Little Lion Man [Tyrin]

[Hazel Scheler]

Weep for yourself, my man,
You'll never be what is in your heart.

Umbara. A dark place. Perpetually in the nighttime. It's cities were of ghastly realms, it's forests the settings of nightmares. Ivy had been here once before, centuries ago during the time of the Gulag Plague. It had been a terrifying experience then and she wondered, as The Egris made landfall, to what degree it would be anymore.

She was here for a job. Admittedly the pay wasn't nearly enough for the tremble in her heart. This planet brought back memories - painful ones that tore at her mind's eye, snarling like a starved beast to be freed from those mental barricades. But, the woman reminded herself, those days were far behind her. Samson wasn't here to watch her back, she was alone, she needed her wits about her, and most importantly of all she needed a means to an end.

The Egris touched down on an open landing pad within a spaceport of the Capital. Ivy, her traveling cloak pulled taught around her armor and her weapons holstered on her form, gathered herself for the approaching relentless night. She made it down the hall of her ship and to the top of the entrance ramp, but when the darkness of Umbara greeted her she felt her breath grow chill.

Weep, little lion man,
You're not as brave as you were at the start.

She set off into the city, watching ghosts pass her by and hearing voices whisper from the shadows. There was something about the taste of failure that remained here after all this time and it made her sick to her stomach. Ivy swallowed it and turned away from visions of her past, pulling from her cloak the datapad containing the job specs.

Lord Tyrin Ardik, formerly of Umbara. Find him and deliver the parcel. Send him my kindest regards.


@[member="Tyrin Ardik"]

 

[Caulder Dune]

@[member="Ivy Lasranae"]

The Brief and Frightening Reign of Ardik - An Autobiographical Guide for the Aspiring Sith Lord
Chapter VIII: Hubris & The Sith

When Mikhail Shorn entered the throne room while I happened to be in it, there were a number of thoughts that went through my head. "Gee, don't I have the worst timing in the Galaxy" and "By Ragnos, what now" chief among them. What I did not anticipate, or even entertain, was that I would lose. Looking back and realizing the sheer amount of power Shorn possessed not only of his own but of the relic he wielded, I did not stand a chance. In fact, very precious few could stand a chance against that sociopath. Why, then, would I have thought myself to even have the slimmest chance of victory? Despite the wisdom I so gauchely boasted about at length in my earlier days, I had fallen to the same trap that leads to the downfall of even the most powerful of Sith Lords: hubris. Arrogance, pride, foolishness, what hav

Tyrin's silent typing was interrupted by the sound of a rapping at his chamber door. Impossible. He didn't get visitors. No one on Umbara just stopped by for a chat if they didn't have anything to gain from it. Especially not in the upper districts like he had situated himself in. High enough to live comfortably, low enough to not attract attention.

"Someone's lost." He muttered to himself, returning to his typing. "Nothing more."

Arrogance, pride, foolishness, what have you. Because Sith are so willing to explore and exploit the full potential of the Force, and even handle such corrupting energies, they are often prone to hubris. This is understandable, as their polar opposites, the Jedi Order, teach temperament and restraint. It thusly becomes the opinion of many Sith that, because the Jedi restrain themselves in that way, they are inherently weak. If the Jedi are weak, then they must be strong, because they are not only willing to channel the volatile energies of the Dark Side, but fully capable of doing so. This leads to most Sith developing an over-inflated and often unwarranted sense of self-worth. It can

Again, the typing stopped at the sound of persistent knocking. Tyrin snarled, pushing himself up from his desk and moving briskly for the door. What was it now? Another assassin? A bounty hunter? Emperor Lussk coming to ask for advice? Maybe Saoirse. That would've been nice. Wishful thinking was unbecoming of him though. It was probably Velok coming to mock him, or Shorn to finish the job. That last thought sent an unwelcome chill up his spine. He had his new lightsaber, though. At the very least he wouldn't go down without a fight. There was little-to-no presence in the Force behind that door, however. Either someone capable of masking it or just the average sapient.

