Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Rebellious Retrograde

[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vk0xkd8qs9I[/youtube]​

As a clone with accelerated growth straight into adulthood, Varas had never experienced those turbulent teenage years. No mood swings, rebelliousness, boundary crossing… she had not sassed back, nor even threatened to run away from home.

So perhaps this would be her defining teenage moment.

It was easy to rationalize the course of action she planned to take as motivated by love and admiration. But maybe she had more selfish designs as she slipped out of Vader's Mustafar castle one morning after mind-tricking the Praetorian guards, and then enlisting one of the more feeble-minded pilots - also through mental control - to take her to the headquarters of House Verd, a well-known supplier of the Sith in order to present [member="Kyrel Ren"] with a token of her appreciation.

He would likely be meditating in his bacta tank and wholly unaware of her absence. Once the young disciple let go of the Captain’s mind, he realized he was far too incriminated in this little foray of Kyrel Ren’s daughter to protest.

“Look, if you keep the course to Vulpter, I won’t tell my father about this. Don’t worry. You won’t be executed."

Her sugarcoated tone of voice betrayed the fact that she’d promptly kill him herself once they were back - a gift of mercy, preferable to torture by Kyrel or his guards.

The nondescript vessel flew into the landing pad of House Verd. She’d called ahead to make arrangements, but was not sure with who she would meet as the whole operation appeared a little clandestine. This would be Varas’s first exposure to the Sith, and her heart fluttered in her chest with anticipation and a little apprehension.

[member="Darth Metus"]
 
Vulpter was not the Sith Lord's favorite destination.

However, despite the fact that he now had a nation to run, Darth Metus yet had a responsibility to his corporation. This meant succumbing to quarterly earnings calls, numerous board meetings, and the occasional browsing of the R&D Department. Thus, for a solid week now, he had tarried upon the urban planet, dragging his feet from one meeting to the next. Yet. Today. Today would be different.

As is the case with any soul with a brain between their ears, a reprieve is always needed. And for Darth Metus, there was nothing more therapeudic than setting foot into a Forge. The production floor of the corporation's Vulpter branch was the furthest thing from impressive, of course. It typically serviced only a handful of orders quarterly due to the location's standard use as the Corporate Headquarters.

Thus, while it was a financial burden to maintain, today it was a quiet sanctuary for the Sith Lord. Here, he could busy himself making whatever he wanted. Though, as a means of covering his "trail", he agreed to personally oversee the commissions ordered for that day. So far, only one order had come through - one with the name Kyrel Ren attached to it. Now, Darth Metus did not know individual Ren from Adam, nor did he make an effort to. Just knowing that the client was of First Order origin was enough to warrant his actual effort when filling it.

Thus, when the appointed hour came, [member="Varas Kyrel"] would find herself quietly escorted into the facility by a duo of BX Commando Droids. Her first encounter with the Sith Lord would begin a few paces out from the towering, blast doors which led to the production floor. At once, any Sensitive would feel the magnitude of his preparations; for the Force ebbed and flowed mightily in this place. Once the doors slid open, the woman would be greeted to the sight of numerous pieces of equipment. A traditional forge, a power hammer, an anvil, numerous tools, etc.

And setting up a line of these tools was the Sith himself.

For this "momentous" occasion, Darth Metus wore a pair of navy khakis, a loose, v-neck shirt, and a heavy apron. Forging anything was physically demanding, and thus his attire was the perfect blend of safety and comfort. Furthermore, his numerous dreadlocks were pulled into a night "updo" which would prevent any stray sparks from lighting his hair aflame. Finally, a pair of goggles laid ready about his neck. Looking up, the Sith's sulfuric gaze regarded the woman. She was...not what the missive "Kyrel Ren" expressed in the slightest...but he certainly wasn't complaining. Perhaps this was his (excessively pretty) acolyte or assistant or something. No matter.

"Welcome to Vulpter." he said simply, motiniong for the woman to have a seat on the chair beside him. "What can I craft for you today?"

[member="Varas Kyrel"]
 
From directly above its atmosphere, the purple hue of Vulpter signified the majesty of a valley dotted with fields of lilies or the whipping flags of royal procession, but close up, Varas realized it was the pollution causing such an illusory mirage.

