Queen&Marquesa, Executioner&Cataphract

[TheDutchman]

Special thanks to For Tyeth for once again providing the incredible visuals of Jorya!  This chapter is dedicated to him  
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Chapter 14: "Sometimes A Deal With The Devil Is Better Than No Deal At All," part I

"Bring me my accoutrements." T'Atyanna announced, her loud voice carrying throughout the enormity of the Tribunal of Illumination.  As the Hapan woman impatiently waited for her attendants, Jorya girded herself seeking the Tranquil Fury that stood balanced between Calm and Ferocity as her Father had taught her as well as Oneness with the Force that Mother had.

And tried hard not to think about the fact that both Father and Mother had fought against this woman without much success.

In her capacity as the party challenged, T'Atyanna could set the conditions of the duel; in this case, she opted to dual wield Hapan tremorswords for offense, deciding on robes but no armor for defense.

Silently, Jorya complied with the shorter woman's constraints, her face tight and unreadable...at least to most.  "Jorya..." Zearic began, pausing when he realized that he didn't know what to say.  It made the Togruta smile knowing that her Father loved her as much as he did to try to warn her but that he also respected her enough to know that he would be unable to talk her out of what she'd already decided.  "Remember all that Mother and I have taught you."  From the fissure in his helmet, Jorya could see his visible right eye over a nasty cut that he'd covered in poly-bacta.

He looked both afraid...and proud.  "The Maker keep you and may the Force be with you."  His quiet tone soothed as his deep voice trembled.  

Impulsively, she threw her arms around him (or at least as much as she could around his wide shoulders & chest) in a tight hug.  "Love you, Dad.  And Mother."  She gritted her teeth but nevertheless broke out in a small smile.  "Never forget that."  Then, quickly disengaging her arms, she proceeded to remove her armor to fight in her gray robes.

Looking over to Mother, she gave a respectful salute per proper Hapan tradition before bowing her head from the neck at the Queen Mother.  Turning on her heel, she then faced the woman that she'd challenged, the one who had abducted Mother in the first place.

Standing before Jorya, resplendent in her ceremonial aurodium dress, T'Atyanna hefted the two, slender tremorswords while taking several perfectly timed practice swings.  Even though she was almost 20 centimeters shorter than Jorya, the Hapan woman looked predatory, her entire demeanor radiating danger, everyone watching acutely aware of it.  They responded in kind.

The crowd erupted in cheers, their primal bloodlust not in the least satiated by Irtro's gruesome death.  Besides, their Marquesa would show this would-be upstart just how foolish she'd been to offer challenge against the Consortium's favorite daughter.

With that, T'Atyanna attacked.

With bare centimeters to spare, Jorya was just able to deflect T'Atyanna's tremorswords.  Before she could riposte, Jorya found herself desperately defending, the shorter woman's blades seemingly everywhere at once.  Father had been fast with his training, pushing Jorya further and further as she learned.  Mother had been even quicker, her mastery in saberwork equalled by her martial arts prowess.

This woman was faster still.

It was all that Jorya could do to keep up, the tempo of the battle completely controlled by T'Atyanna's whim: time after time the twin Hapan vibroswords smashed against Jorya's defenses, her blue&purple lightsabers a virtual blur in response.  Yet it was not enough; within minutes Jorya had several cuts on her arms, legs, and face, the latter of which was fairly deep.  Jorya knew that she had to use all of the tools at her disposal and soon.

...Balance...breathe... She reminded herself.  Willing her muscles, limbs, and form to become fluid, Jorya adopted Father's Water Warrior katas, his training now second nature for her to execute.  Trapping T'Atyanna's twin swords between her own dual sabers, Jorya stopped the Hapan woman's attack cold.  Flowing from defense to offense, the tall Togruta struck quicker than a Kodashi viper scoring two superficial yet shocking burns along T'Atyanna's arms.  Pressing her advantage, Jorya continued to flow from one Water kata to another, keeping pace with the Hapan woman.

But she did not hit her again.

T'Atyanna no longer wore a supercilious smile; instead her face was contorted in focused intent as she once again took control of the rhythm of the battle.  Jorya had to remind herself that T'Atyanna--much like herself--was supplementing her speed, strength, and stamina with the Force.

Of course, the Hapans in the crowd couldn't possibly know that...but she imagined that if they did, their cheers would soon turn to shock, perhaps even outrage.  After all, the Hapes Consortium--and Ta'a Chume in particular--was renowned for its rabid anti-Jedi sentiment.

The problem was how to prove it.

Jorya hissed as T'Atyanna's tremorsword dipped underneath her sabers, scoring a stinging cut along the back of her forearm.  It wasn't deep but it reminded her to focus.  ...Dammit that hurt... She softly cursed to herself.  Mentally shaking her head, Jorya knew that if she didn't concentrate, no amount of plotting would be able to help her.  Once again, she cleared her mind, finding Oneness with the Force.

And just in time.

As T'Atyanna suddenly attacked, she performed a savage overhead cut with both of her tremorswords which Jorya blocked with her sabers, coming within mere centimeters of her opponent.  Using her position, Jorya focused on bracing her legs and--just as Master Chillum had taught her long ago--she directed a potent yet targeted Force Push against T'Atyanna, one that seemed to catch the shorter woman by surprise.

Hitting the Hapan woman square in the chest, T'Atyanna was sent flying across the floor...only to stop fast, her twin tremorswords stabbing down into the floor and arresting her backwards slide.  Jorya's eyes widened; she'd seen Mother do it before but never counted on anyone else being able to perform such an act.

Grinning savagely, T'Atyanna pulled her weapons loose and, with an acrobatic jump, re-engaged Jorya, her twin tremorswords even faster than before.  It seemed that no matter what she did, the Hapan woman was faster, stronger, more skillful.

Better.

And Jorya knew that she was in trouble.

          <<<<< >>>>>

Stirring in the recesses of Jorya's mind, Gaetana's and Kadmaur's Shards "stepped" forward, their "tone" sympathetic and supportive.

"You want to help your Mother, your Father..." Kadmaur stated, "...let us help you."

"This woman--" Jorya knew that Gaetana meant T'Atyanna, "--Is too powerful for you.  At least, you alone."

"Let us help you." They "spoke" in tandem.

"Shut up!" She quieted the two Shards, worried that they were distracting her from the real fight.

Hurriedly, Jorya reasserted control over herself.

But worry had taken root, its tendrils slowly curling around Jorya's middle.

Fear began to emerge from within, a creeping doubt that slowly grew.

          <<<<< >>>>>

As Zearic watched, he saw his daughter lock blades with T'Atyanna, her form virtually flawless, her saberwork impeccable.  Precisely what someone who had practiced throughout their life while learning from some of the best.  For which he was incredibly proud of his daughter.

Unfortunately, T'Atyanna's skill bespoke of actual combat, one gleaned from a lifetime of adversity.  The small Hapan woman had learned from the greatest teacher of all: experience.

That was not to say that Jorya was making a poor showing; not in the least.  But against an opponent that possessed countless hours from years of real-life experience?  Unfortunately, Jorya was out of her depth.

Oh, Zearic had no doubt that Jorya would eventually outclass even D'Aylanna as a blademaster...but only after decades of experience and training.  As it was, she was already being driven backwards by T'Atyanna's furious offensive, several more bleeding cuts testament to the Hapan woman's skill.

But it was only a matter of time before the inevitable.

And the crowd sensed it, the utter savagery of the shouting Hapans drowning out all individual voices so that Zearic could barely hear himself thinking.  But much like the crowd, the wide Cataphract sensed more than saw the tide of battle, worry multiplying by the second.

He made up his mind: even if it cost him his own life, he would intercede before anyone could do anything about it, Hapan "rules" be damned.

Looking towards his wife, the two of them locked eyes.  With love flowing between the two, they both understood in that moment.  They would be together together again, one way or another...

...In this life or the next.

          <<<<< >>>>>

Blocking a punishing cut to her face, Jorya's breath was forced from her lungs as a sudden brutal kick smashed into her solar plexus, causing her to double up almost in half.  Somehow, miraculously, she was able to intercept T'Atyanna's tremorsword before it took her head from her neck but it left her open from the shorter woman's lightning-quick stab.  Only a last-second block by Jorya's purple lightsaber saved her from a mortal wound but instead of stabbing through her heart, T'Atyanna's blade sank into her upper chest along her clavicle.

Either by the blessings of the Maker or the will of the Force, the bone held but the damage had been done.

Jorya's blue lightsaber dropped as she fought to control the muscles now cut and torn.  Yet she did not drop the blade; instead she assumed a pure Soresu Form, focusing entirely on defense.

But--like everyone else--Jorya knew it wouldn't be enough.

          <<<<< >>>>>

"Please, let us help you!" Gaetana's shard pleaded.

"We can save y--save your entire family!" Kadmaur's shard agreed.

Jorya knew what they contended was true.  Furthermore, she knew that without help, she was finished.

And with her, so too her Mother.

Again, in the split-second between thoughts, Jorya deliberated upon what she could do, what she must do, in order to save her family.

She "nodded" her assent, giving control to the two Shards, knowing--fearing!--it was the only way...

          <<<<< >>>>>

[TheDutchman]

Chapter 14: "Sometimes A Deal With The Devil Is Better Than No Deal At All," part II

Squaring his shoulders, Zearic looked from T'Atyanna to the nearest 4 Chume'doro guardswomen planning his attack.  He knew that with surprise, a swift, surgical attack he should be able to cut a swath through the crowd, securing not only his wife but also his daughter.

The only problem would mean that T'Atyanna would have a clear strike at his flank.  Given what his Cataphract armor had endured in his fight with Irtro, Zearic was not certain that he'd be able to tank such an attack, not with what he'd experienced back on Sekot when he'd first fought the small Hapan woman.

And that was when he'd been fresh, his armor undamaged.

...Frell it... He smiled grimly.  ...At least my family will be safe... It was a reassuring thought, one that gave him comfort.  Inhaling, he let out his breath, ready to die for his fam--

With shocking suddenness, Jorya exploded into motion, jumping above and behind T'Atyanna, grabbing her bare shoulder for leverage.  Simultaneously, she kicked her legs downward, connecting with the Hapan woman's head.  Before her boots had even touched the marble floor, Jorya's fingers were splayed wide while still holding her sabers as white-hot arcs of lancing purple lightning shot forth, striking T'Atyanna squarely in the back.

Picking the small woman up, the collected lightning surged through T'Atyanna like a coupling as it violently flung her airborne only to send her crashing down several meters away, colliding with a few of the Hapans unlucky enough to be standing along the perimeter.  For T'Atyanna, she was completely befuddled, a look of uncertain shock gripping her face as she fought to regain her situational awareness.

As for the others...they were collateral damage, the scorching purple lightning that had flung T'Atyanna through the air had arced into them, finding the path of least resistance--in this case, each individual body it touched--burning through their flesh like magma through a fissure in the earth.  The lightning left through each of their bodies by way of their eyeballs, each one exploding in a macabre display of gore.

As Zearic's mind raced the crowd cheered all the louder, the primal nature of the Hapan culture giving into the violence.  Conscious of such, he checked around him making sure that the Hoplites were unmolested, after which he looked towards his wife, his eyes locking onto hers.  In them he saw both confusion, trepidation, and strength reflected back, their shared love for one another and their daughter giving them hope. 

Yet Zearic also felt a growing sliver of fear, this fresh and new: he knew that he'd taught Jorya much, even training her in the Ways of a Water Warrior (which, while not precisely forbidden, was frowned upon, at least until the student themself attained the rank of Silver Koawan), not to mention the specialized training that she'd received from D'Aylanna and Master Chillum.

The Force Lightning that Jorya had used wasn't anything remotely close to what any Gray Jedi taught, the closest equivalent being Electric Judgment.  What precisely that portended, Zearic didn't know.  What he was certain of though was the fact that, now, the tide of the battle had turned.

