Private Silent Soldier

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

The masked Sith Lord was solitary and silent as he stood outside the doorway that would lead him towards... well, for certain he was unsure what it would lead him towards, for all which his limping leg had been dragged along the glimmering Imperial Palace here on Jutrand, as thoughts had risen and fallen within the confines of his mind. It had only been a few days since the conclusion of the greatest battle of his life, which for one who had experienced battlefields across the galaxy... it said something. Yet, as much of a struggle as it had been, he looked remarkably well for it.

There would be no permanent scars on his person, indeed apart from scorched apparel, and a limping leg, there was hardly much damage to speak of. Indeed, even limping he could feel the energy of life returning to his leg day by day, while for apparel... the armour which he had taken from his Mistress, had to be reforged once to fit his person, to repair it was hardly a difficult process, such that once again black armoured boots led up to plated greaves, manoeuvrable cuisses, the long flowing darkened cloak and kilt all leading upwards to the ruby-encrusted plate and mail, that was all designed to protect him.

Housed in a mind hidden by the replica mask of his most famous and glorious ancestor, framed by long raven locks that draped down to his neck and beyond. Within the armour held the robes which held all the weapons that he wielded to wage war, yet, many of them still lay visible on his person, a black glove might have hidden his fingers from view, yet above them on one hand. The gauntlet which had saved his life in the Kaggath lay inert, while in the other. The band which drew upon his darkness to make his double, his triple, his quadruple, figures as him, fought like him, spectres in the dark. The ring lay cold for now, yet its gem shimmered in all the promise of what it could unleash, great spouts of flame and fire, embers of destruction. All to lead to the amulet around his neck, warm to the touch, alive in a way that was possible for ash, ash of a figure burned long millennia ago, that had saved his life in those moments when death stared him directly in the face.

War, he was made for war.

He had been made by war, from the skies of Jutrand, to the galactic rim, he had fought, he had bled.

All to take him here, to the door of destiny. To the door of one who... every discussion, every discourse, every conversation, was in its own way a battle. They wielded immense power and influence in a figure that was as beautiful as they were dangerous, they who he owed his fealty to, they who were conjoined in heart and hand to the one he called liege, they who had found themselves in the graces of his affection.

And somehow, he imagined he had somehow found his way in the graces of hers.

He had not seen Srina since the Kaggath, he had not spoken to Srina since Echnos. So much had happened since then, so much that his mind still spun in the ecstasy of guilt and joy, there was so much he wished to tell her.

There was so much he needed to keep secret.

This woman...

...This woman who as confused as she made him feel, as confusing as she was, that he confided in the most deeply held fates, who he looked towards for certainty, for answers, for... comfort.

Who...

...Who in many regards was a figure in his life that there should only be one of. Perhaps it was the strangest of blessings, a sign of good fortune and good favour, that he had found himself with three, all so different, all of whom he...

...Loved.

Perhaps that was why he had accepted the invitation with silence, drawing himself into the den of perhaps the man he feared most in the galaxy, that duty compelled him to obey, that honour demanded he defy. Perhaps that was why Dark Councillor, among the highest of this Sith Empire, found himself here now, accepting invitation to serve as mere bodyguard, bodyguard to the Empress of the Sith Empire, but bodyguard nonetheless.

For... he had always been unable to reject her.

Which promised to make all that would come next, all he had planned, all which he desired, so entirely difficult. The pain, the horror, the anguish for which he would wreak, all for what was right, for what was good, but that would break all that they shared. To do what was necessary, was to break the strangest relationships which he held... to break a bond that was held to his heart with most cherish.

Once again the thoughts were banished from his mind, as he allowed himself a breath, leaning upon the door. The hallways deserted, even as each who he had come across held to him the utmost suspicion of what his intentions were, yet loyalty to their Empress had confounded any suspicion of the scion of the Lord of Duty. An order given to leave her undefended.

Until her... child arrived at her side to protect her.

The door leaned open, and he took contradictorily uncertain and certain steps.

Srina Talon
Mentioned: Darth Empyrean

 

[Srina Talon]

Location: Jutrand [Private Quarters]
Tag: Darth Malum of House Marr

______________________________________​

Attending the Kaggath had taken more out of her than she was willing to admit.

