Open Social Mustafar The First of Many

[Katara]

Katara might be from a different world, one where such scheming was not as common as it was among the Sith, but even she caught the subtlety of how the Dark Lord handled the situation. Punishing her without openly punishing her, sticking her with the skeletal figure, very nicely done. So she bowed in acquiescence, and let the Dark Lord deal with the others while she turned her attention to her would be dance partner.

As Amonteph introduced himself, she nodded in response. "I am Katara. Come," she gestured to the side so that the two could speak away from the group gathering around Tempest, she would begin moving if he did not protest, "let us talk. That one," she titled a head to gesture towards Cyutadakyr, "what do you know of her? I was told the ancient Sith were long dead. But here she stands. They say the Sith had a form of magick that matched our own, but some say it was nothing but an elaborate hoax, a facade put up to imitate the powers of Dathomir."

As they were briefly interrupted by a server, she picked up two glasses, holding one out for her new acquaintance.

"To conversation."

@Altaris @Braden @Xorism

 

[Amonteph Sephtis]

Amonteph was glad the woman did not insist on dancing, he hated it, never understanding the populace’s love twirling around an a room to the beat of a half-deaf droid screeching through the speakers. He happily moved away from the spintop revellers and into a small area where the pair could look across the gathering and gauge each of their worth.

His pale-blue eyes locked onto the Sith Pureblood, like with Katara, the Pau’an licked his lips, thoughts and desires of what he would love to do with the specimen filled his mind. Power like the Witches’ how intriguing, perhaps one of them would be a better place to start his experiments. “They have clung to life on Korriban like the rest of our order.” He replied, small stories had crept through the dark places within the Korriban academy and Amonteph had listened to at least a few of them.

With reluctance, Amonteph took the glass with his hand. Katara would see it looked slightly unnatural as his boney fingers wrapped themselves around the glass. A quick clink and he brought the glass to his lips to take a drink. “Perhaps a demonstration? Dathmorian Magick against Pureblood Magick? Would be interesting to see if this elaborate hoax is true or not.”

@Wit @Xorism

 

[Cremek "Krayt" Candorus]

cremek gave a sly chuckle when the glass exploded, even when it hit him, he raised his hand, uttering a sith sorcery incantation.

"Daboti Nun"

Cremek was lit on fire, though he did not scream, but the flames sounded like they were, he was swiftly dried of the drink that had splashed onto him oh so violently.

"Dazek j'us"

The screaming flames went out with a cruel hiss, he winced once they did.

"It would be a shame to get dirty so early into the night.. especially if someone got glass in their eye, I dislike having to repair those, they are a pain, both literally and figuratively.. Well never for me."

he gave a slight chuckle, while he was direct, by no means was he not clever when it came to actions.

"Very well.. I will wait to present my gift, the night is young.."

He placed the holocron away, back into his cloak, before re-affixing his mandalorian mask back onto his face with a cruel hiss.

@Xorism @lizziie @Charles @Braden

 

[Nevizkas]

Invoking the wrath of the Dark Lord was definitely on her bucket list, albeit in a much more personal and painfully inducing manner. There were simply too few powerful enough to invoke the torturous nirvana she sought. For now though, Cyutadakyr would simply smile and nod in agreement, "If not greater, my lord."

With their departure, Cyu found herself returning to mingling with the burrito boy and his quiet companion. His own trumpeting departure did not go unnoticed and with a coy smirk she'd resume their conversation.

"I didn't know you were in a band..." A fresh serving of alcohol whisked past the pureblood allowing her to take one, as would the others be able to if they wished. She noticed how he slipped thr object back into cover, giving her a marvelous idea. "I'm sure the Dark Lord will like your gift..." Cyu moved closer to Cremek and using her spare hand to brush across his shoulder. "But are you sure that you're worthy to give one?"

Cyutadakyr purposely toyed with the man, watching his every response and movement with intense interest.

