Cooling Water

[Malok]

This was...different.

For the most part, the Vicelord had resigned himself to the confines of chilly conference rooms for such talks. Decorum was typically at the forefront - polished titles and honied words always filled the air. Yet today, the so-called Ancient Eye had something vastly different in store. How he had come to be standing upon the distant world was an interesting turn of events. What had begun as whispers over the HoloNet had erupted into a budding relationship between two totally different cultures. And yet, there was enough of a collaborative spirit that the Ancient Eye ventured across the stars to aide the Confederacy's efforts on Ord Padron.

That was enough to warrant a full, diplomatic discussion. Pokes in the eye be damned.

Thus, a single Scimitar-class Star Courier braved the depths of Hyperspace before slicing into the atmosphere of the Eye's homeworld. And, from the instant of his arrival, things proceeded as Darth Metus assumed they would. Escort fighters guided him to the ground. Armed escorts saw him safely from the hangar to the surface...and yet, as the turbolift raised him to squint against the light of day, the Sith soon found that there was no conference room to be found. Instead, a winding river cut through the landscape, ferrying a plethora of multicolored boats upon its current. One in particular stood fast, moored upon the dock which laid before him.

Confident strides bore the Vicelord and his Apprentice, [member="Srina Talon"], forward.

Darth Metus stepped over the railing of the ship, pausing only briefly so that he might aide the young Echani aboard. He then turned, placing his sulfuric gaze upon those who had sent such a lovely invitation. [member="Seras Rose"]. @Mythos. To each was given a polite decline of his head in greeting, before he placed his hand upon his chest. "I thank the both of you for your invitation - and this spectacular welcome." he began, motioning briefly to the vessel around them. "As you are aware, my name is Darth Metus, Vicelord of the Confederacy. And this is my Apprentice, Srina Talon."

His gloved hand extended to the woman beside him, indicating the epitome of his pride and joy.

"Firstly, I would like to personally thank you for your assistance on Ord Padron. Your contributions to quelling the Crucible's presence were instrumental." he began, clasping his hands together. "And I'd like to think of that day as a sign of things to come - of a lasting relationship between your nation and mine."

This, in of itself, was a calculated risk.

A risk he was willing to take. For his people. For his Confederacy.

And for the worlds which still laid under Imperial occupation.

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

EDEMAR|MORTEM

​Two Hours Ago:

​Thump. Thu-. Thump. Thu-. The dreaded malignant beat of his heart, monitored by state of the art medical equipment as the giant rested in an almost catatonic state, induced through the use of a cocktail of chemicals to reduce pain and allow his sickly heart to rest. Bubbles collecting at the top of the Bacta tank. The synthesised orange fluid healing wounds from Ord Padron, and keeping his heart in check.

Even in this state, his senses were still extended. The sound of the heart monitoring equipment, the uneasy shuffle of the Bellator outside, the cough of the maintenance officer thirty floors beneath them. And....the sound of Kabel Drei marching down the hallway as he reached the door to the Matador's healing chamber.

​As he entered, the silhouette of the Matador hung in the orange fluid; silent. ​"Chieftain. The Emperor requires your presence."

​The orange fluid slowly emptied from the tank as Kabel left. White condensed steam shot out from the sides of the tank as it opened as it was de-compressurized. The giant returned to a state of consciousness, exited the tank. Taking but a few steps forward as mechanical arms rose from underneath marble panels, lifting weaved ceramic plates, grafting them to the neural interweaved body glove; the mag-coil network activating for a moment to properly wake him. Seeing Red. ​The intense agony, if even for a moment brought him fully to his senses.

​"Prepare my ship."

​--------------------
​Present Time - Nibelungen

​The Matador stood opposite [member="Mythos"] and [member="Seras Rose"], standing on board a...boat. The hulking giant had little business being on a boat, however how the Monarch chose to negotiate was his business. A scimitar class vessel arrived, and shortly after [member="Srina Talon"] and [member="Darth Metus"] were making their way towards the boat.

​The Matador lingered for a moment with red spectacle like eyes hanging on both of the Confederacy members as he took a single step, his Monarch hung in his shadow. A soft growl escaping his lungs as he sighed audibly to both of his companions. ​"You commanded my presence, for this?"

