Ask This World of Mine

[Asminys]

Eiattu 6, Royal Palace
The Throne Room​

Darth Asminys sat on the throne that once belonged to a weak old man. The same man who now languished in the palace's dungeon. His takeover of the planet had been a swift triumph, with a bare amount of blood shed. Two ships captured for his fleet and the surrender of the planet's military had been assured with the capture of the king and his daughter. His only regret was not being there to see the old man's face himself when the Sith strike team had breached through the large stained glass windows of the throne room.

The room itself was a bit drafty, the window still empty though it had been cleaned of jagged edges, glass swept away and discarded like the old elite that had ruled this world. Orders were in place for the replacement of the window, as well as fortification of the entire palace, its old defenses quite clearly inadequate with how swiftly they had fallen to his assault force.

Since the invasion, Darth Asminys had been inactive on the galactic scale, his focus on consolidating his power one Eiattu. A crown and a throne was one thing, but the hearts and minds of people were not so easily swayed except through compassion or through force.

Darth Asminys had never been accused of possessing great compassion.

Sweeping executive orders had begun to reshape the planet overnight as he molded it to his liking. He valued strength and ingenuity above all else, and would see those that possessed it rise to power in his government. Duels for title, status, and holdings had reshaped the nobility as the young, brave and bloodthirsty took the reins from the aging aristocracy. A mandatory military service period had been implemented, mercenaries hired to whip the drafted portions of the population into fighting shape. Industry had been retooled for the production of arms and war materials.

Resistance crushed by his iron fist.

With his hold of Eiattu now firm, Darth Asminys' predatory eyes were once again turned outwards to the galaxy. His thirst for conquest barely quenched. His hunger for blood and battle no longer sated.

The rumblings of preparations for battle elsewhere had reached the solitary Darth's ears during his own workings. A rising star within the Sith Order, one Darth Stolas was eyeing the galaxy with a prospective eye that Asminys could appreciate. He had yet to meet the man, only seen the pretty Darth dance with the ice-eyed Darth Raze on Sullust after their victory on Ajan Kloss. He knew the young Morgan had led the strike team intended to capture the old king of this planet, a conflict of conquest that Darth Asminys hoped to smooth over with the meeting he had invited the other Sith Lord to.

And if not... Well then things would settle themselves.

Darth Asminys sat on the throne as he awaited the arrival of the other Darth. He wore his typical garb, black tunic, pants, and boots loose enough to be comfortable but tight enough to not get in the way during a duel. Lightsabers clipped to his belt at each side of his waist, one leg stretched out from the throne, his other foot planted on the seat of the throne itself as he leaned back in the hard chair, elbow propped on his knee with his chin resting on his fist. He wore no crown, for no man on Eiattu now doubted his right to rule the planet, or if they did they dared not to voice it even behind his back.

 

[Darth Stolas]

From the sky flew a trio of ships, a Kathol courier flanked by two Starblades from Storm Squadron. Together dropped from the clouds an angled approach toward Eiattu's palace along the same trajectory as the last time Stolas had flown a ship on the planet. This time at least the speed was far more reasonable. The young Lord's preferred vessel was still in the works, so the courier would have to do for the time being.

The ships made for the courtyard rather than the royal hangar, seeing as ithad been bombarded to rubble during the assault and was still in the process of being repaired. Palace communications were informed of the Darth's arrival and where, not bothering to apologize for unusual landing location. The reworked security would just have to deal with it. The courier did at least land away from any un-bombarded bushes and things in an open space, so that was nice.

Stolas stepped down the ramp dressed, of course, in his armour. Pant legs were tucked into his boots and the stylish mantle was draped neatly over his shoulders, lightsaber and petar clipped to the leather belt over his obi sash. While Morgan and the work he'd done in the background was certainly not widely known even amongst the Sith, Stolas had garnered attention both for his aggressive throne room landing and the destruction of several ships on Ajan Kloss shortly before he'd taken the title of Sith Lord.

Morgan felt little need to conceal as much of himself these days, although the more clandestine work was still kept quiet. Loose lips and all that.

Black boots took him up the steps of the palace, a pair of Deneb droids walking up alongside him while the two starfighters began to lazily circle the palace, running passive scans on the area. Both machines followed him through the door and stopped beside the guards inside, leaving Stolas to approach the throne on his own. He stopped at a very polite two and a half or so meters from the throne looking seat and offered Asminys a very slight bending of the waist and nod of the head in greeting.

"Asminys," he spoke from behind the helmet's modulator, "You look uncomfortable."

@Arclight

 

[Asminys]

The roar of starship engines echoed through the throne room, a courtesy of Darth Stolas' previous redecorating. Asminys idly wondered if the Sith Lord wouldn't just land in the throne room once more. The idea certainly had a style factor to it. Or he could fly into the throne room and lay waste to the throne upon which Darth Asminys sat, an idea that earned a slight pause in the Sith Lord's thoughts as he glared at the yawning hole in his new palace's defenses, relaxing only when one of the engine pitches died and an aide hustled to inform him that Darth Stolas had landed in the courtyard.

Darth Asminys waited for Darth Stolas to arrive, his mind and ears tracking the locations of the two starfighters that circled the palace by the sound of the engine and the presence of the living men that piloted them. He wasn't left waiting long however as the large doors to the throne room opened, letting the stylish Lord move into the room. The Deneb droids that guarded the Sith Lord stopped at the door, taking position next to their mirror in the form of Asminys' own droids, which were painted a sleek black.