@theaveragejedishadow @Altaris

 

[Barz]

Barz winced as the glass shattered and almost splashed him. However, all of that was rerouted by the Dark Lord, a casual yet critical display of her power. He looked at the glass on the ground, half expecting the snooty old Sith to command him to clean it up. The orcolan blinked at Tempest when she asked her question, wondering why she was bothering to speak with him when the others here clearly looked down on acolytes. Barz shifted where he stood, “I uh…well, this isn’t really my crowd,” He admitted, gesturing to his attire and then everyone else in their stuffy attires and even stuffier attitudes.

As if on cue, the pureblood woman rudely barged right into the conversation, acting as if he wasn’t there. Barz bristled as he glared at her. What a bitch! Sith were stripped of power, scattered across the galaxy, and Champions still had room to treat lower ranks like dirt! The positive thing was that this offered him an escape from the Dark Lord’s scrutiny. He was about to slowly shift away when the Dark Lord more or less dismissed the Champion.

“Oh uh..” He wiped his hands on his pants to remove the sweat, taking her dainty little hand into his giant palm. Now he was seriously screwed. He didn’t like this boring waltzy type music, and he certainly didn’t know how to dance to it. Lively music and rhythmic flailing was more his jam.

“I’m not very good at this,” Barz admitted upfront. Manage expectations. He learned that real quick being around Sith. The orcolan more or less relied on Tempest to lead the dance, focusing his efforts on not stepping on those infernal shoes of hers.

“Are you…are you waiting for me to screw up?” He blurted out as he attempted to awkwardly twirl her under his hand. He was incredibly suspicious of why the Dark Lord of the Sith sought him out. Was he serving as entertainment before she offed him?

@Altaris

 

[Cremek "Krayt" Candorus]

The sorcerer loomed, with a cold look that could Peirce beskar.

"Nock it off."

His voice, that was once cordial and tactful, though it's now hard to tell with his mask, became venomous in an instant, he would not be manipulated, especially by someone of his own rank, especially here. His tone returned to normal, as he exhales, manipulation, lies, schemes, all of this made cremek want to ignite his saber and cut down those who would rather scheme and lie then make their intentions clear.

"The dark lord will receive her gift, and I will give it to her, if I am not worthy of imparting even the smallest token for a housewarming present then I am not a proper sith, lower than an acaloyte."

He said humbly. Even though he was sith, and a great example of one, he was mandalorian born and raised, it was custom to give anything they could spare for such events to the host, be it a meal, or something more valuable. And this Holocron was something he risked life and limb for, the value it had, and the training regimen for potential guardians was paramount, he would let no one but Darth tempest judge if this gift was worthy or not, and if it wasn't, he would search the galaxy until he found one that was.

@Xorism @Altaris

 

[Ambrosia]

Ambrosia placed her hand gently on Morgon's arm, falling in step with him as he led her away from the center of the room. In her white dress, with her big violet eyes, walking with such graceful strides - they were opposites even more so than her and the Pureblood.

"Hm?" Ambrosia voiced her curiosity as they came to a stop, looking up at the masked man through her snowy lashes. Her eyes moved to stare intensely at the finger that hovered in the air before her, then slowly inched back to where she guessed his eyes were. His finger withdrew, and they stepped apart.

The Arkanian offshoot watched as Morgon removed his helmet, revealing a face covered with what she could only assume were runes. Some were raised, clearly defined like jagged scars, and others were low and shined like healed burns. His nose was gone, his eyes were nothing but empty pools of the void, and his sicky-white skin clung desperately to the prominent bones on his face. He was truly hideous.

Ambrosia lifted up her hand and placed it gently on Morgon's forehead, pressing the pads of her firmly against the textured rune on his forehead. Though he let her into his mind to share his memories, hers would remain closed to him for now.

The memories flashed through her mind, and she was not slow to miss the blurred memory. As they went by, she savored the details, paying attention to the shapes, sounds, sights, and smells of each one. And when it was all over, her eyes fell down to the doll held clasped in his bony hands.

Ambrosia was not born a free woman. She had no memories from before she was eleven years old, yet her first memory was as clear as the Mustafarian sky was ashy. She remembered the moment she became aware of herself, not as a thing to be toyed with, but a living, breathing, feeling being. Thinking, knowing, wanting.