Jorya was winning.

          <<<<< >>>>>

Rising from her knees, T'Atyanna shook her head to clear any remaining pain and confusion.  What the hell had happened?  One moment she'd had the little tralk, then the next... Well, whatever had happened, clearly she'd used up her surprises.  Grimly, T'Atyanna hefted her tremorswords.  She would not be caught unawares again.  Il'liyanav's daughter was a dead woman walking; she just didn't know it yet.

Determined, T'Atyanna thought of her fallen Sestras, their dead faces burned into her mind.

She would have her revenge against Il'liyanav for killing them, starting with the Togruta in front of her.  ...One fallen loved one for another... She smirked.

Sweeping her booted foot in a semi-circle around to the side and behind her, T'Atyanna adopted an advanced defensive stance, raising both her swords in a high guard.  Yet what did the Togruta do?

The orange-faced tralk smiled.

Narrowing her eyes, the Hapan woman attacked.

When she'd crossed blades with taller woman before, she'd sensed the quim's trepidation and controlled fear, especially during those times that her tremorswords tasted her blood, always reflected within the girl's large, liquid blue eyes.

Not this time.

As blue&purple blades matched T'Atyanna's smoky tremorswords, she could find no opening within them, no mistake to exploit, no doubt to play upon.  It...

...It was as if T'Atyanna faced an entirely different opponent now.

Sensing the missile before she saw it, T'Atyanna ducked the incoming rubble (courtesy of one of the many broken marble columns) that Il'liyanav's daughter had flung at her with the Force.  That was new; she had not expected for one so young to have learned the technique while engaged in a desperate swordfight.

Much less with such precise form.

As T'Atyanna ducked, she expected the missiles to continue along their trajectory, never thinking that they were still a threat.

Before she knew it, T'Atyanna was clobbered from behind, blood running freely from the crown of her head as several sharp pieces of marble debris rained down upon her.  T'Atyanna was quick: using the Force, she chanced a flash-step to the side, one that might seem quicker than the eye could catch but not enough to be remarked upon by the Hapans in the crowd.

Lest they learn the truth of those within House Royal: that they were one and all Forceusers.  Such hypocrisy ran counter to the rabid anti-Jedism that the Queen Mother lauded and preached.

T'Atyanna was able to use the Force to empower her but not to her full potential.  For that matter, she had not needed it, at least not against Il'liyanav's daughter.  Not until now.

Still, the gash along her head bled freely, the pain beginning to adversely affect her.  After another half-dozen passes, T'Atyanna had 3 more cauterized burns along her arms and back, with the orange-faced tralk showing no signs of fatigue.  She knew that she must fight at her fullest possible strength.  Drawing as much of the Force that she could around her, T'Atyanna once again engaged.

This time both women seemed evenly matched: their blades--blue&purple and smoky black--were an impenetrable shield around which neither sword could penetrate.  As each cut was parried, each subsequent riposte was thwarted, the two women were locked against one another in a terrible dance.

Yet neither seemed to be able to gain advantage over the other.

Working her twin vibroswords in tight orbits, T'Atyanna felt stifled; worse: the Togrutan tralk smiled!

For the first time in her life, the Hapan woman felt trapped.  It was as if her opponent was anticipating every attack that she could devise, as if by reading her thou--

This time it was T'Atyanna who hissed.  She was suffering the effects of Force Suppression!  It was incredibly subtle, an amazing feat, one that only a true master of the Force could employ.  How, by the Queen Mother, was this...this pubescent tralk able to do it?!

Frustration ignited within T'Atyanna, hot, visceral emotions that--had she been calm--she would've noticed that she was being manipulated, guided by an unseen hand whose softest influence was almost as ephemeral as a mist in a gale.  She must be stronger, tougher, faster!

Better!

She drew forth from the Force as much as she could possibly hold, never once thinking exactly what she was doing.  And had she bothered to listen, she would've heard the collective shouting of the crowd begin to quiet, little-by-little at first but more noticeable at the two woman continued to fight one another...

Both women's bodies moving almost impossibly fast, performing feats of strength beyond normal, displaying virtually instantaneous reflexes.  But the crowd went completely silent when Jorya suddenly launched another barrage of Force Lightning directly at T'Atyanna...

...And without thinking and reacting entirely by instinct, T'Atyanna caught the Lightning in her palms, the energy shunted by her innate tutaminis, a genetic gift that almost every woman from House Royal possessed to a greater degree.  Once she'd gathered all of the Force Lightning flung at her, T'Atyanna redirected it back towards Jorya, striking the tall Togruta squarely in the chest.

Blown from her feet, Jorya hit one of the marbled columns by where the Queen Mother was sitting and crumpled to the floor.

Enraged, T'Atyanna ran towards where the orange-face tralk had collapsed and, lifting both of her tremorswords, snarled as she looked upon her victim: Il'liyanav's daughter.

...First her daughter, then the bitch-mother herself... She raged, all rational thought gone.

She swung both swords downwards, the executioner's swing intent on beheading Jorya as she lay upon the marbled ground.

          <<<<< >>>>>

[TheDutchman]

Special thanks to For Tyeth for once--twice!--again providing the incredible visuals of Jorya!  This chapter is dedicated to him 
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Chapter 14: "Sometimes A Deal With The Devil Is Better Than No Deal At All," part III

When both women began to move preternaturally fast, Zearic noticed before almost everyone else that the Hapan masses were no longer screaming for violence and spectacle, that they--slowly but inevitably--began to look on in disbelief and confusion.  There were only three others who noticed before he did that something was amiss:  D'Aylanna, Listian, and the Queen Mother herself.

While many gathered stared in amazement at the two women fighting, more of those eyes began to take on another look, one that straddled between two emotions:

Fear...and hatred.

Zearic was worried that a full-scale riot was about to break out as he saw the same face reflected back from every single Hapan woman he looked at.  Keying his Triad's private comms channel, he typed out "WARNING" with the holotext using his eye.  But then he saw Force Lightning erupt from Jorya's fingers, thick curling bolts of purple plasma as they arced towards the shorter woman.

Only for her to catch them in her hands and fire them back at Jorya.  So sudden was the reversal that many didn't see precisely what had occurred, only the results: that Jorya had been blasted away, landing on her back and that T'Atyanna--screaming with anguished fury--had picked up her swords and closed the distance between the two.

Time seemed to slow, seconds stretching into minutes.

The crazed look upon T'Atyanna's face mirrored the rage in her eyes as she smiled a rictus-like grin, both of her tremorswords descending in a wide, arcing cut directly at Jorya's neck.

The complete shock of the crowd as each individual strove to mentally parse what they'd seen, not particularly wanting to recognize  exactly what it was that they were seeing...even though deep down they suspected.

The almost blank face that Jorya wore as she looked up from the ground while she watched T'Atyanna's blades come ever closer to her exposed neck.

The helplessness that Zearic felt as his eyes widened in horror at the sight of those same tremorswords, sharp, lethal edges falling towards his daughter.  Impotently, he raised his hand to stop her with the Force, knowing that he'd be too late to ever possibly succeed.

"JORYA!" His voice wrenched from his throat, cracking as it reverberated throughout the Tribunal of Illumination.

Which is why no one heard the first blaster shot.

Instead what everyone heard was the loud, heavy clang as T'Atyanna's two tremorswords fell to the ground beside her, the small Hapan woman now held in a shocked Zearic's viselike Force Grip.  But...she did not look at Zearic.

Looking slowly down, she saw the charred bits of her aurodium dress burning back from a small, black hole in the middle of her chest.  Blinking, T'Atyanna raised her head, staring not at Zearic who still held her via the Force but past him...

...At the Queen Mother.

And in her hands she held a small hold-out blaster, the kind that scoundrels the galaxy throughout secreted about their person.  Her face blank mask, Ta'a Chume fired again.

And again.

Both shots hit true, striking T'Atyanna center mass, the small woman crumpling backwards (Zearic had released his Force Grip upon her upon following her line-of-sight towards the Empress).

There, in the Tribunal of Illumination, the only thing that moved was the Queen Mother as she glided over to her Marquesa.  For two brief seconds, she and T'Atyanna shared a look, one that bespoke of a lifetime of experiences, of adversity, of living.

Looking down, Ta'a Chume gave a brief, secret smile for her Daughter--her true, biological daughter--before whispering something that only T'Atyanna could hear.

It was a Hapan lullaby, the same that mother's throughout the Consortium sang to their children in order to soothe them.

She then shot her twice in the head, the hydrostatic reaction causing it to flash-boil, leaving only a mist of red vapor and a headless, twitching body.

[Lord_S_Gray]

That was quite the duel! What a chapter, fitting for the story as a whole thus far with so many overlapping battles within battles, Jorya v T'atyanna, Vhal'dan v Hapan, Jorya and shards, Zearic agonising over intervention, and in the end the Queen Mothers hypocritical hatred of Jedi over coming them all.

Jorya faced a no win situation. Zearic is totally correct she has the potential to exceed her parents in future...but the duel was in the Now and she was, talented though she is especially after serving with the Templars, outclassed. The parasitic shards forced to act and Jorya had no choice but to lose and see her mother die or invite them in - their lightning forced T'atyanna to expose herself very cleverly (though it must be said Jorya had the same thought).

And now there is a very very messy situation following the Queen Mothers 'judgement'...may her Radiance Illuminate Eternal... Technically I suppose the Duel is 'void' so what among the Hapans flexible cultural rules is to happen now...or will Listian put his foot down. Perhaps without T'atyanna accusing or there to prosecute her case against D'alyanna is voided as well...a chance for both sides to cut losses...though the Hapes Consortium will not forget the Vhal'dan invasion even if a deal can ve worked out.

But more than that...what consequences will actually inviting the two shards to control her have for Jorya, can the box she opened be closed? Hopefully someone notices the profound changes as Zearic seems to have.

But finally a moment to consider T'atyanna...she was not a villain,  everything she did was in service of obtaining justice for her Sestranyas according to Hapan custom in which sense she was completely justified and right in her actions. She was undaunted by taking on the Vhal'dan to do so, spent enromous resources to get D'alyanna and despite numerous opportunities did not just kill her, determined to see her judged (ironically killing D'alyanna earlier arguably would've avoided the circumstances of her own death). In this T'atyanna was a product, exemplar, and victim of the Hapan culture Dutch has so vividly painted through this story, perhaps an example of what D'alyanna might have been in another history.

[TheDutchman]

Chapter 15: False Detente, part I

Within the sequestered exotic stellar matter that was the Transitory Mists lay the entirety of the Hapes Consortium, the autonomous galactic entity that had boasted anonymity and sovereignty apart from the Old Republic--and later the Galactic Empire--to live uncontested and unmolested for almost 4 millennia...

...No more.

For more than two days the Battledragons and Nova-class cruisers had been caught unawares in the Vhal'Dan sneak attack, dozens upon dozens of capital ships destroyed, hundreds of Miy'til fighters shot down, many more of each type damaged beyond commission while the safety of the Consortium became nothing more than a memory.

As jammed distress calls went unanswered, panic became rampant throughout the system, deadly rumor flying faster than any hyperspace transit.  And all the while there was one particular ship that every frightened Hapan would mention, soon to become a daemon given dark, unholy life.

The shadowed, sleek darkened hull of the warship was more than just a dangerous phantom; it was a visceral terror made manifest: an invulnerable predator that promised death, destruction, and defeat.  Worse, it carried within its bowels hundreds of the smaller but no less deadly fighters, each one a horror for any Hapan pilot unlucky enough to engage.

But it was the capital ship that constituted the worst for the Consortium.

