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Telperiën Ar-Pharazon

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About Telperiën Ar-Pharazon

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  • Birthday 12/26/1991


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  1. It was strange how easily that silent fear of rejection and disappointment came creeping back into her heart. She pushed against those thoughts as she looked upon her mother. So much had changed but her mother had stayed the same beautiful woman who had left her behind at Dathomir. She nodded to her mother’s quiet praise and strode with her to the abandoned benches near where Delta was talking to some Imperial officer. Sitting down, Telperien adjusted the maille shirt she wore over her dark leather tunic and looked her mother in the eye. A nervous finger idly wrapped and unwrapped itself around one of her dathomiri braids. “I have chosen the lonely path of a Sith. I have not sworn to any order other than the Dathomiri, though perhaps that’ll come in time. For now they need all the help they can be to become strong.” She looked down at a discarded cup of mead and with a shrug downed it. She looked back at her mother. “And you mother? How have you been? I can’t imagine you feel any different having been on Korriban.”
  2. The dark scale mail felt heavy on her shoulders after the first hour of talking her way in circles around the Dark Lord’s company. It marked her clearly apart from the Rest of the Sith except for her own dark haired mother. In physical age, Telperien was not much younger than her mother, for the body she had devoured and assumed was of a woman in her early twenties. But inside she was still quite young, trapped in the ever changing outward corpse. This form was one that she had assumed and kept the longest as an adult body had its own distinct set of advantages. She was quite happy not being treated as a young little girl anymore, but the other look in men’s eyes, those made her distinctly nervous. She shrugged off another man’s advances with a laugh and drained her class to the dregs. Breathe, burn it off. It’s not worth the intoxication. Another breath and the alcohol burned away in her stomach, leaving her feeling warm but otherwise unaffected. She circled the room again, gold flecked amethyst eyes flicking between her mother and her adopted father. Why did they both seem so lonely? Was there something in the quest for power that left everyone with such torn souls? She didn’t feel lonely. Was there something wrong with her? She decided it was time to find out exactly that and stepped up to her mother. She opened her strong arms wide and placed a crooked smile on her lips that she had learned from Delta during her time in the body of the young girl. She was very different now in appearance, strong, beautiful even, but her spirit was the same. And deep inside she yearned for her mother to be proud of her. “Mother” Came the strangled and emotional whisper.
  3. Telperien touched the center of her forehead with a bloody finger and bowed. First to the Spider, then to the Darth Nyrys. Then the Dathomiri spun on her heel and marched from the room. She walked the long corridors of the Super Star Destroyer with little focus as she searched for a barracks that was not occupied with troops or pilots. She had quarters, but they were kilometers away through many levels of turbolifts so when the next barrack quarters appeared on her left she turned in. It was relatively quiet. A pilot’s dormitory whose crew was not yet back. She waved hello to the mouse droid that scurried around the room and placed her satchel down. She withdrew from it her dathomiri war garb and frowned slightly at the lack of polish on the interlocking darkmetal scales. She growled and rubbed the suit over with one of the rags found on the counter, then stripped herself of her robe and uniform. She stepped into the refresher and let the warm water run through her hair. Blood from her arm pooled in the water currents that ran through her toes to circle the drain at her feet. A liberal application of soap from the dispenser on the wall, more water, then she toweled off and sat down in front of the mirror. Unlike the Sith Lady some distance away, she did not partake in transformation into beast but nervously looked for signs of decay. Inside the eyelid, gums, ears, tongue. No bleeding, no sign of the disease that she was terrified would waste her away again. The last gift as a child she had been given from the Dathomiri she had so recently overthrown. With no sign of that wasting disease she sat back and looked at the sheepishly grinning face in the mirror. Pretty, if a bit plain. Chapped lips and a wide grin over a tan and slightly freckled face. Dark hair that her strong fingers were pulling into braids. When the hair was finished, she dressed, finishing with her boots, she looked again at the armour she wore. Leather jerkin with a scale maille vest of sith darkmetal, a bare left arm, which she had covered with a thick leather vambrace. Pants of leather, boots, and a belt. She looked all the part of an archer from millennia ago. So I represent my people well. And she strode to where the brawl was beginning.