Perhaps she should have been incensed that this Sith had stolen the essence of a man to control him. In another world, where Ambrosia had not been taken in with the Sith, perhaps she would have been. But the woman's doe-eyes widened ever-so-slightly instead, and a wild look shone on their surface. Power. Control. Knowledge. The alchemy and sorcery of the Sith only continued to sing its siren song to her.

"Do you command his will?" she asked, looking up from the doll into the man's black eyes. She kept her fingers placed gently on the man's forehead. "Does he serve his master, Morgon, or are you an unknown puppeteer?"

@Charles

 

[Morgon]

She did not revolt or flee from his sight and she held her hand upon his head. The soft warmth of her hands was enthralling- a drug more powerful than any spice the Pykes could ever conjure. When Morgon was finished glaring at his creation, his eyes found refuge with Ambrosia's. There was a wildness about her, though subtle, and it craved freedom.

"It is a warning for both him..." With a free hand, he made sure to carefully relieve the Offshoot's hand from his forehead, though his eyes never wavered. "...And for me." The deal made with Alduin was too personal for Morgon to wantonly share with someone he had just met (Though part of him eagerly wanted to share every last bit of knowledge he had with her and her alone).

"I could end him whenever I please, but I will not." Morgon's smile faded into a grimace as he looked away from Ambrosia, withholding himself of the privilege she gave him. "It is an algorithm- a cruel joke, you see. I hold the thing that does the killing, but never so much as simply hold it." Alchemy was a crueler joke with humor so morbid it broke everything and everyone. It deserved no stage and yet it was constantly given one. Morgon only found solace in knowing he had control over it.

"Alduin has his own will, and when the time comes, he will enact it." The Anzat's tone was filled with warning and buried anger. "All I do is whisper to him, every now and then, and set him upon his path. I do not kill him and in return, he kills for me..." Morgon muttered quietly and carefully before shaking his head to snap out of his ominousness. "Forgive me, Madame Ambrosia, for losing myself." His smile returned, but not as confidently as before. The Nightbrother stooped to pick up his helmet and place it back upon his head, but the metal visor could not blind the benevolent Ambrosia, for benevolent she would always be.

"I do, however, intend on improving this helm's capabilities through the art of alchemy." He offered his arm whilst he tried to change the subject. If Ambrosia took it, Morgon would gladly guide her back to the main gathering where he would probably lose her to the Pureblood again. Was this what it felt like to know that you may never have what you have only ever wanted? Something inside the elder Sith shifted- but it was more than just perspective. "What would you add, hm? How would Madame Ambrosia skew this helmet into something...superior?"

@lizziie

 

[Nevizkas]

The champions reaction was swift and brutal, bringing a sweet smile to the pureblood's face. Pulling back and curling her hand, "Of course, I meant no offense," she softly spoke. Whoever this man was, his drive and determination was self evident and at least that part of him drew her approval.

"Perhaps I misjudged you, if you'll indulge my curiosity a moment. Your fine gift must surely have an equally fine story, does it not? My interest lies primarily in the alchemical field, but such things always catch my eye. Have you any experience in this?"

This time Cyutadakyr was genuinely interested in what the champion had to say, moreso as a peer than a pawn. Taking another sip of the glass, she watched and waited quietly as the scene around them continued in the background.

@theaveragejedishadow

 

[Cremek "Krayt" Candorus]

He sighs, finnaly, something he was fine with sharing, as knowledge was meant to be. But he made sure to bite his tongue, for most of it. What was the point of the gift then if anyone had access to the knowledge in full. He made sure to leave it tantalizingly vague.


"Well, it is a palpatine era Holocron, found on nal-hutta, I spent several months tracking it, even after the split. The sith empire has been known to employ guardians to defend its lands, in this Holocron, it contains detailed steps on how to train, utilize the these guardians. What we need right now more than anything is loyalty, this is my cure. For wherever we call home."

It was clear this was not just a gift to tempest, but a gift to the sith order as a whole, something he has truly risked life and limb for, to him, it was a sign that he believed in tempest, or at least thought she was half decent, though he would never say it out loud.

"I care not for glory, my only desire is to see my "house" thrive. This will accomplish that goal, or at least assist in it..all this plotting disgusts me, and no, I don't care for recognition, or even favor."
He preemptively said, remaining humble throughout his entire speech.

