D O M I N U S
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?"
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?"