"Stolas." Asminys echoed the other Lord, his own voice unfiltered by the touch of a machine. His eyes burned with a slow simmering malice as they took a moment to examine the Sith Lord who stood before him. The Lord who danced. He remembered the scene of Emryc and the man on the dance floor on Sullust, their bodies intertwined. He matched that man to the man before him, an easy fit. The thought of dancing with the man fluttered through Asminys mind, the hiss of crimson sabers and clash of sparks, before being dismissed by the Sith Lord. It wasn't time to dance.

"I am ill suited for comfort." He finally said in reply, setting both feet to the floor and rising from his chair to stand above Darth Stolas on the throne's raised dias. He took a step to the side, shifting his head to look at the throne for a moment while keeping Darth Stolas in view as he regarded the uncomfortable hard backed chair. "This chair was not designed for comfort either." He said as he turned his eyes back to the other Lord, wondering if the man had eyes for the chair.

Stepping down from the dias to stand slightly below Solas, Asminys faced him. "A good chair from which to view your handiwork however, perhaps you would like a seat." He said as he motioned crossbody towards the chair with his left, right hand resting just above the saber on his hip, his tone light but holding undertones of violence. He shook his head after a brief second however. "Rumor has it that you have greater ambitions." The corner of his lip tugged upwards into what might be a grin. He was referring to the rumors he had heard of Stolas' plans, but he also knew there were likely even grander ambitions hiding behind that mask.

@Mr. Teatime

 

[Darth Stolas]

The impassive mask of Darth Stolas regarded Asminys as he stood, barely moving at all while the muscular man spoke. His new throne did look particularly uncomfortable, hard and straight by design. Stolas' visor remained trained vaguely on Asminys when he referenced the throne, body calmly and casually still, fully as if he belonged in exactly the space he was standing in. The young Lord's head tilted ever so slightly to the left.

"I prefer my own throne," was his answer, voiced tinged lightly with amusement. Morgan's preferred seat was far more comfortable than that stone thing the old Eiattu king had planted himself in, instead gilded silver and gold and with arms as wide and strong as great mountains. His line of thought brought a fanged grin before the mask. "Thank you for the offer." Stolas waved a hand as if to wave away any thought of competing with Asminys for any kind of throne, quite disinterested. That wasn't why he was here.

"Of course." An unambitious man wouldn't have made the choice to fly a modified dropship directly into the throne room. Morgan had likely significantly shortened the invasion time with that maneuver, he and Malicia forcing a surrender from the royal family. All for the best considering the mood he'd been in. Imprisonment in his own dungeon was the least of the horrors that might have been inflicted on the former king.

"What of yours?" The visor remained locked on Asminys like the eyes of a hawk, one hand coming up to lazily indicate the room the chamber the two Sith stood in.

"This can't be your goal."

@Arclight

 

[Asminys]

Asminys watched his fellow Sith Lord as he remained still, eyes taking in every subtle movement or lack thereof. It was good that the man had no interest, it meant they could work together freely with only a marginal amount of paranoia. Unless he was lying, but Asminys did not believe that was so.

"Not my goal, no." Asminys nodded as Darth Stolas waved his hand, Asminys keeping his visor's gaze. "Only the first step of the dance." His lip twitched in that slight smile again. The comment amused him as his first sight of Stolas had been to see him dance. Turning his back to the man, Asminys returned to his throne, sitting on the arm and planting his booted foot on the seat. "The first rung on the ladder"

"I believe it is customary for a ruler to offer his guest refreshments." Asminys said as he waved towards a side door from the throne and a protocol droid entered carrying a tray with tea and small snacks. It would come to a stop a few steps from Stolas before holding the tray out. Asminys watched to see how the other Lord would react to the sudden, hospitality, he believed it was called. The rules of power in the galaxy were strange indeed. He would take a cup of tea from the tray when the droid reached him.

"The King who sat here before was a coward." He said as he took a sip of his tea, some strange leaf water from a local grower. He was told it was expensive. "Many who rule in the galaxy are cowards. The Republic. The Free World Alliance..." He listed the incompetent governments that sought to rule the galaxy with a passive hand before uttering a more controversial government, in present company, "The Sith." Perhaps Darth Stolas would go running to the Eternal to tell of his words, but Asminys doubted he held any love for their brilliant leader.

@Mr. Teatime

 

[Darth Stolas]

Stolas never appeared to look away, remaining quite still beneath Asminys' gaze. His kind's nature as a hunters bled through here as he appraised the other man. That tiny, momentary smile of his, the way he sat anew on his chair, the tone of voice as he spoke, the somewhat unfamiliar way he said the word 'refreshment'. Even the way he stood was catalogued and compared with judgements made.

All behind the blank face of the mask. He also noted the throne room contained only two living being, Asminys and Stolas.

The helmet turned slightly toward the droid as it approached followed by gloves hands coming up to the helmet itself. Side panels and mandible plates loosened and moved outward with a hiss of pressurized air. It was lifted from the young man's head and handed to some droid attendant of his.

Quite unlike the mask the golden eyes that had been hidden behind were sharp, a pair of gilded daggers that wouldn't be out of place on a hawk. They were intense and analytical and although they didn't look angry it would be a stretch to call his expression friendly. Slender fingers of his right hand took hold of one of the cups of tea without a glance toward it, the other hand running through hair that had been slightly moved from its place by the helmet he wore before settling back in place.

Morgan briefly smelled the tea before taking a light sip. He refused the snacks for the moment. "This is so," he agreed simply, an eyebrow raising slightly. The Republic was well known for its history of self serving bureaucrats and sluggish pace, a legacy of failure that they had still yet to recover from. The Free Worlds were something of an improvement but they too had yet to get things done in a manner the young Sith appreciated. Meanwhile a masked figure ran the Sith and apparently only bothered to emerge from their fortress when it was directly attacked.

"And?"

@Arclight