Private Partings

[Anashla Deshal]

​

​

At Naboo during the evacuation
​

TAG: Darth Metus

"Ma'am the last of the transports from the surface is clear and the SLDF is providing a corridor out of the battle zone for them." A weary sigh escaped her lips as hazel eyes roamed the battle-damaged command center of the Ventress. As bad as things had been on the ground, it had been no cakewalk in the skies above either. Of the forces that followed her to Naboo, only a fraction remained at her command of a fleet the numbered in the tens of thousands of ships it was now reduced to a few hundred.

"Of our remaining vessels how many are hyperspace ready?" there was quiet hesitation. "Only seventeen vessels can jump High Marshall." her blood began to boil anew. It had been bad enough that she had fallen for the trap and divided her forces but to be reduced so low, another exapserated sigh left her lips as she closed her eyes, she was far too tired to be angry. "Order all vessels that cannot make the jump to abandon ship to any other jump ready ship. The Vicelord has given his order, we are leaving Naboo."

A silence fell over the bridge as the orders were carried out the last few enemies began to fall toward Naboo as flaming wrecks an appropriate end to the refuse of the galaxy. As soon as the last few shuttles docked and the evacuees had left the Ventress followed. As the Ventress reverted to normal space she shook violently as alarms sounded. "Ma'am, hull breach port side part of the hull just ripped away as we came back to normal space."

She shook her head "Put us in a stationary orbit and send a distress call to all Confederate forces. Inform them that the Ventress is compromised."

On Verun, after Landing Day:

Of course they would know, the moment she returned to the Shiraya Expanse. She had felt them through the force as keenly as her people no doubt felt her presence being so near. She walked through the streets such as they were to meet with the Vicelord. Gone was the uniform of the confederacy, she was clad in golden armor made from a material most of her Confederates would not recognize as it was foreign to them. For her part she was impeccably cleaned up for one lacking sleep and roughing it on a backwater planet.

From her golden armor a long white cape flowed down from the shoulders and down her back, the inlay of the fabric against her back was purple the color of Kings. Under one arm rested a golden helmet ornate in its design but not lacking in utility made of the same metal as her armor, lightweight an malleable yet hard with properties unknown to all but select few and her people. It was her people who had created a stir in the camp, unknown soldiers dressed similarly had come to retrieve her and take her home.

As she finally stepped up infront of the tent she hesitated before she took a deep breathe and stepped inside. "Vicelord." she spoke softly and bowed gracefully to him. "I am sorry to say it is time for my return home. But know that you will always have a friend and Ally on Gaillardia in me." it was true but it felt inadequate, when she was needed most she had to go as much as her people needed her, the Confederacy needed her all the more.

"I wish that I could do more, and I will. But you more than any understand duty and family." she allowed herself a small smile as she queried Isley Verd. She was unsure what he would say, this day would have always come the Unmaker however had simply hastened its arrival all too soon and all too violently.​

​

​

​

​

 

[Darth Metus]

LANDING ZONE, VERUN

Friends were more than welcome.

What remained of the Confederacy had come to settle far to the South. They, who once had a territory that spanned the stars, were reduced to a modest flotilla of vessels. Their mightiest vessels were lost or destroyed. Their vast armies were a thing of memory. Now, a distant, desolate world was their sole salvation. It would take work in order to survive - but Darth Metus was determined for this not to be the end. Thus, the remnant had created a refuge for themselves.

It existed as little more than a "city" of tents, but it would endure. It would thrive. Such was their way. From within the most central tent, the former Vicelord planned out their next moves. Before him was a desk littered with papers - lists of what resources they had, head counts of which personnel arrived with them, etc. For now, obtaining vital resources was paramount. He'd need to send a scouting party for water...

The flap of the tent was pulled back.

"High Marshal." he said, turning. And the moment he saw the woman, his eyebrows hit the ceiling. Her uniform was replaced by gilded armor. And she had an escort of sorts with her. The Sith knew from her file that she had kin to the south of Confederate space, but knew little of the details beyond this. She rendered a bow and delivered the news. She had to leave to tend to hearth and home. That was understandable. After the destruction of the South, it was not fair to ask anyone to rough it out in the desert.

There was no ill will to be found in his eyes. "I see. Then Gaillardia will be truly blessed by one of our greatest." he motioned for her to join him before the table and stepped to the side for a moment. He reached into a crate which contained a rare bottle of Idlewil. It had somehow survived aboard one of the escaping vessels. Now glasses for a proper pour were another thing, but Darth Metus uncorked the bottle nonetheless. He offered her the first swig.

"Let our last moments together be full of fine drink and good stories. That's an old, Mandalorian saying from when I was a boy, but it carries some weight now. Come, tell me of your home and your people."​

Anashla Deshal​