Queen&Marquesa, Executioner&Cataphract

[Lord_S_Gray]

So they survived, if only just, and are in no doubt that Zearic himself is a specific target, and they even have a little edge in that as he correctly deduces they were not expecting him to survive...but at what price?

Jorya had to draw deeply on those shards whose only reason for allowing her was self preservation - a powerful motive to be sure - but I wonder what effect that will have on Jorya long term, she has precedent in slightly overestimating her abilities (arguably part of the reason why she ended up the vessel in the first place, her 'breaking' of rules in prior stories related to delving and other mental abilities) - is she gaining ground against them or are they just becoming more an inextricable part of her rather than an infection - that is has this deeper connection necessitated by circumstances accelerated and strengthened the bonding of the shard into her own psyche?

The nature of such a bond is already strange and twisted as Dutch vividly portrays - has she saved her father but doomed herself.

And that Cataphract armour has some nifty features, making the wearer damn tough to bring down.

[TheDutchman]

Chapter 5: Wounds, Old&New, part I
As D'Aylanna hung suspended in the dark corners of the ship's hold, she vacillated between consciousness and twilight, her dripping blood the only sound that echoed within the space.

She was beaten, but worse, she was broken.  Of body, of mind, but mostly of spirit.  For as bruised and battered as she was, it was the pain within that was the most significant, suffering that she herself was responsible for.

Stocking-foot toes hung half a meter above the deck plating, the mag-binders around her wrists and ankles suspending the diminutive Hapan master aloft in the magnetic prison.

There, alone in the darkness, prisoner in both body and mind, D'Aylanna dreamed.

And remembered.

          <<<<< >>>>>

Even as deep in the dream as she was, D'Aylanna thought of herself as she did in the here-and-now, as "D'Aylanna" and not as she was then as "Il'liyanav."

Irrespective of such, the memory of her life played out before her as she'd lived it, even the details that she'd consciously forgotten.

Then as now, she had to fight.  Life was struggle.  It was as universal a truth as the constant light bathing Hapes Prime.

And a lesson that D'Aylanna had learned early and well.

Looking from both corners of he eyes, D'Aylanna knew that the four of them had her surrounded, their blunted crystalline foils held at the ready, the golden&black armor of House Royal reflecting the determined resentment in each of their faces.

Precisely where she wanted and expected them.

Faster than any of her opponents could react, D'Aylanna threw one of her black gloves at the eyes of the woman in front of her.  Distracted, the woman had no chance against D'Aylanna's precise throat jab which--with a swift motion she grabbed her foil--she then maneuvered into a hip toss, throwing the armored woman bodily into the approaching opponent on her right flank.  Hurling the confiscated foil expertly at the next nearest opponent, she rushed inwards just as the other woman deflected the improvised missile away.

Which gave D'Aylanna all the time that she needed to get inside the other woman's defenses and, with a quick strike with her palm, dropped her opponent insensate to the ground.

Now it was one-on-one.

Both women each had a crystalline foil in their hand, burnished gold&black armor untarnished by any strike.  And while they both possessed similarities--blue hair, regal features, dark skin--they were also quite different.  Most tellingly, the woman was taller than D'Aylanna with a longer reach yet she clearly was on the defensive.  Surrounding them was an entourage of several important women of House Royal, each spectator taking bets on who would act next and win.

D'Aylanna did not hesitate.  Striking hard and fast, she worked against her opponent's foil furiously, each cut barely parried as she flowed from one offensive kata to the next.  Her opponent was good, very good.

But D'Aylanna was better.

The young woman lasted all of a minute before D'Aylanna disarmed her, followed by a quick kick to the woman's solar plexus.  Gasping for air, the woman was violently propelled backwards before she landed, hard, on her back.  She'd no sooner blinked before her eyes stared in dazed confusion at the blunted tip of the foil a bare centimeter in front of her.

Still, the woman smiled.  "Check." She wheezed through her perfect teeth before succumbing to a coughing fit.

Holding a small hand out to help the woman up, D'Aylanna smiled not unkindly.  "Checkmate." She corrected.  Clasping hands before standing, the other woman barked a laugh, coughing again.

"A cliché to the very end, Sestranya." The woman's soft tone was fond.  Slowly inhaling, her breathing began to normalize.  As for the three other women...

"I see that you still rely upon Hapan, cousins." D'Aylanna's eyes flashed, a wicked bent to her lips.  "Perhaps now you'll let me teach you some Nar Kanji or Teräs Käsi." She offered.  With varying degrees of shame, amazement, and scorn, the three other women were uncharacteristically quiet.  D'Aylanna expected nothing less.

Hapan, the creatively named martial art that every woman in House Royal had to master, was but a single form of hand-to-hand combat that D'Aylanna practiced.  Unlike her Sestranyas, she did not dismiss anything alien simply because it was "not Hapan."

"I think, Sestranya, that they believe they do not need any such knowledge." The woman said, her voice stronger.  "After all, they are not nor will be Marquesa." The woman's dark eyes shined with amusement.  "Besides, aside from the lies that they'll tell to their mothers, I do not think that they shall disrespect you again.  At least not to your face." She wrapped a familiar arm around D'Aylanna's slender shoulders, drawing the smaller young woman into a hug.  "But I still wouldn't want to be you should you find yourself alone for the next week or so." Her hand pantomimed a blaster, pointing it at D'Aylanna.

For all the good that it did her.

"Please, A'Nyikka." Her tone was imperious.  "I have no more to fear from those sukas than I would a drunken maleling with three mynocks and half a brain." D'Aylanna sniffed.  "Not that such makes much of a difference for any male anyway..."

A'Nyikka quietly laughed, a pleasant sound.  "And this knowledge comes from your vast experience with them?" She cocked a perfectly manicured eyebrow.  "Or have I missed the news that the Queen Mother--may Her Radiance illuminate eternal--has bequeathed to you a concubine?"  She dipped her head closer to the shorter woman, her eyes narrowing as her voice lowered.  "...Or have you finally found an adequate stud to 'assist you with your release?'" Her smile became predatory.  "You naughty girl, Il'liyanav..."

D'Aylanna elbowed her in between her golden plated armor, face and tone indignant.  "You're disgusting!  I would never debase myself!" Her brown youthful cheeks were red with anger...and embarrassment.  She stared ahead, trying not to look abashed.  "...Besides, I'm too young."

This time when A'Nyikka laughed, it was a full throated roar.  "Oh, please!  My mother was younger than you when she married and she was 15!  'Too young!'  If you were anyone else, Ta'a Chume would've chosen you a consort already!" She sighed wistfully.  "...Well, I guess that's one of the benefits of being Marquesa: at least you get to have some say in your betrothed." She slowly shook her head, most of the women in the training hall looking at the two of them.  Especially E'Katerina and E'Llyona...but those two cousins had always been antagonistic.

Not that A'Nyikka cared; her cousin had been absolutely right in her assessment of them.  They were sukas.  Turning back her smile faltered as she noticed that the shorter woman's mood had changed, her demeanor frosty.

D'Aylanna's cold, impassive face stared straight ahead, her brow furrowing with each word.  Looking up from the corner of her eye, she whispered, "I didn't ask to be Marquesa." She bit out in clipped tones before stamping away.  A'Nyikka raised her hand after but knew it for the useless gesture that it was, regret from letting slip what she said beginning to fill her.

Filial relationships in House Royal were complicated under the best of circumstances.  After all, daughters were expected to take over from the their mothers while ruling their households with authority.  Obligation and duty were what was expected, no, required from each daughter.  And every single mother's intent was to make their daughters stronger than them.

As for love...well, that hardly ever even entered into the equation.  It was most certainly NOT a consideration; serendipitous at best and superfluous for the rest of the time.

Then there were those mothers that were truly terrible.  They made tyrants seem solicitous, bullies kind, and sociopaths empathetic.  They were constant in that any success was never good enough and that any failure was expected and deserved.

D'Aylanna's mother was all this and more.

Il'Alizaveta had been the former Marquesa, a petulant woman who felt that she'd had to toil through every single adversity that she'd encountered in life, nevermind the advantages that she'd been born into.  The weight of the Consortium had been thrust onto her shoulders by the Queen Mother herself, all expectation falling squarely on Ta'a Chume's only daughter.  For her, her life would be over one way or the other; she knew what the responsibilities of Empress would do to her and that the dictates of the office of the Queen Mother would be forever stifling.  That, and the violent nature that all Hapan women were born into: a lethal, classist, misandrist Social Darwinist society propagated to ensure "survival of the fittest."

In the Consortium, the stars were not the only things that burned that which faced them.  It was a future that Il'Alizaveta considered anathema, a life of drudgery not worth living; and even IF she lived, she would always have to watch for the knife in the shadows.

Or...

She could do what Every...Single...Member of House Royal would consider BEYOND abhorrent, a repugnant, disgustingly offensive and selfish decision that any other Hapan woman would rather die than commit... But what did she care?  Il'Alizaveta wanted what she wanted, the rest of House Royal (or anyone for that matter) be damned.

She chose to do the unthinkable.

In the middle of her investiture as Marquesa, Il'Alizaveta had announced her decision right then and there to abdicate, thrusting into the position her own (and only) daughter: Il'liyanav Lana’A D'Aylanna Vih'Torr.  It was also her intention to foist wholesale all of the House Royal intrigue onto her daughter's shoulders, to point the blasters at her back instead directly towards D'Aylanna's.

Without even a backwards glance--much less any words of comfort or support--Il'Alizaveta left Hapes Prime, having absconded with several pieces of House Royal's Rainbow-gem encrusted jewelry, presumedly to cover the costs of the opulent lifestyle that she felt she was entitled to.  That her daughter was but 14 mattered nothing to her.

Such a breech of duty, of trust, and commitment could not be permitted, not even by one--no, especially one--from the Queen Mother's direct line.  A message must be sent, and example must be made so that something so...so egregious would never occur again.

An assassin was dispatched with one main objective in mind: punish anyone foolish enough to disobey the Queen Mother and flaunt Hapan norms.  The recovery of the Rainbow gems wasn't even a consideration, although it was notable that the assassin did return with all but two of the stolen jewelry (those two had already been "cashed in" to pay for Il'Alizaveta's pleasures).  To say that the assassin had been successful in her work was an understatement; she'd brought back the severed head as the required verification along with the blood samples of Il'Alizaveta's confederates for gene-corroborating proof. 

There, kneeling before the Empress--may her Radiance illuminate eternal--in the Throne Room of the Fountain Palace, the assassin removed her helmet to the adulation and cheers of every single Hapan citizen in attendance.

Il'liyanav Lana’A D'Aylanna Vih'Torr, Il'Alizaveta's own daughter.

D'Aylanna rose at a gesture from the Queen Mother as she'd glided down the steps of the Prismatic Throne.  The Empress' face radiated a mix of triumph, arrogance, and shrewdness.  Towering over D'Aylanna, the Queen Mother had then done the unthinkable: she'd kissed her lips and proclaimed her as Marquesa, an explicit public display of favoritism.  Put simply, this was something that was not done.

Usually the young women of House Royal would vie for the position, won with great length, effort, and skill.  D'Aylanna certainly had been successful in her efforts and shown incredible skill, but to be declared Marquesa after so short a time? 

Unprecedented.

Of course, Ta'a Chume was a master at cunning and more machiavellian than any Chairperson of the Banking Guild.

From that day forward, D'Aylanna had a target painted on her back, but now courtesy of the Empress' favor.  Her reasons were twofold: first, to keep D'Aylanna from getting too popular (as a result of her incredible achievements, especially for one so young) and, second, to punish Il'Alizaveta vicariously.

Ta'a Chume was as vindictive as she was devious.

D'Aylanna was keenly aware of all of this and more.  It was the reason that she studied the many martial arts in addition to her Politics and Heritage education, the reason that she pushed herself in Weapons training, the motives that she memorize tactics&strategy from the galaxy's Great Warriors: Bastila Shan, Revan, the Mak'Tor Kage Ga'Len Chillum, and the Vhal'Dan Cataphract Triarch Nurhl Båz Rhadde.

Such knowledge was imperative when dealing with the machinations of House Royal.  And she would need all of the advantages that she could get.

With exception of A'Nyikka, D'Aylanna knew that every single Sestranya would hide the crystalblade behind her back as she hugged or congratulated her as Marquesa.

The trick with avoiding a trap was knowing when best to take advantage of it.

With her head rigid, she walked tall (or at least as tall as her 1.5m frame would allow) as she wrapped herself in the emotional armor that she'd adopted over the years, leaving the women--including A'Nyikka--of House Royal behind her.

Yes, she had done her duty...but the thing that she hadn't been taught--could not have known--was the pain that accompanied it.  Regardless of what her own mother had done--sold her out for credits and an apathetic life of leisure--D'Aylanna was nevertheless haunted by the fact that she'd been the one to wield the knife, nevermind that she'd made Il'Alizaveta's death quick and painless (a consideration that no one else would've given her).  They were petty words of comfort, sounding all the more hollow when the Queen Mother had commended her for the task.

Thankful that the women were all at her back, not one of them saw the tears that she silently cried as she left the training hall.