​He had no, physical reaction. But a mental note of the white haired female. The Echani. He had been a mercenary for the longest time, he recalled being in her employment. How he detested the thought of such things, he had risen far beyond that. How things had changed.

​The giant's armour shimmered with light as Nibelungen's sun hung beautiful in the afternoon sky. It had been dark on Edemar, now his senses were assaulted by a disturbance of rest, and it gathered his tolerance little. The boat did not shift as either Srina or Metus made their way on board, the vessel was closer to a yacht in truth; if it held his weight fine it would not shift under theirs.

​"Welcome, Confederates." ​Came his first words to the two, the bestial face in juxtaposition to his voice; carrying a forced tone of welcoming.

 

[Mythos]

The Great River...

It was much a font of life and sustenance as a spiritual symbol for the people of The Ancient Eye. At the very end was Mythos' own palace and the seat of power of all systems in the faction. The iconic ships that sailed on water were already popular with tourists but the they rode on was large enough to contain the weight of the matador. Mythos sat with his royal golden robes on the opposite side of Darth Metus, flanked by both Seras and The Matador with his eyes placed surgically in between Metus and his apprentice in that space of nothing did his yellow eyes come to rest upon. Upon his right hand a pipe midventirian winterwood with Bota in it that he himself grew and cultivated. The smoke that trailed was unique and strong, dense in it's complexion as a fog once it escaped both the pipe and his lips.

"You are most welcome to my kingdoms, your name is legend and echoes in time as the voice of prophets in the great halls. As a knight in the One Sith I took many classes concerning the various Sith Lords both young and old, I never thought at the time i would get to meet Darth Metus much less stand in the same table as him as equals." He said, smoke pouring from his lips and the jingle of jewelry the only sound apart from the wash of the river waves and the rhythmic breathing of his chest. "Seras, My Heir and Matador my Cheiftan, both i trust to be both wise and strong."

His eyes shifted when Ord Padron was mentioned, they struck right into his accompanied with a confident smile. "We are content to help in that way, military is something we pride ourselves on here." His voice and the silent stream was interrupted by the sound of four paws through forest, as if a beast broke through the entirety of the forested rivers on each side. Up on a stone not three hundred meters from them stood a black, red eyed monstrosity called Groom. That was Mythos' Tuk'ata, his companion and most faithful servant in decades. Never was he far from his master and never did his eyes leave his companions even after they passed him by, he would return to the forest and trail him, always making sure his master was safe.

"I do hope you are right however, your allies don't seem to like the color of my eyes." He said with a chuckle, of course referring to both the alliance and the coalition.
[member="Darth Metus"] [member="The Matador"]​

 

[Seras Rose]

Seras had never been one for much pomp and grandstanding. Coming from where she had in life this was no surprise, so to say she was not in her element here was putting it lightly. Sure she knew what to do, what to say, how to say it and perhaps most importantly what not to say. But this was her first time having to actually do it. In the end now that she was actually here standing to the right of Mythos, looking at both [member="Darth Metus"] and his apprentice [member="Srina Talon"], it was not as intimidating a prospect as it had seemed before, even if the people they were meeting still held significant sway in the galaxy. In her mind, Seras suspected this kind of feeling was something she would need to get used to. Seras for her part was in ornamental styled robes, inlaid with patterns and designs. But the keen eye would note she did not wear much else, her movement was free and unrestricted if the need arose. Aside from that, two orange crystal earrings shifted gently in the breeze under her eras, glowing a slight color as the sun hit them. As ever, a eye patch rested over her unseeing left eye.

As Darth Metus and Mythos greeted each other in turn, Seras stood silent with her single gray eye looking between the two. It seemed that Mythos held the man before them in high regard and for plenty of good reasons that Seras herself knew. Which made her all the more curious how this day would end. When her name was mentioned she would give a polite nod of her head in acknowledgment, not going under or above the expected reaction. "Greetings to you both." Came a calm, relaxed tone. It was not forced as Matador's, nor as noble and elegant as Mythos. She had no such airs, nor did she intent to try putting them on. "If that is to be the tone of this meeting, i look forward seeing to where this shall go." Seras said, a bit surprised by how straightforward he was with his intent. Of course such a thing would never come that easy... Could it?