The door slid open, revealing a man most wouldn't recognize. Tyrin had kept his appearance concealed for the majority of his time in public. Now even those who had seen him in those brief periods without a mask of one sort or another would have a hard time recognizing him. He was older, and the extended mileage was apparent on his features. For a refreshing change of pace, he'd stopped shaving his head. Apparently it wasn't in style on Umbara any longer. Facial hair was the new baldness, and so a middle-aged Tyrin had allowed as much to cultivate. He wore finery that was definitely more on the expensive end of the spectrum for Umbarans. Perhaps Tyrin had embezzeled some funds from the Sith on his exit, perhaps he hadn't. It was hardly an issue for anyone to be concerned about any more.


Tyrin looked over this... Interloper. He didn't look nearly as upset as he had been on his approach to the door. He had to keep up appearances. A disinterested, aloof nobleman who preferred to keep to himself. She was armed and armored, that much he could tell. She also carried herself like someone who made a living injuring other people. If she was here to beat him up, she probably would have just kicked the door down and gotten on with it. Not... Knock. That was horribly-

"I would've opened those if you had knocked, y'know." Tyrin said with a sigh, watching Shorn as he approached.

His lightsaber flew into his hand with a resounding snap, but he didn't ignite it. "What do you want? Out with it. Now."

 

[Hazel Scheler]

Belligerance wasn't really her forte, but after spending an hour tracking the man down by the data hub in the city, Ivy had come to the conclusion that she didn't want to be here any longer than absolutely necessary. Those shadows that followed her everywhere were becoming more and more of a nuisance on her mind. It took effort to bat away old memories and she was growing weary of it.

She knocked once, rapping at the door several times. This seemed an odd approach, to be sure, but then again the job was not the more typical she'd taken. Usually these things consisted of kicked-in doors or broken windows, neither of which she was inclined to work with. Glass was a queen to pull out of armor, after all.

No answer, she waited what seemed a respectable amount of time before stepping forward and knocking again. This time she put a bit more effort into it. The sound echoed sharply, causing local vermin to stir and take flight from a windowsill above. Ivy, frowning, took a step back to look upwards. Somewhere over her head there was a light on. She pondered scaling the wall and simply chucking the parcel in, but that wouldn't give her what she needed to prove the deed had been done. Instead she'd be forced to wait-

the door flew open suddenly- then again, maybe not.

Hazel eyes snapped upon the face of the man that met her, taking in his features. His eyes looked on in distaste but his body looked upon her with a wariness of someone who'd been hunted down before. She glanced to the movement of his weapon as it landed in his hand and immediately lifted her own hand to point at him, "Don't." The word was as direct and unflinching as her gaze.

"Lord Tyrin Ardik," she gestured to him with her hand, questioning his identity without words and waited for any sign that she had, indeed, found the right man, "I was hired to deliver a parcel to you from a man who calls himself The Archivist. I'm under strict orders to do so in private. Now," she lowered her hand, "may I please come in?"

 

[Caulder Dune]

@[member="Ivy Lasranae"]

Odd. That utterance of "don't" had a more profound impact on Tyrin's readiness to cleave the interloper in twain than he'd have liked. This was definitely the kind of person who had faced down a similar situation. Either that or they had dealt with Force Users before. Her gaze, steely and completely unperturbed by Tyrin's rudeness and threatening actions, was also more a factor than Tyrin would ever admit.

Then she said his name. Not the assumed one he had been living under, of course. The actual one, complete with a title he no longer held. It almost dismayed him to hear it. She was clearly inquiring as to whether or not it was him. Seeing as she had clearly come from some long way off and that he had already flashed his lightsaber like the paranoid old fool he was becoming, there was no point in denying it.

"Yes." He said, almost pained at the admittance. "That would be me."

