Come Out, Come Out

[Malok]

C O R E L L I A​

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[ Theme ]​

What reason had she now?

How long had it been...When last they met, the Sith Empire was but an infant learning how to walk. When last they met, Mandalore yet lived under the rule of Vilaz Munin. Neither Darth Metus nor his sibling could have predicted how things would go from there. Never in their wildest dreams could they have predicted their culture warring against itself. Never would they have imagined the return of Ra Vizsla.

Now, their home was no longer a home. Now, the name Verd had scattered upon the four winds.

Change began now.

It had taken some doing, but Darth Metus was able to track down his sibling. Whispers told of an old skulking ground of the life she lived before: a place of industry and rust. Dusk had claimed the heavens now - the sun bid a fond farewell to the silent warehouses with a sky full of vibrant hues. Gold. Orange. Magenta. The splashes of color clashed considerably against the shattered glass and crumbling walls. What clashed all the more was the hooded man who walked among them.

Devoid of Beskar'gam did the Alor walk. His saber waited, patiently, within the grasp of his dominant hand. Sulfuric eyes swept through the ruin, hunting for any trace of the woman he sought. Today, he would bring her back. Today, he would make her see reason. When last they met, she had denied her place at his side. When last they met, she held fast to Manda'yaim - but what about now? Now, Manda'yaim hated her. Now, Manda'yaim would seek to "cure" the divinity that ran hot through her veins.

What reason did she have to deny her place when Mandalore itself turned its back.

Darth Metus waived his offhand, mustering a mighty gust of the Force. A decaying gate blew open, admitting him deeper into the labyrinth of deceased facilities. Impatience boiled underneath his skin, causing the man's pace to pause.

"I know you are here [member="Keira Ticon"]." he seethed. "I know you can hear me. I know you can see me."

"Now Face me."

 

[Keira Priest]

"The saddest thing about betrayal is that it never comes from your enemies."

"Y'know, I've been fighting for fourteen years." Keira didn't turn to look at him as he approached, fully aware of where this phantom of her past stood. "But I never really had anything to fight for." She bent to pick up the belt that held all the holsters and pouches containing all the necessities to a warrior's life, buckling it about her waist and tightening it. It was clear she was taking her time, seemingly not seeing the same urgency in the present moment that his words were so insistent on. "Not until I was introduced to the Mandalorians by the man I would eventually call my older brother." A pause then, where she appeared to finally wholly acknowledge his presence, a slight turn of the head indicative that yes, she knew he was here, and yes, she still remembered what he had done.

Mandalorians were slow at forgetting. Even the retired ones.

"I was brought into a clan that I would eventually call family, and took the name Verd as my own. I had brothers and sisters, and a place to belong." With her left hand she drew her pistol, ejecting the magazine in order to check the clip before sliding it back home with a click. Her thumb flicked over a small switch opposite the safety, a small hum filling the silence as the weapon powered up, sliding into its holster. "It was unlike anything I'd ever known." She couldn't suppress a slight smile, though it faded far quicker than it had appeared. Whatever pleasant memories had been stirred were quickly put to bed by the still rancid taste his betrayal had left behind. "I was home."

Phrik-plated fingers tested the grip of her tomahawk, and she spun it once as if to get a feel for the balance, letting it hang from her belt. "But then the unthinkable happened. Mandalore burned, and my older brother died sacrificing himself to save our people." A pause then, as she remembered that day. She had felt him die so closely that she may as well have been there when he drew his final breath. "I didn't leave my room for nearly a week, and I walked away from the people after because I couldn't imagine a future for the vode without him." She swallowed hard then, releasing a shaky breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. But instead of being allowed to feel she seized that emotion, holding it in her core and allowing it to turn into something more purely dangerous than the arsenal she carried.

"Then he came back. And for awhile, everything was fine. But soon I realized that this wasn't the same man that had died on Mandalore. No, my brother was dead, and he wasn't coming back. I didn't recognize the Sith that replaced him, and I still don't." Reaching up she tied back her hair, pulling on her helmet and sealing it to the rest of her armor. Finally she dared to turn and face him, her HUD already having painted him over in crimson, denoting him the enemy. No steps were taken to bridge the gap between them, and for a long moment she only watched him, head tilted slightly to one side in the way that meant she was considering how much trouble all of this was really worth. In the end, retribution burned brightest.

"What do you think you're doing here?"

[member="Darth Metus"]

 

[Malok]

What do you think you're doing here?

