Vault of Glass | Darth Elyria

[Malok]

Location: Throne, Sinner's Well​

Tag: [member="Darth Elyria"]​

Even when all is lost, Pride remains.

The numerous battles of recent history had left a roadmap of scars upon their lives. Between the phantom agonies which plagued his body to the present and the deterioration of his apprentice's mental state...Sinner's Well had gone cold. Before Master and Apprentice were subject to the inferno of battle, the fortress had been a place of joyous escape. Though the Galaxy reared up against them, these stones would stand. These stones would offer the alabaster woman a place where she could truly rest in peace. These walls would offer the Sith Lord a chance to feel human - and to know what caring for another unconditionally felt like. Yet, after Kuat, the wintery woman was seldom home.

And Darth Metus fell.

The man was recently toeing the line when it came to the abyss. Though the Darkness was certainly his ally, he did not dive into the black depths with an open heart. For her sake, he restrained himself. He attempted to hold onto the fragile spirit that had saved him that stormy night on Coruscant. Yet, in his selfish urge to preserve a snapshot of the past, he also crippled himself. The exchange above Arkam was testiment of this fact - for now yet another demon had wormed its way into existence. Nameless. Primordial. The creature was ravenous and fed upon every shadow that the man created. Every battle was a sacrifice to her appetite. Every ounce of aggression, sweet nectar to her return.

He would not be the plaything of yet another deity. Akala herself was enough for several lifetimes. No. Above the troubled wheelworld, Darth Metus made a vow out of pure fury. A solemn promise that he would find the primordial woman and turn her world to dust. But. The question then became, how does one kill a God? During the Akala Crisis, the Celestial was ultimately felled by the Dagger of Mortis - but that was an artifact lost in the fighting. The Sith did not have the means to reforge the weapon capable of deicide...but he had been a Mandalorian long enough to know how to level the playing field. Even just a sliver. Thus, the man wasted no time in returning to the Forge, armed with a substance that he loathed to the core.

The end result was a simple longsword of amethyst hue. Sheathed in a resin-lined scabbard which rested in his hands. The work had been difficult, for years had spanned since he returned to the Forge. But, overall, his goal was achieved. Now, he had but to follow the trail left behind by the monstrosity. She claimed that apart of her was left inside him? Fine. He would follow that piece of primordial chaos back to its source. And for good or ill, he would silence it evermore. Nothing would rob him of his sovereignty or use him as a meal source. Not now, not ever. The hour was late when the Sith resolved to begin this voyage into the Deep. Though the Well was empty, precautions were taken in the event things went awry. His students - from both Exarchs to his recent understudies - had been given the means and a timetable to pull their Master back. Dead or alive.

And, with twelve hours on the clock, Darth Metus rose from his throne. His dominant hand stretched forth, commanding the same archaic powers that had banished Mirvak to the Netherworld. And by his will, reality fragmented before his eyes. The room about him became as...glass. Shimmering. Reflecting. Dazzling. And, when the invasion into her realm was complete, there was no longer carpet beneath his boots. But rather, a crystalline path adorned with glasslike formations. The heavens above were dark, yet also faintly everything which was beneath. The Sith stepped carefully forward, hand upon the pommel of his weapon. He had been to some wild corners of reality before, but never a Vault of Glass.

 

[Darth Elyria]

Elyria lay prone on a reflective surface. She was encased in translucent dark crystal, sleeping, while she watched visions of the activities that her children were endeavoring to complete. Much like [member="Kaden Farr"], most of them, yearned for her return. In her own, brutally overprotective way, she could love them like no other. They were her children. The only spawn, the only younglings, she could ever claim. She came to them when they were weak. She came to them when all seemed lost. She came to their soul, took hold, and demanded that they defy the odds and survive.

They did not disobey.

This realm that she inhabited, deep, in the darkest reaches of the Netherworld had been her home for as long as she could remember. She did not walk the halls of the mayhem. She did not physically cut through the beasts of the primordial, nor did she wake, when the unspeakable Akala made herself known. Elyria was not bothered by a lovesick deity that thought herself untouchable. Her violence was the only value she had. Instead, she focused on her vessels, on her beautiful young, and sang them to sleep.

Lost little things. She spoke to them in their dreams, taught them, and protected them in her garden of shadows. The mind was a powerful thing. Her own, trained in every form of psychic intrusion, was a weapon all on its own. She sacrificed her physical presence for a nearly infallible mentalist presence, all the while, storing power. Energy, that she would one day use to rise once more.

The pathways in this realm were hard to see. Light that seemed to come from nowhere, from deep in the dark, would occasionally cause the glass to refract from shard to shard but for the most part it would be impossible to see without some sort of light source. The further an intruder moved inward, the darker, and more intense the blackness became. It was absolute.

The way was not safe. There were creatures, guardians, that would stand in the way of those that thought themselves strong enough to pass through her. They would rip interloper’s limb from bloody limb. All whilst she slept, dreamlessly wandering, through the eyes of her young. Elyria had been here for so long. Resting, for so long, that she no longer remembered her own family. She no longer knew her true name. She didn’t mourn it. Her son had bequeathed her something new: Selene.

‘Soon…’, she wordlessly promised him. Elyria would give Kaden the means to his revenge. She would support him, empower him, to destroy the dirt-covered heathen that had taken his life. ‘The galaxy is full of jealous plankton and microscopic organisms, my son. Be watchful. They are envious of the ocean that holds them.’

‘They are the muck at our feet. When I was young, we called them the ooze that eats itself. It was pretty at night. They sparkled. They stank. They reek of unadulterated weakness.’

Her body was present, but her mind, was wherever her children were. Even still her voice could be heard throughout the expansive chamber. Her lips did not move, she did not breathe, but it was there. Reflecting off of crystals and pieces of hanging glass. They hummed to each other. Caressing each tone with a particular chime before passing it on to its neighbor.

‘I have a lesson…Listen well. Others will attack you. Don’t give them a chance. When you become as I am you will learn to destroy everything that’s not utterly yours. This is why you must always be mine. All that matters is victory. That is how my reign, how power, persists. Do not become a slave to the inane construct of morality. A true ruler is as moral as a hurricane. Empty, but for the force of his gale.’

‘There is so much power in the galaxy, and yet, some quibble at the price. Serve no one, save me, and your own ambition.’

The sleeping abomination did not yet realize that her newest plaything had crossed the divide to find her. As he drew nearer, and her own essence called to her, she would stir from the distant slumber. Elyria would not be amused that such a disgustingly opinionated man, with a rather forked tongue, had dared to interrupt her torpor. She had another youngling yet to visit. One, that had recently traversed beyond her grasp. [member="Scherezade deWinter"] had resurfaced. Finally, it was time.

The galaxy was not as she had left it. Change was inevitable—But it seemed that Elyria had work to do.

Soon. As she had promised her son. Soon.

 

[Malok]

[member="Darth Elyria"]

The Night was Dark and Full of Terrors.

The Sith dared not to delude himself into thinking that the invasion would occur undeterred. He thought to his own citadel and how, despite its seemingly peaceful exterior, it was armed to the teeth and defensible. He thought to the cadre of droids roaming the corridors. Thought to the turrets which laid concealed in the walls. Remembered the surveillance which ensured an intruder would never obtain an advantage. Thus, Darth Metus could only assume that any domain maintained by a primordial being would put the Well to shame. He could not ever fathom just how monstrous the beings which guarded their liege would be. And thus, he placed his hope into the fruits of his own ambition.

