Print Page - Dark Renascence

I would like to give a Shout Out first to: For Tyeth for such a FANTASTIC poster! Also, to FT and Lord_S_Gray for some wonderful plot points! They truly are the best of friends :) This chapter is dedicated to them both!
Finally, to everyone who has supported me by reading my stories: an enormous THANK YOU; may the Maker see you safe and may the Force be with you all!
And now...the ongoing story of D'Aylanna, Zearic, Jorya, & Co.
This story takes place shortly after the end of "Queen&Marquesa, Executioner&Cataphract "
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(https://i.ibb.co/n6TJxHw/20210504-113035.jpg)
Prologue-Nightmares, Shattered Dreams, Dark Aspirations, & Darker Pursuits, Part I

Nightmares
With a sudden, jarring immediacy, D’Aylanna’s eyes shot open, her night-blindness momentarily adding to her nightmare-induced panic. Even now, the details of her dream were as clear as a Hapan day at high-noon.

She was (had been) back on Hapes Prime, hanging painfully from the pillory, her shoulders strained almost to the point of her arms dislocating from their sockets, the burning, itching, constant pain from the dozens of cuts courtesy of the chagskin tunic, sweat stinging the ragged lacerations, hunger–but much worse thirst–twisting through her throat, stomach, and head making her want to vomit.

From her radiant throne, the Queen Mother–may Her Radiance illuminate eternal–judged her with unrelenting eyes, cruelty and gratification warring for primacy across her visage. “Death!” Her sonorous, clear pronouncement rang throughout the cavernous throneroom of the Tribunal of Illumination. Just as she remembered…

…But unlike what had occurred, the Queen Mother’s conviction would be made manifest and executed.

And so too would D’Aylanna.

As the Justrixes released her from her bounds she fell heavily, unceremoniously collapsing down on the dais upon which the pillory stood. Strong hands roughly grabbed her, half-dragging, half-carrying her towards another raised dais, this one wider and taller than the last. And atop of the wide black-and-white plinth stood another woman, one whose eyes promised murder…and retribution.

Her niece, T’Atyanna.

Unresponsive, D’Aylanna’s tortured body slumped upon the glistening marble floor of the dais. Even moving her head to look up took Herculean effort. Yet when she did, she saw a look of pure sadistic pleasure bloom upon the younger woman’s face. Hefting a tremorsword, she spoke only loud enough for D’Aylanna to hear: “This is for my Sestras.” But as the last word left her lips, T’Atyanna…changed.

From one blink of her eye to the next, the younger woman was suddenly taller, her brown skin turning orange while her midnight-blue hair twisted upon itself, becoming two blue-and-white montral horns while simultaneously stretching down into three lekku. Finally, her dark eyes lightened first to rich blue but steadily faded further until they shone a piercing yellow…

The yellow irises of a Sith.

Staring down upon D’Aylanna was an executioner’s mask no longer that of T’Atyanna; rather, it was now the unforgettable face, body, and person of her adoptive daughter, Jorya. Or rather, Jorya’s body, one possessed by her enemy most treacherous:

Darth Mendax, Gaetana Ravine.

Raising the tremorsword, it suddenly became a lightsaber, its crimson blade casting a blood-red pallor everywhere, turning Jorya’s face into a daemon’s visage. “With your death, I need only revenge myself upon your pfassk of a husband.” A rictus grin spread across her face, mouth suddenly full of razor-sharp teeth. “Once done, my vengeance shall be complete.” However, for a split-second her entire countenance changed, the gleeful sadism replaced by woeful contrition and an almost resigned sorrow. “I’m so sorry, Mother.” She whispered. Nevertheless, she didn’t hesitate.

With a powerful swing, Gaetana/Jorya brought her lightsaber down in a savage arc…

…Which was precisely when D’Aylanna awoke. Terrible, yes, but that had not been the worst…

Forcibly she collected herself, her iron will clamping down hard upon her emotions.

Slowly, her breathing became more regular, her heart hammering in her ears. For several moments she did not stir, instead she expanded her hearing outwards (the sense more acute to compensate for her night-blindness). Unsurprisingly, the deep breathing of her Shakal came from beside her, giving her some comfort. Smiling, she gently stroked his big barrel chest, the thick hair doing nothing to hide the numerous criss-crossing scars that covered most of his front and back…although one in particular was more pronounced, the redness of the knitted skin indicative of the recent brutal wound that had almost killed him…

…From where Gaetana had stabbed him, her vibroblade just missing his heart. But that didn’t mean that the wound wasn’t serious; it had taken almost a full week submerged in bacta, with internal poly-bacta treatments to strengthen his collapsed lung.

…Thank the Maker for small mercies… She thought, closing her eyes at the horrible memory. ...But for those blessings… D’Aylanna’s eyes squeezed tears from them, thoughts of what could have been burrowing into her heart.

No, it had been a very close-run thing…

Tenderly, she touched the slightly puckered scar, more tears welling in her dark eyes. If they hadn’t been near the ship’s med center, one with a fully-operational bacta tank… Shaking her head, D’Aylanna didn’t allow herself to finish that thought.

Resolutely, she assured herself: they had been, he was alright, they were here, together. It helped. Somewhat.

Smirking, D’Aylanna considered recent events, an uncharacteristic expletive foremost in her mind: both her and her Shakal had been through hell. Point of fact, they’d both required a week of bacta treatments. It was only now, over two months since…since Gaetana had escaped, that D’Aylanna felt anything like herself of old.

If only physically.

Emotionally, she felt worse than a mynock in a volcano.

“...Ereneda...you OK?” Her Shakal’s deep voice sleepily recalled her to the present, his eyes still closed.

...No, Love, I am anything but OK: my husband was almost taken from me, my daughter is lost to me, my relatives would like nothing better than to kill me, and my greatest enemy has promised vengeance against me and mine… She thought between breaths. Instead, she lovingly stroked his broad chest. “I am fine, Dear One.” She quietly lied. “Please, Love, go back to sleep.” She purred.

She sensed movement for a second before she felt one of her husband’s large, meaty hands upon her hip, his touch as reassuring as it was gentle. So incongruous from the unyielding corded muscle that flexed unconsciously under her ministrations. She gave a small smile in the dark.

“A man of proper size” as the Hapan axiom went. That was her Shakal: a big man with an even bigger heart. Reassuringly, he was snoring again after a moment.

She envied him for being able to find sleep as easily as he did.

D’Aylanna focused upon her husband’s breathing, the rhythmic cadence of it finally calming her. Yet still the worst part–the most vexing bit of her nightmare–was the absolute certainty that it was a harbinger from her own Gift, a Force Vision that spoke of Prescience:

If she faced Gaetana, D’Aylanna could fall…but if she did not confront the tralk then her daughter would definitely die.

Or rather, something worse.

Finally, she felt the weight of her eyelids closing, exhaustion inundating her. Even as she drifted off to sleep, D’Aylanna knew she’d already decided, her choice not really a choice at all…

<<<<< >>>>>

Shattered Dreams
As the warm, shining orb of the sun dipped below the horizon, the soft, rolling hills of the grasslands turned a darker green, the leafy trees and bushes swaying in a gentle breeze that caressed the land. Soon the sky turned first red then purple and finally indigo and black, a serene calm settling upon the tranquil town nestled amongst the hills of the valley, the mostly Ferroan populace one of community, their presence one with the land, their small hamlet indicative of the amity offered on Zonama Sekot: a beautiful balance between nature, people, flora, and fauna…a comfortable, genial peace…

…A peace shattered as the sky darkened, the shadowed night soon joined by a darker black still, a glistening vitality that in the light would shout with the deep red belonging to blood that, nevertheless, appeared even blacker still within the night.

A peace utterly annihilated by the Beast.

Peaceful Ferroans, humans, and an assortment of exotic beings–walking during the night, preparing a late supper meal, or asleep within their beds–one and all died horrible, violent deaths, their bodies eviscerated in violent, red clouds of gore, their full-throated screams cut short whenever attacked by the shadow of death made manifest.

Some parents gathered children to them, others sent them into the hills, while others still stood firm between themselves and the Beast intent on protecting those they loved.

It didn’t matter; men, women, children all died, victims of an uncaring, mindless, murderous monster.

Several villagers attempted to fight back, harvesting tools held in shaking hands, deadly weapons to be sure…and ever so much a useless gesture. They died and in doing so died horribly, victims of a force of nature they had as much of a chance of stopping as they would’ve an groundquake. Such barbarity, such depravity had not been known by any in the town, at least not before that night…

But it didn’t stop with the death of the villagers; no, the Beast continued to rampage throughout the town, slaughtering livestock, destroying domiciles, even rending the very earth beneath, huge clumps of stone, dirt, and grass–once wet with dew now wet with blood–dug up in huge divots as if explosions from the very ground itself had detonated. All the standing trees within or near the town had been felled, as if uprooted by a hurricane. In one night, where there had been a bustling, viable, breathing town full of life, by morning nothing remained.

Well…not “nothing;” in truth there remained but two, single solitary beings, both forever changed…and, unknowingly, inextricably linked…

The first, of course, was the Beast…but the second was the sole survivor of the massacre, the only other thing to have endured the habitations (and the nightmares) crashing down upon them…only they lived.

The Beast…and the Child.

<<<<< >>>>>

Opening his eyes, Or’an Damaar took stock of his surroundings, alert even now a split-second after awakening from sleep. Or, more appropriately, the nightmare. Instinctively, he flexed the massive muscles in his neck, his back, his chest, his arms, his legs, and finally his hands, his enormous body immediately and intimately aware of all surrounding environmental stimuli. It had been so his entire life…but especially since…that night.

While his face was indistinguishable from the durasteel/ferrocrete-fused bulkhead that surrounded him, a raging storm roiled just below the surface, a savage violence that he kept under his iron-willed control. It was always so…lest he face that which he’d horridly witnessed that night all those years ago…

…Yet, had it not, he knew that without a doubt he would not be where he was now.

Most people would find the irony farcical; the Tof merely accepted it as a matter of course. Not that he was particularly fatalistic, rather he knew that there was nothing that would change the past.

Nevertheless, it haunted him just the same.

All of this went through his mind as he crawled through cavities that only he and one other knew of, and that person only knew that the system of tunnels existed, not their layout. And though fairly wide, the tunnels felt claustrophobic for him, so large his body had grown. That said, not even the granite strata of the cave-tubes hindered him in the least.

After all, he could move almost as fast through the rock as through the air. Which was a boon considering his required tasks…

…Something that he’d learned (and learned well) during that night. Or as the Ferroans had called it: the Gloaming of the Beast.

Pushing the thoughts away, he instead focused upon the mandate given him, an obligation that only a few had been entrusted with in the centuries following the First Gray Jedi War, the role of Hamask changed as a result. It was a duty that he held as sacrosanct, an inviolate edict that none could dissuade him from fulfilling. And none would.

Ever.

With eyes that saw everything, ears that heard everything, and senses that felt everything he set upon his newest target, one that he had promised the Triarch he’d keep tabs on, even as he recovered.

Zearic Vih’Torr.

<<<<< >>>>>

Prologue-Nightmares, Shattered Dreams, Dark Aspirations, & Darker Pursuits, Part II

Dark Aspirations
With single-minded focus, the Togruta continued to dig into the wall, intent on retrieving the treasure buried within.

At least, that’s what she hoped; to be honest, who knew what she’d find, given her recent luck... Determined, she dug deeper, careful of the treasure’s delicate nature.

After what had seemed an eternity, the dirt and detritus gave way, finally releasing its hold upon an object trapped within the earth. Excitedly clearing the dirt from the small alcove, the Togruta grabbed hopefully at the small object that she’d finally happened upon in the dig. But as soon as her fingers wrapped around the object disappointment welled up from within. ...Dammit… It was another worthless statue, some ancient Massassi iconography. Disgustedly, she furiously threw the fragile piece at the wall, shattering the figurine into a hundred shards.

Another false hope, dashed even sooner than the last.

Slowly inhaling, she willed herself back to calmness, her emotions changing from raging hot to analytical cold in between breaths. Some might have found that odd…but not if one knew of the particular case surrounding Jorya Fah ni’Vih’Torr.

After all, she was literally of three minds, two of them even now subtly battling for supremacy to fully control the body, the third relegated to prisoner and knowledge repository. However, the rage from all three burned brighter than a star going nova resulting in–quite frankly–highly volatile emotional outbursts. ...Control…! She admonished herself, two of the three minds “thinking” simultaneously, an occurrence that had happened more and more frequently during the past few months. It should’ve made the minds take pause…but it didn’t. Instead, the Togruta decided the best course of action was to assess her surroundings and, hopefully, calm down.

Silently, she left the deadend tunnel, subtle sounds of others soon becoming clearer as she exited the shaft she’d been so sure housed the prize that she sought. Entering the larger cave, she looked around the ever-growing cavity. There were a handful of beings–mostly humans but some aliens were found amongst them–each of them one of her “hirelings.”

Unfortunately, they’d had as much luck finding the treasure as she’d had.

Leaving the cave, she walked from one supported tunnel to another, the Togruta suddenly finding herself irritated. She seemed to be more often than not as of late. Grinding her teeth, she cursed her bad luck. How many months had she wasted looking in the wrong system? Two? Three? …Shavit… She silently cursed striding through the mineshafts, the workers that she’d hired too busy to acknowledge her presence. Not that she’d want them to anyway; they were here to find what she needed, not offer up false sentiments and pleasantries.

By the Maker, she still couldn’t believe that she’d made such a monumental error! What kind of nerf-minded dren-licker could mistake a specific system for anoth–

Sucking her teeth, her feet slightly stumbled as her cognizant mind caught up to her current thoughts. She’d been many things in her life, but Gaetana Ravine had not been particularly given to profanities and especially not in any belief in the Maker.

Nor had Kadmaur.

It was further proof that Time was not on her side. There was already too much “bleeding” between Minds going on; worse still: it was now happening by matter of rote…

“Shavi–” Wincing, she deliberately cut off her curse, mindful even now of just how much she needed to find the treasure.

Her very existence depended upon it.

She suddenly became acutely aware that her hands hurt. Curiously, she looked down, only now noticing that somehow her digging gloves had been removed and that her palms bled freely, lacerated from the very fingernails of her hands.

…When the hell had that happened…? She thought, half-realizing that she sounded very much like Fa–like Zearic. Again, she should’ve been afraid…but she wasn’t. Distractedly, her hand hovered over her utility belt, expertly locating one of the many cylinders hanging from it and grabbing it. Pushing a button, she sprayed the palms of both hands, the poly-bacta working immediately. At least that was one concern that she could solve. Closing her eyes, she tried to calm herself…all to no avail. As her teeth ground within her mouth, she could feel her jowl muscles knotting, her cheeks sore. By the Maker, she’d come too far, risked much and fought too hard to be stymied n–!

“Mistr’ss!” One of the humans yelled in Basic, his dirty visage making him look as if he were a pair of floating, disembodied eyes. “They’s sayin’ they’s foun’ sumpin.” He masticated the words as if unused to speaking the language…which was probably true; she’d found that these humans were incredibly ignorant, their clannish dialects more guttural sounds and grunts than actual phonemes for words. Still, at least some of them could transla–

Shaking her head, she made herself focus on the present. “Show me.” She commanded. Without hesitation, they ran/loped through one of the minor tangential shafts. It was so new that it did not have even half of the support struts of the “normal” tunnels.

As she followed deeper into the shaft, her montrals took over, her acute hearing superior to her eyes in such cramped darkness. Soon, the dirty human stopped, stooping low to join another equally dirty being. She couldn’t be certain, but she thought that the alien was a Bimm…

“Mis-Tris…de baba esa t’ing?” He asked in his pidgin Basic while holding out both hands, gesturing to the object he held. Looking down, she held her breath. Gently, she grabbed at the cloth covering surrounding the object. It was nothing short of a miracle that the textile bag had survived this long…

As soon as her hands wrapped around the object, she knew that this was the treasure that she was looking for. Opening the bag, she carefully withdrew the pyramidal object inside, red&golden lines of energy tracing self-made paths along the surface reacting to her fingers. …Naturally… She thought.

Smiling, she nodded. “It is.” She answered, pleasure and relief flooding through her. Finally!

“Mis-Tris…wasa da t’ing?” The Bimm asked, dual looks of avarice radiating from the two dirty beings as they rubbed their filthy hands together, dreams of riches already spent infecting them with euphoria.

“What it is…” She said distractedly, clandestinely dropping one hand to her belt. “...Is a relic.” She couldn’t help but grin. “An ancient Sith relic.” She looked pointedly at the pair, seeing no recognition at all. Perhaps…

No, it was better to be sure.

“Excellent job!” She commended, her own smile widening. At the tone of her voice, the dirty things relaxed, almost giggling with glee. “As promised: you shall now receive your reward.” Her hand was faster than either set of eyes could see.

In one swift stroke it was done.

Both heads made little sound upon the dirt floor as their bodies crumpled down at her feet, her red lightsaber extinguished almost as quickly as she’d ignited it. …Three people can keep a secret… She thought of the old adage, …if two of them are dead…

Now that she held her prize, she luxuriated in her success. The glorious ends more than made up for the tedious means!

As curious as she was, she knew that now was neither the time nor the place. Besides, better to research the artifact in the privacy of her ship rather than here.