Her private quarters were remarkably dark and cloaked in a heavy silence that seemed to amplify the rhythm of each breath taken within its walls. The pale Echani lay on the massive bed she shared with none. Obsidian spires went to the ceiling, draped with pale blue silks, and her remarkably small form lay still as stone. Were it not for the steady rise and fall of her chest she could have been mistaken for one that was already gone. Dead—As unalive as the Emperor.

White-gold hair spilled across the pillows like liquid moonlight, a stark contrast to the shadows that framed the room. Her eyes were closed, their usual sharpness hidden beneath lavender lids that betrayed nothing of wakefulness—Or lack thereof.

The chamber itself was a sanctuary of understated refinement. It was fit for a young woman of standing, not, necessarily the mother of a nation. A faint luminescence emanated from crystalline sconces, casting a soft, muted light over plain smooth walls. The scent of incense burning lingered in the air, with leftover, curling tendrils of smoke wafting upward. As if it felt the need to take flight and escape this gilded prison…Just like the current occupant. The Sepulchral were…Insufferable.

It wasn't as if she could provide the nation with an heir but they were still obsessed with her safety while despising her in equal measure. It was strange, to be hate-protected.

In her half-dreaming state, she felt the presence of Darth Malum of House Marr long before she heard him. The Force carried tremors of his presence that rolled across her raw nerve endings in a way that was almost painful. Exposure to so many people at the Kaggath had made things…Worse. There was a subtle tension in his lilting, limping gait. She could smell the emotions he wrestled with in a chaotic tumult that made it hard to separate one from the other. The door would whisper open for him…Such a silent portal, permitting him entry to the one place few ever set foot.

It was an enormity of a moment that would go unnoticed by the universe.

Srina did not stir. Not outwardly. Her attire was that of a knee-length sleep-gown, fitting, but modest with the expectation that she would be resting in the presence of someone else. She wore two rings, as always, both, gifts from Darth Empyrean . The phylactery that belonged to Darth Carnifex sat at the hollow of her throat. The relative serenity of her form was a paradox compared to the tempest that was slowly swirling within. Waiting, for release.

She did not like being told what to do…Nor did she like being cooped up—Even if she knew it was for her own good. One of her less attractive qualities was a deep-rooted stubbornness.

"…at last…my champion arrives…"

The wintry tones that he would have become accustomed to were still there, but, there was something off about it. Not right. Her eyes did not open nor did she turn her head, but the intensity of her focus locked on to him all the same. As if she could see him…All of him—Without needing to look.

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

The room was as it was, as it had always been. It was a room that a young gentleman of standing like him should never have been in, the Empresses' quarters were as humble as they were opulent, and if anyone else had occupied the consort's quarters, Bogan knew that it would only be under heavy escort and supervision that he would ever be here.

Yet, it was to be as the fates had decided, as destiny led, that it was Srina Talon that occupied these quarters, and to call her odd... he spoke in full respect, was the most key of understatements. They had taken tea in these chambers, many a time, talking as the sun had risen far above the sky, to dipping below the horizon, only to rise again once more, spoken in the privacy only shared by the tea of various flavours that seemed bottomless, always calming, and effortlessly delicious.

There was a wrongness to this he knew, even after so many invitations, indeed, there was never even the suggestion of impropriety or inappropriateness made anymore, even as narrowed eyes and scowls were sent his way, no matter Srina's... eccentricity, it was improper, it was inappropriate.

Yet, so was denying the wishes of the Empress, so there he had come, again, and again, after each, and every invitation, slowly, guarded walls were pried apart, knocked down, and... affection, affection that could not be mistaken to be anything more than platonic... familial... some strange measure that only she knew, but certainly not anything else, was offered as freely, as the tea she poured from intricate share pot.

How... bizarre that experience had been.

They were not easy conversations, indeed, much of the time they were downright frustrating. Yet, it had been so long now, that the excuse of duty could not contend as reason for why he returned ever so eagerly...

...Why he looked forward to the invitations these days.

He stepped forth through the door, yet, momentum ceased as ruby eyes found her. Even with golden orbs hidden from him, her attention was squarely upon him, and her state...

...She had looked pale... paler than normal upon Echnos, as if she was ill, combatting some illness which took upon all body and will to defeat. Yet, even now, it seemed that the storm had not yet broken.