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[TheDutchman]

Chapter 5: Wounds, Old&New, part II
"Confirm message and deliver for relay." T'Atyanna commanded, the ship's computer beeping an affirmative.  Behind her, Risaan silently looked on, open adulation radiating from him.

As was proper.

Feeling pleased with herself, she unplugged the datanode from the communication panel beside her.  With the exception of a few incidents requiring her to pivot, plans were proceeding better than expected.  With Il'liyanav (she refused to call her any other name) now in custody, she and Risaan merely waited on verification for what she already anticipated: news of Zearic Vih'Torr's demise.

So sure was she that T'Atyanna had already sent the full report to the Queen Mother--may Her Radiance illuminate eternal--in advance of digital confirmation.  She knew her vengeance was all but ensured, corroboration notwithstanding.

With the heady feeling of great achievement, she left the cockpit walking deeper into the ship.  Risaan shadowed her, empathetic to her mood; he was particularly good at that.  Perhaps she would favor him tonight...he was "qualified" enough.  After passing through two secure blast doors, she found herself in the darkened confines of the hold.

There, held aloft a half-meter above the deck in her magnetic prison, floated D'Aylanna.  Arms bound above her head, Il'liyanav's chin rested on her sternum, toes twitching in the air.  Perhaps she was having a particularly vivid dream?  T'Atyanna hoped it was a nightmare...

Viciously grabbing D'Aylanna by her midnight-blue hair, she pulled the captive woman's head up.  With her right eye swollen shut and her left closed, T'Atyanna couldn't tell if she'd awakened.  So she slapped her, hard.  Dried blood that had caked to Il'liyanav's face was soon hidden beneath fresh, her split lip likewise bleeding anew.  But she was unmistakably awake now, her large, almond-shaped left eye locked onto hers.

And she hadn't made a sound.

Normally it wouldn't have but that fact enraged T'Atyanna.  She thought--fantasized!--that Il'liyanav would plead, break down, and cry, begging for her life, commensurate of a coward who ran from her responsibilities to House Royal and the Consortium.

Instead, the woman before her was stoic and silent, staring unflinchingly from her dark left eye.

She balled up a fist, striking the smaller woman in her stomach.  From the corner, she saw Risaan smile, but it only served to aggravate T'Atyanna more.  Aside from a muted groan, Il'liyanav had once again made not a sound.

The tralk...

She made herself smile, a dark and vicious turn of her lips.  "You should know that your maleling is most assuredly dead by now.  My thrall--" She gestured behind her, "--has killed him." Her tone was almost conversational.  "I wanted for you to know that so when you stand trial under the Tribunal of Illumination, you will feel the utter hopelessness of your petty, unimportant life."  As if to punctuate her words, she slapped Il'liyanav again, backhanding her.  "There you will pay for your crimes." 

This time D'Aylanna spoke.  "...do...do you...always...talk this much?" She whispered, nonchalantly spitting onto the deck, mixing with the pooled blood beneath her.

Risaan moved forward, a dark, dangerous look on his face.  Glancing at T'Atyanna, he waited for her slight nod.  In several fast movements, he hit the diminutive woman several times, each punch faster than the last.  The sounds of his strikes were soon joined with Il'liyanav's haggard breathing and what sounded like whimpering.  Good.

Almost lazily T'Atyanna held up a hand, stopping Risaan.  They both had virtually identical looks of self-important disdain.  With her face hidden by shadows, Il'liyanav made a soft noise, one that grew louder by the second.

Their smiles were immediately wiped off their faces as soon as they realized that the small woman was laughing.

Risaan moved back to give his legs room, intent to use his kicks as well.  "No." T'Atyanna's voice boomed.  She stamped down on the fury she felt.  "Let her have her bravado.  When she stands under the blinding light of the Tribunal on Hapes Prime, we'll see how much she laughs the--" She cut off as Risaan's comms pinged.  "Ah, there we are.  You can now say whatever prayers for your consort, not that they'll do any good." She laughed, sauntering over to the tall, muscular man.

Standing next to each other, the short, small woman and the large, athletic man, looked intently at the datanode attached to Risaan's comm.  As they both consulted the device, their faces changed almost comically.

And that's when D'Aylanna knew.  Smiling her broken lips, a single tear escaped her left eye.  Her Shakal was not dead.

A blur of motion preceded a hard slap from T'Atyanna, one quickly followed by her wrenching D'Aylanna's head painfully.  "This changes nothing." She spat through gritted teeth.  She stared at Risaan.  "Finish what you were supposed to do.  Follow me once it's done." She commanded.  "Do NOT fail me again."

"Domina." He bowed himself out of the cargo hold, his face a mixture of anger and shame.

D'Aylanna looked at the woman with her one good eye.  "...his death...is on you...he'll never...survive my Shakal..."

T'Atyanna continued to gaze into her cousin's eye as she began to slowly shake her head.  "Risaan will not fail.  And if he does, he'll never find you."  Her hand suddenly flew at D'Aylanna's cheek, stopping bare centimeters from her face.

She did not so much as flinch.

However, T'Atyanna grinned widely, gently stroking the smaller woman's face, the tenderness she now displayed in marked contrast to the savage violence of before.  "Perhaps that will be even more painful for him: to know nothing of what happened to you." She chuckled.  "Here one day, gone the next."  Her eyes became hard.  "Instead of a quick death, a life of misery...and always the question of 'What happened?' to haunt him for years--decades!--to come!"  Gabbing D'Aylanna by the back of her head, T'Atyanna's face contorted with anger.  "All the while, I will keep you alive in agony, on the cusp of death, for a very, very long time." She seethed.

D'Aylanna promptly spit in her face.

Shocked, T'Atyanna flew into a rage, her fists pummeling the smaller woman.  Unsurprisingly, D'Aylanna was unconscious when she was able to regain control of her emotions.  Breathing hard from both exertion and fury, she wiped her face with the back of her sleeve, impulse giving way to logic.

What was she doing?  She had already informed the Empress that her intended quarry was en route to the Consortium, that she was already expected...along with a live prisoner.

Walking over to the opposite side of the hold, she removed a kit including several bags of poly-bacta.  Wordlessly, she applied the salve on the worst of her prisoner's wounds, especially her face and stomach, where Il'liyanav's ribs were most assuredly broken.  T'Atyanna castigated herself; she had not meant to lose her composure.  If she hadn't stopped when she did, T'Atyanna knew that her cousin would likely be dead.  She paused at the sudden realization that send an avalanche of fear through her spine.

...Or was that Il'liyanav's plan all along?

With newfound perspective (not quite bordering on respect), she stared at the woman suspended in the air in front of her.  She would have to be more careful in the future... It was a graphic example of the importance of temperance, something the Queen Mother herself had mentioned many times to T'Atyanna.

Without a further backwards glance she left the cargo hold, going straight for the cockpit.  Within minutes the ship was airborne, vectoring for space.

However, a thought that continued to whisper in the back of her mind, an itch that she couldn't quite scratch: Il'liyanav was not at all what she'd expected.  She showed no fear, no shame, no cowardice... It was...well, it was disconcerting.

Shaking her head, T'Atyanna reasserted her former resolve.  Nothing of that mattered; nothing!  Il'liyanav would see justice and would know the Queen Mother's...no, would know her wrath.

As was proper.

Having given all proper departure protocols, the ship left Zonama Sekot airspace and, with a flurry of pseudomotion, disappeared into hyperspace.

...Leaving below one who'd been made a fool in front of his Domina.

          <<<<< >>>>>

Risaan swore on the strength of the Consortium that he would make this "Zearic" regret ever surviving the trap he'd so carefully executed, that he would feel pain unimaginable.

Consulting his datanode, Risaan saw that the transponder that he'd attached to the underside of the canopy was stationary, still at the Eye of the Everstorm.  But he knew that the man would have to return and Risaan guessed where that might be.

As the day darkened to dusk and then finally the deep of night, Risaan was already waiting at the Cataphract hanger where the ship had initially departed from.  Much like the chag native to Hapes, he would be unpredictable in delivering his Domina's Will.

Nothing would come between he and the woman whom had enslaved his heart.

Nothing.

[Lord_S_Gray]

Nest of vipers hardly does the Hapes Court justice. Can't really blame Il'Alizaveta for wanting to escape it, even her abandonment of her daughter is forgivable to the extent that there is no real affection between parents and children or indeed anyone among the House Royal. To send D'Alyanna to kill her own mother in other contexts would be horrific but arguably is just a typical part of Palace life - undoubtedly matricides are quite common to inherit power and wealth - It certainly proved her Loyalty to the Queen Mother, but also fell into whatever other plan's she had for D'Alyanna at the time.

And so the game continues now to T’Atyanna brining another head (albeit still attached despite T’Atyanna’s rages, still not recovered from her experience with the Mind Trap how much more can D’Alyanna really take) to the Prismatic Throne.

And as for Risaan, well he has to try harder, fortunately given Zearic was on deaths door in the Eye he will be far easier prey, and the Cataphract Hangar is no doubt replete with engines, void warfare capable missiles and cannons, fuels, chemicals and gases any one of which could cause an unfortunate accident, perhaps just slave another Wraith to smash into Zearics, he hardly needs to be careful now his Domina is offworld and has no need to ever return.

Still I doubt the Vhal’Dan will take not only the murder of the Kage, but the abduction of a Speaker well, but piecing together the relationship between the two will be difficult let alone finding who is responsible.

Another great look into the mentality of the Hapan’s and their “lethal, classist, misandrist Social Darwinist society”

[Karmack]

Getting caught up...   I have a lot to go back and discover, but I must say I am just shocked at how utterly uncivilized these Hapan women are.  Wow.   ;-)

In all seriousness, this is quite the sticky situation Zearic and D'Aylanna have gotten themselves into.   And Zorya...  That's a whole 'nother level. 

Now, I need to go find out just how Zearic landed as a Cataphract.   Love the armor and the image For made!  It really adds life. 

[TheDutchman]

Special thanks to For Tyeth and his awesome rendering of Zearic!  This chapter is dedicated to him 
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Chapter 6: An Inelegant End, part I
Piloting the Wraith through the southern mountains ringing the Steppes of the Everstorm, Zearic was still distracted by the events at the Eye.  He knew that that trap had been meant for him.  And it would have worked, except... Not for the last time was he grateful for Jorya; he shuddered to think what would've happened to him had she not been there.

"...the Maker looks after children, small animals, and fools with intelligent daughters..." He paraphrased fondly, thinking of Kazic.  His father had always been wise, always patient to help him overcome the adversity in his life.  He wished that he was more like him.

He wished that Kazic was still with him now.

It had been almost seven years ago that his father had become One with the Force, yet the pain could still hit him like... He smiled sardonically; like a bolt of lightning.  His nostalgia, it seemed, had made him wistful.  Growing up, he always knew that whatever the problem, Kazic would offer sage advice, always gently showing a path without forcing him, always teaching him the wisdom accumulated over his millennia of life.  By the Maker did he miss him!  That was the problem with grief: it never really went away. 

But it did change.  And, thankfully, Zearic had both D'Aylanna and Jorya to help him now.  ...Not bad for a street rat from Dalos IV... He mused.  Yes, he was lucky.

He heard a soft noise behind him followed by a gentle touch on his shoulder.  "Dad?  How are you?" Jorya asked, her tone full of concern.  She still had on the simple black utilitarian bodysheath that every knight wore under their armor (although she'd removed her boots for comfort).  He was still surprised at the young woman his daughter had become.  And while he joked that she took after D'Aylanna, Jorya certainly displayed some of his more...idiosyncratic tendencies at times.

Like their shared love of geology.  Maker only knew how she'd come to love that!

Looking up over his shoulder, he patted her hand.  "I am thanks to you." His quick, tight smile was almost immediately replaced by apprehension.  "What about you?  You've been asleep for hours.  You didn't overdo it did you?" He knew that his daughter was strong, intelligent, and empathic...but sometimes she had a tendency to act absent of careful consideration.  Another of his "idiosyncrasies."  ...And you were worse at her age... He reminded himself.  Nevertheless, he was worried.

She looked contrite.  Somewhat.  "I...I just couldn't lose you..." She said quietly, yet she looked straight into his eyes.  Again, it reminded him that the girl that he'd adopted was a grown woman now, one that he was extremely proud of.

There was no anger, only love.  "Dear One, I'm thankful--and glad!--that you were there.  I know that had you not been, things would've turned out very differently." He left it at that, more because he was exhausted than content.  After everything, Zearic was surprised that he was still standing.  Well, sitting, but apropos sentiments.  "Thank you, Jorya."

Quickly she gave him a tight hug, both of them thankful for the other.  Fondly, she ran an orange hand through his closely shaved hair.  It was a holdover from when she was young, more recently accompanied by a remark that he was getting more white atop in his hair.

And he wouldn't have changed it even if he could.

When Jorya sat down in the co-pilot's chair next to him, she drew her long legs up, hugging them to her chest.  First glancing from the corner of her eyes, she turned to face him as her gaze narrowed, clearly focused on his own charcoal undersheath, the multiple contact ports that coupled with his armor subtly glowing blue.  "Father, where's your armor?  And your lightsaber?"  Of course; unless one was proficient with Cataphract armor, it was doubtful that they would be familiar with the specialized kit.

