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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. Telperien stepped to the side as the Sithari girl vomited a stream of what looked like blood near where the other nightsisters were drawing runic circles in salt. She leaned down and pulled the girls hair away from the puddle as she vomited again and with a soft hand wiped at her mouth with a scrap of linen. Then she pulled the girl out of the seafoam and watched as the force moved without the girl even trying. Telperien sighed and sat her down in the centre of the runes, letting her continue her powerful spell, free of the inhibitions of the planet itself. No foam or bile would touch her, and the runes would amplify her power a hundred fold. It was then that the Sith solder appeared, coming like a dog to its vomit. To lap again at the font of power of which he had no right. She would have struck him then if he had not mumbled something. A slew of words that caused her to pause as she tried to sort them out. Basic was not her mother language, and the words he spoke made no sense. A blooded drexl? What? She slapped him upside the head. Hard. Hard enough for her girls to giggle. “You speak nonsense boy. Speak when spoken to, or when you pipe up say something that makes sense.”
  2. Telperien followed the girl as she concentrated, holding her scrying stick in front of her like it was a wand. It was in this configuration that they walked, for what felt like many miles but was very likely no more than a kilometer over wet and gripping sand that clung to their bare feet like grasping hands. Amethyst eyes never wavered from that stick until it dipped, then flew from the girls hands into a large expanse of red coloured sand. The girl went after it at first but Telperien shooed her back and knelt, reaching her hand slowly towards the sand, letting the force flow through her to guide her path. There is blood in this sand. Maybe it was a visual or spiritual expression, but when she dug the tips of her fingers into the wet sand they came back a crimson black. Curiosity overcame her stupor for a moment and she pushed her hand fully into the sand and felt the watery blood creep up her arm as she pressed even farther into it. And when she withdrew her strong arm, the mixture sucked at it, attempting to bring her back into itself. Perhaps the sand, being so diluted with the wellspring and oxygenated from some kind of decomposition was playing at a type of quicksand. Not a dangerous mixture, like the swamps of home, but a curiosity to be sure. She reached once more into the depths of that blood red sand, until her fingers chanced upon a hard object. She withdrew as fast as she dared before plunging her arms in again to prize the object from its grips. It was a knife. The long wicked blade had no handle, the wood, bone, or bakelite grip having long ago withered against the aggressive motion of time. But the blade itself, forged of mandalorian Iron, was warped and bent, the metal having been bubbled away in a section. So it was here. She let the knife drop back into the sand. The point fell first, then red muck slowly swallowed it again until it was lost from her sight. She looked back to her exhausted sister, her voice kindly. “Now go grab the Sand that you have dropped and bring it here.” Telperien reached into her belt and fished a flare gun from her survival pouch. She thumbed the colour wheel on the crude mini datapad at the rear end of the device until she selected and emerald green. With one hand raised to the falling night sky she depressed the trigger and sent a signal flare up, and up, and up until it starburst into green flame. Like a turbolaser falling through a boiling atmosphere. Whatever the other two had found was of no interest. For she had found the- Massacre
  3. Kaiseng the olive skinned beauty in her early twenties watched the plight of the Sith Lord with an increasing feeling of dread. Did she not know that the force was so dangerous? Were they all to be swept up into some foolish endeavour that would release gods and demons without thought? And if they were trying to summon something didn’t they need a circle of fire and totems? Were these people mad? She had long been told to stray away from the inherited ignorance of her people but this seemed insane. There were very real demons here. She could hear their whispers! But her curiosity, not yet tamed by the years of ritualistic abuse that had plagued the old sisters kept her feet walking her closer to the stream. To sister Awenydd and the man Shiro. Then they were seized bodily by the demonic and her pale blue eyes