She mentioned a parcel that had been sent by an archivist. No, the Archivist. He assumed she meant Dissero. For a time, there wasn't a single person in the galaxy Tyrin utterly despised more than that librarian. Which was exceedingly strange, considering he had never seen or heard of the man until after he had presumably fled civilized space to live among piles and piles of pilfered Sith lore.

Or whatever he was doing. Tyrin had stopped paying attention a while ago and his hatred had died down. Getting beaten up in front of the entire Sith Order did a number on one's ability to hold a grudge. Whatever Dissero, (or not-Dissero, on the off chance) was giving him was probably just to mock him. Best get it over with so this courier could get a move on with her life and collect whatever paltry pay she'd been offered.

Tyrin clipped his lightsaber back to his side, stepping out of the way so the courier could enter. "Come in, then."

 

[Hazel Scheler]

The woman's expression leavened with the barest hint of relief. Paranoia was an ugly child to deal with and she'd not desired a tantrum tonight. This, she remarked as she quietly thanked the man and stepped through the threshold, was a pleasant turn of events. Civilized folk, how much she truly missed them.

Ivy moved towards what appeared to be a sitting area of sorts and turned to face the man fully. Hands moving deftly, slowly to give him no reason for suspicion, pulled aside the hem of her traveling cloak to reveal the satchel hidden beneath. From this she produced a black box that moved with considerable weight from one hand to the other. She set this on a nearby table before reaching in again for another piece: a rolled parchment that she placed atop the box, both of which the woman then pushed towards her host.

With a long, low breath she stood back and looked to the man before her, "I was told to assure you the contents are of no consequence to me and you may open it in my presence. The Archivist requested that you send a reply or something of personal note to prove successful delivery."

 

[Dissero]

The rolled parchment, set with a wax seal baring the Archivist's insignia, was not likely something Tyrin received regularly. Dissero was a man of conventional means whenever possible, and one that placed a high value on the senses. Seeing the handwriting of another could hardly be compared to a recorded holovid.

To the Lord Tyrin Ardik:

First and foremost, I will not apologize for the transgressions between us. These things were unavoidable and by all means were bound to happen eventually, if not to you, then to your now-usurper.

I will apologize, however, for the trinket sent to you on Bastion. The Telos Holocron was not something I was prepared to part with so soon, as such what you were given was not the true artifact, but a replica crafted with great care in order to fool the many Masters of the Force for as long as it needed to. Enclosed in the case is the genuine article, on this you have my word.

Accompanying it you will find an assortment of Roonstones and a single Durindfire Crystal. I understand they may be of some use to you.

On a slightly unrelated note, the Phobis Device is within reach. Rest assured when it is complete you will be the first to know and, perhaps, the first to see.

Regards,
Lord Dissero

 

[Caulder Dune]

Tyrin's eyes did not leave the courier as she moved into his residence and immediately for the parlor. It was a typical Umbaran home: dreary and poorly lit. Everything appeared to be of a cool, dark blue color. Such was the styling choices of Umbarans. To off-worlders it was frequently depressing and strange. Come to think of it, most found the planet of Umbara to be depressing and strange in of itself. Tyrin moved silently after the mercenary, stooping over when the box was slid across the coffee table for him. He took the parchment off the top of it, peaking inside of the box first and foremost.

When Tyrin's eyes fell upon the contents, his features tightened back into an annoyed scowl. He shut the box, tore open the parchment, and scanned the message. He made no effort to hide his displeasure now. Again he'd been fooled, this time by the former Empress instead of Dissero and Velok. Though it was still mostly the two of them, particularly the latter. Mayhaps if he had bothered to examined the Telos Holocron that had been chucked at him at Bastion, he would have found fault. Or maybe he wouldn't have. Like all things pertaining to both the Empire and Tyrin, it was now a moot point. Now it seemed Dissero had even taken it upon himself to deliver Tyrin a cache of rare gems. A sympathy parcel; a consolation prize. Insulting. He had no use or need for the gems. He would see them donated to the Umbaran planetary government. The holocron, the genuine article, he would guard safely in the meantime alongside another he had purchased in that ill-fated auction.

