Private Salt and Stone

[Darth Metus]

D E S C E N T​

Tag: Darth Elyria

Somewhere along the way, He lost Himself.

If one had the ability to sit down with a younger version of one's self, what would they say? In the case of Darth Metus, his younger counterpart's words would have been a double-edged sword. Did he, the man of the present, accomplish all that they had set out to do? Yes. Had he built something great with his own two hands? Yes. But, where from here? In the days of his youth, the Sith was an ocean of ambition. It mattered not how many goals he achieved or how many victories he won, there was always something on the horizon just out of reach.

His younger self would say chase the horizon.

While such a conversation had yet to occur with himself, there was a primordial whisper which uttered much the same. Ever since descending upon his life, Darth Elyria had made it no secret that He was meant to be more than what he currently was. That his accomplishments were only the beginning. In fact, the man of tomorrow that she knew so well? He wouldn't like Him very much. In the end, Darth Metus chose not to sit upon the present any longer. As he climbed, those keys of his ambition had truly fallen away. And it was high time he reclaimed them.

When looking inward, Darth Metus recalled that the foundation he once stood firmly upon was that of House and Clan. And though the word Mandalorian was ash upon his tongue, their ways had defined him. To be himself, fully, was to be the melting pot of Darkness and Beskar. Thus, he found himself chasing after an old symbol. A tool he once wielded in the name of smiting Mandalore's enemies. The Sith found himself thinking of it often. Craving it. Not to reform or restore Manda'yaim, but to reform and restore himself.

All roads pointed to a forgotten ruin, lightyears upon lightyears from home. Abandoned by all nations. Untouched for eons.

There were few within his circle who knew that the voyage was being undertaken. His Apprentice. His Advisor. Those who absolutely needed this information were provided it - in the case that poodoo hit the fan in his absence. Beyond that, he had made mention of his intent to the primordial woman herself. Yet, where typically she would scoff at such ventures, she insisted that she come along. In fact, the way she spoke was as if it were the most natural thing in the world - when are we leaving she'd said.

It was not often that anything he said was met with such a demanding tone, and so she met no resistance when the journey began.

In short order, they found themselves descending upon the silent world. Once their vessel settled upon the earth, Darth Metus was immediately met with a wall of humid air. All about them was water and the smell of salt infected every breath. Their chosen landing zone was a way's off from their final destination: the shattered bridge leading to the ancient citadel. Somewhere along the line, this was a seat of power for someone mighty. Yet their name and deeds had been lost to the pages of history.

What was certain? The relic the Sith sought so heavily was said to have been lost here in relatively recent history. He'd have it again, no matter how long it took. He paused, only to raise his hood against the salt-ridden winds, before leading the way towards the broken bridge. Wet earth squished underneath his steps, yet quickly turned into cobblestone as he advanced. "Are you certain this task is not beneath you?" The question carried more weight than any starship.

In truth, Darth Metus was digging. Why was it that this place caused such a response from the woman. Was there are personal connection?

Or was this another glimpse from tomorrow?​

 

[Darth Elyria]

Tag: Darth Metus
Attire: Black ​

Where the Sith Lord went—She often followed.

Not out of some misbegotten sense of accepting a role of subservience, but, a choice. He seemed to want to push forward to become the man she knew. It was curious for her to watch him change. Elyria had never known him this way. Her visions were of a future-past in which he had already become who he was meant to be. The survival of the white rabbit was a hindrance. Daily, she was tempted to correct it. Only…She refrained.

This was not the man she knew. If she destroyed his favored apprentice, in some ways, a favored child and friend—Something whispered in the dark, warning, that it would upset the timeline even further. If Elyria held the blood of Srina Talon on her hands, her heart, between her teeth—Would he ever forgive her? Would he betray her? Seek to destroy her again?

The detriment outweighed the benefit.

When it became evident that Metus would be traveling toward his past she refused to let him do so alone. He seemed to think that way to the future would be found by returning to his past. Perhaps, he was right. His heritage was mixed. He was driven by different motivations than many of the creatures that currently claimed to be Mandalorian. Would he find the secret to that fire among the ruins?

His decision had been clear; sighing in the veil before it was spoken. It murmured of a place she had not yet ventured, though, she knew it well. She could see what he could not. Always, her sight peered through that which mortals could not. Past, present, future. What had come to pass, what would, and what could.

This was why they traveled. Not he.