As the menacing dagger-shaped ship slid across the top of Hapes Primes' darkening stratosphere reminding everyone on the planet of the danger it represented, the Fyrir-class Star Destroyer drew every eye towards it as a result.  It was this ship--Rikard's Aldrnari--that had put paid to the illusion of the Royal Navy's superiority, outright destroying many of the Homeworld Fleet's capital ships while crippling many more.  It was no wonder that it elicited panic and abject hatred when any Hapan looked skyward (regardless that they could barely see it with the naked eye).

Such were the Vhal'Dan Order's intentions.

Even now during the uneasy "peace" that had been agreed upon by both the Vhal'Dan Arbiter and the Queen Mother, the citizens of Hapes Prime found themselves looking skyward towards the ship, claiming thousands of sightings, both real and imagined.

All a part of the larger Vhal'Dan objective.



Now as then, the ship proved more than up to the task in drawing attention to itself...so much so that the two-dozen Adar-class missile destroyers could retrieve their cloaked payloads from precise geodesic coordinates where they had clandestinely inserted the proverbial tip of the Vhal'Dan spear: the droid-manned bioweapons control systems laboratories.  It was these same constructs which had enabled the outnumbered Vhal'Dan forces to pacify the population of the Homeworld proper¹, the bloody, scarring nano-virus terrifying the vain Hapans with the horrifying threat of destroying their prideful beauty. 

There were only two things that were as important: their deeply ingrained cultural dictums and their rabid anti-Jedism, where usually one of the three subjects would vie for primacy in the Hapan collective concern.

Precisely what now occupied the mind of the Empress herself.

For the gathered crowd to witness a Hapan--much less the Marquesa!--engage in such an illicit taboo as...as Forceusing...well, Ta'a Chume knew that she'd have to act, knew what must be done...

...Lest the populace learn of the great secret that House Royal had kept all these centuries.  Yes, it had pained her but the Queen Mother would do anything--anything!--to retain power...even if it meant bending the knee momentarily to the shrewd, old bastard in front of her, even allowing his Jedi to take one who was sentenced to complete her Punishment, even...

Even if it meant killing her own daughter...Marquesa or no.

Just so: she sat regally upon the Elysium Throne, the radiance that surrounded her both carefully cultivated as well as very real.

Staring from behind her perfectly impassive mask, the Queen Mother allowed these despicable Jedi to make their demands, all the while completely indifferent to their desires; the Trial had simply been another affectation demonstrating her power.  To be perfectly blunt, she'd never cared one way or another about Il'liyanav, not even that she'd fled from the Consortium.  In fact, Il'liyanav doing so had directly led to Ta'a Chume's investiture as Queen Mother all those years ago.  She almost smiled.

Almost.

No, had it not been for T'Atyanna's insistence, her personal dedication to collect the former Marquesa and return Il'liyanav for Trial, or her sudden and obdurate challenge, and--worse--her blatant stupidity in exposing hersel--

"I take it, Empress, that these proceedings are now concluded?" The wily old Jedi intoned, interrupting her thoughts.  Behind him, the enormous armored champion that had bested Irtro was carrying Il'liyanav in his arms, the small woman utterly dwarfed by the wide man.  Ta'a Chume had to give credit to Il'liyanav: she'd found herself a male of proper size and temperament, one that would die to protect her, even as he did her bidding without question.

The former Marquesa was a true Hapan woman.

It was just too bad that they were on opposite sides of the dejarik board; Il'liyanav was a most stimulating opponent.  Ah, but the Queen Mother knew that she was also too dangerous; that was the reason that she had let her escape all those decades before when she'd espied her talking to the Jedi envoy to her Mother.  After all, Il'liyanav was supposed to be dead...and Ta'a Chume had never bothered to disabuse anyone to the contrary. 

Besides: things had worked out quite nicely for her as a result.

Even though the Off-Worlders had successfully invaded, Ta'a Chume knew that their command was at best tentative: they were far from their own base, possessed a finite amount of ships numbering just under 100 (no matter how powerful they were), and were not a police force intent on pacifying the much greater native populace.  As she'd done many times before, she decided to lose the battle to continue the war, to live to fight another day...one that would lead to victory and--much more importantly--her continued supremacy.

And she still had T'Atyanna's intel.

Her lip twitched at the thought, a ghost of a movement that she immediately suppressed.  Again: she focused on Il'liyanav's consort, his bearded face no longer hidden beneath the polarized faceshield.  A hard man whose visage was chiseled from the adversity that the Galaxy had thrown against him, so unlike the pretty males of the Consortium.  To Hapans, he would look exotic...unique.  Too bad she had not seen him first; like she said: he was a man of proper size, strong when necessary but also deferential to Il'liyanav. Would it even be possible...?

She sighed inaudibly. No, she reminded herself, even a detail as minor as that might be the one to derail her plans.

After watching the wide armored man join eight other similarly armored large beings, she turned back to Listian, giving her full attention as she nodded seemingly permissively, an almost bored expression now affixed upon her face.

"You may take your 'Speaker' and depart, Arbiter..." Her voice rang throughout the Tribunal of Illumination, "...And never return under pain of War and Death." She announced grandly.  Every Hapan around her--noble and common, warrior and civilian--beamed with unfeigned pride at their Empress--may Her radiance illuminate eternal--and her fearlessness as she sent the invaders packing.  Indeed, every Hapan looked on with adoration at Divinity Given Life.

But not every person.

Listian's smile only broadened, his intelligent blue eyes hard and discerning.  "Of course, Empress."  He bowed at the neck, amusement showing only in his eyes.  "Should we see one another, War and Death will invariably be the only acceptable result."  His voice was light with a hint of playfulness, a fact not lost upon every Hapan who heard him, especially when next he added:  "And I believe that we both know the outcome of our next encounter."  They stared blaster bolts at the slender man, but if he noticed, Listian looked utterly unperturbed and he joined the rest of the armored invaders.  He had an almost lazy mien affixed upon his face. 



However, the Queen Mother noticed that his lightsaber was still in his hand as he and his troops withdrew into the giant warship that took up the largest spaceport adjacent in the main hall of the Tribunal of Illumination, covered by the large, armored--Cataphracts?--beings.

Even before the last Cataphracts (yes, that was it) had withdrawn--all of them watching with constant vigilance, weapons primed&ready--a few members of the Chume'doro were poised on the precipice to attack, awaiting but the slightest of motions from the Queen Mother.

...It would be so easy... The thought came unbidden.

Ta'a Chume remained motionless, even as the large warcraft lifted off on virtually silent, advanced antigrav engines before swiftly disappearing into the (relatively) dark, dusky sky.  She imagined the warcraft linking up with that damned star destroyer, the one with that incredible weapon...a weapon that she'd decided that she--and she alone--would possess.

"Ereneda!" The highest ranking Chume'doro present, Colonel Vikari Rumen, politely exclaimed, "Do you wish for the Royal Guard to pursue and destroy?" The colonel's shiny, blue light armor gleamed in the preternaturally bright evening, but not as fiercely as the woman's dark eyes.  ...So easy...

"No..." Ta'a Chume replied, plans already taking shape.  "Not yet, Colonel."  Vikari was a good woman and an even better soldier.  She would soon challenge that fool Renolyn Derveth for Commandant and she would succeed.

The Queen Mother would make certain of that.

Renolyn had been an ardent supporter and zealous woman whose career was replete with success and honor.  She'd even personally saved the Queen Mother's life during a failed assassination attempt and had been awarded the Rainbow Medal no less than four times for valor in combat.  In short, Renolyn was everything a Hapan woman should be.

...Except that she was also the one to surrender to the Off-Worlders.

"Chume'doro...Justrixes...Daughters..." The Queen Mother's pronouncement began, her sorrowful tone carried across the Consortium, "I've driven the invaders off, without so much as a loss of one Hapan life."  Not precisely true but the Hapan people wanted to hear what they wanted to believe.  Shouts of joy and approbation reverberated throughout the expansive hall, the Throneworld, the Cluster proper.  She obviously said nothing about T'Atyanna.  "But they should've never been permitted to dirty the jewel that is our Homeworld...a despicable event that I'm afraid was allowed by one woman in particular."  The crowd began to yell anger and disapproval.

Ta'a Chume paused dramatically, each citizen hanging onto every word.  "It is with eternal regret that I must charge one of our women to answer for this debacle."  As the rage of the crowd surged, she knew that it was she that could now direct them, much like a sword.  ...Apropos sentiments... One side of her mouth turned up slightly in amusement at the irony.  "Justrixes!  Find, detain, and bring me the woman Renolyn Derveth!"  She commanded, the fact that she'd said "the woman" and not "the Commandant" was not lost upon every Hapan who heard.

The black-clad women burst into action while the Chume'doro surrounded the Queen Mother, creating a bulwarks of flesh, vibro-glaives, and blue carbonfiber-plate.  And while the commoners chanted "Ereneda!  ERENEDA!!  ERENEDA!!!, the nobles withdrew from the Tribunal of Illumination, amazed once again that Ta'a Chume had drawn evermore power to her, wrapping her grip tightly around the ephemeral position of Empress.

A trick that she'd perfected well and would again in the future.

As for Renolyn, the former Commandant was given her just reward for decades of competent, selfless service, one commensurate for a lifetime of loyalty to the Empress.  She was not imprisoned, not detained, she was not even arrested.  As she awaited the public decision of her Queen Mother, she was silently, unceremoniously garroted to death in her sleeping quarters.

For the rest of the bridge crew of The Empress' Wrath, they were one and all executed--nothing fancy, merely a blaster to the head--their bodies jettisoned into the nearest star, their families told that they were amongst those killed by the Off-Worlders, casualties of the Vhal'Dan pre-emptive strike.

Throughout the Consortium, all of Ta'a Chume's machinations saw fruition, long-planned schemes enacted in the wake of the War, all justified (or at the very least, unquestioned) and blamed upon the Gray Jedi invaders.  It never ceased to amaze her that millions of deaths could be so easily accepted, given the proper pretext...

As she glided from her aurodium throne surrounded by her Royal Guard, Ta'a Chume continued working, manufacturing ploys within ploys, all to the deafening cheers and adulation of her people.

The Queen Mother had not enjoyed such a surge in popularity in years as during the aftermath of the attack.  But still there were plans to enact...

          <<<<< >>>>>
________________________________________________________________________________________________________
1. As seen at the very end of CH.11: Commensurate Reprisals and during the standoff between Listian and Ta'a Chume in CH.12: Rook Threatens Queen, Check...

[TheDutchman]

Special thanks to For Tyeth for once again providing the incredible visuals of Zearic!  This chapter is dedicated to him 
***********************************************************************************************

Chapter 15: False Detente, part II

Deep within the superstructure of the massive Vhal'Dan flagship, the bulkheads quietly reverberated with the hum of the hyperspace transit, a fact completely ignored by the wide man standing in the subdued light of the medbay, his dark gray utilities almost black.  Staring at the gorgeous woman suspended in the full bacta tank, the tightness in Zearic's eyes were the only indicator of the warring feelings roiling beneath the thin veneer of calm that barely held sway. 

He continued to stare at his wife, noting that despite her horrible torture, she'd endured remarkably well: her brown skin looked healthy, lips the proper hue of blue, her dark, midnight hair floating luxuriously amidst the bacta pool.  Her small hands and feet slowly treaded through the viscous medicine to promote therapy, delicate fingers and toes softly moving almost lazily.  Even the flayed skin on her back, chest, and arms had knitted back together, leaving only the faintest of scars.  At least the physical ones.

Zearic scowled.  He'd had little enough time between getting D'Aylanna onto the ship and into the bacta tank so that he'd had just a handful of words between them said.  Truth be told, the small Hapan woman had said but four words...yet it was those four words that buoyed his spirits now.

"I love you, Shakal."

Smiling at the memory, he held onto it, something precious to be protected.  Just like her.  After all this time, his Ereneda was safe.  And he would do everything that he could to ensure that she remained so.