Shouting at the courier or simply in her presence, or attempting to thrash her for that matter, would do little to alleviate his annoyance in the wrong run. Such displays of fury were beneath Tyrin. It wasn't as if she had a hand in it anyway. Tyrin grumbled something incoherently, folding the parchment neatly and plucking the box from the table. He looked at the courier, regarding her silently for a moment.

"How did you come by this job?"

 

[Hazel Scheler]

The Merc watched the man engage his parcel in silence - reading his reactions with the learned skills of Lorrdian Kinectic Communication. He was upset, to put it plainly, but it went much deeper than simply a slight offense. For the short period of time in which he perused the note she was left to wonder at the contents of his parcel and just what cruel words it was that he read.

Naturally she wouldn't ask as it was likely better not to know. Curiosity, as ever, remained fleeting like a bird, coming and going at the most inopportune times.

When finally he spoke she lofted a brow and, for a second more fleeting than her own curiosity, offered him the barest of smirks. The question of questions for a Merc or anyone making money off the errands and dirty work of others. The galaxy was full of dirty, dirty people.

"Like most," she said quietly, smirk gone as though it had never been, "a chance encounter and good marketing." Mercs were a dime a dozen. Anyone could hire an idiot in armor for the right amount, but her kind were a higher quality and rarer yet to come by, or so she liked to think back in the day. While her reputation no longer preceded her she had at least run into enough noteworthy people to get her name back on the list.

"I'm afraid I can offer you nothing more than that, lest you feel the need to tumble it out, which I'd insist against in such a ... cozy domicile."

 

[Caulder Dune]

Tyrin wasn't sure what he was expecting when he asked her that question. Couriers in these kinds of situations were hardly ever exceptionally forthcoming. Still, it never hurt to ask. Tyrin silently winced at the idea of attempting to worm the information out of her the hard way. Tumbling it out? In this house? The rewards would be paltry at best and not worth the money he would need to pay the damages. There would, undoubtedly, be damages. There had never been a fight Tyrin won, or even engaged in, without some kind of ridiculous collateral damage.

Besides, he had only interrogated someone once before, and they were a pilot with the mental fortitude of a plant. In hindsight, he didn't really get the information he wanted out of her, but information had never really been the goal. The million credit ransom from her Admiral father, however... That had been something to look forward to. He already knew Dissero was behind this. Attempting to track him with an Empire's resources at his disposal had been a waste of time, attempting to track him on his own would be a fool's errand.

"No, no, that... Won't be necessary." Tyrin sighed, tucking the parchment into his pocket. He opened the box a second time, plucking out a single Roonstone and tossing it to her. "There. Take that, buy yourself something nice, and forget this address. And who lives here."

 

[Hazel Scheler]

Levity took the Mercenary's expression as the man conceded to a peaceable exchange. Truth be told, she was relieved to hear it.

Ivy caught the Roonstone as it was tossed to her and peered at it curiously, "That's not necessary," she replied it but pocketed the thing anyway. She was only human after all, and if the stone was worth enough to 'buy something nice' then it was worth enough to refill her ship's fuel stores or even her armory. Her curiosity turned then to the once-Emperor sitting before her, though she was entirely ignorant to the fact. Seemed she had been dismissed, but she didn't move.

Coughing gently, Ivy gestured to the man, "Your return? The Archivist requires proof of the transaction and I hardly think a trinket from his parcel will do. I'm an honest person, but I wouldn't believe me either if I said you'd given it to me and I hadn't just emptied it from the container."

 

[Caulder Dune]

"Oh. Right." Tyrin shook his head, having almost forgotten. Even retired, he was still thinking of a hundred different things at once. It was certainly no way to go through life, thinking of a hundred irrelevant things while simultaneously forgetting what to do in the immediate present.