The undersheath allowed for the armor to act much like a second skin.  Real-time tactical data was interpreted by the armor's software and immediately transmitted to the HUD¹ in the attached helmet.  It truly allowed for intuitive use of the suit.

Without taking his own eyes off of the pilot's panel, he replied, "In the hold; I had to infuse the suit with a new complement of nanobots to recharge it."  He knew without his Cataphract armor--much like without Jorya--he would've been dead.  Granted, he would have to enact a full diagnostic on it at the Den but he could at least rejuvenate the suit's nanobot levels to begin repairs.  "As for my lightsaber, I need to replace the power coupler; the lightning damn near burnt it out...not to mention that the crystal needs to be recalibrated."  He was grateful that it hadn't exploded when he'd ignited it, cutting off the tine, but he didn't want to push his luck without first breaking it down for a complete overhaul.

Thinking on the chore, it felt good to focus on something so...mundane.  And after everything that they'd gone through, he and Jorya both could do with some normalcy.  Speaking of...

"As soon as we're back, we'll need to bring your Mother up to speed." A thought tickled his memory.  "Jorya, I've been meaning to ask why were you at our apartments?" His tone was light; Jorya knew Father well enough to know that he was just unwinding from the events at the Eye, not because he was susp--

Her eye twitched involuntarily, her thumb caressing one of the hidden vibroblades that was secreted within her undersheath by her ankle.  What was she thinking?  She shook her head.  "I...I was checking to see that you and Mother were OK..." Her voice worked automatically as if by rote, "...Especially after the Kage's murder." She finished, suddenly convinced that's what she'd always intended.  Even the small voice in the back of her head fell silent.

Zearic smiled warmly if tiredly.  "Thank you Dear One... The Maker must really favor me today." He winked.

Jorya smiled but fell silent, convincing herself that everything was fine.  But if that were true...why then did she feel uncomfortable?  For the remainder of their flight, neither she nor Father spoke, her own mind in turmoil.  Hugging her legs tighter to her chest, she rested her montrals against the headrest of her chair, trying--in vain--to find the serenity that seemed to be so elusive as of late...

...Meanwhile the tendrils of the Shards worked silently as they fought to reassert control.

          <<<<< >>>>>

Wrapped inside his shroud of Force Concealment, Risaan's rage was stoked to a white-hot fury.  His prey had made him look the fool in front of his Domina!  ...For such a transgression, the human will suffer... He thought darkly, the only requirement he need attend to now was to wait.

Risaan had used his time wisely.

He'd made certain that the hanger itself had several weighted traps, not to mention familiarizing himself with the layout.  Landing gear assemblies, heavy, solid duroplast crates, and bundles of plasteel pipes hung in drop-traps throughout the hanger.  Of course, he highly doubted that he'd even need them, but it was best to be prepared.

After all, his target had already proven himself bothersome.

Of course, he'd had to deal with the late-night shift change but he knew that by the time that the bodies were found, he'd be long gone, Zearic Vih'Torr's head occupying the empty bag that Risaan had brought with him specifically for the task.  For the hundredth time, he unsheathed his two vibroblades, making certain that there were no obstructions to affect his fast-draw.

Risaan was ready.

He was his Domina's thrall, an extension of her Will.  Where she pointed, his blade dispatched.  He grinned at the memories of his Domina's enemies dying, the confused look in their eyes that would quickly turn to pained fear--sometimes anger--as he slowly pushed the blades of his weapons further into their torsos, usually up to their hilts.  It had not mattered if they were royalty, politicians, warriors, or innocents; if his Domina spoke, their lives were forfeit.

Yes, he was prepared.

...Except that in his haste and with his head full of anger, hatred, and vengeance, he'd forgotten his Domina's quiet warnings concerning the large Cataphract.  Not that he had believed it anyway.

As far as Risaan was concerned, he knew that his victim wouldn't even know what had happened to him...other than when he lay dying at his feet.

Yes, this "Zearic" would join the rest where undoubtably the look on his face would mirror the dozens of others to fall to his Domina's Will.  And he would then be redeemed in her eyes.

That's what truly mattered.

He only needed to wait a short time longer when he saw the gunship returning to the previously vacated berth that it departed from all those hours ago.

His blades bared (yet invisible under the shroud of Concealment), Risaan thought of his Domina's Will.

And Zearic Vih'Torr's imminent death.

          <<<<< >>>>>

Completing the last of the debarkation protocols, Zearic powered down the Wraith before heading to the hold where his armor was still cycling through its repair program.  Grabbing both of his daggers, he sheathed them in the crosscarry holsters at the small of his back.  Experience and vigilance had taught him to always carry the Oblivion weapons on his person.

Always.

Before he'd straightened, he heard Jorya's quiet footfalls.  "I just need to finish storing my armor and then I'll grab my boots."  She gave him a quick peck on the cheek.  "See you outside, Father."

He smiled in response but he was admittedly preoccupied.  He was looking forward to seeing his Ereneda, especially after everything that had happened.  Once again, he said a silent prayer of thanks to the Maker while making his way to the Wraith's exit ramp. 

A sudden memory came to his mind, something Kazic would often say: "It's better to be lucky than good."  Zearic's smile turned sardonic.  As he'd mentioned: he had been very lucky.  Of course, Kazic had usually said that whenever something dire had occurred and he'd come through it completely by accident.  It was a sobering thought.

As he stepped off of the ramp, thoughts of his father foremost in his thoughts, he felt a sudden familiar apprehension.  It wasn't anything precise but rather a feeling of unseen eyes upon him, of something amiss.  So as not to give himself away, his face remained impassive but the rest of him was suddenly alert.

That's when he realized exactly what it was he was reminded of.

Someone was using Force Concealment around him; he remembered the sensation from his training with Cha and his battle with the woman.  He'd learned from the former Inquisitor how to sense its use and to counter an enemy utilizing it.  Wrapping himself in the Force, Zearic hyper-focused his senses as he'd been taught.

Drifting between seconds, he sent his Senses outwards...and found what he was looking for.

With his eyes, he could see the virtually invisible fluctuations in the air.  With his ears, he could hear the virtually silent breathing.  With his nose, he could smell the virtually odorless scent of steel.  With his skin, he could feel the virtually imperturbable vibrations of the blades.

With the Force, he could sense the virtually masked limbs and weapons of his disguised opponent.

Without any hesitation, Zearic acted.

          <<<<< >>>>>

Risaan was about to thrust his vibroblade into the human's side when the large man's hands shot out beside him, thick fingers clamping down upon his wrists, feeling as if they were made of durasteel.  The shroud of his Force Concealment pierced, Risaan seemed to slip into the air, eyes wide in disbelief.  How?

Zearic, however, did not so much as pause.  Immediately, he struck at Risaan's throat, hard.

Or rather, he tried.

Risaan recovered almost instantly, sidestepping...although the wide human still somehow clouted him across the face breaking his nose.  Risaan realized that had he not pivoted when he had, the human would've crushed his larynx.  As it was, he'd never been hit so hard before.  Incredible.

While this was going through his mind, Risaan suddenly found himself being propelled backwards.  Once again, he hadn't sensed anything; no minuscule delay, no visual cue, not even a gesture that he'd come to expect with one utilizing a Force Push.

Clearly there was something to be said of these Gray Jedi.

Before crashing against the far bulkhead, Risaan tucked himself into a somersault and landed on his feet and at the ready.  It seemed that he would finally defeat an opponent who could put up a fight against him instead of the normal apathetic deaths he'd seen up to this point.

Good.

Muscles empowered by the Force, Risaan moved.  Vibroblades in each hand, he feinted left, right, then left again, striking from the man's flank.  Yet, somehow--even for as large as he was--his prey was able to dodge both of his blades.

Amazing!

Risaan was both irritated and impressed.  Almost every single cut, the big man avoided; almost every single lunge, he blocked with his meaty forearms; almost every single stab, he batted away with a wide palm.

Almost.

Within a minute, his prey was bleeding from several superficial lacerations.  Risaan would almost consider such impressive...if he'd been truly trying his best.  Smiling inwardly, he decided that he'd had enough of toying around with his target.  His own muscular arms enhanced with the Force, Risaan performed a double slice at his prey's exposed face, too fast for the human to react.  "Die." He hissed.

Abruptly both of his vibroblades stopped with jarring suddenness.  Risaan could not believe his eyes; somehow the man had been bare-handed one moment, the next he wielded two daggers of blackest night.

For the first time during this fight, Risaan felt afraid.

           <<<<< >>>>>

Zearic felt the comfortable weight and tactile sensation of both the Tenebris and the Nocte Pugione as they flew to his hands to parry his opponent's attack.  They'd both reacted instantly to his unconscious need and good thing too.  He was just barely able to keep up given how swift his opponent was, not to mention the injuries that he'd sustained earlier taking their toll.

As it was, Zearic could feel the tightness in his chest, a reminder of the earlier lightning strike.  And his exertions now were only adding to his injuries...but he also knew that in a contest such as this, he needed to attack.

With deft hands he wielded his daggers, flowing from defense to attack as the situation required; meanwhile he remained focused enough to deflect any Force attacks that his opponent threw his way.  But it left the two of them at a stalemate, at best.

It was testament to his own exhaustion that he could not follow up with his own Force assault, instead focusing on blunting the other man's deadly onslaught of Force powers.

So it was when he was occupied that he felt a subtle sensation of something against his leg, the wire activating from the scant grams of pressure that he'd exerted against it.  With a grinding noise from above, he saw several large machinery blocks dropping down.  Jumping away by instinct, Zearic avoided the first, second, and even the third drop-traps as they crashed into the deck.

But not the fourth.

With no time to think, the large landing gear assembly collapsed down upon Zearic as his legs buckled from underneath him.

          <<<<< >>>>>
__________________________________________________
1: HUD-Heads Up Display

[TheDutchman]

Chapter 6: An Inelegant End, part II
With no small amount of satisfaction, Risaan saw one of his drop-traps collide with the human as it crashed down to the floor.

Arrogantly, he sauntered over to where his prey had fallen, sheathing one of his vibroblades.  In the end, it hadn't mattered how good his target was; Risaan knew he was bett--

He stopped, eyes blinking in disbelief.

Somehow...somehow(!) the big man had caught the falling landing gear with both of his hands, holding the assembly at bay!  It had to weigh over 350 kgs!  By his Domina, no human could possibly have held that much weight aloft...

Narrowing his eyes, Risaan scrutinized the scene before him.  Upon closer inspection, he could see that while, yes, the human had caught it, the heavy metal assembly had still pinned him down.  His prey wasn't going anywhere.

A smile broke out upon his face.  Without a word, he came into the human's view and, with a flourish, reversed his vibroblade for a downward stab.  "Before you die know this: my Domina will make your wife's soon-to-be short life one full of agony."  Aiming between the eyes, Risaan plunged the blade down.

That's when his feet left the floor and was sent flying through the air.  Crashing violently into the far wall, limbs breaking every which way, his spine shattered while his breath was knocked from his body, all as if he'd been hit from behind with an enormous force.

Which he had.

          <<<<< >>>>>

As Jorya ran down the ramp, wondering what all the commotion was about, she saw to her horror Father pinned beneath a large metal stanchion, a dangerous-looking man standing above him with a vibroblade in his hand.  As her conscious mind raced to catch up with what her eyes were seeing, the man stabbed downwards towards Father's face.

Jorya didn't think; she acted.

Instinctively reaching deep from within her, just as she had while using the combined power of the Shards, she drew upon the reservoir of the Force that she would not have otherwise had.  Love, anger, confidence, and fear raged through her as she tapped into a power as primal as her desire to protect her family.  She didn't want to stop the man.

She wanted to destroy him.

Using both hands as a focal point, a huge Force Push exploded forth slamming into the man before his blade even came within twenty centimeters of her Dad's face.  He was first ripped from the spot he stood and sent flying through the air...until he abruptly stopped 4 meters away as his body collided violently with the hanger bulkhead.  Broken flesh, bone, and sinew now interspersed with ferrocrete and duroplast slid down the wall trailing viscous blood.  Jorya should've been shocked but she wasn't, her attention all on Father.

Even though that act drained her Force reserves even further than she already was, she was thankful for even that much.  Reaching down, Jorya grabbed for her lightsaber...only to remember that it was in the Wraith with her armor.  Instead, she unsheathed her own vibroblade with shaking hands, fingers trembling from an overabundance of adrenaline, fear, and fatigue.

But before she approached the man, her concern for Father superseded her caution.  "Dad!" She shouted, running up to him.  "Are you OK?" She asked, a feeling of deja vú creeping in towards her.  Rounding the long axis of the landing gear assembly, she saw Father's face looking up at her.  He was clearly in pain but she didn't think that he'd been seriously injured.  "Wait Dad, let me help you." She said, holstering her blade.  Jorya didn't want to look at how bad her hands shook.

"...I'm not going anywhere..." His face tight with effort, he nevertheless grinned wryly.  He was about to say something else when Jorya saw his eyes widen when looked past her.

