Private Chance Meeting in the Darkened Core

[Diarch Rellik]

The cantina wasn't much, but it was alive; laughter, arguments, the clatter of glasses. A good place to breathe for a moment.

Rellik stepped up to the bar beside Reign and lifted two fingers to the bartender.
"A Fiery Mustafarian," he said, then tipped his head toward his brother. "And a Corellian Whiskey."

The bartender nodded and got to work.

Rellik leaned his elbow against the counter, golden eyes catching the dim lights above the bar. Even in the haze of smoke and neon, they burned bright, unmistakable.

He glanced sideways at his brother, a faint smirk in his voice.
"See? I told you. Even if the Core has fallen, the Empire doesn't control it all yet. Why not walk among the people and get them see us with their own eyes. Know they need not feel fear in our presence."

Those eyes, once a sign of damnation to some, were a flare in the encroaching dark.
A reminder of what the Core might still become.
What they might still save.

Rellik accepted his drink when it slid across the bar, posture relaxed as he surveyed the room with a quiet confidence that didn't need to hide.

If anyone noticed them — good.
If someone approached — even better.

He took a slow sip, letting the heat settle in his chest, and simply existed there in the open, unbothered and unmasked.

Varon Jahordel Diarch Reign

 

[Varon Jahordel]

The ongoing events were concerning. The Empire's ongoing battle for galactic dominance had brought them here, which was an undeniable sign that Varon would have to leave. He knew better than to sit still in situations such as this. Ever seeking power, for no other purpose than seeking more of it. Ever unconcerned with what the galaxy could be, beyond merely being theirs. To some, the means might justify the end but to the SIth, the means justified the means themsevles! There was no order, no future to be found in these teachings.

History had shown how that had played out before...

The Jedi were kinder, but hardly better. To them, responsible use of the Dark Side seemed an impossibility. That they feel they cannot be trusted with it, implied that they didn't deserve to be trusted with anything further. No, this solution to this very sizable aspect of the reality in which they existed, was to ignore it. To forbid it, ignore it's existance, and then react with astonishment when force users inevitably reached for it.

Cretins on one side, louts on the other.

Varon had given up on them both.

What would happen to this place was a concern, but that would be a slow and gradual process. One that he hadn't cared to see. There was nothing here that he held dear enough to hold on to, let alone fight for. And he was far to wise to sit still within the deranged grasp of power-mad lunatics. What belongings he did need had been packed, his quarters abandoned, and his cred-stick loaded up.

With all that handled, he headed to the cantina for a few last drinks.

As soon as he'd entered, he'd sensed it. The familiar ping of a fellow force user. One that, given the situation was more likely than not Sith, and Empire affiliated. Ever alert, Varon took immediate survey of his surroundings. The atmosphere was a cacophony of conversation. In short order, he managed to locate the person of interest:

"See? I told you. Even if the Core has fallen, the Empire doesn't control it all yet. Why not walk among the people and get them see us with their own eyes. Know they need not feel fear in our presence."

Rellik had Varon's full attention, albeit discreetly. Motion was happening against the Empire, and beneath his own nose! Before even grabbing a drink, Varon made his way towards the table where they both sat.

"So what would I see?" He inquired, quite simply.

Diarch Reign Diarch Rellik

 

[Diarch Rellik]

Rellik took another slow sip of the Mustafarian, letting the heat settle through his chest before his eyes lifted to the man who'd approached.

"I am Diarch Rellik," he said, tone even but warm. "And this is my brother, Reign. We lead the northern quadrant - from the Braxant Sector to the Hydian Way, and now the Ghost Nebula."

A faint smirk touched his mouth.

"The honor, though, is ours. A pleasure to meet you."

He raised his glass in a small gesture of respect, dipping his head in an understated bow.

"What we hope you and the rest of the galaxy will see, is that we're simply two living people. Same as everyone else. That on any given day, you might find us in a cantina like this… just as you have now."

A shimmer of otherworldly gold flickered through his eyes as he finished the last of his drink; the barest glimpse of his dream and aspirations behind them.

"That the galaxy isn't shaped only by heroes, emperors, or gods," he continued, "but by people like yourself."

He set the empty glass down gently.

"If you'd like to join us and hear the passionate ramblings of our dreams, then please — sit. Share a drink. I'll tell you exactly what I hope for."

Varon Jahordel

 

[Varon Jahordel]

"...Same as everyone else." Spoke Varon, repeating the lie almost if he'd fallen victim to a mind trick. Both knew better than to state their true nature in times like this. It was clear that they weren't in the employ of the Empire, and neither were they seeking to leave. The situation sparked questions that could hardly be directly asked, and others that likely could. With a nod and a smirk, Varon pulled his chair out and took a seat.

"Varon Jarhordel. And a plasure to meet you both." He added with a nod, focused on the manner of his words as much as their content. They spoke of hope and change, as did many. Were these words delivered by some derelicts, he'd have dismissed them as baseless rambling. Yet these two were clearly not. Not by the way they carried themselves, and not by the fact that an encoaching Empire seemed a mere concern at most.

Something was going on, and Varon was curious as to what.

"No denial; I'm curious where you're going with this." Spoke Varon.

"Tell me more."

Diarch Rellik Diarch Reign

 

[Diarch Reign]

​

Location: Cantina
Tags: Diarch Rellik Varon Jahordel
Gear: Amulet of the Warden's Eye, Bladefather
Color Code: #B35432

---

Reign’s mind had been lost in thought as his brother spoke. As it was often lately, war weighed heavily on him, the thought of leaving out the door to accomplish their vision, yet leaving his wife and children alone should he fall.

He took the drink when it slid over, swirling the liquid inside as if it were a reflection of his thoughts. Faces of those that followed him swam to the surface, just like the ice in the glass. Young men and women who had sworn their lives to Reign and Rellik’s cause. Faced hell so their children might not have to. The most recent, a soldier, not yet 20 who had taken a bolt meant for Reign himself. Carius Martz his name had been.

Reign finally looked up when the newcomer asked to be told more.

“It is a dream that has been whispered by trillions, screamed by those that have had their lives destroyed. The dream that a mother whispers at the grave of her fallen soldier of a son. It is a dream of peace. My friend.”

He took in his surroundings now, fully, as if a switch had flipped in him.

“My brother has beaten me to the punch as always, but I am Reign. Diarch if you are up north, but here, in this cantina? Just Reign, the brother, the father, the husband, and friend”

he lifted his glass in a toast as he said the word friend, downing it and motioning for another.