A Feast of Carnality

[Pureblood-Sin]

We have time, stated Sin'ryk inwardly and somewhat neurotically; outwardly, he gave the servants of his household orders. Prepare the food as according to his instruction, ensure the banners were held aloft in between Tuk'ata skulls and tribal spears...ensure the layers of oil were re-applied on their beautiful torsos. Everything seemed to be going to plan in the end. Reaching out to the Force, he then proceeded to send Tsisaar and Pol, who were tending to the main living chambers of the mansion, a telepathic message.

How fare things on your end my apprentices, I trust everything is going to plan?

Indeed, the Red Sith had assigned his apprentice with the task of overseeing the servants in that part of the mansion; no doubt the instructions would be the same. These men were adorned with faulds at the waist that shimmered with precious metals, with bands of gold and gemstones upon their arms; as High Arcanist, he had accrued much wealth...and Ancestors did it show. The fruits of his labours had yielded many rewards, and now he was harvesting them to use in his latest endeavour; to curry favour with the Empress Andraste. Whilst Sin'ryk didn't particularly approve of mass murder, she was the most powerful Force-User in the Imperium...and powerful beings did intrigue him greatly. The Red Sith himself had adorned himself with ornate robes that opened at the breast, revealing more of the tattooed carnelian flesh beneath. His feet were adorned with silvery sandals and his hair was woven into intricate braids with rings of gold upon the crimson tresses. The air was filled with sweet-smelling incense and the sound of a Yinchorri Red Sith musician plying his primordial art with voice and instrument. It was planned that he'd do this as the Empress entered the Chambers before switching to a gentle instrumental rhythm. Whilst the servants carried out their works, the High Arcanist waited at the entrance for the Empress to arrive. He wasn't nervous, but it would prove key to make an impression.

 

[Elijah Brockway]

"Not shiny enough, Jeret," Tsisaar said to the servant in front of him. While the other servants in the space were doing all the rest of the work they were supposed to do, the 6'5'', 195 pound human that Tsisaar was currently talking to had yet to make himself fit to the quality standard that Sin'ryk generally wanted. "You're supposed to be glistening with oil, not just have a light sheen. Go grab Arin and have him help you this time, please." The large human nodded, turning around and heading back towards the servant's quarters, before grabbing a Lethan Twi'lek and pulling him along with him. Tsisaar, meanwhile, was happy that the man understood that it was mainly just business, and wasn't insulted by the criticism. Then he turned around, looking over the placements of the various decorations, from banners and tribal weapons to expensive artworks crafted from crystalline glass and gold.

Each was perfectly cleaned, though a few were slightly misplaced on their shelves. Tsis reached out with the Force, moving each little piece the fractions of centimetres required to bring them to their proper placings, in order to ensure that they pulled the eye around the room as they were supposed to. Once he had finished with that, he recognized his Master's voice speaking in his head.

"Other than Jeret's lack of ability to properly oil himself, everything is fine," he mentally replied to Sin'ryk. He'd been around his master - and other Sith - often enough that he was starting to pick up telekinetic communication based on observation alone, though he had yet to be the one to initiate the connection. He hadn't practiced that yet. He had, however, been somewehat busy on Muunilinst recently. Now, though, he was back in a comfortable place he knew well, and wasn't busy attacking any reticent, rebellious beings or the like. No, now he could let himself relax somewhat.

He turned around to watch what another group of servants was doing, a small amount of cleaning, his robes turning as he did so. He wasn't really wearing anything special - just a usual set of the dark robes he normally wore - but at least they weren't what he trained in, so they were in much better shape. "Would you like us to come down there some time soon? Your servants are just about finished with things where I'm at, at least."

 

[Sreeya]

She wasn't one to come out to gatherings all too often. In truth, she had been reclusive, traveling under the radar from planet to planet to get a pulse on the Imperium and its citizens. There was much distress, though the galaxy appeared relatively uneventful from the Jedi and Rebel side. She had no true foe to fight, and her consistent hold on power was causing unrest within her ranks. Though detached, Andraste was no fool. She knew the whispers, the teeth grinding and the hatred that poured out since the fiasco resulting in hundreds of deaths at her hands. Truth be told, the woman cared little. She knew she was slightly unhinged, a troubling thought she had been combating since.

When the invitation came to her, she had mulled it over for a long time before agreeing to it. She was suspicious of everything and everyone, her yellow hawk-like gaze surveying every detail around her. As she approached through the entrance, she could tell a lot of effort had been placed in setting this up for her. Her eyes roamed over the men, her ears took in the sounds, and her head felt almost light with the calming smells.

The Empress was garbed in all black, her tight black curls falling down her back. She wore a tight fitting dress that flared out below her waist. She was short in stature, a reality that always shocked people that met her for the first time. Regardless of how small and frail she was, the power she commanded was almost tangible. A biting chill would set in the hall as she entered, the Force purring and coiling around its master. Every Force sensitive would pick up on it. Her pallid face was gaunt, shadows on her cheeks and under her eyes, with her animalistic gaze upon Sin'ryk.

"This is rather charming, Darth Maleficar. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

 

[Srota]

Hands flashed in rapid movements, directing orders silently to the servants whom he had been placed in charge of. He was having some trouble with the task as few could understand the signed directions, and the mute Kel Dor was hesitant to use his recently developed telepathic skills for something so mundane as directing servants, especially as it still required more concentration and effort than he would have liked to admit.