Inevitably, thoughts of recent events encroached upon his mind, the killing of first T'Atyanna's part-Gen'Dai champion and then T'Atyanna herself chief amongst them.  He'd been lucky against the Gen'Dai, realizing early enough what Irtro was.  Not to mention that, prior to his renewal, Irtro would've most certainly killed him.  He sighed.

It always seemed to lead back to that.

Involuntarily, Zearic's jaw clenched hard, the muscles in his jowls flexing.  He should feel relief, gratitude even; he'd been given the power that he'd so desperately wished for all of his life, the power he needed to protect his family, his friends, his Order.

But that was just it: it was power given, not earned.  Not by him and certainly not from anything that he'd accomplished.  In Zearic's experiences--from the mean streets of Kavila on Dalos IV to the training salles on Sekot, M'Tzigon, and dozen planets the galaxy throughout--anything unearned was suspect.  Rightfully so in this instance; he'd already seen one of the costs of his renewal²...what if there were others?

Would he...would he be a danger to his family, just as he'd been to Karmack?  To the now dead Kage Silman Lo?

Large hands balled into fists tightly as Zearic's frustrations wracked him just as the consolation of D'Aylanna's rescue comforted him.  Would his life be a constant struggle where he was given one thing only to have another taken?

Suddenly, his heavy shoulders shook, a silent laugh that grew louder and sardonic in tone.  "If you want the Maker to laugh..." His father Kazic had told him, "...tell Him your plans for life."  How kriffing perfect...

Running thick fingers through his closely shorn hair, the bittersweet laughter left Zearic feeling exhausted yet triumphant.  Just as Kazic had reminded him often, life was a dichotomy. 

The trick was finding that sliver of the Galaxy that you could call Home. 

Well, he had.  And--again--had helped to save his Ereneda.  Of course, she'd saved him so many times he'd lost count... Grinning, he allowed himself to focus on the relief, choosing to push down the concern of the Unknown.  It helped.  When next he looked at his wife, he saw that she was awake, her dark eyes locked onto his.

With deft tenderness that seemed incongruous with hands as large as his, Zearic reached out to touch the transparisteel tank encircling D'Aylanna's diminutive body.  Reaching out, she mirrored her husband, their open palms touching through the tank's smooth, curved wall.

"I love you, Ereneda." He whispered, his eyes watering.  He longed to be able to touch her, to speak to her...but for the bacta to be the most effective, complete submersion was required, including a micro-vapor treatment for her mouth, throat, and lungs.  As a result, D'Aylanna wouldn't be speaking for several hours yet.

However, the look and love that she reflected in her eyes towards Zearic was indicative of the fact that she completely understood.  The bulkheads of the medbay melted away, the ignored hum of hyperspace completely forgotten as the two of them saw only the other in a galaxy containing only them.  And for that time, she was all that he thought of.

A mistake that Zearic would later regret.

It would be a couple of days before the treatments were complete, days in which Zearic would spend every moment, waking or otherwise, next to his Ereneda.  It would be another day before he left D'Aylanna's side as he guarded her as she slept in the comfortable aircouch within the medbay to finally escort her to their private quarters.

It would be then that he would finally learn the truth concerning his family, something that he'd witnessed during the fight on Hapes Prime but had chosen to ignore in lieu of his wife's well-being.

And why wouldn't he?  D'Aylanna's health took primacy, a fact that absolutely no one would refute, much less castigate him for...

...Petty words of comfort in hindsight.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________
2. As seen during "What You Leave Behind" CHAPTER 25- In Midnights Grasp, Part 5, http://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=38818.msg679453#msg679453

[TheDutchman]

Chapter 15: False Detente, part III

As the low thrum of hyperspace quietly echoed through her room, the Togruta sat seemingly insensate crosslegged on the top of her unused bed.  Wearing nothing but her smallclothes, Jorya's arms rested easily on her lithe legs, her orange skin almost glowing in the low ambient light from the adjacent refresher.  Anyone who saw her would think nothing odd, just a koawan meditating or recovering from her trials during the invasion.  Yet nothing could be further from the truth.

If anyone had bothered to continue to scrutinize--really, really look--at Jorya's face, they would've seen the multiple involuntary muscle twitches, spasms that often distorted half of her face part of the time.  If such unease was indicative of her inner turmoil, it was but a fraction of the true struggle within.

Beneath eyelids clamped tightly closed, Jorya's personality raged impotently in bonds stronger than quadranium, prisoner to the two Shards that had wrested control of her body as part of the agreement to help save her Mother³.  It was they whom had given Jorya the power boost, access to ancient, arcane knowledge, and Force secrets that had allowed her to best T'Atyanna and finally tricking the young Hapan woman into revealing herself as a Forceuser.  Power...for a price.

And now that Gaetana's and Kadmaur's Shards had control, they were intent upon never letting go.

"...I...I deny you both..." Jorya told them through the controlled panic that ebbed like a tide, her strong convictions admirable...and ultimately futile.

Laughing in response to the conspicuously hollow threat that the young woman bleated, Geatana reveled in her dominion.  Well, partial; after all: Kadmaur's Shard also shared control.  It was something that she chaffed at...if such a thing could be said for a non-corporeal personality fragment.

But, she had an idea about that.

"I'm telling you, it's possible.  Think on it: we'd be reborn, stronger than ever!"  If Gaetana had possessed hands, she would have theatrically clenched a fist.  "We'd no longer need rely upon her, to fight her every moment."  Her excitement was completely unfeigned.  And even though he hid his feelings well, Gaetana could tell that Kadmaur was as well.

"Let's say that you're right." He allowed, hiding his own thoughts.  "Where would we begin?"

Had Gaetana possessed lips, she would've smiled.  "From my own studies, we need first travel to Bimmiel..." She began, knowledge from her past life as a High Inquisitor helping her recollection.  She remembered most of it, enough so as to begin in earnest.  As she continued, Gaetana knew that Kadmaur was well and truly sold, especially when she added, "...Which we'll find on Zolan."

"Of course..." Kadmaur's own understanding of Gaetana's plans overtaking his caution, something that the real Kadmaur would have never succumbed to.

But, alas, this was but a Shard of the man, a fraction of the whole that had suffered not one, but two transfers: first to Rakham Crescentfall⁴ and then to Jorya...whereas Gaetana's Qâzoi Kyantuska connection to the Togruta was direct.

A fact that she kept to herself, the ramifications of her true plans dependent in part of Shard!Kadmaur's own ignorance.  Until then...well, she would be an invaluable ally.

It was ironic: Gaetana had worked to--successfully--save D'Aylanna...a woman that she'd wanted dead.  And still did...but not now.  Now, it was D'Aylanna whom had handed Gaetana the means to regain control of Jorya's body.  It mattered not; as far as Gaetana was concerned, D'Aylanna's death had merely been postponed.  Now that she possessed a body she would enact her plans...and with Zearic in the next room...

Well, once the Vhal'Dan flagship exited hyperspace, he was as good as dead.  Elation the likes of which could not be contained radiated from Gaetana, thoughts of her revenge making her pleasure outwardly manifest.  Again, if anyone had been watching Jorya, they would have seen the young woman's countenance change.

This time even though her eyes remained firmly closed Jorya's face changed from the gritted-tooth sneer to a wicked half-grin even as a single tear rolled down her orange cheek.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________
3. As seen during the end of Chapter 14: "Sometimes A Deal With The Devil Is Better Than No Deal At All, part I"
4. As learned about in "Retrieval" Epilogue, part I, http://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=41678.msg797756#msg797756

[Lord_S_Gray]

Anyone would think the Queen Mother had won…perhaps she has, but then there was never really a contest, as she correctly noted the Vhal’Dan could never prosecute a long war in Hapes, Listian doubtless knew this, his attack was swift, brutal and effective capitalizing on his technological advantage and leaving as soon as his goal was achieved.

One might wonder if a small strike force to extract D’Alyanna might’ve been better, but then one suspects if anything had gone wrong, in close quarters fighting between infantry the Chume'doro would not be so easily dealt with as the Hapan navy was. A thought for poor Renolyn truly no good deed goes unpunished in the Consortium.

But it’s not over, the Queen Mother is still plotting and now the whole Vhal’Dan are a target, exactly what form her reprisal will take is unknown, but it is inevitable. Is it worth it for D’Alyanna and avenging the Kage and punishing the breach of sovereignty…hard to say, the Vhal’Dan have shown strength and fortitude, they will not allow transgressions to go unpunished…but they have earned a larger enemy in the process of doing so….

Will be interesting to see who the next Kage is and how they manage the fallout (or more likely the next phase) of this conflict. 

And to the personal drama, Zearic has his wife back, but his lingering struggle within himself remains, unfortunately perhaps blinding him from Jorya’s internal struggle.. Well not struggle any more…the Shards have won, and whilst ultimately they will turn on each other they are pragmatic enough to work together for now

But what is on Bimmiel and Zolan? Bimmiel has little (at least not for quite a while until it becomes a stepping stone to a war that will make this conflict seem tranquil in comparison) and Zolan a world of shapeshifters…to help them become 'reborn'....

[TheDutchman]

Chapter 16: “Death, A Necessary End, Will Come When It Will Come...”, part I

Standing within the subdued lighting of the adjacent corridor, Listian stared through the doorway at the diminutive woman floating in the bacta tank.  The relative darkness felt comforting to him, especially when compared to the unrelenting brightness throughout the Hapes Cluster.  But that was not the reason for his easement; no, he readily admitted to himself, having D'Aylanna back felt good.  Unconsciously his thumb and fingers rubbed at the synthcloth of his trousers, the gray materiel both soft and durable.

Much like D'Aylanna...

Like all Hapan women, she was gorgeous: brown skin, dark eyes, blue lips, midnight blue-almost-black hair, petite yet curvy.  But the woman herself?  She was a force to be reckoned with, possessing an indomitable will, the mind to match, and bravery beyond compare.  Yet Listian had seen her around certain people--her family and children, mostly--where the Speaker disappeared and the kind woman emerged.  How such a caring woman could be so dangerous was an enigma that he'd wondered at.

For years Listian had looked on from afar, the attraction that he felt for the small Hapan woman one based on, well, everything about her: her remarkable intelligence, her sardonic wit, her unimpeachable character.  Yes, her exotic beauty as well, but that was truly secondary for him.  Put simply, Listian enjoyed being around the woman.  The older man smiled wistfully.  She was...incredible.

But nothing more than friendship was all that she'd felt, D'Aylanna telling him as much as soon as he'd made his own feelings known.  It was bittersweet: he was thankful for her candor, the fact that she'd never led him on...but the rejection still stung.

Imagine his own shock when she did make her own feelings known, and to one so...so weak in the Force.  For all the times that the Masters and Maenowans had taught that such things didn't matter, it always struck Listian as hollow and false.  Of course, they'd usually stated as much upon learning of his own potential, and would pointedly remind him that humility was a virtue.

Listian had never heard of any instance in which the weak persevered over the strong.  Not in these times and certainly not in this galaxy.  If the Maker had made all being equal in His eyes, then he must have forgotten to let everyone else know.  No, the Arbiter had learned early on that all too often "might makes right."

Now that was something that he could believe in, or at the very least accept as a truism.  Except...

...Except it hadn't stopped D'Aylanna from choosing a weakling nobody yokel bastard from an insignificant and primitive planet from an almost forgotten spur in the Outer Rim.  He would've thought his own Coruscanti pedigree would've been enticing enough...

As his gaze never left D'Aylanna, he had to contend with those times that his view of her was at times completely obfuscated by the enormous man that slowly paced around the tank in which she convalesced.  While only slightly above average height, the man was incredibly wide with a barrel chest and thick legs and arms.  He stopped directly between Listian and his line of sight with the bacta tank.  But that wasn't the reason for Listian's irritation.

