Darth MetusMember Since 12 Mar 2013
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Posted by Darth Metus on 19 June 2018 - 07:44 AM
As a much younger Darth Metus discovered himself and his place within the Darkness, the Corellian was taken under his wing. They grew, together, and forged a bond of brotherhood...and booze. When the whole Galaxy turned its back on the Sith and there were few havens for him to seek, Marek was among them. There was always room for him aboard his spice cruises, always a couch with his name on it. No matter what happened - to this day even - Darth Metus believed that Marek would always have his back. And the same went for his Apprentice.
But in this, they for the first time were...misaligned. Instead of shattering the earth with the tempest of his might, the Corellian began to question his former Master. He challenged Darth Metus' approach to the rebellion under their feet, citing the ways of old.
He thrust a finger in the direction of the Hellmouth.
"They first lured us into a trap." he growled. "Intoxicated and captured our best and brightest - myself included. Subjected us to a special kind of Hell. And when those responsible were removed, this world joined in peace. We forgave, we forgot, and there was peace."
"But now, they Rebel underneath our very feet. They have attacked our people, stolen arms and assets. What else would I call this but a war? The blood of our people - of my people - is on their hands."
"And it will be repaid. This Rebellion will be put down and peace will return."
He took a step closer to the Corellian.
"Our cause is just, you will see. And this Confederacy of mine is born out of the mistakes of its predecessors. This is the Final Shape, a nation perfect. Stand with me, and I will show you how we succeed where the others failed."
Posted by Darth Metus on 17 June 2018 - 02:52 PM
Are we not part of the dark, My Master?
The Demon lofted a brow at the chilled inquiry of his Apprentice. What he had meant by his previous statement was pointing out his own personal confusion at the state of the Galactic Empire. If what she had spoken was true - then the Imperial nation was ripping itself apart over the alignment of its liege. He was a Sith, supposedly. But if the Empire - which housed its own Dark Siders and eagerly stood alongside other Dark nations - drew the line at their master…no, it just made no sense. To Darth Metus at least. He wanted to think that there was something more to this civil war, something that made sense to the workings of his mind.
But when it came to eradicating his enemies, there was not much point to spending time understanding them. Reaching, he placed his fingertips upon her hand. As always, she was his closest ally - his home and dearest friend. Her hand simply upon his shoulder was a physical testament to the ethereal bond that linked their lives. Boundless strength flowed between the pair; so much so that the Sith wondered if ever they could be bested together. In this moment, decades of Echani focus poured into Darth Metus’ psyche. His commands to the bridge crew, in response to Darth Tacitus ‘ strategy, were flawless and direct.
The Dread Queen banked. The Solar Pulse Cannons began to flare to life.
”No, my Apprentice. We are the Dark.” he said, once his orders had been followed. As was the case with all weapons of extraordinary might, there would be a brief period of time before the weapon could be fired. The Imperial force would have a few precious moments to witness the full might of the Confederacy. But after, they would know the sweetest embrace of Oblivion. ”And what I meant, dearest Srini...is that it doesn’t add up to me. For the Empire to fight itself over a Sith ruling them...they have Dark Siders within and ally themselves with Darkness. How is that the line?”
The sound of Srina Talon ‘s life was more than enough to shatter his train of thought. The chime of her bemusement only caused his grin to widen - caused his energy to heighten. Is she now she inquired. ”Damn right.” came his response. ”Always.”
And in this, he was speaking about both the Dread Queens in his life.
The mirthless tone of a Droid returned the Sith’s attention to the task at hand. His order to rend the Station apart was absolute - and the Dread Queen responded to its Master’s command. A shudder rattled the Bridge. Power exploded forth from the Starboard Cannon. A violet disc screamed across the black, before crashing directly into the station. The station’s shielding meant nothing in the face of the Solar Pulse Cannon. They were as a wet napkin standing up against a blaster bolt. The impact bit into the station.
The Vicelord has done his part, now it was time for the Lord of Admirals to finish the job.