There was no reason to go into the House Verd Headquarters fully armed from head to toe, so the Disciple had worn rough-hewn, black garments to blend in, but at the same time she’d brought a few protective items - her saber of course, and a vibro-dagger. On her pale face, Varas wore a rebreather to help with the choking smog.

Despite Kyrel urging her to pay attention to how she held herself - she supposed he’d wanted her to carry her legacy upon her back like some kind of cloak, and while she did not resemble a vagabond - or at least, she hoped - the blonde Force user had not the countenance of some entitled junior darksider. In fact, she walked with the relaxed gait of a normal young woman.

After the droids escorted her into the foundry, sulfuric eyes met silver-grey ones, and Varas pulled down the rebreather to expose her face. The tall man - human she supposed for now - was unlike any type of individual she’d ever encountered. First of all, he seemed friendly, definitely not the type of Sith Lord she’d read about on the holonet, which was quite honestly her only exposure to the Sith.

She sat in the chair, awkwardly at first, but then relaxed, placing her gloved hands in her lap. The fingers of the gloves were cut out so the black, leather fabric only covered her palms.

“I’d like to commission something for my father. A weapon or amulet… or well, anything you might suggest?”

[member="Darth Metus"]
 
As the woman responded to his inquiry, the Sith Lord briefly reached for his belt. Hung unceremoniously upon his belt was a canteen, filled recently with moderately cool water. Darth Metus knew that Vulpter air was notoriously disgusting, and for that reason did he extend the vessel to his customer. After all, a little bit of hospitality went a long way in securing an excellent sale.

"You'll have to tell me a little bit about your father." he began.

Once the canteen had left his grasp, the Sith would then turn so that he might lean against his table. His sulfuric gaze unwavering from the woman's face, studying her eyes. "You see, I do not simply create trinkets of war and hand them off haphazardly. I am in the business of plugging the chinks in the armors of my clients."

He reached for a pair of tongs, as if to illustrate his point.

"Take me for example. I toy with the mind. I fight like a Mandalorian. But as a swordsman...well, I need some work. So, for me, I'd craft things that take the advantage of enemy expertise away. I'd craft something that makes dueling easy for me."

He then pointed the tongs at the woman.

"So you'll need to think deep and simple. What is a chink in your sire's armor? What weakness can we remedy today?"

[member="Varas Kyrel"]
 
With a gloved hand, Varas grabbed the rebreather and lifted it completely off of her face now, tucking it into her bag. At the offer of water, she cocked a suspicious eyebrow, but then took the canteen. Unscrewing the cap, she drank deeply. Darth Metus had known exactly what she needed because the water immediately brought a fresher taste to her mouth, washing down some of the toxic residue that even the rebreather could not prevent.

There was no mistaking that Varas was young, but her countenance displayed almost a guileless awkwardness with just an ambient hint of danger as well - like a runaway searching for her next hit of spice. As he watched her carefully, her silver-grey eyes barely left his, attesting to the fact that no one has coached the girl that it was improper to stare. Especially at such a powerful man with resources and planets spread before him. But perhaps her answer would telling.

She could lie, but why even bother with that?

“My father is Kyrel, Master of Ren.” Should she say who her mother was? Oh go on then, perhaps he’d know the name and be somewhat impressed. Or maybe he’d give her gossip on Tmoxin - any little scrap of information she could cling to. Or maybe he just couldn’t care less.

“My mother is Tmoxin Temi.”

She leaned back in the chair hugging one knee, letting the other leg languidly stretch out to the floor. Varas listened intently to Metus. For all of her scruffy persona, her clone brain had limited information - memory implants, high-school education, survival skills and her Force training that she'd only just begun. Wisdom that the Sith Lord imparted would be soaked up and marinated in by the young Disciple.“My father’s chink would be his fragile body. He requires his armor to survive and spends hours in a bacta tank. I don’t know what would help him medically… nor do I really know the depth of his injuries.”

[member="Darth Metus"]
 
When the young woman responded, the Sith Lord's eyebrows hit the ceiling.

