Private No Time for Old Men

[Darth Metus]

Wearing: Armor of Darth Metus​

R E G N U M
The Palace, Ascendancy Space

Despite the blistering heat of desert, there was Cold.

The chill was not one caused by the numerous mechanations which pried water from the air. Nor was it born of a merciful, stiff breeze. No, the chill was something dark. But for those gathered within the Palace, the dark was never to be feared. The antithesis to light had been an ally for decades. It molded the land they called home. It sheltered them from all harm. It gave them a chance at survival and prosperity away from the wars of the Galaxy.

And now, it had returned.

The focal point of winter's bite were the chambers behind the Ascendant Throne. Known to exist by few and accessible by even fewer, this room was typically opened during dire times. When the threat of the Unmaker was high, the greatest allies of the Ascendancy wouldl gather here to plan their next move. Yet this day? There was no threat. No calamity on the horizon. No shattered skies or broken lives to worry about. For once, they had been called for something wholly benign:

To make up for lost time.

The days of the old Confederacy were naught but a memory for He and His allies. Yet the bonds forged would last several lifetimes. Today, the moment when last they had seen one another had been too long. And so, a remedy to this problem was proposed. They would gather once more, as they had so many times before, and see how time had changed them. Change was not always an adversary - but it was inevitable after all.

As for the one called Darth Metus, he strode between worlds. His home was the mirror the waking realm, a place defined by a cold and gentle dark. The abyss had been where he and his mate laid their heads. For decades, they had maintained a delicate balance of their lives - resurfacing in the waking world only when the need arose. But beyond that, they watched - from mirrors, from glass, from even the shadows. Today, those very shadows became a door: a swirling, billowing mass of black which erupted on the far side of the chambers.

From those cold depths swept the biting chill of winter, heralding the arrival of the armored Sith. Masked. Cloaked. He appeared more a demon then a friend. But as he drew nearer to the table at the heart of the room, the mask was raised - and behind it they would find the same, amber eyes as before. The same smirking mug as before.

"My my, time hasn't been kind to us, has it?"​

Kyyrk , Taiia Locke , Srina Talon , John Locke

 

[Taiia Locke]

//: Allyson Locke //: Darth Metus //: Srina Talon //: Kyyrk //: John Locke //:

Taiia stepped off the boarding ramp from her ship and into the open air of Verun, it was just as she remembered it, humid and warm. She much preferred the temperate climate of Odessen, as she wandered through the streets she waved to a few familiar faces here and there as she had perhaps hundreds of times but her eyes wandered to see what changes had occurred in her time away.

Sadly her efforts on Odessen had kept her away from Verun for some time, there she had established an academy for those who would speak of the force freely, without constraint of dogma or empire, where one could hear any idea of the force and speak their mind freely. Not that Verun could not have hosted such a place, it could have but the place she had chosen was unique.

There was still much to do, and much that required her attention but a request from Darth Metus was something he did not do idly and so she was here. She made her way into the palace, its halls were quiet but after what the people had suffered a little quiet was due. As she made her way deeper into the palace she simply followed her senses to Metus, the only sound was the soft footfalls of the woman as she walked. Now that she was here she could feel what his concern was.

She stepped silently into the room in time to see him emerge from a dark portal of some kinda. Some may have run screaming from the room at such a sight but for Taiia, it was nothing now. As her eyes met his she nodded then gave a slight bow. “Dominus, it’s good to see you again. Furthest to travel and first to arrive it would seem. You look well” she gave a slight smile.


​

 

[Kyyrk]

"Easy for you to say." Kyyrk stepped into the room, placing a hand on Taiia's shoulder as he walked around from his position following her in. He stepped closer to the table, withdrawing his hand as he drew away from Taiia Locke , and instead placing a bottle of some form of high-quality whiskey on the table the group was gathering around. "Though after all we've been through, I cannot think of a more apt description."

Kyyrk drew his hood back to reveal his aging face. For the first time in the decades his friends had known him, his true colors were beginning to show. Myriad ventures into the arcane and eldritch had certainly prolonged his life WELL beyond that of a normal being. But even that had its limits. The lines of age were beginning to creep into his features. And of the lot, his were the most dire. For there was more than just his physical appearance.

