Private Birthright || Rann Thress

[Darth Metus]

DAGOBAH

Why a Swamp?

The Sith Lord was intentional about his methods - and his message. When it came to imparting knowledge to the next generation, those bearing the mantle Darth were instructed to take. Theirs was a challenge to the Galaxy: I can take whatever you can muster. Yet, in the case of Rann Thress , Darth Metus was at a junction. On one hand, the young man was walking a midnight path. The Sith knew not the final destination, but Darkness clung to his son like it did He. Thus, to hand the young man anything would be to do him and his journey a disservice.

But on the other hand, no matter what his path...Rann was his son.

And of the many vows Darth Metus made, it was that he would not follow the path of his own father. When it came to his children, he would at the very least try. Thus, a compromise was reached in his own mind. One that seemingly satisfied the junction before which he stood. A summons was made. Coordinates provided. And the Vicelord waited. Officially, of course, the man was seated behind the resolute desk on Naboo. Pen in hand, legislation in mind. Yet, at this very moment, his form was settled upon the moist earth.

His eyes were closed. Yet he was perfectly aware. It had been years since he had come to this particular spot. At least this time, he had an exceptional reason.

Rann Thress .​

 

[Rann Thress]

F A T H E R ​

WEARING:
TAG: Darth Metus

He had been humbled. He was not ready to cross names off his list. He was not strong enough to challenge his adversaries. He had to be patient. He had to train. He would bide his time.​

And he had plenty of time.​

As he prepared to depart CIS space to go adventure across the galaxy to train, study, and prepare for his great undertaking, he received a summons. A summons from his Father.​

A sharp inhale, fear. Rann remembered these two experiences vividly. Darth Metus was his father in more ways than just one. And he frightened Rann. His powers over the Force...frightened Rann.​

He did, however, answer the summons. Come what may, Rann wasn’t a coward. He would not flee from his Father, he would not hide. He would face him tall and proud. As much as he could be.​

Rann had never been to Dagobah before and upon arrival almost crashed his ship into one of the many bogs before last minute redirecting it towards a small clearing. He lost some paint, but he landed. And he departed his ship with his black and golden robes, his charred red and gold helmet under his arm.... two new lightsabers on his belt.​

As he approached his father, he could feel the dread. He could feel his power. It was now, more than ever before, Rann was appreciative that he had been so humbled by his last opponent. Had he been successful? Had the wolf been slain?​

Darth Metus, here today, would have removed all trace of Darth Qanah from this reality.​

With a shakiness in his breath, and quickness in his step, Rann stood but feet from his sire and bowed.​

“Father. I come as summoned.”​

 

[Darth Metus]

DAGOBAH

The subtlety of a Bantha...

Darth Metus heard the arrival of his son long before he set foot upon the ground. It was not due to some supernatural ability in the Force - but rather the piloting abilities of the young warrior. Though landing was successful, it had come at the cost of creating a cacophony. Branches and tree limbs screamed in protest as they were demolished upon the vessel's touch down. The Sith Lord smiled, amused. He certainly got his parking abilities from his mother.

Despite this, the Sith held his peace for several moments. He listened to the wet footsteps as they grew louders. And as Rann Thress grew closer, Darth Metus could feel the difference. It felt not too long ago that they had once stood shoulder to shoulder. And at that time, Rann's might had been but a candle in the Force. Now, the young man had grown. He was not yet a Master, but a roaring flame now resided wherever he stepped. Though he would not yet say as much, the man's growth brought some modicum of pride.

Rann bowed. Darth Metus rose to his feet.

"Thank you for coming." he began, before motioning for his son to rise. Ah, there was the elephant in the room. The source of the minute uncertainty which clung to the son's shoulders. The matter of attempting to put down the Lord Commander. As far as the Sith Lord slash Father was concerned, this was simply an ambitious son testing his abilities. As far as the Vicelord was concerned, this was a matter easily swept under the rug - should he earn it.

For he could give the man nothing. That would be an affront to his path. But he would, at least, address it.

"You've grown since we last met." he remarked. "But, your path is just beginning. I hear you tested your might against the Wolf - and he yet lives."