"And his name is Dissero. Stop calling him... That." He muttered as he patted himself down, half expecting to find a piece of folded flimsiplast and a pen in his pocket. There was nothing there, obviously. He would have to fetch some from his desk upstairs. Such an action would require that he leave this mercenary unattended... Not exactly an optimal arrangement. As far as mercenaries went, he supposed he could have found far worse to leave in the care of his well-furnished parlor. It wasn't as if there was very much laying about for her to steal. Nothing valuable or that he would fail to notice, at any rate. "He's not a Lord, either." Tyrin clarified as well, before pausing and giving a sigh, collecting himself once again before continuing.

"I'll be upstairs for a moment. Make yourself comfortable." Tyrin said, gesturing dismissively to a couch that looked to have been purchased recently and not sat upon by anyone in particular. He didn't wait to hear her refusal, already vanishing around the corner with the parcel as he headed for his study.

He returned a little under ten minutes later, parcel replaced with a parchment of neatly folded flimsiplast. Tyrin had thought of writing a number of things. Strings of profanity, a humble thank you, a passive-aggressive confirmation of reception, an outright threat... Inevitably he settled on a simple "thanks," signed by a T.A. He had also considered using his signature, but then realized the potential repercussions of giving a man like Dissero his signature and opted against it. "You can give this to him. I imagine he'll accept it, for whatever that's worth."

 

[Hazel Scheler]

Ivy could offer Tyrin nothing more than a curious loft of a brow and a barely visible shrug. She opted to remember the name only for the passing and brushed off the comment about the title. It wasn't as though she'd even met him face to face, nor exchanged any such pleasantries. In fact the job had been given to her through the hands of a rather peculiarly ugly beast of which she had no memory of ever crossing before.

A job could get strange, and strange could often lead to danger if one wasn't careful. The unwritten code of a Merc; never ask irrelevant questions, never open the parcel, and never return empty handed had been left unwritten for a reason. The smart ones followed it with care and lived, the rest died upon their own fumble. If everyone lived then there'd be more Merc than jobs and that simply wasn't good business.

Ivy watched the man go, silently wondering after him, and turned her attention to the proffered seat. It wasn't wise to get too comfortable, but it didn't hurt to have a look around. Hazel eyes roved from the sofa to the table set before it and then to the old books neatly arranged on top. Casting a glance back towards the doorway the man had disappeared through to see the coast was clear, she quietly moved to the table and bent to inspect the books.

One was written in a language she was not familiar with but another with no title opened to reveal a memoir of sorts detailing Dark Empires. The name Palpatine was prevalent, and one she was quite familiar with. It didn't matter what age you were born in - everyone knew of the corrupted Chancellor and his fate within the Darkside. Yet as she purused the pages Ivy became increasingly aware that this story did not match up to the one young children were told at bedtime. Nor even the one she had heard in her short time working alongside a young Jedi Knight by the name of Qui Gon Jin. Those were the days before her prejudice to the realm of Force Users and she had thought the man quite respectable.

She still would, she supposed, if not for the fact that all the old stories seemed to be curved for the faint-hearted and unblessed.

Her gaze snapped upwards to the sound of footsteps, but Tyrin would easily be able to make her out as she gently closed the book and stood upright again.

Ivy took the note and placed it within her satchel, eyes never leaving the man, careful of his own unspoken language.

"You're one of them," it was a question wrapped in a statement that did not beg an answer. Ivy didn't fashion herself stupid, she was capable of piecing together clues well enough, "I suspect this Archivist," she paused, "Dissero is one, too. Anyone can brandish a lightsword, I've seen plenty of idiots do it with stolen weapons, or ones bought off the black market. But you don't find books like those in just anyone's home."

Glancing to the books on the table, she frowned, "Forgive me, I don't normally look without asking. My manners are a bit rusty."

