Under Construction

[Malok]

Again.

In truth, Darth Metus did not think he would ever witness the event once more. Having seen it all reduced to ash, he had forfeited the notion of a proper roof over his head. He scurried from apartment to starship, but since emerging from Undeath...there was no place to call Home. The closest thing had been consumed by the fires of Mandalore: the ancestral dwelling of House Verd. But. The seat of his lineage was not where he laid his head. The ancient stones brought feelings of responsibility, not ease. And thus, now deprived of even that...the Sith looked upon something that was his.

Slowly. Surely. A flock of droids and vehicles toiled without ceasing. They broke the ground of Ryloth, laying a strong foundation to the structure that would rise upon it. And the Sith simply watched. He sat upon a boulder a respectable distance from the work - close enough that he might enjoy the progress but far enough that he was not impeding. His gaze drifted from Droid to vehicle and back again, taking in every action that he possibly could. To say that he was excited was an understatement: as evidenced by the half-smile plastered upon his face. Yet. As the old saying often went, a watched pot never boiled.

And so [member="Idaren Verd"] had been summoned.

To say that Darth Metus was a...distant figure in his son's life was an understatement. His previous life had afforded seldom opportunity to forge an iron bond with the youth; but the Sith strived to rectify this in the present. For, when the clutches of Death finally have their way, all that would remain of Metus are his progeny. Immortality had already been achieved many times over; not in the sustaining of his own body, but through the fruits of his tree. His sons. His daughters. All would remain when he was no more...and thus, he had to prepare them. He had to make sure Idaren was strong enough to bear what the Galaxy would throw at him. He had to make sure that he was worthy of claiming all that remained of Darth Metus in the future.

As such, when Idaren arrived, he would be greeted with silence.

A weapon laid for him to claim: the hilt of a lightsaber which had been set upon the earth.

The challenge was as clear as day. Prove himself worthy. Pick up his sword.

 

[Idaren Verd]

Idaren had long sense given up on having a real connection to his family. Particularly, his father. It was hard form a connection with someone who was never there. Idaren couldn't exactly blame his father for never being available. Oh wait, he could. Whether or not his bitterness was justified was another question entirely, one Idaren didn't really care about the answer to.

So while [member="Darth Metus"] was off doing whatever, Idaren focused his efforts elsewhere. He'd become well versed in combat, sure, that was expected of him. And yes, he was by no means a novice with the force, but rather than waste his time trying to be a carbon copy of a man he knew just well enough to know how to use his relation to his advantage, he turned his attention to areas left relatively unexplored. And thus, the Viceroy of Influence built his name and power. Father would have to forgive him for using his name to climb the ranks (to not use the asset would've been a waste), but Idaren played with a currency of secrets far better than if he'd stuck to just being a fighter, a force user.

So what could Metus possibly want?

Idaren had considered not coming. He could've easily sent a message back, claiming to be caught in the midst of a mission, deep undercover, and wouldn't be available for some time. He could've went on about meetings and the pains of having such an important position, one that one couldn't just be summoned away from. There were so many options, some even sounding somewhat like legitimate excuses. So many ways to avoid the summoning yet curiosity ate at Idaren like a maggot did a carcass.

And so here he was, out of the office, visiting the 'old man' as he supervised construction on Ryloth. The fact that Idaren, who always had some form of work to attend to, had to take time out of his oh so busy schedule while his father just sat there and watched droids did nothing to help his mood. Receiving not even a word of greeting only made things worse. Idaren split his unimpressed glare between the hilt at his disposal and the father who really was horrible at his job. "Really?"

 

[Malok]

"Really."

[member="Idaren Verd"] was...justified in how he felt.

Upon making his arrival at the construction site, the Sith felt the emotional response of his son. He could feel the frustration. The angst. But he did not dare invade his progeny's thoughts. He did not breach the line and peer within to see what exactly Idaren was thinking in that moment. But. Having heard the venom from his other children...Darth Metus could venture a guess. A lifetime ago, Idaren...all of them...they needed their father. Their lives would have been so much better, arguably, if he had chosen them over his own descent into the Darkness.

If he had chosen them over Himself.

And to live with that, pure and simple, can piss off even the most mature individual. There weren't enough words to make the feelings go away. There weren't enough excuses in the Galaxy to smooth things over. Metus had learned this the hard way, as his daughters had explicitly stated previously. So what could he do? Move forward.

"You are my only son. And when I'm gone, all that I've built, all that I am, falls to you." He began, motioning to the construction behind them. "You've proven yourself capable, Idaren. You've clawed your way this far, without me. But. The future requires that you be stronger. I won't pretend to be the greatest sire in the world, nor will I try to apologize for my faults - there are no words that can repair the damage now. What I can do is make you as strong as me."