Elyria, or Selene, floated beside the Sith whilst they descended into the epitome of a salted tomb. Her form seemed to shift and transcend into smoke whilst she hovered around him. Long black hair moved in the wind like a cape of silken night. He raised his hood and she could hear a distinct squelching noise with every step he took. She did not deign to let herself sink in the mud. Dark eyes rose from the mists and beset Darth Metus with a lazy glare. “Who are you to question me?”

“I do as I please. I would not be here if I was uncertain.”

She knew him in any life, well enough, that she was well aware his words were more than they seemed. Elyria simply didn’t budge. Her form became solid and black covered feet touched the cobblestones with a dainty click. Her presence was heavy, a pressing gravity, but her movements with fluid. A whirling black, a piece of darkness, slipping back and forth.

While he hid is face from the salt-stained air—She turned her face to the sky for a moment. The sting felt invigorating. Eyes that could see stars be it night or day finally fell back to the Vicelord and the unearthly woman began to move toward the shattered bridge. He sought answers. He wouldn’t get them from her. No—That lay ahead.

“You were in such a hurry to get here. Don’t dawdle now.”

He still seemed uncertain, at times, whether her presence was a blessing or a curse. It was of no concern to her. She would always be with him. She would always find him. It was her purpose. Her place. Now, he had to find himself. Elyria just wasn't sure if it was time. She had poured her thoughts into him on Illyria to show him the truth of her claims. To let him see as she had seen. Was he ready?

Could he be the man that she knew he would become?

Or was this timeline a paradox. Fated, to fail. She did not know. Could not see it clearly. All she had was what had been, what existed, and what might one day be. Would seeing this through be enough?

 

[Darth Metus]

A D V A N C E​

Tag: Darth Elyria

His dreams were of Ilyria.

There was an evening when a former apprentice had cause for celebration. A night where the duties of state and matters of ambition were paused for the sake of lauding a new life. T'was there, amidst a city alive with light and music, that the primordial woman planted a seed. Up until that moment, that what she had spoken - of the man Darth Metus was to be - had existed solely as the vibrations of her lips. Yet, for a moment, her icy touch gripped him. Her starlit gaze bored into his own. His mind was set on fire. She poured into him glimpses of what that tomorrow looked like. What He looked like.

And most importantly, what she craved.

Such an intrusion had made it so that even his dreams were defined by these visions. Rest found his mind returning to the scenes - to the promised dominance...to the quiet moments. It, like every moment stood alongside the woman, worked to change the perception the man held about the primordial woman. At first, he had sought her destruction. Yet, now? Now, the gravity of her presence was something he had come to respect. When she was near, her silent might always weighed mightily upon his shoulders. And yet, she floated. For as earth-shattering as she was, not even a single cobblestone cracked beneath her feet.

Control. Dominance. Such was her nature.

When he posed his question, weighted as it was, the response was of the sort he had come to anticipate. Seldom, if ever, was there a straight answer from the woman. Seldom, if ever, were her words uttered with anything less than an air of supremacy. As the answer graced his ears, a low chuckle hissed from underneath the hood. She would witness as his head shook slowly - how had he not seen that answer coming? For but a moment, the Sith said nothing in response. Her goading him forward in light of his own urgency was met with the brief descent of his form. He lowered to a squat for a moment and pressed his dominant hand flat upon the cobble.

She'd feel his might rise in that moment. An inquisitive touch. The shattered bridge ahead was one the first question - and testing the strength of the stones gave the Sith his answer. "Your favorite, clearly." came his remark - alive with the snark she would come to expect. "I find myself quite glad that you came." Rising thusly, he immediately seemed to take the woman's goading quite literally. Once more, she'd feel his focus. Feel the energy seeping into his bones and saturating his muscles. His pace quickened. Slow steps broke into a mighty sprint - then faster. And faster. The cobbles rumbled underneath the force of his steps until finally - Ascension.

In a single bound, Darth Metus vaulted up and over the gap. He landed with a slight skid of his boots and a few additional paces to slow down. Turning, he opened his arms to the primordial woman, snark once again on his lips. "If you jump, I'll catch you." He tarried in the spot just long enough to see if she would take his offer quite literally. From there, he set his face towards what laid ahead.

And for the first time since their landing, he felt power other than hers.

Before them laid a shattered gatehouse, adorned by rotting framework and the rise of vines. The cobbled path ran past the broken structure and split into three - with each presented by an equally devastated archway. Yet, despite the ruination, a quiet power rumbled within each of the arches. Darth Metus could not put to name what it was just yet - but it inspired caution in his steps. Thundering forward wouldn't be an option for the time being. Slow steps bore him closer to the gatehouse's wall, where a plaque was barely visible beneath the vines.

