Foreshadowing: The Dark Lord

[Raif]

Royston stood in the sparring chamber, tightening the belt of his training uniform for the hundredth time as he fought to control a very uncharacteristic bout of nervousness.

It wasn't every day that you spent one-on-one time with The Dark Lord of the Sith, after all. As a Dark Councilor, of course, he had more access to the Barabel than most, but he had never really capitalized on it before. In fact, the Spymaster and the former Warmaster hadn't really interacted much at all. For the most part, what was going on in that cold, reptilian brain was a mystery to Spektor.

It was about time to shed a bit of light on that mystery.

And so Royston had requested a private sparring session with the Dark Lord, a privilege that was his to utilize as a Dark Councilor. If nothing else, Roy's saber game would get a bit of work, something he could surely benefit from given that he wasn't busy with Vica's training anymore.


If things went according to plan, though, better skill with a blade would be the least of the benefits from this meeting. You see, Royston Spektor was beginning to play a very dangerous game, one in which Darth Vereor was an as-yet-unwitting competitor or obstacle, and so the Spymaster needed to pick his brain a bit.

As the saying goes: know your enemy as you know yourself

 

[Rom]

Moving through the dark halls of the Anaxes Palace like a wraith, Darth Vereor silently considered the training room he was approaching, and the man waiting within. Royston Spektor. One time paramour of a young Andraste, now the returned Spymaster of the New Sith Imperium... and if the reports he received from Palace security were true, a jilted lover of the dark Empress. And apparently, a man very much interested in having a private meeting with the Dark Lord of the Sith.

"Caw!!"

"Hush, feathered friend. The point in this one moving quietly iz to arrive without being followed by that nuicsance this one callz an Assistant. If that droid findz us, this one will have you broiled and served for the morning meal."

"Caw." The answering call was quiet and subdued.


The message had come in the dead of night, held by the large black Raven currently perched regally on his shoulder.

'Come alone. Bring your weapons. We have much to discuss.'

And so he followed the bird to this secluded corner of the sprawling castle that had served as his home since the... victory at Coruscant a decade previous. He was dressed in his usual armor, the smooth lined silver burnished with red and gold glinting in the gathered gloom.

The Barabel twitched his tail out behind him in a characteristic expression of anticipation, the usually collected Spymasters apprehension filling the air with a barely perceptible tang of fear.

"Good evening, Royston.... an interesting choice in message bearer. Quite the conversationalist on the way down."

 

[Raif]

Royston turned before Vereor revealed himself by speaking, alerted to his superior's presence thanks to his familiar relationship with Mortimer. It was one of the few benefits that had come from his time imprisoned by the Galactic Alliance, aside from the companionship of the bird himself of course.

The Spymaster smiled broadly at the Barabel, his Force presence masked as always and his physical demeanor exuding nothing but polite bravado. Although, given the fact that this particular reptilian species had a history of being confounded by human social body language, it may have been wasted effort. Better safe than sorry, of course. The suave man gave a deep bow, then snapped his fingers and called the raven to his wrist.

"My Lord, I thank you for the honor of granting my request. I apologize for the skullduggery, but I'm afraid it's a bit hard for an old akk to unlearn his very old tricks."

Royston pivoted, motioning with arm that Morty was perched upon toward the sparring mat behind him.

"I was hoping, my Lord, that you may honor me further with a bit of a sparring session. Despite my oh so fierce reputation and astounding battlefield track record--"

The sarcasm was practically dripping from the man's tongue, though he smiled with an obvious bit of self-deprecating humor.

"--I've found myself a bit out of practice with the blade, recently."

Not even close to being true, of course, thanks to his frequent one-on-one training sessions with Vica over the last few months. No, not those kind of training sessions...

"I thought perhaps, given your vastly superior skill at dismembering people, you may be willing to show me a thing or two."

Without a word Morty flew over toward a rack of training sabers and even their much older - and more painful - predecessors, the wooden bokken. Next to the weapons rack was a shelf of sparring uniforms, or gi, similar to what Royston was wearing.

"So what do you say, boss? I figure we can chat a bit while you're beating me bloody, get to know each other a bit better. After all, despite how ludicrous this is to consider, given both of our service records, we've never really served together before."

