Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Hey Brother

Tatooine. A barren desert world. Empty, it would appear to the untrained eye, but there was more hidden beneath the sands than Krayt dragons and Tusken raiders. No, no, Tatooine is where the heart of the Straife dynasty lived. That, and Polis Massa. The Straife Homestead was on privately owned land, a large moisture farm built by the family's forefather - Lars Straife - some centuries ago. It was natural for the homestead to be passed down through the generations, and initially, their family bred strong candidates for the Jedi Order. And so it was, until Adamus and his brother were born.

Avara stood at the front of the homestead, now a burnt out and wrecked husk of what it used to be; whatever existed here before had been lost to the sands. It was early in the morning, and the twin suns could be seen peeking over the ridges of the Dune Sea far to the east. Avara drank in the site, and waited as patiently as he could. He had summoned @[member="Lucas Straife"] to Tatooine twenty four standard hours ago, and his little brother was taking his sweet time. Naturally, Lucas was always fashionably late where Adamus was inflexibly on time. His brother had just graduated from the academy when the news of the Empire's fall had been heard across the galaxy. Racing against what little time he had, Avara scrambled to save his brother before the Jedi took him into their grasp... or removed his head.

And that had brought him here, to his homeworld. Walking the dunes was second nature to him, and finding the various settlements across the desert planet was even more simple than breathing. He had an affinity for the world, a weakness almost. A shame that the world stood in Confederacy hands, but all in good time. There was much to be done, and it was still early.
 
It's true about Lucas' reputation. He is a lousy timekeeper, yet this time he had the perfect excuse. He went to a small shop in Mos Eisley to fetch some Ice-on-a-stick delicacies. The truth was Tatooine is a dustbowl. Boiling, deserted, quiet. Especially at his homestead quite a distance away from the spaceport. Any treat which could cool him down was a bonus. His brother would surely understand. Once they were bought, he consumed them all. Why does @[member="Adamus Straife"] have to know? He doesn't. Oh...but maybe he should of left him one. So indecisive. Well, it's too late to go back to fetch some more. Lucas Straife boarded his vessel, the beautiful vintage vessel which he scavenged from a shipyard on Corellia. A XS light stock freighter to be specific. The engines are loud and makes people deaf but only a small risk of destroying ear drums. So who cares, right?

"There's an endless road to rediscover. Not been home in months. Everything looks so familiar yet new." Talking to himself was a common occurrence. He disliked droids greatly, any technology really. It was a surprise he carried a lightsaber with him. Attached to his belt remained his two short swords, his preferred choice. The journey on the freighter took a relatively short distance. He was at the homestead in no time. As the ship levitated vertically, the dust blew backwards into the eyes of the slaves on the compound. "What if I'm far from home? Oh brother I will hear you call. And I have done. I'm here." The vessel's ramp opened while it lowered itself onto the sand. He graciously walked onto the rocky pathway. He knelt down on one knee, wrapping his gloved left hand around the sand. He rinsed it through his fingers before he stood. "I'm home."

Walking down the path, he eventually reached the homestead. A droid offered him a drink and to take his possessions. Big mistake. Only three seconds passed before the droid slammed into the stone wall behind, crushing it's circuits into a frenzy. An explosion occured through it's chestplate. The fire started immediately after. The force was a powerful ally, it only took a flick of his wrist. Lucas' green eyes flickered upward, glancing at the sky. "If the sky comes falling down..." Shaking his head, he walked through the doorway to meet his brother. The younger of the two brothers had a certain swagger to him, calm, reserved. Perhaps an act, yet it turned on the ladies. How could he complain? "Sorry I'm late, those pesky jedi. Oh, and you might need a new droid." Chuckling to himself, he finally came to a standstill when he came across his brother sitting in the living quarters. "Hey, brother."
 
His brother's sense of humour did not amuse him. Lucas had always teetered on the brink of madness, ever since the death of their mother. Instead of madness, the boy Adamus Straife had chosen grief-driven rage and anger; he had boiled all of his feelings together and fashioned himself a new identity; one that would not succumb to what his old self had. Lucas was different. When their mother's heart stopped beating, something snapped inside of his mind, a spark ignited and set a flame inside his head that still burned even now. Avara had tried tirelessly to cure his brother of his insanity, believing it for a long time to be detrimental to their cause. But with his psychosis came a gift, and Darth Avara took advantage of it. For the greater good, it would seem.