"I can make you a God."

 

[Idaren Verd]

Idaren couldn't say he was bitter at his father for not being there when they needed him most. Sure, he was beyond enraged in the moment, but now? He was incredibly annoyed more so at the fact that he'd taken the time out of his day only to be faced with some twisted sort of challenge and not even a proper greeting. That was what spurred his annoyance in the moment, not some pent up angst. It was a bit hard to miss someone who was never there to begin with.

"And what makes you think I need you to get stronger?" He tossed back, having yet to make an actual move for the weapon. "You said so yourself, I can manage myself." He wasn't about to just obey this man's will, simply because he suddenly go the urge to get all fatherly all of the sudden. That wasn't a switch someone just got to turn on and off, to not be there and then be expected to be treated as if they'd been there the entire time. Any other day, Idaren wouldn't go so far as to accuse [member="Darth Metus"] of doing so, but in this moment, with the right buttons pushed, he very well could've.

He wanted to walk away right there, to deny his father even the slightest twinge of satisfaction knowing that the chance at more power was one that appealed to Idaren. He also didn't want to plant that seed that maybe somewhere, way deep down, and then even deeper down, he was indeed hoping for at least some sort of connection to the man he knew more from stories than actual interaction. But Idaren would be a fool to pass up a chance at more power, and it simply wasn't like him to turn down a challenge. With a frustrated sigh directed more towards himself rather than the other, he extended a hand, beckoning the saber's hilt to his palm where it'd almost immediately be activated. "Then prove it." Came the almost not there whisper. With that, Idaren lunged.

 

[Malok]

Snap. Hiss.

At once a blade of crimson sliced into being, resting in the hand of the young [member="Idaren Verd"]. And, with but two words, the heir initiated his attack against the Sith Lord. In that moment, Darth Metus allowed himself a small modicum of pride. He thought of...well...how he was at that age. He thought of how he, too, would charge into the fray: caring little for the power of his adversaries. What mattered most, to him, was Glory. But Metus couldn't say what motivated such a forward assault from his son. He simply...did not know him well enough.

Yet.

In a fluid motion, Darth Metus reached for his own saber. A well-practiced slide of his finger over the ignition produced his own crimson blade. He then pushed himself back and over the boulder he sat upon, placing a solid obstacle between Idaren and his opponent. Once righted, the Sith flourished his saber until the hilt came to a halt before his brow. This was a salute. Makashi to be precise. "Memorize the terrain. Make it fight for you." he began, before lowering his saber slightly. His stance was at the ready, knees ever so slightly bent so that he might respond rapidly to a further advance.

And perhaps, just maybe, Idaren would take notes as the battle progressed.

 

[Idaren Verd]

The boulder was an unnecessary nuisance, only getting in Idaren's way. He'd wanted, intended, to attack with one fell swoop, put an end to the battle before it could actually begin. But no, dear old paps had to put a rock in his way. Hopefully, Metus hadn't had any intention for that rock. There would be no foundation made from the hunk of solid after Idaren's weapon blazed through it, leaving its mark. That move should've hit Metus' legs. Should've. But no, of course it didn't.

Idaren backed off several paces, glaring up at the old man behind a mess of black hair, already in his face. Salute or not, Metus' gesture seemed more like a challenge, as if he were daring the boy to actually hit him and also taunting him because he'd never catch him. It was aggravating, even if Metus' intentions really were pure. Such aggravation motivated less than smart ideas, as observed when Idaren backed off a couple paces before taking a running start. His foot catching the boulder just right, he brought himself up and over the rock, propelling him forward, this time to more properly go for the attack.

[member="Darth Metus"]​

 

[Malok]

Focus...

The plea of the Father was silent. He did not dare chide his son verbally or through unspoken means. Rather, he made his movements swift and deliberate. Idaren would have to learn - same as his sire before him - that focus was pivotal to survival on the battlefield. Fury had its place: valuable fuel for the power of the Dark Side. However, when it came to the melee, a warrior had to always been of keen mind. A warrior always had to be a step ahead of his adversary.

Thus did Darth Metus' gaze bear witness to the clash of saber and boulder. By that time, the Makashi salute had only just concluded and the Sith's blade lowered ever so slightly. The young Heir then retreated back a few paces, taking a moment to presumably assess a new angle of attack. In this instant did the Sith's saber come to a halt - his arm now completely lowered and his wrist angling the crimson blade away from his body. His legs remained slightly bent and at the ready...

Idaren charged in again, but this time his saber made no direct assault yet. What was he planning...a thrust? An overhead strike? A flank? Darth Metus remained still, responding to his son's advance only by tightening his grip upon the saber.

"Always stay a step ahead of your opponent. Try to anticipate what I will do."

[member="Idaren Verd"]