Star Wars Syren & Aryan: A New Sith Trials Story [1x1 RPG]

Disclaimer: This thread was created with both @Sinrebirth and @Darth_wanderguard 's blessing – thank you!

All RPG and JC rules apply; if you are interested in a guest role, please feel free to PM either myself or QueenSabe7.

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The New Sith Trials is a lavish and elaborate tale spanning across several different timelines and populated by a diverse group of characters that bring this extraordinary world to life. It is now on its third iteration and the journey is only just beginning. But with any such narrative, there are a lot of unfinished stories to tell; tales that become lost to the flow of time and are left untold.

Now is the time to unearth these lost treasures and reveal them to the rest of the galaxy...

Welcome to:
A New Sith Trials Story
Syren & Aryan​

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This particular installment will focus on the continuing stories of Darth Syren (as played by QueenSabe7) and Aryan Graul (as played by HanSolo29) from various points within the NST canon. For reference, characters sheets for both can be found here:

• Darth Syren; (human female), Sith High Lord and assassin
• Aryan Graul; (human male), politician and former Chancellor

Our first tale begins 6 months prior to the current NST game timeline, with a shuttle set adrift in space after a harrowing battle...

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IC: Aryan Graul
Deep Space, then aboard a Star Destroyer, Unknown Regions

They had listed for three days, the expanse of space seeming to close in around them in an endless sea of stars. It had engulfed the small shuttle with its immensity and made the already cramped quarters within the main cabin simply insufferable. Rations and medical attention had been in short supply, forcing the occupants to come closer and closer together for dependability. It was enough for anxiety to set in, tensions to rise, and hope to shatter. As conditions continued to deteriorate, a clear perception had begun to develop among the small group of survivors – what was hope when they were but a mere speck lost in this infinite plane? Without a compass to show them the way, rescue seemed like an impossibility.

But then, the impossible happened.

A small fleet consisting of the remnants of Thrawn’s Empire of the Hand had picked up their distress signal on the edge of Wild Space, several kilometers beyond the reach of the Rago System. They hauled the shuttle in from the void and offered a safe haven to Darth Haretisch and the group of survivors who had escaped with him from the Luxury Elite.

Looking back at it all, Aryan Graul had to scoff and shake his head solemnly. He was now sitting in a sterile room in the medical wing of a Victory-class Star Destroyer, a welcome change from the harrowing experience they had endured over the past few days. While things were far more relaxed, he knew it was only a temporary reprieve. Recovery would take time, especially with the nature of the coup and the war that had broken out in its wake – the War of Three.

Issuing a heavy sigh, he leaned forward and planted his feet on the ground to rise from the medical bed, his head still throbbing lightly from the minor concussion he had apparently suffered during the battle on board the Luxury Elite. He could only vaguely recall the gash upon his forehead; it had never struck him as serious, but the doctor later explained that it had required additional observation. The man had assured him that the five extra days the Chancellor had spent in the medical bay on bed rest served only as a precaution.

Aryan frowned as he pondered those words, skeptical of the diagnosis. Through the haze, he seemed to recall a moment during his stay when that they had stuck him with an IV to administer fluids and other medications. They didn’t do that for minor concussions. Had his condition been worse than they were letting on? He could remember dreams, or perhaps they were nightmares, where he couldn’t move, his muscles failing to respond to simple commands and his entire body feeling physically drained. And at the center of it all were two words that continued to echo relentlessly within his turbulent mind:

Haretisch.

Mindscape.

As he wrestled with his memories, the doctor came back around to finish redressing his left shoulder, which had sustained a blaster wound in the same battle. The man wrapped the white bandage around his upper torso, his arm slung across his chest to provide stability for the injury to heal. With instructions to administer the prescribed pain meds every few hours for any discomfort and to return in a standard week for a re-eval, the medic finally released him to get dressed and to grab something to eat in the mess hall.

Aryan quickly changed into the clothes the infirmary had provided – a simple pair of gray pants and a white t-shirt – and turned to make his way out of the room, when his reflection on a wall mirror above the sink stopped him. It was the first time since his imprisonment at the hands of Zeb Targon that he had an opportunity to pause and take a really good look at himself. The changes were palpable. Some of them were likely a direct result of the trauma he had endured, and he hoped that they would fade in time.