Acting instinctively, Jorya jumped from the spot that she'd been standing in.  However, she came to a sudden, jarring halt, her teeth feeling as if they were going to fly from her mouth as something came crashing down heavily upon her ankle, binding her to the floor.  Pain, surprise, and desperation flooded her body and mind as she fought against panic.  She tasted blood in her mouth--she must have bitten her tongue--but that wasn't the worst of her pain.  Looking down towards her foot, she saw that a large piece of stanchion had fallen upon her leg crushing her shin, holding her fast in place.

Panic formed in the pit of her stomach before she clamped down hard upon it.  Breathing in calmly, she forced herself to relax amidst the burning pain that was already crawling up her leg.  "Jorya!  Dear One!?" Father's deep voice sounded oddly hoarse, his own pain--both physical and emotional--evident in his tone.

"I'm...I'm good, Dad." She reassured.  "I'm just a little stuck." Tentatively she wiggled her toes.  It was agony but they did move.  Exhaling, she laid down on her back, trying to deal with her own tired, pained, and depleted body.

That's when her eyes locked onto the man who'd been attacking Father and she finally got a good look as to what had happened to him.  Both of his legs and his right arm were shattered, all odd angles, his chest haggardly rising and falling around a piece of pipe that had impaled him through the side of his upper chest.  But what was most amazing was that he was still alive.

Furious, dangerous eyes stared at her, lucid and knowing, a determined bent to his one-time handsome face.  "...you...you tralk..." He spat to the floor, more blood than spittle.  "...you...you may have...surprised me...but...my...my Domina's Will be done..." Moving his good left arm, Jorya saw him open his hand, a thermal detonator in his palm.

...No...! She thought, panicked.  Uselessly, she clawed at the Force, trying to grasp anything, an iota of power!  But all for naught; she was just too tired, too drained.

Something of what she felt must've shown on her face because the man began to laugh cruelly as he slowly, theatrically moved his thumb to trigger the device.  "...time...to...d--"

With a raucous thundering crash the man's voice disappeared--along with his head and shoulders--beneath tons of twisted metal and duroplast piping, an entire section of the hanger's exposed ceiling having come crushing down.  The detonator casually rolled from his lifeless fingers, untriggered, until it came to a stop in the middle of the hanger.  The only other movement came from the random misfiring of broken synaptic electrical pulses causing Risaan's booted legs to involuntarily twitch, his head so much paste.

For a long moment, Jorya stared disbelievingly at the scene, wonder, relief, sadness, and disgust warring across her face before she heard a ragged groan behind her.  Turning her head, she saw Father's freed left arm sag, his hand hitting the floor.  "...I had to...to really focus for that one..." His voice was almost too quiet to hear, so tired was he.  And Jorya knew.

Father had saved her life, using up most of his remaining Force strength to Pull on the ceiling above.  Smiling at him, she whispered, "Thanks, Dad."  Laying his head down upon the deck, a small grin broke out upon his face.

"...no problem, Dear One..." He groaned again.  "...do you have your comm on you?...I can't...reach mine..." He said through his pain and gritted teeth.

Looking to her belt, she grabbed at one of the pouches and, opening it, removed her comm.

It was blessedly whole and working.  Barking a laugh, she turned it on, broadcasting on all Vhal'Dan frequencies an emergency request, all the while keeping her montrals attuned to Father.  After everything that they'd been through today, Jorya was amazed that they were both alive, if somewhat worse for wear.

She relaxed, at least a little, as she heard Father's own wheezing laughter punctuated by his tight breathing.  But he would be OK--they both would be--even as they were found by Civil Defense officers (accompanied by the requisite Cataphract escort as the hanger belonged to them) and taken to one of the Order's medical suites to recover.

And all things considered, they were in fairly good spirits...

...Until they learned of D'Aylanna's abduction, confirming the up until then forgotten cryptic words of their now dead would-be assassin.

[Lord_S_Gray]

Interesting quote Zearic recalls from Kazic
"...the Maker looks after children, small animals, and fools with intelligent daughters..."
Kazic too knew something of being a fool with an intelligent daughter – to his great joy and sorrow, quite a poignant little line when one considers the full back stories of the two men and their respective daughters.

And once more Jorya has saved her father, and once more by drawing ever deeper on the shards power, while Zearic gave a good showing for himself given his injuries, he certainly draws a lot from that Renewal he got, his daggers and Cha’s training, and rightly so, they are combined his ‘edge’ in the game.

I can’t help but think Rissan’s vanity, obedience to the letter of instruction, and the Hapan tendency towards ornamentation – specifically delivering Zearics head to his Domina – is the sole reason he lost.  He could’ve so much more easily have overcharged an hyper drive in the hanger or some other explosive and levelled the place – but he wanted to show his Domina proof, just as T’atyanna is compelled to bring D’Alyanna to Hapes. 

In other scenario’s this is the kind of ‘James Bond Villian’ stupidity that causes their plans to fail and makes one groan to see.

Here it is given a cultural cause – it’s an ingrained part of the Hapan way of doing things, the posturing and importance of appearances and public displays of wealth and vengeance that Dutch has built up in D’alyanna’s reflections on her past. It is simply the nature of Hapan society to do things in a very particular way – and unfortunately for Rissan adhering to it led to his inelegant end (indeed he could not have probably even conceptualized simply blowing Zearic out of the sky - he needs to see him die and cut off his head, the thermal detonator an absolute last resort when it should’ve been his first attack).

But where too now, by the time both are even halfway recovered D’Alyanna will be within the Consortium, and the Vhal’Dan have no pull within their court politics?

[TheDutchman]

Chapter 7: Traditions&Taboos, part I
Once again alone in the dark, D’Aylanna hung in the magnetic binders, her body suspended a half-meter above the deck.  There she vacillated between consciousness and a kind of twilight existence, the waking world a stark reminder of her numerous wounds while her dreams drowned her deep amidst memories she’d long buried.  Both were full of pain, the only difference was that at least in the real world, the bacta treatments that her captor administered helped to ease those injuries.

The anguish of her memories cut deeper than any blade, the hope of any respite as ephemeral as a single breath in a tempest…gone before realized.

A drop of sweat ran down her nose, her beautiful brown face still bruised and bloodied.  Listless, her slender fingers and delicate toes twitched involuntarily, muscles in her arms, legs, chest, and back aching in unrelieved tension.  Had there been anyone around to see, they would’ve noticed how the diminutive woman’s body writhed in her troubled semi-sleep, a restlessness that had little to do with the strained position she was currently in.  For all intents, she hung in the air not unlike a slab of meat.

But that was her body; it was her mind that raced through events from another lifetime, the person that she’d been as different as a stranger now…a woma—no, a girl in truth—that was more a product of her culture rather than that of her experiences.

Yet, had she not lived them, would she be the woman that she was now?

Regardless, such philosophy had the hollow clang of banality in the here-and-now.  No, her memories held no crisis of consciousness nor any metaphysical questions; it merely was.

And so D'Aylanna's mind ran rampant as her forgotten past was thrust forward in the confines of her existence, the darkened hold that was her prison faded into...

          <<<<< >>>>>

...The darkened room that D'Aylanna remembered well from her training: while it did possess a weapons salle, the room was used more for Strategy&Tactics rather than actual Combat.  From time immemorial the females of House Royal had studied here, honing their martial, tactical, and fighting skills, to say nothing of their mental acumen.  D'Aylanna had spent countless hours doing precisely that, often times by herself.

Today, however, she was not alone.

Between herself and the only other occupant in the room, a vast, detailed holomap of the galaxy hovered in the air, various boundaries, hyperspace lanes, and governments were highlighted.  Meanwhile, floating heads belonging to historical figures would appear, information concerning pertinent facts scrolling below in Aurebesh chyrons, in this case: an Alderaanian woman of indeterminate age.

"...You must remember, Marquesa, to give your opponent a manner of egress, unless you intend one of two outcomes: to utterly destroy them or..." The words spoken were soft and gravely, yet only a fool would consider the man who spoke them weak. 

"...Or experience the full fury of an enemy whom now has nothing to lose." D'Aylanna smiled, providing the correct answer.  She always made certain that she knew her Strategy&Tactics lessons before meeting with the Family Weaponsmaster.  "Jedi Master Lien-Tsai Qel-Droma." She added unprompted.

"Just so." Nodding approvingly, he smoothed his short, smart moustaches.  "Sometimes it is a tactical benefit to allow your enemy their retreat.  Sometimes." The short man grinned quickly, tapping his sharp, brown nose lightly with his index finger.  "Good, very good."  The gesture was a secret that only the two of them shared, one that she furiously guarded.

For many reasons...

"Provost, I'm curious..." D'Aylanna's tone held a hint of humor in it.  "...When has anyone within House Royal ever allowed an enemy to escape?"  She gazed deeply into the man's eyes, both sets steely and dark.  Which came as no surprise, at least not for anyone within House Royal.

After all, he was her father.

The man gave a knowing, lopsided grin.  "Never, Marquesa."  He gave a bow of approval, tipping his neck in approbation as he allowed pride to show on his face for a fleeting moment.  Not that he'd allow anyone else to see.

Sur V'vako Saquinn, 1st Provost Armorer of House Royal, was a small man...but only in stature.  Although short, he was well-muscled and wiry, the gray in his otherwise dark hair the only sign of his age.  He was the premier Weaponsmaster in the Hapes Consortium, expert in virtually all known weapons and combat systems, veteran of hundreds of battles, and one of the few male generals allowed to voice his opinion in the presence of the Queen Mother, may Her Radiance illuminate eternal.

Of course, the fact that he was one of Ta'a Chume's favored concubines also counted in his favor, fathering four children with the Queen Mother, two females and two males (although the younger girl had since died in one of House Royal's many training accidents).  As per Hapan culture, the males were tolerated, educated and trained for the sole purpose of protecting the females of House Royal.  As for D'Aylanna...

It was rare when the heir apparent--the Marquesa--was also the direct relation of the current Queen Mother.  In fact, throughout the Consortium's entire history, there had been only a handful of times where a daughter succeeded the mother on the throne, testament to the Hapans' strict adherence to "survival of the fittest."

D'Aylanna--or Il'liyanav as she was known then--was the best among her cousins...in no small part due to the tutelage of House Royal's 1st Provost.  From wargames to philosophical debates, the two of them had spent much of their time together...moreso than what Hapan culture would consider "normal" (or, for that matter, "appropriate"). 

Hapan mores dictated that one's matrilineal line was not only of utmost importance in matters, it was the only thing that mattered.  Patrilineal relationships weren't so much frowned upon (although they definitely were) as they quite simply weren't done.  Males were chosen on the merits of their prowess, genetics, and aptitude for breeding.

Never for "love."

However, beyond expectations, V'vako had grown to love his daughter.  More incredibly, D'Aylanna had done likewise.  They both knew it taboo and that the ramifications of their relationship could be quite severe, which was the reason for their caution.  In public, he was accordingly deferential, she dispassionately imperious.  In private?

Their's was as close to a familial bond as could be given the culture.

Despite his impassive mask, pride shown through the cracks (should one look closely enough).  "Let us put War Theory to the side and focus now upon Strategy." He carefully grabbed two elegant crystal champagne flutes, handing one to D'Aylanna before gesturing with a tip of his head.  Sitting at the large, ornate table spread before them, he sipped from the glass while pressing a button.  The holographic spatial map disappeared, replaced by three circular, checkered holoboards.  D'Aylanna grinned.  "Shall we resume our games from last time?"

"Indeed." She tried to hide the excitement from her voice.  For the first time, she knew that she could vanquish him, something that in all her years of training she had yet to accomplish.

He gestured with a hand at the three dejarik boards between them.  "Your move, Marquesa."  He seemed to sit casually for the quarter-minute as he glanced at the chronometer.  But as the seconds ticked by, his eyes shone with a predatory gleam.  "Five seconds.  Four.  Three.  Tw--"

D'Aylanna keyed in her move on the leftmost board.  "M'onnok to grimtaash 3.  Check."  She swiftly moved to the middle board.  "K'lor'slug advances to cynosure.  Check."  Finally she turned to the last board, a small grin upon her blue lips.  "Kintan strider to houjix 7.  Mate and death."  She crossed her arms in front of her chest.  "I have you, sur." She smirked.

Looking closely, V'vako looked at D'Aylanna from under his brow, his face unreadable.  "Good use of your kintan strider death gambit.  I concede."  He then pointed to the middle board.  "Ah, so that's why you ignored my ghhhk: for your K'lor'slug Fork in the center.  Very well, the game is yours."  But when he came to the last board, he merely smiled serenely as he keyed his own move into the computer.  "But I believe that you've overestimated the strength of your m'onnok."  The holomonster miraculously jumped out of the trap that D'Aylanna had set up, turning behind her piece and now threatening it.  "Check..."  He appeared to clean his already immaculate nails as the holomonster attacked her m'onnok, annihilating it.  "...And mate."

D'Aylanna's own smile faltered as she focused on the first board.  Her Ng'ok should've protected her flank.  "...How?" She shook her head disbelievingly.  She'd been so sure...

