[member="Rashae"] | @Allya Vi’dreya | [member="Amaya Cardei"] | [member="Alessandra Creed"] | [member="Adron Malvern"]
Let the Past Die.
Only months ago, the Vicelord’s alabaster apprentice had urged her Master to release himself from the shackles of history. When their lives became intertwined, Darth Metus was a man enslaved to the countless paths of old. Death typically relieved the living of all perceived obligations - but in his case it only seemed to cement his woes. Within his chest beat the heart of a Mandalorian, for that was the world that had seen his first steps. Yet his identity and very
name belonged to the Darkness. The two were always at odds with the other...and for a time, Darth Metus relented to the wisdom of his apprentice. He, after bearing witness to the folly of the Mandalorian Empire’s state of affairs, led his family on a path away from Manda’yaim. He let the Past Die.
Yet as his beloved daughter buried her armored form into his embrace, he felt a tug upon his heart that he had not hearkened to in so long. As she presented him with her gift - a ring bearing the
Mandalorian insignia of their family, a silent longing made itself manifest. Darth Metus enclosed his fingers about the gift, relishing in the sensation of the cool metal upon his flesh. The token meant more to the Sith than he would ever be able to express, for numerous reasons. Chief among them was that it came from his child. Yet...it reminded him that he as more than the callous shell of midnight. He was more than a conqueror. He was more than a politician. There was still some shred of him that was tied to Manda’yaim, no matter how hard he tried to turn away from what he was.
I am proud that you are my father.
The little warrior admonished her sire with words that would forever remain etched upon his heart; and as a result, there was no end to the smile which seized his face.
”And I am proud to be your father, little one.” he responded, taking but a moment to slip the ring into place.
”These came out quite well. I dare say everyone in the family should have one; I’ll get you a list. And as for Al-” His words were cut off by the arrival of more lovely faces into the Fortressa’s Main Hall. Braving the madness of the day was [member="Amaya Cardei"] and her ever-growing family. Her husband, the twins, and the Sith’s
favored grandson (though he would never admit it out loud) all walked in tandem beside her. For a moment, the Sith gaped at Isley the Younger - for time never seemed to stop for the youngling.
”You’re not intruding.” he said, beaming, before motioning towards Allya.
”In fact, you’ve come at just the right time. Amaya, this is your sister, Allya. Allya, Amaya.” Given how many half-siblings the Naboo noble had compliments of her sire, this shouldn’t have been a surprise at this point. However, it seemed as though the little warrior was not too interested in staying around for further introductions, as she politely excused herself and braved the foam as an exit. The Minister of Science, [member="Rashae"], briefly departed from their company as well in order to procure for herself a mug of hot cocoa. He could see her out of the corner of his eye whilst he stepped over to Isley the Younger and lowered himself to a squat, careful not to mess up his garments in the foam.
The boy practically dove into his grandfather’s arms and earned himself the bear hug of the century. The twins, much like any siblings, followed their elder brother - and fortunately the Sith’s arms were wide enough to
squeeeeze them all. For a moment, Darth Metus was the epitome of happy, even in the face of how absurd the Hall looked at the moment. Yet life had a way of being a cold, cruel mistress. Life had this way about her where she would always sting a man’s cheek with an icy slap the moment he let his guard down. And if ever there was a place where Darth Metus deluded himself into lowering his awareness for just a second, it was here - amidst family, friends, and his closest allies aboard the mightiest vessel in his armada. Why should he fear any threats? Would they not all rally together to defeat it? Were they not all safe here?
He felt the Dark Side just a moment before the tremor.
And in that moment, Darth Metus’ embrace upon his precious grandchildren switched from joyful to defensive. Though the epicenter of the eruption was on the other side of the Hall and the totality of the risk to his younglings was slipping into foam bubbles...this should not have been happening
here. And, once the tremor had subsided, the Sith reluctantly released his grandchildren and rose to his feet.
”I’m going to be right back all.” he murmured, before striding carefully past his family.
He wanted his mind to be playing tricks on him. He wanted more than anything for what he felt to be a delusion. For the
Darkness was familiar - it was the very same that he had started to cultivate under his own tutelage. But why would his own Apprentice
lose himself aboard their vessel. Each step drew the Sith Lord nearer to where [member="Adron Malvern"] and [member="Alessandra Creed"] stood. And as he moved ever closer, his sulfuric gaze surveyed the damage of the former Imperial’s outburst. More damage had been done to the Fortressa. Cracks had formed in numerous places, challenging the reinforced metals underneath their feet. If there was a glasteel port within arm’s reach, it would not have survived the outburst.
His grandchildren might not have survived the outburst.
Darth Metus spoke not a word. His offhand simply slid, casually, into his pants pocket whilst his dominant hand rested at his side. His fingers, slowly, flexed with purpose - and an unlearned man might interpret the movement as a nervous twitch. Yet Adron and his lover would know differently in the blink of an eye. The former Imperial, specifically, would be familiar with the sensation which
erupted as a snap consequence for his action. His dominion over the Dark Side was made manifest - and the Exarch’s neck was forfeit. Telekinetic pressure would seize the man, attempting to constrict access to the precious oxygen his lungs desperately craved. Darth Metus wanted to do more. Every
fiber in his being wanted to do more - but even in the midst of his Apprentice’s folly, there was a modicum of restraint. He would not rip his own Exarch to shreds in front of the whole of their nation...He would not extinguish this life in front of his kin.
For the moment.
”Have you lost all sense, Malphas.”
