Private The Ruling House

[Malok]

R Y L O T H​

Location: Sinner's Well, Sun Parlour
Tag: Srina Talon , Valencia Hadley , Alkor Centaris

Complacency.

Hubris demanded that it was a terrible thing to be mistaken. That it was a cardinal sin that another could point out one's flaws - especially when they stood upon the apex of their achievements. While the Sith Lord did not consider himselt too far gone, there was indeed a portion of this reality in the pit of his stomach. For weeks, he recoiled against the wisdom of the pallid one. Her words were archaic, stating that they were out of sync...but ultimately, that he was not doing enough. That he, despite all he had accomplished, would stumble as so many leaders before him.

Perhaps the Sith had thought himself untouchable. Though his nation untouchable.

But reality always manifested itself as a cold slap across the face. One that made the eyes water - and hopefully righted the ignorant thoughts dominating the mind. Alongside the counsel of Darth Elyria , an event transpired in recent history that had left Darth Metus at a loss for words. The heart of their nation. And at the time of the event, the most heavily guarded locale in the southern systems. Was breached by a handful of bounty hunters. Not a foreign army. Not the combined might of his enemies.

Sellswords. Nothing more than hunters after an exceptional mark.

That was all it took for his capital's defenses to fail. For them to get as far as they did - to reach his very podium and his closest subordinates. Reality was harsh. And this would never again repeat. One of the few things he prided himself on was his mantra as an alchemist. Those who donned said title were said to never be bested by the same thing twice. The trick was surviving the first encounter. And survive they did. The ordeal was enough that the Sith Lord earnestly took to heart the council of the enigmatic being.

And thus, he called them. Those he trusted beyond word and beyond measure. The event had inspired the Sith to take a realistic view of the Confederacy he had built. Of the troubles of present...of threats external and internal. And while the attack was certainly fresh on his mind, there was another matter which superceded it. The matter of imperialism within his borders. Or rather, the matter of the Ruling House. Darth Metus fully believed he had discovered something to be monitored moving forward.

To this end, Sinner's Well had been opened to a select few. His summons directed them to join him in the Sun Parlour, where he awaited them. Seated, with datapad and goblet in hand, silenced ruled him as he poured over his findings. There was just far too much to ignore at this point. Something would be done. To secure his nation internally - so that their external focus could begin anew.​

 

[Srina Talon]

Location: Sinner's Well, Sun Parlour
Tag: Malok , Valencia Hadley , Alkor Centaris

Darth Metus called.​

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The quiet Echani warrior responded to the Vicelord as if he held her puppet strings captive. A quick tug—And her ship returned to Ryloth as if guided by the hand of divinity. Navigation remained true and the Ferocity never let her down. It was one the few places in the galaxy, aside from the Well, that she truly felt at home. Eshan…Eshan was better off without her. All her presence did one the beautiful blue and green marble was paint a target on its back. She visited secretly. Sparingly.​

​

Because Eshan was alone. The Six Sisters, Echani Command, the Queen—Aside from the help that the Confederacy could provide from a distance—were on their own. The galaxy was full of power-hungry, cruel monsters, that came bearing hard truths and aspirations of complete domination. No mercy. No forgiveness. This was something she was intimately aware of.​

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For their enemies…She was one of those truths.​

​

Srina had spent a few hours greeting the creatures that were maintained in a large menagerie near the main fortress. They were always unruly, waiting, and snacking on the wildlife in the most dangerous parts of the tidally locked world. But they did come home. Especially, if the force-sensitive beasts felt her break atmosphere. It was her duty to ensure they were fed, cared for, and refraining from eating the locals. No one wanted to explain why the twi’lek population was suddenly in an extreme decline.​

​

Time spent in the refresher, showered, and free from whatever charred grime she picked up finally found the silvery woman moving through the enormously large compound. It was styled like a home, with lounges, and crackling fireplaces, but the walls were thick enough to withstand orbital bombardment. The edges of a white brocade followed behind her with a gentle whisper. When Lunara was not present she allowed the attendant droids to choose her attire. Still, they favored white, even when she felt undeserving of the shade.​

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It was a piece that suited her physically. But, her mood was a contradiction.​

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Upon entering the Sun Parlor, she felt some of the tension between her shoulder blades ease. Whether it was due to the proximity of her Master or the familiar environment—She couldn’t say. The stone pathways led toward some of the flowers that she favored. Brilliantly colored, but with a short, violent life. They were cannibalized by younger flowers who took their place.​

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Partially braided hair glimmered in the light like white gold. Eventually, her eyes flickered to Darth Metus. He was holding a goblet of wine and a datapad. Her mind touched his. What was this meeting in regards to?​