On a whim, his offhand shoved them aside, revealing an enscription to his eyes. Some of the wording had been lost to the erosion of time, and what remained he could hardly make out. Was it...High Sith? Interesting. It was a shame that his knowledge of the ancient tongue was centered around the more common dialect. He could pronounce what he read, certainly, but understanding completely was another matter. Tracing the portion he could read with his finger, he spoke aloud for his companion to hear:

Katu ri mnoi dziana.​

Zo dzarasa is drosar an irsûrsi.​

Ri didoaha tnirmia iw ri sosûtusamsir.​

For the moment, the significance was lost upon Darth Metus, and so he stepped forward. There were three paths forward - which was best? His eyes swept over each archway, seeking some sort of hint or direction. And what he found were carvings in the base of each. The leftmost presented a Gull. The center a Dove. The rightmost, a Raven. Turning, the Sith faced Elyria and motioned towards their options. "Seems we have a few options...what are your thoughts?"

​

 

[Darth Elyria]

Tag: Darth Metus
Attire: Black ​

“There will be a time of true crisis, Isley, when all the worlds will hang in the balance. We walk with mortal feet on sand and stone…We breathe salt air—We see the stars. We believe this is freedom. Perhaps it is. If compared to my Vault.”, Elyria trailed off as she often did. Her views belonged to the sweeping imperiousness of one who could see through the veil of the Force and Time. Her visions often skipped parallel dimensions, though, she had long ago learned to differentiate. “In this time, in this life, you will encounter that which is meant to end all things. Not one nation.”

“All of them.”

She paused while heading toward the dilapidated bridge. Elyria knew that the images of the future he had given him were burned into his mind, shadows, of what might be. It was intentional. Perhaps then he might understand. Perhaps then he might step up. Perhaps, he would become. He was on the path. Yet, she could only lead him so far. He had to choose for himself. Survive, or fail. “On that day, an ending, heralded by the Unknown, will begin. The clock will turn and time itself will seize. Shudder. You will not know him. You will not stop him. He will lead the flock to prosperity. Or to hell.”

“Nine will die. From the ashes—The Unknown will arise.”

Elyria left him to his own devices. He tested the ground, checked his mettle, and his snarky responses left the raven-haired woman unmoved. Could he not feel what lay ahead? The blank space, the void, with a secret siren luring him forward? She could feel it. Black eyes turned back toward the sky. It was small. So small. His humor was not lost on her and she tilted her head to cast him a baleful expression. “Clearly.”

If he wasn’t her favorite—He’d have been dead over Kuat. That was abundantly clear.

Some of her vitriol was muddled by the relative appreciativeness of his next statement. He was glad that she’d followed along? Elyria wasn’t used to others finding something she had done appealing, mostly, because she only ever operated with her own interests. Rather than accept it, she sneered, and buried emotions that she refused to name. It was useless to her. To him. “As if you had a choice, Vicelord.”

The pale figure watched Metus vault forward to close the distance, crossing the bridge, whilst stone broke beneath his feet. She stared while he taunted her, eyes hard, and without any shred of amusement. He would catch her? Little fool. In the span of a blink, he would find her standing before him. Not a hair seemed out of place. The transfer was instant and her expression bore quietly into his.

Her response was deadpan.

“You’d drop me. Butterfingers.”

Metus carried on and she shook her head while he did so. They were getting closer. As the power that lay ahead grew, dimly, she grew aware of her own retreating. Not gone. Simply, less. Overshadowed by something greater. Pale, full lips, pressed into a thin line while they approached the archways. Everything seemed to draw them here. To this point.

He cleared the plaque and Elyria listened in silence. She did not look at it. Instead, she looked at the man that stood just before her. Instinctively she repeated it for him. Most would not know the old tongue. Not the oldest, certainly, but it was definitely before his time. “Among a sky of blue. A link, from past to future. The sheltering wing of the protector.”

Elyria would let him choose the path.

Even if she served to guide—It was always his place to decide. To choose.

She did not glance at the options that lay before him. No, no. She had no need to. It was all that she had seen before, would see again, and never would forget.

“I am the raven, but, it is not my choice to make.”

It would come to him if he listened to his instincts. Often, Sith Lords tended to forget the lessons that they taught their younglings. Listen to the Force. Elyria, held no such qualms. The stars sang to her regularly. She was not naïve. Her power was vast, wide, but part of something superior. Once she connected to the source? To that which should have provided balance?

She was so much greater than he could have imagined. She was more. He, was more.