It was his own might which had seen otherspace made to heel for this incursion. It was his own ambition which had seen stones of the void rendered down into his weapon. And though, for a moment, the blade slumbered within a scabbard which nullfied its true nature, Darth Metus was forced to draw it sooner than he desired. As every step which bore him closer to the primordial serpent, the darker his surroundings became. And as midnight claimed his vision, he began to hear their savage growls. Here, he stood as an invader before her own Well. Here, her Gorgons slithered from beyond to lay the man to waste.

The Nameless Blade grinded out of its scabbard - and suddenly the Sith Lord was rendered mortal. Such was his Gambit. Such was the sheer magnitudes of pride raging hot through his veins. He would forsake his greatest strength and wield a Voidsteel blade in the hopes of giving the primordial one a taste of mortality. And, once the divine was made mundane, he could rend her heart from her chest. For there would be no surrender. There would be no servitude. There would be only victory or death. Thus, a savage roar erupted from Darth Metus as he met the defenders of the Vault. As a mortal, only skill and experience were his allies. But they were rendered blind as a result.

The Nameless Blade stripped them of their greatest strengths and rendered them mortal, simply by being in proximity.

When the final blows of the skirmish were done, the confident strides of the Sith were slowed. He staggered forward, burden by the blows sustained by the fight. And yet, the darkness had not claimed him. He would come before what he could only describe as a crystal altar: the beating hard of the madness that the woman called home. And as he advanced, the Nameless Blade's radius would grace her coffin like a wintery chill. He was not close enough yet to rob her of her divinity, yet every step forward was a threat to her dominion. Every second that he drew breath, a challenge to the mantle of Darth he "son" had bestowed upon her. She claimed that she was within him. That he belonged to her?

No. He belonged to no one. He would kneel before no one. Especially not some creature sleeping within glass. "I've found you." he grunted. The taste of his own blood was fresh within his mouth, but he spoke undeterred. His pace came to a halt before a daunting flight of stairs. He did not climb yet, for he knew his intrusion would be answered. By what? He did not know. More Gorgons? Harpies perhaps? Maybe even Goblins or Minotaurs, who the kriff knew? No matter. He would face down whatever the woman had up her sleeve. But. Before righting the wrong of her insolence, the Sith paused.

"What do you actually want?" he began, gripping the hilt of his weapon in anticipation. "And why have you chosen me to play with? There are ten thousand Sith in this Galaxy, an entire Empire now. Hell, Empires now. This Galaxy is on fire constantly, but you seek for me to feed you? Why."

Though pride drove him forward, the Sith was the furthest thing from daft. What motivated a creature such as this was vital to know. Was she simply attempting to be the next Akala? Or...was she prey to an even greater predator? He hoped to know before the final blow was struck.

 

[Darth Elyria]

[member="Darth Metus"]

Infection. Virus. Intruder.

Elyria pulled from the mind of her beloved son so abruptly that it would likely startle him. She never withdrew without parting words, pearls of wisdom, or some sort of farewell. The crystalline structures within her tomb were ringing. Her creatures were disturbed. Something, someone, had crossed the divide into a place of which they did not belong. Still as death, her physical form did not react, but her mind was everywhere. Waiting. Searching. Whispering…

Until she hit something that felt like a wall. She could see a silhouette that held more than a touch of familiarity; however, she could only get so close. Something swept over her that blinded her. She could not see. Fury swept through her at the hubris of the worm that dared to pollute this world with such a stifling artifact. Yet, it was only when the wave of nothing touched her crystalline confinement, that it actually warranted her focus. What was it doing? Was it…Was it really powerful enough to crack the dark crystal that she was encased in?

The mortal man asked his questions to the stale air and they echoed through the cavernous hall in a rolling wave. From one crystal to another. From one set of glass to another. It all culminated back to the center of the room, to the highest point of the dais, to a focal point where his voice reverberated. She knew that voice. She knew it well. She knew the feel of him, the pieces of glass, the shards that had lost themselves in his being. Silly, stupid, foolish boy.

Little Isley​

A sharp crack resonated in the silence.

In the distance her pets wailed, sensing distress, and a change in the environment. Aside from the floating pieces of glittering crystal about the vault that she inhabited it held featureless corners, empty and bleak, as if it belonged to the dark side of a moon. The intruder would feel a chill across his skin. He would feel a gust of wind, though there was no breeze, and an aching sensation of power that seemed as if it was barely held in check. Perhaps, by the very sword he carried.

The glass made small glittering noises when it touched and the scent of jasmine would fill his nose as spiderweb cracks rolled through the sarcophagus. All at once it gave way, falling in a great crash, as if it had never existed at all. The remnants gleamed while they rolled down the steps and the scent would change, burning with vanilla, before cleansing with fresh rain. It would choke him. Fill his head. Blind him, distract him, while she rose from her would-be grave.

She was different. So different, that it would come into question whether she had ever been human at all.

“...You’ve made a mistake...”​

Her voice should have been hoarse. Her body should have been emaciated. It was not. She rose from the remains of both her prison and her protection with relative ease. Her power was dampened by something he held. It was no matter. He would feel her anger like warmth on the air. A sense of authority remained ever present, though suppressed, in a neck-ruffling, breath-stealing tide. Her long, black hair was unbound, like a cloak, while she stared down imperiously. Her eyes were filled with night. Like the eyes of the blind, empty, save for the invisible color of her power. “You cannot touch me… You do not know what you have done or whom you have awoken. It was not yet time. Truly, it seems that the weak have inherited this galaxy.”

“…That means I have work to do. You, beloved, are in my way.”

From the remains of the glass coffin she lifted a weapon. It was a sword that seemed to be made of an unknown material. It gleamed in the nothing like obsidian, but it was extremely durable, and thrice as sharp. It was designed to cut down anything and everything that stood before her. The Force was her tool, her greatest weapon, but it was not her only skill. Slowly, she descended down the stairs from on high. Darkness. It rose like a wave, sweeping ahead of her, like a liquid mountain towering to the impossibly high ceiling of the cavern. If the vault had seemed dim before…

It was worse now. So, much worse.

It was Darkness absolute. Darkness, so black that it held the shine of other colors, like an oil slick, or a trick of the eye. As if this blackness was a shade made up of every color that had ever existed, every sight that had ever been seen, every sigh, every scream since time began. It gave true meaning to the word primordial. The former Mandalorian would have never understood it, not truly, until this moment. It was a pool of despair that seemed to swallow the glass, the crystals, and made it seem like the laws of gravity had never existed. It was darkness before there was light. It was the breath of something older.

It, she, was nothing he would be able to understand. It was nothing he would want to understand. Her presence would give the impression that the mountain of dark behind her had weight, and it would have a claustrophobic feel of a mountain poised to come crashing down, but it was not, a mountain. It was an ocean that defied the very laws of physics, and even still, he would have the sense that he was only catching a glimpse from the shore. He could only begin to guess at the depth and width, the unthinkable fathoms of colorless dark, that lay before him. Were there creatures that moved inside it? Like her gorgons? Were there things within the dark that only nightmares or dreams could reveal?

“There was a time when I walked among you. Fed, upon you. Swallowed your most violent atrocities and designed bloodshed that left nations reeling...”, she murmured, softly, while the tip of her sword dragged down the steps. Her armor seemed to be studded with the same black crystal that had broken down from her coffin. The details would be difficult to see. Most men would have fled by now. Most people, plagued with humanity, knew that if the ocean of dark came crashing down—They would die. Did he have that much faith in his artifact? In the thing that momentarily spared him? “You cannot run from the dark. The light…It never lasts. Why would a Sith fight me?”

“Why would you fight the inevitable? I am Elyria. I have existed for longer than you can imagine. The people of your galaxy are motes of dust. Mayflies, who die so soon after they’re born, that they might as well not have lived at all.”

Her sword rose when she stopped on the final step.

