Private Reconciliation

[Darth Strosius]

Heretic's Bane clattered to the ground amidst a hissed curse, with Darth Strosius Himself having to stifle even more obscene mutterings as He winced and grabbed at His shoulder. The newly healed arm was evidently not quite as restored as He had thought it would be, given how it was throbbing with pain from a simple handful of slashing motions with His blade. He despised His weakened state, biting back another curse as He cautiously rolled His shoulder to make sure that it wasn't torn again. The supply of bacta and blood had been fruitful in restoring His body but none of it was as quick as He would have liked.

If He were back at His workshop then He'd have made use of His specially enhanced blood to kick His healing factor back into gear but He didn't have such a luxury here on Alvaria. With a sigh He pressed His hand against His injured shoulder and summoned forth some bolts to soothe and ease the healing process there, even if it did leave Him feeling quite drained to do so. Everything seemed more taxing since He had been released from the bacta tank. Since He had clawed His way back from death. The most likely cause being that He hadn't come back whole.

A reminder of such flickered into the corner of His vision, one of the tendrils sprouting from His back idly danced and swayed just on the periphery of His sight. As though in doing so it would avoid the harsh glare He sent its way. Once He was fully healed and back at His workshop then finding out how to rid Himself of those odd little things would be among His top priorities, even if only for the piece of mind.

He called the fallen blade back to His hand and slowly stepped over to a nearby table to set it down, having to steady Himself against said table for a moment as He let out another breath. Exhaustion had been a foreign concept for so long and yet now it seemed like the only constant thing in existence. How wretched it was. He idly rolled His shoulder again with a slight grimace before stepping away from the table, mostly out of spite at having to lean on it at all. "Blasted thing."

Srina Talon / Darth Malum of House Marr

 

[Srina Talon]

Location: Alvaria
Direct Tag: Darth Strosius | Darth Malum of House Marr

______________________________________
​

A storm rolled in without warning, heavy clouds blotting out the moonlight, drenching the typically picturesque Alvarian countryside in torrential rain. Flashes of lightning illuminated the towering spires of the palace, which stood out stark and sharp, against the blackened sky. It was well made, considering, the difficulties the small world had faced in the past. It was a fortress to the eye of a layman…Built to keep the galaxy at bay. Within walls of glistening stone and duracrete, all was quiet.

Srina wondered what Malum was thinking.

He sat alone in the spacious hall with firelight casting flickering shadows on sharp features. There was a long-stemmed glass of wine seated in his hand, seemingly, untouched. What did he see when he looked so deeply into the red embers? Did he think of his duty? His place as a King—About his schemes to topple his enemies—The immortal tyrants? Did he think of alliances?

Did he know she was there?

Or was he simply sated in his solitude…Content in his choices.

The faintest shift in the atmosphere rippled through the room, an almost imperceptible disturbance. The air grew heavier as if the storm outside had suddenly decided to hold its breath. He would know her first by the scent of ozone that swept into the hall, of jasmine and rain, but with her Force Signature hidden, it would be difficult to discern if it was real or a memory. Regardless… Darth Malum of House Marr would soon be alleviated from his questions when she stepped into his peripheral view.

The stillness broke.

"You have not come to see me.", she spoke, her voice soft as silk, cold as the void. Her eyes sat not on his form but lingered on the firelight that had held him captive. As if there were secrets to be gleaned from the space between leaping flames. Her presence would always be a paradox of serenity twined with menace. Her moonlit hair was unbound but pristine, falling around her like a veil, even in the chaos of the storm she had arrived in. Perhaps, caused. "So…I have come to you."

Her steps were slow, deliberate, as she approached him, her expression as inscrutable as it always was. The security of the palace should have detected an intrusion but through no fault of their own she merely moved through the halls like a wraith. The gaze of those intended to protect the occupants of the grand estate would find that it slid right off her like water, and, that they forgot about her the moment she moved out of sight. If Srina did not wish to be seen—She would not be.

"I could have sent a holo but I prefer to speak unfiltered, in person, rather than through devices that can be invaded and manipulated. Would you not agree?"

Delicate hands rose toward the fire to warm her palms. It was a rare moment of humanity that few caught a glimpse of. She was thought to be unmoving, brutal, and unaffected by the elements—As if she were made of stone. It wasn't true. None of them were impervious. Not the younglings rising to power nor the Sith of legend. Death, came for all in equal measure.