He smoothed his moustaches deliberately.  "You were so intent upon a complete victory that you forgot the unseen blade beside you."  The intensity of his gaze seemed to burn through her.  "Let this be a lesson to you: never presume that your flank is unfailingly protected.  There is always a chance that your defenses WILL be compromised..." V'vako leaned slightly closer, his quiet voice dropping even lower.  "...Either by fault or by treachery."

D'Aylanna could not hide the anger that had flared up within her.  She'd been certain!  Scrutinizing the board in front of her, she replayed the game in her eidetic memory, searching for the mistake that had led to her defeat...but try as she might, she could not identify it.

As she continued to glower, V'vako's entire demeanor softened (if durasteel could be said to do so).

"Il'liyanav..." He said gently.  "...you need not obsess.  You're doing very well, especially for your age."  He placed a calming hand upon hers.  "I've been doing this far longer than you have, experienced more...lived more."  He smiled almost tenderly.  Almost.  "You've no reason for self-reproach."

Had D'Aylanna had the experience of her adult self, she would've heard the wisdom of V'vako's words while magnanimously accepting the lesson for what it was: vicarious knowledge from someone who had experienced life.  And the comfort of a parent for a child learning one of Life's difficult lessons.

However, she was still a 13 year-old woman-child who, while mature for her age, was also susceptible to teenage emotional outbursts.

Consequently, her anger exploded, all of it directed at the man in front of her.

Pulling her hand back, she hissed.  "Provost, you would do well to never presume upon my good nature."  Fury born of humiliation burned away the amity she normally felt for her father, the cultural indoctrination of House Royal further powering her outburst.  "You forget yourself: I am Marquesa of the Hapes Consortium!"  Even when she stood, his eyes were barely higher than his own while sitting.  "Be glad that I will forget your impudence as well as informing the Queen Mother."

V'vako's face remained completely serene without any hint of his thoughts.  He slowly exhaled before calmly standing, easily bowing at the neck.  "Of course, Marquesa."  Even though his tone was neutral, patience seemed to radiate from the man as he spoke.  Indeed, he had not the look of a man who had been savagely castigated but rather of a long-suffering mentor tolerating a wayward student.

In other words: precisely what he was.

She remembered his eyes--usually so hard, decisive, and intense--were understanding and even forgiving.  She had not appreciated then.

"You may leave me, Provost." She sniffed, dismissing him.  She'd wanted to hold onto her anger at the time; she'd wanted to blame him for her loss.  But underneath, she'd known that it was herself that she was most angry at.  She just didn't want to admit it.

As the tendrils of the dream seemed to evaporate through the lucidity of her consciousness, D'Aylanna wanted to tell herself--no, yell...scream(!) at herself--to stop being so petulant, so wasteful of the time that she'd had with him...

But she knew it was futile...

...For many reasons.

          <<<<< >>>>>

The pain of her injuries and her strained limbs burned away the remainder of the dream, her waking mind reminded of her predicament.  Coughing, she listened as the sound coming from her mouth and chest reverberated through the small, dark prison that she found herself in.  But then, something else caught her attention.

Someone else was there, with her.  Even though she was completely night-blind (like all Hapans), her ears were even more acute than most of her race.  She could hear the soft breathing of...someone, could almost hear the strong heartbeat coming from that same someone within the hold.

"Finally awake?" The woman's voice sounded like a shout even though she'd actually spoken no louder than a whisper.  It was her captor.  "I need to administer more bacta and water you." The woman's tone was dispassionate, very different from her earlier furious anger.  True to her word, she applied the salve on D'Aylanna's face and ribs.  Although she said nothing else, her eyes drilled into D'Aylanna's, utter hatred.  In as much pain as she was, D'Aylanna could empathize.

At that moment, D'Aylanna hated herself.

Immediately, she could feel the bacta working, the icy-burning sensation of tears reknitting, bruised tissue healing.  But it could not touch the emotional pain that she felt.

Wordlessly, D'Aylanna slipped back into twilight unconsciousness where her buried memories were laid bare for her to relive.

          <<<<< >>>>>

[TheDutchman]

Chapter 7: Traditions&Taboos, part II
"Ereneda, I've good news," The tall woman had a surprisingly gentle voice, the red sun device of her office in stark contrast to the severe black and white uniform she wore proudly.  Of course, that could be said of all the Justrixes, not just Ashtaali Rebegn.  However, it was Justrix Ashtaali that had taken a vibroknife in service of Ta'a Chume, a faded scar that pulled at the side of her otherwise beautiful face from brow to chin.  For that reason, she was allowed to walk fully armed in the presence of the Queen Mother.  "Or rather, my Justicar does."  She gave a sharp look over her shoulder to an imposing man who then stepped forward.

Everyone attending Court listened intently, hanging onto every word said.  Unsurprising given that the Uprising had gained the attention of the Rifle Worlds within the Consortium and for the first time in almost two millennia, there was real talk of Secession.

The man bowed deeply before beginning.  "Ereneda, I've tracked the dissidents to the southern hemisphere of Kavan.  My intel has them localized within the substrata of the Basalt Channels of the Underflow.  And Ereneda...they are all there." The man's cold, deep voice rang throughout the Court to the sound of approving murmurs and nods.  "Your forces merely await your assent."

Sur Alyxi Terricol was the very image of what a Hapan man should be: tall, well built, and incredibly handsome.  However, if anyone thought that the extent of his virtues, they would be sorely mistaken.  The Justicar had a keen mind for clues, and an almost fanatical devotion to detail.  It was said that the only thing that he worshiped more than minutia was the Queen Mother herself.

...A fact that any astute observer could exploit: the Justicar's unyielding adherence to his facts left him somewhat short of imagination.  Or so she'd been told by Provost V'vako.  Even now, the Weaponsmaster stood silently towards the back of the room, his face completely impassive.

Seeing Terricol in his element, D'Aylanna was hesitant to fully accept what the Provost had said.

"I am pleased, Justrix Ashtaali, Justicar Terricol." The Queen Mother's melodious voice caressed every ear that heard it, Ta'a Chume's beauty matching her radiant tone.  "I have already decided but now I put the issue before the Court: what should we do to these vile dissidents?" Her eyes bathed the gathered women (and few men) with a glance before settling on a young woman.  "What would you do, daughter?" She deliberately stared at the noble woman standing nearest her left side, completely opposite D'Aylanna.  She knew that she'd been left for last.

In House Royal, any woman whom was eligible to ascend the Throne was called "daughter" by the Queen Mother, regardless of actual relation.  Now if she'd said "Marquesa" then everyone would've understood that that currently meant D'Aylanna (or "Il'liyanav" as she was known within the Consortium).

With a smug look upon her face, T'Enneri Stre'eran Corsh'A Vih'Torr answered loudly.  "That the Justicar take the full contingent of the Politsiya to Kavan, wiping out all of the renegades and their male-loving ways."  She preened under the attention of the Court as only a sixteen-year-old could.  "That way, none shall ever utter heretical nonsense like 'Equality' and 'Liberty' again."  Many of the gathered women tapped their breastbone in support, the combined if muted sound giving D'Aylanna a headache...which, combined with the bruises that she'd suffered courtesy of her cousins in Training, only served to ratchet her irritation up beyond her normal threshold.

Unfortunately, it also loosened her tongue.  "That is idiocy." D'Aylanna's contemptuous tone echoed throughout Court eliciting a pregnant silence.  Even at 13, she was headstrong and confident.  As such, she ignored the subtle, almost inconsequential shake of Provost V'vako's head when she momentarily turned her eyes towards him.  After all, it was she that had earned her place above all of her cousins, most especially that halfwit T'Enneri...

"I don't remember giving the Marquesa permission to speak." The Queen Mother's voice sounded neither angry nor annoyed, but there was a hard undercurrent in her tone that had not been there before.  As one, the entire Court stared at D'Aylanna wondering what would happen next.

With a dignified bow, D'Aylanna spoke.  "Ereneda, I humbly apologize."  She waited, confident that she knew her mother well enough.  And--at least in this particular instance--she was correct.

The Queen Mother's bright green eyes were almost piercing in their intensity.  "Continue, Marquesa.  Enlighten the Court with your vast experience."  This drew some laughter quickly suppressed.

But D'Aylanna heard it as well as the challenge in her Mother's words.  With her anger rising, it burned away what little caution she possessed.  "As I said: that is foolish.  Such a strategy--if you could call it that--would only galvanize opposition against the Queen Mother."  She turned towards Justicar Terricol.  "Sur, even if all the vocal dissidents are there, there are most certainly those who are silent yet are sympathetic.  It is those that will give you problems in the future...unless you make them think that they have another decision, one that you can convince them of and make it seem as if it were entirely their choice."  She threw an offhand gesture towards her cousin.  "T'Enneri's plan is as ill-conceived as it is short-sighted."

No one spoke.  But everyone looked at the faces of three women, from one to the other and back again: the Marquesa's, T'Enneri's, and the Queen Mother's.  As for the Justicar, he was a male and therefore beneath notice (although he had learned long ago to school his face, ensuring it betrayed nothing).  Finally the silence was broken.

"The Marquesa is correct." Her stately voice was a soothing balm to almost everyone who heard it.  Except for two people: T'Enneri and D'Aylanna herself.  "Which is why she shall remain here...since she clearly needs not the experience, unlike my other, less informed daughters." 

Not one person within the Court could mistake the Queen Mother's words for anything other than the public rebuke that it was.  As the Throneroom emptied upon Ta'a Chume's dismissal, D'Aylanna found herself the lone object of everyone's gaze, some judgmental, others afraid, and even a few full of hatred.  There was but one set of eyes that held a gram of pity for her.

1st Provost Sur V'vako Saquinn.

Silently he joined her as she slowly walked towards the Throneroom's westernmost wide-open ferrocrete balcony.  Together, they watched as one of the Politsiya's sleek StrikeWyvern Pursuit-class corvettes--its graceful techno-organic fuselage roughly a third the size of one of the Consortium's BattleDragons--rose in the air before quickly gaining speed and altitude and disappearing from their sight.

Fury and shame raged in the pit of D'Aylanna's stomach, her teeth grinding.  What in the Queen Mother's name had happened?  She knew that she was right; she worked diligently to always be rig--

"Have you ever heard of the 7-Fold Shade, Marquesa?" The Provost's quiet, gravely voice came from beside her, surprising D'Aylanna.  She'd not even heard him approach.  Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that he still stared into the sky where the StrikeWyvern had taken off from.

"No." She spoke tentatively, wondering where he was going with this.

"The 7-Fold Shade is a construct I’ve long used to simplify the psyche, one representative of each of Hapes Prime's seven moons.  From within the 7-Fold Shade one can smile when they are sad.  Deep behind its partitions come the lies that are only understood through the lens of one’s most hidden fears and hopes.  It is the protection from senseless tragedy, the doors that are slowly opened to loved ones, the place where secret ambition is guarded, and perhaps the one thing each person can know is entirely unique to themselves."

D'Aylanna stared silently at the Provost, open amazement clear upon her face.  It...it was if he knew exactly what she was feeling.

V'vako continued.  "It is sevenfold because I believe everyone has multiple layers they can hide behind.  Even as we allow people in to our lives, our dreams--even our nightmares--we hold back the layers of our own truth that would leave us otherwise too vulnerable.  It is made of shades because even for the most disciplined among us, we are constantly being prodded within our defenses by people, circumstances, and truths that find ways to penetrate our secrets, for what lies within must be obfuscated."

He finally turned his head towards her, his face absent its mask and fully open.  D'Aylanna had never seen him without it.

Yet, he was not finished.  "The 7-Fold Shade is neither good nor bad; it is a tool for sanity."  His dark eyes drilled into her own, shrewd and knowing.  "Some use it to maintain indifference to evil acts they themselves commit.  Others use it to steel themselves to pain they know must be endured for a greater good.  It can be the source fortitude and a dam of passion."  He exhaled having momentarily relieved himself of all his armor.  "It is probably not the correct way to understand people...but it has been the one that best works for me."

Words but more (much more!) than that--feelings, instincts, conventions--flooded D'Aylanna with a certainty that only the understanding of a universal truth could evoke.  It was this, this lesson, this truth, that could (and would) sustain her amidst the chaos that was life in the Consortium's House Royal.

Consequently, it also provided her with a better understanding of the Provost...of the man who was her father.

"Thank you..." She said quietly, plainly.  But for the first time, she allowed her own mask to drop, her dark eyes--so much like his own--open and unguarded for him to see.  Even though he wasn't much taller, he seemed to D'Aylanna to be the largest person she'd ever seen.

With a small smile upon his lips, V'vako nodded, bowing to her at the neck.  "You are most welcome...Il'liyanav."  It was the first (and one of the only) time that he'd ever uttered her name instead of calling her "Marquesa."

Together, they turned away from the expansive view...as well as the Hapan Court.  For them it was the first of many beginnings...as well as the beginning of the end.

It was a decision that would lead D'Aylanna on an inexorable collision with the woman that she would later become, one that even now she lamented.

She just hoped that her Shakal could forgive her.

