Post by Cyras on Jan 6, 2012 14:04:07 GMT -5
OOC: This has to be edited yet. Changes will be coming when it does get edited.
IC:
Dim light reflected off her dark, leather robes. Darkness lined the corridor, shadowing all in its inky embrace. She preferred the solitude in the star ship. It comforted her, speaking to a part of her that she carried since she was a slave. Even though she tried, that simple part of her could not be shed. It clung to her as if it was a large twisting branch of a deaden tree reaching for the poisoned sky of Quesh.
Anger wrapped itself firmly around her like a cocoon. It seethed, bubbling vigorously at the edges of her mind. Unlike most of her kind, the pure-blooded female controlled her wrath. She was not a slave of her emotions. The young woman could bottle them up like a bartender placed a cap on a bottle of Jama Juice.
Strands of lifeless, thin, ebony hair fell forward and covered her twin fiery orbs. Her thinning hair was a product to the mastery of the force. She suspected that she would loose all the features that made her beautiful by the time she massed the amount of power she wished.
She sneered. Of course, losing her beauty was a small price to pay. When she had unlimited power, she would not worry about how she looked. People would look upon her and fear her. That was enough for her.
Her footsteps echoed hollowly down the hallway. The air inside the ship wrapped its invisible, lifeless tendrils around her pale throat, trying to squeeze the anger out of her.
Even with her intense control, she felt the rage sputtering inside of her like boiling water. The emotion hissed, splattering against her heart. She breathed in, focusing the searing emotion in front of her mind.
“Lord Corvelli,” a soft, masculine voice called out to her. The false respect laced the edge of his voice like venom coating a blade.
Without looking at him, she knew who he was. This man greeted her with her title whenever she boarded the ship. He welcomed everyone who was a higher rank in the military like a puppy welcoming his master home. She found his admiration to be valuable. After all, what woman in her right mind did not want to be greeted when she first arrived anywhere.
“Should I inform Lord Arturis of your arrival?”
Lord Arturis, her mind whispered to her. The anger clenched inside of her again. In its ferocity, she almost doubled over. The Lord of that particular ship belonged to her. It was fated since their former master, Lord Dalek Vitorre, had taken a pure-blood as an apprentice.
Because of another circumstance, she did not want the owner of the vessel to know that she was there. It was ironic in a sort of way. Even though she had her own ship, a well equipped Fury, she preferred to travel on his vessel. The pirate knew how to fly the starship, and she wanted to be close to her mate.
“No, Captain,” she growled. Fury welled up inside of her again. She was unable to push it down. Like a wild fire racing among dead brush, it raged and forced her to see anything but red. Of course, she should have basked in the glorious emotion.
“Very well,” the dark haired man replied. “He is in his chambers.”
Lord Corvelli did not need to ask what his master was doing in his chambers. The woman already knew. Whether it was by looking at star maps or reading background reports on his targets, he always was one step ahead of those who he sought to destroy. It was one of the reasons that he was the Right Hand of his master.
Her mate, Lord Arturis, was perfection. His sanguine skin sang of his ideal heritage. As seen by tests on Korriban, she knew that the red marks were diluted amongst the higher hierarchy of the Sith. It was no surprise that her Lord would take another Sith Pure-blood as his mate. Even as diluted as she was, it did not matter to him. His own blood would counteract the high traces of human in her own. Their children would go on to become powerful Sith, repopulating the Order with their kind.
Instead of going to his chambers, she veered left. Others would thought her lost. She had been on that ship many times. In truth, she knew exactly where she was going.
For her acceptance (or the illusion of her freedom) of his demand, she had one request of him. He was to remain faithful. Although she felt strong emotions, she did not require it because she loved Lord Arturis. Love rarely played a part in the marriage and relationships of Sith Lord. Their arrangement was about strength and power (along with populating the ranks of Sith with their children). With her pure-blooded mate and their combined strengths, they would be able to remove their respective masters.
Pushing her hair from her face, she inhaled. She reached up and pulled the leather hood over her hair and face. The shadows comforted her, stoking her fury.
Standing in the doorway of her target destination, she let her eyes adjust to the sparse lightning. Again, the anger inside of her churned. Red haze colored her gaze. She would have liked to relish in the fury, basking in its blinding ambiance. The emotion was as seductive as any cantina slave.
