here. You are enjoying life and freedom then?”

Kaila finished a great gulp, setting her goblet down with a little more care than before whilst nodding to Lord Lechner, though her somewhat enthusiastic smile remained, even if a little more tempered than before.

"Your boys certainly know how to party." she grinned, though it was short lived.

"Truth be told I almost feel guilty enjoying the festivities so, late as I am. I'm hoping to earn my keep next time, fight with-"

A peculiar feeling cut her thoughts in two, causing the sorceress to curiously regard the room over her shoulder with a raised brow. It felt strangely familiar, and yet she could not quite place it. As if someone she had known once had made themselves known, yet been changed by time.

"...fight with the men." she finished, unable to determine the source.

“It seems I am being out drunk here… I think I need to remedy this.”

Her attention was stolen again by the master of the second legion, and she found herself hoping she'd not be drawn into a losing battle as she watched the larger man consume an entire tankard in one go.

And so she merely smiled, lifting her goblet to the man before taking a more measured sip.

"And what of you, my lady?" she turned back to the princess a moment.

"To what do we owe the honor your company on this campaign?"

​

 

[Serina Calis]

Location: Grand Feast
Tag: Quinn Varanin Kaila Irons Gerwald Lechner
​

The revelry continued unabated, the hall filled with boisterous laughter, the clash of tankards, and the hum of shared camaraderie. Yet beneath the surface of the chaos, the shadows seemed to deepen, the air thickening imperceptibly as if touched by an unseen hand. The firelight flickered uneasily, casting erratic patterns across the walls and tables, though none of the gathered soldiers seemed to notice. Their raucous celebration drowned out the subtle shift, leaving only those sensitive to the Force to feel the dissonance creeping into the room.

Near the edge of the firelit hall, the masked figure rose from their quiet observation. Their robes, rich with intricate floral and geometric patterns, seemed to ripple unnaturally, as though responding to a wind that no one else could feel. The metallic mask that concealed their identity caught the flickering light, its sharp, angular grooves glinting like the edge of a blade. A faint shimmer passed over the central panel of their robe, highlighting the stylized flowers and leaves woven into the dark fabric.

As the figure moved, their presence became an oppressive weight, a disturbance in the Force that pressed against the senses of those attuned to it. To the normal soldiers and legionnaires, the figure was just another shadow in the room, their movements drawing no attention. But to those connected to the Force, their presence was an undeniable reality—cold, sharp, and suffocating.

The figure approached the head table with deliberate steps, each movement measured, exuding an aura of quiet authority. When they reached Gerwald Lechner, their hooded head inclined ever so slightly in acknowledgment, a gesture of respect to the Dread Wolf, yet one devoid of deference. The faintest trace of a voice, like a thousand whispers clawing at the edges of perception, emerged from beneath the mask.

"Your victories echo through the stars, Lord Lechner. They sing of strength, resilience… and inevitability."

The voice was low and layered, each word weaving itself into the air like smoke, wrapping around the senses of those nearby. It was not loud, yet it carried, as though spoken directly into the minds of those it addressed.

Without waiting for a reply, the figure turned their attention to Kaila, the golden-haired sorceress seated near the Princess of Eshan. As they addressed her, the whispers sharpened, their words brushing against Kaila's mind with an almost predatory edge.

"Solus," the figure began, the use of her true name slipping past the mask like a blade through silk, though the words were imperceptible to anyone else, from the outside nothing came out, only Kaila being able to hear her true name echo within her own mind. The next words however, were openly heard. "I have watched you tonight, surrounded by light and life. And yet… I wonder… do you truly find comfort here, or is it merely a respite from questions unanswered?"

The weight of their presence seemed to press more heavily around Kaila now, as though the room itself leaned closer, waiting for her response. The firelight cast strange shadows across the mask, obscuring the figure's face further even as their voice grew softer, more insistent.

"There is a truth you have long sought, though you may not yet realize it. A shadow that lingers on the edges of your memory, unresolved. If you are willing to hear it… I will speak it."

The figure's gloved hands clasped before them, their posture poised and controlled, as if holding back a storm just beneath the surface. For a moment, the whispers quieted, the air between them heavy with anticipation. The normal revelry of the room seemed almost distant, like a dream half-forgotten, as the figure's presence anchored Kaila and Quinn in the moment.

The mask tilted slightly toward Kaila, its gleaming surface catching the light like a predator's eye in the dark.

"Will you listen, Kaila? Will you face the truth of what became of Serina Calis?"

The final words hung in the air, each syllable sharp and deliberate, like the crack of a whip in the silence that followed. Around them, the legionnaires continued their revelry, oblivious to the dark tide creeping through the room, but for those seated at the head table, the disturbance in the Force was undeniable. The question was asked, but it carried no expectation. The answer would determine the course of what came next.