[Lord_S_Gray]

Another deep dive into the Hapes Consortium culture and politics, truly a constant battle for influence, control and prestige without mercy or respite, D’Alyanna’s training from birth a necessity. So much detail and expansion on their society here, Justicar’s, Politsiya, and he constant threats to the Queen Mother’s (may Her Radiance illuminate eternal) rule.

Her relationship with V'vako is interesting, still never fully a familial one given the necessities of the culture but at least she had some semblance of a caring relationship – one suspects this was a strong influence in her being able to divest herself of the more outright misandrist tendencies of Hapan culture in later years.
 
I have a sneaking suspicion though V’vako’s feeling may well have been used against him by ‘Il'liyanav’ at some point, possibly to help her escape, part of whatever laments she is now feeling.  Still she can't be far from Hapes now, and T'Atyanna I'm sure has far worse things than bad memories to inflict upon her.

[TheDutchman]

Chapter 8: Hidden Poison Amongst Sugared Words, part I

"The saddest thing about betrayal is that it never comes from your enemies."
-Old Shifalan Axiom

"...Then we are agreed." It was not a question, Listian's face harder than durasteel.  Sitting behind the Kage's desk, he slowly inhaled, releasing the breath as if divesting himself of a complication.  Which, in a way, he was.

"Completely." Zearic nodded as his strange hazel eyes drilled into the back of Listian's head.

Standing, the Arbiter began to walk around the large desk as Zearic stormed from the room, the immense door of the Kage's Office irising open.  As he strode through, Zearic suddenly stopped and turned, his wide shoulders almost taking up the width of the doorway.  "Go to hell you Sith-spitting bastard." The icy tones seethed through his clenched jaw, surprising the young Gray Knight that sat in the Kage's Adjutant's station just outside of the Office proper.  When Zearic turned his gaze upon the young woman, she jumped slightly.  "Good luck working with that frelling pfassk." He barked her way.

"Silver Knight Vih'Torr, you are out of line!" Listian's beard seemed to tremble with anger.  "You are censured!" The slender, older man seemed bigger than he actually was while castigating the much larger man.

Zearic growled, hand darting to his left breast as he ripped the device of the Cataphracts from his tabard and unceremoniously threw it at the Arbiter.  "Go feed the Sarlacc!"  With that he stomped out of the Kage's Office without even so much as a backwards glance.

He heard Listian apologize to the young knight, his kindly voice so different from before.  It reminded him that he would have to take care of yet another thing once this was done.

...If I'm still alive... He couldn't help thinking.  Still, nothing of his thoughts shown on his face; instead his furrowed brow only emphasized his smoldering visage for all to see.  Of course, anyone that happened to be in his way quickly found themselves hurrying elsewhere as the large Cataphract strode towards his destination: one of Zona'Ulhadv's countless aircars.  Keying the door open, he made certain that it was securely closed before slipping into the passenger seat.  Once done, his heavy shoulders slumped and he loudly exhaled.

"I take it everything went well?" Jorya asked, her fingers dancing over the aircar's controls as she deftly piloted the vehicle into one of the minor airways.  In no time the techno-organic building housing the Kage's Office disappeared behind them.  Jorya turned to face her Father as she inputed the coordinates of their destination letting the autopilot do the flying.

"Yes." Zearic's anger was a thing of the past, his tone now determined.  "Listian played the part of outraged Arbiter and I was properly antagonistic and obstinate to a fault.
 Anyone who might be interested will see only a disgraced former Silver Knight.  We're good to go."  Crossing his arms over his barrel chest, he closed his eyes.  "What did Captain Alvai say?"

Jorya smiled tightly.  "Lhyli said she could provide a 'specialist.'  Her words."  Anymore than that and people will talk."  She laid a gentle hand upon her Father's shoulder.  "Dad, we'll get Mother back."  She sounded so certain, so brave.

It made Zearic's heart swell with pride even as the pragmatic side of him wondered.  "I know, Dear One." He patted her hand with one of his own.  At least they had a lead...

For the remainder of the long flight, they rarely spoke; instead both were preoccupied with their own thoughts and worries.  As the cityscape of Zona'Ulhadv was left behind them, the airtraffic thinned until there's was the only vehicle in the air, at least in their particular sector.  Such made visual observation especially easy for Jorya as her superior eyesight scrutinized the sky from horizon to horizon.  "We're clear, Dad." She said quietly.  Zearic nodded, saying nothing.

Once again, Jorya's fingers deftly flew over the controls, taking the aircar down towards an innocuous, featureless building.  As soon as they approached the rooftop, a small hangar door telescoped open.  Even as it was still opening, Jorya expertly piloted the vehicle through the narrow opening, settling the aircar softly on the deck.  As they exited the aircar, there was a lone figure waiting around a collection of equipment.

As Zearic approached, the slender woman stood and stepped forward.  "Master Vih'Torr?  I'm Sergeant Sonam Delkrys." She nodded at the neck, her chestnut brown hair falling to her shoulders.  Although she wore a utilitarian jumpsuit, her pale arms and calves were bare.  He guessed she was about 1.68m tall, and quite muscular besides.  That, combined with the stern, businesslike bent of her face gave him the impression of a Kodashi viper: swift, powerful, and deadly.  

He'd been around such women his entire life, D'Aylanna chief amongst them.  ...Thank the Maker for Captain Lhyli Alvai... He thought.  ...And now this woman...

"Thank you, Sergeant Delkrys." Zearic intoned, nodding gratefully.  He then gestured beside him.  "This is my daughter, Koawan Jorya Vih'Torr."  Both women nodded respectfully to one another as he scanned Delkrys' collection of gear.  "Ready?"  Even though she wasn't wearing her beskar armor, he counted no less than three blasters and four vibroknives on her person.  ...And those are just the weapons that I can see... Knowing what he did of Mandalorians in general and Hit Squad in particular, Zearic was certain that Delkrys had other weapons hidden about her.

The Mandalorian woman gave a tight nod.  "Yes, Master Vih'Torr." She said simply.  Delkrys seemed to be a woman of few words.  But if looks were anything to go by, this Hit Squad Specialist was both intimidating and prepared.  She certainly looked ready.
 And, again, that was without her armor.  Good.

Zearic reached into one of his pouches, keying the special comm that Listian had given him.  Silently, a door appeared in the nearest wall where there'd been no hint of one before.  "This way, please." He said over his shoulder as he picked up the two heaviest equipment cases while leading them into a small, windowless room.  The confining room had barely enough space for the three of them as well as their respective gear.  Suddenly there was a feeling of movement before the inertial compensators kicked in.

None of them spoke during the short trip although Zearic did share a reassuring smile with Jorya.  She may be his daughter but she was no longer a child.  Then again, he had to admit that he hadn't really thought of her as a child even when she'd come to live with him and his wife all of those years ago, especially after everything that she'd been through when he'd rescued her from a COMPNOR Interrogation Center at the Kuat Drive Yards¹.

Now she had returned the favor saving his life.  Again.

Aside from D'Aylanna, there was no one with whom he trusted his life more.  Besides, Jorya would never stop searching for her Mother even if she had to look through the entire galaxy.

Without being too obvious, he watched the Togruta from the corner of his eyes.  Yes, she was young...but there was a newfound maturity that he recognized in her face, a look of determination that bespoke of the courage of her convictions, and the wisdom of experience.  Yes, she was young...and already a better koawan than he'd ever been.

He knew that, no matter what, he would always be proud of the Jedi--of the woman--that she'd become.  There was no one else with which he'd rather have at his side to rescue D'Aylanna.

Again, they felt a brief movement of inertia before the compensators kicked in.  They'd arrived.

As the thick, single door slowly opened, they stepped into a dimly-lit cavernous chamber where a deadly, sleek sentinel of a ship awaited them, newly upgraded from the R&D department.  It was his wife's ship, the Hapan-manufactured Mandalorian Infiltrator.

Fenris' Dirge.

Seeing it elicited many emotions for Zearic, all of them stemming from worry for his wife.

Orange fingers tenderly touched his back.  "Dad?" Jorya's tone conveyed so much more than just her concern; it was laden with fear, love, and--most of all--understanding.  His smile was bittersweet yet appreciative.

"It's OK."  He sighed.  "Let's go."  He started walking towards the lowering ramp, the heaviest of the cases an insignificant weight compared to the burden he now felt.

He would get his wife back.  There were no other options.

           <<<<< >>>>>

Lifting towards the sky, the infiltrator quietly sliced through the clouds leaving the hidden hangar alone and once again lost amidst the forest trees.  As the ship traversed Zonama Sekot's atmosphere into space, Jorya made certain that they were past the planet's gravity shadow before engaging the hyperdrive.  With a flurry of pseudomotion, Fenris' Dirge slipped into hyperspace on a direct vector towards their destination via the Hydian Way.

The Core world of Bar'leth.

Following the incident at the Cataphracts' Hangar, both Zearic and Jorya had each needed to spend a session in a bacta tank, their injuries not too severe but enough that a bacta treatment would be required (especially since short of a Gray Singer it was the best available).  However, it also gave them time to secure one of Hit Squad's specialists--one whose area of expertise tended towards the more unsavory elements--for the express purposes to decrypting and backtracking the datalogs stored on the now dead would-be assassin's heavily encrypted comms.

Hence Sergeant Sonam Delkrys.

It was about the time that Zearic was finishing up his treatment that Delkrys had not only broken the encryption but also had a tangible data trail providing them with the location of the assassin's contact.

Both Zearic and Jorya had shared a look with one another as soon as the Mandalorian sergeant had provided the name "Bar'leth."  And though they both didn't want to voice their suspicions, they nevertheless thought about it, all evidence seeming to support their misgivings.

For Zearic, he hoped that he was wrong for Jorya's sake.  For Jorya... Even as open as she normally was with her Father, she now was uncharacteristically quiet and guarded, not that he blamed her.

Unfortunately it made sense, especially when they considered the "lucky accident" that they'd encountered at Bar'leth those years ago.  There was no uncertainty; Sergeant Delkrys' skills as a slicer made Jorya's look pedestrian by comparison.  No, not only did the evidence fit but it actually helped to assuage one of Zearic's unspoken, long-standing concerns.  ...I knew that I was right... His teeth ground at the thought. ...Though I wish that I wasn't...

"Father..." Jorya's voice was monotone, her eyes staring at something that only she could see.  "...I will deal with him."  Zearic gave his daughter a slight nod, knowing that any argument was useless at best.  Besides, that didn't mean that he would leave her all by herself.

"I completely understand, Jorya." He said simply, trust radiating from him.  "I'll have your back."

She nodded, a determined bent to her face.  She also wanted to be wrong...but she knew the naked truth when confronted by it.  

When they finally exited hyperspace, plans had been made, reviewed, and practiced, ad nauseam.

Fenris' Dirge unremarkably made planetfall, quietly descending until they docked at one of the University's many berths.  As the three disembarked, they separated in different directions, taking opposite bounce-tubes towards their destination.

The University of Bar'leth.

          <<<<< >>>>>
___________________________________________________________________________
1: Seen WAAYYY back in "A Tarnished Knight"- http://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=35967.msg584698#msg584698

[TheDutchman]

Chapter 8: Hidden Poison Amongst Sugared Words, part II

Even this late in the evening, the campus was a bustle of activity.  Unsurprising given that the University of Bar'leth was one of the galaxy's premiere academic institutions.  Many a fine mind had attended the venerable halls where students, graduates, staff, and alumni alike worked towards making the galaxy a better place than when they'd found it.

Well, most people.

Walking across the quad with the setting sun at his back, Strileth Jantsk felt assured.  Unconsciously, his hand brushed against the large bulge in the right side of his jacket, the credit chits still securely tucked away in the hidden pocket.  The Selphi smiled, his light lavender skin looking flawless in the growing darkness as it reflected the moonlight from above.  His most recent mark had been so, so sweet.  ...And profitable... He chuckled to himself, thinking once more of the high-denomination chits secreted on his person.  The only thing that had soured his good mood had been her tears.

He wiped his hands on his trousers as if to dry them.  There'd been no reason for her to go and make it messy; after all, she still had much of her fortune (well, half).  So what if she was culturally ruined?  Even with her diminished fortune, she should be able to afford one of the more affluent suitors...

If any were still interested.

Entering the building where his apartments were, he checked all of the "passive" security measures: yes, the cheap, plastic idol was still in its place and the nylasteel string that he'd placed between the old-fashioned door and the inner foyer was where he'd left it.  However, Stril was thorough: with a couple of measured blinks, he switched his ocular implant from visible light to infrared.  Perusing the floor, he saw that the only footprints were his own.  Good.

Cancelling his infravision, Stril yawned as he casually keyed his comm, a hidden door opening.  He sank into the cushion just as the door behind him pivoted shut and the sensation of movement pressed him into his seat as the cylindrical tram ascended the bounce tube to the very top of the building, finally stopping at the penthouse.  The door pivoted open, depositing the Selphi directly into the expansive living room of his multi-level apartments.  There were several expensive paintings hanging from the walls as well as more than a dozen statues, all from different artists and styles.

One and all they were originals, authenticated and marked.