“You will feed me, Isley, because you are mine. I will have what is mine. Do not do what countless primitives have done before you…Do not become a skull for me to crush beneath my feet… Do not become a mayfly.”

 

[Malok]

His understanding was a mote upon the wind.

Such was the experience of being Human. Though the whole of Human Life was but a speck in the grand scheme of existence, those mortals who drew breath dared to believe they understood the world around them. That which they witnessed with eyes so primative, they accepted as law. As unshakable, unbreakable rules of reality. But what they did not understand was that there was so much beyond mortal comprehension. Fathomless depths which co-existed with the very lives they raced through.

And Darth Metus found himself being no different.

So long ago it was that the Galaxy became a plaything of something far greater. A being of extraordinary power descended from beyond in order to take vengeance upon all who lived. In her first rampage, Akala shattered all resistance and exacted sovereignty over the minds of so many souls. Though he was strong in his own way, Darth Metus succumbed to the might of the Celestial - and in that moment, his feeble eyes observed what he thought to be the pinnacle of power. He accepted the might of Akala to be the unshakable, unbreakable of reality.

But he was so wrong. So far off from the truth. Thus, when the Primordial creature before him first interrupted his life, he made the mortal error of regarding her as the same. He thought that the being slumbering within a Vault of Glass was no different...but he would never understand the depths of his folly. As the wrathful words formed and fell from his lips, the questions remained unanswered. That sickeningly sweet tone that had chimed within his ears above Arkam remained silent for a moment. Instead, the darkness grew darker.

Before his sulfuric gaze, ripples formed upon the crystalline structure. Fissures which ran wild and multiplied with each passing moment - as if goaded into being by his intrusion. The Sith could do nothing more than watch as the prison fell away. And from the shimmering remains rose what appeared to be a woman. Yet, what heralded her descent broke the Sith's understanding of the Dark Side. For decades, he had swam within the Deep. He thought that he had a grasp on what the Force was capable of. Of what the Force was.

Yet the murky depths which slithered down the stairs, blackening the midnight all the more, caused a sense of unease to worm into his stomach. His grip tightened upon the hilt situated within his grasp. The force of his muscles tensing only served to aggravate the wounds he had sustained in getting this far. But he would ignore them. For now, he would stand fast. He had to. And the reason was Pride. He would not suffer to be the plaything of any god. Not Akala. And certainly not this so-called Elyria who had seen fit to invade his life.

You will feed me, Isley, because you are mine.

He racked his brains. Every moment of experience he had was being combed through for any possible way of winning this. What he had hoped for - expected - had been shattered all around him. And now, he was face to face with...a whole new kind of Darkness. And, even though the majority of his sense was dulled by the weapon in his hands...he could feel that the Force was not his ally here. As if, not only was he being an affront to the mistress of this realm, but to the power that had guided him all this time. Why? Was that all he was? Was that all his efforts were meant to fulfill? What of Srina - was she placed in his life just to ultimately feed this woman too? Why?

Darth Metus' grit against one another as his gaze burned upon the woman. He took stock of her form. Of how lithe she appeared. Yet...the Force made all things possible. She could have been literal bones, but swing with the force of a mountain. There was no way of gauging. No way of preparing. There was nothing he could do but take the plunge. And in doing so, prove, that nothing short of God could bury Darth Metus once and for all. It took the devastation of an entire world to lay him low the first time. To die at the hands of a God...well...at least his pride would be intact.

He wanted to step forward. He wanted to put to an end this nightmare that was unfolding his eyes. But before he could so much as speak, light caught his eye. It was not the metaphysical representation of the Jedi, mind, but rather a reflection made vastly noticeable amidst the murky depths of the room. A sizeable portion of the coffin's remains gleamed, as if a light had been shined upon it. And the Sith could scarcely make out movement. In this moment, he shouldn't have even spared it a thought - and yet the glass captivated him. Made him squint, despite the fact that Hell stood before him.

And what he saw was himself. Not the man of the present, but the child of the past.

What he saw was a spectre who had taken a child, broken after one too many drunken blows from his sire, into her arms. And by the lullaby she hummed, he was able to find rest. No. There was more. He saw...a tree limb falling upon a beast that cornered him so long ago. A hunt that would have ended his life for certain, interrupted by a fluke. More. Coordinates erupting onto the deck of a Star Destroyer, bidding a revolutionary's forces to take a backdoor route towards Dromund Kaas. The same route that a Mandalorian scout fighter was flying. She had done it all.

His hands trembled upon the hilt of the weapon. His gaze fell and all attempts to focus were broken to pieces. What trickery was this? Wha- More light. More glittering which caught his eye. But it was not the remains of her prison...but it was himself. He saw, amidst the black, the shimmering crystals that were imbedded within him. Lights which his naked eye would have never witnessed - that sensors or mortal comprehension would have never seen. But they existed. And now that he could see...he felt the power which brimmed from each and every one. Countless in number. Primordial in nature.

Tied to the woman standing before him. And yet, they did not siphon. They did not snatch strength from him, despite her demand that he would feed her. No. They received. Even now, they were ravenous in the consumption of essence from the source. Dampened by his blade, but hungry nonetheless. And she obliged. Wordlessly. Despite his intrusion. Despite his demands. Despite his ignorance. She still chose to keep him alive. Still chose to build the path that had colored his entire life. Shaken, his tone was a far cry from the confidence which barked a moment ago. Humbled, he asked.

"It was you. All those times...wasn't it? You brought her to me. You...Why? Why me?" The blade was lowered at once, pointing now at the floor. "Is all you want from me sustenance?"

[member="Darth Elyria"]

 

[Darth Elyria]

[member="Darth Metus"]

Stillness.

She could see the wheels turning in his mine, like a mouse trapped in a cage, and she waited. Elyria had spent centuries watching others. She could read the dredges of humanity better than they knew themselves. Every thought, every fear, every guilty little desire. Here stood a man who thought himself above the things that walked before even his ancestors had learned to crawl. He had seen the transgressions of Akala and had found her untimely reign wanting. Unimpressive. She had died through a variety of coincidences falling in to divine alignment but it was mostly due to allowing the common wretches to find her in the first place. They knew her power; ergo, they knew her weakness.

Her sin was Hubris. The penalty was a thousand swords. Death. The final, death.

Elyria…Elyria had pondered that event for years, in silence, in her prison. She would not make the same mistakes.

She could feel something pervading the air, twining with her blessed dark, and her head tilted while she drank it down. When she recognized it, the sweetest laughter peeled from her throat, and night-filled eyes became knowing drowning pools.

‘...Pride comes before the fall...’​

​

She couldn’t read his mind as she had before. Not whilst he held that damnable artifact. Regardless, she knew that expression. He likened her to something only a mind, twisted by the taste of mortality, could possibly fathom. The strongest of them. The boldest—Most powerful. A God. Elyria could only let blood colored lips curl into a smirk that was borderline disgust and amusement. She was nothing of the sort. Her life had begun simple, as most did, by trial of suffering. Agony. The details were little more than a distant nightmare now. It was…Lifetimes ago.

Elyria watched as the so-called Sith Lord got lost in the glass. The longer he stared, and watched his refection, the more he would see himself, see the truth, that lay hidden. She remembered when the soul of her first son would linger near her tomb and study his past, day after day, until the snake cast him aside. Isley would see the truth as it actually was, versus, the past he had painted for himself.

More questions followed. She twirled the obsidian sword by the hilt and caught it expertly. So, perhaps he did not yet wish to fight. Wish to die. “Are you certain you simply wouldn’t wish to pray?”

“Perhaps, to your Manda?”, Elyria asked in a faint caress, before a new laugh left her, as something occurred to her. A memory. Not her own. “Or not. Since, you ate half of it. Blaspheming Cannibal.”

