![House-Verd.png]](https://i.ibb.co/XY5FZ6c/House-Verd.png])
DROMUND KAAS
It was almost hard to breathe.
Everything before the Vicelord's gaze seemed...wrong. From above, the light of day bled through ornate glass - spilling pale rays onto an ornate slab. Stone. Cold. Atop this foundation was laid a length of crimson silk. One could tell, at a glance, that its value was worth a pile of gold. Such was the finery of the mother's lineage - of House Zambrano. The silk dipped and rose, forming a haunting silhouette that Darth Metus immediately recognized. Though it had been...years...since they last spoke in person, every father could recognize the body of their own child.
She was flanked by men draped in robes reminscent of blood. Upon their chests was the sigil of the Black Iron Tyrant. Within their hands? Swaying chalices, filled to the brim with burning incense. From their lips fell lyrics of ancient Sith, old rites to commit the fallen to the beyond. This wasn't right. This...this wasn't the woman he knew. Though they had never talked about what would happen if she died, Metus knew she'd laugh aloud at the thought of old Sith chanting over her remains.
What he wouldn't give to hear that laugh now.
His advance caused the lyrics to cease. His presence was an interruption - but one that was expected. The nearest caretaker beckoned for him to step closer, and for a moment Metus held a quiet hope. Perhaps when the curtain was drawn it wouldn't be Runi laying there. Perhaps it was someone who looked like her - bad Intel. He could forgive that. He stepped closer and reached out, gingerly pulling back the top of the crimson silk. That quiet hope was impaled ten thousand times as his gaze fell upon her face. His heart began to race.
"How." he demanded. The baritone was alive with a growing fury. Anger. Loss. Each served to boil his blood as it raced through his veins. The caretaker simply bowed his head in respect.
"A thousand pardons, we do not know the cause. Only that Lady Ingrid was gracious enough to bring her Home."
Here? Home? Runi was the furthest thing from a typical Zambrano. Or a typical Verd for that matter. Sith affairs, Mandalorian affairs, hell, international affairs didn't color her days and nights. She was as free as the light drifting down from above. This wasn't her home - and to hear as much only tested the man's thinning patience. "I see." he breathed, pausing only to release the sheet from his grasp. His offhand promptly plucked free the glove which held his dominant...and he graced her brow with a gentle touch.
Ice. It was hard to believe that one so vibrant was now so cold.
What he did next was reckless. Risky. But he would know. The art was one typically used upon the inanimate. It would tell its story - where had the tracks come from? or who's hands created the blade? In this case? He sought to witness only one chapter. One page. One moment. The Last. Power dripped from his fingertips - and his eyes brimmed with that very instant. He could feel the burn in his chest - feel the lungs giving way and the body screaming against the spear that had been ran through. He could feel the taste of blood in his mouth. Feel his breath slowing. Heart slowing. And as black gripped the edges of his vision - before the final fall - a face.
The power ceased. Darth Metus drew a breath to settle himself. His heart was thundering, attempting to remind itself that it was not he who was dying. His form descended, a bow over the slap so that his lips could grace her brow. And then? Silence.
"She will not rest here." he finally said, righting himself. His gaze settled upon that same caretaker. "She is due the rites and honors of her House!" came the man's expected protest. Darth Metus took a step closer, a scowl now dominating his face. "You're damn right about that. Her House was Verd." His hand then descended to his hip, settling upon the hilt of his lightsaber. The caretaker swallowed. Considered. Relented.
Turning, Darth Metus motioned to his sister. The shadow Shalita Verd whose Ravens had picked up the whispers. "Sister, see to it that she is returned to Kuat. Her associates and loved ones will...know where Home was."
The Sith took one final look and draped the sheet back over her face.
"I'll see it done." she said with a nod. "But...what will you do?"
To answer, he simply raised two fingers.
"Twice now. Twice have the children of my family perished by hands 'Eternal.' The first, I showed restraint. Mercy."
Everything before the Vicelord's gaze seemed...wrong. From above, the light of day bled through ornate glass - spilling pale rays onto an ornate slab. Stone. Cold. Atop this foundation was laid a length of crimson silk. One could tell, at a glance, that its value was worth a pile of gold. Such was the finery of the mother's lineage - of House Zambrano. The silk dipped and rose, forming a haunting silhouette that Darth Metus immediately recognized. Though it had been...years...since they last spoke in person, every father could recognize the body of their own child.
She was flanked by men draped in robes reminscent of blood. Upon their chests was the sigil of the Black Iron Tyrant. Within their hands? Swaying chalices, filled to the brim with burning incense. From their lips fell lyrics of ancient Sith, old rites to commit the fallen to the beyond. This wasn't right. This...this wasn't the woman he knew. Though they had never talked about what would happen if she died, Metus knew she'd laugh aloud at the thought of old Sith chanting over her remains.
What he wouldn't give to hear that laugh now.
His advance caused the lyrics to cease. His presence was an interruption - but one that was expected. The nearest caretaker beckoned for him to step closer, and for a moment Metus held a quiet hope. Perhaps when the curtain was drawn it wouldn't be Runi laying there. Perhaps it was someone who looked like her - bad Intel. He could forgive that. He stepped closer and reached out, gingerly pulling back the top of the crimson silk. That quiet hope was impaled ten thousand times as his gaze fell upon her face. His heart began to race.
"How." he demanded. The baritone was alive with a growing fury. Anger. Loss. Each served to boil his blood as it raced through his veins. The caretaker simply bowed his head in respect.
"A thousand pardons, we do not know the cause. Only that Lady Ingrid was gracious enough to bring her Home."
Here? Home? Runi was the furthest thing from a typical Zambrano. Or a typical Verd for that matter. Sith affairs, Mandalorian affairs, hell, international affairs didn't color her days and nights. She was as free as the light drifting down from above. This wasn't her home - and to hear as much only tested the man's thinning patience. "I see." he breathed, pausing only to release the sheet from his grasp. His offhand promptly plucked free the glove which held his dominant...and he graced her brow with a gentle touch.
Ice. It was hard to believe that one so vibrant was now so cold.
What he did next was reckless. Risky. But he would know. The art was one typically used upon the inanimate. It would tell its story - where had the tracks come from? or who's hands created the blade? In this case? He sought to witness only one chapter. One page. One moment. The Last. Power dripped from his fingertips - and his eyes brimmed with that very instant. He could feel the burn in his chest - feel the lungs giving way and the body screaming against the spear that had been ran through. He could feel the taste of blood in his mouth. Feel his breath slowing. Heart slowing. And as black gripped the edges of his vision - before the final fall - a face.
The power ceased. Darth Metus drew a breath to settle himself. His heart was thundering, attempting to remind itself that it was not he who was dying. His form descended, a bow over the slap so that his lips could grace her brow. And then? Silence.
"She will not rest here." he finally said, righting himself. His gaze settled upon that same caretaker. "She is due the rites and honors of her House!" came the man's expected protest. Darth Metus took a step closer, a scowl now dominating his face. "You're damn right about that. Her House was Verd." His hand then descended to his hip, settling upon the hilt of his lightsaber. The caretaker swallowed. Considered. Relented.
Turning, Darth Metus motioned to his sister. The shadow Shalita Verd whose Ravens had picked up the whispers. "Sister, see to it that she is returned to Kuat. Her associates and loved ones will...know where Home was."
The Sith took one final look and draped the sheet back over her face.
"I'll see it done." she said with a nod. "But...what will you do?"
To answer, he simply raised two fingers.
"Twice now. Twice have the children of my family perished by hands 'Eternal.' The first, I showed restraint. Mercy."
"This time...I shall kill those weeds."