"You remember that day, brother?" He slipped into a crouch, shoveling a pile of sand into his gloved palm. He rose again, brooding, and let the grains slip between his fingers. "We have come a long way since then, Lucas, yet we are still so young. We achieved in ten years what many could not achieve in a lifetime. What could we do with another ten?" He turned his masked visage to Lucas. Beneath it, he smiled, but he knew Lucas would never see it. He paced forward to him, inspecting the grown specimen of a man that his little mad brother had become. Fine indeed, a little less bulky than him, far more slender, but fine. "As soon as you passed your trials, I had you transferred under my wing. We are together now, you and I. And it shall remain so, until we hold the galaxy in our grasp."

@[member="Lucas Straife"]
 
Brother is a fruit loop, well, that's what he thought. Who doesn't enjoy humor? He truly is a robot...or cyborg. Maybe he's C3PO with a mask on. Lucas is the R2D2 to his cause, the funny one. "Brother, you don't know where that sand has been. I'd suggest washing your hands. And what day? I was seven ten years ago. I can barely remember any of it. Maybe one day I will." Lucas' eyes followed his brother @[member="Darth Avara"]. Despite their relationship, Lucas already had calculated thirteen different ways to kill him, many including the environment around him. He could never be too careful, even in the Sith. "Brother, why do you wear a mask? Why not showcase our charming, handsome figures and get some ladies." Then the moment came which he expected. The offer of tutelage, under his mastery. Letting his hand rest limply on his belt, he thought carefully about what to say.

"Of course brother, I'll be happy to serve under you." Lucas moved forward, placing each other's wrists into each others hand, before using the other arm to embrace each other in a tight hug. It was a family tradition of introduction, gratitude or goodbye. Plus, many more things not caring to mention. That charming playful smile came across Lucas face, he was ready to play the game of thrones. The game of power. The game of treachery. The game of the sith. "Where do we start? I came across a transmission on my holo communicator by our relative @[member="Kuroth Straife"]. He'll be soon making a presence, I believe." Everything was moving into place. Soon, the galaxy would know the wrath of the Straife's. Well, from Kuroth and Adamus maybe. Lucas would bring the certain swagger, the charm. The dressing to five star food, the assassin. The fun will begin.
 
He felt his brother's embrace, and for once, allowed himself to share in it. Darth Avara was not fond of any form of bond, but the one between brother and family was something that could not be denied; even for a Sith. He had heard across the galaxy that powerful dynasties started with powerful families. Avara was the mind and power and Lucas was the wits and cunning. This wasn't to say Avara did not have his own sense of cunning. After all, they were brothers, and whoever their father was - and whatever he had done - the boys had certainly taken after him in several ways. "Another one, you say?" Adamus chirped with fervent delight at the mention of another Straife. "And then there were three." He released the embrace of his brother, and clapped his shoulder firmly. "When Kuroth gets here, we will begin your training. Both of you. And when your training is complete, the real fun begins."

@[member="Lucas Straife"] @[member="Kuroth Straife"]
 
It was time to settle into home. "Slave, fetch the meat from the ship and bring it to the kitchens." An authoritative voice, one day he knew he'd be commanding people of his own, slaves aren't really people. Just mere possessions. "Brother, I shall settle in then we can have a feast, we've not had one in a while." Lucas went to his room to get changed into more loose fitting clothes, it was time to relax. He dispossessed his weaponry, only leaving one short sword attached to his belt. By the time he got changed and went downstairs, the raw meat found it's way into the kitchen.

He walked to the head chef, another slave. Although this slave he was more fond of, he had lived here since he was a child and cooked the best food he had ever tasted. He could still remember that feast on Hutt meat. "Ah, Adri, it's nice to see you're still alive. If you can, the meat the slave has just brought in. Cut it up and cook it for me and my brother, make it taste nice. You can decide the other ingredients." Lucas walked out the kitchen as two dead twi-lek whores who's necks had been sliced open were dragged inside the kitchens. A fine course was to come. He continued his simple chores around the compound, asking slaves to prepare the feast such as setting the dining table.