Especially since there were more witnesses to deal with.

As she exited the shaft, she made certain to take care of the remaining diggers, each one given their promised reward.

Their eternal reward.

It amazed her that it took as short a time as it did, given that she had another dozen hirelings. Not one of them suspected what was coming when she appeared. Soon enough she was boarding her ship, the final “preparations” for the dig site taken care of.

As the TIE Guardian cut across the moon’s quasi-atmosphere, the Togruta smirked. ...Hmmm…I thought I’d set the timer for five minu–...

Her thoughts were cut off suddenly as a portion of the moon disappeared in a silent fiery cloud of detritus, vapor, and heat, the baradium devices doing their intended job. Glancing out of the transparisteel canopy, Gaetana smiled/Kadmaur smirked/Jorya sobbed. She’d left no witnesses and now there was no evidence that she’d been here; nothing at all to follow up on.

She breathed a sigh of relief. After all those setbacks…now that she’d found what she needed, she felt the weight of purpose upon her. Unconsciously, she stroked her lekku, her cybernetic lekku.

Something that Jorya would do whenever she was deep in thought. It would’ve given her pause and reason for concern…if she’d actually noticed at all.

But Gaetana didn’t. Neither did Kadmaur.

Instead, plans for the next part of her scheme flooded through her head, holos from her other agents already reporting success from Zolan. ...So close… She thought, doing everything she could to contain her elation, lest Kadmaur notice. But, first things first.

Expertly, her fingers danced across the holoboard, coordinates entered for a Zolan terminus.

She would use the time to study her newest prize and to perfect her plan.

With the lengthening of starlines, the TIE Guardian entered the hyperspace tunnel, leaving in its wake the devastated remains of a moon, one whose provenance had held many a remarkable item, all ignored by Gaetana for her true objective:

Darth Vectivus’ holocron.

<<<<< >>>>>

Prologue-Nightmares, Shattered Dreams, Dark Aspirations, & Darker Pursuits, Part III

Darker Pursuits
As the Battledragon slid through local space, its advanced sensor suite scrutinized the surrounding system, especially every life-sustaining planet within range. Sensor technicians perused the collected data, corroborating with each other to establish a baseline, those favorable candidates were run up the chain of command with each successive superior until one or another would eventually reject or eliminate said possibilities based upon their more complete knowledge of precisely what the Hapan Navy was looking for.

At least, that had happened the previous four times that Lieutenant Turna Sildhe had submitted her team’s findings. ...This is a waste of time… She thought, the latest holo-rejection fresh in her memory.

Unlike most of the crew in the battlegroup, she knew precisely what it was that they were looking for.

Those bastard Vhal’Dan.

Yet, all records of their planet’s location had been wrong; there had been nothing but empty space when the Hapan Expeditionary Force had arrived at the coordinates. Hundreds of capital ships swarming with almost a thousand fighters, all for naught. No planet, no moon, no asteroid, nothing.

Nothing.

Furthermore, there had been no sign of their navy, the self-same fleet that had impugned upon the Consortium’s sovereign space, their very presence an effrontery to the Empress.

Lt. Sildhe smirked, unsure of what such developments entailed. It wasn’t as if a planet could up-and-move.

And so: the Queen Mother–may Her Radiance illuminate eternal–had further deployed almost half of the entire Hapan Navy to scour the area of the galaxy around the now-defunct coordinates despite the fact that there had been nothing there to begin with.

Grinding her teeth, Lt. Sildhe pondered on what else she’d heard: along with the actual veracity of the story itself, she was told that the precise location had been determined by none other than the Empress’ own daughter herself, the previous Marque–

She shook her head; no not Marquesa but rather Chume’da. It would take some getting used to the new title…not to mention that the former…er, heir…was now considered persona non grata, the mere mention of her name punishable by ritual glossectomy.

Already there had been those that had regretted that particular mista–

Her comm suddenly pinged. “Lieutenant Sildhe.” She answered. “Report.”

“Ensign Davari, Lieutenant. Long-range sensors have detected a large, non-planetary mass in the system, too far for specific details but initial assessments fall within parameters from Command.”

Sildhe heard more than felt the pause on the other end of her comm. “And?”

“Lieutenant, the mass gradient we were given…are there any more specifics?” Davari’s otherwise professional voice was tinged with something else…possibly anticipation?

Sildhe considered for a moment; much of what Command had determined as “Classified” might well tie their hands here, especially given the Fleet’s ultimate mission to “Search&Destroy.” She made a decision. “Yes: a mass-shadow of 30 million tonnes or more.” The Vhal’Dan invaders had engaged the Throneworld with multiple vessels but their fleet had included some of the largest battleships known to the Consortium; by the Queen Mother, some of those had had mass-shadows of 60 million tonnes!

“I think you’ll want to see this, Lieutenant. Sensors indicate a vessel with a mass-shadow of 40 million tonnes.” Even over the commlink, she could hear the other woman’s eagerness.

Sildhe immediately knew that whatever this was, it was different from before. “Understood; on my way.” Changing frequencies, she pinged the Battledragon’s commanding officer. “Lieutenant Sildhe, Captain. I believe that Sensors has found something of interest: a mass-shadow of 40 million tonnes.”

“Very good, XO.” Came a clipped, assured voice from Sildhe’s comm. “Meet me on the battle-bridge.”

“Aye, Captain.” Sildhe was already heading towards the nearest turbolift, cautious excitement tempered by her professionalism.

Meanwhile she couldn’t help but think that today was a good day for punitive justice. It added a small bounce in her step as she exited the turbolift.

As Sildhe entered the bridge, the comforting sounds of controlled business surrounded her, every single tech, enlisted, and officer focused upon their responsibilities. Approaching the Captain’s chair, she stepped up on the raised dais to stand next to her commanding officer.

“You’re just in time, Turna. Seems that we’ve more than just a single, large mass-shadow; Sensors have detected several fighter craft in the area as well.” The CO’s polished posh Hapan accents spoke of royal relations, if tangential. But like all kin from House Royal, Captain Bhivrys Peve’A Lai’Gror was a strong, beautiful, and dangerous woman, evident even upon first meeting the tall, career-Navy officer.

“What kind of fighters?” Sildhe asked, her curiosity further piqued.

Captain Lai’Gror tilted her head, a glint in her eye while she projected her voice. “TIE Defenders.” The weight of her words washed over everyone on the bridge; the Vhal’Dan invaders had included TIE Defenders in their offensive.

Sildhe inhaled. “Finally.” Her quiet words were tinged with anticipation, an emotion shared amongst the entire crew. Now they would get retribution, for themselves, for the Consortium, for the Queen Mother herself!

The Captain’s voice rang across the bridge. “Comms: order the fleet to present itself at Mark 594, Carom 003. Engines full ahead. As soon as the ship is within range, I want shooting solutions for full-spread broadsides.” She glanced at Sildhe, a wry smirk showing upon her lips. “Looks like we’ll be able to test out the new turbolaser batteries.”

After the woeful showing during the War, Hapan R&D had immediately gone to work to enhance turbolaser power and efficiency. Prior testing had shown dramatic improvements, although firing at stationary asteroids was entirely different from enemy vessels. Still: it felt good to be doing something instead of flailing about empty space.

Within a few minutes, the Battledragons had caught up to the capital ship, several of the TIE Defenders having already docked within their respective mothership. “Bring up visuals on the holomonitors; I want to see the Vhal’Dan realize that it is too late to escape.” Captain Lai’Gror’s words buoyed the spirits of every bridge tech and officer, themselves veterans of the Hapan-Vhal’Dan War. With this action, they knew that the communal feelings of hopelessness and incredulity would disappear like an ice brick on Tatooine.

“Captain, Tactical has a shooting solution.” One of the junior officers reported.

Lai’Gror smiled. “Very well.” She gripped her hands behind her back, her spine ramrod straight. “Fire.”

No sooner had the command left her lips than the Battledragons’ turbolasers lanced out from the combined battlegroup, fifteen ships aligned side-by-side for a potent broadside volley. As the plasma struck the shields, the enemy ship turned to face the battlegroup and brought its own turbolasers to bear. But by the time that the enemy had done so, the Hapan battlegroup was on their fourth salvo, two of which had included an ion cannon barrage.

As the Hapan Fleet finished their tenth salvo, the enemy ship was in dire straits.

“Report.” The Captain’s clipped tones were cautiously optimistic.

As soon as she’d spoken to the techs in Tactical, Sildhe turned to her CO, smiling. “Direct hits, enemy shields fluctuating; more importantly: hull integrity compromised along port superstructure.” Sildhe felt a wave of elation. “The new weapons have proven effective.” Newly reported from Sensors, she continued, “Captain, enemy vessel is an Imperial II-class variant star destroyer.” So: the Vhal’Dan had even other ships amongst their navy. Regardless, they would soon succumb to Consortium might.

“Outstanding, XO.” The Captain gave a tight smile, suddenly holding up a fist. “Fire at wi–”

“Captain! Sensors are detecting an incoming mass shadow on our starboard side. It’s…” The tech’s voice trailed off before resuming, an unmistakable hint of fear and wonder evident as he spoke next. “It’s enormous…close to a trillion-tonnes.”

Everyone on the bridge could feel the Captain’s scowl. “That’s impossible; even an Executor-class star dreadnought has a fraction of that kind of mass-shadow.”

Sildhe knew that to be true; a super star destroyer’s mass-shadow was about 665 million-tonnes. She went over to the Sensor station to verify. After a second, the blood drained from her face.

“Captain…” Sildhe pushed down the worry that she felt, her voice calm and collected. “Mass-shadow confirmed: almost a trillion-tonnes.” She turned her head towards her CO. “Incoming.”

“Status of enemy star destroyer?” Captain Lai’Gror inquired, her mind racing with possibilities concerning the new intruder.

“Substantial damage along port-side, starboard-side shields fluctuating, port engines running hot.” Came the reply. Well, they wouldn’t be going anywhere for the next few minutes.

“Very well. Bring the battleg–” But the Captain was once again interrupted.

“Captain! Sensors have detected an energy surge from the intruder along the central-axis!” The Tactical ensign looked directly at the Captain and then at Sildhe. “I think it’s a weapon…” She couldn’t hide the disbelief from her statement.

“Propulsion! Evasive, full ahead!” Captain Lai’Gror commanded…a half-second before an enormous lancing arc of thick plasma shot from the bow of the intruder, hitting the furthest Battledragon center-mass. Only, the powerful shot did not stop at that ship; it hit every single Hapan capital ship that was aligned next to one another for the broadside volleys that they’d unleashed upon the Imperial II-class star destroyer.

Within seconds, the entire battlegroup was in shambles, every ship suffering incredible damage, 13 of the 15 outright destroyed. Only two Battledragons had not been completely vaporized by the initial shot, and of those two, only one had any survivors upon them.

In this case, Sildhe’s own Battledragon.

Coughing up blood, she tried to rise from the deck that she now found herself collapsed upon, only to find that she was pinned under a heavy piece of stanchion, the thick durasteel girder crushing her body from hips to her chest. Desperately, she tried to blink away the cloudiness within her vision but every further attempt was futile.

A sudden calm overcame her.

Looking around the bridge, she saw first that many had been crushed as the durasteel superstructure collapsed inwards; others had asphyxiated from the sudden loss of oxygen and atmosphere; while still others had been thrown against the bulkhead from the force of impact.

As for Captain Lai’Gror, she was missing over half of her face, her remaining eye looking unconcerned. From her elbows down, she was missing her entire body.

Sildhe knew she should feel dread, horror, or even apprehension, but she was completely calm. Glancing around, she could see out of what remained of the bridge’s transparisteel windows the utter destruction of her battlegroup…but beyond that, she saw a deep, black shadow that ate up the stars as it came swiftly closer.

It took her a few seconds but Sildhe suddenly realized that what she was looking at was actually a ship…one enormous ship. Even now, she could see that it had some running lights, a broad beam, and a deep, dark black wide, angular hull, one that reminded her of naval vessels of old, ships that had sailed oceans of water instead of the vastness of space.

Coughing up more blood, she could see the persistent green light bearing down upon her like a judgemental titan’s gigantic eye. …It…it must be some sort of…of…weapon… She thought as all of the stars were suddenly consumed by the blackness, the intense glowing green of whatever it was soon the only source of light.

Closing her eyes, Sildhe sent a prayer to the Queen Mother, may Her Radiance illuminate etern–

The crashing cacophony of twisted durasteel, meta-ceramics, and duraplast was momentarily deafening in her ears before the eerie silence of the vacuum of space enveloped her, the woman’s final thoughts on her Empress.

Sildhe’s world shattered completely as the huge black ship rammed the remaining Battledragon, its already weakened superstructure torn apart like wet paper against the stygian quadranium hull of the over 35 kilometer-long flagship of the Autonomous Fleet.

An Eclipse III-class star dreadnought.

The Gehenna.

<<<<< >>>>>

Prologue-Nightmares, Shattered Dreams, Dark Aspirations, & Darker Pursuits, Part IV

“Admiral, the enemy fleet has been completely destroyed.” The tactical officer intonated in an almost bored voice. Around the bridge, gunners checked shooting solutions for the larger debris remains of the Battledragons, Tactical and Damage Control officers perused pertinent data–no incoming ordinance or blasterfire, no damage to the dreadnaught or its systems–while ensuring the flagship was at battle-readiness, Sensor techs scoured the area for survivors and finding none.

All-in-all, a decent distraction from the Triumvirate’s primary objective.

“Good.” Admiral Sarna Mercet intoned, idly wondering just what the Hapan ships were doing in this particular sector. Not that it mattered; there were no survivors to tell the tale of their presence. “Comms: relay to Fleet ‘Stand Down.’ Status on the Dúmazi?”

Consulting his panel, the tech reported. “Medial damage to hull and shield modulation, one hundred thirty-two injured, no fatalities. Captain Nesaid is confident that repairs will take no more than 3 hours.”

“Very well.” Sarna’s clipped tone matched the competence of the woman herself: her olive drab uniform was crisp, spotless, and professional, her face a mask of assured control. “Gunners: use this opportunity for cadets and junior officers to present shooting solutions to neutralize larger debris fields. Tactical: likewise for future engagements. Propulsion: proceed to the former local coordinates.” She cocked her head towards a much taller man to her right, his own uniform virtually identical to her own. “Captain Makinen: you have the Con.”

“Aye, Admiral.” He bowed his head briefly at the neck before replacing her upon the bridge’s main thoroughfare, giving smart orders without yelling or barking. Good; that’s one of the reasons why she’d chosen Emyl Makinen to act as her right hand: he knew the value and benefit of temperance.

Before she stepped into the turbolift, her XO’s voice called from behind her. “Admiral, would you like for me to inform you once we reach the designated coordinates?” The lips under his thick yet neatly trimmed mustache made a thin line across his face.

“Yes, Captain. Thank you.” She nodded as the turbolift door slid shut.

She rode in silence for the minute it took the ‘lift to reach her destination: the Triumvirate’s War Room. As the blast door slid open to a darkened room, she was unsurprised to see that it was already occupied. In the middle of the room, a tall, dark haired man kneeled, his black robes doing nothing to hide the lithe armor covering the man. If he took any notice of her presence, he did not move.

“Kintik?” She finally asked, voice low, “I thought that you were with Ghent.” Sarna’s eyebrow arched.

“Something roused me from my Meditations.” He answered instead, his tone distracted. His hands unconsciously flexed and unflexed, the faded skin giving his fingers an almost ethereal quality.

Automatically Sarna felt on edge. She’d come to trust the Darkside Executor’s intuitions. “Visions?”

Nodding his head, he closed his yellow eyes while focusing within. “I see a man and a Tof, flipsides of a coin; as they approach a mountain suddenly moves, yet both are the same. I see a Togruta who wears three faces; she is simultaneously prisoner, victor, and vanquished yet what remains is stronger. Standing above them all is a shining woman in whose hands weighs the balance of possible futures; she must needs decide. All must collide and it is her decision which will help determine who survives and who dies.” His voice suddenly fell silent, the abruptness in sharp contrast to its previous bombast as if all of the weight of its portents had somehow slipped through his fingers.

All thoughts fled from her mind as Sarna tapped an index finger on her lips, both wondering and lost as to the meaning of her Executor’s Prescience. “And no ideas on who they are?” She asked guessing the answer.

“None.” Kintik’s reply was as acerbic as it was abrupt. “I know only that the woman is key.” He fell silent, grasping through the Force at understanding only to find his attempts futile.

He did not notice when Sarna left nor her attestation to find Moff Ghent before she did; Kintik’s mind instead replayed the Vision over and over again. Whomever she was, this woman was of utmost importance, absolutely necessary to the Future…but not necessarily his future.

Tightly wrapped in the Darkside, Kintik burned the image of the woman into his memory, the details of her dark skin and darker eyes searing in his mind.

But it was her midnight-blue hair and full blue lips that gripped his attention, an oddity that even within a galaxy of alien peculiarities he took note of. She was absolutely vital…

…And her choice would either save the galaxy…or condemn it.

"With death....there is always rebirth."