The engine hummed quietly, vibrating through the ship. Lord Arturis always took excellent care of the ship and made upgrades to it whenever it was possible. She thought it was one of the ships with the most defense in the galaxy. Of course, her pirate friend would state that something could always be added to the Fury.
In the middle of the floor, bathed in complete darkness, her mate's apprentice sat. Like Lord Corvelli, dark shoulder-length hair framed her heart-shaped face. Her hands rested on her knees.
As she waited for the other woman to notice her, she knew she would be waiting for quite some time. She understood what the other woman was doing. Much like she was not to long ago, Lord Arturis' apprentice was trying to focus on her anger and bring the emotion to the center of her mind.
Of course, she knew what the fury was about. She understood that, also. They both shared a twin wrath. In fact, the apprentice was the reason why she was on that ship in the first place. It would have been regret if Lord Corvelli had the ability to feel compassion.
The other woman was not paying attention to anything else, a product of her inexperience. Growing up underneath the thumb of Lord Vitorre, her former master, Lord Cyras Corvelli knew that being unaware of her surroundings would lead to abuse and death. Her mate's apprentice did not have that background.
It was foolish to think about. This woman thought she was safe on her master's ship. After all, nothing would have the audacity to attack him. The apprentice worshiped her master, becoming blind to anything else. Nothing could be further from the truth.
Lord Corvelli knew the sadistic tendencies of Lord Vaene Arturis. He threatened to skin people and eat them raw. While many thought it was an intimidation tactic (or a joke at worst), many did not know about her mate's unusual appetite. He would never consume a pure-blood, but he had no qualms thinning out the rest of the galaxy's population. Though the current threat was from an outside source, the apprentice was not even entirely safe with Vaene. He was certain to kill her if she ever failed him.
“Hello, underling.”
The apprentice stood up, kowtowing in fear. While the other woman did not shake, Cyras could smell the fear wafting off of her. If she was not as trained as well as she was, she would have missed it.
Anger welled up as Cyras gazed upon her. The only part of her that was visible to the other woman was the bottom of her pale chin and her lips. Black raced along her upper lip, completely covering it, and a small strip of ebony snaked vertically down the middle of her bottom. It was a striking complexion that Lord Vitorre had forced her to wear before Vaene had secured her freedom.
Silence stretched between them. Cyras liked the uncomfortable sensation roaring off of the other woman. Anger continue to build inside of her and threatened to reach a crescendo. The fury and uncomfortableness mixed and jerked together, combining into a powerful explosion.
“What do you need, Lord Corvelli?” the other woman questioned carefully, trying her utmost to show the Sith Lord her due respect. Lord Arturis's apprentice had not been Sith long, and she was unfamiliar with the protocol. Cyras knew the best she could do was imitate how her master would act in that situation, and the other woman had guessed right. It was too bad that Lord Corvelli did not care about that.
“Your pain!” Cyras snarled as she brought her hands up gracefully. Violet lightning arced from her fingertips, into the apprentice's body.
The other woman cried out in pain, her back arching. Branches of lightning glided gracefully over the curves of her breasts, the flat of her stomach, and planes of her hips. The burnt smell of fabric was alluring to Lord Corvelli.
Cyras was unrelenting, continuing her torture of the woman she viewed as a rival until she collapsed to the floor, still screaming and writhing in pain. Anger continue to flow through her, driving her motives. She called upon it and released it in jolts upon the apprentice.
Shock after shock jolt entered the younger woman's body. Her screams were a symphony to Cyras, enticing the Sith Lord to increase her attacks like a Nexxu around the smell of blood. It excited her as it urged her into a frenzy.
Lord Corvelli stopped for a moment. A cruel smile touched the corners of her mouth.
“What is the meaning of this?” the apprentice managed after catching her breath.
The mere question infuriated Cyras more than anything. If Lord Arturis had not accidentally left the com link open, she would never had considered this other woman a rival. Had she thought about the simple issue, she would have understood that her mate had left the channel open on purpose. Perhaps, he wanted to show her how desirable to others he was. He was conniving like that.
“What have I done to deserve this?”