Night time neared, the blissful sunset on the horizon. The dining table had been set outside in this warm weather, two chairs at a rather large table. He sat down in the same loose-fitting clothes, waiting for his brother to attend the dinner. It would be informal. His brother wasn't as cannibalistic, yet he never knew what the meat was. More so because Lucas never told him and is unlikely ever to tell him the truth. His brother seemed to enjoy it either way. These feasts are a rare occurrence but in the past, he has slyly fed his brother human, hutt, trandoshan and kushiban meat. Each time he enjoyed it. Would he enjoy tonight's meal? Most likely. Only time will tell. A few meters from the table a slave band played slow, gracious music to Lucas' ears. Closing his eyes, he went into a peaceful state of meditation, waiting for his brother @[member="Darth Avara"].

@Kuroth Straife
 
Lucas' skills with food were better than his skills with a blade, Avara thought as he bit down on the tender, red meat. He couldn't say what it was, something told him it wasn't anything he'd ever tasted before - but it was good. "Were it possible that you spent more time honing your lightsaber skills rather your culinary skills, you might be where I am today, brother." He smiled, the first smile his brother would have seen from him. Avara was finally unmasked, yet his hoot remained over his head. He wasn't afraid to show his face around his brother, he had already seen it enough times to count. The mask wasn't his face around Lucas, and it was rather rude to have him speak to an iron facade.

When the feast was over, Avara settled down on a glass of juma juice, sitting opposite to his brother. He leaned his cheek upon his fist as he leaned upon the table, and swirled the pale liquid around before taking a light sip. "You will have to teach me that recipe one day. It would go well with a few toxic ingredients, and given to the right person, it might kill certain unwanted enemies of ours." His lips curled into a smile, but soon the smile faded. Far off in the distance, he sensed something, a strange yet familiar presence that gnawed at him. It was similar to his own, yet stronger, and much more focused than his own. He glanced at Lucas with a face, and hoped his younger brother sensed the same disturbance. In a flash, he shot up and exited the homestead, donning his mask during the walk. That is when he saw the ship, and the figure descending from it like a looming shadow.

@[member="Darth Metus"] @[member="Lucas Straife"] @[member="Kuroth Straife"]
 
"Ah, brother, you compliment me. Food is a masterpiece, I only care to craft it. As I shall in my ability to become a sith assassin under your tutelage." After finishing the meal, Lucas used a napkin to wipe any remains on his face. He smiled back when he did, enjoying the company his brother brought. "Perhaps later, there'll be some... female slaves to use." And at that moment, something wasn't right. He sensed it. He looked to his brother. He could tell he sensed it too. His brother got straight up and walked out the homestead. Lucas headed to his room, quickly placing on his robes, armor and weaponry. You could never be too careful. Minutes later, he joined his brother on the plains of Tatooine, awaiting the visitor.

@Darth Metus @[member="Darth Avara"] @Kuroth Straife
 
The providence of the Force was an enigmatic reality, for it orchestrated events and interactions that would scarcely happen if ever left to random happenstance. Intent upon gracing the sands of Tatooine with his presence for the sake of training, the Mandalorian known as Isley Verd descended upon the world aboard his personal starfighter. He had no destination in mind, but instead desired to allow the Force to guide him as to where he should land and undertake his additional session of training. However, the Force did not have this in mind for him...it wanted him to meet a duo whose blood ran hot through his veins: brothers, separated by worlds and years, yet kin all the same. Upon touching down, the beskar-clad Sith disembarked without a word and began to calmly stride forward in the direction of what seemed to be the ruins of a moisture farm or something.

Yet, it became obvious that he was not alone, for as he emerged from his ship, a pair emerged from the ruins to meet him. The trek across the sands only took a handful of moments, and Darth Metus came to a halt only five feet away from his siblings. He felt the Force brimming within them, though this power he recognized as beneath that which he possessed. Either they were Masters of suppressing their true might, or they were simply not of his same "class". Regardless, he addressed them with proper courtesy and respect, greeting them with a nod of acknowledgment to each. "Good afternoon," he began, speaking in his deep, rumbling voice, "my name is Isley Verd. Who might you be?"

@[member="Lucas Straife"], @[member="Darth Avara"].
 