(https://i.ibb.co/x2RXy02/dutchman-poster-test-image-edit.jpg)

Dark Renascence

(https://i.ibb.co/t28LPDz/Vhal-Dan-Hall-of-Balance-Galtea.jpg)
Chapter 1: The Moment Before The Avalanche, part I
*******************************************************
Vhal’Dan Congress
Baransu no Kage: VACANT
Council of Balance:
Arbiter: Listian Demarcus, Human male
1st Speaker: WyFei Klamonte, Zeltron female
2nd Speaker: Pyryx'Tu, Aing-Tii female
3rd Speaker: Qillian Rethaal, Togruta male
4th Speaker: Sona Mnaa Rahn , Mirilian female
5th Speaker: Stel-Lan Octharr, Human male
6th Speaker: Alcyorr Kål Rhadde, Cathar male
7th Speaker: D'Aylanna Vih'Torr, Hapan female
*******************************************************
“...Which brings me to the main point of this Session.” Listian Damarcus’ voice was terse, his gray-blue eyes tightening. “The sensor drones have detected several mass-shadows in the former vicinity of Zonama Sekot’s orbital in the Klasse Ephemora System.” Sitting, his eyes scanned each Speaker.

D’Aylanna sat back in her own chair, unperturbed. That was to be expected: when Bellicose Protocols were enacted, the planet’s internal hyperdrive allowed them to relocate to almost anywhere in the galaxy–in this case, the Seitia Sector in the Outer Rim–while deploying several clandestine sensor probes to keep watch. The Vhal’Dan had all but expected for the Consortium to retaliate.

After all, that’s precisely what the Order’s putative actions were about in rescuing her, precipitating the Hapes-Vhal’Dan War. The small Speaker mentally shook her head. …Dammit… D’Aylanna did not smile at the thought of whatever Hapan attack force the Queen Mother had gathered wasting time at a place where the Vhal’Dan no longer were. If she’d had it her way, no Vhal’Dan would’ve ever endangered themselves in attempting said rescue in the first place…

She gave silent thanks to the Maker that no Vhal’Dan had died. Not that, never that.

No, the small Hapan woman had been prepared to die on the Throneworld, her friends, family, and Order safe…especially her husband and her daughter. Even now she could recall with crystal clarity the Trial-By-Champion between her Shakal¹ and that brute of an executioner that T’Atyanna had chosen…but worse than that had been Jorya. By the Maker, her daug–

“Excuse me, Arbiter,” She said, her mind catching up to her ears, “Did you say ‘a trillion-tonne mass shadow?’”

When Listian turned towards the small Hapan Speaker, his face softened slightly. “That’s correct, Speaker. The drones’ sensors were unable to discern much else, but one of them was able to capture his holovid.” From his Chair, he thumbed one of the buttons on the built-in panel on the right arm, activating the main, central holodisplay.

Simultaneously, the Hall’s illumination darkened, a starfield appearing above the holoprojector in the center of the semicircle of Speakers’ Chairs. At first nothing seemed to happen…then a bright, green plasma blast seemed to erupt from nothingness. A fraction of a second later, every Gray Jedi witnessed as a dozen or so explosions appeared all in a row. As the blast plumes proliferated outward, they started to disappear starting at one side as if swallowed by darkness.

D’Aylanna couldn’t be sure but she thought that the shadow got bigger before a final explosion appeared within the periphery…only to be completely engulfed by darkness. …Damn my eyes… She cursed, irritated by the hereditary Hapan night-blindness. “Arbiter…can you please adjust the contrast and replay?”

“Of course, Speaker.” The gray-haired human said patiently, understanding. After making the necessary adjustments, he thumbed the “Enable” button again. This time the shadow was clearer, although still not enough to show details.

But the last explosion definitely showed D’Aylanna all that she needed to see. “It’s a ship.” She whispered, clearly voicing what everyone else thought given their slight nods. But…she’d never heard of a ship that large, the only vessels that came close were the Executor-class star dreadnoughts from the Empire…

…No, actually that wasn’t right. Using a Recall Technique, she vaguely remembered a report that her Shakal had given in front of Kage Oyuna Chan’dn back when he, Jaim, and G’av had discovered Gaetana’s betrayal.

Before reaching the Fortress Inquisitorious on Byss², they’d come upon an enormous doonium skeleton, its chassis almost 18 kilometers in length, indicative of an absolutely huge ship.

Something fitting given the name of “Project Eclipse.”

But after doing some quick mental math, D’Aylanna knew that such wouldn’t even come close to a mass-shadow of a trillion tonnes. Nor was she the only one to do so.

“With a mass shadow that large? Such would indicate something more akin to the first Death Star, if still a fraction of the mass.” 1st Speaker WyFei Klamonte mused, her magenta skin seeming to pale at the suggestion.

That opened the proverbial floodgate: seven voices began speaking at once as each Speaker chimed in their own opinions, concerns, and possible solutions, a verbal cacophony that grew in volume over the next few minutes.

Subjects varied from Speaker to Speaker: it was a ship, it was a station, it was a superweapon; no it was a prototype, it was an Imperial vessel, it was a shadow non-government organization that had been steering events from behind the scenes. Every subject had its supporters and detractors but one thing was constant: there was absolutely no consensus in full to be achieved.

“Regardless…” Listian bellowed, cutting through the growing argument with a trick of the Force, projecting his voice louder, “... Jurisprudence demands that we investigate.” He looked pointedly at each Speaker before finally settling upon the large, white Cathar. “Triarch, we need personal intel for this; I don’t trust such evaluations solely with holo evidence. We’ll need some ‘boots on the ground.’”

“Understood, Arbiter.” Though he spoke quietly, Alcyorr’s bass voice seemed to shake the very floor of the Hall of Balance. “I have the perfect team in mind for such a task.” He assured. D’Aylanna saw several of the Speakers subtly relax as a result. Nothing overt but–with a lifetime of watching people, studying them–the small Hapan master was particularly good inferring the easement of eyes or smoothing of jowl muscles and the idiosyncrasies belonging to each Speaker. “With your assent, I shall inform them forthwith.”

Standing, the Cathar Speaker seemed to make the Hall grow smaller (as he always did). “Arbiter. Speakers.” He bowed at the neck respectfully before striding from the Hall. D’Aylanna couldn’t help but watch the Triarch with a touch of concern.

She couldn’t be certain…but she thought that she could detect the barest hint of satisfaction in his tone when he mentioned the “perfect team.” With her face an impassive mask, she scrutinized her fellow Speakers to see if any of them had any suspicions.

And was suitably rewarded.

With the lone exception of 2nd Speaker Pyryx'Tu, the other members of Congress looked pensive…but that did not mean that the Aing-tii master wasn’t concerned, only that her particular “tell” had nothing to do with her visage but rather the way her tongues licked the air. That told D’Aylanna all that she needed to know.

At least some of her fellow Speakers already had an idea (or at least the beginnings of one) of what was going on…

…And they did not want to share that particular knowledge. At least not here or now and certainly not with her.

Serenely, D’Aylanna tucked all the information securely away, compartmentalizing it all until she could properly peruse everything.

“These deliberations are concluded and Session is adjourned. Go in Balance.” Listian intoned, dismissing the remaining Speakers. With a friendly smile upon her lips, D’Aylanna excused herself to participate in the usual small talk that the Speakers would normally engage in post-Session. Yes, she had much more pressing concerns and they involved the input of her Shakal. Yet she also wanted to get the lay of the land as it were where her fellow Speakers were concerned…especially with them being so vague and obtuse.

But the thrust of her mind was already with her Zearic.

Besides, they still needed to discuss the…other uncertain antagonist in their lives, the one that had possessed their daughter, Jorya

Darth Mendax, Gaetana Ravine.

<<<<< >>>>>
____________________________________________________________________
1. Shakal: Hapan for “worthy” or “he who is worthy”
2. As seen W-A-A-Y-Y-Y back in “A Tarnished Knight:” https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=35967.msg586550#msg586550 (https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=35967.msg586550#msg586550)

Special thanks to For Tyeth for his excellent rendering of Zearic! This chapter is dedicated to him :)
********************************************************************************
(https://i.ibb.co/n1J3gPn/zearic-old-2-edit-one-1.jpg)
Chapter 1: The Moment Before The Avalanche, part II
As D’Aylanna entered the Pancratium, the roar of the gathered crowd was raised in a pitched volume, a large gathering of Vhal’Dan Jedi, instructors, and the Concordat Company’s Hit Squad members encircled the main practice ring. Unfortunately, as short as she was, she could not see who was currently wrestling, at least not from her current vantage.

Scanning the crowd, she immediately saw Alcyorr towering above almost every single person, his stripped white fur pulled back in several braids hanging from his head. Even out of his Cataphract armor, the Triarch was absolutely massive, the enormous Cather easily weighing over 400kg. By the Maker, he even made her Shakal look small…well, smaller; at over 200kg, he was still one of the largest humans she’d ever seen.

D’Aylanna couldn’t help but grin. Even when she first met her Shakal, he had been a man of proper size (per Hapan reckoning) but he’d gotten even larger since, thanks in no small part to her culinary skills. While such was not standard learning within House Royal, D’Aylanna had always been a gifted chef. Growing up on the Throneworld, who could’ve guessed that she’d find satisfaction from something so…pedestrian.

Another cheer went up, recalling her from her ruminations. Determinedly, she made her way through the crowd to the Triarch. Despite barely being 1.5 meters tall and 45kg, the sea of people parted for her, a trick of presence that she’d learned as Marquesa. Nodding graciously to each person that she passed, D’Aylanna soon found herself besides the 6th Speaker. “Triarch.” She said in greeting, having to shout to be heard.

“Speaker.” Even the clamor of the crowd couldn’t drown out the Cather’s deep bass vibrato. Alcyorr had a shrewd bent to his face as he leaned down closer to D’Aylanna’s height. “Glad you could make it; the final match only just started.” Almost bending himself in half to do so, the Triarch then motioned to her to stand in front of him, giving D’Aylanna an unfettered view of the ring.

Within were six beings: 2 humans, a Togruta, a Mirilian, what must be a half-Houk hybrid, and, finally, her Shakal. Three of them–a human, the Mirilian, and the half-Houk–were Hit Squad members whereas the remaining three were Cataphracts. Unsurprisingly all of the Cataphracts were large beings but the half-Houk was larger still, absolutely dwarfing his two teammates (especially the Mirilian).

Pushing back thoughts of intended discussion, D’Aylanna cheered as loud as the rest of the crowd as each person in the ring paired up with an opponent: the Hit Squad human against the Cataphract Togruta, the Mirilian opposite the Cataphract human, and her Shakal against the half-Houk.

“Hah! Mia-Ja Styll’s already spankin’ yer Tertius!” One of the helmeted Hit Squad members laughed, “An’ Yant’s goin’ to eat yer Secundus, Triarch!” pointing at her Zearic. “An’ Tret Merren’ll have his way wit’ yer Primus!” She said, gesturing toward the Togruta.

Before Alcyorr could respond, D’Aylanna placed a delicate hand upon the Hit Squad member’s armored cuirass. She had her own part to play, her own secrets to keep. “A hundred credits that the Secundus bests Yant.” Her face was a blank mask but she had a glint in her dark eyes. “Another hundred says he wins the entire match.”

The helmeted Hit Squad member stopped, face unreadable under her own mask. Cocking her head to the side, she seemed amused, if still respectful (after all, every member of the Concordat Company knew of D’Aylanna’s reputation). “You're that eager to hand over your money, Speaker?”

“Make it 1,000; I’ve been rather busy the last few weeks with a personal errand.” Of course, everyone on Sekot knew precisely just where she’d been the “last few weeks³.”

Chuckling loudly and appreciatively, the Hit Squad woman shouted excitedly. “Agreed, Speaker!” She held out a gloved hand. “Given?”

D’Aylanna immediately took the larger woman’s hand in a fierce grip with her own. “Taken.” She answered, her eyes turning to her Shakal and giving him her entire attention. The two opponents squared off against one another, sizing the other up for a moment before each one exploded in motion.

Just as Zearic had done, D’Aylanna scrutinized his opponent: Yant was just as wide as her Shakal and taller besides, easily topping 2 meters and a bit. Both were thick of limbs, broad of chest, and heavy of shoulder (although her Shakal had a slightly wider waist compared to the half-Houk’s muscled abdominals). And where her Zearic had a thick brown beard, Yant’s violet face was clean shaven. She knew that she was correct in guessing his pedigree: the Hit Squad member must’ve been the offspring of a human and a Houk. …A rare genetic recessive trait, that purple face… She mused.

D’Aylanna watched and cheered as each of them shot into range to gain advantage, large arms and hands gripping hard to gain purchase over the other with the hope of establishing dominance, thick legs planting themselves above the mat as if to take root deep underneath the ground. The cheering seemed to double as the expected rout never happened, Zearic able to hold his own against the half-Houk.

Back and forth the two men grappled and sparred, each hoping for a takedown. Soon it seemed that everyone’s focus was upon the two largest beings in the ring, the cheering almost deafening. Yant’s face had slowly changed: first from imperiously certain to merely determined to laser-focused and finally to frustrated, all-encompassing purpose. D’Aylanna could as good as see his thoughts written across his face: he would crush this human who dared to defy him, an uncommon opponent in a contest that should’ve been over long ago. A growing irritant to the half-Houk…but a celebration to the shouting onlookers.

Inwardly, D’Aylanna smiled, her dark eyes serene and knowing. Her Shakal had told her the consequences of his Renewal, of his empowered strength in the Force as well as his body. He’d always been strong, but now he had moved towards peak human performance, raw power joining with practiced skill…not all of which was on display. Unsurprisingly, the Pancratium was almost deafening.

Her own secrets to keep…and her own ways to protect those she loved.

Suddenly Yant struck out with a lightning-fast jab, stunning her Shakal. Seeing an opening, the Hit Squad member put his shorter opponent into an armbar, slowly overpowering Zearic before sweeping his legs out from under him. Almost immediately Yant was atop, pinning the wide human. The shouting seemed to double instantly.

With gritted teeth, Zearic tried to gain advantage but all to no avail; between his alleged superior strength and his weight advantage, the half-Houk had too much leverage on his side. Grinning, Yant bellowed his imminent victory. Reluctantly, her Shakal slowly gave the sign of the Missio.

Every Hit Squad member erupted in celebration as the final match finished, the score 2 Wins/1 Loss favoring the Concordat Company. With good-natured-if-grudging acquiescence, the Cataphracts handed over chits of various denominations to the winners. Theatrically and with incredible elegance, D’Aylanna produced a 1,000 credit chit and handed over gracefully to the larger Hit Squad woman. “Good match. My Zearic almost had Yant.” She offered, a grin hidden from her face by the impassive mask that she’d schooled herself to adopt during times such as these.

“Indeed, Speaker, indeed!” The large woman took a half-step towards D’Aylanna, almost conspiratorially, “...But yer know what they say 'bout ‘almost!’” D’Aylanna could all but hear the wink in the woman’s tone. Good.

“Of course.” The Hapan Speaker allowed, her aura one of perfect self-possession. “Next time.” She gave a slight bow from the neck and went to turn towards her Shakal.

For a fleeting moment, their eyes found one another, sharing a look of love, contentment, and secrets. And, unnoticed by anyone else, he gave her a quick wink. With a barely perceptible nod of her head, she acknowledged the gesture, one seen by her Shakal. A slow grin spread on his face before he turned back to the crowd that surrounded him.

“A match well fought, wouldn’t you agree Speaker?” Alcyorr’s deep voice came from behind her. “I could’ve sworn that Vih’Torr had him before the last there.” As D’Aylanna glanced up into his icy-blue eyes, they seemed to glow preternaturally, his face introspective and intense…but only for a moment. When next he spoke, his voice was one of genial acceptance and quiet joviality. “Oh well; as you said: there’s always ‘next time,’ Speaker.”

D’Aylanna thought she noticed that the Cathar had a ghost of a smile upon his face but merely nodded. “Yes, I suspect that you’ll push my Shakal over the next week in his training.” Her blue lips turned up at the corner. “As a reminder.”

Alcyorr gave an appreciative chuckle, one that could nevertheless be heard through the constant din of voices. “Good thinking. Speaker.” He nodded before striding away, gathering his Cataphracts within one of the restricted areas of the Den. D’Aylanna had expected as much; she would await her Shakal in one of the much more comfortable conference rooms.

As she glided towards her destination, she always had a nod, a friendly wave, or a soft smile for those she passed, but inwardly her thoughts were her own.

She was all but certain that Alcyorr knew more than he was letting on concerning her Zearic. Oh, she doubted that the Triarch knew everything and certainly that he had more suspicions, but she would be doing him a grave disservice to think him a fool.

Instead, she would hope to convince the Triarch of an unvarnished truth: that her Shakal was a constant and loyal Cataphract and member of the Vhal’Dan. Of course, there was more to it than that but it was not his concern…hence “a” truth and not “the entire” truth.

Yet, she also suspected that Alcyorr would be accepting of that distinction; after all, he himself in his capacity as Triarch was entrusted with many secrets, both of the Order as well as personal.

Sometimes life required necessary fiction. Like her little wager.

She would always protect those she cared about, cost be damned. To be sure, the 1,000 credits were nothing, at least to her. In fact, within the bedroom that she shared with her Shakal, she had a necklace of rainbow gems worth more than an entire star system.

