A Means To An End

[Placeholder 014]

There had been an issue.

Things were running smoothly, as they tended to when Darth Mephirium took the time to plan things out. The Army of Light was in full swing, and the armies of the galaxy united against the One Sith. Yet, even combined, their number was not great enough.

Soon, all possibilities of rivalry would cease to exist. All save for his apprentice of course, but that was the way of things.

There must only be two, no more, no less. One day, [member="Darth Metus"] would end his life and become Dark Lord of the Sith, as he had not so long ago.

That day was years down the road, but Mephirium was always careful when meeting with his apprentice.

The cloaked man stood alone atop a spire on Anaxes. A Republic fortress world, and one he and his apprentice had full access too.

There he waited, gloved fingers clenched tightly over the guard rail that kept him from tumbling over the city wall.

"Come boy."

 

[Malok]

Although countless tenets defined the mindset of a Sith, only one could be identified as the most vital. The subject was one debated by many, and consequently brought about numerous Codes and Rules. With every generation of Sith, it seemed as though a new tenet was highlighted as the greatest...Yet for Darth Metus, he saw truth in the interpretation of the past. For too long had the Galaxy been plagued by a chaotic horde that called itself Sith. First it was the Sith Empire, then it was the One Sith.

In the beginning, the Sith Empire rampaged about. It burned and ravaged, spreading fear and dread across the stars. Yet, like any living body, the Galaxy rejected this virus quiet vehemently...and plans were already in motion to see this rejection repeated. The Army of Light had been born through the machinations of one Darth Metus now called "Master." As for tenets, the Sith identified ambition as the most vital...and the existence of two as the only path.

Now the time had come for the Two to cross paths once again. The prologue had been penned, but now a saga was in need of creation. Anaxes was the setting for this encounter, atop a spire of all places. Metus was not especially fond of venturing to the heart of the broken Republic, but he did so regardless. Cloaked as always, the Sith Lord did not address his master with physical words. Instead, he spoke directly into Mephirium's mind.

"Boy?" he began. "Many have died for less. Pray tell, why begin a conversation with such an affront?"

[member="Mephirium"]

 

[Placeholder 014]

Arrogance was the fault of all Sith. It was the single shared cause in the fall of every Sith Lord since the times of old, save for one.

The Sith'ari.

Mephirium yearned to follow that example. It was for this reason that he did not snap at his apprentice. Metus must be held on a tight leash, but there was little point in scolding him over trivial words.

The Sith Lord would know when or when not to give his respect.

"And many have died for more. What of it?" Mephirium rumbled, his voice like gravel rolling down a mountainside. The Sith Lord turned about to face Metus, muscular arms folding over a solid chest.

"I am...displeased." He added sharply. "Your Empire, the Paecians, are they ready for battle? The army needs more warm bodies, and we would do well to provide such if we hope to remove our rivals."

Rivals was a complement. A sloppy contingent of brooding Jedi who called themselves Sith because they had conjured a handful of Sithspawn.

Pitiful really.

The path to victory lay not through conquest, but through subterfuge.

"I fear the children will survive our efforts by sheer head count."

[member="Darth Metus"]

 

[Malok]

For all things there was a time and place, as the Sith Lord had come to learn. There was a time for descending into the realm of trivialities over a single word...and there was also a time to let such pettiness slide. In light of the current situation, Darth Metus chose to walk the latter path. Obviously his Master had called him here to discuss more than his decision to regard him as "boy"; and that alone was grounds for the Sith to put aside his gall and listen.

"It matters not." he said simply, electing to rest his dominant hand upon his waist. From here, the Sith hearkened to the words of his Master before shaking his head. "While strong, Paecia is but a youngling compared to the animals of the Galaxy. It requires time to produce sufficient numbers to be of assistance to the Cause. However, I am confident that I can make this happen...With ten thousand, I rattled the southern systems. With one hundred thousand, the Cause will succeed."

There was a pause before the Sith Lord continued.

"How much time do I have to work with?"

[member="Mephirium"]

 

[Placeholder 014]

Quite the question. Mephirium mused it over with a rigid scowl as he stared out over the cityscape. This world would be his soon enough, it only needed a bit of work. Work, and a bit of creativity, the latter of which the Sith Lord had an unending reservoir.