"Most would not survive clashing blades with Lechner. You did. You've much to be proud of. Much to learn."

Turning, he motioned towards the swirling mists. Deeper in the swamp, towards secrets yet uncovered. The method to the Sith's bringing Rann here laid ahead.

"To give you anything would be to spit your face. Such is the path you have chosen. So I will not give you. You will take. You will earn. That is why I have called you here today."

The Sith then faced his son.

"Here, there is a bounty that will aide your path. Here is also salvation from the attempt upon the Wolf's life. There will be many obstacles which stand in your way. Are you up for the task?"

Rann Thress​

 

[Rann Thress]

O B J E C T I V E​

WEARING:
TAG: Darth Metus

Rann felt his cheeks get hot with Shame upon mention of his...encounter with Gerwald. He had played over the engagement several times. A quicker step, a stronger slash and much could have been different.

His pride was wounded. He was stronger than Lechner. He had to be. Yet...at the end of the day... Lechner bested him. It was a tough pill to swallow. He bowed his head, and pulled his charred helmet out in front of him, staring at the helmet.
“Stupid.” He said to himself, but loud enough for his Father to hear.

“Arrogance.” He said with a slight sneer as he threw the helmet to the side. And looked at his father. “I purposefully hindered my vision to wear a helmet that protected against nothing. And for why? To look good?” He scoffed and shook his head before closing his eyes and taking a long deep breath. He looked again at his father.

Hearing his father tell him he still had much to be proud of, even having just survived, filled his chest with some emotion akin to joy. Recognition from his father, even so slight as this, meant much for him. And he nodded when hearing about how he would progress. He wanted nothing from his father that he could not earn. He did not want his Father’s respect or love without earning it. He did not want to be given success. He wanted to earn it. He wanted to know that he got where he was, is who he was, because of who he was. Not his Father. Any opportunity to prove himself, to be something more, he would take.

“No matter what challenge or obstacle lies ahead of me... I will always meet it. Gladly. What did you have in mind, father?”

​

 

[Darth Metus]

DAGOBAH

Stupid. Arrogance.

When it came to the subject of the Wolven encounter, the young warrior was especially hard on himself. In a sense, he was not unlike his father. Defeat was unacceptable. And should a chink be discovered in the armor, it was to be improved the world over. In Darth Metus' case, that usually amounted to delving into Alchemy until his hands couldn't hammer anymore. Rann, likewise, would carve out his own path to power. Today, the Sith would simply stand by and watch the young man stride.

His sulfuric gaze followed the charred helm as it was discarded. It did not, however, have the privilege of squelching into the muck. The Sith grasped it on a whim and saw its form settle into his grasp. Wordlessly, he settled the helm atop his own head. "Hmm..." was his first response. "...Yeah, I can't see fething chit out this thing. But." He then raised his offhand, forming his fingers into a "gun."

"You had every practical reason to wear one. Hell, I don't enter a battle without one. This helm of yours simply needs to be brought up to spec." The Sith removed it and offered it back to Rann. Then came the question of what he had in mind. The method behind the madness of the day's summons. Darth Metus turned from his son, momentarily, to motion towards a collection of vines at the base of a tree. His will saw the vines part, revealing a blast door which had been rusted by the ages.

"Behind this door await many perils. You will be the one to open it."

Upon closer inspection, the door had been marred once before. The tell-tale signs of burn damage were upon its form - slash marks from lightsabers, dings from blaster bolts. Yet, nothing said that the door had ever given way to being brute forced open. Rather, there was a simple inscription etched in Galactic Basic: I have four legs in the morning, two at midday, and three in the evening. A riddle of sorts? How would the warrior fare?​

Rann Thress

 

[Rann Thress]

O B J E C T I V E​

WEARING:

TAG: Darth Metus

Rann stares at his father wearing his helm, and couldn’t help but scoff when his father commented on the visibility. It was one thing for Rann to point out its flaws.



“All I hear is criticize, criticize, criticize.” He said to his Father as he called the helmet back to his hands. “But yeah...I suppose it would be nice to see.” He said looking into the visor of his helmet before, this time, carefully setting the helmet down.