It was only a matter of time.

"Tell me, my own. Do you mourn the loss of Alisteri Haxim?"

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

It was the stillness which he enjoyed the most. Or so he told himself, the fire roared away, the element which it seemed all of them thought best fit his humours and temperment, it would be easier if he was of ice, cool, concentrated, and conquering, both of himself and all others and else. Instead, he was of fire, hot, wild, and easily extinguished.

Even the greatest of infernos were destined to smoulder out eventually, and as hot as he could scorch, as bright as he could burn. That was his future was it not? Had he reached the pinnacle of all which he would achieve? Fooled into battle against the only woman that might have held answers, who even in the back of his mind, resting, watching, could not provide the certainty he so desired.

For what victories he had achieved, for what heights he had risen.

His body remembered Echnos, for all which had happened, for all that he had failed to break his opponent's guard.

For the realisation that even if he had somehow... what did it matter when at least contingencies existed for his continued survival, one around the neck of one who even when providence itself had intervened to bring it to his grasp, he had failed to take advantage...

...And the other likely in the depths of the Malsheem for all that he knew, far beyond his reach.

Youngest Dark Councillor the Sith had ever seen, the accomplishment tasted more of ash day by day, perhaps there had been reason there was none that was younger than him, for how could one command respect amongst their peers of such greybeards and wizened statures... heh... they hardly looked that part.

His shadow was cast heavy along the ancient architecture of the private hall he sat, its history long lost to him, a tear to his heart for all that was lost to him... lost to them all... he cast a long shadow, yet, to all of them it remained that he was as hollow as the days of his apprenticeship. He swirled around the glass in his hand, the fermented grapes of his burgundy liquid providing him no relief.

Least of all because he had not yet taken succor.

He held enough self-control to know this bandage to pain, was as much poison to him as the thoughts which were cast across his mind, a poison that once it took hold, would hold him in place for hours... perhaps days.

It would be the first stupour he had found himself in.

...A disappointment to his ancestors.

...A disapppointment to his descendants.

He wiped the rogue tear that passed by his cheek, as it began to rain. As it began to thunder and strike...

His blood remained in bondage, and here he was, sulking away in darkness, the Tsis'Kaar required his leadership and here he was... lost in his ways.

...He had those born of his body and blood, and a pain in his hurt, had him hide away from their red eyes that looked as ever, like his own.

Might have it all been easier... to have had been the one to perish upon Jutrand...

...At least he was confident enough that he would not have been returned... would not have been saved... if it had been his life that had been lost that day.

He stilled, tensing as the smell of rain filled his nostrils, it was not a scent unfamiliar to him, it was not a scent which would normally make him question, yet, acompanied by a fragrance that was rare at the best of times, jasmine. It was enough to make his eyes narrow, turning his head away from the flames, to the room around him, leaving the goblet upon bare table, as instincts were resisted to move for the Shikkars hidden beneath his robes.

...It was not everyday that his Imperial Palace welcomed an Empress to its halls.

"...If you wished to see me, you could summon me to your side, and duty would have me there at moment's notice," Malum countered, knowing full well her feelings on such ordinances, as he bowed his head in the submission which he showed few others apart from her, even still, red eyes gazed upon her carefully.

As his heart beat a moment faster. She was not meant to be here.

It was the first time in quite sometime that her approach in his direction, filled him with... trepidation, "...I can understand such preference, but, I wish you would have asked ahead, no doubt the staff will be disappointed in not being able to show you Alvaria's true hospitality... indeeed, I am disappointed for such reason as well," The question pressed upon his chest and skull, the question of purpose and concern, why was she here? "...And if you wished to see me, I would make myself available to you as soon as possible, to Jutrand or anywhere else, you know that." Though perhaps with how their last meeting went... with her so vulnerable in that gilded cage she so hated...

...She did not know.

It was the last of her words, which had his heart drop down into the depths of his stomach.

"...As much as is permissable."

Darth Strosius Srina Talon
Mentioned: Darth Carnifex

 

[Darth Strosius]

A quick injection of bacta had soon remedied the new soreness in His shoulder, much to His relief at the loss of the inconvenience, by the time that He had sat down in one of the stiff chairs scarcely littered around the room. He had a habit of moving them around to various different areas in His little fits of stir craziness. And as a subtle annoyance for His host of course.