Overall, he appeared tired and haggard; his face was more gaunt than he remembered, and his eyes had hardened with the horrors he had seen, receding back into their sockets and bringing forth dark circles that reflected his weariness. He also noticed additional lines and creases around their corners, further betraying his youthful disposition. But the most notable of these changes came in the form of the full beard that had filled in over the past two months out of neglect.

Reaching up slowly with his free hand, he raked his fingers through it tentatively, somewhat dismayed to see that it had grown in mostly silver with only a few dark patches remaining; the effects of aging were certainly relentless. As a result, he felt compelled to shave it off completely, if only out of habit and to maintain the usual 'clean-cut' standard he had adhered to for the past 25 years in politics, but ultimately decided that perhaps he needed the change. It could be a new look for a new chapter in his life.

Besides, hadn’t Syren expressed a certain appreciation for it? That was reason enough to keep it.

A small smile turned up one corner of his mouth at that thought, but it wavered almost as soon as it appeared. Thinking of Syren in that context conjured up more memories of the Mindscape and of a far greater change...one that could not be so easily detected on the surface, but still held a profound impact on both himself and possibly his ongoing relationship with Syren herself. Again, it stemmed from that moment during their escape when Darth Haretisch had latched onto his very presence and had attempted to siphon his life energy to preserve his own life. Aryan had felt himself dying, drifting away into a barren landscape, where he had willingly sacrificed his Force sensitivity to stay alive. While the act had freed him of the unnatural ability bestowed upon him by Darth Insipid, it had ultimately severed the intimate bond he had previously shared with Syren. And despite his hope that they could carry on, Aryan felt the gap between them widening.

During their three-day excursion on the shuttle and beyond, Syren had kept her distance, avoiding all contact except for the casual small talk, or to exchange a passing glance. She never mentioned the incident, even when he had collapsed on the floor in an unresponsive state and had spent several days in the med center. He recognized that her silence was partly out of necessity due to their proximity to the others – they had agreed to keep their relationship hidden from prying eyes – but that still did not alleviate his concerns. Her behavior seemed rather…excessive.

Was she scared? Angry? Confused? He only wanted her to understand.

Unfortunately, he knew the solution would never be that simple, not when he considered what else had transpired in that Mindscape with Haretisch. Through inexplicable means, the Night Herald had forced his way into his subconscious and had seen the truth about his feelings for Syren. He had hit him between the eyes with the revelation, forcing Aryan to retreat back on himself and accept his fate for what it was; there was no use denying it any longer. In spite of his vow to never go down that path again to prevent himself from repeating past mistakes, he had fallen for her.

He loved her.

Exhaling heavily, Aryan shook his head lightly and tore his gaze away from his reflection. He couldn’t pinpoint when it had first emerged; it just sorta evolved over time, slowly eroding away his defenses until it had lodged deep in his heart with an insatiable and passionate longing. It didn’t make sense, for kriff’s sake! A distinguished politician and a trained Sith assassin hooking up together? They weren’t compatible on so many levels, none of which accounted for the considerable age gap that stood as the most glaring detriment.

But since when did love care about such superficial matters? It did not offer a choice; it simply…happened.

In that moment, Aryan knew what he had to do. It wouldn’t be easy, and there was a real possibility that she would reject him, but he had to talk to her...about [/i]everything[/i]. He needed to get this off his chest and grant himself some peace of mind.

Stepping out into the adjacent corridor, Aryan began to wander towards the mess hall, occasionally pausing to ask questions about Syren. He sounded like a desperate fool, and fortunately, he did not cross paths with any of the remaining Sith from Haretisch’s crew at this late hour. It was mostly young deckhands or maintenance personnel milling about at the end of their shifts. Others were simply deterred by his rumpled appearance and only wanted to carry on with their duties as soon as possible.