He swallowed breath, he had taken her initial absence during his Kaggath as a sign against him... her appearance clawed forth out of darkness as a boon, it had been her words, a reminder, that had brought him back from the brink of losing himself to...

"...I hope I am not too late, though, It is not a champion you require unless there is one out there questioning your honour?" The question was rhetorically asked, the mere idea ludicrous enough to him, yet... he had heard the whispers, had private thoughts he had kept to himself, "Instead it seems you need a guard... why are your chambers unguarded? It would only take one to slip your defences... I do not imagine the Sepruchal approved." The irony was not lost on him, it would only take one to slip her defences, had he not already done that? The heir to the most dangerous assassin the Sith had ever known.

...It would not be the first Empress that he had felled, according to rumour it apparently would not even be the second.

He banished such private treasonous thoughts, as he found himself taking seat at her bedside, eyes drawn towards the dual rings upon her dainty fingers, a short form, that held within the glue that held this empire together, golden silver locks longer than his raven framed a face that was impossibly... serene... ethereal, all hiding behind eyes of molten flame.

Leading down to...

Temptation.

His gaze found itself at the phylactery held at her chest, worn around her neck as his own amulet, as the potion, both held so dear to him were worn. Was it so dear to her too?

The lifeline of the worst of their immortal tyrants?

Srina Talon
Mentioned: Darth Carnifex

 

[Srina Talon]

Location: Jutrand [Private Quarters]
Tag: Darth Malum of House Marr ​

Her gaze lifted slowly as if the weight of her exhaustion could not be borne by her body alone but had seeped into her very soul. Perhaps it had. Feathery eyelashes dusted over pale cheeks while she peered at his silhouette, as if, she was watching him through a curtain. There was an inner-fire in the Echani that never fully extinguished nor was it left fully alive. She did not need to see him to know him…But she preferred it. To behold things with her Echani eyes—A place they could not lie.

Instead, he remained a dark shadow that lingered just on the edge of her reality. The Heir to House Marr was both tether and unyielding shield whether he knew it or not. His mind softened the raw edges of her being with familiarity. The others…They were so loud. None spoke, but she could hear them screaming. Constantly. "There is always someone questioning my honor. If I truly enlisted you for that purpose…You would do nothing else, and I, would have no one to talk to…"

Her eyes flickered toward the nightstand where a teapot sat, waiting, with some new brew. It was unfortunate that he would need to serve himself but the Empress did not have the want to move her head from its current resting place. The pale woman could feel the deeper well of the Darkside pulling on her being with ravenous desire. Enlisting the Phobis had consequences. It preyed on her still, devouring, until she could rebuild her control. Her defenses. She could blast a hole through a mountainside right now but lifting a tea-cup might prove disastrous.

Everything was so close to the surface…Barely, held in check by the flimsy barrier of her skin.

"…They would not approve. The Sepulchral, the Imperial Court—None of them would. And yet..."

There was no making the advisors of the Eternalist Crown "like" the low-born woman they had been saddled with as their Empress. They would have preferred any of Darth Carnifex's brides over the white-haired creature that had done nothing but set fire to their doorway. She was unrefined, impertinent, and refused to use the power she held at their command. The only thing she had ever done that pleased them was the creation of absolute mayhem on the Moon of Echnos to repel the Alliance. She had heard it in the halls, whispers, among those whom knew not of what they spoke.

Lady Pandemonium. ​

"Somehow…Their approval was never my priority."

Her eyes closed again and instead, she reached for his hand…Seemingly unaware of his eyes glued to the phylactery that always set tenderly at her chest. As if it had been surgically attached to the top of her sternum. "Do not be cross with me…", she murmured after a moment, still, holding the complexion of a corpse. He had a different goal than she did. A different purpose, even if, their paths typically aligned more often than not. "I sent them away. I cannot bear the sound of them."

The feeling of their pain clawing at her heart with greedy talons, perhaps, a form of perverse empathy. The memory of their minds pressing up against her own while the barrier was thin made her tense for a moment before it eased. It was bearable, now. The mind of the raven-haired youth was made of stronger mettle than he might have assumed. It was familiar and comforting in a place where everything seemed dead set on irritating her. "I cannot…"

"Shut it off. Their minds are…So very loud. So many pictures, voices, faces."