@Xorism

 

[Ambrosia]

Ambrosia's hand was removed from the man's forehead, so she let it fall gently to her side. Soon changing her mind, the Arkanian offshoot then lifted her hand to summon over two glasses of champagne from the closest serving platter, offering one to Morgon after they arrived. If he declined, she would simply send it back to wherever it came from and delicately sip from her own as she listened to him explain.

She was entertained with the way Morgon spoke, her pale eyes inexplicably drawn to the Anzat's face as he went on. There was something about those who were unafraid to express their anger, their disdain, or their whatever to the world. It was passion. She approved. "There is no need to apologize," she told him, a smile gracing her lips. "Through passion, you gain strength," she added coyly, her voice barely a whisper as she leaned forward just a bit.

Ambrosia gently took his arm as they floated back to the main floor. The subject changed to his helm, and she regarded it with a look of curiosity for a few moments. How would she change it? Make it superior? "Perhaps some alchemical runes," she mused, lifting up her finger to trace imaginary runes in the air, one eye closed as she imagined them appearing on the helm's textured front. "The sort to amplify the emotions of the weak-willed." The weak-minded were only hindered by strong emotions. It was easy to take advantage of such people.

"We will speak again, Morgon." Unhooking her arm from his, Ambrosia gave the masked Sith a courtesy, regarding him from beneath her lashes with an intense look behind the pale colors of her eyes. With that she would turn away, her eyes searching for the crimson-skinned woman she found so enticing. She spotted her conversing with Cremek who seemed to be speaking at length about something to the Pureblood.

Ambrosia made her way over toward them, but did not join them. She hovered an acceptable distance away, sipping her champagne and studying the floor. Darth Tempest with a man she didn't know, the Nightsister with another man she didn't know, and a few various Sith about. Her gaze settled on Ervius (@Keisen) for a few moments, remembering him as someone who'd joined their earlier conversation. Should he meet her eyes, she would smile and gesture to a nearby drink platter, inviting him to come chat if he wanted.

@Charles @Xorism @theaveragejedishadow

 

[Cremek "Krayt" Candorus]

As cremek would stand there, giving his speal, He was busey arguing with marian, the.. "imprint.." of a dead jedi who existed during the old republic, after an incident with cremek forcing a barrier down on dantooine, it left this imprint inside his head, a lingering echo of her will, not actually her, but her personality, manifested. They were slowly, but surely melding together personality wise, internally arguing about their identity.. like two children.

"face it, cremek, you know I'll find a way in eventually.. So why do you resist me?"

"Because you are an unwanted visitor, not even a person, a thing, a concept, left behind, you will never find a way in, not if I can help it.."

"you don't want to fade.. I can understand, but you were the one who did this to yourself."

"I-.. shut. it. Filth. I WILL expunge you from my mind, and have some silence at ..last."

on the outside, cremek shook his head, visibly bothered by something.

"what about you? have you gifted the dark lord yet, and If so, what was it?"
He crossed his hands in front of him, why wouldn't this fool just let him enjoy the party? Bah, no matter, he refocused on the pureblood, burying his annoyance at marian.

marian whistles in his head. "she seems nice."

Cremek chose not to respond, less he went on an internal rant at her, he maintains the facade of everything was okay.

---

Marian- internal
Cremek- internal
cremek-external

@Xorism @Altaris @lizziie

 

[Darth Tempest]

With a few steps towards the dancefloor, Tempest accepted the Orcolan’s much larger hand - and couldn’t help the way that her smile tugged upwards as a result. In truth, she couldn’t remember the last time she had an opportunity to dance. The party on Eriadu, perhaps? Before that? It had always been a passion for Vahliri Kahtal, and was something she had increasingly little time for, as Dark Lord of the Sith.

The Force flowed with a flick of her wrist, nudging a few other guests from their path - clearing a section of the dancefloor for them to occupy. While she didn’t necessarily mind the slow and waltz-y music, it didn’t take long for Tempest to indicate a change to the music droid. Within seconds, the song changed to something she enjoyed and could dance to far better. Whether Barz was any more accustomed to the style wasn’t entirely clear or much the point.