went wider still. They began to falter in the water, the forces there pulling upon them like a thousand arms dragging them to their deaths. Did they not know how to swim? The man attempted a rescue but faltered as well and Kaiseng stripped off her hide outerclothes and dove in after them. Keeping her connection to the spiritual realm very much closed. She seized the man and dragged him and the sister out of the waters onto the relatively unmuddy bank. There she sat, silent, judging, and nearly naked. She pulled three fibrous towels from Sister Ar-Pharazon’s pack and wrapped them around each of them. The man too of course, she couldn’t be that rude to someone she didn’t know. Her soft finally spoke. Addressing the two of them like a mother would address a disobedient child. "Are you mad? The river is full of them." She wiped at the brackish water with her towel and scowled at no one in particular. _______________________ The force roiled in the stench of the planet. There had been massacre here, the mass death called from the edges of her subconscious. Beckoning to be called upon, to be used, abused, brought under the dominion of someone strong. Was it really so bad to take and sup from such a cup? The question was an honest one, for there existed such a divine power that needed only to be used, what was the harm in doing so? Could it be utilized to help her people? She held out her hand to her companion. Breaking the girl’s concentration. “Enough of this, return and retrieve the salt for a circle.” The girl gave a grin and took off running towards the camp as fast as her bare feet could take her in the mud. Tel watched her leave and then knelt back down in the sand and water. Letting her mind settle. Even as the cries in the force came beckoning over the waters to her over the centuries and millennia. It was a cold furor, colder than the water that lapped at her thighs, colder than the cries of Halyee in her struggle against its power. But suddenly there was pain, a whole lot of pain, delicious agony, that furled out like a banner in the wind from the Sith near the stream’s head. But almost as soon as the problem surfaced it had been solved, leaving the agony that remained that of the ancient dead. But as her apprentice came at a dead run Telperien considered the wisdom in drawing such agony from the planet. It would be worth it. She knew it. She reached into the silt and sand and grabbed an old stick, fossilized now by the wind and salt, but it had been here. Her touch on the old grey wood brought a shock of pain in the force. Perfect Wiping the water from her knees she stood and awaited the young girl’s return. She held up the ‘Y’ shaped stick and tossed it underhanded to the girl who gasped and dropped the bag of amber coloured salt. “Scry.”
  4. Adun-Levennia, the mottled stump of what had once been the home of some ten thousand light furred cathari. The intermittent rains, the heat from the reflected sand, had left the old tree’s base not much more than a charred and rock-like preserved stump. The life-giving waters of the the river, which had once been called the Ibel-Luinë in the half remaining language of the old Cathar, was now not much more than a stream of brackish mud. Either the Mando’ade had been especially good at “salting the earth” of their enemies, or the lack of any vegetation and animals betrayed the reality of this place. The dark side was here, present, in the very waters that the nomadic people had once called their home tree. She stood at the edge of the mud, watching Hailey beginning to search for its power, then she gestured to her Dathomiri and they began to set up camp. She could not bring herself to meditate, not in a place like this, the shadows were unknown, too ancient, and it betrayed her attempts to grasp at it. She would leave such investigations for the much more competent Darth Awenydd. Taking only Lilia as her companion, she walked towards the beach, crossing through the dark delta that carried no life. Only thick, disgusting mud. But their eyes were watchful, having been raised in such mud to seek for prey, they watched the eddies and flows for any sign of wistful and innocent life. But found none at all, not even an insect could be found, and they walked in silence to the beach whose white sand was being drenched by the resurgent river. It was there, out of the mud that Telperiën and Lilia knelt. The brackish water lapping at their knees. “Let your mind slowly drop away the peripherals Lilia, concentrate only on what you feel, then peel away each sense until you can only feel the force.” The girl nodded and Telperiën began to do the same.