 

[Caulder Dune]

In hindsight, perhaps the coffee table was not the proper place for Palpatine's published works. Tyrin could hardly imagine anyone taking her seriously if she did try to blow the whistle on him. Half the Galaxy didn't even know what a book was these days. Tyrin didn't seem too perturbed by the investigative scrounging she had been doing. The Umbaran even cracked a wiry smile when she stated he was one of "them." Normally Tyrin's paranoia would have won out. He would have dismissed her claims, stated himself a humble collector, and shooed her away. But it had been so terribly, terribly long since he'd spoken at length to anyone. Or bragged of his accomplishments, for that matter. Maybe this once wouldn't hurt...

"Astute observation. I won't fault you for snooping, either. Most mercenaries probably would have fumbled with that book." Tyrin bent over, picking the tome up himself and turning it over in his hands. Datapads were starting to hurt his eyes these days. "At one point, yes. We were both Sith. Dissero for as long as it suited his purposes and I until a bigger Sith knocked me off the throne."

 

[Hazel Scheler]

The woman's frown deepened. She had merely been referring to him as a Force User, the shock of him admitting to being Sith was a bit more than she'd meant to bite off. The subject suddenly became very chewy and she found herself wishing for a glass of water.

"Well I..." the woman searched for her next words. Wasn't the first time she'd been conversationally floored. Nor, she would wager, would it be the last. This new galaxy continued to surprise her.

Her eyes watched that book with a renewed distrust, following it's progress through the air as it turned in his hands. The way he handled it suggested sentimentality. The fact that he owned it solidified that notion. Nobody owned books and the only one Ivy had herself was a journal of a man she knew long, long ago in a galaxy far far away.

So far away.

"Throne?" she blinked and cast a glance around curiously, "but Umbara's a Republic planet. Last I read, there wasn't a throne to be had here."

Clearly she was a bit out of the loop.

About 400 years out.

 

[Caulder Dune]

The mercenary seemed put off at Tyrin's admission of being a former Sith, but that hadn't even been the best part already. He waited for her to find some words, repressing an amused smirk to avoid being visibly condescending. She thought he was referring to a throne on Umbara, oddly enough. Tyrin didn't even consider himself Emperor material now or then, so he could hardly blame her.

"Well, there was. Were. Back in antiquity, nothing most people would ever bother to remember." Tyrin clarified. "No, Umbara has been administrated by the Rootai Council for around two thousand years now, discounting that brief tenure of a banal Jedi so irrelevant scant few have committed it to memory, myself included."

That had been a sordid ordeal to rectify, but it was well and done now. Jedi had no place on Umbara, much less styling themselves as some sort of planetary dictator. To say Tyrin hadn't derived some sort of enjoyment out of reminding that Jedi of his place would be a lie. That squabble would mark an end to his visible activities in general. Here on out, it would be blissful isolation- free from the shackles of responsibility and leadership. Peace and quiet.

"The throne I was referring to was that of the Sith Empire. It's broken now, go figure. Uncomfortable chair that it was, I was sad to see it go. The usurper shattered it after I used it to shield myself from a barrage of lightning. Perhaps not my proudest moment, but you learn to move past such things after you've already had plenty of them." Tyrin explained this casually, as if it weren't all that big a deal. To a great many people, it wasn't. But the average Galactic citizen would more than likely consider it a momentous occasion that a former Sith Emperor was recounting the coup that had thrown them out of leadership.

Or, you know, think he was a crazy, delusional lunatic.

 

[Hazel Scheler]

The woman, blinking, might've prided herself on her capability of masking internal turmoil, and though she did managed to keep her growing anxiety in check it was a little less possible to stop the color draining from her skin.

Rate yourself and rake yourself,
take all the courage you have left.

So, she was standing in the midst of a fallen Sith Emperor? Ivy would be lying through her teeth if she said she had a plan. If she said she knew exactly what to do in such a situation - or even what to say. The Merc was suddenly reminded of her own mortality and spent several moments staring, feeling her expression pull in bated disbelief while her skin continued to turn the color of ash. Her mouth went dry.