Darth Strosius set the now empty vial aside and pulled open the small cooler sat atop the table next to Him to retrieve one of the red bags hiding within. Where exactly Malum kept sourcing it all from He wasn't certain and He hardly cared either way, but He was certain that at least not all of them were from the Sith himself given that not all of them had a stale aftertaste. Such as this one that He sank His fangs into now, much to His relief. Malum's blood might have given Him a noticeable little boost to His strength but the taste spoiled that particular advantage every time.

He sat back as He idly drained the bag of its contents, staring at the remnants of His armor adorning the rack on the far side of the room. The already dark plating was largely singed and with a rather unavoidable slash through one side of the chest plate that had also happened to leave one of the shoulder plates in half. It was in a terrible state but worst of all it seemed as though Malum hadn't decided to recover the ruined mask that should have adorned the front of the helmet.

Before a scowl slipped onto His face at the sight He paused and retracted His fangs from the bag just before He had finished it, cocking His head to the side as a very subtle noise reached His ears. "Is that thunder?" It made sense He supposed, He couldn't recall ever hearing any mention of rain or storm since He had awoken in that dreadful tank so it had to rain sometime.

Srina Talon / Darth Malum of House Marr

 

[Srina Talon]

Location: Alvaria
Direct Tag: Darth Strosius | Darth Malum of House Marr

______________________________________
​

"Becoming your dutiful chore has never been my desire, Malum."

That should have been achingly clear to him during their last interaction on Jutrand. They had exchanged quiet words with quiet truths—Things that need not be shared with any other. Her mastery within the Force was still not fully restored, but at the bare minimum, she could manage not beheading those who sparked her ire. The last thing she wanted was for her raw nerves to turn loyal citizens of the empire into pink mist for looking at her the wrong way for the singularly most insipid crime of thinking too loudly. "I have not come to Alvaria to observe protocol. I have arrived…Because I must."

Her expression remained serene whilst she continued warming her hands by the fire. An official visit from the Empress would have sparked unwanted attention, putting a magnifying glass on the flourishing planet, while she did her utmost to direct eyes elsewhere. Srina seemed entirely untouched by the tension in the room, carved of alabaster, and every bit the monarch she had never wished to be. Were Malum to catch a glimpse of her eyes, aureate and endless, he would have caught a glint of something sharper. A quiet amusement or perhaps…A calculated warning. "Your staff will survive their disappointment and so will you...", Srina continued, dismissing the matter of hospitality with a graceful wave of her hand. "Their King remains the pinnacle of their devotion, after all."

The simple words carried no mockery, no accusation, only the clinical precision of observation.

As she turned toward him her scent lingered in the air, soft and elusive, as though it sought to anchor her presence in his space. Without apology. The soft rustling of her cloak and traveling dress was the only sound for a long moment while the firelight cast her figure in sharp relief. The wintry woman stood before him now, a stark contrast to the hearth, her being like the first chill of winter slipping through a door that had been left ajar. "You are ever dutiful, Malum. To me. To your family.", her voice softened, slightly, while her gaze found his. "I do not doubt that you would have come to me if I so requested. But what I seek is not so easily conveyed in words or written decree…It requires observation."

Observe, she did. That last word was laden with implication. Warmed hands reached for his face in a way that showed no violence. Improper, by his standards. Still. The slender Echani would hold his face in her hands as if it were the most precious thing. Yet, her eyes were pervasive. As if she could see right into the heart of him. Feel it, when his heart dropped into his stomach like a stone. "As much as permissible? Have someone forbidden your mourning from a loss you inflicted?"

One hand lifted to brush his hair from blood-colored orbs. There was no threat in her. There was…Comfort. Albeit, cold, and hard to grasp for those that were not of her culture. But she was not blind to the fact that he'd been sitting alone in a palace that treated him as if he were the God-King of the universe. He could have anything he wanted. Any desire met—But it was solitude that he settled for.

Solitude and a chalice of wine.

"We both know how hard you tried to steer Darth Strosius toward salvation. You are stubborn and incredibly competent in play-acting…But you forget that I know your heart, moreover, I know your mind…And yet…You would have me believe that you, a Sith Lord who holds loyalty in such high regard, would strike down a sentient being for the sake of a glorified spectacle?"