While that thought ran across her mind, Seras turned to look at the other young woman who was present with them. She seemed near Seras's own age, though her race was far different. She was distinctly an Echani, with the features, hair and eyes to go with it. Seras herself had no particularly strong feelings one way or the other for the other young woman or her race, though Seras found Srina some what similar to herself. Seras had no real reason to feel that way, rather it was a gut feeling she had. If their eyes would meet, Seras would give her a short nod before returning her attention to the main 'players' on the boat.

[member=Mythos] / [member="The Matador"]

 

[Srina Talon]

Location: Nibelungen
Faction: Confederacy
In the Company Of: [member="Seras Rose"] | [member="Mythos"] | [member="The Matador"] | [member="Darth Metus"]

As always, Srina remained at the side of Darth Metus. No matter their differences, no matter any recent disagreements they may have suffered, at the end of the day, he was the planet to her moon. When he moved, she moved, and found herself ever trapped within his gravity. When he requested that she accompany him to Nibelungen, the homeworld of the Ancient Eye, acceptance came as natural as breathing. If her Master required her, she would never hesitate to answer his call, no matter the situation. He was her anchor. His strength and wisdom kept her grounded.

The Ancient Eye was faction she hadn’t heard much about, not until their assistance unexpectedly arrived on Ord Padron. From there she had begun to do her research. The Confederacy had spies and intelligence networks specifically designed to provide dossiers on key members of other groups. They assessed their strengths, weaknesses, and threat potential. It was one of the ways the CIS tried to stay ahead of the game. They worked smarter, versus running in blind, and took every chance to learn about powerful individuals that crossed their path.

If knowledge was power—The Confederacy had that in spades.

A seemingly delicate hand fell into the grasp of the Vicelord when he reached to help her onto the gilded boat that awaited their arrival. It was beautiful, if one had an eye for such things, and appeared to be well made. Someone had taken care in the creation of this water-bound vessel, much the same way that Darth Metus fawned over his alchemical projects. The Sith apprentice dropped down over the railing with grace so fluid that it gave most onlookers reason to pause, observe, and drown in unbidden envy. Echani were a particular breed, a cross between elegance and vicious combat, all hidden beneath the well-cultivated disguise of feigned aristocracy.

As if, there was anything subtle or civilized about leaving their enemies broken, forgotten, and dead on the ground. Her people did not take prisoners. Death, to an outsider, was merely a consequence.

Srina inclined her head to their hosts as Darth Metus made introductions. Her visage was that of pale brilliance, snow-kissed hair bound back in intricate braids, with most of it rolling down her back. It led the eye to an ivory cloak that wrapped around slender shoulders, hiding a pale blue traveling dress with slits that ran high, and low-heeled boots. It was made practical and modest by the application of protective leggings beneath. They did not arrive unarmed, not in the same way they had arrived to greet the Galactic Alliance, but they did not appear overly hostile.

The diminutive Sith apprentice herself only had her lightsaber. No vibroblades, no cloaking devices, no daggers, no poisons. There was a plain silver band on her ring finger, but no one would understand the significance, save for her Master. All in all, it seemed that they had arrived with faith and confidence that the Ancient Eye harbored no ill will.

Silver eyes flickered. She recognized one of them. He had been listed in their intel but it was hard to reconcile this ‘Chieftan’ with the stubborn, brutal, and nigh emotionless mercenary that she had initially sought assistance from upon leaving Eshan. He was not as she had left him at the end of their transaction. He felt different. Changed. Then again, she was also not the same woman he had met. The welcoming tone of [member="The Matador"], no matter how nonspecific, did not place her at ease. Not, at all.

[member="Mythos"] was a sight to behold. Gold, gold, and more gold. From golden eyes to golden robes…Srina had not known what to expect of the God-King. Words could only do so much justice. They could not encapsulate presence, majesty, or describe what she felt through the confines of the Force. The silvery apprentice remained silent when their host spoke, expressionless, and unnaturally still. She hardly seemed to exist until something large and fierce caught her attention. Echani eyes missed very little and she found herself watching the tree line a beast appeared. It retreated as the gilded yacht left the dock, and she dismissed it, for the time being. Briefly, mercurial eyes landed on [member="Seras Rose"].