Casually throwing his jacket onto one of the deluxe aircouches within the atrium, Stril walked through the darkened room and into the adjacent kitchen, the auto-illumination immediately lighting, casting a warm, comfortable glow.  Mind preoccupied with his latest mark, he opened one of the refrigerators and took out a bottle of chilled avignol.  It was time to celebrate, especially with a score this large.

Grabbing one of the Hapan crystal snifters that was artfully arranged along the wall, he poured a generous glassful of the dark liquid.  Silently congratulating himself, he swallowed the snifter's entire contents, the avignol pleasantly burning his throat on the way down.  ...By the Queen Mother that's good... He thought as he poured himself another glass.  And why shouldn't he?  With everything that had been happening these last few years, he'd come from nothing and a nobody and turned into a man of wealth and tas--

"That looks like Corellian 12."  A voice purred from behind his left, pointed ear startling him.  Turning abruptly, the snifter fell from his fingers, the glass shattering upon impacting the floor.  As if appearing from no where, a shadow stepped in front of him, the face suddenly materializing into...

"Jorya!" He exclaimed, shock, caution, and confusion clouding his mind.  "Wha...why didn't you tell me that you were coming?" He barely paused in his question despite Stril wondering what the Togruta was doing here.

She walked towards him, grabbing the avignol bottle from his hand before he could react.  "My Father always told me to never settle for anything less than 18."  She stared up at the taller Selphi.  "He also said that Chandrilan was much better.  I haven't seen you for awhile, Stril.  Are you getting into trouble?"  She took a pull from the bottle, not even bothering with a glass.  "Yep, I was right..."  She stared hard at him.  "This is Corellian 12."

Nonplussed, Stril kept a genuine smile upon his face.  "I've missed you!  When did you get to Bar'leth?"  Now that the shock was wearing off he felt more like himself, his confidence returning.  As well as his own suspicions.  "Why were you here in the dark?"

Jorya's face didn't change, but her blue eyes seemed to burn more intensely.  "I wanted to surprise you.  You see, I've missed you, too.  And talking to you."  She gave an airy laugh, one that didn't touch her eyes.  "You'll never believe what happened to me recently!"  This time her smile completely disappeared.  "I came across this hypercomm unit; guess what I learned when it was finally decrypted?"

There was no way for him to reach the hidden blaster in his belt or the vibroblade in his boot, not without drawing suspicion.  Stril decided that he would have to try something else...

"Well you can tell me over a delicious dinner!  It's been too long since I've cooked for you."  He glided towards Jorya's side, as if to get around her.  "Are your parents here?  We could invite them as well..." He suddenly pivoted, striking Jorya's right lekku hard precisely where the nerve plexus would be.  Her eyes widened and her face fell, a look of betrayal settling upon it.  A second later she crumpled to the ground.

Stril hissed through his teeth.  A hypercomm was a very specialized piece of equipment, one that he knew all too well.  After all, he himself possessed one; it was how he'd provided intel for his Domina on multiple occasions^1&2.  If she knew about the hypercomm, then he was duty-sworn to warn his Domina...

He had work to do and now.

Stril knew that Jorya would be unconscious for at least 30 minutes, courtesy of the nerve plexus strike.  Still, he hurried into his bedroom where, placing his hand palm up on an innocuous piece of wall he waited until he heard a click.  He stepped back as the wall silently telescoped open, revealing the hypercomm relay station that he alone knew about.  He didn't even bother to sit in the chair that presented itself on its automated track; instead, he punched several buttons before beginning his dictation.

"Message to start: 'My Domina, hyperlink compromised, status of Politsiya agent unknown, quarry is--'" He abruptly stopped, his ears vibrating.  He could've sworn that he'd heard something...

Pausing the recording, he grabbed the blaster from his belt.  Slowly, he exited his bedroom, his ready blaster held close to his chest as he carefully made his way down the hall before poking his head around the corner.  Scanning the large atrium he saw nothing amiss, both in infrared and normal.  Turning, he carefully entered the kitchen where Jorya had collapsed.

She was no where to be seen.

Senses alert, Stril backed himself against the wall, scanning the entire apartment in front of him.  She couldn't have just disappeared; she must be hiding.  ...The hypercomm relay... A small voice warned.  Quietly cursing, he suddenly made his way back towards the hallway, keeping his back to the wall.  Turning through the entryway that led to his bedrooms, he broke into a run.

Or rather, that's what he intended.

Before he could even take one step, something hit him squarely in the face, breaking his nose.  Fingers like durasteel--too fast!--drilled into his wrist causing his blaster to fall from his now useless hand.  Something then clamped hard onto his other arm.  In a flurry of motion Stril's feet left the ground as he was thrown bodily down the hallway.

As his world spun around him, he tried desperately to work through the problem.  But all cognizant thought left him as he came crashing down upon the floor.

Dazed, he tried to regain his feet...only for him to see a narrow booted heel coming right for him.  Connecting solidly to his chest, he flew backwards, impacting against the back of one of the aircouches.  Spitting blood, he suddenly cried in pain as something came down upon his ankle, shattering the bones, ligaments, and tearing sinew.  He'd never before felt such pain.

Hard, slender finger gripped his aching jaw, pulling his head (and attention) back to what was in front of him.  Staring back at his confused and now bloodshot eyes were a pair of dangerous blue eyes that he'd--at least up until now--thought of as "beautifully gullible."  He would never see Jorya the same way again.

The Togruta's face was contorted in rage, her mouth snarling.  "I guess you weren't paying attention when I'd told you about my cybernetics."  Pointedly she pulled one of her lekku.  Her right lekku.  "I'm surprised at you, Stril.  You're usually so good when it comes to knowing women."  Unbridled anger burned from her.  "I guess that you don't know everything."

When Jorya had been captured by COMPNOR, they'd questioned and tortured her, excising the lekku in question.  As such, the cybernetic replacement no longer had the vulnerable nerve-plexus, and even a precision strike to the area did nothing more than create a minor biofeedback response that let the owner of the cybernetic know that they'd been hit.

Disgusted, she grabbed a pair of nylasteel zipties from her jumpsuit, binding the Selphi's wrists and ankles.  As she was attaching a line between the two, she folded his legs into a tight hogtie, heels almost touching his hamstrings.  That's when he noticed that they were no longer alone in the room.

There, just behind Jorya, was a lithe, sleek form in all black, no skin showing whatsoever.  But beside the Togruta on her other side was a mountain of a shadow dressed likewise completely in black, one that keyed the nano-mask opened to reveal...

Zearic Vih'Torr.  Stril wanted to think that it was due to his current vantage but he knew the truth of the matter: the human male looked huge and imposing, his strange hazel eyes promising murder...or worse.

Staring down at Stril with a pair of executioner's eyes, Jorya's father said nothing.  Instead, he handed something to Jorya that she quickly placed upon Strileth's head: a deprivation hood.  As long as it was activated, the victim could not hear, see, nor speak.  Switching it on, Jorya stood, her teeth gritting hard.  That's when she saw her Father looking at her, worry, sorrow, and compassion evident in his eyes.

He placed his large hand upon her shoulder.  "Are you OK, Dear One?"  Even wearing stealth utilities he was a wide man...yet right now it reminded Jorya of when he'd comforted her when she was young, gently wrapping her in his big arms as if to protect her from everything bad in the galaxy.  Once again she was grateful: he might not be her biological father but he was her Dad.

"I am...I will be," She corrected herself, fighting back tears.  "Where's Sonam?" She asked instead looking around while trying to swallow the knot in the back of her throat.

With a patient nod, Zearic gave her a reassuring look.  "She's in the other room, interfacing with the hypercomm array.  With time, she should have it decrypted." He gestured towards the rooms towards the back of the penthouse.  "She was impressed with how quickly you deactivated the security system." He mentioned, pride evident in his tone.

"I...I'll tell her 'thanks.'" She said, turning from her father, only to look back down at the man whom she'd thought she'd loved.  No, she had loved him; he'd made her love him.  They'd been together for years, albeit not able to see each other months at a time, but she'd never even thought (much less felt) him capable of...of...

That's why his betrayal hurt so much.

Her leg itched to kick the bound Selphi.  Repeatedly.  As if reading her thoughts, her Father shook his head.  "He's not worth it, Jorya."  He gently held her shoulders in a tight grip.  "Anger is one thing...hate is quite another.  And no matter how this pfassk might make you feel, you are not that."  His sudden smile was bittersweet.  "I promise you, the pain...hurts less.  With time."  Zearic whispered the last, his own emotions turning inwards.

But it helped.  Somewhat.  "I...thanks, Dad."  She stepped away, putting a little distance between herself and the object of her anger.  She tried not to hate...but Maker did she hurt.  "I'll see if there's anything that I can do for Sergea...for Sonam." Jorya offered, taking a calming breath.  Again, it helped...somewhat.  And she knew the fundamental truth in what her Father had told her.

No one--especially not Stril--could diminish the woman that she had worked hard to become, that she was.  She would not give in to hate no matter how much she hurt and no matter how much Stril deserved it.  There was only one person who controlled her.

And that was Jorya herself.

As her newfound self-conviction settled upon Jorya, her Father noticed the change in her aura, as poignant as it was subtle.  Zearic knew the pain that his daughter felt, commiserating silently with her.  But also that he was proud of her.  Once again, she had found the right path to follow, the correct road to travel.  She was indeed a better Jedi than he'd ever be.  "Of course, Dear One.  I'll make certain our 'host' doesn't go anywhere."  He placed his boot on the bound Selphi's back, giving him a shake.  With the deprivation hood in place, not a sound escaped.  Nodding appreciatively, Jorya thanked her Father and joined the Mandalorian specialist.  

Even between the two of them working the problem, it still took them until the early morning to finally decrypt and backtrack the datalog.  But as soon as they did, they all felt an icy stab of dread.

It seemed that Strileth had been a deep cover agent for years, using both his skillset and acquired tech to make himself rich.  But always at the center of it all was his unquestionable and complete loyalty to his mistress and Domina, one whose home presented the greatest of difficulties to enact D'Aylanna's rescue.

T’Atyanna Lean’nev Irell’A Vih’Torr, Marquesa of the Hapes Consortium.

Hapes Prime.
____________________________________________________________________________________________
1: As seen back in "Shadow Etude, CH.9 Frustrations" http://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=36277.msg595077#msg595077
2: As seen back in "Interlude-Shadows of the Past" http://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=36209.msg761710#msg761710

[Lord_S_Gray]

What a neat little throw back/tie in with Stril, painful for Jorya yes, but interesting at how long and far the tracking of D'Alyanna had begun. Stril basically a 'player' who has maybe gotten in over his head inadvertently. 

But where does this no leave the rescue party, Bar'Leth is easy enough to get into /out of....Hapes Prime is quite another matter - and will they simply be too late anyway?

One line that was quite notable was this There was only one person who controlled her. And that was Jorya herself. quite ironic in light of the presence of the Shard of Kadmaur and Gaetana which, whilst probably somewhat diminished after their intervention to save her in the Everstorm, will soon enough recover - those demons don't exorcise easily.


Some deep plotting coming to fruition across Dutch's stories here, always exciting to see!

[TheDutchman]

Chapter 9: Pains of the Past, Portents of the Present, part I

...no more...please... She pleaded to no one, knowing still that her silent appeal would be as futile as the last dozen.

But...she had to try.

Drifting--both physically a half-meter above the deck as well as mentally in and out of twilight sleep--D'Aylanna's mind sought to compensate for the physical abuse she'd endured, long-forgotten memories drawn out from her subconscious mind.

Pain--greater than a lost limb or a broken back--filled D'Aylanna as her half-lucid dreams haunted her unwaking mind.  But more than that was the complete and utter fear that her heart-of-hearts, her Shakal, would learn of her secret past.  He had blessedly never pushed her for details, never once felt the need to pry...and for that she was eternally grateful.

Just as she was that, with her death, he never would know.

Unfortunately, she could not control her dreams nor the subconscious mind that orchestrated them.  All that D'Aylanna could do was watch...

...And bear witness to her most egregious failure...

          <<<<< >>>>>

As its citizenry flooded the elegant, flowing streets of Ta'a Chume'Dan, celebratory fireworks, music and dancing filled the capital, the Queen Mother--May Her Radiance illuminate eternal--having declared this day a new holiday: Deliverance Day (ironic given the actual facts of the matter).  After almost two years of fighting, the Uprising had been defeated, the rebels beaten.

In truth, they'd been completely annihilated--the women, the men...even the children--the Politsiya-led Hapan Naval Fleet consisting of over half of the Consortium's 63 Battledragons and almost all of its 97 Strikewyverns first surrounding and then engaging the Uprising's naval- and ground-forces.  At least that was the official account; what the citizenry was not told was that the rebels had already surrendered awaiting the Queen Mother's representative, their collective presence on the remote and otherwise undistinguished planet of Shedu Maad making them an easy target of the Queen Mother's "Cleansing" decree.

True to her intentions, Shedu Maad would not bear life again for several decades after the fact.