"Get the feth outta here." he said, all tact evaporating for a millisecond. "Tmoxin didn't tell me she had a daughter. Though...I'd never let her live it down that she bedded a Ren. Ha!" Placing the tongs down on the table once more, Darth Metus' hands clapped together. Amusement danced within his sulfuric gaze. "You might not know this, but your mother is a dear friend of mine. We go way back, and we work together to this day."

He chuckled for just a moment, shaking his head.

"In any case...okay, come here."

He motioned for the young woman to join him at the table.

"I have an idea on how to combat your father's fragility. Or, at least, a way to give him a brief window of supremacy on the battlefield. But, I'm not going to be the one who makes it."

Once she arrived at his side, he would hand her a spare apron.

"You are. I don't go around showing everyone who walks into my door my techniques...but you? Well, it would be my honor to show you a thing or two about Alchemy."

[member="Varas Kyrel"]
 
Varas’s grey orbs also widened at the tall Sith Lord’s reaction. While she wanted to ask him everything about her mother, she also gave him a measured smile and remained silent for a moment. Kyrel had warned her not to seek out the Hapan executive, that it was a fruitless chase which would yield little in terms of an emotional bond.

Would you make our introduction, she wanted to ask? Will you tell her that I might seek her out sometime?

The questions unspoken registered only a trace of wistful longing, but she responded instead, “Oh, I did not know.” She could keep up the charade of being un-estranged from her mother for only so long - Varas knew that. But for now, discussion of Tmoxin did not serve her goals. Perhaps that was her mother’s own pragmatism showing through.

The blonde Disciple joined Darth Metus as he asked, close to him by the table, displaying a fearlessness that only a clone with powerful parents would embody. The Sith Lord could easily choke her, fling her against the wall, snap her neck in two… discard her. But again, he defied every single thing she knew about the Sith so far, including Tmoxin’s own loathing of their specific scorched earth dogma which she could access from her implanted memories.

She would reserve such judgement based on Metus’s helpful demeanor, and the warmth which radiated from him, though perhaps the Forge itself was clouding her judgement with its own fierceness. Drops of sweat beaded upon her brow.

“Me? I suppose I could give it a whirl." As she tied the apron around her waist she continued: “My mother always warned me about the Sith. But you seem perfectly helpful. Why do you think she imparted that specific wisdom?” It was a half-truth at best, but the blonde clone was curious to see how Metus responded.

[member="Darth Metus"]
 
"Not surprised in the slightest. Your mother is..." He waved his hand about, attempting to pick the correct word. "A professional, on and off the field. She doesn't make a habit of talking about her personal life, at all. Took me six months just to get her actual number; even after Geonosis!

Ah, fond memories.

Once that young woman had donned her apron, the Sith briefly left her side. He squatted before a small, onyx machine that appeared to be an old-style safe. Yet, as opposed to a large combination wheel there was a simple viewport and heat radiating from it. Darth Metus opened the port and carefully extracted the prize within - a freshly synthesized, transparent crystal - utilizing base telekinesis. It was hot, but not flesh melting. Rising, he returned to the young woman's side and set the crystal on the table.

He parted his lips, but her question gave him pause.

"Your mother was right to warn you about Sith." he began. "The only difference between me and the average Lord is that I am a Dar'manda first, Sith second. Even though I don't agree with the current state of Mandalorian affairs, there's no denying who and what I am. It's like...a buffer between myself and the abyss. But for others...for true Sith? There is no buffer. They are the abyss. They'll cut you and all you love down for a sideways glance."

He then indicated the crystal.

"We're making your sire a secondary crystal for his saber. It'll let him work through the pain of his existence, something called Battlemind by the Jedi. How we make this is by breaking this crystal first. Not with a hammer or anything. But with You. Your anger. Your doubts. Your pain. I want you to focus everything that is you onto that Crystal and break it. Subjugate it. Make it yours to mold."

He then patted the saber on his belt gingerly.

"That's where the red lightsabers come from, by the way. We all do this as a...rite of passage sort of. And when your father uses his saber, he'll feel everything that is You pushing him forward. Any father would fight harder knowing their kid is shoving them forward. Go ahead, try!"