Her gaze was analytical. It pulled on visual data, making comparisons between the Heir, and the two men that accompanied her. The warrior in Srina immediately took notice of her eye-patch. It was a detriment, no matter the species, unless she had some sort of cybernetic or Force related gift to balance it out. The disadvantage would have been strong. To lose binocular vision, and therefore depth perception, would mean that utilizing weaponry and targeting would have been difficult. Loss of peripheral vision, the potential for balance distortion, and general strain lent Srina an overall sense of curiosity. Seras must have been able to compensate, rather well, to be selected for such an important place among the Ancient Eye. The purpose of an Heir was to secure that which had yet to come.

There would be few more important than the small, dark-haired female before them. Seras, was the future.

Eventually, her attention returned to Mythos. Seras might have been the future, but Mythos was the present, and therefore deserved their focus. His chuckle had softened the words spoken against some of their allies, and a pale smile, unfathomable and inscrutable lingered at the kiss of her mouth. To this day, she could feel the military head of the Galactic Alliance as clearly as she could feel Darth Metus beside her, and she could imagine his reaction. “Some of our allies are steeped in the confines of outdated tenants. They are slow to learn, if the centuries are anything to go by, but they do learn. Especially, when failure to adapt, could result in inevitable extinction. At this point...It is not the color of your eyes that they question but the nature of intent and the potential risk to their people. History, leaves both sides wary of the other.”

Afterall, Darth Metus shared his eyes, as so many Sith in the Confederacy did. He had sat before a cadre of Jedi in the Diplomatic Consulate on Sullust and had, somehow, convinced the entirety of them to accept or toletate those that walked on their side in the darkness. Not every Sith was a blasphemer. Not every Jedi was a saint.

“…That being said…Their likes and dislikes are of little consequence. The Confederacy does not need to be liked. We do not seek the affection of our allies. We seek respect and tolerance to ensure the survival and growth of our nations. We seek reliability and efficacy.”, the soft-spoken apprentice breathed, her voice honeyed and light. It was gentleness made real, showing that she was no stranger to this line of dialogue, especially, not in a diplomatic situation. Gray eyes lingered on that of the Emperor before she inclined her head in exquisitely elegant contrition, ever aware, that they existed on this planet at the pleasure of their hosts.“...Forgive me, if I am too bold or appear callous. This is simply an age old debate that will always close the same way. Our allies needn’t agree with our decisions, considering that we are neutral, in every sense. They need only to accept both ends of our spectrum.”

Spoiler

OOC: Please forgive the length...I get carried away.

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

​The Matador stood a few heads taller than the parties gathered, red eyes lingering on Confederates who had joined them. The chrome helmet reflected the muscle movements within. The Matador turned, on his heel as the ship's engines tugged it forward with a subtle jolt before beginning a smooth movement forward against the water. Metal pincer like hands braced against the railings of the boat, bracing himself as he observed the statues on either side of the boat.

​The statues represented the pantheon of gods, just passing ​Khaemt; God of Perfectum. Khaemt was but one of many, but held the most heralded values that he enforced as Chieftain of the Ancient Eye. As the creed their people lived by, conquest was the greatest road to progression, to power. They crushed the Jedi, they grew in power through constant strife. Their conviction was what made them strong. The ability to act upon what one knew to be true, was power. It was true strength.

​He stood listening to [member="Srina Talon"]'s words, the clarity in which she spoke, the firm confidence that carried her words to the both the Monarch and Heirs ears. A Dravalan naturally had dulled senses, but the helmet allowed him to listen just fine. His upper torso turned, looking away from the statue of Khaemt as it passed them by, the serpent lost behind the mass of the boat as it continued forward. ​"There is, nothing to forgive. You appear genuine, which is better than most." ​The words came out slowly, as if hard thought was hard to put into words.

​The massive being slowly turned, eyes moving up and down his past employers form as some recognition might've been visible to those aware of their past entanglement. ​"I have lived in this world for nearly a century. Neutrality by definition is to imply that one is impartial. To be impartial is impossible in this Galaxy."