He did not like the man for one reason and one reason only: Zearic was that weakling nobody yokel bastard.

Oh, Listian accepted the fact that he would never have had any chance whatsoever as a suitor, but he felt that the brutish man that D'Aylanna had chosen was completely unworthy of her.

At least, that's how he'd felt for years.  Now?  Listian unconsciously shifted his weight from one leg to the other, scrutinizing the man in front of him.  The nondescript charcoal gray utilities that Zearic wore only emphasized the man's endo-mesomorphic build and did little to hide the various weapons holstered and hidden from his ankles to the small of his back.  Yet beneath that was an incredibly introspective man, Listian was forced to admit, one that he even grudgingly respected, especially given the circumstances that found the Vhal'Dan Order's entire 1st Expeditionary Fleet prosecuting a war against the Hapes Consortium.

It had been Zearic's familiarity and knowledge that had allowed the Fleet to successfully penetrate the Transitory Mists, choosing the correct hyperspace lanes within and through the Cluster.  He'd also provided valuable intel concerning the Consortium's technological shortcomings, especially the fact that Hapan turbolaser tech was centuries behind galactic standard, to say nothing of the Vhal'Dan's advanced experimental weapons, shielding, & armor designs.

Such had been integral in formulating the war strategy, something that Admiral Nelorha y'Cegoth had completed well in advance of the actual invasion itself.  Listian's face remained impassive yet the corner of his mouth turned upwards as he recollected First Contact.  Zearic had been right and Nelorha had been more than up to the task at hand.  He had faith in his people, trusting them to rely upon their training...but they'd also possessed a trump hand.  Perhaps even an Idiot's Array...

A working Metal/Crystal Phase Shifter.

Years prior during the war against the Empire, Vhal'Dan undercover agents had "procured" digital plans from the now-defunct Imperial Maw Installation.  Initially, the prototype had possessed numerous critical issues but the Order's scientists had worked diligently to fix and overcome most of them, producing five functional weapons, three of which were currently installed on each Vhal'Dan Fyrir-class fleet flagship.  And none too soon as it turned out; with the assassination of their Kage, the Vhal'Dan had immediately gone to war footing.  Indeed, Oyuna Chand'n's death had fast-tracked the weapons' inspections and "shake down" requirements.  Between that and Admiral y'Cegoth's strategy to use the artificial gravity well generators to perform pinpoint micro-hyperspace jumps for precise tactical vessel positioning, the Order's offensive rolled over any and all Consortium defenders as the disparate battlegroups of the Fleet utterly wrecked the ineffectual Defensive brought to bear against them.

But even that would've been for naught had the Cataphract Recon teams not dealt with the planetary shield generators as well as the local military objectives.  Listian turned his full attention to the man in the medbay, his gray-blue eyes staring at Zearic's wide back and heavy shoulders.

He still wasn't convinced that what the big man had told him was entirely the truth from before, yet the Arbiter had to admit that Zearic's missions had all been unmitigated successes, from the surgical strikes necessary to take down the Throneworld's planetary defenses to him successfully challenging the Hapan Champion.  The fact that he'd been part-Gen'dai(!)...

Listian sighed.  He'd seen Zearic at work and in battle; it was no wonder that the big man's shoulders wore the armor of the Cataphracts so well.  Yes, Alcyorr had said as much but now Listian had seen for himself.  And he knew precisely why: all for the small woman suspended within the bacta tank.

He almost barked a laugh; was that not also the reason as to why he'd ordered the 1st Fleet here?  Despite himself and for the first time Listian found himself relating to the big man, the revelation that he'd found common ground with him.

He still didn't like Zearic and in truth he never would.

But now he better understood the man--at least in part--as well as his motivations.  Which reminded Listian: he would need to enact Bellicose Protocols.  He knew that the Queen Mother would not sit docilely on her pretty throne and let the Vhal'Dan invasion go unanswered.  He almost smiled.  After all, had he not done that exact same thing: a necessary, punitive response?  Yes, the Queen Mother's eyes had all but promised retribution, swift and terrible.

This time Listian did smile, imagining the look on the woman's face when sh--

"Arbiter?" Zearic's deep voice intoned, obviously surprised to see him.

Listian gave a mental shake, striding forth to step into the medbay and stand beside the wide Cataphract.  "Came to see how the patient is doing," He said, eyes looking from Zearic to D'Aylanna, "...And pay my respects for our Speaker."  He folded his hands in front of him, his robes of office a little loose as he no longer wore any armor underneath them.  "How is she?"

Not surprisingly, Zearic's eyes never left his wife.  "Better.  Recovering.  Still needs rest." He answered automatically, crossing his arms.  There was an interesting look upon his face; Listian couldn't decide if he was worried or relieved.  Once again the Arbiter found himself relating to this man.

"Admiral y'Cegoth wanted to extend her gratitude for the intel you provided." Listian announced, feeling somewhat clumsy.  Odd that; he wasn't a man given to timidity.  He knew that these were the most words either man had spoken to one another in which they weren't yelling at or at odds with the other.  War truly did make for strange bedfellows...

"I wanted to thank you, Listian," Even though his face never left D'Aylanna, Zearic's tone was respectful when addressing the much smaller man, "...I know that I couldn't have gotten her safely away from the Hapans, not without help from the Order.  I..." His voice trailed off, as if stating the contrary would call upon bad luck.  But as the seconds stretched to minutes, neither man felt any compunction to say anything more.

Regardless, the silence that followed was not uncomfortable.

A rare moment in time that was destined to not last...

          <<<<< >>>>>

[TheDutchman]

Chapter 16: “Death, A Necessary End, Will Come When It Will Come...”, part II

Stepping from the shadows of the darkened hall, a slight figure silently looked around them as they quietly opened the door to a room that had been sealed off by order of the Empress, may Her Radiance illuminate eternal.  Convinced that she had not been followed, the woman slid into the room waiting for a slow count to five before breathing again.  She was thankful that her cybernetic leg--as good as it was--hadn't made any noise; she'd never quite gotten used to it...

Using the Force, she slightly raised the illumination giving a subtle lighting to the expansive rooms.  Most of the furniture had either been removed or relocated but a few pieces still dotted the floor: a table, a desk, both with glowrings casting warm light, a weapons rack with a couple of practice mannequins, and--most importantly--an exposed datanode with holoprojector.  But before she began, she wanted to ensure that she was alone.

Tentatively, she expanded her awareness outwards, a passive ability that she had mastered in her youth.  It was indicative of her clandestine nature: stealth, silence, and secrecy a mantra that she'd learned very early in her life at Court.  It was the reason that she'd survived as long as she had, implementing plans to cull the competition but always at a distance where one would never think that she would be culpable.

After all, she'd never spoken of any designs to become Marquesa, much less taken part of the deadly Games inherent to House Royal.  Well, at least not outwardly.  And who'd suspect her?  She'd always been gregarious, an exuberant, happy, foppish girl that everyone considered too cheerful to be dangerous; certainly, she'd never appeared to care one way or the other about her station amongst those in House Royal.  And her Sestras¹ knew that...or rather what she wanted them to know.  

It was all a carefully crafted mask hiding the real woman within, someone who eschewed open confrontation but was no less determined to ascend to Divinity Given Life.  She smiled at the thought, blue lips twisting up at the corners of her mouth.

No, she preferred to work from the shadows in complete anonymity, the poisoned blade that stabbed from the dark, her Targets never once having seen the hand who wielded the blade, much less the face whom the hand belonged to.

That's why it was she, T'Aissyia Galina Oksan'A Vih'Torr who would finally ascend to the Elysium Throne.

She smirked.  If even her Sestra T'Atyanna Lean’nev Irell’A Vih’Torr, with her vaunted Prescience, hadn't ever suspected her true intentions, T'Aissyia knew that the others of House Royal were completely unaware.  The Queen Mother be praised...

Inadvertently, she ground her teeth in remembered frustration.  ...T'Atyanna's Prescience... The memory still stung, punctuated by the never-ending phantom pains of her lost leg, a lasting "gift" from the actions of her Sestra.  If T'Atyanna hadn't torn her away from her protected position on the hover-palanquin, she would've been completely safe, the lone survivor of the "horrible assassination attempt" against the four sisters.  

Instead, T'Atyanna's damned divination had thrown a hydrospanner into the mix, derailing T'Aissyia's perfect plan.

Thankfully, she'd had time to pivot, not to mention an alibi she'd already chosen should the Justrixes look too closely.

In her youth, she'd constantly wandered the Palace, often times hiding for days on end.  It was during one of those times that she'd found this sequestered hallway, a door sealed on pain of death.  That in and of itself wasn't necessarily remarkable; there were parts of the Palace that were often times restricted for one reason or another...but a sealed door?  Not to mention one that her credentials were denied entry...

Of course such was merely a minor irritant to her.  T'Atyanna had had her weapons training; T'Aissyia her's in computers and slicing.  The day after encountering the sealed door, she'd returned with her newly enumerated scramble key, shocked at where she'd found herself.

She had broken into the rooms of Il'liyanav Lana’A D'Aylanna Vih'Torr, one of the deadliest women ever produced by House Royal.  For T'Aissyia, her rooms had been a treasure trove of intelligence, secrets, and one find in particular that the young woman understood almost immediately: a coding virus², one of particular cruelty and sublimely pitiless ingenuity.  She'd not only found the perfect weapon but also the perfect patsy.

So when T'Atyanna had awoken after the bombing, all rage and vengeance, T'Aissyia had handed her Sestra the perfect quarry.

What T'Aissyia had not counted on was that T'Atyanna would be successful in actually finding Il'liyanav, much less returning her to the Throneworld for "justice."

She found herself smiling thinking of recent events.  "Justice" indeed.

Regardless, T'Aissyia had to admit that circumstances had played themselves out quite well for her.  Granted, she'd already planned for her Sestra to meet an untimely and violent end during what would be T'Atyanna's Triumph...but that Togruta had made the point moot.  

Or, more specifically, T'Atyanna herself.

Like every woman in House Royal, she had not been surprised that the Queen Mother had chosen to shoot down her own daughter.  If the people of the Consortium learned that every woman of House Royal was Force-sensitive... No, Ta'a Chume was an incredibly intelligent woman; she would never allow such a secret to escape.

True to her actions, she had not, killing the Marquesa without any hesitation whatsoever.

Not that she needed any reminders, but the Queen Mother's measures served as a graphic example of the lengths she would go to secure her supremacy.  And now that T'Atyanna was dead, T'Aissyia was Marquesa-apparent.

Which meant that her last remaining Sestra, A'Hnfisya, was her most dangerous adversary.  In the years that T'Atyanna had gone off-world searching for Il'liyanav, their youngest sibling had grown into a mature, competent, and dangerous young woman.

Obviously she had to go.

So once again, T'Aissyia thought to search through Il'liyanav's apartments confident that the former Marquesa had more clandestine weapons for her to procure.  Even better: the death of A'Hnfisya could easily be laid at the feet of the invaders.  She smiled; as before she would be able to assay blame elsewhere appearing completely innocent of the act.

With that in mind, she quickly got to work on the datanode with her scrambler key, able to penetrate every firewall protecting the information that she nee--

Something caught her eye in the holodisplay, something that should not have been there.

Quickly enumerating a bit of coding, the digital scalpel that she used peeled back the layers, granting her unvarnished insight into Il'liyanav's past.  As she continued reading, her green eyes widened in shock.  ...By the Queen Mother...! She swore, drinking in the information that had laid hidden for all of these decades.

Mother...Mother had known.  She'd known everything.  Il'liyanav's treacherous thoughts and actions, the fact that she'd gone to the Jedi, faked her death, and escaped far, far from the Consortium's reach.  Everything, it was all there...

But why?