“Choose, Metus. Where does your instinct take you?”

 

[Darth Metus]

D I V E​

Tag: Darth Elyria

A time of true crisis.

The convergence of present and future had been unleashed upon his mind by her hand. Yet this was not the sole glimpse into the morrow that had been afforded to him. As a knife had been plunged into his back - as his life drained from his body - the hasty actions of a comrade saved him from death's door. Yet, as Dib's Shatterpoint retained Darth Metus' presence in life, it also opened his eyes to what could be. A countless web of possibilities had once spun out before his eyes. Terrifying realities where Srina had become the Dark Empress of the Galaxy. Blissful tomorrows where the Sith knew a peaceful, mundane existence.

But among them, there was one which sent an icy chill racing down his spine. Why? Because he had stared into that abyss twice-over and lived to tell the tale. Yet, as Elyria uttered her cryptic warning of what laid in wait, the Sith's mind returned to what he had survived before. His hand turned into a fist as the memory roiled before his mind's eye. A time of true crisis... There was only one being who fit the description the Dark One spoke of. Only one where the sacrifice of Nine could bring it back to life. Only one where the Galaxy would tremble, and time itself would break.

When he was but a young man, he was powerless to resist its command. And when it fell, he could scarce believe that something so powerful...something that brought the Galaxy to its knees...could truly die. If this was what she spoke of... or even something close? Well...now he understood just a bit more as to why she pushed the way she did. Why urgency was always in her voice. She was ageless - what laid ahead could be centuries on the horizon. But were centuries enough time to prepare? Were eons? The Sith drew a shallow breath and relaxed his palm, focusing upon the present.

"You've seen every chapter of my life. Every page. Every word. You know the oath I made when Akala ravaged the Galaxy last. I won't be the plaything of the Gods. I won't be their victim." He did not face her as he spoke. For his eyes were fixated upon the gap. "Whatever comes - We'll be ready. I promise."

When ascension gripped his form, the snark had returned to his tone. Yet, despite the relative mirth which laced between each syllable, the response was volatile. If words could kill, Clearly would have taken off a limb. And, as he began to muster the might required to clear the gap, her own quip reached his ears. His response came without missing a beat. "Ah, but you had the power to choose. And of all the places you could be, you chose with me." He fully anticipated a response that was as cold as ice - or as painful as melting away in lava. Yet that didn't stop his thunderous pace as he vaulted over the gap.

By the time the offer finished falling from his lips, she was there. There was no wind, no woosh, no nothing. Save for the primordial woman. The Sith blinked.

"Would not." He said.

Though his senses were not as divine as the woman beside him, the quiet power rumbling beneath the stones was evident. What it meant for their journey, he did not yet know...but, at least his companion knew what the inscription meant. Among a sky of blue. A link from past future. The sheltering wing of the protector. She called herself the Raven. And she, like the Raven, was the personification of Death. There was nothing sheltering about it. The Gull...a Guide? No. What did his instinct say? Dove. The Dove represented hope. Protection. Of the three, his gut gave the answer.

"Dove it is then." he said simply.

He led the way forward. His strides disturbing the ground for the first time in centuries. And as his form breached the Dove's arch, his eyes were temporarily blinded by a flash. Despite his mask and the lens provided, he could not see - could not hear - and yet advanced all the same. When the illumination faded, what he felt first was cold. As if all the world had gone to ice. He blinked, rapidly, and reached out to his side. There, he found a wall and braced himself whilst his vision returned.

He could hear the ocean.

His strides were ginger as he began to take in the sight. A massive, domed ceiling stood above - adorned with ruined murals and arches all the way down. Waterfalls spilled from the arches, harmlessly sloshing underneath his feet as a babbling stream. And through the dome, he could make out the shadows of fish. Somehow, they were underwater - and yet there was air. Somehow, they had gotten there. Old Magick. was the theory which popped to mind. Then, Elyria joined his side...And it was the first time that he did not feel her before seeing her form in his peripheral vision.

From primordial weight to...nothing? It was jarring. So much so that he paused in his slow advance under the dome. What's more...though his ears could hear? Silence. The faint river of whispers - of his Apprentice's bond - had grown silent. The Force was not with them. "Well this is...something." he breathed. And just like that, one of the best tools in his kit had been extinguished. Yet, panic nor fear did not worm into his stomach. This was not the first time he had explored ruins without the Power. He had been reared with Ysalamir on his back, after all.