“I think we can both agree that the helmet was a good idea. But maybe...it could have been done better. So how about, no helmet for now. But next time, full Sith regalia.” He walked up to, and passed his Father towards the hidden blast door.



“But we can talk about that later. Now... this door.”



Rann pondered, with his hand to his chin.



“I..it....the....legs.....Man?” He turned and looked at his Father



“Is it man?”



​

 

[Darth Metus]

DAGOBAH

Is it Man?

The young Sith turned, seeking confirmation from his sire. But it was not the Vicelord who could confirm nor deny. Rather, the bastion itself responded. As the syllable formed and fell from Rann's lips, a rumble erupted before him. The vines shuddered as the monumental doors parted. A rush of musty air greeted him - a sign that the Vault had not been opened in quite some time. As the entrance gave way, Darth Metus clapped his hands together once in praise.

"Criticize, eh? Don't tell me I'm turning into my Father." the Sith chuckled at the thought. He'd much rather die than turn into that bastard. But that was a nightmare tale for another day. For now, he motioned for the young warrior to advance and followed suit.

What greeted them both was a presence unbecoming of their kind. It was not monstrous. It was not mechanical behemoths. No. As they advanced into the darkened Vault, all they would feel is Light. Cloying. Brimming. "And so it begins." Metus breathed.

The first room that greeted them appeared to be a storage space of some kind. A durasteel floor and several branching corridors began here. Moreover, there were crates scattered about. Some had been broken open, revealing rations and light equipment. Whomever owned the Vault previously had been intent on staying for the long haul. But Metus knew what was coming. His hand came to rest upon the hilt of his lightsaber, expectantly. "Looks as though there are three ways to go, son." he began, noting the North, West, and Eastern corridors.

And as the words escaped him, a ghastly noise greeted their ears.

Spectres stepped forth from out of the walls. Each of the corridors quickly became occupied by spirits. They appeared skeletal - yet they felt as Light as the average Jedi. A security mechanism of some sort. To truly lay claim to the Vault, this threat would have to be addressed. In this task, Darth Metus was simply an ally. Rann Thress would lead the way. His decisions would order their steps.

For now, the sire watched to see how his son would react.​

Rann Thress

 

[Rann Thress]

O B J E C T I V E​

WEARING:

TAG: Darth Metus

Rann shuddered as he heard the ghastly retch.



Ghosts. It had to be ghosts.



His fear screamed in his head and heart, begging him to turn and flee. But he willed himself to stay. Be steadfast. His Father was watching. He couldn’t imagine the disappointment if he fled in front of his Father. And perhaps this was the way to combat and even overcome his fear of the Dead. The fact that they were filled with the Light, whereas the specters and undead he had encountered previous had been of the Dark, gave a different feel to the whole ordeal.



Out of instinct, and more than a little fear, Rann drew his sabers from his belt and ignited them, causing the spectres to stir slightly. He raised his sabers before him and, with a deep breath, stepped forward into the Vault.

“We go North. If these apparitions try to engage you, destroy them.. I don’t know what it is you want me to find in this place....but I won’t let the dead stop me from reaching it.”



He continued to approach the spectres, his heart beat growing louder with each step, his fear amplifying inside him. Memories of Ryloth, of the dead girl Naedira Darcrath the visions she showed him of death...a world on fire. The screams. The wails of the dead, dying, and undead. His own fear. His own dread coming back from when he lay bleeding in the rubble on Ryloth. The fear..., until finally, in a fit of desperation and rage...



“AAAAGGH. SHUT UP. ALL OF YOU. JUST SHUT UUUUUP!” He roared, charging forward at the spectres swinging wildly, shaking with fear and rage as his madness took him.

​

 

[Darth Metus]

DAGOBAH

At first, the spectres dominated the Force.

Yet, before his gaze, the Sith saw another reality. Felt another truth. As his progeny led the way, there was a sensation ribbling through the Dark Side. A cocktail of fear and anger radiated from the young warrior. Nonetheless, Rann pressed forward. He reached for his belt and ignited twin sabers into existence. And as the crimson blades burned into being, Darth Metus ignited his own weapon. At first, the bloodshine blade glowed with the same sanguine hue. But it continued to grow in intensity. Magnifying until a flawless white was flourished within the Sith's hand.