​The giant's body anchored around, now standing opposite both [member="Mythos"] and [member="Seras Rose"], eyeing both the Confederate and Echani. ​"The Confederacy seeks respect and tolerance. You seek reliability, efficiency. The Galaxy is at war, thus you seek strength. Strength is more than just land or weapons, it is conviction. The will to act in the face of adversity. Yet, you say that your allies needn't agree with your decisions and by implication you needn't agree with ours entirely."

​A pause for a moment, chewing on his thoughts as his infrared eyes watched the heat ebb and flow from the faces of their guests, eyes straining to pick up even the slightest of features. ​"We have, extreme methods. Yet what you propose is that we may turn the other cheek, even if what an ally does goes against what you may believe. I cannot speak for the Monarch nor Heir, but that speaks volumes about the character of the Confederacy to me. And perhaps that your allies are merely that of temporary benefit rather than a true alliance. Which leads me to believe that, there is a lack of sincerity in any form of alliance." ​The words held no grim tone, but the bestial undertone still remained as if perpetual, almost contrarian to the observational tone of his voice. Red eyes shifting between [member="Darth Metus"] and his delegate.

 

[Malok]

Welcome Confederates.

Against the shining light of day was the faintest roll of thunder: the deep voice of [member="The Matador"] was the first to reach the Sith's ears. Briefly, Darth Metus abandoned his momentary appreciation for the vessel upon which he stepped - looking high so that his gaze might settle upon the visage of the Calamity. And, quite frankly, the presence of such a force of nature awokened in him a feeling he had not felt in quite some time. Homesick. It had been ages since his departure from Mandalorian space, concurrent with their expulsion of all things Sensitive to the Force. Months since he had been in the presence of his ilk - of armored warriors born and bred for battle.

He missed home. It was not nearly as stunning to view as the gilded river. It did not grace his flesh with cooling breezes or forgiving warmth. No, Mandalore was a vicious world that sunk its teeth into every occupant. But...it was what he longed for. If not for that damn Empire...

The thought was Banished rightly.

His gaze meandered from the armored Calamity to the God-King, drawn immediately by the decadence that adorned his person. At but the slightest glance, [member="Mythos"] played the part of monarch and deity quite well. Yet, behind the jewelry and pipe was something that both men had in common. A foundation. When Mythos was yet a Knight, both he and Darth Metus served within the One Sith Empire. While the now-Deity took the first steps towards divinity, the Vicelord served (albeit briefly) as Voice of the Dark Lord. And now? Now, the God-King referred to him as a Legend.

To say that the Sith was flattered was an understatement.

Though, he did not dwell on the compliment for long, as Mythos soon put a name to those adjacent to him. Matador, the armored Calamity. Seras, the quiet Heir. To each were rendered a polite nod as their names were spoken, before his attention returned to the King.

"And since that time, you have written your own Legend. I stand here at the precipice of your accomplishments - honored to treat with you as an equal." he began, returning the God-King's sentiments in kind. "For all involved, the operation was a key victory. It has revealed the strength of your warriors." his gaze briefly acknowledged Matador. "And that we thrive when working together."

When the God-King chuckled, commenting on the reality that certain people did not like his eyes a bemused huff escaped the Sith's nostrils. He parted his lips to remark, but the alabaster beauty by his side spoke up first.

The chime of her voice was enough to ease the hurricane of his life. Whether they be standing in the middle of a battleground or a bastion of Light, the slightest word eroded the tension of his days. The Bond between them was such that her confidence became his confidence. His presence became her presence. Of the countless worlds in the Galaxy, her place was always at his side - and she never disappointed when she spoke. Thus, whilst her voice chipped away at the residual pangs of Home yet lingering in his mind, Darth Metus found himself nodding along in agreement.

The low rumble of the Calamity responded.

And from what Srina had stated, predominately addressing the relationship between the Galactic Alliance and Confederacy, Matador had drawn the beginnings of a conclusion. A fledgling opinion was beginning to take flight.

"Aye, the Galaxy is at war, but what my Srina stated has only to do with the Galactic Alliance and the Confederacy. To compare our standing with them is to compare Lions to Eagles - they just won't line up." he began, eyeing the Calamity. "We appreciate your efforts on Ord Padron and would gladly welcome any future collaboration - military or otherwise. But, we did not come solely to seize a temporary benefit of some kind."