  4. “I would hope so Lord, all tools have their purpose until they break and must be discarded.” The lazy hatefulness she let slip with those words betrayed her true feelings for her father. The hate was too thickly laid on and the lie was laid bare to anyone who had a nose enough to smell through the lies. Weakness was something her race struggled with from birth. And compared to the Lady before her, she was at the disadvantage. But she had earned her rank nonetheless. She smiled softly at the Dark Lord before turning to the Lady. “A pleasure Lady Nyrys.” She looked the woman in the eyes and curtsied slightly. It was an honour to finally meet the woman who had fought so well over Dark Sun, some troopers had whispered about an all devouring power. And Telperien could almost taste the power and bristling defense radiating off the woman so Telperien took another approach. One of honesty. She had no desire to see this woman as an enemy, it would only serve the Jedi if they were. “A cut from my bowstring, Unfortunately the Jedi prove themselves cowards and did not assault us here. As for the why, as you can tell by my accent I am Dathomiri.” She crooked a familiar conspiratorial smile that she had picked up from her non biological father. “You see we were bred with a handicap, a foil to keep us from reaching our full potential. We need a totem to concentrate on the force, something to pump the power through. Some use pain and blood magic, some use circles drawn on the ground and chanting. So I use a mix of all. ” Was it wise to broadcast her inability to this woman? Not at all. But perhaps it would buy her a friend, something she was in deadly need of in the Sith Empire. And if that didn't work, there was always the sabre and the bow.
  5. Fingers tapped absentmindedly on the bronzium hilt of her lightsaber as Telperien walked from shadow to shadow, navigating by feeling until she stood in the doorway of where the Spider and his Beautiful new lordling were standing. Telperien licked her lips apprehensively then bowed low to the Spider. She could sense the tension in the air as she strode forward, her bloody fingers playing with the emitter switch on the ancient blade slung at her waist. She took a steady breath and smiled, knowing she was obviously interrupting some kind of romantic event. This form that Telperien now wore was indeed beautiful, but she did not have the grace that this new Sith Lord carried with her with every step. “Has my dear father Ca’Aran disappointed you my Lord?” Her eagerness to kill spilled with her words, coating them with a thick helping of desire. Ar-Pharazon had been her biological sire, but she had only ever experienced Delta as a father figure and so referred to him as such. Even if he was a weakling in the eyes of the Emperor. Her yellow-purple eyes found Nyrys and she smiled again and bowed her head to the woman. “I do not believe I have made your acquaintance Mistress, I am Darth Annwn, or Telperien Ar-Pharazon.” If her Dathomiri accent did not give away who her mother had been she did not need to know. Qaela was seeming out of favour in the court so Telpeirien would not bring up any of her lineage further. Not that she needed it, her actions against the Wolf had spoken enough for her. But Telperien was eager to have something to do. The lack of Jedi assault on the Scarab made her fingers twitch.