We go North. Came the instructions of his son. Darth Metus gave the man a confident nod and took up the rear behind him. The Spectres, indeed, then began their duty to keep them at bay. At first, they hurled themselves at the father and at the son. And just as swiftly as they leapt, they were cut down by Rann's wild swings and by Metus' precise blows. The Sith kept a close eye on the progress of his son. The roar, the words - the Darkness was certainly his ally in this moment.

Their advance led them to a larger space. One where a singular door loomed at the end. The space was more than enough to accommodate a starfighter. And a quick glance at the ceiling told Darth Metus that this was a hangar bay of sorts. Except, at present, there were no vessels. He did not have long to observe, for a mighty push came screaming from the far side of the room. Floor panels were uplifted by this telekinetic fury, being hurled wildly at the pair. Darth Metus dove into a neat roll to avoid the metal. And once more, he did not raise a hand to defend his son.

For this was his journey. His trial. His victory to earn.

And it seemed that, before their very eyes, the Vault was intent upon making them work for every step. The spectres continued to crawl out of the walls, the floor, and even dropped down from the ceiling. Yet they did not advance towards the pair. Rather. Their astral midst seemed to condensce together. A miasma of pure white - of Light - began to form at the far side of the room. A finite obstruction that began to take form. It was that of a Man...somewhat It could feel the fear radiating from the son; and thus maintained a ghastly appearance. Yet, it also knew the Father. So much so that Darth Metus scowled upon witnessing the man's face. He stepped forward, before his son, and extended his arm to prevent Rann from advancing.

"Wait." he breathed. "This foe...I know It. If ever there was a time to be at your guard, it is now. Or you will die."

A haunting sound greeted his words. The din of the spectre clapping its ghastly hands. Clearly bemused. Its bare body began to take greater affect. Armor, Mandalorian in style, quickly girded its loins.

iT?​

iS tHaT aNY wAy tO gReEt yOuR fAtHeR, bOy?​

Rann Thress​

 

[Rann Thress]

O B J E C T I V E​

WEARING:

TAG: Darth Metus

The air in Rann’s chest seemed to weigh a thousand pounds. It took all he had to not be paralyzed by fear in front of his father. All tact, all grace that his combat style might have had was absent. Vacant in the face of, perhaps his greatest fear.
Death. In all its forms. However the fear, the anger, it all worked to strengthen Rann. And when met with an attack that was his forte, his speciality, it cost nothing for him to abandon all hope of dodging it and instead redirecting it.
As the metal floor panels were hurled in his and his Father’s direction, and his father moved out of the way, Rann extended both his arms towards the attack, lifted two fingers from each saber and demanded the Force obey him. He fought the specters for control of the projectiles. And with a mighty roar and a big step forward Rann redirected the attack towards its origin, sending metal panels spinning wildly, and impaling themselves into the walls or warping on impact.

With the immediate danger passed, Rann retreated a few steps. This may be his battle to win, his victory to earn, but that doesn’t mean it’s not folly to abandon an ally. Especially when you were surrounded, as they were.
With his teeth grit, his chest still filled with fear, Rann watched with terrified eyes as the spectres continued to swarm out around them from every nook and cranny. The fact that they hadn’t yet attacked and overwhelmed the pair bought little comfort for Rann. When the light in the distance began concentrating on a single spot, becoming fixed and forming a shape Rann recognized as human, he exhaled.
Just another dead thing. he thought to himself, trying to psyche himself up as he raised his sabers in anticipation. As he prepared to advance, potentially meet his doom, his Fathers hand jutted out in front of him.
He knew this one?

This one knew him?

“Father?”


“Is that...?” He asked though the answer was obvious. His Grandfather. Isley Verd’s father. Dressed in Mandalorian Armor. He had questions for his father. Curiosities that he wanted satiated, but fear continued to hold him, and keep him from speaking. The moans and groans of the dead continued to fill his head.
Rann shook his head and cleared his throat.

“This is your idea of a neat father son activity? Killing ghosts and your undead father?” He asked his own Father as he tried to get a handle on his emotions.