He was about to give up and credit his failure to some higher power trying to dissuade him from being with her, when he heard the distinctive hum and clash of a lightsaber blade resounding from a secluded alcove near a maintenance access port. He felt drawn to the familiar vibrations, seemingly oblivious to the fact that it could be someone other than who he was searching for. Or, maybe he just didn’t care. He was so sure that Syren would be on the other side of the threshold, that nothing else seemed to matter.

At the very least, he was about to find out if his intuition was correct.

But as he started down the deserted corridor, Aryan became acutely aware of the beating of his own heart, his pulse steadily increasing until it was pounding relentlessly in his ears with each anticipative step. By the time he reached the opening to the large space and could see the scintillating patterns reflecting off the red blade, he could barely contain the rhythmic cacophony that assaulted him; it was enough to divert him from his task. The fear was already beginning to rise from the pit of his stomach, the same insecurities he had endured a lifetime ago...

For a brief moment, he considered turning away from it all, but then he saw her...and froze.

In the dim glow of the auxiliary lighting, Syren’s lithe form appeared radiant and otherworldly, the soft brilliance of her lightsaber accentuating her features as they narrowed in concentration, her toned muscles bunching under the simple sleeveless tank. There was a light sheen to her skin due to her exertion and her crimson hair flowed about her shoulders in a mesmerizing dance with each thrust and parry of her blade. Aryan found that he couldn’t look away, and he slowly stepped forward into the room, a small smile pulling up one corner of his mouth in appreciation.

It was hard to say how long he was standing there, simply enjoying the show, before he finally cleared his throat to speak. “I didn’t expect to find you out here this late,” he announced himself with a casual drawl, his brow raising marginally as if to challenge her. “Couldn’t sleep?”

TAG: @QueenSabe7

 

IC: Aryan Graul
Star Destroyer of the Imperium of the Fist, Unknown Regions

“How are you... feeling?”

The question seemed innocent enough, perhaps a bit simplistic and clumsy in nature, but Aryan could still appreciate the effort it took to say anything at all. He knew Syren wasn’t the most forthcoming individual when it came to expressing her emotions, so any kind of acknowledgement was an accomplishment at this point. In truth, he had expected to encounter the same cold indifference...and emptiness that had kept them apart since their escape from the Luxury Elite. While some of that tension still remained between them, he was glad to see that she did not outright refuse him and was willing to hold a conversation. That was certainly a start, especially for what he had to say.

With a sharp intake of breath, Aryan willed himself forward at a steady gait, slowly closing the gap that separated them. As he drew closer, he remained mindful of her mood and prepared himself to retreat if she should rebuff him. He honestly didn’t know what to expect from her, so before they could reach that critical juncture, he forced a smile on his features and stopped a short distance away to peer down into her stormy gaze.

She looked more stunning than he remembered, and he felt his pulse quicken in response. “I admit, I’ve been better,” he drawled evenly, trying to keep some levity in his tone and to mask his stirring emotions.

He angled his chin down and nodded to the bandage that started at his left shoulder and extended horizontally across his chest to secure his arm in place, now partially covered by his t-shirt. “I have a pretty bad shoulder laceration and blaster wound,” he then gestured to the bacta wrap across his forehead, “and a mild concussion, but I think I’ll pull through. It can’t be any worse than arguing my case in front of a Senate committee. At least with this, I have the pain meds to keep myself sane.”

A light chuckle escaped his lips, but it quickly faded on the somber air that permeated the room. He winced slightly and diverted his eyes away from her face with an awkward shuffle of his feet. An uncomfortable silence filled the void, and he realized with some chagrin that he was purposely avoiding the inevitable...perhaps they both were.

Even with Syren’s simple inquiry, Aryan was able to detect a quiet solemnity behind her words – they held a certain weight that seemed to hint at an ulterior meaning. She wasn’t only asking after his health and how he was feeling physically; she was referring to a more intimate bond that was forever lost. How did he feel inwardly now that he could no longer touch the Force?

It was a loaded question, one that he had agonized over during his stay in the infirmary...or at least, as much as one could perceive while resting in a coma. Sometimes it became difficult to discern what had been real and what had been dreams, visions…hallucinations.

In either case, one thing always remained a constant – he could not ignore the very natural, yet complex emotions that had encapsulated his heart. They had taken hold of him with such ferocity, that he often found it hard to catch his breath and maintain focus while in her company. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced, even from the ones who had come before – this was an unconditional, passionate affection for someone else.