And that was but one piece of jewelry that she owned, courtesy of her former station of Marquesa.

No, D’Aylanna need not worry about credits, especially when spent for the protection and privacy of those she cared for.

And loved.

For that, she would pay whatever price required. Inadvertently, she ground her back teeth, perturbed that the Order had gone to war for her. Yes, she was forever grateful, thankful, and happy to be free and alive…but she would’ve never wished for any member of the Order–especially not her Shakal or her daughter!--to endanger themselves on her behalf.

…And now, the two people that she loved most in the galaxy were in danger.

D’Aylanna had nothing specific to go on, only her intuition; even her Force Prescience had been unusually nebulous and circumspect. But what she was certain of was that if she did not act, her family would pay a heavy price, one that would rend asunder that which she held so dear.

Sighing to herself, she continued her serene pace. One way or another, she would protect everyone around her, be they friend, family…all Vhal’Dan.

Even at the cost of her own life.

<<<<< >>>>>
____________________________________________________________________
3. As seen back in “Queen&Marquesa, Executioner&Cataphract:” https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=48094.msg799195#msg799195 (https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=48094.msg799195#msg799195)

Chapter 1: The Moment Before The Avalanche, part III
Unseen by all, Or’an Damaar watched as his target glided through the crowd, careful not to follow too closely.

He had no doubt that he could best anyone within the crowds, even the 7th Speaker, but the Hamask knew that such a contest would be amongst the most dangerous of his life.

…A fact that elicited no small amount of excitement within the Tof. To be able to challenge himself, really take measure of his abilities against a worthy and adept opponent…

Forcing himself to calm down, he went through the mental checks that kept his worse impulses at bay. Slowly his breathing steadied, regulating his body’s sympathetic/aggression response to stimuli. …Control…control…better… Relief–an ice bath cooling the raging furnace within his chest–flooded through his nervous system.

As it always did, he was instantly reminded of the Gloaming.

The all-encompassing fear, sharp, tearing panic that would seize him in an instant, reasserting itself tenfold. Like a vicious circle, the positive-feedback system fueling his aggression threatened to overwhelm his mental impedimen–

…STOP…!

With a durasteel grip, he mentally clamped down upon the emotional cascade that threatened to flood forth and, with a practiced deftness that impressed even him, willed himself into a state of tranquility and composure.

By the second breath, his circulatory system had returned to its pre-adrenal state, his heart beating normally while the epinephrine coursing through his veins began to dissipate. Outwardly, the Tof had not changed: he remained unseen and unnoticed, but if anyone had actually seen him, Or’an looked no more remarkable than any other sentient at rest.

...If any Hamask could ever said to "be at rest."

Visually, he reacquired his target as the 7th Speaker continued onwards towards one of the Den’s many conference rooms.

Zearic Vih’Torr’s Kill Order had been rescinded; rather, it was someone close to him that Or’an had judged and now pronounced “Damnatio:”

Koawan Jorya Fah ni’Vih’Torr.

He had reviewed all of the existing holofootage, scoured the Order's Archives--Official and otherwise--and learned everything possible that there was to know about Jorya...even that she was possessed by the Sith Lord Gaetana Ravine. And looking through eyes that saw the Cold Equation, he knew of only one verdict that could possibly be pronounced upon Gaetana.

Death.

That Jorya was an innocent--a foolish young woman to be sure, but innocent nevertheless--was not even a consideration. Her body was but vessel to the Order's most dangerous enemy in this day and age. Had he but been invested as Hamask all those years ago... But such conjecture was folly, and entirely pointless.

What was not was that she need be found.

And he believed that the 7th Speaker would lead him directly to her. She would be sentenced. She would be found anathema.

And, finally, would be executed.

<<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/nQPbB5Y/D-Aylanna-34.jpg)

D’Aylanna had not been waiting long before she was joined by her husband, although she instantly noticed that her Zearic seemed troubled.

Entering the room, her Shakal’s face immediately lit up as his eyes fell upon her. “Ereneda⁴...” His deep voice caressed her ears. D’Aylanna’s face broke out in an unfeigned smile. With him, she could truly be herself even–no, especially!--after all their years together. …So unlike Hapes… She couldn’t help but muse. But such thoughts were quiet and insignificant, quickly pushed aside as she was enveloped in his embrace, his thick arms incongruously gentle.

“Shakal...” She smiled fully, allowing herself a moment to just be. For an instant, everything in the galaxy around them was forgotten, the only thing of import was the man wrapping her in arms thicker than her legs in an intimate hug. As tender as he was, she could feel the hard muscle just under his skin, his embrace both comforting and protective. ...Just as you are for him… She thought, amused.

“I need to tell yo–”

“I need to tell yo–”

They both spoke simultaneously, stopping short with a familiar smile for each other.

“Please, Ereneda, after you.” He gestured with his large, meaty hands.

D’Aylanna sobered quickly. “Bellicose sensor drones detected a rather disturbing unidentifiable object…” She trailed off after seeing the look on his face. “Alcyorr told you.” It was not a question.

Nodding, he ran his hand through his short hair. “He did. Ereneda, he assigned Triad Isk to reconnoiter the area.”

Of course; D’Aylanna should’ve known that the Triarch would send his best Recon Team. And while her Zearic was always essential as the Triad’s Secundus & demolitions expert, she knew that the other members of Isk would be especially important for this mission: Primus Olyna Ve’Reen and Tertius Sio Hardwick both possessed an M.O.S⁵ in espionage.

“When do you leave?” She asked, burying the familiar worry under the sincere convictions that her husband was the best at what he did. It helped. Somewhat.

Her Shakal’s smile was bittersweet. “Tonight, Ereneda.” He looked wistful.

…Of course… She thought, remembering the age-old axiom: “When people make plans, the Maker laughs.” Unashamedly, she wrapped her husband in a fierce hug, or at least as far as her arms would allow her.

But no matter how large her Shakal had become, she always bequeathed the Maker for his good health and safe return. “Do not do anything foolish, Shakal.” She chided, only half-jokingly.

His big hand tenderly stroked her brown cheek and blue lips. “You know me, Ereneda.” He tried to inject his tone with levity.

“Hence my admonition, Shakal.” She stared deeply into his eyes, her own dark gaze matching the solemness of her demeanor. By the Maker, her Zearic was wonderful… “Please…” She began, her melodious voice pausing as she tried to keep her composure. As always, she was successful.

And, as always, her Shakal saw through her mask to the truth.

“Don’t cry, Dear One.” His own eyes shining, voice full of emotion. “I promise to be careful, Love.” For as big as he was, D’Aylanna began to console him, her small, delicate hand gently rubbing his chest.

“I know, Shakal, I know…” Her voice was quiet but hard as quadranium. She inhaled, decision made. “There is something else, Shakal.” She made certain that her Zearic felt the gravity of the situation before continuing. “It’s regarding Jo…Gaetana.”

His face looked blank but D’Aylanna noticed his jowl muscles ripple and the slight tightening of his eyes. Outwardly, he did nothing but cross his arms across his broad chest. He said nothing, intent upon listening to her.

“We must needs find her and quickly.” She closed her eyes. “Before she does something…something horrible.” Nightmares both vivid and half-remembered assaulted her mind. …the Maker send that the worst were just that: nightmares… She prayed, still not convincing herself. “And soon…”

“Visions?” He asked sincerely.

“Yes. No.” D’Aylanna balled her small hands into fists, frustration replacing the impassive mask she normally wore. “I’m…I’m not certain.” Those were the most frightening words that she’d uttered in a long time, the content of such even more terrible. After all, her mastery with her Force Visions had taken years, practice, and no small amount of pain but she'd become incredibly adept at interpreting and benefitting from them. To have a Vision that was so...unclear, her ability to deduce dubious at best... “I only know that if I do not do something I will…she will…it will be terrible beyond description.”

In the almost 30 years that Zearic had been with her, her Shakal had come to trust her and her Force Prescience completely.

This was no exception. Furthermore, he could be surprisingly intuitive during the most inconvenient of times.

“You’re going after her.” He knew. D’Aylanna felt his strange hazel eyes burrowing into her. There was nothing accusatory nor cross in his manner, he knew his wife too well.

Indeed, he loved her all the more for her bravery, her convictions, her earnestness. He smiled knowingly. “And I thought you were supposed to be the cautious one, Ereneda.”

Playfully, she pretended to be offended. “Of course I am.” Suddenly she had her lightsaber hilt in one hand, the ignited purple blade casting a pale visage across her face. “Doubly so.” A blaster appeared in her other hand…along with a kukri made of Songsteel, a gift given to her during her time amongst the Mak’Tor…as were the three other vibroblades secreted about her person.

Her Shakal smiled deeply. “A more dangerous woman I’ve never met, Ereneda.” She knew he was not joking; indeed, he was incredibly proud. Waiting for her to secure the multiple weapons about her person, her Zearic drew her into his warm, comforting embrace. Kissing the top of her head, she heard him whisper, “Go get our daughter back.”

Automatically, she nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She did not want for her Shakal to hear the pain in her voice, for him to detect the fear she felt. Not fear for herself, mind… No, she was not afraid of death. Instead, she was afraid for her daughter.

But most of all, afraid because she was certain that when she found Jorya, she would do what she knew her Shakal could not.

He could easily put his ego aside to throw a wrestling match, just as he could throw away 1,000 credits to keep his family safe. But when it came to his daughter Jorya...therein lay the problem.

D’Aylanna knew that she would have to kill her, lest Gaetana fully possess her.

“I promise that I will save her.” She whispered, meaning every word. She would save her Shakal his pain. And she would save Jorya.

Even if it meant doing what D’Aylanna knew only she could do.
_____________________________________________________________________
4. Ereneda: Hapan for “she who has no equal.”
5. M.O.S.: Military Operating Speciality

Special thanks to For Tyeth for his incredible rendering of Jorya! This chapter is dedicated to him :)
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(https://i.ibb.co/N755rQj/jorya-holocron-edited.jpg)
Chapter 2: Questions&Answers, part I
Walking down the cleared, moderately lit tunnel, the Togruta absent-mindedly admired the earthworks of the cave shaft as well as the differing rock strata evident in the different colored layers and ensconced geodes sparkling slightly in the distance.

Something that Jorya herself had learned about and learned to love from Father. It should’ve been cause for concern between the two Shards…but they didn’t even so much as consider it.

A fact that Jorya herself took note of, storing the information away for a time when she could do something with it. She was still captive to the Shards of Gaetana&Kadmaur but she’d come to suspect something as well:

They were also prisoners to her will, if after a fashion. ...Interesting phanerite… The thought percolated through all three of their minds, unfeigned appreciation evident to all of them, some gravel crunching underfoot from her armored boots. Neither Shard made any mention of nor thought anything amiss…but Jorya noticed.

She said nothing; however, what she did instead was remain silent and bide her time, scrutinizing all without (hopefully!) calling attention to herself. Besides, Gaetana spoke enough for them all.

Apropos of such, Gaetana continued “talking” to Kadmaur, the ex-Inquisitor unofficially the “spokesperson” when they needed to use Jorya’s body. And, at least so far, this arrangement had worked perfectly. That she was the most prominent personality between the two Shards certainly lent credence to this development.

And yet…the idiosyncrasies were entirely Jorya’s.

Expertly, the Togruta pinched at the wall, some of the gravel flaking off between the fingers of her left hand, her right occupied by the synth-cloth bag she held. Pausing for a brief moment, she scrutinized the igneous dust before moving on. But not before Jorya noticed a split-second difference in the Shards’ control: during that interim–minute as it was–she felt a weakening of sorts. As with before, Jorya tucked it deep away in the recesses of her mind, compartmentalized and protected.

As the long shaft continued further in the distance, the Togruta’s dark, split skirts made a quiet, swishing noise that did nothing to dispel the fact that these caves had not seen sentients for hundreds, if not thousands, of years…

…No longer.

Soon the tunnel opened into a gigantic cave, the rock mixing with artificial ferrocrete, durasteel, and plasteel constructs taking the form of several separate rooms, almost all of them accessible from the large circular atrium within the middle of the cavern.

Perfect for Gaetana’s plans.

The caves had been excavated in stages, the main reason for their careless and even hazardous organization: one room was dedicated to experiments right next to a kitchen of sorts which itself was adjacent to a mechanic’s station. However, there was one room that was entirely new, their current occupants testament to their construction.

“My family is wealthy and would happily pay any ransom you name–”

“I have credits, millions of them; they’re yours if you just let me go–”

Both occupants–two Clawdites–called out from behind their cells’ forcefields, voices overlapping as they vied for the Togruta’s attention, their tones turning shrill as Gaetana/Kadmaur continued to ignore them as she passed by “the Pens.”

After all, she thought of them no more than the components that they were for her decided purposes.

As such, the Togruta went among the adjoining laboratory’s databanks consulting several holovids. As she worked, she began to hum a tune, a Hapan lullaby. Everything looked nominal, incredible as it seemed. There was now just one last thing to contend with.

…Now we’re ready… The Togruta thought.

Leaving the laboratory area, she went into and through one of the enclosed rooms, its thick blast door slamming shut behind her, bringing with it blessed silence. In seconds, the room’s illumination gave the room a comfortable ambiance where located in the center was a circular durasteel table with a small antigrav generator in the middle. There, levitating in the air was a tetradecagon, the gold&red lines of the multi-sided prism following their own paths, all the while seeming to glow from within… The prize that had taken her the longest to secure.

Darth Vectivus’ holocron.

As they slowly approached the table, Gaetana/Kadmaur smiled while Jorya held her breath. After months of searching–and yet more preparing–the final phase of her plan could now begin. With a deft touch, the Togruta’s slender fingers traced a line along the holocron, simultaneously using the Force to activate the device.

Suddenly it began to glow an ethereal blue, a miniature holographic robed figure appearing above the floating holocron. “Behold the teachings of Darth Vectivus, Lord of the Sith. Greetings, Inquirer. In what way may I assist?” The Gatekeeper asked, his voice serene even as it cast an eerie pall upon the Togruta’s face emphasizing both her beautiful features as well as her unnatural Sith eyes.

She blinked.

Whatever Gaetana had expected, it wasn’t…this: staring at her from within the dark recessed hood of his robes, the projection looked nothing like a powerful Dark Lord of the Sith. Instead, what was visible of the blunt face looked like it belonged more to an old accountant, one with a patient and kindly visage.

Clearing her throat, she clasped her hands in front of her, the synth-cloth bag innocuous as it brushed up against the front of her skirts. “I need all information concerning the power of Essence Transfer.” She gritted her teeth as her stomach tied itself in knots. …This better work…

“Of course, Inquirer.” The Gatekeeper’s response was almost instantaneous. The holoimage seemed to be consulting something out of its field of vision yet its voice was concise and confident. “The greatest practitioner of this power was the Great Sith Emperor Vitiate, also known as Valkorian, also known as Darth Tenebr–”

“Stop.” Gaetana cut in, shaking her head. ...Dammit… “I need to know more about how to perform the ritual...” Pivoting, she tried another tactic. “Gatekeeper, tell me about…Karness Muur.”

The Gatekeeper’s eyes seemed to shine as he once again spoke without pause. “Karness Muur, former Jedi Master and one of the leaders of the Dark Jedi during the Hundred-Year Darkness…”

While listening, Gaetana absorbed all of the information that the holocron could provide, supplementing her own considerable-though-incomplete knowledge, much of it gained during her time amongst the Vhal’Dan. She’d had to be particularly surreptitious then; after all, why would a Gray Master research lore concerning Sith Alchemy and such Dark Side powers as Transference. No, for her to pursue such extracurriculars, she’d been forced to wait until her time as a proclaimed Darth.

...When that bastard tricked me… She fumed.

Those years had been complete hell for her: after almost dying thanks to that fat fool Zearic, she’d become obsessed with restoring her vitality. To say that it was a painful lesson was an understatement. Using the time spent between building up her own power base as Darth Mendax, Gaetana had consumed all pertinent information that she could get her hands on for her own Renewal.

But after an exhaustive pursuit of such knowledge, she’d hit an obstacle. ...By the Maker I was furious… Gaetana thought, proclaiming a Maker that she had no belief in whatsoever. But Jorya did. Again, Jorya silently tucked it away, “listening” to Gaetana’s ruminations.

She soon learned of the rise of two Dark Singers, twin Dathomiri sisters. After approaching them, she’d slowly seduced them towards her own agenda. And it was there on Dathomir that Gaetana made a serendipitous discovery.

Unceremoniously stuffed among the Sister’s historic tomes she’d come across a centuries-old manuscript, an actual pen-and-paper written account concerning the Sith Lord Darth Lucovis and their apprentice, Darth Vectivus. It was incomplete and full of contradictory information (well, contradicting the accepted Galactic Histories), but it made mention that he’d somehow become “a goddess,” his own body giving way to something far superior, a kind of…of apotheosis¹.

It was precisely what she’d been looking for: not only for Life Eternal but also for Power Absolute.

It was then, of course, that another obstacle had kept her from enacting her plans.