Perhaps a nice father/child activity I can share with my own offspring one day. he thought quietly to himself with the smallest chuckle.
Following his fathers footsteps, Rann spoke, “Why is it here?” If they were being haunted by ghosts of the past...

There was one person Rann hoped wouldn’t show himself...

​

 

[Darth Metus]

Fear was an excellent motivator.

Negative emotions were a source of monumental power. In fact, they were pivotal in commanding the apex of the Dark Side. One must draw upon their own suffering, or the agony of others, in order to bring entire worlds to heel. And as the pieces of metal hurled across the room, the darkness empowered the Sith's son. While Isley moved out of the path, he met the objects head on. He demanded that the Force obey his whims, and in but an instant the assault was turned back. The panels flung across the room, impaling themselves into the wall.

If the situation were any less dire, Isley would have complimented the young warrior. Instead, he rose to his feet and readied himself. The consolidation of spectres began before their very eyes. Molding. Growing. Billowing into a form that the Sith despised. The infamous Butcher of Taris soon stood on the far end of the room. Yet his voice, as snug as usual, held an ethereal edge. Isley gave caution, not orders, to his son. For this trial was his to overcome.

But given the nature of the Vault, a little insight was warranted.

Is that... Rann breathed. Isley nodded, keeping his sulfuric gaze firmly upon the apparition. "Your grandfather? Yes." came his response, just as simply. There would be time a plenty afterwards to go into extreme detail. But now, he kept it brief. "While I'd much prefer teaching you how to make the family gumbo, this is more useful." He began, affording himself a brief smirk before continuing. "This place feeds upon fear and turns it against intruders. Fortunately enough, instead of spiders we got ghosts...and my father."

The admission was one that he wasn't proud of. Within his hands was the power to smite entire civilizations. Yet, in the very pit of his soul were scars. Those same blasted scars that came from being trampled - literally - by the spectre before them. Upon hearing his words, Raki unleashed a haunting laugh. It was as if a thousand voices were jeering all at once. The Sith was unamused.

"Everything you've got."

The advice was simple, and would be the final direction he'd offer for now. In the meantime, his own saber raised. The crimson blade began to intensify. Burning brighter. Hotter. As Isley pushed his weapon to its absolute limit. In but a moment, the crimson was replaced by a flawless white - not even beskar would stand in his way.

The spectre's response? Fire. Raki raised his hand, as if to utilize a Mandalorian weapon. But rather than fire from his wrist, the column of flame was projected by his own will. The inferno leapt across the room and exploded outward, manifesting as a wall headed straight for them.

Rann Thress

 

[Rann Thress]

O B J E C T I V E​

WEARING:

TAG: Darth Metus

“I’d have preferred spiders.”



Rann remarked, breathing heavily and readying himself.



He observed his fathers blade slowly fade from its crimson coloration to a white with awe. This was an entirely new ability that he had just witnessed his father perform, and he was eager to discover its effects, but for now he had to focus. Focus his fear and his power towards survival.



“I’d still like to learn the family gumbo recipe.” He said with a forced smile. He was trying to control his emotions, keep from flailing wildly and exploding with rage and fear. With a quick double flourish of his twin blades, he re-entered his battle stance and prepared for the battle to resume.



He didn’t have to wait long.



Everything you got. came the direction from his father, and he gave a solitary nod in return as his fathers father shot forth a wall of flame seemingly from thin air. A power Rann was not entirely unfamiliar with, but not one he expected a specter to be able to conjure. The shock lasted but a moment as Rann quickly returned a lightsaber to his hilt, disignited, and shoved his now empty left hand forwards towards the flame, commanding the air around him to form into a wedge with the point facing the flames, shearing them in half and bending them around him.



Once the immediate danger had passed, he tilted his hand forward with his fingers pointing towards the ghost, electrifying the air around his fingertips and shooting it at his Grandfather. A token attack, at best. But hopefully enough to begin to seize momentum.

​

 

[Darth Metus]

They'd have both preferred spiders.