It went against everything she had ever come to know about the Heir to the Noble House of Marr. She was among the strangest of their kind, yet, he gave her a run for her credits. Wanton violence did not appeal to him nor did the prospect of what he might consider kin-slaying. He took no joy in it. He took no pleasure from it. Malum would move heaven and earth to protect those he deemed worthy and no matter of harshness spoken at the Kaggath dissuaded her from that notion. She had missed it then. Weak, from Echnos. Struggling to be present for him. For the Order.

She did not miss it now.

"…You wish to understand why I have arrived unannounced. That is fair. I will grant you clarity."

Her next words, though repeated, fell like a blade singing through the air between them. There was much power in a name that it nearly sang from her throat while it coiled in the space between them like a serpent.

"Alisteri Haxim." ​

Srina's gaze never left his. She did not blink, unyielding, beautiful as the dawn—But empty as the void. The storm that had come with her arrival seemed to worsen while thunder echoed through the stone corridors. The light filled their faces from the window, the sound of rain, beating mercilessly along transparisteel windows. There was so much there, unspoken. So many secrets. When her voice came next it was barely a whisper. So small, he might need to lean in to hear. "You do not mourn him because his ghost…Is not here.", she gestured toward the room, "Nor here."

She pointed at his chest.

"Because he is not a ghost...You are many things...", there was something dangerously close to fondness in that statement, pride, or something entirely other. The faint curve of her lips flattened while golden eyes shimmered with gentle silence and a direct sense of forbidden knowledge. "But a cold-blooded killer of those you care for? Those who you hold in esteem? Perhaps, even recognize as kin?"

A breath.

"That is something…You are not."

There would be no mistaking it when her expression turned to saddened steel. Her presence here was no accident, and no flattery or diversion would turn her away from the truth she sought. He offered it to her without thinking, perhaps, underestimating Echani eyes. They missed nothing. Especially, not this close. "Once again…I may need your forgiveness for an order I must give. You may tell your house guest that I beat his location from you. That I threatened your family, your planet, and all that you hold dear…You may claim anything you need to reduce culpability if it brings you discomfort. I will accept it, in silence, and through every bit of hate...I will hear the opposite."

Malum could place the blame at her feet, freely, and without regret. Her touch remained. Still, so gentle.

"…But you will take me to him, Malum. Now."

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

"I never sought to imply you were a chore, You- Srina, but that you are my duty as along as you have my fealty, has never been in question, I hope." Of course, it would be in question, he questioned itself enough that she who seeemed to see through him so easily, might have picked upon his doubt, if only not for a constant effort to keep such questions concealed to the darkest depths of his mind.

Why exactly he put such effort to defend the sanctity of those thoughts he hardly knew, after all, none of whom he played this great game with wwere stupid, no matter how dutifully he acted, no matter how much honour he conducted, he was the serpent son of Darth Ophidia, he had joined that traitor in rebellion most earnestly even if caught off-guard by it.... and he had not made his dislike of those powers that be much secret.

Even if only as their dislike of him had not been hidden, and for all which he had thought himself the good actor, his pride would not bend nor break in the face of such insult.

A smart man would have bided his time, an intelligence man would have taken every slight, every insult, and every burn with the composed mask of which he was meant to be. Yet, he refused ever ardently, he was the heir of House Marr, the scion of the Lord of Duty, why should he bow to those that he had in such short time grown to become their peer.

...But what a joke that was.

Pride would be what broke him, for all which he had been able to bite his tongue in the worst of moments, for all that he had derided his co-apprentice for being unable to do the same, there had been instance enough that he allowed himself to run his mouth, the momentary pleasure all the worthwhile instead of the greater victory which he dreamt of.

For all the high minded ideals he held in champion.

As ever, he was but a child, surrounded by heaving behemoths.

He raised an eyebrow at her words, "...You must?" He questioned, the realisation of theories fermented, alongside the genuine confusion at such wording creating a marriage of strangeness in his mind, that was reflected easily enough in his voice.

She still held her hands over the flames, pale hands warmed by crackling flame, hands that seemed to have not experienced the light of the sun, such that the heat of fire might have been all which she could stand. If such was the case, she hardly seemed uncomfortable in the heat, though truly, he had not thought she ever seemed uncomfortable anywhere...

...Even in the aftermath of Echnos, in her weakest place, she seemed more serene in the hands of that monster, than uncomfortable, let alone weak.

Yet, it was her eyes that she revealed anything, though in that reveal it might as well have been nothing, for all that it benefited him. Golden orbs gazed at him with such... he could not quite tell, but that it might have been somehow both progressive and regressive, filled him with a certain rancour that had his chest placed under an anvil.