  5. Telperiën nodded brusquely to Corporal Armegedon, he had avoided her question and it had peaked her fury enough to make her wish that she could lash out. Maybe strike for his neck? Gut him from throat to groin? Or perhaps she could possess him. Take his very soul from him, drive it out, and then inhabit him? No, not yet. He still had uses, but her patience was at its thinnest, dealing with his insolence. If the man expected to survive much longer he would need to learn the lesson quickly and without complaining. Otherwise it would be a much more miserable death for him down the road, and the Sith were as a whole much less forgiving than Telperiën Ar-Pharazôn. But Hailey was beckoning her and the others planetside, and Armegedon’s flogging would need to wait until after whatever they found on Cathar. The planet reeked of rot, deluge and disease. The natural smells of a seaside, but something that Telperiën was hardly used to. The salt at least cut through the putrid air with a stiff breeze that made it somewhat breathable. The Nightsisters grimaced in unison as the mounted the landing ramp, and shading their eyes against the bright overcast light of day, the terrain was nearly hilless and flat save a few peaked dunes that bled away their fine trails of sand over the wild grassland. But behind it all, behind all the smell of the world was the smell of desolation. It tingled at her nostrils, cutting through the distractions of her mind, forcing her to concentrate. She took another deep breath, glanced at the maps that were being displayed by Kaiseng’s datapad, then looked back at Hailey. “South of here is the ruins of old Adun-Levennia. The shattered world stem.” She pointed to the gorge and canyons that stretched away to the south, white brown rock, from which ran a black river.
  6. Telperiën brought her hand down on the table with a resounding ‘crack.’ The durasteel slap dented in result and the screech of durasteel supports from the blow filled the cabin for a nanosecond before she stood up. But he was already gone. She glanced at Hailey for a moment and then followed him aft. Seeing him and his first mate assembled, she knocked on the bulkhead to get his attention as the klaxons faded from earshot. “Mr Armegedon, you and your men have been pressed into the service of the Sith Lords. There is but only one exit here for you and yours. Death. If you give myself or Lord Awenydd any more lip or defiance, I promise you I will pluck your tongue from your mouth by its roots.” Her voice was an eerie calm as the ship emerged from hyperspace with a tremble. “Understood?” The process of landing and clearance was of little consequence to such a vessel as this and as the ships computer emitted a flight plan and landing codes to the small defensive garrison, Telperiën could begin to feel the faint vestiges of the ancient horror of the mandalorian wars. There was a profound uneasiness in the force in the space around the planet, and its horror called to her. She looked to the dark skinned humanoid, then grinned. “Tell me Mr Armegedon, can you feel it?”
  7. Telperiën’s nose twitched at the smell permeating the ship, she took a deep breath and savoured it. Bathing in the refreshing smell of that sweet memory-inducing Caf. Memories came flooding back, time spent onboard the Marie, time at Korriban’s Academy, almost everywhere but the din of battle and Dathomir. It hurt her heart to think of that backwater, even with how devastated it had become, even from the relief missions. The backwardness of her people persisted. Some would never touch the energy stim out of tradition, some from distain of offworlders, many reasons that made her people weaker. But in reflection, that stern rejection of the outside galaxy was a strength. That was hatred to be harnessed, something that the Nightsisters could exploit in the normal witches. But Telperiën reminded herself to order a crateload of Caf beans to be shipped to Coven Myrkengodi before the week was out anyway. Mostly for herself, and any Sith that might come to the cradle of the children of night. She tread softly from the room that she shared with her Sisters into the ships galley, where Hailey and Shiro were conversing. Or more that they were not conversing, and the man was brooding about something pointless no doubt. Her Sisters followed her and she swooped up a cup of Caf a ration pack. Pointedly she plopped herself down to the only seat next to Shiro and there gave him a baleful look as she opened the ration packet with her teeth. “Are you going to use that anger for something? Or are you going to let it stir in you until you become a bitter old husk?” She dumped her caf into the packet, resealed it, and squished it between her hands as the bread, now heavily dosed with caf instead of water, rose and congealed into something relatively edible with the bitterness of stimcaf mixed in.
