Kuat

[Telperiën Ar-Pharazon]

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. 

[Telperiën Ar-Pharazon]

“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. 

[Telperiën Ar-Pharazon]

 

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.

[Telperiën Ar-Pharazon]

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. 

 

[Telperiën Ar-Pharazon]

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.”