Private Dark Days, and Ahead, Darker Still

[Romul Saxon]

W A R M A S T E R
IYARSA SPIRE, MIDNIGHT​

Tag: Volo Dragr

Though it had been some time since Romul had assumed leadership of the Enclave in the Quartermaster's stead, he couldn't bring himself to replace her official chambers at the top of the Iyarsa Spire, the administrative center of the Enclave and tallest skyscraper in Tor Valum. He did not know if sentimentality or grief forbade him from it; he had lost too many close friends and kin on the battlefield to count, and the wounds they engraved in his soul all bled together. He had learned to mourn the dead and move on. So why was this different?

Was it because she had meant more? Was it because that he felt unworthy to prostrate himself as her equal? Whatever it was, however big or small, it was another drop in the sea of emotions that constantly churned in the back of his mind.

He had invited the Karjr Guildmaster to his offices at this late hour to try and calm his mind, to chart a path clear out of the storm. Not for himself, but for the Enclave. The shadow that had fallen on the Mandalorian nation with the Quartermaster's death had only waxed stronger as of late, and a number of rapid and concerning developments had set him and everyone on edge. It felt as if an unseen beast was slowly closing its jaws over the Enclave, but they were too blind to escape before it was too late.

Moonlight shone down through the large window that framed the back of the office, the pale amethyst light of Inuyahya'baar illuminating the many trophies that adorned Romul's walls. The many-toothed skull of a Nexu beast that Romul had defeated in single combat grinned at the Warmaster below from where it hung overhead on the ceiling. Various weapons and armors, some familiar, some not, all prizes retrieved from various battlefields over the many years of war. In contrast to the decorations around the room was where the Warmaster sat himself. In front of him was a simply-carved table of Grulyr Cebatr wood, expensive material seemingly wasted on such a utilitarian design. Pragmatism was a key Mandalorian tenet, however, or at least that was what Romul Saxon believed. Two stools carved from the same tree as the table sat at either side with Romul at the side furthest from the door.

He sat there, in silence, brooding with his chin in steepled fingers. The silence pervaded the entire office; everything was still. ANd in that silence, Romul could manage to think.

Somewhat.

 

[Volo Dragr]

G U I L D M A S T E R
TAGS : Romul Saxon
LOCATION : Kestri, Iyarsa Spire
- - - - -

Thud. Thud. Thump. Thud. Thud. Thump.

Echoed up and down the silent halls of the Iyarsa Spire, the Karjr Guildmaster's unyielding stride as distinctive as his cold and calculated tone, or the apathetic gaze of his blood-red visor. He had a grim reputation born from his reclusive behaviour, and his utter brutality in the few situations that required his direct handling; while he had most certainly earned his infamy and all it's pursuant monikers & slurs, there remained a sect of outliers who could testify to his passionate side, to the sharp mind and cordial persona that lay beneath his buy'ce.

Romul Saxon, the Warmaster, was not among them.

In truth, the two figureheads of the Enclave had barely interacted beyond their fumbling of the peace talks with the Empire, not many months after the passing of the Quartermaster. At best they were strangers, but at their worst, their feuding would tear the Enclave down. While it had always been Volo's intent to clear the air with his hot-blooded counterpart, well, he considered time to be in his favour if he could get through a day's work without some interruption.

Thud...

Thud...

Thump.

The Guildmaster's footsteps halted just beyond the door to the Warmaster's chambers, only loudened by the silence that crowded the spire. It had been a long time since he had been called upon to provide his counsel and, truth be told, there was something nostalgic about the nearly unchanged administrative center of the Enclave.

As he pressed his forefingers against the door controls, he was deafened to the hydraulic hiss of the door sliding open by the shock of how little had changed within the Quartermaster's office. There had, of course, been an exchange of personal effects... but for the most part, the chambers remained the same as when he had last seen them, countless months ago.

Stepping beyond the boundaries of the door, not pausing as he closed the door behind him in one smooth motion, he strode towards the familiar Grulyr Cybatr wood table. "Su'cuy, Akaan'alor." he offered, a traditional greeting with a hint more formality than might've been strictly necessary.

As he approached the conservatively-designed table, the Guildmaster paused only his momentum to stand side by side with the stool. Sweeping the his arm clear of his shoulder cape, he produced a fine looking bottle which he held with just the one hand, placing it carefully in the center of the table before he himself sat down.

Removing his helmet and placing it to the side, he allowed his piercing, amber eyes to meet Romul's. "That is a two century vintage of ne'tra gal, it was gifted to me by the Quartermaster when she last summoned me for my counsel, just prior to her departure for Rothana." the seasoned taskmaster began, his apathetic yet serious tone masking his words; whether his claims had truth to them was knowable only by him now. "It is my belief she intended for me to share it with her successor, just as she and I shared drinks when she called for my counsel." he continued, though lacking a certain finality that indicated his point was yet to be made.

"Out of respect for your honour, I will spare the pleasantries other advisors burden themselves with," Volo declared, suspense building his voice, "You have invited me to hear my counsel, but my advice will not help a General.

"I offer you a choice; choose to be the Quartermaster's successor and share a drink with me, or remain the Warmaster, that I may take my leave."
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