"...A King is below that of an Empress," He countered, even as likely they both knew the point was moot, though something which he did not advertise, something which he kept hidden, upon this world, he as Emperor, crowned not by God, nor Church, even as both provided him the legitimacy, but by... at least with how he justified it to himself, the will of his people.

It still made his skin crawl with the innate wrongness of it all.

She turned to him, consorting with the Butcher King, she held a certain proclivity to being towered over, that was no different in their interactions, but in this place, sat as he was, they were equals.

Yet, even when he did stand above her, there was little doubt that it was this beautiful, dimunitive woman that towered over him.

Towered over them all.

He parsed his lips at her continued answers, "To the Sith, to the Empire, to the Emperor," He continued, listing off those great things, which they all held dear, if he listed them all together he might even be able to delude himself into believing it, "I hope your observation has only made my leality more well apparent." It was laid on thickly, but that to a great degree was how he found that Srina operated, and she was taking this conversation in dangerous place, he would do all that was required to steer rightly this ship of state.

His breath hitched, as warm hands cupped his face, it was not done with malice, there had been plenty of opportunity to avoid such inappropriate touch, yet, as was the ever evolving nature of their relationship, he did not withdraw... in fact, though he would admit it to no one, let alone himself, there was the barest possibility, a roguish thought breaking his brow in wonder.

...Had he leaned into such touch?

There was no shiver that travlled down his spine, the instinctive response to cold hands burning against warm skin, her hands a warm oven, that welcomed as easily as a mother's embrace. Yet, he had little opportunity to appreciate, enjoy, such a sensation, red eyes gazed with steel, hiding the vulnerability that he keenly felt, as gold bored into him.

"...I mourn the Knight I once knew, the Apprentice that once was, not the Lord he turned out to be," Malum offered stiffly, even know, the shield between him and execution, despite, all the pain and frustration he caused him, despite, all the pain and frustration he still caused him. For all that the Sangnir had been knocked to the ground, for all which the once Lord Inquisitor had been literally burned alive, for all which he self-proclaimed God had been killed that day.

His tongue was as vicious ever.

And perhaps all the agony which Malum had wrought him, went to equalise the verbal spars which they fought as harshly as their real spar.

"...No one forbidded me from mourning, but to mourn a traitor hardly suited," Guilt had been what he had felt first, guilt for what he had done, guilt for the events which had taken place to force such an outcome, but... the guilt faded away slowly, as the smoke of a dying flame, until one stepped into the embers and felt the heat full force, and it reared its ugly head, it could be safely ignored.

He did not flinch as her petite fingers caressed his long raven locks, even as the electricity strummed down his nerves, it was progress, though for all that he should have been progressing on, it hardly felt like much of an accomplishment, to be touched in such intimate manner, it was reserved only for those... that he knew... intimately.

And whatever guilty thoughts crossed his brow of the woman in front of him, he did not know her in such a manner.

Her words silenced him for a time, as the blood flowed in his veins with extended pressure, as he felt his mouth dry, and his heart begin to tremour in his chest, if she knew... for it was becoming all the more readily apparent that this was not some flight of fancy, if she knew... if she suspected.

Who else knew?

Who else could know?

How did she find out?

All questions remained frustratingly elusive to any answer, as the stress began to mount, as breath softly listed out of his lips, as he retained composure upon a knife's edge, and he knew, whatever would come, he would need to play a game, against one who held most providential advantage against him.

...So what was new?

"...He was not loyal to me, I could bring the horse to water as much as I wanted, but I could not force him to drink, and yett you believe it was out of character for I to strike him down in glorified spectacle?" His heart burned, what was performance and what was genuine, slipped together out into some serpentine hiss, "Of course I did not want that! You, and His Imperial Majesty forced that to be made live to the Holonet!" The hiss grew to such decibel, that it might have made a canine wince, he stepped up from his seat, his shadow rising high as the flames flickered in their place, and he made to tower above this woman, that was the source of so much hidden frustration.

Never did their gaze break, never did his mental guards break, she, she could not be allowed passage into the confines of all which was hidden in his mind. His ever broken, and splitting mind. The thunder hammered against the grounds outside, the lightning light making her pale form something entirely blinding, as rubies burned in his sockets, bearing into her unflinchingly.

Even as she announced his name, sang it with a grace that was entirely hers, his fangs were raised.