There were no details; yes, there had been descriptions and expositions concerning success…but as far as the actual rituals? Nothing. In her rage she’d immolated almost a dozen of her thralls, only later on castigating herself for such wastefulness. She’d come close–so, so close!--to the answers she so desperately wanted, needed…

…Only to be defeated by D’Aylanna². ...Kriffing hel–

Suddenly, Gaetana interrupted her own musings, speaking to the holocron. “Gatekeeper, two questions: for that last part, if the source is larger–in this case, much larger–would a single specimen suffice for the Alchemical reagent?”

Again the holoimage seemed to smile, ink stained hands clasping together. “A qualified yes. What is your source?”

When Gaetana told him, Jorya “frowned,” feelings of consternation mixing with her ever-present disgust, anger, and frustration. ...What the hell is that…? She wondered as Gaetana used her voice to speak. “Would that work?” Gaetana’s tone had an undercurrent of pleading to it.

The Gatekeeper’s smile deepened, the kindly bent to his face never once faltering. “Oh yes. That should do quite nicely. Secondly?”

Grasping the synth-cloth bag in tight fingers, the Togruta’s shoulders relaxed. “So long as I use the talisman, I’ll need not worry about interference?” She asked, her yellow eyes almost glowing.

It seemed to Jorya that the Gatekeeper spent many long seconds considering the question, her own inquisitiveness getting the better of her. She wanted to know the answer almost as much as Gaetana (and Kadmaur) did. In reality, the holoimage’s response took only a fraction of that.

“No.” His kindly words hauntingly hung in the air. “Your victim will be completely helpless.”

As Gaetana and Kadmaur grinned deeply, Jorya felt her terror spike. “Then now, Gatekeeper…” Gaetana announced, “...we are ready to begin.”

<<<<< >>>>>
_____________________________________________________________
1. As seen in LSG’s excellent Fate of the Aether, CH.61 “Only What You Take With You, “Terror” https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=39140.msg706743#msg706743 (https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=39140.msg706743#msg706743)
2. As seen way back in Shadow Etude, CH.14, part II “Contrapasso”
https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=36277.msg600543#msg600543 (https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=36277.msg600543#msg600543)

Special thanks to For Tyeth for his amazing rendering of D'Aylanna&Zearic! This chapter is dedicated to him :)
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(https://i.ibb.co/jvz7QXk/swtor-finish-2-1.jpg)
Chapter 2: Questions&Answers, part II
As the two of them made their way through the large hangar of the Cataphract Spaceport, D’Aylanna and Zearic made slow progress towards the small gathering of armored sentients underneath one of the Order’s TIE Guardians. But, for now at least, they only had eyes for one another.

Walking beside her husband, her arm resting lightly upon his heavy armored vambrace, D’Aylanna wished that she could stretch their next few minutes together towards eternity, the wistful smile upon her blue lips trying not to turn bittersweet. To anyone else who looked upon her, she would’ve been successful.

But not her Shakal.

“Ereneda, don’t fret.” He said quietly, looking down at her. “It’s just a scouting mission.” He smiled back at her, worry for her written all over his face. He may be able to dissemble to others but not to her.

“Of course not, Shakal. Nothing to be concerned about at all.” She placed her small hand upon his broad armored chest, a wry look upon her face. “Which is why you’ve donned your Cataphract armor.” Her dark eyes glinted with even darker humor.

Giving an appreciative chuckle, Zearic first kissed the top of her head before kissing her waiting lips, softly at first but soon deeper and full of passion. It took a moment before they both regained their breath. “I promise, Ereneda, I’ll be safe. Besides, I’ll have both Oleyna and Sio looking after me.” He grinned, looking over her head and gesturing to the other two heavily armored Cataphracts already boarding their TIE Guardian.

“You’d better.” She stared up at him in mock solemnity. “I don’t want for you to do something rash…such as starting a war.”

This time her Shakal launched into a full-throated laugh, his head shaking from side-to-side. “No chance of that happening, Ereneda. You know me: I only do something foolish once. Which just means that I’ll have to do something else foo–”

When her Shakal suddenly stopped short, falling silent, D’Aylanna stared up at her husband concerned. “What is it, Shakal? What’s wrong?” Something instinctive made her turn her head to search where his eyes glared intently.

But besides the usual commotion around the spaceport hangar, D’Aylanna saw nothing, certainly nothing amiss. She turned her attention back to her beloved. “Shakal?”

For a second, he did not speak. But when he blinked, he looked down to meet her eyes. “Sorry, Ereneda.” His quiet voice became pensive. “I could’ve sworn that I saw…that is…” As his voice trailed off, his brow furrowed and his large, gloved hands wrapped into fists. For a long moment, he did not move. Then, as if a spell had been broken, he shook his head, eyes darting around before once again resting upon her. “I…I thought…sorry, Love.”

Reaching up, D’Aylanna tenderly stroked his broad, bearded face. “Don’t be. I love you, too.” Gently, she pulled his head down towards hers, tenderly kissing his eyelids and then his lips. “The Maker keep you safe, Shakal.” As she disengaged her hands from his face, she gave him a warm, comforting smile, one that she herself did not feel. …Maker, please protect him so that I may see him once again in this life… She prayed.

She watched as her Shakal finally boarded the TIE Guardian, the advanced ship taking off after a final few minutes of prep; all the while D’Aylanna stood staring where her husband had disappeared from her sight, even now keeping a serene aura about her.

After all, she had not wanted her Shakal to needlessly worry more than he needed to. That was why she had not donned her own armor, at least not yet.

She stared at the dissipating contrail that the TIE Guardian had left in the azure sky, clouds threatening to obfuscate the bright sunlight. Her worries were her own…and protecting her family was foremost in her mind. Absently, she rubbed her arms with her hands, dually anxious and anticipatory at what she knew she must do.

Turning on her heel, she made a beeline back to the apartments that she shared with her Shakal, having completely forgotten the momentary incident prior to her husband’s departure.

But then, why would she have done so? As far as everyone was concerned, there was nothing worth noting. Certainly no one else in the hangar had noticed anything, not even what Zearic had thought he’d noticed.

As D’Aylanna left, the various technicians, mechanics, and the Gray Jedi went about their business, unaware that anything had occurred.

Except for one.

<<<<< >>>>>

From high among the stanchions in the hangar, Or’an saw the Hapan Speaker watch on as her Cataphract husband departed, herself shortly to follow.

The Tof had to admit that he was impressed: Zearic had almost detected him. ...Interesting… No one before had ever come close to piercing his Veil of Buried Presence. Yet Zearic had noticed, looking at him for a split second.

Most impressive.

Or’an had followed them both here to the hangar, having already made up his mind to shadow the Hapan Master, his acute senses all but pushing him towards that decision. As usual. After all, he was Hamask.

Besides, with the TIE Guardian already occupied by an entire Triad, there would be hardly any room to spare for the three Cataphracts themselves, nevermind the nearly 3-meter tall Tof.

Besides, he already had chosen his own transportation.

Watching D’Aylanna as he followed her to her apartments, he made certain that she was inside before heading off towards another hangar. He had not needed to consult departure itineraries but had done so regardless; he already knew where she would be headed soon enough.

Unseen and undetected, Or’an made his way quickly from the Residential District to the Speaker’s Spaceport, soon finding himself staring at his own destination: a dangerous looking dark Mandalorian Infiltrator.

Fenris’ Dirge.

As he’d done on countless occasions, he knew that he could penetrate the vessel’s defenses as well as remain hidden while he pursued his objective.

Without making a sound, he settled in among the hangar’s stanchions, waiting patiently for the 7th Speaker to arrive.

He would easily follow after her inside, completely unaware of his presence. She would take him to his target.

And, there, enact Damnatio.

<<<<< >>>>>

Having divested herself of her outer tunics and boots, D’Aylanna glided deeper in the sprawling apartments that she shared with her Shakal, walking through a darkened doorway that sealed itself behind her. As the calming, low lights of the room slowly illuminated the space, she gracefully sank to the floor, adopting a cross legged posture on the soft synth-cloth floor.

Settling down in her Meditation Vestibule, D’Aylanna willed herself to focus and wrap herself within an all-encompassing calm, her breathing slowing considerably as she opened herself to the Force.

Even using the entirety of the Vhal’Dan Order’s Intelligence Services, she’d heard absolutely nothing concerning her daughter. That had not surprised her, considering that such hopes were a longshot at best. But it did mean one thing:

She would attempt to find her via the Force.

She consciously stopped herself from sighing. D’Aylanna knew that what she was attempting was problematic in the best of circumstances, especially with so many emotions involved. She must be careful lest it touch upon the Dark Side.

Nevertheless, she also knew that if she had any chance of stopping Gaetana, then she would need to do what she intended. ...Please, Maker, grant me strength, wisdom, and forgiveness… She offered up a silent litany, hopeful yet cautious. Thoughts of her family swam in her mind, their time together, experiences both wonderful and loving bolstering her resolve. She wiped away a conspicuous tear from her brown cheek.

Closing her eyes, she began.

Slowly and adeptly, she called upon her comfort in the Force before committing herself mind and soul. Traversing the ocean that was the Force, D’Aylanna first anchored herself using that which she believed in absolutely: the love of her family. That accomplished, she strode forth carefully, wading into the tempest that was the Future.

Almost immediately she felt her metaphysical self inundated on all sides, the countless alternating versions of the Future slamming against her, a churning vortex that only worsened as one fought it.

D’Aylanna remained calm, expertly working with the Force instead of fighting against it.

Soon enough the metaphysical storm abated replaced by half-formed images of Things Possible: she saw a tall, dark hooded figure, their red lightsaber stabbing through complete darkness…only to extinguish it and hold out a gloved hand in accord; she saw her Shakal somewhere dark and foreboding, surrounded by large, black stone plinths of some kind, all aligned yet flowing ever closer to him in oppressive waves; she saw Jorya as she was when last she’d seen her: face contorted in hatred and vengeance, yellow Sith eyes glaring at her as she lay upon the dark ground, looking up at D’Aylanna’s purple lightsaber blade, the Hapan Speaker’s face a blank executioner’s mask.

That and more, much, much more threatened to overwhelm her…but she held on, stalwart and steadfast.

Images of death–always death!--collapsed upon her like a singularity: some of her husband’s, some of her daughter’s, some of herself, but there were more, so many more that she did not recognize… Were they daemons? Angels? Monsters? Both…and neither.

...Focus… She admonished herself…only to find herself seized as her Force Premonition took hold, finding that she was no longer in control.

Feelings–vivid, gross, and certain–washed through her as she began to recite words absent any agency from D’Aylanna herself for now she was merely a vessel dictating that which appeared upon her tongue:

At the end of the Hundred-Year Darkness
Where the Black Rains wash all away and
The Leviathans lie in wait to
Steal Life, and imprison it for the Time
Of Rebirth, the Three-Who-Are-One
Will become Two: One black, One Gray,
One whose life is Diminished; One whose death is Ameliorated
It is She who Yields; It is She who Controls;
It is She who Lives; It is She who Dies

Faculties once again her own, D’Aylanna inhaled sharply as her eyes shot open, both feeling the assured conviction of knowledge and the utter despair of ignorance. She felt as if she ran over hundreds of kilometers…after being a living conduit for lightning, one striking her for hours.

As before she willed herself to find the peace of tranquility and quietude, an endeavor that took Herculean effort. Yet, slowly but inexorably, she found her center, D’Aylanna’s finely controlled resolve steely and absolute once again.

...More questions… She lamented. ...And too many answers… That was the problem whenever scrying with the Force: as her adoptive Father and former Master Kazic Ovarug had warned her “The Future is always in motion.”

Still, it was more than she’d had before…and, indeed, might be precisely what she needed. But in order to know for certain, she was convinced more than ever that she also needed help.

Smiling wistfully, D’Aylanna suddenly felt a comforting moment of relief. As she said: she now had some answers…

…And she knew exactly who might best help her in finding the right one.

Special thanks to LSG for his awesome renderings of the Ars Ingens! This chapter is dedicated to him :)
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(https://i.ibb.co/VwbhLRm/Darth-Obliquus-1.png)
Interlude-The Ars Ingens, part I

Belsavis, 3635BBY
Watching from his hilltop vantage above the battlefield, the thin, tall man scrutinized the fighting below, a sea of red lightsabers beginning to overwhelm the diminishing blue, green, yellow, and purple blades even as he looked on. Simultaneously, the Imperial blasterfire had inundated the Republican forces, sending what few survivors remained into an all-out rout. Such news, good as it was, would’ve elicited something in another Sith Lord–a celebration, a victorious shout, even a smile–but none of that was in evidence here.

Not for Darth Obliquus.

Movement from the corner of his eye focused his keen senses towards the battlefield’s eastern flank, his Imperial army suddenly engaged in several brutal volleys courtesy of some Jedi Marauders. He cocked an eyebrow, concern never once touching his mind. Interesting, it looked as if the Jedi had used their Republican army units as bait. That he could appreciate.

Admittedly he was surprised that the Jedi had utilized such tactics; in his experience, they tended to be more…sentimental than that. It was indicative of the utter savagery of the fighting that the two sides were engaged in that day.

But then, they were on Belsavis. Officially it was a Republic Historical Planet, site of the ancient Rakata; the truth, of course, was much more interesting.

The flow of fighting shifted as the Jedi fought furiously; now it was the Sith that were hard pressed. He began to wonder if his forces would break, the proverbial Jedi hammer crushing through his line. Absently, he noticed that the falling snow clinging to his maroon armor was mixed with the dark red droplets of blood. Or perhaps it was the blood that turned his armor darker? The ground below had certainly turned from a dirty white to a brackish-red... Ah, yes, it appeared that the first line of Sith warriors had broken against the Jedi offensive…

Dispassionately, he waited to see what happened next.

At first it seemed as if the Jedi had turned a rout into victory, the Republic troppers re-energized. But then reinforcements arrived, two Imperial battalions slamming against the Republic forces on either side, halting the Jedis' progress in an instant. Obliquus watched as the three Sith/Imperial contingents ground the enveloped Jedi down, the savage violence widespread. But there were two spots in particular that he made note of…

On one side, surrounded by a growing heap of eviscerated bodies, the largest human that Obliquus had ever seen killed the enemy by twos and threes, his enormous 2 meter-long crimson lightsaber appearing of normal size when compared to the man’s massive arms and body. Shouting wordlessly, the ruggedly handsome face was contorted in equal parts rage and cruel pleasure…apropos sentiments given the man himself, Obliquus ruminated.

(https://i.ibb.co/mbcQKm3/Darth-Surdus-1.jpg)

Of course, Darth Surdus was made for the war that he fought, his almost 2.4 meter height was matched by the wide shoulders and broad chest underneath the hulking armor he wore now covered with blood, viscera, and dirt. Swinging his lightsaber in one hand and projecting Force Pushes with the other, Surdus cut a literal and figurative swath through the Jedi with each powerful move. No one could stand against the man, certainly not the Jedi and Republican soldiers unlucky enough to face him.

Yet, he was not the worst…

Obliquus directed his gaze across from Surdus’ position towards the other scene of unparalleled violence. There, haunting stark shadows glowed from between bodies, bodies that swiftly caught fire or were thrown violently through the air as arcs of deadly violet lightning filled the battlefield, the thick plasma bolts arcing from a central location: a tall, slender woman with blonde hair and a cruel bent to her severe face. Unlike Surdus, her lips were closed, not even so much as a whisper escaped her mouth.

Against the Jedi, Darth Saggita was terrifying to behold.

(https://i.ibb.co/YQQsL6S/Darth-Saggita-4.jpg)

Dozens of Republic soldiers and Jedi died as they were consumed by the horrible lightning, their deaths agonizing, loud, and terrible. The dead and dying littered the ground, the smell of burnt flesh and vaporized plasteel polluting the air as a sickly-sweet smell permeated the area. Those that had not succumbed to the deadly lightning screamed and moaned as back-breaking pain coursed through nerve connections that felt as if they were afire. It was more than they could stand; those still alive, those still able to move, to think, to act abandoned their allies, abandoned their senses, their only thought was one of sheer primal survival.

Any cohesion that the army had collapsed under the horrors that they suddenly faced, too many having died too terribly. Many were cut down from behind, some from Surdus’ red blade, more from Saggita’s lightning, but not all…

…And those that had somehow survived the charnel-house that was the battleground ran away from the dual horrors of Darths Surdus and Saggita…and straight to their deaths.

(https://i.ibb.co/tYy9tGf/Darth-Invidia-1.jpg)

Scything through the battered remains of Jedi and Republic soldiers, a dark orange pike-blade arced around a tiny woman, one whose deadly martial skill was equaled only by her rabid sadism. In form-fitting organic purple power armor, the small, dark Lord of the Sith left no prisoners, killing even the mortally wounded. Laughing as she used her cortosis/durasteel haft to bludgeon those too injured to escape, she took her time with each victim, the last thing each person saw was the sinister grin upon her otherwise almost cherubic, olive-skinned face.

Obliquus witnessed all with detached scrutiny, the success of their mutual venture never in doubt, at least not to him. Ignoring the growing smoke bathing the battlefield, he ascended from his hilltop perch and headed towards his three comrades. Walking through groups of Imperials and smaller gatherings of Sith Lords, Apprentices, and Acolytes, they one and all either bowed respectfully or gave him a smart salute.

They knew of his reputation, one more than earned throughout the Empire. No, the galaxy.