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“Master.”​

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The singular word contained all of the emotion of a piece of stone. Verbally, she failed. Nothing moved her. Thankfully, it was not only her voice he had to rely on. The Exarch crumpled down with the aching grace of a folding lotus at his feet. She turned so that her back faced him, and tilted, so that she could rest an arm atop his leg. Her cheek in turn rest against her own arm. He would only see the back of her head. Her eyes lazily closed. “Your mistress is tearing apart the kitchens again.”​

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“I attempted to aid her and she seems to think I was trying to kill her.”​

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Why did everyone assume that she was trying to murder them every time she got near cooking appliances? Either way, Srina, on a good day, couldn’t care less. The fact that she had been summoned from a mission by her Master told her that was indeed—Not a good day.​

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Idly, almost imperceptibly, she reached into the pocket of her skirt and produced a piece of hard candy that was wrapped in a gold-foil wrapper. It was sweet. From Leritor. She reached up and placed it on the Vicelord’s opposite knee. From there she buried her face and let silence reign.​

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He would speak when he wished. She could wait.​

 

[Darth Metus]

R E U N I O N​

Tag: Srina Talon

His patience was rewarded quite poorly.

Though the summons had been absolute - there were certain realities that were beyond the Sith's control. As he sat within the Sun Parlour, eyes plastered upon the device within his grasp, it became evident that the meeting this day would be scarce a few bodies. In the case of his sibling, the task that Darth Metus had recently provided him demanded his full attention. Judging from the missive that freshly chimed onto the datapad, it would take a miracle for Alkor to step away now and live. In this case, the Sith understood.

Shortly thereafter, a second chime. A second missive. A second disappointment. Ever occupied by the chitstorm that was politics, Valencia too would not be attending. T'was then that the datapad soared - lobbed underhandedly - into the basket atop an adjacent shelf. There was no need for it currently, for she who remained could see into his eyes directly. She, who Darth Metus could always rely upon without there ever being a question. Perhaps that was the reason he so readily laid down his life so that she might live.

And yet, despite the boundless depths of their bond, when last had they truly spoken?

As his Exarch - as the literal extension of his will - Srina Talon performed admirably. International bonds were maintained by her word. Allies were crafted ceaselessly by her efforts. To say that the Confederacy would be a shadow of its current glory without her was an understatement. Yet, along with her toils, there was a weight upon her shoulders. One that they had only touched upon or spoken of once. And in that moment, it was not the right time. Nor the right place. Since then...since Kuat...the present had been a whirlwind of change.

The assault on the capital by sellswords came to mind firstly. But beyond that, a young Talon had decided to take up residence within their home - despite Srina's warnings. Atrisia was the freshest calamity: a world under literal quarantine due to a blackwing outbreak. And new ties had been made by both Master and Apprentice. Though they were so close, they had been so far away. And then...she arrived. Like always, Darth Metus felt his apprentice long before her steps graced the Sun Parlour.

Master. she uttered. A woman of few words she had always been, for her true language was far different. Descent gripped her thus and she occupied the ground before him. Her arm came to rest upon his leg with her head leaning atop it. She was at peace. She was safe. She was Home. Reaching out, the rear of his offhand graced her arm with a touch. "Hello Srini." came his response. The words were just as simple, but he too spoke the same language. The touch carried the sentiment of ten thousand tongues. They were One. Plain and simple.

Your mistress is tearing up the kitchens again.

Though the alabaster woman had not meant to cause laughter on the bart of her Master, a thunderous chuckle boomed from his lips. Ah, how literal a hurricane had swept through their kitchen since the primordial woman entered the Well. Pots and pans everywhere - along with the remains of droids who had attempted to assist. If Darth Elyria had her way, Srina would have joined the Droids he imagined. But to harm his apprentice was to harm him. Though he laughed, his touch tensed ever so slightly at the thought. She'd feel just how protective he was through their Bond.

"My mistress huh? Think she'll rip out my tongue if I call her that?" His response was alive with his typical snark. Though his mind did wander for a moment. He had never told Srina about his role in Kuat - about how the Mistress came to be in his life. He thought that she grieved enough for what she lost that day...he would never compound it with revealing that truth. Rather, he remained quiet as she moved and watched as the candy was placed upon his knee. How sweet! Literally.

He popped the confection into his mouth in short order and leaned back his head.

"Things are a bit of a mess lately. But at the same time, better than ever." he began. "Tell me...How are you? What have you been up to?