However, for those of House Royal, the holiday meant something else, something that was virtually unheard of: the Queen Mother had dismissed the Court so that they too may participate in the celebrations, to remember the glory of the Consortium that protected them, and that the Queen Mother would do just that.  In other words, for this Deliverance Day (and that day only), there would be a cessation of political hostilities for every member of House Royal; no longer would any woman need fear the dagger in their back, no longer would any woman need measure their words, no longer would any woman guard herself.

Well, at least for Deliverance Day.

With an impassive mask affixed upon her face, D'Aylanna watched as the crowded streets, walkways, and plazas writhed with the massed humanity of Hapan citizenry delighting in their festivities.  For them, it was a time for celebration, of unification, of relief that the Consortium was once again safe, the Queen Mother protecting them all from the dangers of the galaxy, foreign or domestic.

But D'Aylanna knew the truth; she'd been told every detail by V'vako.  There was nothing "honorable" about what had happened, there was no "glorious victory" against an enemy that had threatened them; it had been nothing but the wholesale slaughter of innocent people seeking one thing and one thing only...

The freedom to live their lives outside the Consortium, far from the borders of the Transitory Mists that surrounded and sequestered the system, where women and men could be equal.

For the Queen Mother, such thoughts--such impudent heresy!--were not only dangerous, they were anathema.  And with the complete eradication of the dissidents, any such ideas were crushed before they could ever take hold amongst the populace.

D'Aylanna fought back the tears as her eyes watered, her mask straining.  V'vako had told her, eyes red and watery, that most of Shedu Maad was now only glass...glass and death...

...A planet haunted by the cries of dying innocents and children.  As V'vako turned to leave, D'Aylanna held up a tender, consoling hand, her fingers brushing his back.  "...father..." She said quietly. 

Looking over his shoulder with pride and love upon his face, he gave a bittersweet smile.  "Please do not say that aloud, Marquesa." He spoke just above a whisper.  "It could be your undoing."  Nevertheless, he placed a gloved hand upon hers, the gesture as intimate a one that they could chance lest someone see them. 

And report them.

"Please excuse me me, Marquesa." He said, bowing himself away.  Longingly, she watched the small man disappear between the countless columns within the Palace interior, the indigenous marble scintillating like one of the Consortium's invaluable rainbow gems.  But that light--just like life within the Consortium--was a lie; the glare and majesty only blinding those from seeing the darkness within.

She gritted her teeth, willing herself not to cry.  After a moment, she was finally comported enough at least outwardly.  But what she felt... Turning upon her heel she took a step and nearly ran headlong into a tall woman, momentarily caught off-guard with surprise.  Thankfully, she recovered quickly.  "Apologies, Sestran--" Looking up into the hooded face of the woman that she'd almost collided with, D'Aylanna gasped.  "A'Nyikka!" She felt a smile forming upon her lips, relief flooding her body.

The taller teenager grinned, a sparkle in her dark eyes.  "Careful, Il'liyanav or next time you might run into T'Enneri instead." She laughed.

Relaxing, D'Aylanna scoffed.  "Please; I needn't worry about that suka.  She's as blind as she is half-witted."  She moved to her cousin's side, matching her longer stride.  "What are you doing up here on the battlements?  Shouldn't you be celebrating like everyone else?"

A'Nyikka looked straight ahead, a sauntering gait to her step.  "I was going to ask you the same, cousin."  She glanced down to the side, her face half-hidden by the shadows of her hood.  As she walked, she gently directed them onto one of the more private paths within the Fountain Palace leading through the Gardens, a forest of colored flora and verdant plant-life.  "I'm sure that you're glad to hear like the rest of us that the Uprising is over."  Her smile became predatory.  "Even that fool T'Enneri is dancing like a shopkeeper's illegitimate offspring."  She laughed while making a crude gesture, her bare fingers brushed against D'Aylanna's exposed upper arm, the gilded gossamer material of her royal vestments having fallen while she walked.

As A'Nyikka's fingers touched D'Aylanna's skin, the smaller woman softly inhaled, her mind suddenly inundated by a Force Premonition.

She saw someone--A'Nyikka!--spying on her from the darkened corners, her softly spoken whispers as clear as a noontime summer Hapan day and easily heard what she and V'vako had spoken of but a moment ago...

Words both damning and forbidden.  But that wasn't all...

She heard someone--A'Nyikka!--speaking to a cloaked figure, one that D'Aylanna immediately recognized as one of her cousins--T'Enneri!--lithe assassin's armor-mesh hugging her svelte form, dual vibroknives held blade down, the thick tzimernut tree within the Gardens completely hidi--

...tzimernut tree...?!? D'Aylanna's eyes focused on the barkless trunk just as she was about to walk by it.

Grabbing A'Nyikka by her cloak, D'Aylanna pivoted, pulling her across the path between herself and the tzimernut tree...just in time for the assassin's--T'Enneri's--blade to slice through her cousin's robe, exposing the hidden armor-mesh beneath.  Without pausing, D'Aylanna drew one of the vibroblades at her belt, intercepting the incoming dagger.  Locking the blades, she then grabbed T'Enneri's wrist and, using her opponent's momentum, flung her over her shoulder where she crashed into A'Nyikka before she could rise.  As the two young women slammed together, they crumpled to the floor entangled with one another.

Incredulous and confused, D'Aylanna stared at her cousins.  "...But why?" She whispered.  Worriedly looking around she projected her senses outwards.  There was only one person who was relatively clos--

Suddenly, she found herself airborne for a brief few seconds before colliding hard against one of the other tzimernut tree's trunks.  Fighting off waves of panic, pain, and confusion, D'Aylanna desperately tried to clear her mind...only to find herself crushed up against the thick trunk as her feet left the ground.  A second later she felt her throat constrict, closing off the air to her lungs.  Impotently, she grabbed at her neck, fingers grasping at nothing. 

Rounding into her field of vision, she saw both of her Sestranyas.  Some part of her mind knew that each of her cousins were using the Force on her: one holding her aloft while the other was choking her.  ...Think...! She castigated herself, feeling her vision muddle and darken at the edges.

"Poor, poor Sestranya." T'Enneri's voice was simultaneously arrogant and wet as she spit blood at D'Aylanna.  "I've been looking forward to this."

"Shut up and be done with it." A'Nyikka's tone was neutral, a necessity needing be done.  Even dazed as she was, D'Aylanna knew that for A'Nyikka at least, she took no pleasure in this assassination, that it was business as usual... D'Aylanna was in her way; it was as simple as that.

Deliverence Day be damned.

Of course that didn't make the betrayal any easier for D'Aylanna.  ...I should've known... The thought came unbidden.  She'd let A'Nyikka see behind her 7-Fold Shade, confidant that her cousin wasn't like the others.

More the fool, her.

T'Enneri stepped in front of D'Aylanna, between her and A'Nyikka.  "I can't wait to tell the Queen Mother all about how the Marquesa is a disgusting father-loving traitor."  She laughed.  "Who's the 'half-wit' now, suka?" She seethed, deliberately raising her arm, vibroblade in hand.  Inhaling deep, she drew the dagger behind her head for more momentum.

It was the mistake that D'Aylanna had been hoping for.

With Herculean effort, she Pulled on one of the nearby tzimernut tree's branches, hoping that it wasn't too green.  Suddenly, one of the thick branches broke from its trunk, propelled through the air by D'Aylanna's Force Pull.  A'Nyikka's head swiveled at the noise, her Force grip loosening momentarily.  As for T'Enneri, so focused was she that the teenager didn't even glance to the side at the incoming improvised missile.

Crashing into them, the branch hit A'Nyikka a split second before it plowed into T'Enneri, mitigating some of the velocity but not enough to stop its flight path, bowling both young women over and knocking them across the Gardens.  Before coming to a rest, the broken branch had punched deep divots into the ground, ruining the immaculate perfection of the forest lawn.  More importantly, it gave D'Aylanna the precious seconds that she needed in order to regain her breath.

Raggedly, she gulped oxygen into her burning lungs, triggering a coughing fit.  But it helped to clear her head and none too soon.

A'Nyikka was already trying to rise to her feet.

Still woozy, D'Aylanna sped towards her, muscles enhanced by the Force.  With folded knuckles, she struck the taller woman across her throat...or at least that's what she intended.  Before her punch could strike true, D'Aylanna stumbled a bit across one of the divots that the branch had dug into the ground.  So instead of crushing A'Nyikka's trachea, she hit her square in her cheek.

With a pained shriek, the teenager fell backwards stunned, her orbital bone shattered.  Unfortunately, D'Aylanna tripped head over heels as a result, landing on the ground hard, knocking the wind from her already tight lungs.

Waves of panic threatened to overwhelm her as she wheezed ineffectually.  Knowing that if her two Sestranyas ganged up on her again, she'd be dead, D'Aylanna made herself move.

Half jogging, half running over to where T'Enneri still lay, the branch partially pinning the taller girl to the ground, D'Aylanna saw her cousin's eyes widen almost comically.  Using as much strength as she could muster at that moment, she kicked T'Enneri across the face, whipping her head to the side.  While D'Aylanna was wearing soft slippers--the gilded fabric supple and made for beauty, not fighting--her kick still hit hard enough to daze her Sestranya.  Hoping it would be enough, she finally had time to take a deep, delicious breath of sweet air.  With her breathing equalizing, she turned to deal with A'Nyikka.

However, before she fully turned to search for her cousin, D'Aylanna felt a quick, hard kick to the shoulder.  Clearly A'Nyikka must've also been unsteady as her kick wasn't quite on target; instead of knocking D'Aylanna on the ground, the kick merely pushed her away a bit.  Regardless, it still hurt.

Acting completely by instinct, D'Aylanna grasped at A'Nyikka with the Force, Pulling the shocked girl towards her while kicking outward with her heel.  She heard with no little satisfaction A'Nyikka's choking pant as her foot connected with the taller girl's solar plexus, causing her to collapse doubled over on her knees, several ribs broken.  Standing over her cousin, D'Aylanna's breathing seemed to be the loudest noise in the Gardens.

With one of her own vibroblades in hand, D'Aylanna stared down at the girl who had tried to kill her.  She knew what she should do, what she had to do...but she remained motionless.  Saying nothing, her dark eyes stared blaster bolts at her Sestranya, A'Nyikka's face blank.

Suddenly yet weakly, A'Nyikka threw a clumsy and pathetic punch, one that D'Aylanna easily--almost contemptuously--blocked.  Her mind sluggish, D'Aylanna wondered why her cousin would try something so desperate, so...pointle--

As her training kicked in, her conscious mind caught up, realizing that the punch had been nothing more than a distraction.  Again moving by instinct, she pivoted on her heel, calling upon the Force to empower her Flash Step.  But either because she was suffering from her injuries, a clouded mind, or both, D'Aylanna knew that she hadn't been quick enough.

From the corner of her eye, she saw T'Enneri sneaking up from behind, her vibroblades slicing from both high and low in the air.  D'Aylanna had moved her upper body away, enough to avoid the high strike...

...But not the low.

Pain erupted in her belly, the likes of which she'd never even believed could be possible.  For as tough as D'Aylanna was, she weakly sank to her knees while her hands grabbed at her dress, the ragged golden material already drenched red with blood, her viscera tangled with the tattered threads of her previously regal Marquesa's dress.  Tears of pure pain streamed down her full, dark cheeks, her teeth gritted hard as waves of agony washed over her anew.

T'Enneri held up her vibroknife, brandishing the blade in front of D'Aylanna's eyes.  "The newest from the Politsiya Ministry of Eugenics..." Her eyes flashed, hatred radiating from her bruised and bloody face, her broken lips split in a predatory grin.  "...I don't know the science but its supposed to destroy even your cells."  She roughly grabbed a handful of D'Aylanna's hair, pulling it from her carefully arranged coif, arching the kneeling young woman's head painfully back.  "It's supposed to be a long, painful process...and I want for you to suffer for every second of it!"  She laughed.  D'Aylanna was surprised that she hadn't lost consciousness but the burning pain made that all but impossible.

A'Nyikka hobbled up beside T'Enneri, the two taller Sestranyas had very different looks upon their faces: T'Enneri's was arrogantly judgmental, A'Nyikka's reserved and somber.  D'Aylanna wished them both dead, but she could do nothing under the crushing agony of...whatever the vibroblade had done (besides the savage cut to her abdomen). 

That's when she heard a hollow thwack, muted and almost unremarkable.  When she looked up, she almost forgot her pain.  Almost.

T'Enneri unceremoniously fell first to her knees and then on her back upon the ground, unseeing eyes staring at the beautiful blue Hapan sky above.  From the center of her forehead it seemed as if a dagger hilt had sprouted, the blade completely buried in the young woman's brain.  Clumsily, A'Nyikka turned and ran, stumbling into several bushes as she tried to escape as fast as she possibly could, an unfeigned look of horror upon her face. 

D'Aylanna wanted to shout after her, to call her coward...to say something...but she could only tremble in anguish as a new wave of burning torment racked her entire body.  Slumped over her knees, she cried noiselessly, tears squeezed from her tightly closed eyes.  A miniscule part of her considered the small vibrostilleto in her belt...it would be quick...anything to end the unremitting pain...