Posted by Darth Metus on 15 June 2018 - 05:41 PM
Posted by Darth Metus on 13 June 2018 - 06:23 PM
While his tactics were indeed heavy handed, there was always an underlying method to his madness. To those on the receiving end of his offenses, one might point the finger and call him a vicious mongrel. They might point to his heritage and blame the brutality of Mandalore on what they now suffered. But the Sith's movements were well calculated. The basis for operating in these tight caverns was actually urban, riot control. Before the Sith marched a cadre of droids, shoulder to shoulder, with energy shields at the ready. Another line stood as a reserve/refreshment group and quickly stepped in when their opposition managed to score a casualty.
As for armaments, the some wielded what was expected - blasters and slugthrowers. Whilst others utilized grenade launchers, flamethrowers, and other over-the-top ordnance. The intent was to terrify with each step. To teach a brutal lesson that Rebellion would not be tolerated upon Confederate soil. That Darth Metus was not to be trifled with.
As the battle continued to rage, the Sith's group branched out from the others and continued to lay waste to the stragglers. The survivors and the wounded fell back towards the locale of Razelle Breuner, doing their absolute best to fight back while evading literal fire. For the Mastermind, there would not only be a few moments left to make her decision. The Vicelord's arrival was imminent, and with it the closure of her window of opportunity. Freedom demanded action in the now, lest she be forced to face the Sith and his forces.
All the while, Darth Metus made good on his order. There would be none left alive. It mattered not if they pleaded. It mattered not if they were wounded. It mattered not their gender or age. All Rebellion was met with fire.
- Razelle Breuner likes this
Posted by Darth Metus on 13 June 2018 - 03:16 PM
When the Sith told Srina Talon of her new position, she simply shook her head. In his eyes, she had already been fulfilling the mantle of Exarch many times over. She maintained relations with the Alliance, Silver Jedi, and Ancient Eye effortlessly. She went where the Vicelord could not and represented him flawlessly. In all matters, she was his second - and now, the nation regarded this in an official manner. Of course, with such declarations came the necessary bureacracies. She was given new clearances, a tangible salary - and above all, access the High Command.
This was a channel maintained by only a handful of individuals. Katrine Van-Derveld, Nightmother of the Mandragora, Darth Tacitus, Lord of Admirals, the Vicelord himself, and now Srina Talon his Exarch.
For the most part, High Command was quiet and was only utilized in high priority situations. In fact, the last time that Darth Metus had said anything in this particular network was when the decision had been made to march against Tatooine. But in this moment, the channel went live and notifications would sound for the Echani, as well as the Undying Admiral.
-- | Message Origin: Sector V,49 | --
Dread Fleet is currently engaging Imperial, border forces.
Dread Fleet was intercepted, en route to Sector U,49
-- | Message will repeat | --
It was moments like these why the mantle of Exarch existed. Srina could stand in place of the Vicelord when he could not be in two places at once. Her presence, grace, and authority would be more than enough to stand in the gap for his absence. And, if all went well, Darth Metus personally estimated that he might be able to catch the evening portion of the Gala. But, for the time being, his focus was exactly where it should be - burying the unforeseen traffic stop on the way to the party.
Posted by Darth Metus on 13 June 2018 - 02:19 PM
When she awoke, remnant thoughts echoed through their Bond.
An unflattering image burned itself into the front of the Sith's mind. Srina, standing outside of a medical tent, coughing as ash yet clogged her lungs. Her hands, caked in blood, were but a testament of her efforts throughout the days. She had tried, so hard, to turn the power that was reserved for saving her master towards saving the damned. She healed alongside the Jedi. Bandaged and soothed. Went without sleep.
At times, her sole sustainance were cups of lukewarm tea and a few bites of a ration bar. At times, she only slept a handful of hours before diving into the thick once more. Srina Talon was one of the most devoted presences on Monastery falling the Fall of Coruscant; and Darth Metus had a suspicion of what motivated her to work so hard. His conversation with the former Supreme Commander had left the taste of ash in his mouth - he could only imagine what their conversation went like.
He was her friend. She braved the warzones of the Alliance time and time again for his sake, pulling him from numerous fires. And now, all that they had bled for was...gone. As was his desire to fight. His desire to serve. His desire to muddy his hands bringing any relief to his own people. In the wake of this reality, Darth Metus would have dove into the efforts headfirst too if it were his friend doing the walking away.