Even during the years that the Empire floundered, finally bending knee to the Eternal Empire, Obliquus had never once wavered in his devotion to his Emperor. He was one of the first Sith Lords to be selected into the Emperor’s newest group: the Ars Ingens. Fanatically loyal to the Emperor, the Ars Ingens would act as his Will, ensuring that his influence would spread throughout the galaxy. Such was Obliquus' life. He’d risen quickly, testament to his deadly achievements, so much that he was rewarded with the singular commendation: the ability to speak directly to the Emperor himself absent his Voice. It was as close to a glorious feeling as Obliquus had ever felt.

It was a change from the daily monotony, the numbing morass of nothingness as he finally experienced a satisfaction that had been denied him his entire life; he would now feel. His Emperor had saved him.

But then he was killed, his Emperor…assassinated at the hands of the newly-formed Galactic Alliance’s Commander. It was then that Obliquus felt the true stirrings of passion, of emotions.

Of pure hatred.

Hatred was a valuable tool…but absent direction, it was so much a useless waste of energy. No, he knew what needed to be done; after all, was not his Emperor immortal? It did not matter to Obliquus whose face–Tenebrae, Vitiate, Valkorion, whomever--the Emperor wore. The problem that now occupied him was finding him…

…Apropos sentiments… He mused again.

As he approached his compatriot Darths, the Sith and Imperials surrounding them made a conspicuous clearance around the four of them creating a vacant circle approximately six meters around. One and all, they looked sideways at the four Sith Lords from the corners of their eyes, their fear palpable. Good; the Ars Ingens should be feared.

“Lord Obliquus.” Darth Surdus nodded respectfully, his broad, handsome face not in the least bit diminished by the blood and dirt upon his face. “If the opposition we faced here is any indication, I’m thinking that your calculations may have hit their mark.” The man’s wide face and brutish disposition was at complete odds with his articulate, posh voice, his dark eyes gleaming with shrewd intelligence.

Darth Surdus was many things, but a mindless brute he was not.

“My lord, I was hoping that you could now further elaborate upon your plans.” Darth Saggita’s not-quite-grin complimented her already vulpine features, enhancing her beauty. She took a moment to give several of her Sith Lords a sensual smile that promised things yet to come. It was just one of the ways in which she kept her underlings from challenging her, playing one against the others.

Obliquus couldn’t help himself from being impressed: subtle yet effective.

“Yes, Lord Obliquus.” Came an almost haughty, surprisingly deep voice from behind him. “Do tell as to why we’re here, to say nothing of our battalions.” Obliquus pivoted his head to face the newcomer.

Darth Invidia.

Her dark features were utterly enticing…well, to those who felt emotions. As the small woman walked towards them, she exaggerated the sway in her hips, a fact that Sith and Imperial alike took notice of, several now with a kind of hunger in their eyes, subservient to her intent. Fools, yes complete fools to think that Invidia would ever be so…transparent.

Or genial.

The small Sith Lord ambled up to Surdus, looking almost ridiculous compared to the absolutely massive man. But–as with all of his three Darths–Obliquus knew looks to be deceiving. Dispensing with the remainder of his contemplations, he gathered the members of the Ars Ingens to him with an inclination of his chin. Dutifully, the three of them drew close.

“I believe that I’ve finally found a link to our Emperor.” His voice was calm and deliberate as if he weren’t making a declaration most monumental.

They were good: none of the three showed the shock they invariably felt upon their faces. Within the Force, that was something else entirely…although Obliquus doubted that most Sith would’ve discerned anything amiss.

However, he was not “most” Sith.

“Within the Tomb, my lord?” Surdus deduced, arching an eyebrow, crossing his enormous arms in front of his deep chest. He was quick, Obliquus had to admit. The fact that the planet was secretly used by the Republic as a prison planet was not at all common knowledge.

“Of course my dear Surdus.” Saggita purred, laying a hand upon his thick armored vambrace, a look of appreciation now radiating from her. And looking from the corner of her eye, she could see that several of the surrounding Sith looked conspicuously elsewhere, anywhere but at her. But they had been.
Clever, that would keep the slowest of Sith Acolytes away.

Of course, if they thought that Saggita needed Surdus for any kind of “protection” then they deserved the horrible deaths that she would visit upon them…

Wiping her hands together as if to clean them, the small woman scoffed. “If the prison was our target then why did we engage in this ground action with the Jedi and Pubs?” Invidia seethed, although she mitigated her tone enough so as not to be blatantly disrespectful.

She was no fool; she knew better than anyone the scope of his power.

Patiently, Obliquus waited until he knew that he had their rapt attention. “For our purposes, we need the prison emptied, or as good as.” He said by way of explanation…which the other three noticed had not precisely answered their questions. Nor would he. At least not yet. “Gather your forces.” His announcement was met with stoic calm and determination.

As he knew they would; he’d personally chosen them for the Ars Ingens would only comprise of the best. Even as they maneuvered as all Sith did, his Darths would never do anything to compromise the Ars Ingens, their allegiance absolute.

After all, they’d seen the consequences of those that had failed Obliquus.

He donned the simple yet effective cortosis helmet that he insisted all members of the Ars Ingens wear. Such a simple gesture for such a prodigious declaration… He decided it fitting, especially after so many failures. But that changed, this day, in this place, now. Suddenly, he felt a sliver of emotion, noting the rarity in an eidetic memory for future perusal. ...Apropos sentiments… He considered, reflecting on the past. But only for a second, especially given his pronouncement, eliciting within him something akin to...could it be...excitement? Whatever it was, he could tell that his Darths felt it. So then, let the flame become an inferno...

“Today marks the day of our Emperor’s rebirth.”

Special thanks to LSG for his contributions to this story! With minimal editing, most of this is his writing :) This chapter is dedicated to him!
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(https://i.ibb.co/pRDCsqz/Eclipse-III-class-star-dreadnought-Gehenna-6.jpg)
Chapter 3: Myths, Legends, and Lies, part I
“And that is as precise as you can discern?” Admiral Sarna Mercet observed the very wide search area on the tac-map, a mix of blue and green lines. The blue was a holo projection of date Imperial Naval Star Charts charted by the Imperial Astronaviagtional Authority back dated for best confidence positions 3000 years, the green a simulation of just one of the locations deciphered from the Sith Wayfinder.

The small office adjacent to the Gehenna’s Archaeo-labs was completely dark apart from those beams of crisp light, yet Mercet could feel the sneer on her Senior Professor's face.

“The Wayfinder was designed to be used with charts of the Sith Empire of the era, they used a completely different fundamental positioning Zero point we can only approximate, and the Wayfinder itself was designed to be unlocked by one possessing an Illuminatrix and detailed knowledge of Pre-Hyperspace War Sith Ciphers. It is a feat of genius that I was able to garner this much,” Evelyce Deus was typically arrogant, clipped and fast in her words, Mercet allowed it as to date the comparatively younger woman had never erred in her conclusions of anything brought to her, and provided many fascinating insights and suggestions for Mercet’s own collection of antiques.

It still represented several dozen systems that would need to be searched, and in a far flung region within the Unknown regions near Chiss Space, very far from the Old Sith Empire that had created the wayfinder…but then where better to hide something.

“Understood,” Mercet replied evenly gliding her hand over the light switch to bring the room back into view. Typically only used for staff meeting Professor Deus seemed to occupy three quarters, a good 15 cm taller than the 162 cm tall Mercet, Deus with crimson hair and sharp alabaster features had a commanding presence, as if worlds ought to revolve around her by right of birth, inevitable when she hailed from a Corporate Sector Plutocracy family whose surname "Deus" meant "God" in many ancient Basic Variants.

Why Deus, and indeed her twin brother Captain Evecen Deus of the 31st "Marauder" Special Forces Commando Squadron aboard the Gehenna had ended up in the Imperial Academy, then transferred to the Xeno-Archaeological Branches was something Mercet had never quite figured out. The only whisper of credence was the Deus family had fallen from the heights of Corsec Plutocratic Society and into the Empire when business fortunes soured, the children with enormous chips on their shoulder forced to seek position by merit rather than money.

“Have you translated any more of the surrounding text with certainty?” unobservable with the naked eye, scans had shown etchings along the pyramidal sides contained High Sithar’I script in a curious dialect specific to one of the outer Cantons of the old Empire.

“The refrain, repeated on each edge is now confirmed to read 'With the Awakened One to Rise, Master of the Universe, His New Domain to Forge.' Awakened one is an uncommon, but not unknown euphemism for the Emperor Vitiate, or Valkorion, the rest seem to refer to the name of specific, ‘Phalanxes’ and their attributes…” Deus twisted her hand round swiftly bringing up an image of the way finder projected from a tiny emitted on her silver and white analytical multi-gauntlet.

Phalanx of the Unbroken Gaze, Subaltern of the Leviathans, 10,000 Eyes Watch ceaselessly for the Awakening, Blind the Enemies of the Glorious One with your Spears of Illumination, by the Second Turning of the Empty Caverns Broken Side Manifest Renew Renew was the Basic translation beneath the bladed Sith text.

“As is obvious, until we obtain more samples of this dialect we are left with imprecise gibberish in sections.”

Mercet's eyes scanned the holodata and the corroborated astronavigational galactic positions represented by the red points scattered around the galaxy.

“We certainly cannot send probes to that many systems, that distant,” Mercet added, her pose contemplative index finger poised on her lips.

“There may be digital star maps and data from that era in other archives,” Deus suggested, “Many of course are inaccessible due to the war, however the Navigators guild house on Empress Teta remains under Moff Brill.”

Once more Deus proved a useful source of information, but Mercet had no desire to deal with the increasingly twisted Brill, more subtle agents would have to suffice.

“Prepare briefings on what our agents will need to look for,” Mercet ordered, “Three hours.”

Turning on her heel, the admiral left the department, her thoughts focusing on a few of the translated words: "Phalanx," "Leviathans," "Awakening," "Second Turnings," and "Renewal." Idly she wondered what Kintik would deduce from the translations, knowing that the Dark Side Executor was surprisingly well-read and even knowledgable of ancient esoteric texts.

Her comms pinged, recalling her from her ruminations. "Mercet." She said in a clipped, polished tone.

"General Sed Vondhem, ISB¹. Excuse me admiral, but you ordered my adjutant to contact you should anything arise."

"Of course, general. Proceed." Mercet felt the kick of adrenaline as she listened, her legs quickening as she increased her stride. It seemed that for the second time their efforts had borne fruit. Nevertheless, she tempered her excitement, knowing that such times were also usually accompanied with unexpected consequences...

   <<<<< >>>>>

Triad Isk
Primus: Maenowan Olyna Ve'Reen/command, Shifalan female
Secundus: Silver Knight Zearic Vih'Torr/demolitions, human hybrid male
Tertius: Koawan Sio Harwic/slicer, human male
*****************************************************
Everything was a shade of crimson on the nameless world in a system known only as "VR-161" somewhere South-East of Csilla and South-West of Bastion.

Crouched behind a bulbous fungal outgrowth the size of a small freighter Zearic surveyed the only object of interest on this otherwise bleak planet: the eroded tip of some ancient vessel jutting from a sand filled basin kilometers wide.

The Advanced Sensory suite within his Cataphract Armour magnified the rounded edges of the metal skeleton of the ship, dulled by countless centuries of erosion, the occasional sand-lizard poking out to snag minute insects with pink tongues. The magenta hued star beamed on the Tidal locked day side, distant enough--if only just--to make the temperature tolerable without using the suits inbuilt thermoregulation module that would cause a power spike.

“Still nothing?” Sio asked hunkered in the shade of the fungal reef, the younger human considered but not cautious, a good counter to their Primus Olyn Ve'Reen who had a bold streak, and Zearic as Secundus made a good middle ground between them.

As was fitting for a Triad.

“Same lizard I think.” They had been there nearly 3 days of a five day mission to "Observe and report." Zearic felt a probe droid might’ve been a better option, but Alcyorr himself wanted "boots on the ground," the Cathar Triarch always believing nothing could substitute for a sentient in the field.

The Unknown Regions were an astonishing place, replete with wonders like the Vhal’Dan homeworld of Zonama Sekot, a living world that could travel in hyperspace, advanced mysterious civilizations like the Chiss and Killiks...but also dangerous plagues upon civilization. The reason, Zearic thought, the Unknown Regions remained unknown was because so few who ventured too deep in never returned, those that did came back with horrifyingly fantastical stories that deterred even those more curious from venturing in.   But more dangerous--if history was any guide--was what could come out of those Labyrinthine star lanes.

The Ferroans of Sekot told hushed tales of nightmarish creatures that possessed the soul, raging giants, vile chthonian entities, plagues of mindless hordes and beings devoted to Dark gods. Much was mythology but the Vhal’Dan took the core of it--that there were real dangers out there--very seriously.

And that was before the Hapan-Vhal'Dan War.

Every system and sector around Sekot had carefully placed probes, silent and observational, activating only in response to unusual stimuli...just like the type that had led them here.

Introspective, Zearic allowed himself to reflect upon their meeting at the Den.

The briefing room was collegial as Triad Isk had joined the Triarch along with Triads Dorn and Nern for the briefing from Vhal’Dan intelligence and Navy.

“Three weeks ago a vessel with mass estimated at almost a trillion kilograms appeared in System VR-122 Klasse Ephemora Sector, it was there for three days them left. It arrived in System VR-128 the next day, again there for a few days then left,” Deputy Head of intelligence Moloth Bandaar, a tall Myke with a gaunt face and ever moving dark purple eyes beneath greying brown hair activated the tables central holograph showing the course of this large vessel.

“It appears to be surveying every system in a region, our passive probes are not equipped to perform scan necessary to discern its size or type, but it is much greater than the mass of an Imperial Super Star Destroyer”

Given what they'd seen on the holovid that was a concern.

“It is currently at VR-149, our predictive models have determined its three next most likely locations as VR-152, VR 153 and VR-161, where you will be deployed in turn,” he gestured to the Cataphracts, all in their normal robes, the room hardly fitting that many tall and broad beings in let alone with their expansive thick armour on.

“This could be something, or it might be nothing; a mining colony-vessel seeking rich finds, an exploratory vessel from the Unknown Regions, possibly even a Chiss Dreadnaught, they occasionally send scouts this far. Regardless there is a method here, and while we do not wish to intrude on 'neighbours’ privacy, a vessel larger than a super star destroyer searching for something is itself worth investigating.”

Alcyorr had then nodded his assent, content to allow the Intelligence office to direct the next moves, though why the Cataphracts and not a more nimble, and certainly more stealthy, scouting force had, on reflection, made Zearic realize there were details that were not being shared to the Triads.

Regardless he trusted in the Triarch that had there been anything of import they would’ve been informed.

With a sigh he crouched back behind the fungal reef with Sio as nothing continued to happen on the red coloured sands.

“So,” the Koawan asked, “Sabacc or Pazakk?”

<<<<< >>>>>
_______________________________________________________________________________________
1. ISB: Imperial Security Bureau-an internal security and intelligence agency of the Galactic Empire.

Special thanks to FT for his awesome rendering of Zearic! This chapter is dedicated to him :)
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(https://i.ibb.co/z6wqsBD/Zearic-armor-8.png)
Chapter 3: Myths, Legends, and Lies, part II
A gnarled brown wooden mansion was an odd jewel to the eight sided tower, built in the image of a Navigators compass in the heart of Cinnagar. The capital of Empress Teta, or Koros as it was known when the Mansion of wood was newly build for the Navigators Guild, was reeling under the increasingly despotic rule of Moff Foga Brill, after the failure of Operation Shadow Hand it was said the already "spiritualist" pessimist had fallen deeper into twisted Dark Side belief.

His so-called Constitutional Protectorate of Prakith barely held sway here, the Moff, rumour had it, had become increasingly paranoid and isolationist.

Lieutenant Asten Raduuk of the Imperial Security Bureau operating within the Autonomous Fleet Triumvirate paid attention to such rumours, listened closely as they walked the cobbled paths of the narrow streets of the capital in formation after landing at an outer bay in a single Lambda craft.

Insertion had been a simple enough affair, access codes and officer permissions that had been suspended between Remnant--my how he hated that word--factions were removed during Operation Shadow Hand and many had not been reinstated allowing imperial officer their rank based privilege to move unencumbered amongst, what to him, was still the Empire.

Yes the Emperor may be gone, but the Empire remained, the Bureau remained, even in "exile" from its headquarters and lacking central co-ordination. It needed only agreement of the fractious Moffs to reunite, and Raduuk firmly believed, that the Triumvirate along whom he operated (remaining of course an agent of the ISB) offered an excellent example of how the Empire should be organized.

“This is the place,” his escort noted, Captain Evecen Deus of the Marauders had been tasked by Admiral Mercet personally to provide security, the tall officer had sharp patrician features that contrasted Raduuk’s own more rounded visage directly, and quite pale skin compared to Raduuk’s honey brown.

Deus looked around noting among this area of the city there was little activity at all and less security, tourism was gone entirely, and the populace at large were unwilling to step outside and risk the ire of the roving "Red Police" of the Church of the Dark Side.

It was a strange infiltration, as in truth they were not disguised at all, Deus and his Marauders in typical Storm Trooper rather than Death Trooper gear of course, but Raduuk and his three adjuncts wore their normal uniforms, Imperial garb seemed to provide no cause for suspicion here.