First came the fear. The fear that the Empire had survived the onslaught of the Republic and their allies, and they had found out that Avara had taken matters into his own hands. The Empire hated dissidents, and they were quick to put down rebellions wherever they should arise. In this circumstance, his seemingly would be assassin was clad in beskar not unlike his own mask, but his very self radiated with the power of the Force. Second came the confusion, the sudden perplexity hit him when he noticed his aura; it radiated with the same vehemence as his own. His was stronger, focused and precise, but Avara could deny the similarity. Where had this man come from, and who was he that he shared so much with a mere Sith Knight like Avara? More importantly, why was he here?

Lastly came the realisation which hit him like a dagger in the heart. He had denied it for so many years, believing his estranged father could not have spawned anymore offspring other than Lucas and himself; they were alone in the galaxy, and they took solace in the fact that they only had one another. Oh, how wrong I was. He stepped forward to Isley Verd, brimming with confusion, excitement, fear and hatred at the same time. He could hardly contain all of his passion at that moment, though his mask kept his appearance under wraps. Cool, calm, collected. That was the impression pervaded through his exterior. He aimed to keep it that way.
"My name is Adamus Straife, and this is my younger brother Lucas. Who are you?" He asked.

@[member="Darth Metus"] @[member="Lucas Straife"]
 
Lucas remained stationary at his brothers side, remaining quiet. He always let his brother take the lead, unless it was towards girls. Ah... his brother? Girls? Paha. He needs to pay. Lucas kept his arms at his side, the wristblade metal attached to his wrist feeling cool against his skin. He was only their if anything got out of hand. Yet even through the force, he could tell this visitor was of the same ilk. He was one of us. Maybe not a friend, but one of us all the same. The discussions will take place, both of us will listen. That's the way Lucas guessed the confrontation would go. No fighting would happen... not today.

@[member="Darth Avara"] @[member="Darth Metus"]
 
Adamus...

...Adamus...

Why did that name seem so familiar? The Mandalorian folded his arms across his chest and regarded the men before him with a phenomenal sum of intrigue plastered upon his face. Of course, his expression was hidden from view by the helmet which covered his face...And then, it hit him like a brick wall. Long ago, his sire had made it a point to enlighten Isley to all of the names of his siblings scattered abroad. The man who assisted in bringing the Mandalorian into the world was far from being an honest husband and had all but scattered his seed across the Galaxy. Isley knew the names of his siblings, yes, and roughly where they were born...but he never met any of them; until now.

"Adamus Straife? Lucas Strife?" he repeated in utter disbelief, amazed at the providence of the Force. "My name is Isley Verd...I do believe we share something in common, and it is not an affinity for wandering about the desert in the afternoon sun...."

@[member="Darth Avara"], @[member="Lucas Straife"].
 
Even behind his mask, he looked a bit set back by Adamus' announcement of their names. What was so special about them? He was just a lowly knight of the Sith Empire, and his brother was even lower. This man's physique permeated with the power of the Force; why would two runts be of importance to him? When he said they shared a connection, Adamus remained puzzled, but somewhere inside he understood. He couldn't deny it, as deep as he wished to hide the truth. He paced toward Metus, unwavering and unafraid. "What is that supposed to mean, exactly?"

@[member="Darth Metus"] @[member="Lucas Straife"]
 
Lucas Straife was surprised at having a guest on Tatooine. He was even more surprised that it was another sith, although he shouldn't be. He was even more surprised that such sith permeated so much power in the force. He was even more surprised that such sith knew his name and his brother's. What was so special that the force brought them together? His name was Isley Verd? A horrible name, Lucas thought. Whoever his father and mother was named him very badly. He pondered on the sentence he spoke of, especially the attempt at a joke or he thought it was an attempt. He let his brother move forward and ask his question. Lucas remained stationary yet he wanted to still say something witty. "Something in common? Well, we're all sith." A sly grin came across his face at his dry wit. He folded his arms, waiting for the discussion to continue.@

@[member="Darth Avara"] @[member="Darth Metus"]
 
The Mandalorian chuckled at the words spoken by @[member="Lucas Straife"]. Sure, they all had an affinity for the Dark Side of the Force, as was painfully evident, but Darth Metus was referring to something much, much more. "No, that is not it at all." he began, placing his attention briefly upon the youngest before returning his gaze to the oldest. "The blood which runs through my veins is the same as yours. If you are truly Adamus and Lucas Straife, then we share a common sire of the surname Verd. The providence of the Force would have it that we meet..."

@[member="Darth Avara"].
 

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