She knew he was coming. She could feel him long before his boots ever set foot upon the desolate pavement. She could hear the thunder in the distance...and she had made ready. In silence did the Sith witness the conclusion of his sibling's preparations - noting the emphasis placed upon the readying of her weapons. Keira had come ready to shed his blood - ready to see if he would make good on his parting words so long ago.

But her words gave him pause. So much so that Darth Metus did not ignite his saber. Yet.

"I am here for you." he began. And, although he did not yet light his saber aflame, his footsteps began a predatory semi-circle. Slowly. Cautiously. "I am here to bring you back. To bring the Verd back."

There was so much that he wanted to say.

Seeing her there, the same woman who followed his claim as Mand'alor, who followed him boldly into battle...it caused the flame of his indignation to waver ever so slightly. It made him feel human - almost the same as when he was adjacent to his Apprentice, [member="Srina Talon"]. "I...I was so angry, Keira...I heard them, the millions who died - their screams. Their pain. It tore me from death, yet left me burning." His footsteps paused with some finality. "And I was left, stuck between life and death. Left to live out my death, over and over and over and over."

"And the ones responsible were my people. A liege. A friend. A mentor. I was angry! I spent the end of my life trying to make our people better, trying to keep them from falling off the godsdamn cliff - but for what?"

He shook his head.

"So I turned to what I knew. I turned to the power that let me taste air and not soot again. I embraced what gave me a second chance at life...and I was prepared to kneel before them and serve like a good guard dog." At this point the words just flooded from him - a torrent that he couldn't cease. "But I couldn't. It wasn't me. That life wasn't me. I couldn't stand it. I couldn't dive off the deep end like the rest of them."

His gaze found her T-Visor.

"I am...some kind of Sith. Some kind of Darkspawn. But I am...I haven't fallen into the Black just yet. I...There's nothing left to keep me from falling too far that I won't come back. All that I had, our family, is gone. Scattered. And now Mandalore itself hates us - for being born. Every day...I can feel myself slipping. I...I need you. Else I'm gone, and I won't be able to come back."

[member="Keira Ticon"]

 

[Keira Priest]

Music

The tattoo of that damned ram's head burned its way across her back as he spoke, and Keira became increasingly aware of the same emblem painted across the back plate of her armor. A mistake. That's all it had amounted to, this putting so much trust in another once again. It had left her gutted just as the others had, except this time in the worst of ways, because no matter how hard or persistently she tried these were ties that refused to be severed completely, frayed edges still desperately clinging to the something that remained. This was her brother, by the Nine Hells, or had been at a point so recent in the past that the difference wasn't debated in her subconscious. Her conscious mind was another matter altogether, but no matter the disparity between those sides of her she took the time to hear him out. Even dar'manda were deserving of grace every once in a long while.

"I don't want your excuses." Her words were quiet yet forceful, dark eyes meeting a sulfur gaze she barely recognized anymore. "I don't want you to stand there and act like you're the only one who suffered, and then beg for forgiveness and ask me to return with you." He had no right to it. No right to her loyalty, to her pity, or to the people. He'd given all of that up long ago, and now he expected it all to be handed to him as if nothing had happened. What he seemed to forget was their last meeting, and all that had been exchanged throughout. Nothing that had been said then warranted this sort of display, and if anything cautioned against demonstrating any sort of leniency. On the plains of Maridun he'd declared himself Sith, and after his first changing of colors she saw no reason to take this one with any more than a grain of salt.

With her left hand she picked up her rifle by its sling, letting it hang on her shoulder, the weight a solid reminder of what she was here for. "You don't own that name anymore. You gave up the clan when you walked away, and don't presume that you're going to be welcomed back with open arms. As far as I'm concerned - as far as anyone who served alongside me is - you're dar'manda. You don't have a place among the people. And you sure as hell aren't getting one back with just an apology." In his absence she had taken up the title of Alor, assuming leadership over what had once been their family. In retirement still she reigned, if just because there were none left worthy of the honor. The man that stood before her was least deserving of all, no matter his own personal reservations. No matter if he'd been the founding member. No matter how sincere his words sounded now.

She picked up the sheath that held her beskad, not bothering with attaching it to her belt and instead simply drawing the blade, its blackened edge glinting in the dim light of the desolate warehouse. "There is no 'us,' Isley. There is no 'we.'" The hand holding her weapon trembled, but a tightening of her hand about the grip stayed any lasting tremors. "I am not your sister. You don't have a family to return to. You never did." She felt hollow, speaking those words, but it was all she'd been wanting to say since he'd left, yet never had the courage to until now. "You're Sith. You're an enemy of the people." Her stance solidified then, even if her heart wasn't quite entirely in it just yet. "Now face me."

[member="Darth Metus"]