“You forget your place,” Cyras hissed, “and you forget mine.”
Reaching up, the apprentice pushed sizzled hair out of her face. Most of her skin was unblemished. Cyras knew that the apprentice would not take on the physical appearance of her attack until later that week. It was the same as being struck by lightning. Wounds did not show up right away.
“I am a Lord of the Sith. I need no reason to do this. I could kill you on a whim, and no one would care or remember you.”
Inciting more of her ire, the apprentice did not answer her. Like a willful child, she simply stared up at the looming Sith. Hatred rolled off of her, and Cyras delighted in making the other feel as she did. She wanted to see her ruin, falling on her knees before her. However, she knew that her mate had taught his apprentice well. That would never happen.
Again, lightning arced from her fingertips crackling into the apprentice's body. She wanted to teach her a lesson, something that she would never forget. There would be no forgetting her or her lesson.
Crying out once more, the other woman moved spasmodically from the pain wracking her. She jerked forward and backward on the floor. For a moment, Cyras was reminded of a fish out of water. Vaene's apprentice had the intellectual capacity of one, she thought, bitterly.
Cyras relented once more, taking a moment to rest. She allowed her distaste of the woman to build inside of her. Clenching her teeth together, she glared at the trash on the floor before her.
Silence stretched before them again. The smell of the other's burnt flesh and garments, mixing in the air, provided an inebriating aroma.
“If you must know, underling,” Lord Corvelli threatened, expressionlessly, “I see the way you eye your master and heard the way you talked to him. You fail to remember that not only is he above your station, Vaene belongs to me.”
When the other woman opened her mouth to protest, Cyras already knew what she would say would be a lie. There would be no way that Lord Arturis would prefer her over the woman he liberated. Cyras shared a bond with her mate. It was something that she would deny if asked about, but the bond was still there. After all, the emotion for him was what drove her hatred for him.
“So I will remind you with pain. There will be no other reminders,” she continued, gnashing her teeth as she spoke.
As the other Sith was enveloped in the violet streaks emerging from Cyras's fingertips, she convulsed uncontrollably on the floor. If anything, the lesson for the apprentice would have been that there was no where safe for her.
“If that fact slips your mind again, you will die.”
IC:
Dim light reflected off her dark, leather robes. Darkness lined the corridor, shadowing all in its inky embrace. She preferred the solitude in the star ship. It comforted her, speaking to a part of her that she carried since she was a slave. Even though she tried, that simple part of her could not be shed. It clung to her as if it was a large twisting branch of a deaden tree reaching for the poisoned sky of Quesh.
Anger wrapped itself firmly around her like a cocoon. It seethed, bubbling vigorously at the edges of her mind. Unlike most of her kind, the pure-blooded female controlled her wrath. She was not a slave of her emotions. The young woman could bottle them up like a bartender placed a cap on a bottle of Jama Juice.
Strands of lifeless, thin, ebony hair fell forward and covered her twin fiery orbs. Her thinning hair was a product to the mastery of the force. She suspected that she would loose all the features that made her beautiful by the time she massed the amount of power she wished.
She sneered. Of course, losing her beauty was a small price to pay. When she had unlimited power, she would not worry about how she looked. People would look upon her and fear her. That was enough for her.
Her footsteps echoed hollowly down the hallway. The air inside the ship wrapped its invisible, lifeless tendrils around her pale throat, trying to squeeze the anger out of her.
Even with her intense control, she felt the rage sputtering inside of her like boiling water. The emotion hissed, splattering against her heart. She breathed in, focusing the searing emotion in front of her mind.
“Lord Corvelli,” a soft, masculine voice called out to her. The false respect laced the edge of his voice like venom coating a blade.
Without looking at him, she knew who he was. This man greeted her with her title whenever she boarded the ship. He welcomed everyone who was a higher rank in the military like a puppy welcoming his master home. She found his admiration to be valuable. After all, what woman in her right mind did not want to be greeted when she first arrived anywhere.
“Should I inform Lord Arturis of your arrival?”
Lord Arturis, her mind whispered to her. The anger clenched inside of her again. In its ferocity, she almost doubled over. The Lord of that particular ship belonged to her. It was fated since their former master, Lord Dalek Vitorre, had taken a pure-blood as an apprentice.