Love.

The notion still frightened him, which is probably why he continued to hesitate and shy away from this encounter. Despite his initial determination to confront Syren and seek a resolution, he once again found himself wavering. When he finally spoke, his words reflected this inner struggle; they were completely random and strayed from the dialogue he had repeated to himself numerous times leading up to this moment.

“I...hope I wasn’t intruding on something important,” Aryan nodded to the lightsaber hilt in her palm and the various objects strewn about the room. “I can come back later, if that's what you prefer. I was only on my way to the mess hall to grab something to eat before they close the kitchen for the evening.”

The former Chancellor inhaled deeply and took a step back to truly study her, his green-gray eyes roving over her body appreciatively, almost with an insatiable hunger. He knew he was playing a dangerous game in this context, and he quickly caught himself before things could spiral too far out of control. He could not afford to alienate her before he had a chance to speak his mind.

Clearing his throat, he raked nervous fingers through his beard and pushed on hurriedly, “Unless you would rather join me…?”

It wasn’t as direct as his original plan, but Aryan could only hope that his offer would still lead to the same conclusion and give him some peace of mind…

TAG: @QueenSabe7

 

IC: Aryan Graul
Mess Hall, Star Destroyer, Unknown Regions



By the time they reached the mess hall a short time later, the utilitarian lighting that ran the entire length of the ceiling had already been dimmed to account for the late hour. As a result, the only source of illumination now came from the glow panels spanning the walls at regular intervals. It made for a more intimate atmosphere, which was perfectly fine in Aryan’s case. Aside from a trio of pilots conversing quietly in one corner over their cups of caf, he was completely alone with Syren.

And that was just as well.

The lingering effects of their encounter in the vacant office suite continued to confound and stimulate him. He felt breathless, his skin still seeming to tingle where she had touched him affectionately. He thought it had been easy to perceive her needs and to know what she wanted, but she had fooled him. She had broken contact without warning, leaving him behind to gather himself as he attempted to tame the distinctive stirring she had elicited inside him.

Syren had rejected him, and that wasn’t like her at all; not after the two months they had spent together in close quarters on board the Luxury Elite. They were just beginning to find each other, and then...the incident changed everything. Where Aryan had found enlightenment through the experience, he feared that Syren was beginning to regress...perhaps dangerously so. She did not fully understand what had happened to him in that mindscape, and that was why this meeting was so important; why he had to speak with her before it was too late.

To express his true feelings…

After the disastrous separation from his wife, Aryan had vowed to never fall for someone again, but love was supreme. It had its own quantum mechanics, its own rules. When love was involved, you could only give so much to propriety or wisdom. If you loved someone bad enough, details such as age and background became frivolous; it was best to simply accept it and try to have the other person as your own.

That was how he felt about Syren.

He glanced at her now out of his peripheral vision, balancing the food tray on his good arm as he traversed the sea of tables until he found a single-top that they could share. It was far enough away from the pilots that it would afford them some privacy while they ate and chatted together.

As they settled down to their meal, Aryan tried to clamp down on his turbulent emotions, but his anxiety was too great. While he did manage a few modest bites from his sandwich, he had to stop when his heart began to race wildly against his chest with anticipation. It seemed to embolden him to initiate the conversation and speak his mind.

It was now, or never…

Clearing his throat awkwardly, Aryan lowered the sandwich and met Syren’s ash-colored eyes. “So, the medic told me it’s been five days,” he remarked in a casual tone, pressing his lips together slightly. “I wish I could recall more details, but they had me under pretty good. Everything was a blur.”

He shrugged with a wan smile, almost as if he intended to diminish the impact of the trauma he had endured.

“Syren--” Aryan inhaled deeply, his expression turning serious once more. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, but did someone speak to you during that time about what happened to me? The doctor, or maybe Haretisch himself?”

Searching her face, his blue-gray eyes were almost pleading. “Someone who would know?” He shook his head slowly. “I hope you weren’t left in the dark that whole time...wondering.”

TAG: @QueenSabe7