She knew him well enough to know this wasn't a pleasantry. He was asking about that conversation they had never resolved. About the grief she held following Kuat - and about how she had been dealing with it. As he awaited her response, he took a swig of wine...and regretted it. The two flavors just didn't mix.​

 

[Srina Talon]

Location: Sinner's Well, Sun Parlour
Tag: Darth Metus

The slender creature did not know whom they waited for, nor, did she care. Her dispassion wasn’t due to negative sentiments. It was pragmatic. Srina had not called this meeting. She needed only to obey. At the whim of the Vicelord, as if led by the call of a King, she adhered to his every edict. She performed as she would have wished her subordinates to. Efficient; stalwart. She had no room for weaknesses in her offices and thusly would not tolerate it in herself. The Echani had become acutely aware of the chinks in her armor. Her family, her sister. Eira. Maliphant. And of course—@Darth Metus.​

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Her world often revolved around her Master. It was the way.​

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The only way.​

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Srina breezed into the Sun Parlor with the presence of a little Queen. She had always maintained a certain level of elegance that left the most coordinated of individuals feeling clumsy and oafish. Her every footstep, darting over well-worn stones, was full of confidence—But feather-light. As if she floated rather than walked. Folding down to sit at his feet felt normal. There was no struggle for power. No envy, no hesitance. Her faith in her Master was one of the few ties that had never been broken.​

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Her own Mother felt that she had become that which she could not abide. Negotiating for Eira had placed a rift between parent and child that Srina feared would never be mended. She was the eldest Talon now. The eldest. The next matriarch of their Clan. Yet? She lived across the galaxy. She protected people that were not her own. For that?​

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Aeris Talon spoke plainly. Srina, was an Avatar of Death.​

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Ruin followed in her wake.​

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Srina couldn’t help but agree, silently, and without hesitation. She was that—And so very much more.​

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A nickname that she hadn’t heard in what felt like eons touched her ears. Srini. No one called her that but him. Not her family. Not the few friends she had left. Not even Maliphant. No one but him. It made her feel, for a moment, as if the tragedy that gripped the Confederacy was very far away. A dream within a dream. Only, it wasn’t so. The Confederacy had been betrayed by the Eternal Empire. Blackwing was at their door. No, Blackwing, was in their home.​

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Cure or not—Many had died. Too many. ​

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“I felt you call. I am here.”, she breathed, though, she didn’t raise her head. Instead, she remained in a relaxed position, draped against his leg, though entirely still. If she breathed? He would not see it. Only the steady beat of her pulse ringing through their bond would signal that she was anything more than a statue. Her expression was stone. He laughed and she could feel the deep baritone echo in her chest.​

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She tilted her head, curious. Had she stated something entertaining?​

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A wave of protectiveness followed and the pale-skinned Exarch felt a frown tug at the edges of her lips. They were within the safety of the Well. What could harm them, who would dare, encroach on the sanctuary on Ryloth? He asked of his Mistress, his black goddess, and Srina felt her frown deepen. There was something about the Sith creature that settled her with a sense of wariness. Each time Selene, or Elyria, depending on the day, entered the room the hair on the back of her neck stood on end.​

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She felt threatened. As if she was somehow, someway, in imminent danger.​

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“I calculate a sixty-two percent chance that she would remove your tongue.”, Srina returned softly, though, her brow creased briefly while she allocated the rest. There was an 8% chance that she might misconstrue the word entirely. There was a 10% chance that she might find it amusing, another 10% that she may agree, then, another solid 10% reserved for the fact Elyria may just threaten and do nothing at all. Srina based the deduction off of her mood swings. There were many. “If you present her with red wine or the blood of an infidel—You may yet persevere.”​

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Srina felt a small mote of reassurance when he took the sweet she offered. Long, long ago, she had explored the galaxy and regularly returned with some sort of sugary snack. He liked his texture. She could approve. Like, fairy floss. Strange, sweet, bio-degradable cotton. They had eaten it together on Falleen. Srina had not tried it since.​

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His apprentice shifted a little when he asked of her status. Her body turned, and her arms crossed, so that she could rest her chin in the cross they made. Silver eyes remained upturned toward his.​

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“I met with the Atrisian Delegation. The rest of our dealings will likely need to be finalized from a distance, however, they were amendable to the exchange. I imagine that the plague has only reinforced that decision. I will soon take measures to meet with a leader of Dark Wire.”​

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Srina hadn’t yet realized that Darth Metus was asking of her personal state. Not, political dealings. He could find all of that out by the memos that she routinely left for his perusal. “Eira doing surprisingly well, though, I have concerns. Nightmares…They are unpleasant.”​

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Her youngest sibling had never seen war in this manner. They were all trained, heavily, on Eshan. Combat was in their blood. But the actuality of a bloody battle that tore the guilty and the innocent from life and limb without question or quarrel?​

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“I was never infected. Maliphant knew. He kept us safe.”​

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Rather, he kept her safe. Maliphant himself?​

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He’d been disemboweled.​

 

[Darth Metus]

H E A R T​

Tag: Srina Talon

She was as the Stars.