Yet, preference was oftentimes the hinderance of growth. In this case, both Father and Son would have to overcome terror in order to seize victory. The Son remarked simply that he would like to learn the family recipe. A final bit of humor before the battle begun in earnest. The Sith smiled - "We'll go grocery shopping right after this." The promise was a light one. The final bit of light before clashing in the Dark. At once, the inferno roared forth from the Spectre and burned across the room. Rann was prepared - one of his sabers extinguished immediately as power radiated forth. By his strength did the inferno pass them by effortlessly, washing away as a wedge of air gave them valuable breathing room.

As the assault extinguished, Rann fired back. A column of electricity leapt from his fingers. The Spectre was quick on his feet, diving away, and kicking on his jetpack to boot. Yet this was what the Sith was watching for. As the lightning had begun its journey from his son's fingertips, darkness boiled within the man's core. And as the Spectre soared skyward, poising himself to launch yet another column of fire, Darth Metus pointed his lightsaber high. As if to direct his fury directly as the suspended creature.

ODOJINYA​

Spontaneously, a trio of shimmering lights erupted into being about the Spectre. Rings of several dazzling colors - each humming and sputtering as if they were composed of electricity. They encircled the Spectre and left no room to escape. His saber then descended - and the rings coiled about the man's form. With the grip of a python, each squeezed. Yet there was more to these rings than just the theft of mobility. His command over the Force became dampened. It would be exceedingly difficult to muster a push, let alone a column of fire. The Son would have his opening, and the Father cried out.

"NOW! Hit him NOW!"

Rann Thress​

 

[Rann Thress]

J E A L O U S Y​

WEARING:
TAG: Darth Metus

It came as little surprise to Rann when the Spectre dodged his attack, it was only ever meant to be a distraction, something to put it on the defensive. Rann expected his father to capitalize, and he did. Three rings of light appeared from nowhere and surrounded his father’s father and proceeded to tighten down around the Spectre, squeezing it. The brilliance of the ability was surprising, It was almost distractingly dazzling, but the circumstances of the power kept Rann focused.

The order to attack from Metus was a bit redundant, but empowering nonetheless. The ‘permission’ from his Father helped Rann to act freely. With the Spectre appearing more tangible, more real, Rann felt confident in his next action.

To add more insult to injury, Rann threw his hand forward again, summoning more lightning from his fingertips, firing it towards their immobilized foe. Simultaneously he charged forward with his lightsaber raised high. He leapt towards his dear Grandfather after finishing his lightning attack and slashed with a wide vertical arc. He wasn’t sure if ghosts could be bisected.


But he was about to try.


​

 

[Darth Metus]

Wearing: Armor of Darth Metus​

VAULT

Amidst Lighting and Fire.

Whilst trapped within the web of Darkness, the Spectre was practically powerless. His might in the force - the might of literal undeath - was kept in check by its bonds. Each strand of light was as a vampire, syphoning away its ability to fight. In a humorous sense, the man beyond death was becoming more mortal by the second. And it was within these precious moments that Isley bid his son to attack. His furious cry was met with action - not obedience. But rather, a mutual understanding of the flow of combat. Rann would have moved, whether or not Isley opened his mouth.

And together, they made the undead bleed.

Lightning exploded from the man's fist whilst motion gripped him. His lightsaber moved in a deadly arc, dancing in tandem with the bolts. A savage cleave - a blur of crimson - and Raki's expression went surprised. What erupted was not blood. Was not bone. Was not the fluids of a humor body - but rather a torrent of what could only be described as pallid and gaseous. And as the flood was unleashed, the one beyond death gasped. Sputtered.

"Y-You're not afraid?"

The question would go unanswered. For by the time Rann found his footing again, the spectre would be gone. The spirits. The weight of fear upon them. The air would go silent, save for the occasional buzzing of dormant electronics. Isley would lower his hands thus, releasing a hefty exhale. "You're fething deadly with a saber." he remarked, pride coloring his voice. He then motioned towards the far-most wall - where the spectre had initially formed. Lowering to a single knee, the Sith gulped down breaths of air - for sorcery took quite a bit out of him. Even now.

"There's a sensor there. Scan your eye and hand." he began, extinguishing his own saber. "That'll have the security - ghosts included - answer to you now." His smile only seemed to widen.