"I had to get Il'liyanav out of the way and I'd already tried multiple times to kill her." Came a stern voice from behind her as if to answer the very question she sought.  Startled, T'Aissyia jumped up from the datanode, fear gripping her.  But if the Queen Mother noticed, she said nothing.  Instead, she casually walked towards the datanode, looking at everything projected in the holodisplay.  "...I always thought Il'liyanav had kept backup records..." The Empress mumbled, her tone a mixture of amazement, admiration, and wistfulness.  "Incredible, my sister really was thorough."

Eyeing her Mother warily, T'Aissyia wondered what she was doing there and what she intended.  "You knew?" Was all she thought to say.

Without looking at her, the Queen Mother nodded.  "It seemed the easiest way to eliminate her."  With practiced fingers, she begin to code instructions into T'Aissyia's scrambler key, shocking the young woman yet again.  Her Mother was as good a slicer as herself!  How...?

Again as if to answer her, the Queen Mother chuckled.  "Why so surprised?  You didn't really think that you were the only one did you?  Just because the Sestranyas are fools, tralks, or worse?"  She shook her head, laughing quietly under her breath.  "Ah, youth..." Never once did she stop coding though.

Blinking, T'Aissyia watched on in amazement as each record that Il'liyanav had programmed in disappeared, as ephemeral as a candle's flame in a gale.  "Although...I must thank you..." Her Mother said distractedly, "I would've never been able to track down this datacache had you not broken the cypher that Il'liyanav had used when making the virus."

The way that the Queen Mother had so indifferently mentioned the datavirus struck T'Aissyia like a physical blow.  "...How...?" She sputtered, her mind trying to work through her growing panic as realization dawned.  ...She knows...!...She knows everything...!

As Ta'a Chume finished the erasure of Il'liyanav's entire file, T'Aissyia's respect for her Mother had grown exponentially.  As had her fear.  "Why did you not say anything?" The words escaped her mouth before she'd realized that she'd spoken them.

For once, the Queen Mother did turn to look directly at the young woman.  "The same reason that every woman does anything for the Consortium: survival of the fittest."  Cocking her head, she arched a perfectly manicured eyebrow, emerald eyes shining in the subdued light.  "Do you believe yourself superior to your Sestras?" This was a directness that T'Aissyia had never expected to hear, not from her Mother (not "the Queen Mother," just...her MOTHER).  It made her square her shoulders, pride and determination making her back ramrod straight.

"Yes." She said immediately and without hesitation.  As her own green eyes--so much like her Mother's!--stabbed into the older woman's, she saw Ta'a Chume give a tight nod, the set of her full lips resolute.

"Then come accept your place as Marquesa." She gestured with a delicate hand, her slender fingers and lithe arm visible in the low light, made even more evident by the tight stealth suit that the Queen Mother wore.  T'Aissyia understood; her Mother was like her, a woman who operated from the shadows.

For the first time since she was a child, T'Aissyia felt a closeness to her Mother, a shared bond.  It was as shocking as it was amazing.  "Thank you, Mother." She smiled, stepping next to the taller woman.  She sensed more than saw her Mother's arm lightly touch her back, a tactile feeling of comfort, acceptance, and encouragement.  It was...foreign.

And wonderful.

"Now that you've taken care of Il'liyanav for good, what are your pla--" She began only to stiffen as the unseen nano-needle from her Mother's index finger slid between the vertebrae of her neck, the injection instant and virtually painless.  T'Aissyia tried to react, reaching with her right arm but her hand never made it to her neck.  She fumbled to the dark wood floor, her body already succumbing to the paralytic agent of the injected poison.  She could move nothing, not even her eyes.

Slowly coming into her field of vision, Ta'a Chume's face was one of serene sadness.  "I'm sorry, Daughter.  You see, the invasion taught me a lesson most important: the in-fighting between the members of House Royal maybe a necessary distraction but what the Consortium needs now is absolute stability.  Such will only be possible in my hands."  Tenderly, the Queen Mother slowly stroked T'Aissyia's dark hair.  "I'm abolishing the position of 'Marquesa.'  Instead, the heir-apparent shall be known as 'Chume'da,' a posting that even a male can occupy.  In this case..." She smiled gently, but the dangerous glint to her eyes never wavered.  "...My son, Isolder, shall be named Chume'da."

T'Aissyia's eyesight was dimming from the lack of oxygen courtesy of the paralytic; it affected even the lungs and would soon attack her heart.  But not before the Empress unburdened herself of her most recent secret.  "You see, I've become too conspicuous a target.  But with Isolder now thrust into the forefront, he shall act as my lightning rod."  Her face suddenly became kindly, something that T'Aissyia had never seen from her Mother.

Nor would again.

"Be at peace, Daughter.  And worry not...you shall not be alone."  Again the Queen Mother's eyes flashed, a look incongruous with her compassionate mask (which is all that it was: a mask).  "Your sister, A'Hnfisya will join you in the Afterlife."  She paused dramatically.  "As I said...the Consortium requires absolute stability."

Even as T'Aissyia expired, she could not believe that she'd been fooled by her Mother.  She'd known that she was dangerous and cruel, but clearly had not realized the extent that she would go to in order to secure her continued position, the irony of such thoughts completely lost upon her.

The following day, the Queen Mother--may Her Radiance illuminate eternal--announced, with regret, the passing of her remaining daughters while installing her son and now heir Isolder with the newly christened rank of "Chume'da."  Appropriately, all eyes turned upon the man, as well as the collective attendant hatred of his position.

But even that news was tempered by the Queen Mother's next announcement, one that unified and galvanized the citizens of the Consortium, once again securing Ta'a Chume's position as absolute monarch of the Hapes Cluster.  Smiling to herself, she called upon her advisors to attend her.

There were plans to be made...

          <<<<< >>>>>
________________________________________________________________________________________________________
1. As referenced in Prologue, part I http://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=48094.msg798299#msg798299
2. As seen in Chapter 9: Pains of the Past, Portents of the Present, part II http://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=48094.msg799160#msg799160

[TheDutchman]

Chapter 16: “Death, A Necessary End, Will Come When It Will Come...”, part III

Quietly, the heavy doors opened, light flooding into the comfortable if somewhat spartan rooms.  After all, space was at a premium aboard the ship, even one as large as Rikard's Aldrnari.  Still, the rooms afforded enough luxury for two people to easily live within without feeling cramped.  Or at least for sentients of normal size.

Even as wide as the doors would go, the silhouette of the wide man nearly touched both sides.  With her head laying against his chest, the diminutive woman lovingly cradled in his arms softly slept, exhausted even with all of the bacta treatments and pumped full of somnolents.  Walking into the rooms, the man didn't even bother to close the doors, his attention was solely focused upon the woman in his arms and her comfort.

Gently as he could, Zearic laid his wife atop the decent-sized bed, pulling a blanket up to the woman's neck as she adjusted her position in her sleep.  Tenderly, he ran his hand along D'Aylanna's dark hair, barely touching her for fear of waking her from her much needed sleep.

Moving to the foot of the bed, he stopped, staring at her intently.  His Ereneda was safe.  Again.  The Maker keep that it was the last time that she'd be in danger!

But Zearic knew that even as he silently prayed, life was never so easy as that.  

He grinned, a bittersweet set to his face.  "Don't fret, Son..." His father Kazic had once told him, half-jokingly.  "...Live your life while you can, each and every day.  Death, a necessary end, will come when it will come."  Wise words that he hadn't appreciated before, maybe not even as much as he should now.  But it helped.

"Everything good, Father?" Came a voice from behind him.  Without turning, Zearic nodded slightly.  ...I'm glad that she came to see her Mother... He thought of his daughter.  He felt her small, left hand upon his heavy, left shoulder.  Grateful for her touch, Zearic placed his large hand upon Jorya's, taking comfort in the gesture.

"Yes, Dear One, thank you.  Your Mother is finally resting comfortably, thanks in part to the sleep agents." His voice seemed loud in the quiet despite his low tone, his body swaying as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other.  "I'm happy to see you; I'm so sorry that I've been unavailable but I've been busy with your Moth--!" As he was talking, he sensed movement from behind him.  Knowing it was Jorya, he dismissed it altogether.

One of the biggest mistakes that he'd ever done.

Pain erupted in his back, 6 centimeters to the right of his spine, the tip of a vibroblade exploding from his chest.  Had he not been slighting swaying from one side to the next, the dagger would've severed his spinal cord and quite possibly his heart.  As it was, it sliced through flesh, muscle, and bone, collapsing his right lung and causing it to fill with his own blood.  Shocked, he sank down to his knee but not the deck; he was still strong enough to remain upright.  But his eyes flashed towards his daughter, confusion etched upon his face.

Then he saw that her eyes glowed with the yellow irises of a Sith.

"Oh, I'm sorry, 'Father'..." She laughed vindictively, a haughty tone to her voice.  "Does that hurt?"  Fast as lightning, she swung a devastating roundhouse kick to the side of Zearic's head.  Still, he remained upright and on one knee.  "It looks like it hurts."  She slapped him hard, more as an insult than to knock him down.  "Whatever you feel, I guarantee you that it's nothing compared to what you and the Master Singer did to me."  Grabbing both sides of his head, she rammed his face into her armored knee.

That finally did the trick.

With blood running from lacerations on his face and from his nose, Zearic crumpled to the floor.  Wheezing in an attempt to get oxygen into his lungs, Zearic's head was dazed from that and the shock and the pain.  Impotently, he reached out to his wife sleeping in the bed, his helpless, sleeping wife.

Jorya's face popped into his field of vision, her preternatural yellow eyes underscoring the cruelty etched upon her face.  "Nothing to say, 'Father?'"  She kicked him, hard.  "Don't worry, I won't kill you."  She grinned evilly.  "Sorry, that was a lie; I meant that I won't kill you alone."  She looked at D'Aylanna pointedly, another vibrodagger in her hand.  "You know the problem with lightsabers: they cauterize wounds too quickly."

Head swimming, Zearic tried to use the Force.  Reacting quickly, Jorya blunted his efforts with her own power, kicking him in the face with an armored boot, knocking him insensate but not unconscious.

"...Make sure that...can still understand...what I'm...to do so...hurt more, Zearic...say 'good-bye'...wife..." Fading in and out, Jorya's voice danced around his head even as he fought for agency.

...no...D'Aylanna...!

But he could do nothing.

As Jorya slowly approached the bed, there was suddenly another noise within the room, one that Zearic couldn't make out.  Sounds of yelling, bodies hitting one another, and two large crashes echoed in Zearic's ears but not enough to clear the daze that surrounded him, like quicksand trapping limbs, body, and head, the deadly, viscous fluid threatening to inundate...

As Zearic lost consciousness, he thought he heard someone barking orders and the sounds of armored boots retreating, but all that he could focus on was the growing pool of blood in front of him...

          <<<<< >>>>>

Jorya could do nothing but watch from behind her own eyes as Father was stabbed, Mother threatened, and at the deadly glint from the vibrodagger.

Tears--if she could cry here--large and wet should've stained her cheeks, her armor, flooded the entire room(!)...if she could cry.  And from behind her, a sinister presence overwhelmed her just to prove how powerless she actually was.  Yet, it stopped just short of crushing her, not because of any sort of mercy but because they wanted her to fully appreciate and succumb to her terror and pain.

Screams--if she could yell here--loud, shrill, and violent should've reverberated through the room, anguished cries that would've made a Miralukan weep...if she could scream.

For Jorya, there seemed no reprieve.  None at all...

[Lord_S_Gray]

An interesting look into Listians mind here, the writhing mix of disgust at Zearic now mingled with some begrudging respect (albeit the sheer volume of work Zearic unknowingly did to even earn that shows the depth of Lisitians spite, yokel indeed), and his feelings for D'Alyanna - love, admiration, infatuation, idolization all rolled - laid bear. It recasts all his actions and decisions in the frame of not seeking to get restitution for the breach of sovereignty, but as revenge for slighting his adored D'Alyanna. Would he have allowed such a large punitive campaign had the prisoner been anyone other than D'alyanna...we shall never know, but we are left with many reasons to doubt it.