To witness the alabaster woman was to witness the twinkling of the heavens. The serene grace, but also the distance. To most, she was as the most distant stars - offering no warmth, but only the glow of her presence. Yet, to the Sith, she belonged. He was the tapestry of night which made the masterpiece complete. Together, they were the night sky which the Confederacy looked to for guidance. Together, they would fear not the darkness, but rather find their way. As she stepped upon the stones of the Well, Darth Metus couldn't maintain the brief angst for long. Those who were occupied by the offices he had granted were occupied.

Most importantly, it allowed Master and Apprentice a rare opportunity to just be.

As she approached, graceful as ever, Darth Metus came to realize why it was he never took advantage of the resources at his disposal. He could, by means of his office or otherwise, situate a veritable fortress upon every world he frequented. He could raise walls wherever he laid his head. In times long past, the prospect would have been appealing. Yet, in the present? There was always a burning desire to return to Ryloth. While, yes, his lodgings on Geonosis and Manda were exceptional, this was home. This was where they belonged. And come what may, they would always have these walls. Such were the comforts they had seemingly built together.

Comforts that had been..."invaded" in recent history.

The Sith could feel the protectiveness which rose as they touched the subject of the Dark One. The river of emotion betwixt them afforded Darth Metus a sensation that could only be compared to a drake's wings. They unfurled and folded about him, as if to shield from the inferno cast by Darth Elyria. Ah, how the Vicelord wished that they were mighty enough to cast away that flame. How he had tried. He was grateful that, thus far, no harm had come to his "white rabbit" from the woman's hands - but that reality rested in the pit of his stomach. The Dark One blamed Srina for his "not being what he was meant to be" - and so he worried the day would come when she'd try and force him.

For now, Darth Metus banished the thought from his mind and found himself smirking again as Srina responded to his quip. "Only 62%? My odds are improving.." he said, in such a manner which implied he'd try his luck at testing the Dark One. Of course, Srina would know he was jesting. Like no other in the Galaxy, she'd know when his words were concrete or when they were bulls-

Shortly thereafter, the Sith inquired after recent events. The question was indeed loaded, but in true Srina fashion, she answered to the letter. Emotion was hardly a factor - save for concern regarding her sibling. The subject was one that Darth Metus considered a fresh scab; and thus, he did his best not to poke it. The Well was open to the young Eira Talon - but the warning the Sith uttered was mirrored by the words of Srina's own kin. The path they tread was one paved with death. Since the rise of the Confederacy, the Sith's own heart had been bloodied by loss. The cruel irony? One of his key motivations was raising a place his lineage could finally call home - a true place of safety.

Yet in its name, they suffered. In its name, they perished.

"It's funny." he remarked, finally. "When you were taking your first steps, the man I was would have placed a boot on Atrisia's neck and forced its people to do my bidding. I'd have planted War Forges from Jar'Kai to their new capital - and dared them to fuss." He shook his head, chuckling at the thought of his days as Mand'alor. "Now, I send my successor to negotiate. Negotiate."

"No wonder Elyria gives me no end of grief. I must have gone soft somewhere down the line." His nostrils let loose a half-huff as his dominant hand raised. His fingers gingerly found her silver locks and trailed down them absently. Contact was the language she spoke - and in this, it was his wings which unfurled about her. She was safe here. Safer than anywhere else among the stars. "I can only hope rest finds your sister soon. Perhaps a visit to Monastery is warranted? To ease her mind?" Nothing like bathing in the Light to chase nightmares away. Literally.

Maliphant. A familiar unknown. She'd feel gratitude towards the mention of his name - for he had kept her safe during the outbreak. But that was overshadowed. The Master was just as protective of his apprentice. If not more so. She'd know this - feel this. "Hmm." was the only verbal response she'd hear regarding his name - though he had said volumes otherwise.

Overall, she had answered to the letter...but hadn't. So, he spoke her language. Literally. "Na- cín emel eithel?" [ Echani: Is your heart well? ]

Her heart. Which had been chipped by the destruction of her droids, battered by the departure of her betrothed, and trampled by the death of her unborn. Her heart, which was buried deep underneath the frost of Eshan's discipline and a Sea of the Dark Side. In this, she'd know full well what he inquired. Or so he hoped.