[member="Varas Kyrel"]
 
Varas smirked at Metus’s assessment of her mother, but her eyes held a bit of that lost, doe-eyed thing - like she was soaking in every word and detail to over-analyze it later.

“That’s beautiful by the way,” she said as he drew out the crystal. The exposure to alchemy was such a new and enticing experience that the Disciple felt she was already in love with the ritual and labor that seemed to make up this magical process.

“A Dar'manda. I see.” Although that wasn’t the truth; Varas still had so much to learn about the galaxy.

And while Darth Metus was so enthusiastic about Battlemind, the blonde force user felt herself growing anxious over truly channeling that much rage and anger. But she nodded, suddenly longing to impress the older Sith Lord and began to meditate upon her most frustrating moments. At first, she conjured the image of Lim Da, her Kaminoan caretaker and her homicidal urges to strangle his long bendy neck, but as she drifted further into her memories…

Pain, nothing but pain, blood, lack of oxygen, her gloved hands around her mother’s windpipe, but it wasn’t the freckled face of Tmoxin, then the limp body under her boots, anger, guilt, regret.

Varas let out a banshee scream, clutching at the sides of her face as she did so, all of the tentative, scruffy girl gone, and in its place was a fierce warrior in the making, the darkside rolling off of her in vast tidal pools of blackness.

[member="Darth Metus"]
 
It was like...standing before the Sun.

Having taken the time to tutor a class of Geonosian Knights, the Sith Lord had a small expectation of how this would proceed. That day, the apprentices and knights displayed the full extent of their emotions. Rage. Pain. Sorrow. They all erupted in tandem within that quiet Forge, prompting their ascension into something greater. He showed them all Alchemy, just as he was the young daughter of Tmoxin...but her pain...her anger...Darth Metus was taken aback.

As her shriek pierced the man's ears, he took a half-step back. Yet his sulfuric gaze never wavered from the form of the young woman. The Darkness fell mightily upon her, radiating as if she were a star and the very shadow was heat. The Forge was consumed by her agony...and in that moment, Darth Metus felt the heart of her Rage. It was faint...an image that wavered before his mind's eyes. Pale as Death. Slit nostrils. A Kaminoan?

What had a cloner done to inspire such agony?

What had a cloner done to make [member="Varas Kyrel"] into a Star of Suffering?

As the thought lingered, the Crystal gave way. A minute fissure broke through its pristine form...followed by a cloud of darkness within. It was as if a speck of blood had been dropped into a chalice of water. The crimson spread, slowly. It infected the crystal, moment by moment, until there was a second of finality. It gave way to Varas' agony...the time was nigh.

"The Crystal is broken - you must demand it to obey now. Command it to overcome pain. Demand that uplift in your darkest hour. Command the Crystal to take its final shape!"

And, oddly enough, the Sith did not directly show her how. She had already impressed him this much...he wanted to see just how powerful Tmoxin's heir was. And, almost absent-mindedly, he added: "You can do this."

[member="Varas Kyrel"]
 
“Wow, that felt good,” said Varas with an embarrassed smile and vaguely post-coital tone. In the Mustafar castle everything was restraint and discipline, practiced movements that barely fell out of sync, both in saber practice with her father, and in the clockwork efficiency of his staff and guards, and the rise and fall of the sun behind the volcanic mountains.

She suddenly valued his patience with her as he instructed her to make the crystal obey. As obtuse as the command was, Varas thought she understood what he meant. If this lesson were given by her father, she’d be complaining, twitching and losing focus, but apparently the striking Sith Lord seemed to have the gentle, benevolent nature that she had never encountered in a tutor.

If a Liege of Darkness could be called benevolent.

Varas closed her eyes again and focused all of her Force energy into a ball, letting it slip into the crystal much like Tmoxin’s DNA was injected into her own cellular makeup. Her slate-blue eyes opened, watching Metus first to see if she had been successful. She bit upon her thumbnail hating the fact that she waited for his praise already like a starved Vornskr awaited scraps of a Bantha rib cage.

"Well?"

[member="Darth Metus"]
 

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