Because of another circumstance, she did not want the owner of the vessel to know that she was there. It was ironic in a sort of way. Even though she had her own ship, a well equipped Fury, she preferred to travel on his vessel. The pirate knew how to fly the starship, and she wanted to be close to her mate.
“No, Captain,” she growled. Fury welled up inside of her again. She was unable to push it down. Like a wild fire racing among dead brush, it raged and forced her to see anything but red. Of course, she should have basked in the glorious emotion.
“Very well,” the dark haired man replied. “He is in his chambers.”
Lord Corvelli did not need to ask what his master was doing in his chambers. The woman already knew. Whether it was by looking at star maps or reading background reports on his targets, he always was one step ahead of those who he sought to destroy. It was one of the reasons that he was the Right Hand of his master.
Her mate, Lord Arturis, was perfection. His sanguine skin sang of his ideal heritage. As seen by tests on Korriban, she knew that the red marks were diluted amongst the higher hierarchy of the Sith. It was no surprise that her Lord would take another Sith Pure-blood as his mate. Even as diluted as she was, it did not matter to him. His own blood would counteract the high traces of human in her own. Their children would go on to become powerful Sith, repopulating the Order with their kind.
Instead of going to his chambers, she veered left. Others would thought her lost. She had been on that ship many times. In truth, she knew exactly where she was going.
For her acceptance (or the illusion of her freedom) of his demand, she had one request of him. He was to remain faithful. Although she felt strong emotions, she did not require it because she loved Lord Arturis. Love rarely played a part in the marriage and relationships of Sith Lord. Their arrangement was about strength and power (along with populating the ranks of Sith with their children). With her pure-blooded mate and their combined strengths, they would be able to remove their respective masters.
Pushing her hair from her face, she inhaled. She reached up and pulled the leather hood over her hair and face. The shadows comforted her, stoking her fury.
Standing in the doorway of her target destination, she let her eyes adjust to the sparse lightning. Again, the anger inside of her churned. Red haze colored her gaze. She would have liked to relish in the fury, basking in its blinding ambiance. The emotion was as seductive as any cantina slave.
The engine hummed quietly, vibrating through the ship. Lord Arturis always took excellent care of the ship and made upgrades to it whenever it was possible. She thought it was one of the ships with the most defense in the galaxy. Of course, her pirate friend would state that something could always be added to the Fury.
In the middle of the floor, bathed in complete darkness, her mate's apprentice sat. Like Lord Corvelli, dark shoulder-length hair framed her heart-shaped face. Her hands rested on her knees.
As she waited for the other woman to notice her, she knew she would be waiting for quite some time. She understood what the other woman was doing. Much like she was not to long ago, Lord Arturis' apprentice was trying to focus on her anger and bring the emotion to the center of her mind.
Of course, she knew what the fury was about. She understood that, also. They both shared a twin wrath. In fact, the apprentice was the reason why she was on that ship in the first place. It would have been regret if Lord Corvelli had the ability to feel compassion.
The other woman was not paying attention to anything else, a product of her inexperience. Growing up underneath the thumb of Lord Vitorre, her former master, Lord Cyras Corvelli knew that being unaware of her surroundings would lead to abuse and death. Her mate's apprentice did not have that background.
It was foolish to think about. This woman thought she was safe on her master's ship. After all, nothing would have the audacity to attack him. The apprentice worshiped her master, becoming blind to anything else. Nothing could be further from the truth.
Lord Corvelli knew the sadistic tendencies of Lord Vaene Arturis. He threatened to skin people and eat them raw. While many thought it was an intimidation tactic (or a joke at worst), many did not know about her mate's unusual appetite. He would never consume a pure-blood, but he had no qualms thinning out the rest of the galaxy's population. Though the current threat was from an outside source, the apprentice was not even entirely safe with Vaene. He was certain to kill her if she ever failed him.
“Hello, underling.”
The apprentice stood up, kowtowing in fear. While the other woman did not shake, Cyras could smell the fear wafting off of her. If she was not as trained as well as she was, she would have missed it.