Royston grinned mischievously as he stepped onto the mat, reaching out with the Force to grab one of the wooden bokken.

"That is, if you're not scared of a little snake-in-the-grass like me."

Royston laughed, spinning the wooden training sword from side to side as he loosened up his shoulders. He looked relaxed and confident on the inside...but in truth, he just hoped he could keep this monster from knocking him unconscious before he learned anything noteworthy. Getting a being like Vereor to open up, though, meant getting him to relax a bit. And how to get Vereor to relax? Please, Royston does this stuff for a living...it was relatively simple.

Give him a good fight. It's what he lived for.

 

[Rom]

Vereor smirked as he silently began to shed the layers of armor that covered his body, the heavy thud of his breastplate hitting the stone floor echoing around the sparring chamber. After a few minutes of unbuckling and removing pieces of ammo, the Barabel grunted as he began to stretch, small pops running up his spine and neck as he released tension and moved to join Royston on the sparring mat. A gesture and absentminded pull with his mind brought two smooth wooden bokken floating through the air into his clawed hands and he dropped into a relaxed well practiced stance; the right bokken held diagonally across his chest, the left held in a reverse grip behind his back.

The Dark Lord made for an intimidating sight; six feet tall, blood red eyes that caught the light like a nocturnal predator, corded muscle beneath an impenetrable layer of scarred obsidian scales, and a heavy whip like tail that thrashed out behind him in a show of anticipation.

"It iz indeed true that we have not had as much interaction as one would expect, considering our positionz. By this one'z understanding, your rise to prominence came after this onez disappearance, and while this ones return coincided with your own. This one has actually been looking to speak with you about a few recent events.. your behavior at the ball, and afterward, for example."

The tone of his voice had moved from jocular, friendly even, to a cold hiss that promised a severe beating or worse if his questions were not answered to his satisfaction.

"This one scared, Spymaster? What a silly question." The mirth in his voice would be enough to send a chill down the other man's spine. The Barabel moved with a grace that spoke of decades of combat experience, moving into range with a quick step before pivoting to his right, the left bokken whipping around at neck level while the Barabel's tail swept in low at the knees.

 

[Raif]

"My behavior, my Lord?"

Royston raised an eyebrow at the Barabl at the same time that he raised his bokken up in a traditional opening stance for Form II. The Spymaster was honestly a bit surprised that the Dark Lord wanted to talk about the ball, of all things. He'd tied a few on, of course, but nothing major had happened. And the whole glass incident...that was just shoddy quality from the manufacturer of course.

"Was my revelry a bit too raucous, Darth Vereor? I'm afraid I was raised in a more 'informal' setting, it would seem..."

Roy thought back to Silas, and Thaed. Yeah, 'informal' was the nice way to put it.

As the humanoid reptile started his attack, Roy reacted almost instantly, the way Varek and Apollo had taught him so long ago. He jumped backwards, arching his body slightly as his just managed to get out reach of both the blade and the tail. As soon as his feet touched down, he launched himself back the way he'd come, his bokken stabbing forward like a striking viper towards Vereor's chest, looking to slip past his defense if he could. The wooden training sword wasn't exactly designed for the stab-and-parry style that Roytson often used, but it would do for now.

 

[Rom]

The Barabel continued his pivot, the right blade tip dragging against the floor before sweeping up across his body to parry the retaliatory thrust toward his chest to the side. Planting his right foot and bending his knee, the Barabel reared back and kicked his left foot toward Royston's chest while the spymasters bokken was pushed off to the side and jumped backward out of range, using his right leg and/or Royston's chest as a springboard for his movement.

"Your drunken antics are not the subject of this one's interest. This one was more referring to your treatment of the Guards and the property damage within the Empress' wing."

Though Royston was the Spymaster, he would soon learn that there was little that occurred within the Imperial Palace that the Dark Lord was not aware of.

 

[Raif]

Royston wasn't surprised that his thrust had been countered by the Dark Lord. The Spymaster wasn't exactly fighting for all he was worth; it was a foolish man indeed who tipped his hand too early in the game, after all.

The reptilian foot connected solidly with his chest, and as the Barabel leapt backward, Roy was violently kicked backward and landed solidly on his rear.