It was a statement. Not an insult.

“Tell me. How does it feel to stand where you are? Is it like standing on the tracks of a light rail on your precious Geonosis? You can feel that very first vibration down the line, and you know you should move out of the way, but you can’t see anything. As far as you look…You can see nothing. Nothing, but the dark. There is only that annoying vibration, like a pulse beating against your feet, to let you know that several tons of durasteel is hurtling toward you…”, she trailed off, weaving a story and example, built upon the mind that pieces of her still lingered within. He knew Geonosis. She knew, Geonosis. It was not a two-way street. Her mind was an impenetrable fortress…To venture there, was to sacrifice all sanity. “Your people must perish regularly for their lack of awareness. Their dying words…’I didn’t see it coming’…seem to be made of something mystical. Why don’t they just get out of the way?”

“You…You can feel the vibration of me or you wouldn’t be here. You might gladly get off the tracks, but it’s too late now. I’m in your head. Running through your blood. Nailed across your body. You cannot escape from that.”

The Darkness remained complete. Towering…Yet the air in the crystalline cavern seemed to suddenly soften. It remained sweet, like the perfect summer night, when the scent of every blade of grass lingered, mingling with every leaf, and every flower. It became a scented blanket that wrapped little Isley in air that was lighter than silk. She could be cruel. She could be kind.

“I am a curious. Perhaps, in the same way that a scholar becomes inquisitive when they find a new species of insect. Find it, capture it, put it in a jar, whether it wishes to, or not. After all, it’s just an insect.”, she breathed, with a voice so rich, that would have felt like he should have been able to get down on the ground and roll up in it like a soft, warm, fur. Her voice was enticing. However, it was also frightening.

Elyria moved down from the final step and came to stand before the little Vicelord. He was the King of his own castle, certainly, but not her castle. He would feel a sense of something slithering., A flutter of black, the sensation of silk, and he could come to realize that something was wrapping around him. Her hair had moved of its own accord, trapping him where he stood, so that she might remove his pesky sword that dampened her gifts. “It is always me, little Isley.”

“Always.”

In his little pet, she gave him a reason to live, to exist. To fight. To continue creating his own Domain so that he wouldn’t become a slave among his peers. “You don’t get to question me. I take what is mine. Through fear, blood, and darkness. You…You are not yet ready to do anything but that which I require. You have arrived too early. The cycle is broken. We are out of sequence.”

“I thought I had tired of your world long ago. It’s pointless. It annoys me. Yet, I’m compelled to play on. So you…You, will play with me.”

 

[Malok]

Yet again, she did not answer.

Though infested with a tone as sweet as the finest sugar, the Primordial being addressed the Sith as an insect. She regarded his thirst for answers as one did vermin struggling across a desert. There was not a soul in the entire cosmos who would kneel into the dirt and sacrifice a droplet of their water to save something so beneath them. And so, the divine creature regarded her truths as those waters. Her motivations. Her wants. The answers to the questions Darth Metus posed whilst his life flashed before his eyes...all would not be spared on one she deemed beneath her feet. Before the eons of might, the cumulative sum of his darkness would be found wanting. For now.

When the woman saw fit to part her lips and utter fresh words, they lashed against the Sith was a significant coldness. She spoke of the cacophony of souls writhing within his being, asking if he would much rather pray before them than ask the truth all the more. The Sith stiffened in response to her words, yet made no verbal response. Rather, his fingertips coiled ever so slightly about the hilt of the weapon. Though it was held aloft, there was no guarantees that he would see the end of this "chat" through in one piece. Not one at all. And thus, as laughter lilted out of her lips, the man moved backwards a pace before starting a slow, semi-circle orbit about her form. The answers she provided - though justified in her own mind - were not satisfactory to the Sith.

She painted a beautiful picture. Elaborating just how different he was from the denizens of Geonosis. How, somehow, he had begun to perceive that which his subjects could not. How they would race through their lives, completely blind to the fact that there was a primordial darkness swirling overhead which hungered for their bloodshed. Instead, they simply walked the tracks of life as children. Innocent and blind to the thunderous reality roaring down the tracks. Conversely, the Sith had felt the vibrations underneath his feet. He had managed to hear the whisper of her voice and hearken to it many times before, regarding her direction as the will of the Dark Side. But instead of dodging the danger by leaping off the tracks, Darth Metus turned on his heel and walked towards it.

He invaded her domain. With intention. The vermin managed to break into the desert manor of the wealthy lord with the intent to kill. And though it would always be outmatched by the fury of man, it still did more than any other beast in the sands. A ragged huff escaped the man as his burning gaze settled upon her once more. "How does it feel?" he repeated. "There are no words to describe this. It is unlike any fresh Hell I've ever walked." The truth in this utterance was evident. To discover one's life was a plaything of a God was nothing short of Hell itself. He parted his lips as if to put some coherence to his words, only to find his movement impeded.

Unable to feel and unable to see the Sith found himself ensnared. Not by telekinetics. Not by the oozing, primordial black which radiated from the monstrosity. But by locks of ebony which extended from the woman's head. He tugged, as a trapped mouse does against the serpent. Yet each tension of his muscles only saw more onyx coil about his person. He knew what she wanted - she wanted the vulnerability cast away. The hair slithering about his wrist was enough testament to that fact. And as she attempted to pry away his sole advantage, the Sith was reminded of the moment he had first seen her. How a momentary hail mary had temporarily suspended her goal. How a creature so hungry had one weakness.

Akala was a hubristic creature. And thus she was blind.

This one was mighty...but she could also starve.

Amber bled from his muscles. A sickening hue which had no place in this realm of bleak and black. Thin wisps which fought an uphill battle against his own masterpiece. What little he had within - what little strength in the face of his injuries - began to burn away. And the Manda within went silent. There was no forcing their agony to aide. No apprentices to borrow might from. No. Darth Metus was truly alone in this struggle - but struggle forward he would. He set his face against her, baring his teeth as the amber threads bit into the obsidian coils. There was no way that he could stop her advance at this point...but maybe, just maybe, he could survive.

Just as humanity survived by stealing fire from the gods, so too did the Sith steal midnight from the primordial one. Mere scraps off of the mistress' table managed to land before his bowl, and with ferocity he sank his teeth into every morsel. But it was too much. Different. Like plunging a needle of something foreign into his veins and expecting to thrive. It rattled his skull. Shattered his vision. And caused an anguished gasp to escape him. His grip upon the weapon was lost as stuttering occurred within his chest. The whites of his eyes blacked immediately and his skin ran pale. Too much. Even a drop was too much. At this point, the only thing keeping the man standing was the onyx strands coiled about his person.

But nonetheless, the Sith cobbled together Basic. With labored breathing, he spat: "To what end? Death today...at the hands of God. Or death tomorrow as a slave to one. It will all the same...but at least in one, I get to choose."

"I'll not be your toy any longer. Nor your meal. If I die, I die free."

Pride Goeth Before the Fall.

[member="Darth Elyria"]

 

[Darth Elyria]

He circled her. She allowed it. Just as she allowed him to exist and draw breath. He continued to live at her leisure whether he knew it or not. Elyria was not part of the afterlife that he had so easily devoured. She was not known, revered, or beloved. There was nothing for her but silence. Endless night, so vast, so deep that she might have slept eternal…Were it not for the hubris of this Sith Lord. This Vicelord. A leader to his people, a liberator, and a conqueror; but something entirely different to her eyes.

Darth Metus, little Isley, could see if he so chose.

His people did not. Could not.