"...Are you so cruel to mention his name here?" He stated stiffly, bringing all emotions back down to centre, all the more certain of all which had gone wrong, but holding his ground, the sandbank against an unstoppable wave.

He turned away from her, allowing himself heaving breaths, as much feigned as truly felt, unable to gaze into those eyes without feeling as if she was extracting something directly from his pupils, providing himself the cover and excuse to act as he was, to act how he truly felt for far different reasons.

"...I do not mourn him because mourning one whose loss provided me full advantage felt wrong, I do not mourn him because..." Had he not spent enough time mourning, had he not already hidden so much in favour of this great game that slowly poisoned him, and choked the very life's breath out of him? "...Because he would not have mourned me." The truth always did hurt, the truth did always... make deceit so much more true.

He chuckled, something forced, for true and lie, "...His ghost is here, carried by the ashes I still hold to myself, but true, his ghost is elsewhere, if you so wish to find him, go to Korriban, go to Corva Vag, you'll find the ashes of his ghost there just as the same here," Korriban, his ploy to push them away from this, to push her away from which she was stepping ever more dangerously to.

He stilled as she continued.

He... could not quite paint a vivid image of what he felt, but it was only a full portrait that might have to full justice shown all the colours of which his heart pounded, of lips curved dangerously, eyes drawn confusedly, a nose turned upwards, and a body set aflame of which frustration, anguish, and rage made equal home, along with each and every other demon prince.

"...You do not know me, Your Imperial Majesty," His voice was hollow, sullen, his gaze lost to the tempered darkness of his wall, mind filling with the sights of lives taken from battlefield across the cosmos, the helmets made it easier for many of them... he never had to see their faces, only remember the agony of their screams.

...But so many did not have helms...

...But he had not cared for them, not held them in esteem, yet... there were those which he had.

...It had not stopped him.

"...I killed the woman who made me who I am, I had pledged myself to her cause, her vision, but the face of defeat was all it took for me to abandon my honour and duty, and justify myself having both as I turned the turncoat," His vision swam in golden hue, as her presence was so keenly felt, there was no pain anymore, no more sensation of utter despair which others gazed upon him to consider mad.

No... there was only ever now, that which was somehow more maddening, a constant presence, a constant reassurance, a caress of a woman that had not ever loved him, no, that was not the relationship Mistress and Apprentice had shared, but she had forged him into what he was, she had taught him all which he knew, she had been his protector in an Order, in a galaxy, that had come to hate him, and hate all he was...

...She had become part of him in a way that only one other could possibly hope to claim the same.

And he had killed her, because of a lie.

A lie perpetuated by the same man that he had saved.

"...He was never my brother." The whisper was as silent as her own, spoken through low tones, yet effortlessly felt.

Another truth, to keep the facade of the lie. A vice grip upon his chest, that threatened to spill his lifesblood upon this ancient seat.

It mattered not in the face of the certainty which she see so clearly felt.

He let out a sigh, his eyes prickling with unspent emotion, held at bay only by a lifetime of training demanded of him by his station, reaching down into his robes, he felt the hilt of the Shikkar as instinctively as one drew in air. It was slowly revealed, the black glass shimmering against the light of flame and lightning alike. Turning himself, turning to regard the woman, that already knew far too much.

...He knew what he should do.

...He knew what he was meant to do.

...But he was always so... bad at doing either of them.

He might have thought once to send word to Alisteri, tell him to flee this place, but there was already part of him that knew, that ever so bittersweet core at the middle of a heart heaving with the weight of the entire galaxy.

...He would never listen to him.

So once more he acted a shield, for a man that did not deserve it, for a man who even now, after defeat, did not consider him a Sith... did not consider him his equal. That it hurt still... had not been something which Malum had ever given such proper thought of.

He offered the hilt of the blade to the woman, that he felt such... filial feelings towards.

This to be his stand.

"...Take the blade, and plunge it into my heart."

Srina Talon Darth Strosius
Mentioned: Darth Ophidia Ansisa

 

[Srina Talon]

Location: Alvaria
Direct Tag: Darth Strosius | Darth Malum of House Marr

______________________________________
​

Her hands remained steady whilst she held him, for the moment, able to see him at eye level. Her gaze was unwavering while she searched crimson orbs and read him as only an Echani could—Like a book. She had not crossed through several star systems just to hear the same nonsense that everyone else took at face value. She felt it, before she saw it. The glimmer of truth that swam in the web of a mind that felt like it was dangerously close to cracking under pressure. He was trying to fool her.