And so, Darth Metus served alongside her. His skills were much less in the healing and bandaging, as his touch was far from as gentle as it needed to be. But as Srina toiled in the tents, he toiled in the heavy lifting. Supplies. Droids. Organization. Anything where two hands and effort were needed, he was there.
The experience left them both drained - and having seen the stray thought, Darth Metus regretted rousing his Apprentice from her slumber. Yes, he missed her terribly. Yes, he felt as if a chasm had erupted between them. But, admittedly, he realized that waking her was selfish. He'd make up for that in spades. "Sorry for waking you." he began, gently. "I just...wanted to suggest that we take a vacation."
He offered a light smile. "From everything. The job -" Exarch and Vicelord. "has a few weeks for our own sanity built in. We can cash in a week and go to Leritor. Relax. Recover. Try to..." How did he put this into words...
"Try to get back to the way we used to be."
- Srina Talon likes this
Posted by Darth Metus on 13 June 2018 - 02:07 PM
"A beautiful planet, huh."
As the Goddess rose from the bed, the Sith raised a hand to his chin. Absently, his fingers stroked through the curly mass of hair whilst his mind worked. He was going through the Viceroyalty roster by memory alone, attempting to recall off the cuff which planets had representation and which did not.
"Leritor." he began. "It's a literal vacation planet, as beautiful as they come. Your resume is beyond outstanding, so I can pull some strings and have the world eating out of your hand in no time."
What was concerning was her words regarding Dathomir. To any with Witch heritage, the planet was as precious as Mandalore was to his former people. To be done with it, so casually...No. It was never his place to question his mother. Instead, the Sith simply nodded. "Very well, I'll do my part to help transition everything you desire from Dathomir to your new home. Just say the word."
Posted by Darth Metus on 13 June 2018 - 01:58 PM
Let the Past die.
How many times had Srina Talon uttered those words? How many times had she insisted that the Vicelord not let his heritage and what was color his perception of the present. If Darth Metus was being honest with himself, far too many times to count. But, he was trying. In most things, he tried to leave the Mandalorian way of thinking behind. He tried to think diplomatically, always pausing to think what would Srina do when it came to interactions with other people.
And in this situation, Darth Metus had to pause as well.
When Aryn Teth responded, once again declining his role of Supreme Commander, the Sith admittedly felt a heat rise in his stomach. A low pang - annoyance - at the defeat that was written all over the man's face. If the roles were reversed, if it were Geonosis, Druckenwell, Siskeen, and every other notable Confederate world ripped apart, Darth Metus would have fought to the last man. But that was the Mandalorian way of thinking, was it not?
The notion to put blasters in the hands of everyone who could stand. The notion to never quit, never surrender, never pull out - was that not the remnants of Mandalore inside his heart? Let the Past Die. He could almost hear her in his ear right now.
Reaching, he plucked the chit out of the former Commander's hand.
"The ashes are going to continue to be burned you know." he breathed, before placing the funds safely into his utility belt. "The Sith are nothing, if not relentless. They will unleash their apprentices upon what remains, test their monsters upon their broken lives. You..." He shook his head. "I disagree. With every damn word you've said thus far. But I do value the alliance. And I do value all the work Srina has done in maintaining it."
He reached out, placing his hand upon the man's shoulders.
"Find your will to fight again, Aryn. Those worlds are crying for you, don't abandon them forever."
With that, he gave the Commander's shoulder a confident squeeze and stepped back. It was time to fulfill Aryn's request of making certain the funds were spent taking care of the civilians. When he strode away, his intention was to find the Grandmaster and his Apprentice. Gods above knew that humanitarian efforts were not his forte. It didn't take long to locate the former, whom he greeted with a large wave of his hand.
"Grandmaster Kitra, it's been too long." he began, regarding the woman who was headed for the Medical tents. "I need your assistance. Do you have a moment?"
And whilst he yet walked, he called for his Apprentice. He did not know where she was - but she would certainly have an idea of what to do with the Commander's donation to the cause.
Posted by Darth Metus on 13 June 2018 - 01:40 PM
The Sith prepared to take the plunge, but paused. As his Knights pushed forward to put down the Rebellion, a sensation tugged at the rear of his mind. It was the presence of one he had not felt in quite some time. Years. When last they had encountered one another, the young man was a rash Corellian with a taste for alcohol and spice. And, frankly, he was the same when they had departed. They only difference was that a bond had been formed between the two.