The all-too-human responses he gave provided amusement. His eyes fell upon her form time after time, as if he had a right to observe, a right to inspect, and blood colored lips curled at the edges. What a bold child of man. “There are no words…And yet you speak. Do you aim to obfuscate the truth or is your half-blood skull simply that thick?”, there was a quality in her tone that seemed almost indulgent. It was divine, almost decadent, the way a sweet desert could be. All saccharine syrup—With just a hint of tart to set it straight.

The coils of her hair moved thoughtlessly. It was as easy as moving a hand. A finger. It wrapped around her guest and the tactile sensation of muscle and flesh caused her dark eyes to fill with stars. Why? It was already too late for him. He had crossed the line by trespassing a second time. By waking her. This was his cross to bear. His penalty—His sin. Hubris. “Such a fragile breed. It baffles me how you’ve managed to retain control of the galaxy. The 400 Years of Darkness…”

“I long for the simplicity of that era. I was never exposed to the plague that swept so many of your ilk away. Those decades…They were pure. Everything was clear. The weak perished. The strong survived.”

Not to mention the fear. The daily, churning of angst, fear, and terror that rolled through survivors. Elyria let the tip of her sword point to the ground whilst she approached the Sith. Her form was hard to describe. The armor she wore, made of undefined metals, and studded with black glass made her seem more like a demon than anything else. She was slender, and while she presented the curving notes of a female, remained sturdy. No park of her could be called weak. A creature of the underdark. Was her skin that pale due to her incarceration or was it a trick of the light? Were her lips that red due to dye? Or blood? “My world…My world is long gone. I have watched through the eyes of my children—”

Elyria paused when she felt a pull. At first—She scarcely noticed it. Light began to pervade her captive and she had to blink from the brightness. Her eyes had been closed for so long that even such muted illumination caused irritation in the back of her skull. Her hair lengthened and lashed around him like a caterpillar that formed a cocoon. It was then that she realized her plaything had decided to devour that which held her together. That which made her Mother Dark.

She snarled and in the dim light her teeth seemed to have elongated. Grown sharper. Or had they? Tendrils of her long lustrous lock grasped the sword the man dropped and threw it through one of the front facing panes of crystal. It sank into the reflective surface whilst it rippled, like water, before it became solid again. It had crossed over, and now, remained far enough away that it no longer shackled her. It no longer held back the tsunami of her being.

“...Kinriai Mikn...” ​

[*Foolish Man]​

One hand rose to his face, and Elyria forcefully took his chin, before she stepped closer. Her lips hovered over his while she denied his thievery. He would die when she wished it, if she wished it, and not a moment before. No being, no Sith, would take power from her and try to use it like a suicide pill. What. A. Fool. She drew her power back. Dark smoke, thick, flowed from betwixt their mouths in a near-kiss that never came. She drew the living dark from him like one drew poison from a wound.

The tower of blackness behind her, night eternal, came crashing down around them. Light, no more.

A soft sky above, with sharp stones underfoot, made for a picturesque scene. Gone were the crystals. Gone were the shards of glass that filled the air. Only the scent of jasmine remained, coupled with clouds that were caressed by reflecting light of a falling sun. The clouds were darker on the horizon. A storm was coming. Not of her doing—But it was on its way all the same.

Lacy waves rolling along the shore formed an echoing drumbeat with a breeze that seemed designed to blow tension right out of the marrow of bones. Little creatures seemed interested in the people that had suddenly appeared poked their heads out of the water, curious, as to what lay on land. The orange-kissed sky bathed everything in a faint sepia tone. Her eyes, downing pools, filled with all the stars of the night sky watched the rusty hues shine over blackening waves in silence. The sound of nature was foreign to her ears. Even just the sound of waves was unforgiving. Harsh.

This world, Leritor, was both very beautiful and very ugly.

Behind her lay the body of the Vicelord. Still alive. Still breathing. She’d walked his dreams out of boredom while he regained his strength in the still warm sand. Taking her power was a stupid thing. Weak. He knew that the effects would be monstrous, however, his words told her more than that. Did her chosen one wish to die? Had his life, truly, retained no joy? Not even when she placed a snow-white rabbit in his path. So full of almost innocent life. He would love her; protect her. She would be his weakness and his salvation. Was her purpose not yet served?

Her clothing was different. Gone was the armor. Gone was the imposing sword. Her hair fell to her ankles and a plan black dress clung to her every curve. There were flecks of the realm she had come from, shining pieces of onyx, but otherwise, at first glance, she seemed only to be a woman. It was when one looked past that. Reached through the Force, through the ether, that they felt the unbearable weight of her age and might.

He would wake. Soon enough.

 

[Malok]

[member="Darth Elyria"]​

I have watched through the eyes of my children-

For but a moment, the Sith entertained the thought of this being his final demise. Of this - the sensation of primordial black burning through his veins - being the last chapter in his life's tale. This was not at all how he envisioned his conclusion. In fact, if he was being honest with himself, he did not think on his mortality at all. Having already crossed the threshold once before, he avoided the thoughts of dying. Of feeling his lungs burn as oxygen failed him. Of feeling his pulse slow to crawl...It sickened him. It emboldened him. Made him want to seize the power to never face such a thing again. But.

This woman, this "so-called Mother" had seen fit to place light in his path. If what she said true...no. It did not make sense. If she knew the Sith as well as she claimed to. If she knew what motivated him - what drove him, then why would every syllable which slithered from her lips be a shove towards death? She said that he was to serve. That he was to play with her. And when she first spoke into his mind aboard the Dread Queen, she demanded tribute from him. Demanded that he feed her a platter of pain, suffering, and death everywhere he went. In a sense, she demanded worship from the Vicelord.

But if she truly understood. If she truly saw herself as a Mother, why would she provoke her child to ruin? If the images which played upon the mirrored surfaces of her domain were true - if she knew his life's story like the back of her hand...why would she demand submission and servitude from a man whose entire life was a tale of breaking chains? Why would she, a god, demand his submission - when he once vowed to never again be the plaything of the gods? These thoughts would be the dreams she walked in boredom as the Vicelord plunged into the black. All he could remember was her cold, vicious touch upon his face. Her fingers pressing into his chin to demand that his lips part.

He'd recall the midnight depths of her eyes as she drew near - so close that her honeyed scent invaded his nostrils and burned the aroma into his memory. The jasmine he would never forget. But with his mouth open, she took back that which he attempted to steal. The primordial onyx which burned through his veins was ripped from him as whisps of smoke. The darkness traversed the divide between their lips - and as it left him, there was only an unforgiving cold in its wake. Darth Metus felt frigid. Stiff. And was unmoving. His mind could not comprehend that which happened next...and for a time, his dreams became that spiral of questions the Mother tread through.

Finally, the scent of salt rose above that of jasmine.

Though the sweet aroma yet hung in the air, the Vicelord knew the smell of the ocean. He had learned it well whilst frequenting Kamino in the days of his young adulthood. But this was different. Different than that abyss he had entered. Nowhere within the confines of her Vault was there anything remotely close to being an ocean. Perhaps...he had won his gambit. Perhaps this was the afterlife he had earned. No longer welcome in the Manda - this may have been the only alternative? What felt like seconds was actually several minutes...but Darth Metus began to feel even more. Warmth. His flesh felt the rays of the star above.

It was a divine contrast to the winter of Elyria's realm. Enough so that his other senses began to stir from their stupor. He could hear the crash of the waves upon the shore. Hear the cries of the gulls overhead. Hear the gentle splashes of water from curious critters who came to bear witness to the strangers. Finally, the Sith forced his eyelids open...and was greeted with a flood of afternoon light. He winced at the sight and raised his dominant hand to shield his gaze. His fingers then...flexed. He realized that he lived. And that...He turned his head. Her form was vastly different than moments ago - but it was still the same woman. Now, she was no longer isolated within the confines of her Vault. Now, she was no longer just a voice within his skull.