Kyyrk began pouring a glass for each of the participants as they arrived. He slowly and deliberately set a glass before each of the seats. He was quiet, even for him. Though the others did not know it, today was something of a special day. One that Kyyrk was surprised he'd even lived to see. twenty five years ago, he was battling his old nemesis. The focus of all his sorrow and rage in a desperate bid for the fate of his people. For thousands of years, he'd stood watch over the galaxy. A proud defender of those who could not defend themselves.

But today, his watch ended. He would still fulfill the duties expected of him as Exarch of the Ascendancy. And he would still use his knowledge and wisdom to guide the people of his newfound homeworld. But gone were the days of wanton warfare and thrilling heroics. "I know the Sith find such a fate worse than death, but I think I just might retire." The statement was truthful enough, but laden with jest. He smiled at his companions.

The gesture revealed the true extent of the man's aging. He was not decrepit by any stretch. But he certainly was not the young and energetic man he'd once been. Now stood before his friends an older, wiser man. A man who still bore the scars of a lifetime of warfare. A man who'd given everything he had to the Confederacy time and again. An oddly selfless man, for a Sith.​

John Locke || Srina Talon

 

[Srina Talon]

| R E G N U M |
Ascendancy Space
| Palace |
x
Tag: Darth Metus | Taiia Locke | Kyyrk | John Locke
_________________________________________________________​

She arrived in silence.

There was no fanfare, no shift, no change in the gilded room whilst she traversed the stars at the behest of those she would never forget. A delicate arm rose and fell, like the rise and fall of the sun, and as the metaphysical sunlight burned deep beneath the horizon—The veil parted. Eyes that had once been a consistent shade of silver mercury glimmered with a deep hook of unmalleable gold. She would feel different to her peers. Appear, different. Her bearing and carriage had altered to the point where it appeared that commanding a room was something she had been born to do.

Srina was inscrutable. Tougher—Were it possible.

Gone were the days when she could hide comfortably behind Darth Metus and all the power he innately held. He had transitioned in their relationship from Master, Father, Vicelord, Dominus, to a dark spirit that had learned to love the endless night. From the looks of it—The starless night loved him back. Srina no longer questioned his connection to his primordial bride. How could she?

His wife was an unholy time-lost relic.

Her husband was a defiled Corpse King.​

The unforgiving nature of time had taught Srina many things. Not to throw stones at a house made of glass, when her own, was made of the same glittering crystal. She had become fully educated in the harshness of living, primarily, outside the protective circle of the Ascendant Space. Outside of the sphere that her Master had so carefully crafted for the remnants of their people. A place that now flourished…But still remembered. It had taught her the truth of universe. That half-measures would never be enough to placate the uneducated masses. The Sith and the Jedi only spoke one language.

Power.

Srina—Had become effortlessly fluent.

"My my, time hasn't been kind to us, has it?"

"Speak for yourself, Isley."

Her cold words held an almost negative pressure that made the air in the hall seem just a little too thin. As if she were used to addressing people that…Required correction. Despite that fact, a ghostly smirk that matched the one her Master wore ticked at the kiss of her mouth. Her form settled and her atoms seemed to solidify like rain transitioning to hail. From liquid to solid state. "I believe I may have grown an inch. Or two.", the comment was off-handedly arrogant. Just as cruel. Just as frigid.

Only…There was something beneath it. Humor.

She was trying to be humorous.

Critical eyes took in Taiia Locke and Kyyrk . Where a stone gaze might have once gentled or cooled with some level of companionship…It seemed that she had forgotten how. Srina had spent over a decade in the Sith Order and that required constantly looking over her shoulder. Check for the dagger aimed at her heart in every conversation, every interaction, and proceed to turn it back on the opposition. Protecting her children, raising them, training them, had taken all the fortitude she could muster. But, they were safe.

They were strong.

It was worth any sacrifice.

"…You all look…Well. All things considered."

Srina herself as far as appearance went seemed to have frozen in time from her Confederate rotation. Her hair was much longer than it had ever been, braided, but mostly unbound. Pale skin still held the same youthful glow, though, her eyes betrayed her experience. They were too knowledgeable. Too insightful—With haunted hollow halls. She pulled out a chair and sank into it with all the grace of a little queen. It was…A little too close to the truth. Her svelte attire was more than simply formal. It consisted of a dark cloak that she let hang over the back of the chair with a form fitting traveling dress. Unlike her younger years it was far from the modest fair her friends and family might expect. It was stricken with a jarring clash of gold and the deep grey of a coming storm. In essence…

The Dread Queen had grown up. "Retiring is for the weak."

"And the infirmed. You are neither, Kyyrk."