With an inward sigh, he shook his head and pointed to the oil, then to the servants, and back to the oil. He watched the group go, applying it to their bared chests until they were up to his master's standards. Once he had given them his gesture of approval, Pol moved towards the hallway, allowing his mind to seek out the familiar presence of his master, as he gritted his teeth in the strain of concentration, for he was just at the edge of his effective range. But that was growing with every day, for every time he used this new ability, he allowed himself to push his limits, he would improve, he would show his master how well he had improved by working on his own.

He could feel the sweat as it trickled down his brow, his effort in reaching out to Sin'ryk quite visible, until at last he found him, and he tried to let his mind join with his master's, slipping through the outermost levels of mental wards that defended the Sith's mind. Master... Finished... Returning... Join you... Then he stopped short, just for a moment, the long black robes that marked him as a lowly acolyte coming to a stop and wrapping about his leg. There was a pressure, heavy, intense, overbearing, not unlike that of a weight pressed against his chest. It took him a moment to recognize just what it was that he felt, and he smiled, a hint of jealousy in the expression, the empress was here...

 

[Darth Maleficar]

Chuckling inwardly at Tsisaar's response, whilst understanding Pol's more austere reply; just before he could return a message, an intense, icy presence crossed the periphery of his vast sensorium. Focussing his second sight, Sin'ryk honed in upon a black aura that seemed to drink in the metaphysical light of the Force; such a sensation he was used to, having bathed in the presence of innumerable spirits that conveyed a similar, albeit weaker, aura. In that instant, as he turned, he deduced that his pivotal guest had arrived just before she spoke.

"This is rather charming, Darth Maleficar. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

A smile manifested upon his face, his facial tendrils swayed gently as the High Arcanist bowed before Empress Andraste. Whilst short in stature, he knew something greater was masked by her slight appearance.. Whilst he could not visually perceive her gaze upon him, he could feel it; as though he was merely a Nerf at the mercy of a Tuk'ata. Most would be afraid, but not him; rather, it was excitement that coursed through him. Gently taking the Empress' hand, the Red Sith kissed it as a mark of respect displayed by the wider galaxy.

"My lady Empress, it is but my pleasure to accommodate you in my, well, less-than-humble abode." He spoke, radiating his genuineness, for he had nothing to hide from her Imperial Majesty. "I trust that your journeys have not troubled you? These are trying times for our Imperium."

Bowing once again, he then proceeded to respond to the messages of his Apprentices.

Remain where you both are; her ladyship has come, be ready. Inform the servants to bring the first course and the beverages at hand.

After that was said, he then proceeded to offer his arm to Andraste; conveying his famed hospitality. Head slightly lowered respectfully, Sin'ryk once more spoke.

"Your Imperial Majesty, my hospitality is at your disposal; to the living chambers where my apprentices await at your bidding."

 

[Elijah Brockway]

Tsisaar watched the servants for a few moments more while he waited for Sin'ryk's reply, watching as Pol momentarily left the room. He had yet to get to really know the young Kel'dor, though he had no doubt that would change as time came to pass. It was inevitable that he'd have to get acquainted with his master's other apprentice. He turned back to the servants, and then stopped his movements.

A moment later, he shuddered, a coldness almost inimical to life itself passing not over him, but through him, into his very being. A sensation born of the Force and interpreted by the mind to be afflicted upon the body; this was something far stronger than he was used to, and he had been around Sin'ryk, Geist Weiss, and numerous other Sith quite often. That left only one person, the Empress herself.

Tsisaar was back to normal in seconds, hearing another command from Sin'ryk. "As you wish," he replied, before his attention returned to the material world. He gestured one of the leading servants over - Arin, it was; the Twi'lek had returned from aiding Jeret rather quickly. Jeret, meanwhile, looked like he'd finally reached the standard. "Arin, our guest has arrived; if you would, it would be much appreciated if you could motivate the others into retrieving the first course of our little meal, as well as some liquid refreshments." The Lethan Twi'lek nodded respectfully, turning about on his heel and gathering the rest of the servants together to see to the commands. That done, he moved over to the door where Andraste and Sin'ryk would be entering, standing beside it and ready to offer his own greeting.

And being relatively happy that he had left aside the bulky, thick outer robe that normally went with the set of clothing he was currently wearing. It wouldn't do good to be hot and sweaty, as that garment would make him.

 

[Srota]

Pol felt the words in his head, the voice echoing as though in an empty cavity, he nodded his head and allowed his mind to reach out to Sin'ryk once more, saying only one word Understood. With that, he spun on his heels once more and returned to the room with Tsisaar, looking over the slaves as they went about their business and taking a few moments to fiddle with a decoration, putting it in its proper location, before turning to his own appearance next. First, fingers came up and ran over the mask that hid his mouth and provided him with the proper gasses needed for him to breathe, as well as the eyepieces that covered his eyes and helped maintain pressure in vacuum. Next, he looked down, checking the clothes that he wore. He was dressed in a black set of robes with a long cloak over his shoulders, the only hint of style to the ensemble in the silver belt buckle that seemed to catch the light in a reflection of the Symbol of the Sith Empire. He had selected this so as to be unassuming, after all, he was hardly the focal point of this gathering, and instead he planned to keep himself to the sides of the conversation.

He could feel the pair approaching, the cold shudder seemed to be all encompassing, consuming him as the weight of the Empress's presence in the force grew heavier and heavier forcing him to steel himself for the events to come. His fingers moved rapidly in the signs as he directed a few idle servants to their places and took his own, ready to follow the appropriate protocols for meeting the Empress in such a setting.