The Palace. This was not a place of familiarity to him, nor was it the sort of place he foresaw himself lingering about for any duration of time beyond what was necessary, merely due to the vast number of projects and tasks he wished to see to completion. However, it was not often an invitation ventured in his direction, a summons to anywhere, much less one of shallow, cordial nature. Through the corridors, he drifted, plated boots carrying him with the utmost confidence, despite the paranoia that oft shrouded his trust within its shadow. He was a deceiver, through and through, destined to be a traitor, and while his exterior murmured eerie calm and solace, the internal conflict he leashed and held close to his chest decried it.
His assumption of equal title to the Dark Voice had painted a target on his back, he knew that much from the Sith, and his vaunted calm was merely a ploy to mask the veil-shattering might he possessed. Unassuming, was he entirely- just as the New Imperials had learned before he dealt grievous wound to their Empire and broke their courage upon the icy razors of his planet. He said nothing to the royal guard he passed by, merely waving them to steady with a languid flick from his wrist, a dismissal of their formality for causality sake.
In his company strode two of his finest soldiers, those statuesque undead burdened by heavy tenebrae armor and adored in the same dripping white and gold it was he wore exclusively. It had always been his mark of sanctimony, or perhaps his flair for the dramatic, to know he was the Lord wearing ivory in a sea of inky black and grey. The trio approached the doors to the meeting location and Caelitus gave pause, briefly trailing hands down his armor to blindly smooth unwanted creases in his shoulder-cape and swat away any remaining stain from his previous battles, just in case. One only had a singular opportunity to make an impression, after all.
The doors parted for the Dark Lord and his company and through he ventured, eyeless helmet kept forward with his entry. Beyond him, his Sight reached, grasping at the brushstrokes arranged by the Force upon blank canvas, forming a general concept of the lay of the room and those in attendance. Through that haze, he glimpsed the man who had called him here and the company of the bystanding protectorate, all of who received a courteous dip of the miraluka's head in both greeting and acknowledgment.
"Executor" He called out. "Or would you prefer Darth?"
The voice of the High Regent graced him, and he could not help the twitch of his upper lip in disgust, thankful then he had decided to keep his helmet on for the time. Formality. Ever, formality.
Eloquent stride saw him to the table and he pondered briefly if this was truly to be a discussion or interrogation. It would be determined rather early on, he settled upon that idea, and situated himself to sit. "I've disdain for formality, to be frank, though if you must address me as any title, Dark Lord shall suffice." It was that very truth that had helped him achieve adoration by the Carlaci people and earned him wonton ire from his former colleagues amongst the Imperial Assembly, yet neither of those things had any profound effect on his taste.
The two soldiers stationed themselves against the wall close by, settling into that unnatural state of stillness they were so fond of.
Fingers compressed the seals of his helmet and he removed it, at last, planting it on the table by his left hand, exposing his unassuming features. Silvering hair was brushed away from his blindfolded gaze before those twitchy hands folded neatly on the surface before him, digits comfortably nesting within one another. "Thank you for the invitation, I understand there are matters you wish to discuss with me." Unaided by the vocoder of his helm, the accented monotone of his voice echoed into the space between the two men, "We both have much to tend to, let us not waste time further."
Whether or not the former New Imperial held mutual intrigue toward the High Regent was a mystery.
"I assume you wish to determine whether or not our newfound position of camaraderie will be beneficial for the end goal. You know nothing of me, and I, nothing of you. So," he tapped two fingers upon the table, beckoning one of his company to come forth, "it's only fitting we do this properly." The undead soldier placed a velvet bag upon the table before he turned sharply and moved back to his previous position. This bag was caught by the Dark Lord, unwound, and as it was pushed down, a glistening, smoky bottle was revealed, resting beside two crystalline glasses. It was rude to not offer gifts to one's host, after all.
Caelitus cracked the bottle and poured two glasses, the contents easily identifiable as some form of bourbon, judging by the sharp aroma alone. One he claimed for himself, and the other was offered out by extension of his arm. "Speak your mind brother, I care little for conversational dances."
Darth Solipsis
. A sinister smile tugged at the corner of his lips as the honor guard perked up, crimson adorned stormtroopers standing at attention. Even the Sovereign Protectors looked towards the ornate doors of the Palace's greeting room with wonder
Halketh