He had unleashed her upon the Galaxy. A beast he could not hold a candle to now walked among men. The realization was as an icy stone in the pit of his stomach. But as he forced himself upward, the ice did not fall away. Rather, it intensified. For more rampaging thoughts made themselves apparent. He could not die. She would not let him. If he tried to devour her might, she stopped him. If he dampened her power with voidsteel, she yet managed to gain the upperhand. The primordial darkness she commanded was...godlike. And for the first time in Darth Metus' existence, he realized, frankly, there was nothing he could do. She was here. She lived. She could feast upon all creation if she so willed it.

For a moment he said nothing and laid back against the sand. Wincing at the numbness of his form.

"Don't suppose..." he began, eyeing one cloud in particular. "...That this is the part where you wander into the sunset, never to be heard of again, right?" If only it were that easy. A light sigh escaped him. There was no reasoning with this "woman." No attempting to have his questions answered. She had him. She would feel the tumultous frustration roil in his stomach at the thought. "I know you hate my questions - think they're beneath you. But this is one you'll like."

He damn near spat the next words.

"How do I play with you? And do I get a reward for playing well?"

Right now...she was a walking Akala waiting to be unleashed. Right now, the only card the Sith had to play was appeasement. And maybe, just maybe, there'd still be a place for Srina to call home when the dust settled.

 

[Darth Elyria]

[member="Darth Metus"]

She stood like a statue upon the shore. If the raven-haired woman moved any closer the waves that flowed and receded would have wet her bare feet. The sand felt strange, so much so, that she didn’t bother with liquids yet. Everything felt odd. The air was sweet and pure. It did not hold the dim musk of an eon of darkness and stagnation. The sounds that filled the air, though barely audible, would have been enough to make a lesser being flinch. Elyria simply endured.

Pain, pleasure, it was all the same. It was a symptom of humanity—A curse. She refused to indulge it.

Freedom was everything she had spent centuries dreaming of. It was more. It was less. It was everything. Beyond all of her adventures with her adoring children she had never imagined that moving her own form again could feel so liberating. When she breathed, she could feel the Force quake. That in itself left her with reason to smile. Some things, never changed.

Some did.

She felt Isley waking long before he realized it himself. He had taken of her essence. It was a cardinal rule that the foolish half-breed would need to learn not to break. Elyria ignored him until he decided to speak. She could barely tolerate his simplistic frame of mind when he was coherent, let alone, when he was groggy from taking that which was not meant for him. They were out of sequence. Out of time.

This was not the [member="Darth Metus"] that was destined to wake her. He was too young. Too imprudent. A small smirk caused blood red lips to curl while his attempt at humor fell on deaf ears. He made light of that which he did not understand. Levity declared that he was unafraid. They both knew better. “I do not dislike answering your questions.”, she corrected, blandly, whilst tearing her gaze from the ocean.

When he spoke, it was akin to the wind in her ears, white noise, and she had to focus to understand. There was so much here that had never existed in the Vault. It was silent there. Quiet. She preferred it that way. The demoness crossed the white sands with ease. She moved surprisingly well for someone that had been trapped in a crystalline coffin for longer than this planet had been considered civilized.

A pale hand extended to the Sith Lord in a proposal to aid him in rising. An offering.

To touch her was to come into contact with the primordial. To feel power crawl across his skin in such a way that he would be dumfounded when it came to figuring out where, or how, she hid it. Even still—It was an offering. That she did not simply lift him by the scruff like a dog implied that he had value. Eyes of glittering onyx told him what she did not say. Accept this. Accept, me. “You exist. The white rabbit exists. Therefore, you have already accepted terms.”

She paused, briefly, before glancing back up at the sky. Night was falling. In the cover of darkness, she felt an unspoken thrill. This was her world, now, and evermore. “This day. What name is it given in your cycle of days?”

“Your system of temporal measurement, technology, and customs are all foreign to me. You are meant to be my guide. A version of you. Not now. But, now, is all we have. You…You are also my betrayer.”

These words should have chilled him. The way she said them, nay, spay them would give any mortal being reason to immediately get their affairs in order. Flawlessly, the dark-lit woman smoothed, and her easy composure persevered. “When you came to my tomb, you sough to destroy me, not to free me. When you took of my power…You wanted the same. I’ve come to understand fully how irreversible the works of time are. I knew it would happen. An avoidable consequence.”

Her words were choppy. The content was filled with wisdom, age, and intelligence but it came through in pieces of prose that wouldn’t always be clear. He was out of time. She was out of sync. She shook her head and black lengths of hair fell like a glistening river of black water. “You needn’t worry. Betrayal, in my life, is a neutral term. As unjudged a word as earth or breeze. Your opinion of me weighs less than sunlight. I am only bothered because…”

She was bothered.

It sounded very close to human. With that in mind she didn’t continue further, and instead, turned her alabaster face back toward the seemingly endless ocean. What were her designs here? In this world? In all honesty? It was complicated. More than the everyday man could understand, yet, not so conflicted that they raged against the decisions of a deity. She was no goddess. She was not even, in fact, immortal. Simply incredibly long lived.

“Where…Where is my son?”

 

[Malok]

If the situation were any less...dire...the Sith might have responded in earnest.

The monstrosity before his eyes was very light-hearted in her response. Her tone was even. For but an instant, it did not carry that phenomenal weight that was as crushing as the ocean's depths. The Sith knew tones like this - it was the same sort that he used to dismiss the droids after bringing his datapad. The tone of a superior addressing an ant. He felt the words my ass dancing upon his tongue, but kept his jaw still. For, on a whim, this all could end. Not only himself, but the Galaxy as he knew it.

Thus, he remained quiet and chose his next words very carefully. Aside from her response, there was only one sound which was louder than the ocean's waves. One which spoke above the distant call of seagulls. The shuffle of the monstrosity's feet upon the sand. She came to a halt before him and...the subsequent gesture set conflict roiling within his mind. He knew what she was going for - they both did. But was this intended to be an olive branch? Or a slave's shackle about his neck?

In this particular case, discerning between the two was a luxury he did not have. Thus, he reached upon and accepted her gesture. His fingers gingerly wrapped about her hand whilst he pushed himself upwards off the sand. Her skin was cool to the touch - as if she had just departed the tundras of Hoth for the first time. But beneath the surface, he could feel that same, venomous black that he had attempted to drink. He could feel the midnight of literal eons. You exist. The rabbit exists. You have already accepted terms.

Her voice was as chilling as winter. Every syllable reminded him of the icy sensation in the pit of his stomach. Though standing, his fingers yet lingered upon hers and the Sith remained rooted on the spot. She glanced skyward and began to speak. And thus the blizzard of her presence was unleashed all the more upon him. At first, the Sith's eyebrow ascended ever so slightly - for what she seemed to require was a far cry from their introduction. She seemed to need one to guide her through the present.

Yet this was the furthest thing from servitude. Or the offerings of might she demanded aboard the Dread Queen. Perhaps this role was in addition to her previous demands? For the moment, Darth Metus held his tongue fast and listened all the more. And, as he hearkened to her thoughts, the eons of solitude were beginning to manifest. Her choice in words were dated, but understandable. Yet the pacing was far removed from the dominance within the Vault. And then...the god became...Human?

Darth Metus' grasp upon her hand fell away, replaced by the folding of his arms. Within the Nether, she had become apart of it. Was a reflection of its merciless cold and boundless agonies. Yet, amidst the growing twilight...she, a literal god in his eyes, had a very mortal concern. What was more concerning was the fact that she asked him. This was the one who commanded power over life and death - who refused to let Darth Metus sacrifice himself. This was the one who supposedly put Srina in his path.