Her voice trailed off in the dark, like a ribbon, floating away in the breeze. She would seem…So pale, to his eyes with her usual alabaster somehow outdone to the point where her hair almost seemed white-gold. The ethereal quality was only strengthened by the quiet strength she emanated. The long battles, the whispering intrigues, the wars that had taken both her time and her strength—none of it seemed to rob her of the serene confidence that defined her. "Few would want to break in here lest they wish to test Empyrean…But my quarters are no stronghold of might, nor a fortress of unyielding stone. These chambers are not for the defense of an Empire…But the captivity of a single bird."

Her gilded cage. Her obsidian, gold-hewn, prison.

"Have some tea, my own. Let us speak of things beyond this room, beyond the war, beyond all of it."

Her expression seemed to grow…Wistful. Sad, almost.

"For a little while."

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

His jaw slackened ever slightly as the first of her words fell forth easily from lips, the protrusion by his throat bopping up and down, like an apple at a summer's fair, by his brow a single bead of sweat, as pink dusted his cheeks.

She could not mean... she could not possibly mean...

She was odd, she was bold, but that... that was a step too far, it would not be fanning the flames of rumour and gossip, it would be outright confirming it for all to see and hear. Yet, the blush deepened... she held a certain ability to be deadpan that was rivalled by no one else, such was much of her character, so it must have come easily enough, even her humour was built off such a thing. That was what this was, he knew, it had to be, it could be nothing else.

Yet, he could not deny...

...The thought had crossed his mind. It was impossible for the thought to not cross his mind, for all which strangely maternal affection was given to him from this woman, she was not his mother...

...And she was entirely beautiful.

His eyes dropped from her, as he allowed himself a breath, composure brought back to his features, as he allowed himself a moment to reorientate himself, as unexpected as it had been, he should not have... what was wrong with him? Her words continued to flow through the silent room, even distracted as he was, he would not be able to ignore it, even if he wanted, which he certainly did not.

Yet, he was still distracted, thoughts aflutter, broken not by his banishment of them, but by a petite hand wrapping themselves around his own, red eyes snapped to them, as the blood rushed to his cheeks, "Srin-... Your Imperial Majesty... I..." What could he possibly say? His thoughts of temptation had been only for what she wore around her neck... but now...

...He had never seen her neck in such light, so pale...

His heart hammered against his chest, his mouth dried, he had not the singlest notion of what to say, let alone do... for all which he had claimed for the conflict within him between honour and duty, here he sat, musing at the compromisation of both.

...It would not be the first time he had done such a thing.

To think of yourself a good person, and so willingly throw yourself to temptation, that was his sin, his flaw, and as much as he might have made allowances, justified, was he so willing to give himself unto this, for all the ruin it would bring about to him, and all those he loved?

The fact that he could not easily answer that question troubled he more than he could ever put into words.

He blinked, as she explained why she sent them away, stilling the raging thoughts of a compromised man... had she meant...?

The blush stormed upon his face, as he gently pried her fingers off his hands, moving to the tea which her eyes had indicated, desperately hoping to conceal that which had been plainly evident upon his face. How had he been so foolish to seriously consider that possibility? That which by all rights was impossibility.

The steam of the tea brushed his features, as he took it and poured two cups, eyes closed, as he breathed, forcing face to adapt as he had been trained all his life to act as if nothing was wrong.

He turned, bringing them both back, laying them on the nearby bedside cabinet, even in his embarrassment, taking in all that she spoke, for it was an impossibility all of its own to not be enraptured by her words.

"...It is not my right to be cross with you, yet, it is my duty to protect you, such that I will remain by your side until you have no need of me and send me away," He breathed whatever confusion that whirled within him buttressed and broken against the reality of what was here, even as his heart sang... he had never thought she would be as him, feeling trapped when bedridden, "My duty would compel me to silence those who speak against you, whoever they might be, wherever they might be," Somewhere within that confusion, had made itself evident, "...Yet, until you give me such order, what is it that you would like to speak of?"

Beyond what private thoughts had come to the fore... he did have greater purpose of his own to come here... but that had already waited weeks, it could wait minutes more.

Srina Talon