Mixing truth and fable—Disguising a lie, with something true. There was some level of veracity to his responses, emotion, that anyone else would have broken beneath the weight of. He was a creature of contradiction. He spoke of loyalty, honor, and duty. Yet…The air between them carried the faintest scent of doubt. The faintest tremor, of a man at war with himself. She let him weave his tale. She let him spin like a spider in the fall…Because he needed to.

Malum…Needed to try. Even if he knew the futility—He would stand between heaven and hell with her for eternity if it meant that he could spare the Sith that most assumed he had killed.

Her thumbs brushed lightly against his cheekbones, not only to soothe as her culture dictated, but to keep him grounded. She could feel him spiraling but she couldn't keep him from it if he didn't wish for his mind to stop. It was on fire…Only he could put that out. Srina kept him close whilst his anger found him. That was real. But the cause? Unknown. Malum could break from her hold at any time. He always could…She was not his jailer, not, his keeper. "…You question me…as though I am ignorant, Malum."

"Do you believe that I am?"

"Do you think I speak his name lightly? Do you think I do not know the fate of Alisteri Haxim?"

The way she repeated the name was deliberate, calculated. It was not with a hiss of venom but with an edge of certainty, spoken in a tone that suggested she was pulling at a thread that the Dark Councilor could no longer hide. "I have never been cruel, to you. Even if I am inherently…cruel. You have seen the monster that lives in me, the nature, of my being. We were both on Echnos."

"I know you, my own. Far better than you think."

When he referred to her as "Imperial Majesty" she knew that something was deeply wrong. They had established many moons ago that she wished for him to call her by name. She had expressed, her distaste for honorifics even if her station demanded it. They were alone, in this room. There was no need for him to refer to her in such a way unless he was trying to create distance.

It was easier to lie to her Imperial Majesty, consort, to one of his most hated enemies.

It was easier not to think of the many, many times he could have destroyed the Emperor by destroying his wife. They'd been alone in her quarters when she was weakened after using the phobis. He could have slit her throat while she slept and absconded to whereabouts unknown with his life intact. It was true that he had murdered Ophidia, it was true, that both he and his fellow apprentice had taken the pale one from existence. But…They'd been left with no choice.

During the kaggath?

He had a choice…He could have let Darth Strosius kill him. He could have beaten his fellow Sith bloody until he couldn't move. But, no. He wanted her to believe that he had taken steps to end the life of someone he had fought so hard to protect, for so long, just because the eyes of the nation were glued to the drama of the event?

When Malum pulled away, her hands fell, and she allowed him the space he sought. Yet the movement felt more like a retreat than a reprieve, as if her touch had become too heavy with the words she uttered. She watched as he turned his back, his posture rigid, his breath uneven. All parts of her wished that there was some way to soothe the storm in him. To tame the beast that lashed out, unaware, that he was often taking pieces of her with him. "I have known traitors, Malum.", her tone softened, but it was no less sharp.

"I have loved them. I have killed them. And I have mourned them all the same. If you perceive the act of mourning as a weakness you have been misinformed. It is a reckoning. And for whatever it is that weighs you down…It will come whether you will it or not."

She remained unflinching beneath his outburst. Unbroken, in his pain. It was real…His frustration and agony, the guilt, were all real emotion. But Srina, knew the difference. Hiding a lie within a truth was the oldest art used to deceive her people. Thyrsians had employed it without guilt or shame for years when she had served the Six Sisters. "He was not loyal to you…He did not care, for you. But I was never speaking of his loyalty. Only your own…Because for all that happened, all that didn't happen, you kept trying. You knew the truth, you know it now, but still you persist."

That was loyalty. Borderline insanity…But loyalty all the same. Staying the course even though he knew the other person would have never done the same for him. When he turned back toward her, the shikar glinting in his hands, she tilted her head, her expression unreadable. The offer was there—The blade extended, a challenge, or perhaps a plea. Her lips curved. Not in mockery but in something far more haunting. It was a ghost of understanding, of pity, that neither insulted nor absolved.

"You wish to die by my hand?"