"We came to form a lasting bond with your Home. To share the best of the Confederacy and the best of the Ancient Eye for the benefit of our peoples. Trade. Commerce. Infrastructure. Education. Development."

"Furthermore, our election to place our thoughts and efforts not on being liked and towards greater aspirations is not a transgression. Nor does it mean we expect your Home to turn the other cheek or to behave in a manner that it usually would not."

He paused, returning his gaze to the God-King. And with a grin said:

"They don't seem to like my eyes either."

[member="Mythos"], [member="Srina Talon"], [member="Seras Rose"], [member="The Matador"]

 

[Kainan Wolfe]

​

[-SOUNDTRACK-]​

Attn: [member="Mythos"] | [member="The Matador"] | [member="Seras Rose"] | [member="Darth Metus"] | [member="Srina Talon"]​

​

• The Great River
  Nibelungen

The silvery shuttle descended towards its destination as an ever-growing fleet of ships hovered gently in orbit above, triangles that could be seen gliding across the sky, day and night. With the passing of the Emergency Requisitions Act through the Shrouded Assembly, the government had managed to secure the funding necessary for a massive expansion of the navy. Of course, that the act would pass, was never in question. Few assemblymen dared to vote against the Lord of Shrouds and still hope to preserve their careers. Wolfe's popularity with the people was so high, that to position oneself against him was seen as political suicide. The enigmatic leader of the Shrouded Republic held the reigns of power in an unbreakable iron grip and anyone attempting to challenge that, would be promptly voted out of office on the earliest election.

The fleet which held Nibelungen and its Moons under its protective embrace, was his. That he had not been informed of and invited to this meeting, was no doubt the work of some overly-ambitious and crafty Warlord who attempted to strike above his league. This enterprising Warlord would soon find himself facing Wolfe's ire and would be made to understand why no one ever undermined the Lord of Shrouds.

It was not entirely surprising that such a thing would happen. Through political machinations and sheer military power, the Shrouded Republic held itself outside and above the normal hierarchy of the Ancient Eye. Answering directly and solely to the God-King himself, the hermit nation was left largely to its own devices, free of being subjected to the Ancient Eye's laws, customs and religious beliefs and, predictably, many of the Warlords chafed at this, finding the very notion of an exception to the rule, as inherently abhorrent. They were kept in check merely by the Shrouded Republic's daunting military power and reputation for ruthless, mathematical efficiency in dispatching its enemies. Most of the time.

Beyond the basic notions of its social hierarchy and political system, the Shrouded Republic's inner workings remained mostly enigmatic. Born out of the fiery death of the Dominion and forged on the cold, harsh anvil of empty space, the Shrouded Republic had surrounded itself in a veil of mystery. What was known, was that it was a democracy, or at least as far as the upper tier of its citizenry was concerned, as only those who served, or had served in the military, had the right to vote. Those who did not demonstrate a willingness to commit the ultimate sacrifice for the hermit nation, were not entitled to a say in how it was run. It was a nation built upon the principles of order, discipline and hard work. Above all others, two ideals stood at the very foundations of the Republic: Peace through strength. And justice without mercy.

As the shuttle approached, its features became visible. It was a fairly standard Lambda-class shuttle of Palpatine-era imperial design. This fact alone set it apart, as the ship's age made it a veritable collector's item, despite how common it still was throughout the galaxy. Wolfe's shuttle was painted in a reflective, silver coating which awarded it a cold, harsh kind of grandeur, one reserved for the kind of military leader who carved his legacy into the fabric of the galaxy, through violence. It was escorted by a pair of sleek-looking, matte black triangular fighters. T-77 "Talon" Stealth Interceptors, commonly referred to as T-Wings. Rather than out of a need for security, the escort was a demonstration. A show of the Shrouded Republic's impressive technological capabilities and financial might. Just one of those fighters cost more than most cruisers.

As the shuttle landed onto the bank of the river, the two fighters glided gently forward, gracefully swooping past right above the barge as they lazily climbed back beyond the clouds. It was an old, mercenary's trick that the Lord of Shrouds had learned back before he had become the leader of a nation. Wolfe was advertising his goods.