And yet, with all that power, she couldn't feel her own offspring? Strange. The remnants of Rebellion within the Sith entertained the notion of vulnerabilities to be explored, but common sense smothered these thoughts right away. Rather, if the role of guide was his lot in this newfangled relationship...He gazed down upon his left wrist to the chronometer affixed there. A mere shuffle of his arm roused the device from its slumber - and he was frankly amazed that it still functioned after his ordeal.

"It's Centaxday - the second day of the week. Nineth month of the year. 856 years after the Battle of Yavin." He did his absolute best to put the calendar into a way that was digestable whilst also probing to see if she even knew what the Battle of Yavin was. If she predated that, as he presumed, well...she was right in saying that his technologies and traditions were foreign. He allowed a few moments to punctuate the answer to her question before addressing the severity which had dominated her tone regarding his betrayal.

"You claim to know me. To have been responsible for the many twists and turns of my life." he began, his dominant hand moving in tandem with his words. "And yet, demanded of me the one thing you knew I'd fight against. You say you know me, that I was meant to guide you in some future...but if all that is true, why demand what you'll know will make me fight? What did you think the outcome would be?" Another pause. His hand returned to being folded up against his person.

"And as far as your son goes, I haven't a clue where or who he is." It took concerted effort for his shoulders not to rise and fall as he spoke. "As you had sensed me within that...vault of yours...surely you can sense him?"

[member="Darth Elyria"]

 

[Darth Elyria]

He was bothered. She could see his agitation like lines of ants running paths along his skin. He was proud. Strong. A predator and a protector. His world had been constructed with a faulty belief system. Isley Verd had lost everything, more than once, and seemed to think that these travesties had secured him some measure of immunity. He did not believe that creatures walked the waking world that could break him without a second thought. If he had—He would have never come to her world.

Not like this. Not with weapon extended, ill intent, and bloodletting in his heart.

It was all wrong. Out of time. Out of sync.

She offered this pale imitation of her Irsûrsi her hand. So mortal, so full of fire, and pathetic. Still. He took her hand. Perhaps, all was not lost. Surprising strength would help lift him from the white sand while a gentle wind, deliberate, and thorough wound about him to remove the offending granules. Elyria could see it in his eyes. The echo of her ocean. Of ineffable black.

He held on. Elyria, allowed it. She spoke. He listened.

The physical connection was released. She allowed that too, though, it was not without a ruffling of proverbial feathers. He glanced down to his wrist and onyx eyes followed. She recognized what it was through the eyes of her children, though, she did not know how to use it. “Cen-tax-day.”, she repeated, slowly, as if the word offended her. The fact that the Battle of Yavin seemed to be a placeholder caused her to shake her head slowly. Annoyed. The ground trembled. Sand shifted beneath her feet.

She had slept both too much and too little.

He chose that moment to delve back into his questions. Was he always this tenacious? Could he not simply accept what was? What would be? He had always been difficult. Strong willed. “My mind moves in multiple directions. It flows with the tide into tomorrow and yesterday. You do not fight me. There is an infinite path, of which I will destroy, change, and rebuild. I can see it. Changing. Fluctuating.”

“I see you. Even though we are out of sync—You will not fight me.”

The past dictated changes to the tapestry. It was too soon. Too early. When he appeared clueless about her favored child the dark specter turned away from the Sith Lord. Her eyes closed. This was not the way he was meant to be. “I see the entelechy of what you are. It is a memory. The path is undone…Yet the galaxy moves on. We move on.”

Something crossed vexed her. Eyes that sang of the night sky swept over him and in a brief moment he would feel what she felt. Anger. Sadness. Longing. All compounded by centuries of shadow and isolation. “You. This is your doing. The white rabbit was fated to die in your war, yet, you refused the sacrifice. Her death would have secured the timeline. Your soul cried, wept, and I responded. You live. She lives. You owe what is due.”, she hissed, seemingly possessed, while the daylight faded to nothing. The power around her flickered while emotion drained away. It became that mountain, a beacon of black power, that threatened to topple over. “You call yourself Sith. You…You think you know darkness.”

“You do not. Not yet.”

No one knew the dark as she did.

No one.

Just as it seemed that a storm might come her eyes opened. The darkness parted. Burrowing back inside where it belonged. Settling, like a pleased symbiote. “His connection to the all-matter is tenuous. He is not my blood. Yet, he is still my child. He is with you, even if, you’re too ignorant to see it.”

“We will find him. You will feed me—You will give me blood, fear, and power.”

Elyria paused. Crimson lips curved into a smile that might have been indulgent were it not for the cruelest edge. There was nothing kind in her. Nothing gentle, sweet, or human. The Netherworld had left her more than she had once been. So very, very much more. “We will rise.”

“Or your white rabbit dies…She dies. And I will watch while you end her.”

[member="Darth Metus"]

 

[Malok]

Cen-Tax-Day.

The way that the Dark One before him uttered each syllable was almost...laughable. It was as if she had placed a foreign delicacy upon her tongue and was trying her absolute best to stomach it. The pronounciation was right, but the tempo was all wrong. Were the circumstances any different, the Sith Lord might had offered a smile or a light chuckle at the way she spoke. If circumstances were different... Darth Metus did not much have the time to entertain such notions as the ground beneath their feet trembled in response to her might. Something had vexed her, as evidenced by the spontaneous display of power.

Yet...despite the outpouring of might from the woman, his questions were answered. The Sith was beginning to understand that there would never be a straight answer from the Dark One. Perhaps it was a testament of the age she called home. Perhaps, all those eons ago, speaking as she did was commonplace. Or, maybe there was something that he had yet to understand that would be the key to it all. Nonetheless, as she spoke regarding the unique perspective that she possessed, a straw thought danced before his mind's eye. It had been so long since that day had come - that day on Haseria. A wild child had seen fit to make an attempt on his life.

But most importantly, a glimpse into what was to be was offered. The perspectives were scattered - as was the nature of the shatterpoint utilized to keep his injury at bay. And as the Sith once struggled to maintain breath in his lungs...he saw flashes of what could be. Of paths that he had yet to walk. Some where his precious Srina lived and all was peaceful in his world. Others where his gem was taken - and all the Galaxy burned as a consequence. It seemed as though the woman before him had a similar gift - to see that which had yet to occur. And when she looked upon him, she did not see the Vicelord of the current year.

She saw - or wanted - him as he was to be.

As the woman spoke, the calamity of her presence weighed upon the Sith all the more. Her gaze was a tapestry of darkness as she spoke of what was meant to be. Srina was...supposed to die on Kuat. And where she once resided in his soul, there would be a vacuum. A void that the primordial abyss could fill. Darth Metus wanted to feel angry at the notion. He wanted to balk against the threat which rounded out the woman's explanation. He wanted to rebel yet again. But there was something amidst that tidal presence which swept over him like a flood. Something beyond the obvious frustrations which shook the sandy earth beneath them.

Sorrow. Longing. She wanted and yet could not have. The Sith fixed his jaw at once, steeling his expression to be as even as possible. Silence ruled him as her threat yet hung in the air. The wicked grin upon her face was a stark contrast to what he had felt within the abyss. On the surface, she seemed barely human - as if the darkness had robbed her of the very humanity which defined the man before her. Yet, when the expressions of wrath bubbled forth...there were fleeting remains. The worries of a mother. Sorrow. Longing. All of it clashed horribly with the vicious persona which threatened the man and what he cared for most.

And at long last, Darth Metus moved closer. For now...he understood."The man you knew in that time...the man you were waiting in the Dark for...he treated you well, yes?" His words were a far cry from the rebellion he had uttered in the abyss. His tone was soft. Human. "There are countless Sith in the Galaxy. Countless who would sustain you - for even the privilege of breathing the same air as you. And yet, knowing that things would be different, you allowed me to save her. And then, you saved me."