"If this is what protection means, I shudder to think what walking through your door would have done." he began, before examining their surroundings all the more. There were more corridors on the far side of the wall - more symbols denoting the path. His instincts said to look for another clue, rather than blindly picking. Nothing above. Nothing on the walls. The floor? Ah. He lowered to a crouch and shuffled around fallen stones from the ceiling, attempting to make out the mural before him.

And whilst he worked, he spoke: "The man you know? The one you think I'm not? We both want the same thing."

"Do you know what that is?"
​

 

[Darth Elyria]

Tag: Darth Metus
Attire: Black ​

Elyria knew not of the visions he had endured in the past. She knew the present, the future. The darklit female was surprisingly patient whilst waiting for her works to sink in. Obviously, she expected it to take time. Mandalorians were notorious for their exceedingly thick skulls. When he pulled from the momentary reverie, she averted her eyes to keep him from assuming that she had given his mental state more than a moments glance. Anything beyond that was heresy. “Ruin is on the horizon. Counting down to the cataclysm that will claim all. So lofty, so intrepid.”

“Afterall—How can something be nothing?”

Questions. Riddles. Half-truths. Elyria wasn’t choosing to be vague. It simply was what it was. Metus would know her words or he would not. If he did not? He was not yet ready. She expected that with the timeline entirely out of phase. Regardless of his readiness, however, it was coming. It would arrive when he held what he wanted most. When he had the most to lose.

The Sith Lord would be made ready.

“It is a pity. You think, you have a choice.”

The concept of some higher deity that was responsible for all creation was mundane and pathetic. They were all made of similar components, carbon, water, and the invisible energy that bound them all. Her words were filled with a hollow truth that trailed over him like a storm cloud. There was weight to it, like a raincloud, that was pregnant and ready to burst at the slightest provocation. His commentary about her ability to choose caused her to snort and sneer. “As if I wished to be left alone in your Well with the squalling rabbit and her sibling. I would rather face the oven timer.”

“You are less annoying and break less easily.”

Her sudden presence in his space caused the tip of a small tongue to trail along her bottom lip at his rebuttal. The challenge that lingered in black eyes was visceral and real. “Would so.”, she countered, and her head tilted, full of sass, and a certain level of superiority. He was swiftly distracted by the very reason they had come. She was gladdened that he had the good sense to know what lay beneath the surface of this salt-ridden land. Power. It was always about strength. Power. Who had it, inherently, and who did not.

Elyria took pity on his lack of ability to read what lay before them and explained. She instructed him to follow his instincts. There was no reaction when he chose the softest of the three. He always did. The white bird, the white rabbit. All were deeply intertwined. Darth Metus pulled forward and she followed suit in a roll of smoke and ancient prowess. She knew this land. The sand beneath them. The sky above.

It brought a sense of nostalgia. Strange, to have a fondness and a remembrance about what had yet to come to pass. It was a mortal sentimentality.

The silent woman knew what would come. High sight was marred and she felt a sense of displacement. Ebony hair flowed in rivers of silk, a dark cloud, while the water stirred her tresses. They were there and not there. As old as she was. As powerful as she was—There were things in the shadows that were older, stronger, than she would ever be. It was not in her nature to surrender. She did so, now. She could feel her connection to the beyond fade. Her body felt heavier. Her first breath came in a pained, raspy, wheeze. She did not panic. She did wane.

If they lingered too long—She would cease to exist.

“My door…”, she breathed, a struggle, but her stubborn and prideful nature kept her going. “My door is incomprehensible. You would not survive it.”

Just as she may not survive this.

Only, she did not speak of this. He required this. If she did not return with him to the other side…If she could not withstand that which provided her with nigh eternal life? It would be a price well paid. He would pave the way. Her place in that was, more than ever, unclear.

Bare feet touched the smooth stones. She could hover no longer while he tried to make sense of the fallen glory that wrapped around them. Elyria was silent for a moment. Flooded, with a sensation that she had long since forgotten. To be human. It was a festering, filthy thing. The distant fondness she had for the man that knelt in the dirt almost became painful.

He would never know. Even with what she had shown him. He would never know.

When she spoke next, he would be surprised. The deep, endless quality of her voice, was dulled. Deadened. He may begin to notice that something about her had changed. Her skin was less luminous. Eyes a little less dark. If he looked closely he would see that they were actually a shade of burnt umber. For the first time—she would seem human. She was. Moreover, she suffered the same frailty as one of his kind. Death. It would catch up to her sooner than later in this place.

“…What is it, Vicelord?”

Human. Weak. Tired. She wobbled on her feet but closed her eyes to steel herself.

How dreadful.