Private High Tide

[Adrien Mostarr]

|| HIGH TIDE ||
The Snake and The Grass - Prologue
———

SUCCESSION​

NIRAUAN

“Lord Barran,” Adrien offered the aging Lord Regent a handshake. There was no hero’s welcome nor festivity in his arrival, everything was done underneath the shadowy pillars of the Hand of Thrawn, as he insisted. Adrien is a viper, his true power lies within his ability to hide in plain sight, unlike so many of his predecessor.

“It’s been long due for us to meet again. I had planned a visit earlier this year, but circumstances forbade,” the Grandmaster leaned on his walking stick, courtesy of the slug that made it’s way through his tailbone. Recovery wasn’t easy for him, a non Force-user would never regain their sight nor ability to walk, it took him a month.

“Alas, here we are, with a steep ladder to climb,” Adrien took a seat, his eyes studying the room he is in; the pictures, figures, and artifacts displayed by the Tattered Regent. He hasn’t seen the man since before Argilac’s demise, even way before that, five years, give or take. His former master knows that the two men often doesn’t see eye to eye, and he wasn’t wrong. But dire times call for unlikely alliance. Opposite strengthens the cause, after all.

“How’s this trying time been treating you, My Lord?”

Michael Barran​

 

[Michael Barran]

TAGS
Adrien Mostarr

HIGH TIDE - 1

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West Tower, The Hand of Thrawn,
New Carannia, Nirauan (902 ABY)

'Could be better, could be worse.... an' yet, come what may - my soul is ready.'​

The old Woad always accepted his old friend's handshakes, and this time was no exception, understanding the increasingly-rare likelihood of living to share another as he admitted,'Even with enemies in every corner, destiny decreed that Ashlan Saints answer prayers now.', with smile widening gleefully at the sudden revelation. To hear such relieving news in the midst of the realm's darkest hour, as fantastical as it sounded, it likely would have much offered more than meagre, spiritually-driven comfort could provide, reaffirming beliefs in days when they would be needed the most.

'I know what that means, but I refuse to go out gently.... I understand my father's choice, an' choose t'go down with my palace - as he did.'

The Tattered Regent was finally at peace in his soul, relieved that he was gifted enough time to prepare for another Fel Imperial resurgence, though it was quite apparent Lord Michael knew he would not live to see it, but the torturous decades that preceded his revelations had steeled his soul to prepare for the sake of the ones who mattered. As things stood, (and just like his father before him) the realm would always come first with the leader of the Protectorate, but the Architect would see the sly, cunning smirk for himself as the Tattered Regent revealed,'But hope needn't vanish there, my old friend. My youngest son is ready to lead, an' quite outspoken in his need for help, from our generation as much as his own.... But enough o' me, I even bore myself with this caper.', expressing a visible, obstinate refusal to capitualte outright.

'How's the recovery going?'

[Michael intends to use Force Healing to make minor improvements, cane may be needed still, but it may quicken recovery in the long-run.]