  8. Telperiën relaxed her control of the force with a satisfied sigh, letting the connection taper off to nothingness as the crystal above her breasts lost its satisfying crimson glow. She looked inquisitively at Shiro, noting his attitude. This was always the problem with those that did not see the vision. They did not even imagine how grasp at the power. Their lives were filled with monotony, guard drills and menial jobs. Only interrupted by spats of combat and the loving arms of a wife. They could not but glimpse the power of the force. The true joy of fulfillment that came from its eddies and flows. Instead they resented being subject to its whims. And the resentment glowed deep in his crimson eyes, he despised her, and with little thought she despised him back. He was weakness embodied. And weakness was something to be scorned. Not something to be nurtured. “Good.” Came her harsh voice. “Bask in that envy you feel. Bask in that rage. And in time perhaps that spark will fan to a flame.” She smiled wanly. “Or be snuffed out.” She looked at her cuticles, searching in vain for the black specs of corruption that could be starting there. She glanced back up upon finding nothing. “Oh I will remember this day. Don’t worry.” She spoke like one might reprimand a disobedient child. “This is the day you chose against your will to be strong.” She turned to her companion. “Where to first my Lady?”
  9. The nightsisters exchanged a look and Lilia flipped the arrow around and lay it softly back into the bag at her hip. At little less than a meter in length, the arrow was not the most fitnesse solution for close quarters combat, but should the confrontation with this Shiro had gone differently, it would have greedily drank he and his crippled companions life blood. The short Dathmiri stepped back at the order from Darth Awenydd and grinned maniacally at the pair of Sith Troopers. “The Lamb looks on us with defiance!” She cackled a laugh and sprang back as if to distance herself from a plague. Her mistress’s eyes flashed from a pure amethyst colouring to a pale yellow. And Telperiën Ar-Pharazon strode forward, no grace, mirth, or laughter on her lips. The crystal at her neck glowed a dark crimson as she muttered a curse under her breath. The Two Dathomri behind her mimicking her words. The Force moved heavily, surrounding the two men with it’s grasp, tightening on their necks like a slave collar. Telperiën’s stretched out her hand and made a fist, tightening the grip upon their bodies and necks, her eyes flashing. Her voice echoed through the hallways, filling the ship with her words of command. “Imperial command means nothing to the will of the force. Corporal you and your men are being pressed into service. You have no option. Submit or die.”
  10. How could she so easily draw upon the energies that surrounded her? Frustration at the ease the young woman was able to handle the force coursed down her spine in a tingle. It was not directed at her of course, merely at the myriad of curses that had been laid upon the Dathomiri people since their fall. Cursed to only summon the force through spoken word or talismans like the dark crystal at her own neck. The blood the Sith coursed so finely upon the decking smelled thicky of pride, and Telperiën nearly stood up to take challenge of adding her own blood to the mix but a small voice echoed behind her. Lilia’s soft voice spoke the bitter tongue of the Dathomiri with a grace uncommon to the native speakers of that backwater world. van egie követõnk. férfi. jóképű A watcher. A male. One plus two. Could she pursue? Telperiën grinned widely and nodded before stepping up to take Hailey into a warm and strong embrace before walking the both of them to the doorway where they could witness the youngest of the Dathomiri ply her trade. Telperiën’s voice matched the softness of Lilias as the strode the few meters to the door. “We seek the wounds of the Mandalorian wars. To craft and consume. To bring our blood strength.” Lilia sprang from the doorway, her lithe form landing beside the Sithari Marine and his hobbled friend with ease. Her hand held the long thin form of a bodkin arrow, praised between the man’s collar bone and his neck. Her eyes looking to her mistress for further order. Telperiën’s voice was a bark of command. And she pointed to the two marines. “Have you come to spy on the trades of your betters? Or perhaps you came in the chance of seeing a beautiful form in much undress?” Her voice was a growl as she strode towards the pair of men. Her tongue tracing her lips. Until she was right in front of them. “Speak swiftly.”