Getting quickly to his feet, Roy comically rubbed at his now-sore ass cheek and gave his superior a curious look. As he began speaking he walked smoothly forward, spiraling his motion slightly to Vereor's left. He moved like a jungle cat, his balance moving perfectly from the heel, then ball, then toe of one foot seamlessly to the other.

He couldn't help a slightly cheeky grin, if for no other reason than to provide a physical counter to the cold rage that he kept locked up inside any time he spoke of the Empress.

"I shall let you in on perhaps the most poorly-kept secret in the Palace, my Lord; the Empress and I have been...romantically involved in the past. The evening you're referring to was the most recent of such dalliances. For the guards you speak of, I am sorry that I allowed my temper to get the better of me for a moment; I'm sure you know as well as I that they were not harmed. In fact, I barely touched them - but before you say it, you're correct of course; my behavior was unacceptable, and I will apologize to the guards involved - formally, if you so desire."

Roy had to use every bit of his considerable physical control to make his features appear sly and even a bit jovial. In fact, this topic of conversation made him wish to vomit.

"As for the damage in her chambers, well...you'll have to speak with the Empress about most of that. She can be a very...excitable woman."

Of course, what he meant by 'excitable' was 'absolutely bat shit crazy.'

But Royston couldn't say that to Vereor - at least, not until he had the big lizard figured out a bit better.

"I must admit, my Lord, I am surprised that you're interesting in Her Grace's...activities in such a manner."

Just as he finished speaking, Roy would suddenly lunge forward toward his sparring partner. He would feint high and then immediately go low, looking to land a stinging blow to the sensitive flesh of the inner thigh of whichever of Vereor's legs was closest.

 

[Rom]

"Point to this one."

The comment was unnecessary, seemingly serving no purpose but to remind the Spymaster that his first offensive move had been firmly countered, but Vereor had always been one to observe the rules of a Fighting Circle with almost religious reverence; a practice hearkening to his youth in the training caverns of Barab I. He couldn't prevent a slight hiss of laughter at the affable Sith comically taking care of his 'wound', but the cold and dispassionate look may as well have been carved from stone.

Vereor silently matched the Spymaster's movements with a spiraling movement to the right, stepping with him in a smooth motion to create a ring of tension in the center of the room. His eyes were narrowed, whether in thought or concentration, and his blades were held loosely with the tips pointed towards the roof and angled slightly over his shoulders.

"This one would indeed like for you to apologize. You may not have physically touched them, but if you remember you grabbed them, threw them into the wall with the Force, and held them there as you demanded for the Empress to allow you in. This one haz already reviewed the helmet camera footage, so do not bother to deny it. This one expectz to see you deliver a full apology to those men; they are loyal soldiers. They did not ask for that posting, and this one will not seem them punished for an unlucky draw."

Vereor continued his reply calmly as he swiftly stepped to his right and turned so he was standing perpendicular to Royston, his blades already swinging down to again parry the strike aimed at where his legs used to be.

"You may be aware of this with your... close relationship to the Emprezz, but she used to be this one'z Apprentice... and Clan. Before this one'z disappearance and her... ascension, it wouldn't be wrong to characterize our bond as paternal. Though she is no longer the sweet and resourceful girl she once was, this one does care about who she used to be."

His words were measured and precise, though for the briefest moment a look had crossed his face that spoke of great anguish and guilt. He did not attempt to strike at the other Darth, he merely pressed hard against their met blades and disengaged, ready to counter any strike the Spymaster made while considering the Dark Lords revelation.

 

[Raif]

Royston wasn't disheartened by the ease with which the Dark Lord parried his strike; fighting wasn't ever going to be the Spymaster's strong suit, after all. Besides, he was much more interested in the verbal sparring that was beginning than the physical.

Roy sketched a quick bow once Vereor stepped back.

"I shall apologize at once, my Lord - you may consider it done."

Roy then settled back into his fencing stance, his right hand holding his blade straight up in the air before him, the tip lowered slightly to face the Barabel. His other hand was grasped at the small of his back. His weight was balanced perfectly between his leading and trailing legs, standing slightly on the balls of his feet.