No. Not, entirely. She knew better than most what made Malum of House Marr tick. What got him motivated, moving, and nothing would press him toward such drastic measures faster than the fact that she was right. Her voice was barely above a whisper while she accepted the weapon…But not the way she should have. The blade bit into the flesh of her palm. Pressing deeper, while she stepped closer, her eyes holding the gravity of the moment as if it were her own heartbeat. "Perhaps, you think it would be easier than waking in the morrow. Perhaps you think it will atone for any number of perceived failings…"

"Perhaps you think to stop me."

Her hand held onto the blade until it hit bone. It spilled blood to the floor freely, staining the wood, and seeping into the stone. Eyes of aureate, burnished, and bold were filled with more emotion than she knew how to express. It sat somewhere between feathered eyelashes and lavender lids. Pain. Not from the blade that pierced her flesh but from the simple fact that he would ask such a thing from her. "Is this what you need? Is this your desire?"

"If it is blood to be paid this eve, let it be mine. That is how it must be."

She let go of the shikkar and it clattered to the floor. Ever and always would she give of herself for the wellbeing of her children in this Empire. They would never know. They would never see it, they would hate her, but that was an acceptable loss. They lived. Beyond that…Srina was exhausted with men in her life requesting that she plunge a blade into their hearts. Exhausted.

This young Sith…This man, with whom she held dear, would never know that his words cut deeper than being sliced in twain. He would never feel her ire. Never, know her rage. Only the coppery scent of her blood that rolled down her fingertips. Her mortality, her sacrifice. She could feel Darth Empyrean stirring with her pain but the stability of her mind, her purpose, would keep him on Jutrand. Malum wished to shield, to do what he perceived to be the right thing, the only thing, but he was fighting against an enemy that…Wasn't there.

Srina would protect him. Even if—It was from himself.

"I must see him, my own. It is not a question. I am not asking. You can join me…Or get out of my way."

 

[Darth Strosius]

"He almost carved all the way into my heart." Darth Strosius muttered to Himself as He slowly ran His hand along the gash in the chest plate, noting the angle of the strike that caused it as evident in the scar it left in the metal. Whether by Malum twisting away at the last moment or His own struggling as the blade dug in, the killing edge shifting to slice into His lung rather than carry on and sever his heart in two. He knew this already of course, based on the ache in His chest that still throbbed whenever He took a deep breath too quickly, but the visual confirmation was a disturbing reminder of it.

The armor itself was irreparable but not unsalvageable, it could be melted down and reforged just as easily as He had done to it before when it needed such extensive work. Nothing that could be done now but work that could still be done so that He could make use of it once again someday. He pulled His hand away and stared down at the soot now darkening the fingertips of His glove with a slight frown, quickly brushing them off on His pants. The substance thankfully wasn't His ashes of course. His weren't so easily brushed aside.

Burning golden eyes flickered to where a pouch of said foul ashes sat atop another table, one of His eyes twitching as He felt His senses idly brush over the bag and deliver a sense of pain and hatred straight into the back His mind. That was another matter that He'd have to settle later it seemed as they were simply nothing like He had encountered before. His blood had been somewhat noteworthy for quite some time now, an unintended side effect of His Sithspawn experimentation, but the ashes were something else entirely.

He could still feel them, as though they were simply another part of His body.

Before He realized it, the unmasked Sith was standing and leering over the seemingly innocuous bag containing a portion of His essence. They were more than likely partly to blame for His regeneration and power being so weakened as they were now, although He suspected they were more byproducts than the cause. For while they were unquestionably His in terms of their composition and presence in the Force, there was more to be found there.

It was difficult to detect but He knew His own presence well enough to sense that the ashes did indeed hold something else within them. Emotions and feelings that were not His own but were still familiar to Him. His worshippers, the ones who had perished while connected to Him and even seemingly something of those that empowered Him and survived, existed as dim echoes in the ashes. Their signatures faint and masked but no less present.

"Forgive me, nuyak berniuk." He muttered to Himself as one of His gloved fingers hesitantly traced the bag. "You deserved better." Better than to die in His service, when He had promised them full lives. Better than to give their worship and belief to Him, only for Him to falter at the final hurdle. Better than to have any remnants or echoes of themselves trapped in a form that He barely understood, and one only in existence due to His failure. The tendrils sprouting from His body held no such hesitation nor boundaries, quickly reaching out and curling around the bag before Him as much as they could manage in their semi-tangible state. They were drawn to the contents within, and to an extent so was He, but to what end He was uncertain.

There was only one way to find out why, He supposed.

Srina Talon / Darth Malum of House Marr