We were conquers.
Relic Of A Bygone Age
Location: Dantooine, Irveric Tavlar Special Warfare Center
Tags:
Aurelian Sigismund
The faintest chill crept up her arm, servo sprawled out on the smooth alabaster base. In the shadow of the monolith, Lyra alone stood there peering up at the bronzed visage of Irveric. The hour before dawn was coldest and the distant blue flood light illuminated the statue’s form. There he was again frozen in time with his enigmatic state and war wounds, looking across the Victor’s Fields. Coin and token alike had begun to litter the statues feet from graduating classes and her digits skimmed over the top a faint metallic chime of coins following as they were scattered to the ground. There would be more in half a standard year’s time, more notes, more trophies dedicated at the heels of their dear Imperator.
Would be starry eyed men.
The woman’s boots were mute against the grass as she circled the monument. She knew there was no viable reason to linger here..after all this time, but part of her had imagined him here still a shell or not. She had sat through hell for a time at his side, she imagined he wouldn’t have minded her grief.
They would never exist..together, again. Her very breath was dragged out of her lungs, chin dropping as she felt the first crack. Another year gone, and after all this time he had given her an out. He had simply lost himself in the end. Her gaze grew clouded, weighted down. It was better..far from perfect but it was... Her other hand came to the statue base, glove softly patting the stone-slow to pull away.
It was enough.
Minutes passed before the hour turned and the surrounding ground buildings were the first to catch the system’s sun and Lyra waited in the dark and watched it rise. Illuminating the valley in a fiery gold, Dina crested the hills and its warmth reached her face. Lyra Voikryt face twisted, blinded as she chased away the only visible sign of distress, blinking. It was only then, spurred on by the first trumpet blaring across the College awakening its denizens, did she part his side.
To carry on the torch another day.
With each she followed the light’s edge across the green field, walking the length. Her hand smoothed down the length of her white lapel coat before it dipped into her pocket. She ran her tongue over chapped lip and produced a smoke, placing the roll at her mouth as her hand guarded the flame of her lighter. Her gaze fell upon the figure dressed in black lingering where dirt gave way to concrete as she inhaled the first relieving breath; a cloud of smoke trailing behind her. She knew the familiar impression, a hum in her minds eye who it was before she could make out any feature or face. The installation was a stark background of steel now alive with activity, windows of glass beyond began to stack story upon story. The first rotations of corpsmen emerged for formation. Her eye flickered then to the panel at her wrist checking the time.
“Good morning ma’am.” the all too familiar voice of Ban Arroyo called out, and greeted her.
He offered her a smile that she found herself nodding in return, a hint of a smile ghosting her face. The woman snuck another drag off her cigarette before she would answer. The Zabrak appeared polished in ebony uniform-both of them unfettered finally by the confines of armor and weapon. For today at least. A sight to behold for the journey that had taken them to this far reach of the galaxy. Her brows raised, plucking the smoke from her teeth as she gestured to it wordlessly, enjoying the vice break. Yet Ban shook his head simply as he was content to wait for her to finish.
“Good morning indeed,” she greeted him finally, in between drawl-there was echo of bootfall as a company passed in march on the walkway. Lyra tapped the ash off the end of her smoke, briefly regaling them before turning back to her Right-Hand.
“The Moff is due to arrive within the hour, has the faculty confirmed the arrangements I requested?” Lyra tilted her head back, exhaling deeply, letting her shoulders sag as if the weight would simply disappear entirely. They would all line up and preen and perform as necessary, the effect had worn off Lyra personally but the pride remained.
“Everything should be in order, the senior field marshaling is set to take place at ten hundred, honor guard is presently en-route to the landing zone, and I looked in to the name since it did not sit right with myself either..” Ban frowned deeply as he spoke, “-you’ll remember him from Operation Vermillion, and he wasn’t one of ours.”
That was it, she knew the name had sounded familiar and she shook her head. The mystery was solved but it left a bitter taste in her mouth. It was one of her last mobilizations. What a mess that had been, embarrassing to have to intercept grown men picking fights with Mandalorians, after the stand-down had been called... The woman groaned thinking about it, it had been years ago now.
“A shame really, leaves me with questions for the Barrans as to why he’s in such a position now.”
Inquiries never ended well, it was a probe at best and would result in something worse later-or so she often calculated all scenarios to be. There would be no changing the auspicious meeting now, not within the hour. Though what was another curious Moff or investor? They'd know soon enough.
“He's done his research, maybe doesn't recall the incident? If I was anyone less or named Appw'rii I would have air-space traffic lose his identification codes alas.” Ban’s shoulders rose, stuffing his hands in his pocket as they both stopped to watch the passing march on the level above. Storm armor clanked loudly and reverberated through the urban center. First years by the look of their patch.
“If only.” Lyra chuckled tearing her gaze away from them, flicking the cigarette again-left with a stub at this point. "-It'll be a good day?"
She prompted, pointing at Ban. The woman abandoned the bad habit, tucking the burnt out filter in her coat.
"Of course. It'll be a....good day." Ban parroted though neither were sold. Fatigue wouldn’t let her worry too deeply but she was not prepared to let this situation slip through the crack unnoticed. She only wished her tour had lasted longer and she had opportunity to visit Bescane this last round, but her responsibility lay here. Slapping her hand on the Zabrak's shoulder, the pair of them meandered toward the aircraft landing zone in preparation.
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