Clacking his fingers on the rail, Mephirium turned his cloaked head to stare at Metus. He saw right past the mask, right into the soul of the man truly behind the mask.

Metus did not yet know his public identity. It was a necessity. If Metus were ever captured or otherwise, and he revealed Mephirium's identity, the Rule of Two would be undone.

This, and Mephirium valued his privacy. Metus only needed to know that the galaxy moved at his master' sword. How that came about was irrelevant.

"A month at he least." He finally answered. "Two at the most. Enough time to raise an army, I would think."

A low chuckle escaped his lips.

"The Jedi will inevitably accept them with open arms, of course."

[member="Darth Metus"]



[member="Darth Metus"]

 

[Malok]

Obscured from view was a rare expression of satisfaction; for the concluding statement of the Master left the Apprentice quite pleased. Darth Metus had never been overly fond of the Jedi Order, although time had not seen them directly interfere with his goals. However, their existence was but one of several obstacles to the Cause...yet, they had purpose for the moment. Now it seemed as though they would be joined by a newfound ally in their plight against the rampaging horde.

"Very well. In a month, you shall have your Army." came Darth Metus' simple response.

"Now then, there is a matter that I would like to discuss with you. The matter of seeing that we both are thoroughly equipped to face the tribulations that come. I require to know what my hands can create to further propel the Cause."

 

[Placeholder 04]

Metus was the superior alchemist, Mephirium would not question it. Where Mephirium's skills lay in the field of influence and manipulating the world with the power of the Dark Side, Metus created powerful tools to further their goals.

He would not turn down an offer of such tools.

"An undersuit to resist the effects of telekinesis. One for you as well, as our enemies on both sides favor it." Mephirium replied, clacking long fingers on the guard rail.

A slight patter of rain began to fall over Anaxes, and only served to fuel the Dark Lord's broody mood. What else would they need?

"Perhaps a gem to provide us both with increased stamina. I have foreseen that we will come into combat soon. We must be prepared."

That was the end of that. Mephirium turned back out toward he city - and a thought crossed his mind.

"I will assist you in raising this fledgling Empire when it is suitable. Together, we will build it into a suitable fighting force. Otherwise, the task is up to you. I must keep the Republic on the path."

Metus needed to remember that Mephirium was not afraid to get his hands dirty. A manipulator though he was, Darth Mephirium was a master warrior in his own right. The apprentice needed to be reminded of his master's strength, lest he grow bitter over receiving assignments with seemingly little work from the Dark Lord's end.









[member="Darth Metus"]

 

[Malok]

For the most part, the Sith Lord took what was said at face value...except when it came to his Master. He was cut from a much more...influential cloth than the rest of the Galaxy; and as such there could always be deeper meaning to what he said. When it came to the subject of what Metus could create to propel the Cause, the Master only desired...glorified trinkets. Effective, yes, but all in all the request was not awe-inspiring in the slightest.

That left the Sith Lord with two possibilities: either his Master was unaware of his alchemical capabilities...Or he was confident in his abilities to the point where trinkets were all he required. Due to the fact that ignorance did not exactly suit the entity standing before Metus' gaze, he decided to assume the latter of the conclusions. This encouraged...and troubled...the Sith Lord quite a bit. Was he truly that far behind?

"So shall it be, my Master."/color] he said, just as the heavens began to weep. "Is there anything else you require of me?"

[member="Mephirium"]

 

[Placeholder 04]

"Find us a wayward apprentice. Jedi, Sith, it matters not. Train it to be loyal, do not tell it of my existence. Insert it into the One Sith. Once it has a moderate seat of power, inform me of such."


Mephirium rumbled. The One Sith could not know of his existence. Powerful though he was, the Sith Lord would be no match for all of the Dark Lord's voices. Numbers always trumped experience.

Better to use an unknowing pawn. He would not dare send Metus on a suicidal assignment at this stage; the apprentice was far too valuable to waste on something such as this.

One with no ties to Mephirium would do quite well.

"Tell this creature of the glories that await it, of its future ascendance to my position. Do not give it any value, it will die. Only ensure its loyalty."


[member="Darth Metus"]