"It seems we have more in common than I first thought, my Lord - however, I haven't had the good fortune of seeing that sweet girl you referenced in...quite some time."

Roy took one lunging step forward, but it was a feint and the Spy immediately pulled back to a safe distance. He was just probing Vereor's defenses, in more ways than one, to see how the big lizard was likely to react. Roy grinned good-naturedly at his command authority, though in truth the topic of their conversation made him want to do anything but smile.

"It raises an interesting question, my Lord. Though it may be more hypothetical than you're used to, I hope you'll play along anyway: given that you have a rather rich history with Her Grace the Empress, I think you could bring interesting insight to the subject."

Roy lunged again but radically modified his trajectory before he was close enough to strike. Rather than stab toward Vereor's chest, as his original lunge had set him on course to do, Roy dropped to slide on his knees, changing the way he gripped his bokken to aim a sweeping slash at the Dark Lord's legs. Whether he landed the blow or not, Roy would immediately throw his momentum into a roll over his off-handed shoulder, putting distance between himself and his target and popping back onto his feet in the area that had previously been to Vereor's right rear flank.

"The question is this, my Lord: if you hadn't known the Empress this entire time, would you even recognize the woman today as the same as the girl from the past? After all, the rate at which her power has grown, it's almost like they're two different people. It's...extraordinary."

Roy would have much rather spoken about how her bat shit craziness had grown - and he definitely had a different word in mind than extraordinary - but he couldn't speak quite that freely.

Not yet, at least.

 

[Rom]

Vereor closed his eyes as the words of the Spymaster echoed within his head, the movements of wood cutting through the air and cloth fluttering with the force of the man's movements remaining constant in his senses, but faded; relegated to the area of primal instinct and reflex in his mind that did not need to be commanded to act. He did not react to the probing feints nor the sliding strike at his legs, simply flipping himself forward over the blow and standing with his back facing the recovering Spymaster, his bokken held loosely at his side as he silently pondered the question.

'Would this one recognize little Niphredil?'

Eyes filled with curiosity and joy at the simplest of telekinetic manipulations flashed across his minds eye, chased by eyes of yellowed sulfur that burned with hatred and sheer nothingness surrounded by stretched, cracked grey flesh. Laughter, clear and ringing in both volume and intensity filled his ears before being blown away by the hollow reediness of a voice no longer able to laugh with anything but cruel aggression and apathy. Intelligence and cunning mixed with a refreshing naivety was replaced with cold calculation, driven and hellbent on the next destructive blast of power and the fix of darker emotions and madness.

A silver blossom grew into full bloom, shifted into a form of red streaked glass, and then shattered within his hands, the progression of the young girl he had come to love as a daughter to the woman she was now repeating in each jagged fragment.

The clatter of solid wood against stone reached the Spymaster as the bokken clenched in his left hand fell from his boneless grip to the floor, the clawed hands reaching gently for a small pouch on his utility belt that held the one and only remnant he had from Andrastes youth; a glass dahlia blossom shaped by the Force and presented to a scary man with a tail from a little girl who would gladly shed her own blood before drawing anyone else's. His claws stopped just short of the gift and clenched as he looked down at the training mat, his appearance solid as always but seemingly bowed just slightly from the weight of his thoughts.

"She iz no the same girl that this one trained...."

 

[Raif]

Royston leapt quickly back up to his feet, a look of confusion on his face. The way Vereor was speaking, the way he was reacting...it was not what Roy had been expecting. Not by a long shot.

He had come to this little gathering expecting to meet a being who would stand between Roy and his ultimate goal. Now, though, with everything that he was seeing and hearing...

Was it possible? Could Vereor possibly be a help rather than a hindrance?

Roy knew that Vereor and Andraste were close thanks to their Master-Apprentice relationship, but he had never for a moment thought that the Dark Lord could have found himself in the same mental quandary that the Spymaster was currently dealing with. This was impossible, or at the very least extraordinarily unlikely, and yet...here they were.

Roy knew he couldn't hesitate, couldn't stop to ponder his next move. He had to trust his own instincts, and he had to trust the Force.

"The difference is striking, yes...and not necessarily for the better."

