Private Fallen Order [ Voph, Vytal ]

[Darth Metus]

R E T U R N​

Location: Templar Sanctum, Roon
Tag: Kyyrk , Vytal Noctura , John Locke

It had been a lifetime since he wandered these Halls.

Decades ago, when the Vicelord was but a young man, there was an Order among the Southern Systems. Theirs was a commune devoted to Justice. Theirs was a midst which dutifully served the first Confederacy...until their extinction. Corruption seeped into the bones of the nation's elite. Corruption that, once revealed, led to the hasty creation of a new order. The truth died with the Templar Order, and their name was villified across the stars. The survivors faded into obscurity or were hunted and presumed deceased. Now, so many years later, a survivor of that purge had righted the wrongs of old. A survivor had recreated the Confederacy, and now had the burden of ensuring its survival.

For just like decades prior, corruption spreads. But Darth Metus would not see his nation descend. He would not see his people turn into the hands which decimated the Templar Order. Thus, a summons was made.

And his boots returned to the blighted Temple he once called Home.

The hour was late on Roon. The heavens were black and the chill of the seas washed over the Sanctum Isle. From the beach, where his personal shuttle laid, a line of shattered steps wound up the hill. And atop it were all that remained of the Sanctum. In its prime, the majesty of the Sanctum rivaled even the finest Jedi Temples. Yet, in the present day, there was nothing but ash, shattered stones, and decay. The Sith stepped lively throughout the remains, knowing his way by memory through the ruined halls. It was a miracle that there were even portions of the Sanctum left standing.

After a few moments' journey, Darth Metus found his destination and waited. Before him, in one of the largest surviving chambers, was a charred ring upon the ground. He recognized it at once for what it was. The Round Table. Burnt into memory. A place where justice was vowed to be kept. Now reduced to cinders. This was the reality that Darth Metus worked to avoid. The reduction of his efforts to naught save ash and ruin.​

 

[Kyyrk]

Voph did not know the full history of the Templar. But he knew enough. He knew that one of the few remaining members had attacked him for the simple vestiges of the Dark he carried with him. And he knew that they had once stood among the ranks of the Confederacy. But most importantly, he knew that he carried their legacy. The Knights Obsidian had been formed to serve the same purpose, even if the ideologies had matured.

Now, as Voph arrived on Roon, he could see the Templar for what they were. A broken, burnt husk of what had been. Voph did not react outwardly to this, but it ushered forth a host of memories for him. He had seen many such places in his time. Back during his war. But even still, he could only imagine what returning to this place did to a man like Darth Metus . Voph took his time picking his way through the ruins with a certain reverence that he seldom offered others.

"Always haunting, is it not? To stand among the ruins of what was, and to think of what may be?" Voph's tone was rhetorical as he posed the question, joining Metus in the large room. He folded his arms over his chest, his Obsidian robes falling into place around his sleek black armor. Metus was a strange one, to Voph. After lifetimes upon lifetimes, Voph had few that he would call friend. And even still, Metus was not among that number.

But standing among the ruins, Voph saw what many others did not. Voph had never been a follower. Only a leader. Ever the force of change he sought in the galaxy. And such was how he had intended to follow. When he first ventured into the Confederacy, his only contact had been to request permission to legally pursue his goals. To seek the man he hunted. But something happened. During the Battle of Eshan, Voph had risked his own life to save another warriors. And since that fateful battle, Voph had stayed. Voph had poured his resources, his time, his knowledge into the Confederacy. He had rescued his homeworld from the clutches of an ancient Sith spell, and immediately set about bringing them into the fold of the Confederacy.

And before him stood the reason. Voph was not one to follow the whims of others. Voph's loyalty was a thing never given, and rarely earned. And though the man before him was not what Voph considered a friend, he was still a man worthy of Voph's loyalty. Voph was not a follower. And yet, he would follow Metus to the ends of the galaxy without question. So when Metus summoned him to Roon, it was not a question of why.

It was a question of what.

Vytal Noctura

 

[Vytal Noctura]

Location: Templar Sanctum, Roon​

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Black smoke began to rise from the ruined floor as it drew near the chamber where two men stood. A column formed at its front, which soon took humanoid shape. From it emerged the pale visage of the Nightmother, and the smoke dissipated back into the ether. Knowing the location where they would be, and given the strength of their spiritual energy, it had been no difficult thing for her to fix her destination back into the realm of the Living among them.​

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Could she use it to track their movements? Almost certainly. Fortunately this was not true of the great many others that would like nothing more than to haunt the pair; and there were ways to mask one's presence. Arts she suspected each knew well enough when circumstances desired privacy. No spell was so powerful than a counter could not be devised.​

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Under the circumstances, Vytal had donned the white robes of the Knights Obsidian that had been fashioned for her position as Nightmother. Her customary red armor even at certain social outings had seemed out of place under the circumstances. It was quite out of the ordinary for the Vicelord himself to conjure her presence in such a manner. Nor was it typical he would do so away from more established locations.​

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"The Wheel spins. What was will be again," she intoned in the wake of Voph's rhetorical question. "Not as it was, but new as Creation abhors complacency." Life was full of change; it was the sole purpose of the living to build and to destroy, to become and discover. Not all such was 'good' from those forced to endure it, but there could be no great achievements without equally great loses.​

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Tag: Kyyrk | Darth Metus​

Template By: Darth Metus (Guy)​

 

[John Locke]

Location: Templar Sanctum | Roon
Wearing: This
Tag: Darth Metus | Kyyrk | Vytal Noctura

“Look upon my works ye mighty…”

The Exarch stepped through the door, his head nodding at his companions as he let dark eyes drift over the dust covered room. There was something about a ruin, about a once great edifice reduced to wreck and ruin that touched a nerve inside of whoever saw it. No matter who you were fear of the future was perhaps one of the greatest fears that drove any civilization, any person. Some of the greatest historical monuments that had been created spoke to that fear, the fear of being left behind, being forgotten. It was that whisper in the dark, the cold hand on your shoulder. The knowledge that no matter what you did, how high you reached one day you to would be a whisper on the wind, a ghost drifting away on the edge of memory.

Everyone reacted to that fear differently, some sought to construct monuments or empires, some chased immortality. Others found a form of immortality in their children and families, in providing for the generations that came after them, while others relied on a name, a company, a single bright achievement that would echo through the ages. Most people though, they lived, they loved and they died.

“I don’t know about that, sometimes we repeat the stories of the past again and again, doomed act out the same play, only the actors change.”

A single finger extended, running through the dust piled up on the table before he looked up. Sometimes this was all they got, sometimes dust and ruins were all that they had in their future. All they could do was focus on now, to live in this moment and do the best they could, change the galaxy where they were able and then hope that that was enough. Sometimes it was, sometimes it wasn’t. The galaxy moved on and they were left with their little houses shouting into the dark. Yet they continued, countless individuals screaming into the night, ‘I’m here, I lived, I matter’. Maybe that’s what this meant, all the structures they built, screaming into the night daring it to come and do it’s worst.