D O M I N U S
NECROPOLIS
Shortly after Come Join the Murder
The Gathering was...interesting.
It had been a lifetime since Darth Metus saw the people his mother held dear. Though he was woefully ignorant to the twists and turns of Dathomir, he did understand the value of the Witches. To his mother, the woman who gave him refuge in a turbulent era, they were the object of her ambition. She desired for their midst to not be occupied by foreign powers. And when last she shared this vision with him, it was the Mandalorians who held Dathomir in their hands. Times were different now, but some things remained the same. The world of Magick was far from independent.
The Sith left their marks. The Empire held dominion.
And so, a gathering had been called. To discuss what, Darth Metus did not know. The midst departed before the meat and potatoes could truly be discussed. But the sable-skinned man endeavored to sate his curiosity. Thus, the bones of the Necropolis crunched underfoot as he stepped deeper into their abode. Hooded. Masked. He certainly looked the part for one wandering a city of the dead. Before him bobbed emerald light: a lantern suspended by a will that was not his own. A will that beckoned for him to draw closer.
He hoped that he would not end up like the curious cat.
In time, he arrived before a column of roaring flame. Emerald, too, like the ichor their kind weaved. The lantern cast itself into the depths - returning to whence it seemingly came. The Sith paused before the pillar and stared. Within it. Beyond it.
"You must be their leader."
Shortly after Come Join the Murder
The Gathering was...interesting.
It had been a lifetime since Darth Metus saw the people his mother held dear. Though he was woefully ignorant to the twists and turns of Dathomir, he did understand the value of the Witches. To his mother, the woman who gave him refuge in a turbulent era, they were the object of her ambition. She desired for their midst to not be occupied by foreign powers. And when last she shared this vision with him, it was the Mandalorians who held Dathomir in their hands. Times were different now, but some things remained the same. The world of Magick was far from independent.
The Sith left their marks. The Empire held dominion.
And so, a gathering had been called. To discuss what, Darth Metus did not know. The midst departed before the meat and potatoes could truly be discussed. But the sable-skinned man endeavored to sate his curiosity. Thus, the bones of the Necropolis crunched underfoot as he stepped deeper into their abode. Hooded. Masked. He certainly looked the part for one wandering a city of the dead. Before him bobbed emerald light: a lantern suspended by a will that was not his own. A will that beckoned for him to draw closer.
He hoped that he would not end up like the curious cat.
In time, he arrived before a column of roaring flame. Emerald, too, like the ichor their kind weaved. The lantern cast itself into the depths - returning to whence it seemingly came. The Sith paused before the pillar and stared. Within it. Beyond it.
"You must be their leader."