  6. Strong arms flexed, muscles bunching as they pulled back the hemp cord that was attached to the long durasteel infused yew bow staff. The staff ‘creaked’ audibly as it reached its furthest point of bend, the maximum amount of power concentrated in the compression along the spine of the bow. Exhale. Then release. The black feather fletchings brushed by Telperien’s mouth as they guided the arrow towards the duraloid plate a hundred feet away in the hanger. The cord itself slapped along the woman’s arm tearing at the calluses and scabs that streaked from base of wrist to curve of elbow. The wicked bite of that bow gave the woman power, the pain amplifying the force she used to guide and help the arrow. She was Dathomiri after all, and the curse of those people was present in her as well. They needed...things to concentrate their force. They could not just summon the power at will, perhaps it was in their blood, a weakness that made them the ‘lesser’ of the Sith. Many of them could barely be described as a feral dark jedi, damned by their blood to using totems, lines of chalk, and as in Telperien’s case, Pain to focus herself. The arrow streaked through the hanger in a blur, the passage of the arrow causing a snap in the arrow as it punctured the sound barrier, then another snap as it impacted the thick lamellated plate, of the kind the poorer mandalorians wore. The wicked bodkin point of the arrow, a darksteel spike some five inches long, easily shattered the plate, dragging the heavy dark ash shaft through the hole it made until the fletching stopped the arrow. Three more arrows found their mark alongside the first hole and Telperien was satisfied with her work. Her amethyst eyes searched the hanger for the returning starfighters and she spat on the decking as a wave of undamaged fighters made their return. The Jedi had not assaulted the Black Scarab, and her time in the hanger had been wasted. She cursed and placed the horn tip of the bow against her boot and pulled with all her strength on the other end to destring the bow. The bow returned to its straight staff appearance and she knelt to wrap it in its leather sling. Unlike most holofilm producers, she knew that bows left strung for even hours without battlefield use would lose their power. The staff forming a permanent curve and losing its superior strength. Only after the bow was slung onto her back and the hemp string tucked away in an oiled pouch did she look at her bleeding arm. She smiled and as she walked into the turbolift to the bridge ignoring the flight officer who gave her a wide berth. When he departed the lift she lifted her arm and licked the blood from her weeping wounds. The taste was as sweet as it ever was. Plus she needed to clean up to see the Spider.
  7. So you yet live child? Darksteel arrowheads slid across a wetstone, guided by the precision of the force as the pair walked together towards the boarding shuttles for the dreadnaught. Another dark arrow slid into the bag that was tied to Telperien’s thin waist. Why do you desire to follow in such troublesome venture? Do you not see that you will end in decay and death? The golden eyes turned amethyst in hue and the corners of her lips trembled into a soft smile. Boot gracefully set foot onto the decking of the Scarab as the servant of the Spider led her apprentice to the bridge. Find that part of you that wishes to do evil and explain it to me. Do not go into this darkness without forethought. You can gain power in other ways than sacrificing yourself to the wiles of the darkside. They were home. They were in the master's service, and they would be used for his will.
  8. Amethyst eyes narrowed in anticipation The Apprentice listened to her master’s words. The pale pink eyes flickered from his dark ominous form to that of the girl that knelt beside her. She was underwhelming and wholly untested. With a firm nod, she drew her knife from its slim leather sheath and flicked it across the other girl’s neck, letting the blood mist across her fingers. It did not cut vital arteries but slashed through throat and vocal cords with ease. She put a pale hand on the girls head and shoved her to the ground. Speaking without a voice. Your first lesson is this young Melodie. Do not die. Fix yourself up and learn to speak without words. If you have questions you will ask them of me telepathically or not at all. She enunciated these words with a savage kick, before tossing a strip of medical gauze and the cauterizer from the kit on her belt which landed in the pooling blood. Follow us then. Or don’t. “Thank you My Lord.” She spoke for the first time, acknowledging the promotion before striding after the Spider. She had what she needed, her wits, her bow, and her sabre.
  9. The great doors opened before Telperien, the hinges whining against the strain of the heavy doors as the wto women walked through the high arch of the dark doorway. Telperien’s eyes were wide and amethyst as she brought the woman before her King, and when she felt his presence before her she fell to one knee, dragging the girl down beside her. Her voice was thick with accent and gravel like. The last vestige of the disease that had claimed so many of her previous bodies. “My lord, all Dathomir bows before you. My people, once lost, now have begun their journey into your shadow.” She upturned her face and opened her eyes. “I bring you one I would wish as my apprentice should you allow it.” She turned her head to Eve. “Speak child.”