Ivy felt her hand move involuntarily to the Vor'cha Stun Stick at her hip. Tyrin wouldn't see, as this all happened beneath the draped cloth of her traveling cloak, and when she felt her fingers lace around the handle of the stick she found herself not emboldened, but filling with growing doubt.

"You're lying," she raised a tentatively accusing finger to point at him, "...right?"

and learn from your mother,
or else spend your days biting your own neck.

 

[Caulder Dune]

Hannibal watched with a quirked eyebrow as the mercenary underwent what was possibly the calmest internal meltdown he had ever witnessed. He could respect that kind of composure. What most people did not realize was that Umbarans were natural empaths, often able to gleam intent and deception very, very easily. The difference between them and the other more empathetically inclined species were that Umbarans were mean, ruthless people who had more desire to exploit these abilities to move up in the Galaxy rather than waste their time helping people. Why change the system when you can use it?

Tyrin rolled his eyes. "If it'll calm you down and get your hands off your weapon, yes, I'm lying. Right."

Tyrin had almost forgotten his capacity for sarcasm. What strange things happened to men in prolonged isolation in spacious, well-furnished houses.

 

[Hazel Scheler]

"Sorry," wait, what?

Had she just apologized to a man that had likely been responsible for the deaths of thousands? Millions? What was only a matter of passing seconds felt like an eternity as she struggled with the hand that gripped the weapon. It loosed in reaction to her social faux pas - one doesn't simply just move to draw a weapon in someone else's household. Not if they wished to maintain some sort of propriety or even--Gods--decency. There was already plenty lack of that in the galaxy.

But- Sith Emperor? The mere thought of the title cause her fingers to spasm back into their death grip. This happened several times before, finally, the woman forced the hand away with something of a pained expression. It hurt to admit defeat. It always hurt.

"...old habit," if only he knew just how old. The woman shook her head, lifting that hand to rub at the bridge of her nose, muttering something under her breath about needing a strong drink.

 

[Caulder Dune]

She apologized, but from the sound of it she seemed more confused by it than sincere. Just as well, Tyrin did just profess to being in a position most people associated with doom, grimdark, and genocide. A small amount of confusion was to be expected. He brushed off the book's cover while the mercenary apparently struggled with the impulse to draw her weapon and give Tyrin a thwack across the face. He was fairly certain it wouldn't come to that, and so laid the book gingerly back onto the coffee table. It seemed to take a few minutes, but eventually she was done and muttered something about an old habit and drinks.

Really? Was his presence so overwhelming that she had to drown out her reaction to it in liquor? If only Tyrin had thought as highly of himself. Then maybe he would still be on that throne, whatever that was worth. He didn't miss it any longer. Whatever the Sith did, they did. His allegiances went to Umbara now.

"If you really need a drink, I'm sure there's something strong enough stockpiled someplace in the cellar." Tyrin replied, folding his arms. "Frankly, I don't touch anything of the sort."

 

[Hazel Scheler]

Ivy looked at the man, blinking as she took him all in. Caught off guard as he presumed to offer her a drink, he woman canted her head to one side.

"I, ah," I must already be drunk, or dreaming, she thought to herself. But that wasn't right because there was only one thing she dreamt about anymore, and it certainly wasn't this.

"You are very strange," the words came forth like a child bursting away from it's unattentive parent with great speed. Ivy pressed a hand to her lips with a grimace, "that...came out wrong. What I meant was," a tight inhale and exhale of breath ocurred as she watched him. What had she meant? "I don't even know. This is all rather - the last Sith I had a run in with, well - you just seem very normal is all and I -" her hands, dancing the dance of dramatic gestures here and there, stopped before her and she looked at them, wide eyed, as though they were tentacles.

Ivy folded them, balled them together and placed them astutely at her front with a curt sigh, "a drink would be nice, if you don't mind. I do not wish to intrude on your peace here so - " shut up Ivy, and leave the man to his solitude.

The woman shook her head again, frowning, "No, sorry. I'll just go before this gets any stranger."