His dominant hand raised. The same hand which one raised a sword did so apologetically. If she did not rip his hand clean off or deny him, the rear of his fingertips would come to grace her cheek. "You don't have to threaten her to get what you want. You don't have to threaten or make demands of me. I understand." Assuming he still had a dominant hand, it would then lower to his side. "This time is now different. But it doesn't have to be so foreign. Yes, my rabbit lives - but you are here now. You are here and I will guide you."

"I only ask two things, if you will humor me...the first, understanding. Understand that you need not break me as the other me was broken, for I see you. The second is your patience. Technology can be annoying."

At the end, she would find a smile. "Now, let's see about finding your child. What is his name?"

[member="Darth Elyria"]

 

[Darth Elyria]

Elyria found herself staring off in the distance. It wasn’t dismissive. More than anything, she seemed to be looking for something, a thread, or a window to peer at the world between worlds. The raven-haired woman could feel the wind pulling on the ends of her hair but it was no matter. It was nothing compared to the cold might of distance stars. The man at her side spoke. He held the face of that which he knew—But they were out of sync. Out of time. “Know. The man, I know.”

Knew was past tense. Her ears picked apart the words as if they petals of a flower. Callous. The game of a youngling. Onyx eyes stole from the horizon and fell upon the self-proclaimed Sith Lord. His question gave her reason to pause. She did not understand. His softness, kindness, was unnerving. Less than a full rotation prior he had called for her head. Broken in to her chambers. Woke her. Early.

She found it to be insincere and turned her head away.

“He treats me as I am.”

Crimson lips formed an idle frown when he broke down the events that she had previously referenced. She did not see the point of his rambling, though, when he raised his hand to her she froze. Elyria did not withdraw but she did watch him. She was not made of glass. He could not harm her, however, she would not give him the chance to try. The touch to her face—Unexpected. Well within a statistical range…But unexpected. “You would not like you very much.”

Sharing with anyone, let alone himself, was not something that existed. If this with the Sith she knew he would know that. The time was different. “My, hidden. I know this was one thread. One of our present dreaming days that could pass…You would not forgive me. I would not ask.”

Power rippled in her sigh, a singing, sweetly lilted rush of energy. The scent of vanilla would return. Cloying, tinged with jasmine, and an echo petrichor. She held the stillness of the weather after a fresh-fallen rain. Clouded, jaded, and tipped with shadow-speak. “Threatening implies that I will not do as I say. Your rabbit is not meant for this world. She has run the course and her light has become scattered. Embers remain. To be stomped out easily. Consumed, by the dark.”

“You are young. Complacent. Even the most sluggish of your enemies pose a threat to our world.”

Elyria paused. He claimed to understand. Did he? Her eyes flared when he insulted himself and her hand struck out so quickly that it would be hard to see until it was too late. The palm of her hand snapped toward his chest, tossing him back, for the unthinking insolence. “Broken?”

“We are out of sync. You do not know. End your operations. Make for your safehouses. Do not attempt clandestine strikes against those who would rise against you. Lives are currency that you cannot afford to spend. Wait…Wait for the same complacency to appear in those you hate. We will outlast them.”

“They will pay. But, mine, is never broken. He is unbreakable.”

As quickly as her fury came it died. There and gone. She sighed and moved slowly, swaying with the breeze, while the stars, pulled, and called. Elyria could hear them. So loud. She had been locked away in a crystal coffin for so long that she’d almost forgotten them. Eventually, she found them soothing. Could she really blame this strange vision of whom she slept for? He had misgivings. “You were right. I lost sight of what was out of my sight. This will be the last time I make that mistake…”

The pale-skinned creature headed toward the place where the Sith had fallen. Slowly, she knelt, and leaned forward to press her forehead against his. “I will bare your technology. I will…Seek patience.”

“I will try.”

It was all she could offer. She remained close for a long moment, breathing his air, before her hand fell to his chest. A pulse of power pressed any pain away. Mended his bones. “…Kaden.”

“My child. His name is Kaden.”

[member="Darth Metus"]

 

[Malok]

A straight answer, he would never find.

The woman before the Sith Lord was the definition of a calamity. Yet, underneath the primordial supremacy, there was something vaguely human. Something which Darth Metus thought he understood only moments prior. Her gaze initially focused past him, upon the horizon. She spoke of things that could have been should his "white rabbit" perished upon Kuat. If things were as they were intended, Darth Metus would not have leapt so quickly upon the grenade that was her demise. If things were as they were intended, he would have become a very different man. One that he would not have liked very much.

But, for as much as a descriptor as this was, she also stated that he treated her well enough. Treated her as she was. From what Darth Metus understood - and how little that was - the woman hungered. She wanted dominance. Nay, she was dominance. Yet, beyond that, she had enough care that one of her first concerns upon setting foot into reality were the whereabouts of her son. Elyria was strange - unlike any soul that the Sith had ever encountered. Strange enough that she allowed his touch to grace her skin.

Yet vicious enough to blow him away when he identified himself as broken.

How else was he to interpret that reality? How else was he to look upon a version of him that would so easily kneel before another? She spoke as if he treated her like Srina - but he did not worship his apprentice. He did not bow to her every whim and command. He...It was hard for him to think above the sudden crack in his sternum. The act of breathing became laborious as he returned to the sand, leaning his head back upon the dirt. He listened, above the thundering of his heart, to the anger which flew from her lips. She called him - that version of him - unbreakable. Unbreakable because he was hers. Mine is never broken.

But, just as quickly as the wrath had come, it had gone. From his position on the earth, the Sith found her form looming over him. The cool of her brow came to meet his own as her touch graced his wounded chest. He drew a steady breath as the damage was undone. His gaze - frantic at first but steadily calming - became fixated upon her form. You were right. He took that to be as close to an apology as he would ever get. Thus, his dominant hand rose simply. "To be fair, I did wake you up from your nap early. I'd be cross too if the roles were reversed." The jest was simple - a sign that there was no ill will. At least none that she could witness in the moment.

She then uttered the name of her son. Kaden. He had heard of a Kaden before but who and from where escaped him. Slowly, he sat up, but his brow never left hers. His dominant hand returned to her cheek for only a second. "I need you to focus upon his presence. Think of him. His face. Everything you can. Picture him as if he were right beside us." His instructions carried purpose. While the woman was the definition of primordial dominance, the Sith had utility at his fingertips. That same hand which graced her cheek extended to the ocean. And by his command did an orb of seawater form. His attention flicked to the shoreline, beckoning a twig to join the water as it hovered lazily before his outstretched palm.

His freehand sank into his pocket, producing a holodisc. The tactic was sloppy and the furthest thing from the actual ritual - but with someone as mighty as her doing the focusing...the Sith had a hunch that the scrying would work just fine. The disc, once activated, produced a miniature projection of the Galaxy. Darth Metus simply repeated himself in the hopes that she would focus despite the distraction of modern technology. And, should the instructions be followed, he did his own part in making the magick function. The end result was an irratic movement on the part of the twig. T'was as a needle pointing true north within the orb. And where on the map it pointed?

"Haseria." the Sith concluded. Knowing that the word meant nothing to the woman, Darth Metus allowed the orb to crash down upon the dirt and returned the disc to his pocket. "It is said that we never stray too far from our mothers. It would seem Kaden took this advice to heart. Haseria is within my borders, I can get you there relatively simply."

He paused for but a moment.

"Can you show me who I am in that time of yours? Show me what I was supposed to become?"

Tell me why I wouldn't like who I was supposed to be.