The Bond of Master and Apprentice.
Turning, Darth Metus faced the source of the sensation. Marek Starchaser had come, no doubt hearing the call over the old channels. But there was no rallying to his side. No Hydras diving into the Hellmouth to put down their adversaries. There was distance. There was quiet. In this, the Sith decided to bridge the gap.
Reaching, he touched the comm affixed to his ear, growling an order across the channels. "Press the attack. Leave none standing."
And with his will reinforced, the Master went to find his Apprentice. His wrathful strides burned through the dirt until he found the Corellian accompanied by relics of the previous regime. He opened his arms wide, as if to receive his former charge in a distant embrace. "Marek, you've come." the beritone of his voice was, while wrathful given the battle, amicable to the man. For the moment. "Come. Let the Spiveralda taste that might of yours. Let them see the power you brought to Geonosis."
Amethyst Atreides | Srina Talon | Darth Tacitus | Marek Starchaser | Nine Lives | Sor-Jan Xantha | Cezar Alexandrescu | Kurenai Yumi | Razelle Breuner | Darth Rixas | Rylan Kordel | Anastasia Vi'dreya | Katria Vekarr | Gerwald Lechner | Alwine Lechner | Minerva Vessia | Zhai'ellev
Posted by Darth Metus on 13 June 2018 - 01:25 PM
"The worst has yet to come, my friend."
At first, his lips had twitched - as if the beginnings of a smile were starting to form upon his face. Darth Metus watched as his Apprentice gave the Overlord an embrace; and for a moment, he simply enjoyed her happiness. He flexed his fingers absent-mindedly, silently appreciating the work of his Apprentice while they reunited. Though scarred and corrupt, Darth Tacitus was still the same warrior who Srina Talon spoke so highly of. He was her friend; and he yet lived. And, as a friend, it was the Sith's place to inform him of what was to come.
"I say this plain -" he began, for the Overlord would have it no other way. "-the Netherworld does not take being cheated lightly. Your body will adjust, yes, but you will feel strained in all you do. As if your strength is being tugged away from your body. Death will come for you this way. You will lose your humanity first, your memories, your ambitions, before losing your strength."
He paused for just a moment, setting his gaze upon Curupira Hawk. He did not know the depths of their relationship. Did not know if the ring upon the woman's finger meant loyalty to an old ally; or if it was simply a keepsake from an era long since past. What he did know was that relationships were everything to those cheating Death.
"The sole remedy I have found in my own predicament is Srina. She is what keeps me tethered and whole to this world. We are Bonded. I do not know if this is the only remedy - and it is not a cure all. When she is away, Death comes. But. When she is near? I live." He returned his gaze to the Sith. "It is my advice to you that you find a Tether. Something or someone to bind yourself to this world. Only then will you be able to truly Live again."
With his advice given, he waited until the embrace had concluded and the talks of the Fall resumed. He was...surprised to hear that Adron Malvern was involved in the man's demise. And the betrayal prompted by the so-called Ra'a'mah...Darth Metus clenched his teeth.
"Ra'a'mah will be made to suffer for her betrayal. We will nail her flesh to the highest cross. We will let the ravens feast on her eyes - this I promise you, Tacitus." A heated exhale escaped his nostrils as the conversation moved to the future. Vengeance would be theirs, but what of the Shrouded Republic? The Overlord offered his loyalty, his fleets, and his blade. Darth Metus would gladly accept.
"Of course, we would have you. Our door has always been opened to you and yours Tacitus. I will alert the Viceroyalty and we will make every accommodation for your people."
Posted by Darth Metus on 13 June 2018 - 01:04 PM
They were not alone.
The Demon. The Nightmother. The Spirits. Though they were together in the boundless sea, they were not all which wandered. They were not the sole occupants nor masters of the realm beyond. Doashim, the stalwart guardian of wrath stood by the inquisitive Witch's side as she was brought deep into their realm. What first awaited her was Darkness...but then there was Scarlet. Like a blood moon rising in the nighttime sky, the black was pierced by red.