Roy didn't let this near-traitorous comment linger uninterrupted for long, of course, instead rushing forward with his words.

"It's an interesting mental exercise, to be honest, to imagine them as two different beings altogether. You could even potentially come to the conclusion that one is...gone. Never to return."

Royston stood, balanced on the balls of feet with his bokken held loosely in his right hand. He wasn't making any sort of approach toward the Dark Lord, preferring to continue this battle on the verbal sparring field.

"And the one that's left...well, maybe she's overstayed her welcome."

The Spymaster was as tense as a coiled spring, ready to flee the reptilian being at the slightest provocation. What Roy had just said...it couldn't be unsaid. Despite controlling the surveillance devices that were hidden all over the building, Roy surged the area with a pulse of Force energy, frying any listening device in the area. He would take no chances with this impromptu recruitment drive.

"Hypothetically speaking...of course."

 

[Rom]

The rush of power that buffeted the Spymaster was sudden and unstoppable, a telekinetic burst slamming into his chest with enough force to crack bone and slamming him backwards into the far wall where he was held in the grip of the Dark Lord's power, pressure building on his airway and pain filling his mind. The Barabel turned and regarded his sparring partner, his head cocked to the side in a considering manner as he slowly stalked forward, looking every inch the predatory fighter Royston feared standing against. Red slitted eyes met blue, and all the air seemed to flood out of the room, leaving the two in silent contemplation of the other.

'Is he correct? Is there truly nothing left of the young woman who had once been the greatest product of my teachings, and had once been the source of my pride...?'

As the thoughts rebounded against each other in his head, the reptilian Sith knew that if he looked at all the facts and his own observations since the Devastation of Coruscant, there was only one conclusion.

Vereor kept the pressure of his power on the Spymaster's body for a moment longer, pausing to enjoy the brief surge of pain and panic as the ache in his ribs grew and the lack of breath caused spots to dance over his vision, and then without a word or gesture released the Clawdite, allowing him to fall limply to the floor. He stepped forward and stood over the Spymaster, as if judging him for a crime, before reaching an arm down and hauling Royston up with a harsh grip on his shoulder.

"And you are this one'z Spymaster? You call that subtle? This one haz been dealing with the bureaucrats and sychophantz at Court for a decade now, Darth Tarak.... you'll need to be more careful in the future if you begin searching for additional conspirators.."

 

[Raif]

Royston managed to instinctively throw up anything he could in terms of a Force barrier to block the incoming assault. It was barely enough to prevent the force of Vereor's telekinetic blow from flattening his chest, and as such his body felt almost the full force of his body's collision with the wall of the training room.

A sound burst forth from his mouth, his jaw clenched tight before the sudden sound. But it wasn't a cry of pain or anger...

It was a laugh. Roy's response to the attack and admonishment was to laugh out loud. He quickly got himself back under control, though, rising to his feet and wiping a bit of blood from the corner of his mouth. Apparently he'd bit his cheek. Wonderful.

The Spymaster then gave the Dark Lord a hurt look. It wasn't a very serious or convincing look.

"Lord Vereor, you wound me with your words."

Roy gave a shallow bow as he continued.

"I have been doing this off and on - quite successfully I might add - for a very long time. I have long ago learned to read a situation, and the people in the situation, and make quick but accurate decisions. I decided that you and I were of very similar thought about a great deal of things."

Roy brought his hands back to his sides, looping his thumbs loosely in the belt of the training uniform. He grinned broadly at the Dark Lord.

"Besides, if I'd been wrong about you, my secret weapon back there would have taken care of the situation."

Roy nodded his chin over Vereor's shoulder, where Mortimer the Space Raven was perched very near the Barabel's equipment belt...and lightsabers. The bird's beady eyes seemed to shift from the large reptilian Sith to the activation stud on the nearest blade, his taloned feet shifting ever closer.

Had that mad bastard Royston taught his bird to use a lightsaber? There was no way...was there? Was Vereor willing to risk it?

Secret Weapon! -- Morty cawed loudly while shouting the threat.

Royston started laughing again, this time at how absurd this whole situation was. He hoped Vereor had a sense of humor---

---Or else Morty would kill them all. That bird was ****ing crazy.