And the Hapans...as always have plots within plots, hidden hands moving the pieces - in this case  T'Aissyia, the instigator, has been a victim of her own success, achieving the position she desired at a very very bad time. The Queen Mother is right, the Hapans do need less internal fighting after such an embarrassing defeat (however she might cast it in propaganda they got manhandled by the Vhal'Dan),   T'Aissyia's scheming is, however laudable in their culture, now a liability.  And with Isolder the lighting rod, Marquesa dissolved, we get brought closer to the Hapes of the EU novels of this era, a great tie in to canon. 

And while one battle is over the war continues...The Shards, namely Gaetana/Mendax, simply unable to hold back finally gets her dagger into Zearic, and what was done to D'Alyanna uncertain...all that is known is Jorya is now a complete prisoner, and likely to remain so, the combined knowledge and power of the Shards will take all but the most stalwart of Knight by surprise even among the Vhal'Dan.  Will Zearic survive such a devastating blow, his 'renewal' might offer some extra durability but that level of sheer physical damage will have him out for a long time even if he does survive....

Another great twisting and vicious installment. 

[TheDutchman]

Chapter 17: Things That Even Death Cannot Touch, part I

Finally finished with his day in his capacity as Arbiter, Listian left the stateroom located centrally within the warship.  He allowed thoughts relating to the Hapan-Vhal'Dan War to evaporate from his mind, compartmentalizing them for later.  For now, he let his mind wander to more personal matters.

Like the well-being of the Order's 7th Speaker D'Aylanna Vih'Torr.

Knowing that D'Aylanna had finally completed her bacta treatments, Listian found himself gravitating towards the quarters that she shared with Zearic deep inside the superstructure of the experimental Vhal'Dan Fyrir-class Star Destroyer.  He hadn't been invited nor did he think that he was particularly welcome, yet the sincerity in Zearic's voice of yesterday had resonated with the Arbiter.  Besides, Listian did sincerely care about how D'Aylanna was doing.

Taking one of the bouncetubes, he nodded automatically at those who addressed him.  Since Oyuna's death, the members of the Vhal'Dan Order had looked to him for leadership, a role that he believed in wholeheartedly.  Whatever else he did, Listian would ensure that the Order would be better off than when he'd passed his Dragon Trials all those decades ago.  Certainly he was proud of his people, each one performing their duty above and beyond.  It had been difficult for everyone...yet, every member of the Vhal'Dan had risen to the occasion, the constant training and preparation paying dividends.

One of the reasons for the Vhal'Dan's victory over the Hapans came down to the fact that everyone had pulled their weight.  They were unified against a power that had attacked them in the very place they called home, killed the very woman whom had lead them, absconded with--

Listian sighed.

With the very woman whom he cared about.  The real reason for his push to prosecute the war.  The real reason for his ruthlessness.  The real reason for his presence here.

Walking along the industrial corridor, Listian found it empty.  That was not remarkable; even for a ship as large as Rikard's Aldrnari, it only required a crew of about 7,500 people, the rest of the ship's functions ably performed by the advanced Vhal'Dan automated machines and embedded droids.  Even with a full complement of about 10,000 persons, odds were about even that some hallways would be completely empty.  This was especially true in the Barracks Quarters of the ship; after all, unless someone was heading to or from their shift, they were almost certainly within their cabins.

With his boots quietly echoing along the deck, Listian kept his mind busy with the Order's logistics: Sekot had been Maker-sent; every Gray Jedi had benefitted from the Order's relocation to the sentient planet, not to mention that it was rich in foodstuffs, rare minerals like farium and agrocite, and raw materials (including a new source of Dover Catalyst!).  By the Maker, the Sekot Shipyards were already halfway done with completing the 4th Fleet!  They'd been lucky: Zonama Sekot had become their sanctuary as well as a true home.

After the Great Diaspora from Istic III following the end of the New Sith Wars, the necessary abandonment of Galtea after the Civil War & the Lus'Phor Holocaust, and the forced relocation from Kewda to escape Darth Vader and his Inquisitorious, Zonama Sekot was the first time in a long time that the Vhal'Dan had felt like they belonged somewhere.  It also helped that the planet itself was in harmony with the Vhal'Dan, the Council of Balance regularly in contact with the sentient presence that was Sekot as well as the native Ferroans.

In fact, it was the Ferroans whom had welcomed the Vhal'Dan to Zonama Sekot, even going so far as to petition the planet to allow the Order to stay.  They, in much the same vein as the Vhal'Dan, followed the philosophy of the Potentium: they viewed the Force as a whole, without its traditional division into the Light and Dark Sides, a true balance representative of Life.

And the Vhal'Dan.

Something that Listian held sacrosanct and close to his heart.  After being taken at a young age by the Jedi on Coruscant, he found himself bristling under the dogma taught by the Jedi Order before the age of 12.  And if it hadn't been for Oyuna Chand'n, he might have very well been lost amongst those Jedi as one of the few that had gone rogue in the days before the rise of the Empire.

He smiled, the memory a wistful reminder of just how ephemeral life could be.  It had been a day like any other, except that was the day that Oyuna woul--

Suddenly Listian cocked his head, hearing a noise and then some unintelligible speech that he couldn't quite make out.  It seemed to be coming down the passageway towards... Listian's eyes widened upon realizing that the sound had emanated from D'Aylanna's quarters.  Lengthening his strides, he began to run when he heard the sounds of blows landing, and hard.  He ran ever more swiftly.

As he came closer, he could finally make out what was being said.  Listian immediately recognized Jorya's high voice.  Confused, he tried to focus on her words.  "... Wanted to make sure that you can still understand just what I'm going to do so that it will hurt more, Zearic.  Now say 'good-bye' to your wife..."  Jaw clenched, Listian rounded the open doors and ran into the room.

In a split second, he scanned the room, noting that Zearic was on the ground bleeding out, his face, chest, and right arm covered with blood, with an ever-growing pool of blood oozing on the floor; Jorya--vibroknife in hand--was advancing upon D'Aylanna's helpless form sleeping in the bed.  "JORYA!" He shouted, grabbing at her through the Force.  It wasn't graceful but it was effective.

Stopping cold, Jorya's arm froze in midair, locked in place while Listian's mind tried to comprehend the scene before him: Zearic, stabbed through the back & chest, battered and insensible on the deck while Jorya seemed to be threatening her sleeping Mother.  But before he could act further, he found himself being thrown bodily across the room, hitting the wall of the bulkhead, his voluminous robes somewhat cushioning the impact but not enough to save him from breaking his shoulder. 

Yelling wordlessly, he indiscriminately lashed out, his Force Push blind and brutal.  He heard Jorya curse as she hit the opposite wall, the loud clang of her dropped vibrodagger hitting the deck conspicuous to Listian's ears.  Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, Listian rushed at Jorya, throwing a set of ineffectual blows.  Blocking every punch thrown, Jorya's swift kick caught Listian in the chest, knocking him backwards.  Luckily, he kept his feet, lest Jorya overwhelm him as she ignited her lightsaber.

Dazed and reacting by instinct, he Flash-Stepped to the side, barely escaping being cut down by Jorya's violet blade.  Powered by the Force, he was able to dodge the second, third, and fourth orbits of Jorya's swift attacks.

But not the fifth.

Pain, hot and staggering, shot up Listian's right arm as Jorya's amethyst blade severed his forearm just below his elbow.  Willing himself to fight through the shock and agony, Listian called his own lightsaber to his hand, silver blade igniting.

That gave Jorya pause.

Deliberately looking first from Listian to D'Aylanna on the bed to Zearic on the floor and back again, she snarled wordlessly, yellow eyes blazing before backing out of the room.  He saw her spin on her heel and run, her armored boots reverberating down the corridor.  Keeping his wits about him, Listian closed down his saber, grabbing his comms in the same motion.  "Security!  Arrest and detain Koawan Jorya Vih'Torr!  She is armed and dangerous!" He barked, sweat beading upon his brow.  "I need immediate medical attention in the Vih'Torr Quarters."  He masticated each word through the pain, his mind racing with potential scenarios, none of them particularly believable.

Yet there he found himself, breathing heavily through clenched teeth.  Then a noise to his left recalled him to the present.

Zearic was trying to get to his feet, the fool.  "Stop, Vih'Torr." He placed a hand--his left hand--upon the big man's shoulder.  "Don't worry; D'Aylanna's safe.  Stay where you are; a Healer is on the way." He assured, using what Force Healing that he could to help stabilize the man.  It would be useful, Listian knew, since Zearic would absolutely require numerous bacta submersions.

If he made it.

No, Listian told himself minutely shaking his head, Zearic would stay alive.  The large Cataphract was too obstinate to just give up.

Listian slowed his breathing, opening himself fully to the Force as he simultaneously attempted to Meditate while keeping the Healing flowing into Zearic, the big man's ragged breathing concerning.  The Arbiter would do what he could...

Several minutes--a lifetime--passed before medical attendants (and the Vhal'Dan Force Healer) appeared, the technicians immediately seeing to both men.  Professional, swift, and determined, they administered the necessary triage, attempting to stabilize each man; D'Aylanna, thankfully, was still fast asleep courtesy of the powerful somnolents to ensure a curative and restful sleep.

It would be months before they were properly Healed.

But only physically...

          <<<<< >>>>>

[TheDutchman]

Chapter 17: Things That Even Death Cannot Touch, part II

With the doors of the turbolift slamming shut, Jorya/Gaetana closed down her lightsaber, the events of the past few minutes replaying in her head.  Furious, she punched the wall as she screamed.  She'd had them!  Had them both!  D'Aylanna's neck had been under her knife, the woman helpless and completely at her mercy; Zearic grievously wounded, all but dead!  But that...that kriffing old bastard had stolen her kill!  After all of that careful planning...

Shaking her head, Gaetana forced herself to relax, hitting the "Hold" feature for the turbolift.  ...Dammit... She silently cursed.  True, things had not gone exactly as planned but neither had she failed.  Zearic, bane of her existence, was almost certainly dead, and while his whore-wife had been spared her blade, she had not been spared Gaetana's vengeance.  For now, it would have to do...

Now she had things to do, and soon.

Smirking as she quickly attached one of the datanodes that she'd secreted about her person, Gaetana sliced into the warship's network, swiftly and expertly coding her next steps as she amused herself with thoughts of D'Aylanna's torment at the death of her husband.  Well...if she could not kill her, she'd done the next best thing by destroying the diminutive Hapan woman's hope.  Her smile grew as she continued her work.  Yes, this might just work out quite well indeed.

Using the skillsets from Jorya's slicer knowledge, Gaetana finished inputting the virus now ready for installation.  She had to admit that she was phenomenally lucky: not only did Jorya possess a fairly high clearance within the Vhal'Dan but the Togruta was an incredible slicer besides.  Which is precisely what she needed for everything she had planned next...

Grabbing several mechanical devices from her utility belt, she deftly assembled them before--carefully!--adding the final component to complete the device: an improvised thermal detonator.  Using her vibroknife to pry one of the plasteel panels from the back wall of the turbolift, she clamped the detonator in one of the voids, hooking up several wires before replacing the panel.  Scrutinizing her work, she nodded, satisfied.  It was now indistinguishable from the surrounding walls.

With that done, she slapped the "Hold" button releasing the turbolift.  Preparing herself as the 'lift sped towards its destination, Gaetana wrapped herself in Buried Presence, an advanced form courtesy of the Shards' knowledge.  When the doors opened, she darted from the 'lift, a phantom-wolf amongst the sheep, deadly, silent, and unseen.  From the turbolift stop through the somewhat cramped passageways to the primary hangar bay, she avoided guards, Hoplites, even the Cataphract or two who had been tasked to detain her.  She cared nothing about them, intent solely upon her objectives.