“It is,” Raduuk confirmed.

Deus, green eyes narrowed scanning the empty streets, cluttered on every side by the faded grandeur of un-maintained facades of old woods and steel, now merely frontages for towers behind them, while the rest of the city sank; in every sense of the word, the ground seeming to groan under the weight of "newer" buildings, long cracks on anti-Imperial graffiti crawled retaining walls, it seemed, only the Old Guild Mansion had been raised up to the stars whose knowledge it held.

“We will secure the area, do what you need to, check in 2 arns.” Raduuk nodded and the troopers dispersed around the Guilds entrance, the Statue to Lost Navigators once so prominent now a toy beside the vast tower that boasted many docking bays, landing platforms, and computer server databases to store navigational data from any willing to donate it, once a haven for travelers and explorers.

In faded gilded words over the cavernous street level mouth was the Guilds Motto: “Upon Unknown Paths we Find Our Place.”

...Ironic... Raduuk thought as he strode in, the words somewhat haunting to him. Regardless of his unease, he had a job to do. He would get General Vondhem the intel he required, for the ISB.

For the Empire.

<<<<< >>>>>

They were professional, fast, and coming a damn sight too close for comfort, putting an end to both their Sabacc game as well as their waiting.

Something that Zearic was suddenly regretful for complaining about.

Six hours earlier they had detected their arrival in system, 30 minutes later the first fly-by of TIE Interceptors with scanning equipment. A second fly-by 45 minutes later told Triad Isk, who had by then retreated to the calcified fungal cavern some 6 klicks from the only non-natural landmark, that these were not sloppy overconfident Imperials, but a cautiously aggressive force.

A final fly-by was followed by the landing party, the Vhal’Dan’s four insect size drones half buried in the red sands observing how Escorted Zeta landers first dropped off Storm Troopers with heavy environmental survival backpacks and Orange shoulder pauldrons on the rises around the ancient crashed star ship. The shock troops securing and sweeping the immediate area for just over an hour before vessels were brought near the crashed vessel itself, the Interceptors continuing regular flyovers.

“This is a long way out for the Empire…” Olyna noted.

“With the number of factions they’ve divided into nothing would surprise me,” Zearic replied squinting on the grainy image from the Insect Drone closest to the ship, their TIE Guardian featured only one view screen linked to the drones transmissions, limiting his ability to observe them.

Sio had signaled Command but they were yet to receive a reply, so for now they merely watched and waited.

So far in additional to securing fixed positions with mounted weapons at six points on the ridges surrounding the crashed ship, the Imperials had also set up Energy-fences around it at a 20 meter radius, the troops assisting lowering out 4 AccuTronic B-1 worker droids, attaching what had to be excavation tools to their multifunction elbow sockets.

A final Zeta now landed, Zearic zooming in to the maximum of the tiny drones ability, with the highly pixelated view he could only just make out the mark of armour of the new arrivals.

“Death Troopers…this is a serious search party…” A small group of half a dozen in less armoured humanoids in enviro-suits followed them, in addition to the standard Imperial "cog wheel" insignia on the left arms was another similar round one with a three-pointed star variant on the right Zearic didn’t recognize.

“Unique insignia, not Pentastar…but can’t say I’m up to date on all the factions,” he stood to allow the others to get a look, the small comms and workshop room which would be cramped with even one Cataphract was positively claustrophobic with three.

“I don’t recognize it either…” Sio noted, the studious younger man usually keeping well informed of the events of the Civil war.

“Odd considering the vast resources they possess,” Olyna added now leaning in after Sio, “They appear scientists and tech staff…” She watched as they positioned their droids following scans with hand held devices likely some kind of Ground Penetrating Radar. “…they are looking for something specific, operating at a steady pace.” She observed.

“The question is…” Zearic murmured arms just able to cross his armoured chest, “…does it pose a threat to us?”

The Vhal’Dan had no interest in engaging against any of the Empire's factions, whatever the previous antipathy as a result of the Inquisition's desolation of their colony on Kewda, the practical and political reality meant there was no point pursuing a vendetta or antagonizing them.

Especially with the Hapes Consortium already gunning for the Order.

So long as whatever the this Imperial faction desired here was of no threat to the Vhal’Dan, there was no reason to become involved.

Sio swung round as an alert buzzed on his hip, reading the short burst text from the Cataphracts QEN²: it utilized pairs of particles that are linked on a quantum level; any effect on one particle is mirrored instantaneously by the other, regardless of the distance between the two, allowing almost undetectable instantaneous communication. The disadvantage was of course being so closely paired it could normally only connect two users at any given time. To counteract this all Triad QEN comms were linked to a central hub located on a small planetoid on LV-8219 where the Entangled pairs of all the QEN comms resided.

A simple Virtual interface nicknamed "QEN-y" could then transmit the message received on one pair to another recipient or indeed the whole network, the QEN Comms devices entrusted typically to the Tertius of each triad, though senior members had their own, the manufacturing of linked particle pairs a delicate and difficult process limiting their number to only a few dozen.

“Command says continue observation, check in every 2 hours.”

There was hardly anything else they could do, the TIE Interceptors sweeps were coming now every 20 minutes, and there was likely at least two larger vessels in orbit in addition to the one they initially detected.

“Let us hope these Imperials leave as swiftly as they arrived,” Olyna noted.

Zearic nodded but wasn't about to count on it. Looking from the corner of his eye, he noticed that both Olyna and Sio felt the same. Silently, he said a prayer to the Maker...

...And checked all of his weapons.

As his fingers absently stroked the hilts of his Oblivion Daggers, he hoped that D'Aylanna was having better luck than he was.
_______________________________________________________________________________________
2. QEN: Quantum Entanglement Network

(https://i.ibb.co/1R5g688/Nar-Shaddaa-canon.png)
Chapter 4: Bread Crumbs, part I
Exiting the hyperspace tunnel, Fenris’ Dirge re-entered Real Space above a bloated, green gas-giant, the noxious atmosphere shining like a toxic, sickly jewel amidst its orbital making the black of the surrounding space that much darker…but for one conspicuous exception: an urbanized, heavily industrialized moon the size of many planets. It was this ecumenopolis that the stealthy vessel sped towards, soon joining the crowded space lanes into the upper atmosphere.

Nar Shaddaa.

Making its descent through the polluted atmosphere, the Mandalorian Infiltrator smoothly cut through the skylanes, its sleek, dangerous hull diffracting the constant light coming from the oppressive, unbroken cityscape below. It was not the first time that D’Aylanna had been to Nar Shadda–indeed she was very familiar with her current environs–but every other time she’d been there she’d had her Shakal with her. …Never enough time… She thought wistfully. Determined, she prepared to land.

With D’Aylanna as the lone occupant at the controls, the graceful lines of the vessel were equaled by her piloting, easily transitioning from skylane to landing berth, electro-landing clamps securing the craft as the lift sank into the docking bay.

By rote she donned her armor, the lithe plating reinforced by a strong nano-weave, ideal against blasters as well as blades. As stealthy as it was, her armor was neatly hidden beneath her dark, gray robes, perfect for blending into the crowded thoroughfares of Nar Shadda’s streets.

Taking a page from her Shakal, she first buckled on a holstered blaster at her hip, quickly followed by several vibroblades in her armored boots and vambraces. She then attached a total of 6 variable grenades about her armor, inconspicuous to the casual observer. With a mini-holdout blaster secreted in the underside of each vambrace, D’Aylanna finally clipped her lightsaber to her belt.

Now she was ready.

Making her way into the Infiltrator’s cargo bay, she thumbed a button on her vambrace, opening the ramp. Before it had even fully extended to the deck, D’Aylanna had hopped off, heading directly to the large, red Nikto already on-deck to collect “fees.” He was almost the size of her Shakal. Almost. Standing her full height, the top of her hooded head barely reached his rotund chest, the size disparity almost comical.

Her tone, however, was anything but.

“You will look after my ship as if it were your boss’s.” With a dangerous glint in her dark eyes, she used the Force, pressing against the Nikto’s mental barriers and effortlessly batting them aside. “I’ve already paid all ‘tributes,’ including the ‘loitering fee.’” Involuntarily, she touched her lightsaber hilt with her left hand, her right easily resting on the butt of her blaster.

Not that she needed either of them.

“I’se lookin’ af’tr yer sh’p. You’se alr’dy paid.” He intoned almost sluggishly in his thickly accented Basic as his heavy shoulders slumped, his black eyes glazing slightly as the Force Suggestion took firm root in his mind.

“Your master will be pleased.” D’Aylanna said offhandedly as she scanned the entire complex, eyes scrutinizing the multilevel balconies of the landing docks. They were alone. “What’s your name and which Hutt do you work for?” She asked slightly more interested, looking directly at the Nikto as she walked.

“M’master’ll be ple’s’d. I’ms Mek Hapta. Da Hon’r’ble Kajidic Gllagiosh the Agile.” He walked a meter behind her right side, assuming a protective stance.

As if D’Aylanna needed that either.

“‘Gllagiosh the Agile?’ Now that would be something to see.” She had a ghost of a smile upon her lips. “Thank you, Mek.” She lightly touched the Nikto’s beefy forearm, fortifying the last of her Force Suppression as it locked firmly into place within Mek’s mind. “I shall return shortly.”

“Y’s m’str’ss.” He dipped his chin, touching his thick neck. “You’se g’nna r’turn soon.”

Satisfied, she deftly slipped a 500 credit chit in his massive palm before pulling her hood tighter around her head, leaving through the nearest blast door and through the semi-circular hallway and, finally, the main thoroughfare before disappearing amongst the crowd as she waded into the Nar Shaddaa throng of beings.

Yet even unknown to her, there was one who knew precisely where she was…if not exactly where she was headed. Yet.

But he could always find her. Always.

<<<<< >>>>>

Completely unseen, the gigantic Hamask made his way from his hiding place within the hold of Fenris’ Dirge and through the closing ramp to silently shadow one of the landing struts while the 7th Speaker easily worked her Jedi Mind Trick on the local “constabulary:” a large Red Nikto, dangerous to be sure and intimidating enough to ensure that all tribute is collected…

But nothing compared to a Hamask.

Or’an was over twice his size, not that the Nikto would ever see him. Besides, he was not the Tof’s target.

No, the Nikto was safe, at least from Or’an. As was D’Aylanna…unless she got in his way. It was Jorya Vih’Torr whom he’d declared “Damnatio.” While she’d completely disappeared, the Hamask felt that the best way to find his target was through the 7th Speaker.

And his instincts had always served him well.

Wrapping himself in his unique form of Buried Presence, he breathed deeply, his incredible olfactory senses able to separate every single disparate scent, locking onto the 7th Speaker. She could go anywhere on Nar Shaddaa and he would be able to find her.

Jumping easily over the landing bay’s bulkheads and over the balconies, the Hamask kept a vigilant eye over the throng of sentients, flows of people like currents ebbing to and fro throughout the overcrowded streets, buildings, and vehicles. And there half a kilometer away, the 7th Speaker glided through the mass of persons that seemed to part before her.

It was quite the trick, Or’an admitted to himself. She wasn’t using the Force or any weapon, yet people moved for her. He smiled knowingly.

At 1.5 meters, D’Aylanna was less than half his height but the force of presence that the Hapan master demonstrated…

Again, he wondered how she’d fare against him in a contest of martial skill… Surely, she would last longer than any other opponent he’d faced.

Of course, he was certain of victory; not as a byproduct of ego but rather out of immutable historical provenance: in all of his experience, he’d never come across anyone or anything that presented him with what he’d consider a challenge. He was Hamask; that was all that there was to it.

He was Hamask. And his judgment was absolute.

<<<<< >>>>>

Special thanks to LSG; with minimal edits, most of this is his writing :) This chapter is dedicated to him!
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(https://i.ibb.co/GVZqvPm/Kintik-1.jpg)
Chapter 4: Bread Crumbs, part II
Heavy black boots with Ditanium Tread sunk slightly into the crimson sands of the scarlet world.

Darkside Executor Kintik looked up at the erosion rounded skeleton of the ancient vessel that protruded as if a monument to Civilizations folly from the red sands as the strange sun cast a pink dusk over the planet

He had already been en route to the small slice of the Unknown Regions, taking the Irkalla ISD to support him, when he received a transmission that narrowed the search area from 124 Systems to first only 32 and then 4 following an ISB lieutenant's successful efforts in the archives of the Cinnagar Navigators guild.

Making best speed, the Irkalla was able to link up again with the Gehenna in the Unknown Regions, somewhat near Chiss Space. Kintik had to admit that he felt a certain thrill, especially when Mercet had told him of the translation. Unfortunately, it also served to mitigate his excitement; anything having to do with the Admiral's favorites always elicited such.

...Speaking of... He had rolled his eyes as he noted beneath Lieutenant Raduuk's Electronic Verification report the tag of the escorting Captain Deus, matching Professor Deus on the initial report that had marked this sector of the Unknown Regions as a search zone for whatever the Sith Wayfinder pointed to. Mercet favoured her so-called "God twins" too much in his opinion; one should not become over reliant on any one underlying, no matter how competent they were.

Lord Sidious had taught him that by example. Vader was the blunt face of Fear, the Inquisitorious the enforcers, but the Darkside Elite and Emperor's Hands were the true agents of the Emperor and it was they--or at least they who remained loyal to Sidious' Vision--that would carry his legacy and Empire forward.

Escorted by Death Troopers the head of the excavation approached.

“My Lord we breached the ceiling of a cavern 600 meters down the port side of the vessel, as per your advance instructions the area was cleared, shored and not further explored pending your arrival.”

Kintik surveyed around him, the B1 Droids at rest, their excavator arms caked in the moist red sands, Techs using air-jets to blast off fungal roots they had had through, large piles of dirt from the four excavation locations used to build defensive mounds in which Stormtroopers were hunched over their tripod mounted cannons, the screech of Interceptors on patrol overhead.

The system, indeed the entire sector, was devoid of any known sentient life, trade routes or civilizations, regardless he would not spare any resources to attain the "power multiplier" the Sith texts had alluded to and the Wayfinders inscriptions indicated were comprised of a number of "Phalanxes."

“Continue your excavations I will enter. Alone.” He commanded, thoughts of the Ancient Sith translation foremost in his mind.

Striding forward he rounded the vast broken vessel so wrecked and corroded its composition was all that could be discerned, nothing of how or why it had crashed, pausing only briefly to glance up at one of the ridges surrounding the impact crater in which the ship was located as a small tingle ran down the small of his back as if he were being watched.

He scrutinized the lip of the ridge for a moment, noting only an odd bloom of the fungi that seemed the only non-motile life form of this world…perhaps it was somehow semi-sentient observing them; he had heard of stranger things than that.

Regardless thus far it seemed inert even as they had dug through a root system, likely taking the comings and goings of motile beings in its stride.

He paid it no more heed reaching the port excavation where a repulsor platform served as a make shaft lift down the 50 by 50 meter shaft into the dark.

<<<<< >>>>>

On the ridge behind the fungi reef Zearic breathed slightly easier. Two hours earlier something had trembled across the Force when the excavation teams made a break through, something their tiny drones could not investigate. Cloaked by their Integrated Stealth field generators--at substantial cost to their armours' batteries it had to be noted--and with the subtle use of a of Olyna’s misdirection mind "nudges" the Cataphracts followed the dark cloaked warrior inside.

[Recognize Anything?] Olyn asked over the Triad text based short range communication, the words scrolling along with other integrated sensory data past Zearic's eye.

They had waited seven minutes after the lone figure had entered to approach, another fifteen before they reached the lift, again a few Force diversions to sneak in just before the new Interceptor fly over, and more importantly, their Cloak fields drained their suits power below 60 per cent.

They needed 40 per cent just to reach their ship again.

It was a calculated risk, to try and follow now...they did not know when or even if the Imperials would leave, and certainly if they did leave, whatever they had come for would be gone with them leaving the Vhal’Dan to scry out what it might’ve been with incomplete information. The thought process among the Group Mind of the Triad was carefully weighted between the three members and only narrowly fell to moving in.

The Imperial presence was only 60 troops and 15 workers by their count, spread out and avoidable for the moment, waiting any longer risked more Imperials arriving and locking down the site beyond any hope of infiltration.

[Nothing.] Sio replied by blink clicking one of the suggested responses to save too much time blinking on the eye tracking keyboard.

Zearic looked along the walls: they were in large square sections framed by a fairly simple chevron border, so far no text or images that their hazy green low light enhanced lenses could detect.

[Nothing.] Zearic followed with, taking the middle position as they moved ahead, the corridor was thus far straight and quite narrow for the Cataphracts, they had no sign of the robed figure but they followed the minimal heat traces of his footsteps, sensors translating heat into blue patches slowly dissipating on the sand-covered floor.

They turned one corner to a four way intersection, an empty plinth in the centre covered in fossilized fungi, perhaps a fountain that it had tried to take root in in ages past. The plinth was a of a similar angular design to the chevron wall block borders, the floor less covered in sand was the same as the walls, prefabricated mass-produced square panels used to line this underground facility.

Down the left path they saw a flickering light. Firm and focused they moved forward.

<<<<< >>>>>

His micro Searcher droids were still mapping the facility--fortress almost--while Kintik was led by the Darkside itself.