  11. The presence of the Sith Lord without her consort of a Hutt in whom resided the power to devour worlds gave Telperiën enough pause that she did look behind the girl to check if the noxious bulk was hiding among the refresher stalls. Seeing no trail of white worms, or legion of slime borne parasites wriggling in the distance behind her, Telperiën gladly took her arm in the traditional greeting. The Sith’s muscles were not as developed as her own, having not drawn upon a long bow for the past years, but she still carried with her a strength of grace, strangely unspoilt for one that had been a consort of a Hutt. Perhaps his hunger had not extended to all things. But the girl's greeting was filled with a barb that seeped with Pride. A not unwelcome trait in a Sith lord, but it took Telperiën aback and caused her amethyst coloured eyes to narrow for a moment as she tried to find the jest in the words. It was true enough that Hailey was younger now, at least in frame and curve of breast, muscle, and raw power. But maybe that statement was more of a question into itself instead of a barb of to hook into a sensitive chink in Telperiën’s psychic armour. When she had deduced this she let her mouth grow into a wide smile and she barked a laugh that caused a tittering in the women behind her. “Why yes!” She stepped back as if to show off her body. “I was cursed foully, to wander the mortal plane jumping from flesh to flesh like a parasite. Seeking forever what I cannot achieve.” She laughed again and stepped fully forward to embrace Hailey, trying to make the best of an awkward moment. She was well enough aware that she was young and inexperienced, even if she had supped deeply on the memories of her victims, like some vampyre of legends long past. “But it is good to see you friend, you are full grown into your splendour, a full rite Krath, how marvelous! Do you mind if I but for a moment clean up?” She indicated her dust covered features with a wave of her hand. She stepped past the Sith Lord and walked to the sink and mirror where she analysed her face after a thorough scrubbing with soap and a towel. She looked in the corners of her eyes, her gums, under her tongue. Carefully watching for any sign of the Decay. Finding none, she perched herself on the stool next to the refresher as Lilia also washed her face. “I am searching for companions outside my order, as you know we carry with us a weakness in our blood.” She looked back at Aweydd, her eyes searching for hers. “For a mission of sorts. Are you free for an adventure?”
  12. The smell was exquisite. The force moved heavily behind the door, and the trail of fear that had led them here was just beginning to ebb. Soldiers that normally would stare death in the face, had parted and pointed like schoolmarms hoping that whatever this group was, they would take the Daemon away. Their fear was intoxicating, and Telperiën, or Darth Annwn as the Sith now called her, drank deeply from their cup of sorrow. She placed her hand upon the door and the door opened with a groan. To the young girl behind the door, Darth Annwn would look very normal, if oddly dressed and oddly armed. Her beautiful face was covered in a smear of blood that formed into a runic curse, and her leathered armour also carried the stench of blood and ash. Beside the Heir to Ar-Pharazon there stood in company three others in dark leathers. All with lightsabres on their hips, but antique weapons beside. Thenra, her dark hair lank over her shoulders scratched at the wound that crossed her almost perfect face. A long trail of blood had marked the wound and had traced down her long neck to disappear in a smear between her meagre breasts. She wore a manifold of knives in sheaths that traversed from her thin hips to the end of her thighs. Beside the knives were also spikes of sharpened durasteel, in clusters oh the reverse of her shoulders. The sharp edges peeking from above her thin leather covered shoulders. Kaiseng, olive skinned, her normally curled hair held in plaits that stretched down to her belt. She wore a short sword at her hip beside the ornate sabre. She was the most armoured, and that did well to hide her dark complexion in the company of so many light skinned ladies. She had ascended from the ranks of the slave class, and her back, if exposed, still carried the scars of wips. Her smile was a sneer, and her beautiful full lips betrayed a heart as black as sin. Lilia, by far the youngest, copied her mistress, holding a recurve bow, whose white feathered arrows hung from a bag at her hip, the fingers of her left hand caressing the well worn bone carved notches. Her red hair was tied back betheat a cap of black leather, that matched the armour her sisters wore. Her freckles covered by the white ash of Coruscant's burning. Telperien grinned widely. For it was a face that she recognized. Hailey Fieldgrey, the once servant to the Master Sheog the Great Devourer, who had been such a friend to Delta her adoptive father. It was a face out of time and place for Telperien, bringing her back years of feelings and thoughts in a flash. She reached out her hand in greeting. “Darth Awenydd I presume?”
  13. 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.”
  14. 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.
  15. 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.
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