As expected, Tempest seamlessly took the lead in their dance, one of her hands gently intertwining with his own, while the other rested against upper portion of his shoulder. Her steps were slow and graceful to begin with, allowing the Orcolan - albeit rigid in his movements - to keep up with what she was doing. It also had the benefit of making it easier to avoid stepping on her high-heeled toes.

“Quite the opposite,” She said in response to his question, not failing to notice the nervousness behind the Orcolan’s eyes. Most Sith had little desire to teach those around them, and drew satisfaction by trampling upon their lowers without cause to do so.

Her own hand lifted with his own, enabling the Dark Lord to twirl beneath his arm. The fabric of her ombre gown whipped about with her movements, dark hair rising up from her shoulders with every rotation. “I do not guide those around me towards failure.” She spun the both of them around, her own leg hooking around the Acolyte to enable him to dip her towards the ground. She only prayed he wouldn't drop her in the process.

@Sreeya

 

[Nevizkas]

The champions story was interesting indeed, but the gift was something else entirely. She had no doubt the Dark Lord would be thrilled by such an offering although his 'humbleness' was showing. The pureblood nodded as he recited the efforts he went through to seize the object before eventually asking if she had brought a gift herself.

"No." her curt response followed. Was her service insufficient, the deeds and victories she had won not proving the value she brought to thr order? Although, perhaps it was merely a cultural difference. "In my culture it would be disrespectful to give away something so powerful, something you have bled for has a personal meaning no one else can comprehend, yes?"

The mysterious masked man was a curiosity unto himself and that might of kept her attention for the rest of the night had she not spotted a familiar pretty face in her peripheral. But for now Cremek had her full attention, as she dove into another line of questions.

"You made some comments earlier about the Sith, and their treatment of others. That sounds to me like you have your own vision of how the order should look, no? I might imagine we may disagree on points but that does not preclude the debate, I hope?"

@theaveragejedishadow @lizziie

 

[Cremek "Krayt" Candorus]

"ooh! You should tell her you actually liked your soldiers, even considered making one a foundling!"
Marian gave a impish cackle.
"Shut. Up."

"In my culture that makes a gift more valuable. I don't understand the reason one would hold onto the perfect gift. The note effort that goes into getting the gift, the greater the devotion of someone giving it, what better a gift for our new home than mayhaps new defenders."

He looked confused after he said that, what was the point of hoarding ones possessions?.. he just simply did not understand it.

"It's both a cultural and a personal viewpoint. Just because a sword dulls does not mean you need to bash it against a rock, if it has done you proper service you should simply sharpen it. I take that same approach with people who serve us, warriors deserve some form of respect, no matter who they claim to serve."

he crossed his arms, sighing slightly.

"We were seen as useless brutes, who abused who we pleased, that does not bring loyalty, that brings dominance, pack leadership, that has been proven to always be temporary."

He tabbed the side of his helmet in thought, it just was normal for him to treat those below him with at least SOME level of respect, especially now, anyone who remained loyal to the sith deserves respect unless they offend.

---

Marian- internal
Cremek- internal
cremek-external

@Xorism @Altaris @lizziie

 

[Barz]

Barz was struggling. There was no other word for it. This was not his style of music and he was not even remotely slick on the dance floor. The dainty little Dark Lord was doing all the leading and he followed along like an oversized donkey. To his credit, he at least managed not to stomp on her foot just yet. He was the exact opposite of her smooth and graceful self - clumsy and oafish while wondering if he started to smell like a gym yet.

“No need when they guide themselves..” He muttered in response before realizing he shared that aloud. He was talking about himself, but it likely came across as if referring to her followers. He blinked with wide eyes, but that was when she abruptly hooked her leg around his. Barz had no idea what was happening and he definitely didn’t get the cue to dip. He felt her leaning back, and he moved to catch her, one arm around her back into what actually turned into a dip.

Of course, that was when he realized where his other hand was. It was casually grasping at her bare thigh because he was scrambling to keep her from collapsing. A furious blush tinting his green skin meant he suddenly looked yellow. Barz quickly helped her back to her feet, his palm practically burning from where he evidently felt up the Dark Lord.