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[Srina Talon]

Location: Sinner's Well, Sun Parlour
Tag: Darth Metus

The quiet woman could feel the mood of the Sith Lord shifting whilst she made her approach. He called. She would obey without thought. Without question. It wasn’t that she didn’t have her own opinion or thoughts. Far from it. She simply also held faith. Undeniable. There was no anxiety in her being while her fingers danced around the edges of blooming florals in the hanging gardens. She knew every flow, every stone, and she knew him. This was home.

He was home just as much as Eshan was – And ever, always, would be.

Srina adjusted the way she sat at his feet only slightly. She moved so that she could reaching into the pocket of her ivory robes to produce a new sweet for him. Her arm still rest on his thigh while her chin rest delicately against it. Small fingers settled the piece of candy on his opposite knee and she held it steady for a moment to ensure it wouldn’t fall, before her hand fell back to her lap. He liked his crunchy snacks, however, he also enjoyed new things. New and dangerous things.

Like the raving banshee in the kitchen.

The pale-skinned woman felt crushingly protective over her Master. His importance in her life could never be downplayed. His happiness, she oft considered, and if this Dark One pleased him? She would abide it. It was only the inherent danger the ancient beast presented that gave her reason to pause. Srina had spent quite some time analyzing what emanated from Elyria through the Force. Power. In the purest sense. She eclipsed both of them combined.

He sensed her worry and her bones sighed in relief when an invisible wave swept through her. The tension drained. She could feel Darth Metus smirk and silver eyes darted upward, briefly, before they lazily closed. His humor was palpable and she appreciated the pains he took to ease her. The only sad part? It was, sadly, the truth. Perhaps Elyria wouldn’t destroy his existence and rend his soul into her next meal. Srina could not say. “Perhaps it is my inexperience…But she feels…Endless.”

There was no fighting her. No running. No overcoming—She simply was what she was. A force of nature. As potent and unassailable as an eternal hurricane. “I trust you, Master. Always.”

“I do not trust her.”

The conversation moved in the same way that a loose lily-pad flowed gently downstream. From one topic, one wave, to the next. The gentle reminisces on his past persona rang with heavy truth. Srina briefly wondered about how much she had changed. Her circumstances, priorities, had shifted. But had she really changed so much from the woman that had left Eshan distraught and alone? “You are still the same. It is the galaxy that has changed. Your knowledge base has given you an insight into the needs and expectations of your systems. Fire and blood…”

“It is often the old way.”

That didn’t mean it was the wrong way. Only, it was no longer modern. The further the Southern Systems spread the more accommodating they needed to be. The fires of rebellion were a dangerous thing. The Confederacy held a balance on the edge of a knife. If they took too much power their motives were questioned and placed in peril. If they gave the Viceroyalty too much power their fondness for red tape, meeting, and votes placed them in a state of entitled inaction. “We do what we must. Neither of us has gone soft. If we need to strike terror…If we need to invoke fear?”

“Fear it will be.”

Spoken as the Dread Queen of the Confederacy. His fingers in her hair settled the distant chill that was rising along her spine. The more she fell into a political frame of mind the more her wintry visage seemed to become stone. Duty, called. The discussion returned to Eira and she nodded her head slowly. Monastery was always willing to help, even if, it was for a potential Dark Sider. Surely they wouldn’t turn a child away. “Perhaps. She is…Difficult. Was I this difficult when we first crossed paths?”

A soft feeling of gratitude and protectiveness wound neatly around her core. For a moment, it confused her. It came with the mention of Maliphant, moreover, the debacle on Atrisia. The bi-directional line of communication that ran between them filled in the blanks. Concern. Suspicion. Protection. When she understood fully, a faint, barely visible blush touched her cheeks. She didn’t know what to think of the man that had taken work in her offices as an advisor. Srina dared not say, that truthfully, that this was the first potential friend she’d made since Adron, Gerwald, or Voph.

Only—He was more than that. Srina just refused to acknowledge it. She could lie to herself, but, Metus knew her. He would see the truth that she herself did not.

The next question came in the tongue of her people. Hearing it left an exquisite form of relief and pain.

“Mime hon na- vamme ilúve…[My heart is not whole…]”, she breathed, softly, whilst trying to find the words to explain. It was difficult in any tongue. Her head tilted up toward the Vicelord and for a brief moment he would suspect that silver eyes had softened. Briefly, he would see pain eternal. A blink and it was gone. As if it had never been. “It will never be…But I will learn to live with it.”

There wasn’t any other choice. Life went on. Even when every fiber of her being screamed that it shouldn’t. That it wasn’t fair. Breathing, eventually, became easier. Her anger was easier to quell than it had once been. Even if it was a work in progress.

“Are you well?”