An imposing armed party stepped out of the shuttle, ten soldiers, lining up along the sides of the shuttle's ramp, facing eachother. They wore some sort of cloaks that ended in a Wolf's-head hood, over their modified stormtrooper armors. Wolfguards. The elite commandos that guarded the Lord of Shrouds. Fearless and fanatically loyal to their overlord, they would take their own lives without hesitation, should their master order them to. They saluted by banging their fists against their chestplates, in a manner which added to their feral, deadly appearance. Beyond that, they stood unmoving, like silent statues.

Their commander boarded a small, stately yacht that had suddenly been made available to them and his honor guards remained back as he traversed the gentle waters of the river, alone, in complete silence until he set foot upon the barge where the meeting was taking place.

There was a stark contrast between the Lord of Shrouds and the God-King which ruled the Ancient Eye. Whereas Mythos seemed to rule the very air he breathed through the simple act of existing and he surrounded himself in color and splendor to reflect that, Kainan Wolfe seemed to own the ground he walked on through a sheer act of will. His was not the relaxed nobility of a deity, but the steely grit of a man who's conviction never wavered.

It was said that the Lord of Shrouds never rested. That he worked tirelessly for his people, exchanging all enjoyment and personal time for the trappings of duty and purpose. Indeed, of those who knew him, none could recall him ever taking even a single day off.

He was a much younger man than most would initially assume, perhaps in his late twenties. But his dark brown hair was already stained by streaks of white, as was his neatly trimmed beard. An old scar traced a jagged line across the left side of his face, passing over his eye, giving him the appearance of a battle-hardened veteran. His eyes were a deep blue as cold as ice and burned with a fierce, powerful intensity that seemed to gaze directly into the soul of those he looked upon. His attire was a mixture of practical simplicity and the regal trappings of rank. He wore the crisp, gray uniform of a high ranking officer of the navy, which bore the trappings of the Lord of Admirals. Draped over his shoulders, was a heavy-looking leather cloak with fur padding flowing down from his neck, across the upper part of his chest and back. Two simple silver chains hung lazily down from each shoulder and the whole thing was held together by a pair of broad belts, secured by a wolf's-head buckle of some kind. If the heat bothered him in any way, he did not show signs of it. His only weapon was the intricately-shaped lightsaber that hung from his belt.

He had managed to overhear the last part of the War Chieftain's words, prompting him to frown slightly. Allowing the others to finish speaking, he stood in silence until after Darth Metus aptly responded. "Forgive me, War Chieftain, but it seems to me that you are overlooking the most important reason for pursuing closer ties with the Confederacy, that being the fact that we can not even begin to consider isolation from the galaxy as long as nations such as the Galactic Empire exist. Regardless of how much individual strength one may acquire, the fact remains that the Imperials claim ownership over the entire galaxy and that fact alone, makes us a target for them and their allies to attack," Wolfe said, speaking in a deep, raspy voice, like gravel.

"Now, while there may be differences between us and the Confederacy, that alone is not grounds enough to outright dismiss cooperation and dialogue with them, or to put into question their commitment and reliability as allies. I believe that actions, not differences in ideology, should be what is counted when judging the worth of a nation. Why does it matter that their ways are different from our own? Why does it matter that they ally themselves with nations we do not like, as long as those nations are not at war with us? Pragmatism alone dictates that we should seek to at least establish some sort of formal collaboration with the Confederacy, given the fact that we face the unpredictable Sith Empire to the galactic north and the insatiable Galactic Empire to the west," he spoke, omitting, for now, the fact that as the Dominion's successor state, the Shrouded Republic and its new overlord, the Ancient Eye, were still technically at war with the Empire, as no peace treaty had ever been signed.

 

[Mythos]

He took everything in like the breeze of the morning sun by the balcony of his palace, he weighed every word and every syllable of those present not with logic or reason but with something that transcended it and made everything fit into place by his own will, The Power of the Darkside of the force. Mythos began to meditate while he heard but his eyes shifted when the words were spoken to him, at him or to another one present. While Matador and Kainan were like computers, looking at things from a pure and practical form of thought Mythos was very much alike @Sirina Talon, she incorporated more heart and emotion than calculations and angles of ethics. When she spoke Mythos granted her a smile and a nod of agreement, indeed she was correct and he could not concur more. The same happened when Kainan spoke, a smile and a nod accompanied with the smoke off his pipe as he tossed out the resin and ash into the river they traveled by almost nonchalantly. The moves of his hands were calculated and almost rehearsed as was everything Atrisian in nature, everything had a way and every move had a purpose and was made to be precise and disciplined. In the end [member="Darth Metus"] looked at him and said exactly what he was expecting, he laughed below his breath and nodded accordingly, he leaned back into the seat of the vessel and pondered exactly what to say.