  10. “He is master of this universe and his ships carry his visage to the ends of the Galactic Rim.” With speed that came from coild muscles and the force, Telperien grabbed the wrist of the Melodie and brought the Bodkin down until its razor sharp tip caressed the soft white skin of the girl’s palm. Then it lowered a centimeter to bite in with a horrid mix of pain and blood. A slash, then the daughter of Ar-Pharazon did the same to her own palm and grasped the girls hand in hers. Their blood mixing as it bubbled between their fingers. “Then I will make you such a weapon, and you will become a scourge on this galaxy.” The Ship settled down on its landing struts and she smiled at the girl as she pulled her towards the boarding ramp. “But first you must meet my Master. The Spider in all his glory. “ And she pulled hte girl down the ramp towards the palace of the Dark Lord.
  11. "Dathomir as it was is a shambles of a once great community, its denizens subjugated and starving, and now with the aide of the Sith and the rule of a blessed patriarch such as the Spider we will see them return to greatness." The Sith shuttle hurtled through hyperspace, Tel having quite consciously kidnapped the clueless Melodie and had decided to whisk her off into service of the Dark lord. A gift much as it was, alongside the news of the subjugation of the Nightsisters. Telperien stood in front of the Melodie, her hands clasping hard the bow of yew that she held, destrung so that the bow did not follow the cord and thus become the weaker for it. A precurved bow being the weaker bow beside a bow as straight as its first forming. And Telperien was proud of that black yew bow and so carried it with her wherever she went. A powerful weapon besides being a talisman of sorts to focus through. She looked at the young girl, her smile carrying no joy. "We go to see the ruler of this galaxy, the Spider, the King Beyond the stars. You have potential within you, and I will exploit that to form you into a weapon as powerful as I am. But you must still choose." She withdrew a bodkin with its wicked point ground to a molecular edge and pointed it to the younger girl, the tip a mere inch from her nose. "You can choose the life of a weapon, or die. That is your choice, and you have no other. Take the arrow or be taken by it. Embrace your destiny and or I will not let such a powerful tool find its way into the hands of the Jedi." And as that horrible choice was presented, the sith shuttle arrived over Onderon.
  12. Telperiën placed her bare foot against the withered skull of Talketa, the leader of the coven. With a quick pull of her hand and a push of her foot, the long wicked arrow withdrew itself from the left eyesocket of the fallen nightsister. The grinding slurp of the arrow against eyesocket and brain echoed in the small antichamber and the Herald of the King Beyond the Stars finished her work. The coven had been defeated, their leader felled, and with that done the Sith would begin their force civilization of these brutes. _______________________________ Some time later, the Apprentice walked on bare feet through the forest, her Amethyst eyes catching sight of Eve. Her voice was like gravel as she hailed the girl. With a breath she could smell the potential on the girl. So she broke into a run and skidded to a halt next to the Melodie. “Where art thou going stranger? I have not seen one such as you around Dathomir before.” She pointed to where her ship was coming in to hover some hundred yards ahead of them in a clearing among the bracken and fallen rocks. “If you wish to leave this place, you need only follow.” And with that the daughter of Ar-Pharazon broke again into a run, disappearing up the ramp. @Chaotic Tranquility Feel free to Join me aboard my ship.
  13. As the self contained storm within the cave became a crackling inferno of whipping winds and static electricity that caused every hair to stand on end on Telperiën’s bare forearms. The storm beat at her, buffeting her in its wind as the crowd behind her cried out in terror. It was that terror that Telperiën held onto like a vice. The terror, the anger, all of it held her firm against the storm. Step by step the young daughter of the Golden God strode forward, her bare feet finding purchase on the rough surface of the cave’s ground. All the while the bow sang, its arrows carried in the arms of the force. Slithering tendrils of her presence arced out in a multifaceted approach, carrying the arrows true to their targets. The slashing pain of the bow string cutting deep into the scab in her arm and slinging blood in a fine mist to cover the fletching of each arrow. She could have angled her arm better so that the bite of the hemp rope was not so painful, but the reason was twofold. The pain sharpened her mind and her blood on the arrows allowed her to concentrate fully upon them and bend them with her mind. Covering them with the force and blood to pierce the breast of the leader of the council. As Telperiën spun her counterspell. På Helvegen Lightning arced towards Telperiën and she held up a long fingered hand which was covered in the scars and calluses of a bowman. It would take everything within her to resist the coven.