But that didn't mean that she couldn't have a little fun along the way...

Silently she bided her time within the hangar, marking times with the various techs, soldiers, and Gray Jedi intent upon finding her.  Glancing at her chronometer, she was pleased to see that her own internal clock was still accurate.  Smiling cruelly, she almost wished that she could see the faces of thos--

She suddenly felt more than heard a large explosion as it rocked the ship, knocking several people to the deck as well as some unsecured crates.  There was a strange sense of vertigo as the inertial dampeners struggled to compensate while the warship prematurely exited hyperspace coming to an unscheduled stop in realspace.

Alarm klaxons sounded accompanied by an automated warning message as it broadcast throughout the ship.  Good.

She had to act quickly as she knew that it wouldn't last; both the Vhal'Dan automation as well as technicians would fix what she'd done in very little time.

...Which is all that she would need.

Firmly embraced in Buried Presence, she made her way through the hangar, the confusion from the explosion beginning to wear off already.  Still: the enormous hanger was controlled chaos, something that she intended on taking full advantage of.

Finally, she had arrived at her objective; namely: her ride out of here.

With a powerful Force-assisted Jump, she landed just to the side of the ship's hatch and, thanks to the swift access from her scrambler key, gained entry before anyone had registered her presence.  Accessing the repository of Jorya's memories from her time among the Sons of Kessel as well as her later training from the Vhal'Dan, Gaetana knew that she was qualified (indeed, proficient) to pilot the ship in question:



The Vhal'Dan TIE Guardian.

For Gaetana, it meant more than her freedom; this ship would be the instrument of her Rebirth.  But first...

Activating the virus she'd downloaded into the mainframe, Gaetana smiled as her "flight plan" was approved, the hangar bay docking clamps disengaging amidst the growing confusion of the deck officers and techs.  The virus had done its work: temporarily scrambling sensors, systems, and internal communications, no one could do much as she finished pre-flight prep.  Even as they attempted to abort the launch, Gaetana gave a final, vulgar "good-bye" gesture as her TIE Guardian sped from the hangar.

Free from the Fyrir-class Star Destroyer, the agile space superiority fighter escaped into the depths of space.  Before any of the turbolaser batteries could get a lock, she had already accessed the nav-comp and programmed in the hyperspace coordinates.  She need only wait for the necessary calculations before initiating the jump to lightspeed.

It was testament to the Vhal'Dan that they had already launched several V-19B Balyegs and even a couple H/K-38 Gundarks to intercept before the stolen TIE Guardian had commenced the jump to hyperspace, even moreso that the warship's targeting computers & gunners were back online searching for a shooting solution almost immediately after the explosive sabotage that Gaetana had caused with her improvised thermal detonator.

But as good as they were, Jorya's stolen TIE Guardian shortly disappeared in a flurry of pseudomotion as the ship entered hyperspace, escaping the Vhal'Dan net before it could close in on her, leaving not only frustrated pilots, officers, and Gray Jedi but also the myriad questions concerning just what in the Maker-damned hell had happened.

One such question--why?--would not be answered for several days, not until Zearic Vih'Torr regained consciousness from the brutal attack that he'd endured at the hands of his adoptive daughter.  It was then, and only then, that the few who had heard decided that the truth would be best kept to said few.

...Lest panic infect the Order itself with the realization that one of its most dangerous enemies had returned to haunt them anew.

          <<<<< >>>>>

[TheDutchman]

Special thanks once again to For Tyeth for his awesome rendering of Zearic!  This chapter is dedicated to him 
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Chapter 17: Things That Even Death Cannot Touch, part III

Unconscious, Zearic floated fully submersed in the bacta tank, the large vessel thankfully wide enough to accommodate his broad shoulders and barrel chest, the wicked puncture from Jorya's vibroknife still red and angry.  His bare back was a cross-hatching of scars, evidence of past violence and a lack of access to bacta in his youth.  Even asleep, his body involuntarily twitched, his sleeping mind racing down dark paths of remembrance...

With shocking suddenness, Jorya exploded into motion, jumping above and behind T'Atyanna, grabbing her bare shoulder for leverage.  Simultaneously, she kicked her legs downward, connecting with the Hapan woman's head.  Before her boots had even touched the marble floor, Jorya's fingers were splayed wide while still holding her sabers as white-hot arcs of lancing purple lightning shot forth, striking T'Atyanna squarely in the back.

Picking the small woman up, the collected lightning surged through T'Atyanna like a coupling as it violently flung her airborne only to send her crashing down several meters away, colliding with a few of the Hapans unlucky enough to be standing along the perimeter.  For T'Atyanna, she was completely befuddled, a look of uncertain shock gripping her face as she fought to regain her situational awareness.

As for the others...they were collateral damage, the scorching purple lightning that had flung T'Atyanna through the air had arced into them, finding the path of least resistance--in this case, each individual body it touched--burning through their flesh like magma through a fissure in the earth.  The lightning left through each of their bodies by way of their eyeballs, each one exploding in a macabre display of gore.

As Zearic's mind raced the crowd cheered all the louder, the primal nature of the Hapan culture giving into the violence.  Conscious of such, he checked around him making sure that the Hoplites were unmolested, after which he looked towards his wife, his eyes locking onto hers.  In them he saw both confusion, trepidation, and strength reflected back, their shared love for one another and their daughter giving them hope.

Yet Zearic also felt a growing sliver of fear, this fresh and new: he knew that he'd taught Jorya much, even training her in the Ways of a Water Warrior (which, while not precisely forbidden, was frowned upon, at least until the student themself attained the rank of Silver Koawan), not to mention the specialized training that she'd received from D'Aylanna and Master Chillum.

The Force Lightning that Jorya had used wasn't anything remotely close to what any Gray Jedi taught, the closest equivalent being Electric Judgment.  What precisely that portended, Zearic didn't know.  What he was certain of though was the fact that, now, the tide of the battle had turned.

Again he spasmed, his fingers balling into fists, his toes curling in the viscous liquid.  Thick arms involuntarily flexed, calves like tree trunks convulsed.  Memories, raw and recent, coursed through his dreams--his nightmares--as he relived the past several days; never all at once, instead always in fits and starts.  Like now...

"Everything good, Father?" Came a voice from behind him.  Without turning, Zearic nodded slightly.  ...I'm glad that she came to see her Mother... He thought of his daughter.  He felt her small, left hand upon his heavy, left shoulder.  Grateful for her touch, Zearic placed his large hand upon Jorya's, taking comfort in the gesture.

"Yes, Dear One, thank you.  Your Mother is finally resting comfortably, thanks in part to the sleep agents." His voice seemed loud in the quiet despite his low tone, his body swaying as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other.  "I'm happy to see you; I'm so sorry that I've been unavailable but I've been busy with your Moth--!" As he was talking, he sensed movement from behind him.  Knowing it was Jorya, he dismissed it altogether.

One of the biggest mistakes that he'd ever done.

Pain erupted in his back, 6 centimeters to the right of his spine, the tip of a vibroblade exploding from his chest.  Had he not been slighting swaying from one side to the next, the dagger would've severed his spinal cord and quite possibly his heart.  As it was, it sliced through flesh, muscle, and bone, collapsing his right lung and causing it to fill with his own blood.  Shocked, he sank down to his knee but not the deck; he was still strong enough to remain upright.  But his eyes flashed towards his daughter, confusion etched upon his face.

Then he saw that her eyes glowed with the yellow irises of a Sith.

How?  How is it that he could've missed something...something so vile, so...wrong?!  Another convulsion, this one the most violent yet, wracked his entire body, his knuckles and kneecaps slamming against the thick bacta transparisteel wall. 

HIS OWN DAUGHTER?!

...no... A small voice in his head stopped him, a calming presence...the smell of vanilla and lavender, a comforting, familiar scent, the voice one that he knew almost as well as his own.  His muscles relaxed, the corded tissue finally loosening.  He'd heard that voice enough in his life to recognize it as his inner subconscious; it--unsurprisingly--sounded exactly like D'Aylanna's.  ...focus...focus on what was said...  Even unconscious, his mind raced.  There was something...wait...what was it...something Jorya would've never...

"Oh, I'm sorry, 'Father'..." She laughed vindictively, a haughty tone to her voice.  "Does that hurt?"  Fast as lightning, she swung a devastating roundhouse kick to the side of Zearic's head.  Still, he remained upright and on one knee.  "It looks like it hurts."  She slapped him hard, more as an insult than to knock him down.  "Whatever you feel, I guarantee you that it's nothing compared to what you and the Master Singer did to me."

...Something she'd said...what was it...something she'd s--

"Shakal..." That voice...D'Aylanna's voice...calling to him...something she'd s--

"Husband..." This time, he knew it to be his wife's voice...still, that urgent feeling...something she'd s--

"ZEARIC..." Definitely her voice, he'd heard that tone enough to recognize her concern, her love, her--

Something she'd said!

Consciousness came crashing down upon him as his eyes exploded open, the light filtering through the bacta blurring his vision slightly.  Slowly, deliberately, he made the muscles in his chest, back, arms, legs, stomach, and neck relax.
 Once done, he focused his eyes or at least as well as he could.  There on the other side of the tank stood two people, one diminutive, the other hulking.  ...D'Aylanna...Alcyorr... He thought.  Inhaling deeply through the rebreather, the fresh oxygen helped to clear his head. ...Ereneda...Triarch...  Looking down, he saw that the deep puncture was healing, tissues even now knitting together.  Soon, it would be just another scar amongst the dozens he already had.

But it was the emotional wound that hurt the worst, the one that he'd been most worried about.

...Except, now, he knew...

He KNEW.

          <<<<< >>>>>

Slowly, Zearic opened his eyes, the soft lighting comforting to his eyes, his vision no longer blurry.  Looking to the side, he saw the beautiful face of his wife smiling, her small, delicate hands tenderly holding his.  She was alone, Alcyorr no where to be seen.  ...How long was I unconscious...? He thought.  Inhaling, the pleasant scent of vanilla and lavender filled his nose, the effect relaxing.  "...Ereneda..." He whispered, his voice cracking.  How long had it been since last he'd spoken?

D'Aylanna must've seen the question on his face, her dark eyes full of compassion, her full blue lips compressed tightly together.  "More than 2 weeks, Shakal." Her quiet voice caressed his ears, her small hands held his large one, the strength in them supportive and comforting.  "Rest, Love." She said reassuringly.

But Zearic shook his head.  "...no...No, Ereneda..." His deep voice cracked again, determined to tell her what he knew, what she needed to know.  "...Jorya...not Jorya...not our daughter..." He said, his voice growing stronger with each word even as his throat constricted.

D'Aylanna stood next to his medcouch, all senses intent upon her husband.  Behind her, the medical droids continued their ministrations, convinced that Zearic's condition was improving...yet they were all but forgotton.

"...That was not Jorya." Zearic paused.  Closing his eyes, the pain of the vibroblade a mere irritant next to the emotional pain he now felt, not so much for himself, but rather for his daughter.  The pain in his heart seemed to pulse in time with the remembered throbbing in his chest and back.

Whatever you feel, I guarantee you that it's nothing compared to what you and the Master Singer did to me.


Telling his wife his suspicions, he saw her face fall as realization and horror replaced her earlier concern.  And rightfully so.  He could think of only one such person with whom would have had contention against both he and Karmack, only one that would have the power to do such a...an intrusive act, an invasion of self...and Jorya had exposed herself to her when she'd Delved the Dark Singer, Jennira¹...

Jennira...agent and thrall of Darth Mendax.

The former High Inquisitor, Gaetana Ravine.
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1. As seen in Shadow Etude, CH.7: Ramifications http://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=36277.msg594108#msg594108