"That is a talent I will have to learn" He began, speaking directly to the Sith Lord before him as if in the entire galaxy there was not another being to speak to. His tone was passive but powerful, thanks to his meditation his uncontrollable strength in the force now was felt. He could not in any way harness abilities like cloaking his force signature, he had lost that gift when he traded it for life after death. "Nothing would please me more than to let the galaxy know that we stand together in alliance." Again his words were not just spoken but felt, sometimes he had trouble with not speaking through the force as it was sometimes easier than speaking with his physical voice especially when he was in the zen of the dark side.

"There will be doubt of course" He continued, silence and the wave of the river accompanied his words through the force and through the air. "However we can stamp it out with something greater and more powerful than anything anyone could imagine and would erase the doubts of those who call us leaders, those who look up to us... Something that would strike the element of doubt and hesitations from the minds of all those who would look upon The Ancient Eye and The Confederate of Independent Systems in their allegiance and unity."

There were drums in the air now, as they neared the middle lane of the river and the palace drums of ritualistic origins began to sound. Mythos took this opportunity to draw from the power of ancient magic to illustrate his ideas and mind. Below his breath he spoke three words of power and then smoke began to pour from his mouth like a red sea. His pose was still relaxed as it was and as the magic made it's work much like the Witches of Dathomir Mythos showed to those present how he had learned different ways to execute magic and illusion and infuse it's power. The smoke began to take shape.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nw2iipzHl3w

With a subtle strength the red smoke took the shape of two human figures and as time passed they began to take a more specific shape. Two women, humanoid like Mythos himself, One of a Darker shade of red and the other of a lighter shade of red. His eyes never left the shapes of smoke as at this time the smoke stopped pouring from his lips that now revealed the curve of a smile. "Seras is the future of us here, whom the Pyramids you see will one day command" As he spoke he twirled his finger and the smoke that laid a sea around the two figures rose up in the shape of a thousand foes, the figure of lighter red drew what looked like a blade and began to cut them down in swaths of dozens. "With my teachings she will become greater than I"

His eyes turned to face the other figure, the one of darker red then turned to look at the apprentice of Metus. "So will she" The figure opposite the one representing Seras also became beset by a dozen figures but as Mythos twirled a finger her figure rose on the wings of a beast, whose power began turning them all to smoke. As the figures representing enemies returned to smoke Mythos balled his hand into a first and blew lightly on his knuckles. Instantly the smoke blew in every direction, mixed with water and fell down like a sparkling cascade of immaterial crystal.

All an Illusion and magic. His smile seemed permanent.

"Thirty Moons" He said, placing three fingers in the air from his left hand, the one not wielding his pipe locking eyes with Metus. "The greatest prize and future of The Ancient Eye to go with you for Thirty moons and in exchange" His eyes turned to Mrs. Talon and the three fingers, almost calculated, bathed in jewels and precious stones turned to point at her. "She takes her place."

The pipe now floated with telekinesis in front of his chest and from his robes Bota herb, alchemized with sith magic began to pour into it's mouth. "Upon their return we will know more about each other and our civilizations and culture, about our strengths and weaknesses and how to best aid each other than we could ever learn in a thousand of these meetings. Seras will be my Icarus, my word and my will upon leaving and going with you, if you should so accept so any trade agreements and delegations she will be more than apt and prepared to undertake. Facilitating then our growth as allies"

The Bota stopped pouring, a flash of sith lightning controlled with a single finger to spark his pipe shined and the smoke of the herb once again flushed the inside of the vessel, only this time after he took one breath and draw of his pipe it floated gracefully to the sith lord before him.

"What say you?"

[member="The Matador"] [member="Kainan Wolfe"] [member="Seras Rose"] [member="Darth Metus"] [member="Srina Talon"]​