  14. Eyes in their hundreds stared at the lamellated armour that stretched across Telperiën’s back like a second skin. The expensive Sith armour was held together and bonded to the skintight jumpsuit that she wore, the lamellated scales duly reflecting the firelight in hues of green and dark crimson as the muscles on her back arched as her strong mailled arms brought the bow into its curve. The kyrat bone tip of the yew shaft shoveled into the ground as she held it in place against her boot, one hand brought the hemp cord from the grounded edge to the other end of the bow as she bent it into its shape. The apprentice of the Spider was strong and the bow itself was nearly two meters in length, which while bent into its bow configuration still came to rest an inch above her temple. She finally spoke when the bow was placed before her and the bag of arrows opened and tied to her waist. “Then I will challenge you seven. The Herald of the King Beyond the Stars against the leaders of the Coven of Nightsisters.” Her yellow eyes flashed as she grinned as they smirked back at her. There was so much that she had learned in the years she had been gone from this backwater world. Learned at the hands of the King which they so easily dismissed. A backwards culture for a backwater world. They would need updating, and the Sith would not let their children, no matter how backwards, remain in destitution and obscurity. This was the Age of the Sith. And they would not be left to cower in caves while their brethren rose to the noontide of their power. For she was the Herald of the King, his apprentice, and she would bring these people to heel, and she figured it would only take seven lives. The crowd grew silent at her back as the seven stood, beginning their attack. She held up he hand as she grabbed a bodkin with its wicked point. “And you will be silent before his glory.” Their chanting had begun and the room begin to fill with static electricity as they called down their magiks into a storm. “Korrastan-” And the bow sang, its arrow carried in the arms of the force.
  15. The Forging of the Nightsisters of Myrkengodi Pt 1. The Council The Apprentice stood still before the seven women, all older, all wearing a mix of hide and dark capes. Their white hair dirty, filled with twigs, and unbrushed, giving the elders of the combined tribes a haggard appearance. Talketa their leader, whom Telperiën had known a decade prior was laughing at Telperiën’s own appearance. Their voices mocked her beauty, the lack of blemishes that harried their ideas of the darkside. But Telperiën had seen much more horror in the depths of Korriban and on Onderon that she could not find it in herself to fear these old women. Talketa was jabbering on in the language of the High Dathomiri to her fellow coven leaders. Though the seven were arrayed before her beyond the large bonfire that cast cruel shadows in the cave, their figures were diminished by the light. Telperiën was not impressed by the haggard witches, or the flock of young children and old ladies at her back that were all that was left of her people from the black sun’s wroth. The children, some odd two hundred of them aged from the very young to the middle teens could be salvaged from this wreck of a society, the rest would have to be judged for their worth. Those before her, in their shamanistic robes, wearing totems, and carrying staffs that were wrapped in poisonous thorns would need to be taught humility. The old witch leaned forward towards the fire and spoke at last to Telperiën, her voice cracked and withered, and her grey white hair tangled in the crown of the witches, a woven crown of thorns. “Tell me child of the Nightsong, why should we not just kill you? Your blood is tainted child, you come with the marks of the Sith upon your skin, and we will not bow to the king beyond the stars.” Telperiën stayed silent, her eyes flexing between their natural purple and an unnatural yellow hue. The silence provoked her to anger as Telperiën unslung the bow from her back. Two guards started forward but were waved back from her by the coven council. Gilgramoth spoke next, the youngest of the council, some sixty years old and her face covered by the purple blotches of long force use. “We do not fear the bow, nor do we fear you Ar-Pharazon.” Her smile was filled with just righteousness, and she spat out Telperiën’s surname with disgust. Telperiën only grinned.
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