Dancing was not his thing.

“Would you care for a drink, my lady?” He asked politely, trying to find something to do that wouldn’t cause him danger. If she agreed, he’d lead the way back to the bar area, grabbing a beer for himself and whatever she wanted.

“So is this what you’ve always wanted?” He dared to ask, gesturing out towards the hall.

@Altaris

 

[Ervius Xann]

Ervius contemplated leaving Fortress Vader early when he noticed Ambrosia’s invitation. The parties of the living were a little too boring for his tastes. Ghosts he met in tombs understood exactly nothing of human nature: they made their point and then tried to strangle whoever disturbed them. Or they made deals. Either way, ghosts had little patience for all the social niceties of the living — unless they attained living flesh again. They must have had a more profound effect on him than Ervius expected.

“Do you attend these soirées often, my lady?” he approached Ambrosia. “You seem quite at ease with every type of person there is.”

He gave the Dark Lord’s dance a fleeting glance and almost smiled at the pairs maneuvers. It was amusing to watch and revealed a lot about both dancers’ respective personalities.

“Though I must confess to my own inexperience in the matter, perhaps the parties of the living have an appeal of their own, occasional pleasant discussions of alchemy aside,” he smiled at the Arkanian.

@lizziie

 

[Morgon]

"I would like that," Morgon replied with short chuckle. It made sense to Morgon that amplifying his race's manipulation abilities would only make certain projects of his a little easier. Perhaps he could nullify the effect on himself if others tried doing the same to him. Ambrosia was an interesting specimen, and her mind knew no boundaries. It was her mind that captivated the Nightbrother- not her frame or face. The way she spoke to him was almost as addictive as her slight touch.

I would like that very much...

Morgon took the drink he was offered and took a sip or two while he escorted Ambrosia back to the others. The Dark Lord was dancing with a very worried Orcolan- the one that had bumped into the Anzat earlier. Then, the Arkanian made a promise that brought Morgon's familiarly frightening grin back. "Mmm, yes we shall."

The Pureblood caught Morgon's attention again as she seemed to be fairly interested in Cremek. It was curious, wasn't it? Morgon thought that Cyutadakyr was about as fond as the Mandalorian as the Anzat was. What were they discussing that aroused such popularity? Now, Morgon found himself interested in Cremek as well, but when Ervius began to speak with Ambrosia, the Anzat was overwhelmed with jealousy yet again.

For now, Morgon would linger with his drink.

 

[Ambrosia]

"No, not at all," she answered, floating a drink into his hands after he made his way over to join her. The Arkanian offshoot had simply spent most of her life learning to adapt to the expectations others had of her. Regrettably, it came naturally to her to play such a game. She was like the ebb and flow of the ocean when conversing with the moon

"Even if you don't particularly enjoy such events, there's never any harm in attending," she continued softly. Sometimes showing face was good enough, she thought to herself. The things ones could learn... Ambrosia shot a glance toward Morgon, and if their eyes met, she would smile.

"Do you often deal with the dead?" Ambrosia asked this after he mentioned 'parties of the living'. She found that particular phrasing to be curious.

@Keisen

 

[Nevizkas]

The stark difference in philosophies even shone across something as simple as the act of gift giving, Cremek valued the act of the gifting whereas Cyutadakyr valued the gift itself. To her there was little value in receiving something that you had not taken for yourself, that wasn't to say that she wouldn't accept such gifts, but for her its value would diminish in favour of a mountain that she had conquered herself.

"A sharpened or dull sword shatters all the same against a rock in my experience. How can one give the respect that is not earned, a reward freely given is a worthless trinket without meaning." The pureblood was confused by this latest tirade, not entirely buying it as genuine.

"On the contrary, my dear Cremek. Such action breeds strength and culls the weak, as it should. Those not able to command the respect and loyalty needed to rule, die. It is a fact of life, whether you are Sith or not." Cyutadakyr glanced over towards where the Dark Lord danced, a smile beckoning.

"You may gain her favour with this gift but do not forget that she killed a champion last time we met for being disrespectful, has that affected your loyalty?"

@theaveragejedishadow