A spiral had formed around the Sith Lord. A literal twister of the Dark Side. His wrath. His pain. All had beckoned something he had long since forgotten. So long ago, when there was an Isley Verd and there was a Darth Metus, the two lived at odds. One body, two souls. One body, two purposes. In death, the two became one...but the aims of the former blurred the ambitions of the latter. Though his name was Darth, his life was Verd.
He had forgotten what he had been born to do. Who he had been born to be.
And within this realm of Spirits, the Darkness would remind him.
Thus, when she called out into the Darkness, there was no response. "Uncle Isley" meant nothing to the one who was trapped within the vortex of crimson winds. "Uncle Isley" were words for the pained man who wandered into the realm. Words for the one who had forgotten everything. But it was time that he remembered.
Doashim growled in defiance, urging its charge to move. With every moment, the Sith was slipping. The Spirits' hold on him, waning.
- Katrine Van-Derveld likes this
Posted by Darth Metus on 13 June 2018 - 11:51 AM
You are entirely incorrigible.
Ah, the Dread Queen hit the nail square on the head. For just the briefest of moments, pure amusement danced within his sulfuric gaze. In passing, he said - just loud enough for her ears exclusively - Love you too, Highness before turning his attention to their comrades. It was then that he gave his address. Then that the mirth in his eyes mulled over into a dangerous severity. There was a battle awaiting them below - and they would not fail.
At first, things seemed to be going well. Srina Talon rose to meet Adron Malvern once he had come back to the cargo hold. The Minister's words bode well; the clock was ticking but, if there was excessive danger he would have still be flying them in. But that couldn't have been further from the truth. For reasons completely beyond the Sith Lord, the entire vessel immediately rocked. It was if they collided with something. Hard. Darth Metus' footing was practically thrown off and he lowered himself to one knee to ride out the impact.
He wasn't his Echani Apprentice. His heritage did not impart effortless grace and balance.
When the collision ceased, Darth Metus' gaze swept through the Hold. He saw one of his Knights - Cezar Alexandrescu - bound out of the vessel without a word. The warrior knew their mission and needed no prodding to proceed. But before diving into the gray, an emerald wall rose in their wake. Breathing room. Precious breathing room. Darth Metus pushed himself upright and rolled his shoulders, checking to see if there were any fatalities from the crash.
And from Minerva Vessia to Azmodan to Derek Dib, everyone seemed to be alive. That was good. The Sith followed his Apprentice out and stepped forward into the bleak. Their entrance was not without a cost - containment pods were shattered and broken by the vessel. The occupants inside...there was no way they were walking away from it. We have incoming.
The words of his Apprentice drew his attention forward.
The Drones had come to protect their Queen.
They were unlike any automaton the Sith had laid eyes on previously. They were not like the simplistic B-series Battle Droids. They were not bulky like the Basilisks of his youth. They were humanoid, but unfeeling. Anatomically correct, but terrifying all the same. The sight of them gave the Sith pause for just a moment, but the flash of his Apprentice's saber caused him to move. His hands reached for his belt, plucking forth the hilt which resided there.
Fire erupted within his hands.
Srina quickly dispatched her opponent, having to resort to Holding Aces in order to drop the Droid. Darth Metus moved to her flank, batting away a wrist blaster shot that was aimed in her general direction. "I'll clear us a path, get ready to move." came the growl of his voice.
His offhand rose. His Vambrace of Bone and Gloved hands resonated with one another. What would have been a telekinetic wall exploded into something much more. A terrifying cannon of telekinetic fury launched from her Master and collided into the Droids like a literal freight train.
Those at ground zero were blown apart by the blaster. Metal limbs littered the earth in its wake. Those on the fringes were sent careening through the air, crashing down on either side of the pair. The way forward was, for the next few moments, clear.
Darth Metus flexed his fingers, ready to fire once more. His gaze found the center from which they came - and he levied his saber in its direction. "There! Move!" he called, before breaking into a run. He knew his Apprentice would be only steps behind him. Her sibling, Nysana Talon, only a pace behind her.
And as he ran, thunderous footsteps boomed behind them. Titanic, B3 Ultra Battle Droids marched forward as their General Qymaen sil Jurai entered the field. Good. Their backs were in good hands.
Now all that remained was putting AMI to the sword.