Anger welled up as Cyras gazed upon her. The only part of her that was visible to the other woman was the bottom of her pale chin and her lips. Black raced along her upper lip, completely covering it, and a small strip of ebony snaked vertically down the middle of her bottom. It was a striking complexion that Lord Vitorre had forced her to wear before Vaene had secured her freedom.
Silence stretched between them. Cyras liked the uncomfortable sensation roaring off of the other woman. Anger continue to build inside of her and threatened to reach a crescendo. The fury and uncomfortableness mixed and jerked together, combining into a powerful explosion.
“What do you need, Lord Corvelli?” the other woman questioned carefully, trying her utmost to show the Sith Lord her due respect. Lord Arturis's apprentice had not been Sith long, and she was unfamiliar with the protocol. Cyras knew the best she could do was imitate how her master would act in that situation, and the other woman had guessed right. It was too bad that Lord Corvelli did not care about that.
“Your pain!” Cyras snarled as she brought her hands up gracefully. Violet lightning arced from her fingertips, into the apprentice's body.
The other woman cried out in pain, her back arching. Branches of lightning glided gracefully over the curves of her breasts, the flat of her stomach, and planes of her hips. The burnt smell of fabric was alluring to Lord Corvelli.
Cyras was unrelenting, continuing her torture of the woman she viewed as a rival until she collapsed to the floor, still screaming and writhing in pain. Anger continue to flow through her, driving her motives. She called upon it and released it in jolts upon the apprentice.
Shock after shock jolt entered the younger woman's body. Her screams were a symphony to Cyras, enticing the Sith Lord to increase her attacks like a Nexxu around the smell of blood. It excited her as it urged her into a frenzy.
Lord Corvelli stopped for a moment. A cruel smile touched the corners of her mouth.
“What is the meaning of this?” the apprentice managed after catching her breath.
The mere question infuriated Cyras more than anything. If Lord Arturis had not accidentally left the com link open, she would never had considered this other woman a rival. Had she thought about the simple issue, she would have understood that her mate had left the channel open on purpose. Perhaps, he wanted to show her how desirable to others he was. He was conniving like that.
“What have I done to deserve this?”
“You forget your place,” Cyras hissed, “and you forget mine.”
Reaching up, the apprentice pushed sizzled hair out of her face. Most of her skin was unblemished. Cyras knew that the apprentice would not take on the physical appearance of her attack until later that week. It was the same as being struck by lightning. Wounds did not show up right away.
“I am a Lord of the Sith. I need no reason to do this. I could kill you on a whim, and no one would care or remember you.”
Inciting more of her ire, the apprentice did not answer her. Like a willful child, she simply stared up at the looming Sith. Hatred rolled off of her, and Cyras delighted in making the other feel as she did. She wanted to see her ruin, falling on her knees before her. However, she knew that her mate had taught his apprentice well. That would never happen.
Again, lightning arced from her fingertips crackling into the apprentice's body. She wanted to teach her a lesson, something that she would never forget. There would be no forgetting her or her lesson.
Crying out once more, the other woman moved spasmodically from the pain wracking her. She jerked forward and backward on the floor. For a moment, Cyras was reminded of a fish out of water. Vaene's apprentice had the intellectual capacity of one, she thought, bitterly.
Cyras relented once more, taking a moment to rest. She allowed her distaste of the woman to build inside of her. Clenching her teeth together, she glared at the trash on the floor before her.
Silence stretched before them again. The smell of the other's burnt flesh and garments, mixing in the air, provided an inebriating aroma.
“If you must know, underling,” Lord Corvelli threatened, expressionlessly, “I see the way you eye your master and heard the way you talked to him. You fail to remember that not only is he above your station, Vaene belongs to me.”
When the other woman opened her mouth to protest, Cyras already knew what she would say would be a lie. There would be no way that Lord Arturis would prefer her over the woman he liberated. Cyras shared a bond with her mate. It was something that she would deny if asked about, but the bond was still there. After all, the emotion for him was what drove her hatred for him.
“So I will remind you with pain. There will be no other reminders,” she continued, gnashing her teeth as she spoke.
As the other Sith was enveloped in the violet streaks emerging from Cyras's fingertips, she convulsed uncontrollably on the floor. If anything, the lesson for the apprentice would have been that there was no where safe for her.
“If that fact slips your mind again, you will die.”