"You've been walking one hell of a path lately, son. Where it will lead, I have no clue. But along the way, you'll need safe havens to rest your head. Places where you can truly rest, even when the whole Galaxy is hunting you down. You know that anywhere I am will be such a place for you - but this one will now be all yours. You've earned it, with your own two hands."

"And for what it's worth, I'm proud of you."

Rann Thress​

 

[Rann Thress]

J E A L O U S Y​

WEARING: A simple suit Coat
TAG: Darth Metus

“Y-You’re not afraid?”

Deadly so. Rann thought quietly, placing his empty left hand over his chest, feeling the rapid, forceful beating of his adrenaline and fear-soaked heart as he took long slow breaths trying to regain control over his fear.

Can’t show it. Can’t let it stop me.


He deactivated his lightsaber and turned to face his father, nodding at the compliment. “I better be. Thank you, Father.” He gestured a hand out to his father with a smile on his face, “Your use of the Force is….inspiring as well. I didn’t know you could do that.” After he finished speaking his crossed his arms and shrugged slightly, turning his head to observe the room around them, “To be fair though, there isn’t much that I do know we could do with the Force.” As he finished his father collapsed to a knee, and on instinct Rann took a step forward and reached out, concern on his face. Then he closed his hand and returned it to his side. He never really felt quite such a bond with his father before. It gave him pause. Before, his father had been just a name, a familial relationship he felt no connection to. A target. Now, for the first time in his life he had a father. He exhaled and looked away, towards where his father gestured. He walked towards the wall and, unthinking, placed his right hand on the scanner. A loud buzzer noise sounded quickly.

;ERROR; read the scanner. Rann pulled his hand away and looked at it. “Oh.” he said quietly to himself, squeezing the fist tight. He looked down at his left hand and raised it, placing it on the scanner and holding his eye up to the retinal scanner.

;ACCEPTED; flashed across the screen, followed by a gentle rumble of a generator as the primary power kicked on.

He turned back around towards his father as he spoke and laughed quietly “Yes. My own two hands.” he said as he wiggled his robotic and organic fingers.

Proud of me? he fought back a wide smile. “Thank you, dad.” He said quickly on impulse. “F-father.”

He cleared his throat and looked around his new home. His own little hideaway here on Dagobah. No one would ever find him here, it was the perfect place for a Force user to hide.

“I appreciate it. Bit of a fixer upper.” he said, kicking some debris aside as he walked. “I didn’t get you anything, though.” he said with a side eye and a smile.


​

 

[Darth Metus]

There was no shame in pride in one's abilities.

Suffice it to say, the compliment did not fall upon deaf ears. The Lord of Rannon had worked tirelessly to hone his skill with the lightsaber - it wasn't out of the question to acknowledge such. Rann replied in turn, complimenting his sire's usage of the Force. "When you've lived as long as I have, the bag of tricks gets deep." came Isley's earnest reply. He adjusted his seat, placing his posterior upon the ground and resting his dominant arm upon one knee.

It wasn't lost upon him that his son, for but a moment, had reached out. Concern for his fatigue, perhaps?

"One of these days, I'll have to show you a thing or two about sorcery. But, fair warning, it's like running a mile every damn time." The Sith leaned his head back as Rann registered himself as master of the Dagobah Vault. And couldn't help but chuckle when the young man raised his inorganic hand.

Thank you, dad. He said. A fact which caused a wide grin to form on the man's face like wildfire. The sad fact was, Isley had never called the Spectre they assaulted by that word. And because of it, he had vowed to do better. To be better. He wasn't the world's greatest father, not by a long shot. But he tried. That was more than the apparition could say.

"I'm sure you'll put your touch on it in no time." he replied, watching Rann get a feel for the space. "And you've given me more than I could ever want son."

He motioned towards where the apparition had stood. Towards his father.

"He was...not a great father. Not by a long shot. Kicked and beat the living chit out of us for the hell of it. I try - I am - to be different. And even though we don't see each other often...hell, even though I didn't know for as long as I did. I'll keep trying to be better - for you son." The Sith offered a light thumbs up.

"That's my vow to you. No matter where life takes you, I'll always have your back."

Rann Thress​