It was subtle, a whisper of what had been, as if in deep slumber, but he could hear it’s breath ebb and flow down the passages, inhaling and exhaling to a slow silent rhythm.

He could almost see the door heaving with the breath as he reached it; it was far from the only one, there were dozens of small chambers sealed that his Searchers had mapped and passed by. It seemed the soils here were too loamy to support large weights, and the fungi too invasive, indeed he had come across many cracks where hyphae had once tried to break in then retreated from the nutrient absent air.

The door way was as simple as the rest of the architecture and, except for the inscription, it mirrored that along one etched groove in the Wayfinder perfectly, according to Professor Deus' translation reading: Phalanx of the Unbroken Gaze. Despite his own careful study of the inscrutable language he had to give credit to the Professor for discerning as much as she had given the utterly novel dialect in which it was written; divesting itself entirely of the usual 8 diagonal vowel markers between consonants of the"‘common" version of the language he knew, in favour of some 12 diacritical’s below each letter.

His open hands paused, ready to push the door apart but he checked his eagerness, carefully seeking any hint of a trap trigger or other device to keep out intruders. Instead, he drew heavily upon the Force.

There were hints in his senses, but too far back in time for his Psychometry to be effective. Stepping back down the corridor at what he felt was a safe enough distance to react if there was a trap, and activating his saber in case he needed to deflect a projectile, he gripped the doors in his mind and pushed.

Noiselessly, the doors opened, the darkness of the cavern engulfing him as he stepped forward.

<<<<< >>>>>

Special thanks to FT for his awesome rendering of D'Aylanna :) This chapter is dedicated to him!
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(https://i.ibb.co/grDGsFJ/d-aylanna-armor-1-vers-1.jpg)
Chapter 4: Bread Crumbs, part III
As the turbolift doors opened, the metal screamed as it jerked in fits and starts, not fully opening on the left side. Darting quickly out of the ‘lift before the stubborn doors slammed shut, D’Aylanna continued her determined gait as the relatively narrow walkway opened up to an incredibly wide street/city square, the diffused orange light filtering throughout the air. But there was an ersatz quality to the illumination, the light seeming to promote more shadows rather than generating anything close to warmth.

In other words: a normal day on Nar Shaddaa.

Consequently, it was also her best option to find answers, answers that she desperately needed. Apropos of such, with each step she kept her wits about her and her Force Senses alert while her mind kept replaying the Vision that she’d seen during her Meditations before leaving Sekot, the words burned into her mind as if they’d always belonged there:

At the end of the Hundred-Year Darkness
Where the Black Rains wash all away and
The Leviathans lie in wait to
Steal Life, and imprison it for the Time
Of Rebirth, the Three-Who-Are-One
Will become Two: One black, One Gray,
One whose life is Diminished; One whose death is Ameliorated
It is She who Yields; It is She who Controls;
It is She who Lives; It is She who Dies

D’Aylanna’s Force Prescience had always served her well but–even during the best of times–could be maddeningly disobliging. Worse, the Vhal’Dan Archives had proven woefully insufficient to the task with vague references, ambiguous possibilities, and contradictory results.

“...Damn…” She’d muttered a rare curse.

Not that she had expected otherwise; when Vader had attacked the Vhal’Dan Homeworld of Kewda and with the Empire laying waste to large swathes of the urban areas, most of the Order’s Archives had suffered as a result. In fact, much of the recorded Galactic Histories had been lost, Preservationists only recently restoring many of the lost Chronicles. But not all, especially with the Empire’s COMPNOR¹ doing everything that it could to rewrite everything pre-Imperial.

As she said: she knew that she needed help.

Moving swiftly, D’Aylanna soon entered the Red Lamp District, functionally similar to the half-kilometer she’d just walked through although the myriad of lights affixed atop the multiple overlapping cables were, of course, red.

Taking several turns with the practiced step of one familiar with the area, deftly negotiating through the throng of sentients crowding the current level she was on, she soon found herself slipping between two dark, dilapidated complexes and into an alley, her armored boots splashing in the fetid, puddling water. Heading into the alley, it seemed that everyone else deliberately avoided the area where a subaural drone vibrated just below the hearing threshold.

Although her senses were alert, she was confident that she need not worry. After what seemed like an eternity of walking–her night-blindness contributing to the impression of a lost sense of time, the Force her guide in navigating the twisting turns of the alleyway–she stopped suddenly. In front of her slumped over an errant bulkhead stanchion was a vagrant. Dressed in black, he was almost indistinguishable from his surroundings…and that was before taking her night-blindness into consideration.

However, not only had she sensed him as she approached in the alleyway but–having been here many times before–she knew what to expect. “I’m here to see Nadia and Anton.” She said just above a whisper, although the alleyway echoed eerily nevertheless.

Without a sound and with a slight nod of his head, the vagrant moved aside exposing a doorway behind him. It was not as if his body had obfuscated the door; one moment it wasn't there and the next it was. Before she disappeared in the building, the vagrant gave her a respectful nod which she returned in kind.

For D’Aylanna, the darkness of the alley was identical to the black of the tunnel leading through to the innards of the complex; however, she suddenly felt the familiar comfort of the place settle about her, a serenity remembered and appreciated.

Such was the nature of Nadia & Anton’s: the building was a vergence in the Force--albeit minor--a sanctuary to all Force-sensitives regardless of their alignment.

As she stepped into the main chamber, the cozy surroundings were lightly illuminated, enough to be comfortable but not enough to dispel most of her night-blindness. Again, she wasn’t worried.

Around the large room many sentients went about their business: from small groups speaking amongst themselves to couples engaged in private talk to loners that, likely as not, had a drink in their hand and an impassive face.

It was towards the latter that D’Aylanna walked, a small smile spreading upon her blue lips as she approached. Standing, a tall, svelte man stepped around his table, the dangerous look in his eyes softening. With a tight smile, he wrapped his long arms around her in an amicable hug.

“Ralen, good to see you, Druzhba².” She said softly, her face slightly muffled as the intense man crushed her to his muscular chest. Briefly, his face relaxed (if durasteel could be said to relax). Holding the embrace for a moment, D’Aylanna noticed that her friend was hard as ever, his jet-black hair now peppered with a few gray strands, his piercing blue eyes raptorlike and constantly wary, the almost-healed scar on the left side of his face now joined by two, smaller scars, one fairly recent. With all of this, she was once again reminded of one immutable fact concerning him:

Ralen Yorul was one of the most dangerous men that she knew.

He released her from their embrace and gestured towards the table he’d been seated at. “Please.” His voice was low; not soft–his voice was just as hard as the rest of him–rather as if he were unused to speaking aloud. Not that she was surprised; Ralen was the very definition of a loner. She noticed that his eyes lingered on her armored vambrace but said nothing.

Sliding onto the comfortable seat behind the table, D’Aylanna was quickly joined by the wiry man, his back towards the wall while his eyes continued their endless searching, a blaster always within easy reach of his practiced hands. Qualities that she more than appreciated.

“Apologies for my caution, but I couldn’t discuss anything over comms. Zearic sends his regards.” She began, her face adopting a serene mask. “...But forgive my haste; my time is short.” She casually scanned the room, almost certain that no one in Nadia&Anton’s would ever try to eavesdrop.

Almost.

Ralen gave a brief nod, his eyes unblinking. “You needn’t worry.” He said, likewise unnecessarily. Ever since they’d met³, they'd done one another favors for years, always helping when called upon and never once complaining. On no fewer than two occasions had they saved the other’s lives; indeed, Ralen had saved both her and her Shakal the very first time they’d met.

She knew him, more importantly, trusted Ralen.

To D’Aylanna, this was no different…and yet the entire galaxy had changed. “I need to locate my daughter.” She said, sudden unshed tears glistening, “I also need information regarding ‘Leviathans.’ Cross-reference ‘Hundred-Year Darkness’ and ‘Black Rains.’” She felt a single tear roll down her brown cheek. “I…I’m sorry that…that I don’t have more....”

Closing her eyes, she once again witnessed the horror playing before her as the vibroblade exploded through her Shakal’s chest while the hate radiating from yellow Sith eyes stared at her helpless form from the face of her daughter. It had been bad enough that D’Aylanna had nearly lost her husband…but then she had lost Jorya that night. “Please…” She pleaded, a lump in her throat. Breathing deeply, she regained her composure…but not before Ralen had seen the woman absent her mask of control.

That was how much she trusted him.

Saying nothing, Ralen gave her one of his rare yet reassuring smiles, just a slight curvature of his lips. He controlled his emotions well, as well as any woman from House Royal. He was also one of the galaxy’s best information brokers. Period.

She knew that she’d made the best decision in coming to him for help.

Knowing that it wasn’t much to go on, D’Aylanna was confident that Ralen’s slicing skills were second-to-none. She knew from experience that he could extrapolate disparate data threads, finding significant correlation intertwining around and connecting them where none had been before.

Not to mention that he’d been involved in Imperial Intelligence, one of the Empire’s most fearful and dangerous departments. No, D’Aylanna knew that there was no one better to help her with her problems.

From seemingly nowhere, he made a datapad appear, grabbing a cord from the side and inserting the end into the side of his head, his hidden cybernetics otherwise indistinguishable from his organics. Each time that he typed, his eyes kept scanning several drop-down menus courtesy of ocular implants. In no time, he had several dozen apps, documents, and coding lists working simultaneously, connecting him not only to Holonet but also several large private databases.

Still, it took him almost two hours; telling considering that it typically took Ralen a few minutes. Regardless, it was time well-spent.

“Nothing with Jorya or anything remarkable containing Togrutas, not for your purposes at least…” He said distractedly, “Some archaic references for both ‘black rains’ and ‘leviathans,’ neither jointly compiled but tangentially from Celebratus, New Republic Central, and Library Galactica. Something vague about ‘soul-stealing Sith’ and ‘god-seekers;’ but those seem apocryphal…” With a rush of flurried typing, he consulted several menus, eliminating many forthwith before carefully regarding those remaining. Then with a small nod he finished his coding, enabling the program that he hoped would present an answer. For several tense minutes they both waited, until…

“Corbos.” Ralen’s voice retained its quiet tone yet he had a hint of a smile upon his face.

D’Aylanna blinked. “I’ve never heard of it.” Again, expected. “Where is this Corbos?”

Ralen removed a datacylinder, a tight half-grin showing no teeth. “Coordinates, biosphere, everything you need is here.”

She smiled widely, relief spreading across her face. For the first time in several months, D’Aylanna felt hopeful. “I am forever in your debt, Druzhba.” She made the datacylinder disappear among the many pouches on her wide belt, briefly exposing her armored torso.

“Trouble?” He finally asked, Ralen’s raptor-like gaze made his blue eyes that much more intense.

D’Aylanna knew that there was no one–other than her Shakal--who’d be better covering her back…but this was something that only she could do. “I’ll be fine.” Her sincere smile was disarming. “I promise.” She touched his forearm in thanks, grateful for Ralen’s latest assistance.

Besides, she did not wish to upset him with what she knew she had to do. Such thoughts invariably reminded D’Aylanna of her Zearic as they always did. At least her Shakal was appropriately occupied with orders from the Triarch… “I cannot thank you enough, my friend.”

For several seconds his stare was unrelenting…but suddenly softened. “For you and Zearic: anything.” He made a gesture with his closed fist, an Alderaanian gesticulation which roughly equated to “family” or “togetherness.” She was warmed by the sentiment.

“Likewise, Druzhba.” She stood, allowing the comfort of the Force to commingle with her newfound relief…yet it still wasn’t enough to completely dispel her misgivings. Still, whether by blessings of the Maker, the Will of the Force, or simple luck, D’Aylanna was confident that she would be able to confront Gaetana. She would face her foe and she would pay.

She prayed to the Maker, her trepidation leaching into her. …Oh Jorya…forgive me Dear One… She would do what she must. Gaetana must never again escape...and it was incumbent upon D'Aylanna that she find her.

And, for once and for all, she would kill her.
____________________________________________________________
1. COMPNOR: Comission for the Preservation of the New Order, the agency responsible for the promotion of the Empire’s New Order ideals
2. Druzhba: Hapan for “family not of blood.”
3. As seen back in “Interlude-Samaritan, part1&2:” https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=36209.msg611267#msg611267 (https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=36209.msg611267#msg611267)

(https://i.ibb.co/nmJMcgB/Galtea-Underworks.jpg)
Interlude-The Ars Ingens, part II
(https://i.ibb.co/hYrngbf/Darth-Obliquus-1.png) (https://ibb.co/hYrngbf)(https://i.ibb.co/rFwnhgV/Darth-Surdus-1.jpg) (https://ibb.co/rFwnhgV)(https://i.ibb.co/sRRYVh4/Darth-Saggita-4.jpg) (https://ibb.co/sRRYVh4)(https://i.ibb.co/gtsxp21/Darth-Invidia-1.jpg) (https://ibb.co/gtsxp21)

Belsavis, 3636BBY
Ducking beneath a savage cut from an old vibroglaive, Darth Obliquus stabbed upwards into the screaming human’s chest with his blood-orange saberstaff. Using his momentum he kicked out, the armored heel of his boot slamming into a nearby Nikto’s solar plexus, causing the reptilian creature to drop both of its fashioned shanks. Pivoting his wrist, his saberstaff cut through both the human’s and the Nikto’s necks, heads falling at his feet, leaving a single opponent who had hung behind his companions.

With the deaths of his fellow prisoners, the lone dirty human fled from the grisly scene, leaving the Sith Lord by himself. Again. Although their forces had drawn out many of the prison’s populace, the Ars Ingens had encountered many such groups that had remained within The Tomb. He seemed to have gotten arterial spray over his right vambrace and cuirass…

Breathing normally, Obliquus took advantage of the relative calm around him to scrutinize his comrades. Not that he was worried; he knew that there was nothing in The Tomb that his army couldn’t handle.

That wasn’t to say that there weren’t dangers–by the Emperor the prison was amongst the worst places in the galaxy, even for Sith–but Obliquus was confident that he and his compatriots together could handle whatever they came across.

…Although there were still that stor–

A loud, crashing explosion drew his attention to the right as Darth Surdus bodily threw a large, brown Trandoshan through one of the constructed walls, the enormous man calling his massive red lightsaber to his waiting left hand while he gestured with his right, pulling the fallen Trandoshan back towards him using the Force…right into the path of his saber cut, bisecting the alien. As both severed sides collided against the bulkheads, they burst open in a bloody display of gore. “Try growing that back!” Surdus snarled before noticing that he wasn’t alone.

Smiling, he nodded to Obliquus and joined him.

“How much deeper?” He asked, the man’s deep bass voice reverberating through the cavernous prison room while muted sounds of carnage and destruction echoed dully from the other rooms.

Before Obliquus could answer, four more prisoners burst from the adjacent tunnel, all of them wearing identical looks of panic. Obliquus was almost amused; he knew what–or rather “who”--had elicited such looks. He needn’t wait long…

His patience was almost immediately rewarded: a screaming purple blur sped through the congregated prisoners, a sudden flash of orange left several afterimages as the prisoners seemed to be held suspended fast in the air.

Which they very much were.

Theatrically holding forth a closed fist, Darth Invidia swaggered towards the prisoners before slowly releasing her fist. Like some kind of macabre dam breaking, the eviscerated bodies of the prisoners burst apart, dismembered limbs, heads, and organs falling to the floor amongst a small lake of blood and offal. Pity; he’d just polished his armored boots…

Careless of the blood spray that dotted her face, the small Sith Lord joined the two men, a sadistic grin upon her cherubic face. “Obliquus, you said that we’d face heavy resistance; you never once mentioned how much fun we’d have.” Casually, she rested her saber-pike upon her shoulder while her head pivoted upon her neck, darting eyes constantly scanning for dangers. “Such treats deserve…equal compensation, shall we say?” Her deep, throaty laugh promised carnal desires that most would consider lascivious.

Obliquus, however, felt not even a hint of stirrings despite the woman’s sensual demeanor. He was, of course, used to her; indeed, he was familiar with all three Darths under his charge. As they, him. “Serving our Emperor is my reward.” He intoned absent emotion. Yet if the small woman took any offense, the deepening smile upon her haughty face showed nothing of the sort.

“Of course.” Her dark eyes flashed with both humor and menace. “But on that note: just where is this so-called Serv–”

A series of thunderous booms momentarily deafened them as another group of thuggish prisoners were bodily thrown across the cluttered deck, their bodies contorting in agonizing and wracking spasms as thick purple lightning arced from the adjacent cavern and through each of their bodies, causing them to collapse to the floor. While some had died, the majority were still alive.

To their apparent short-lived terror.

Striding up to the still-writhing prisoners, Darth Saggita took her time to stab each one living in the head with her lightsaber, the dark crimson blade casting a bloody sepulchral pall upon her pale face, mirroring the blood of her victims. To any onlooker, they might think that she was about some menial chore for all the emotion that she showed. That is until she espied her fellow Darths; she adopted an appreciative bent to her mask, a look that did not touch her eyes.

Done with her grisly task, she strode over to the other 3 Sith masters, her ignited lightsaber conspicuous in her hand. Good; Obliquus considered such vigilance necessary, especially given where they were. He arched an eyebrow: he seemed to have an entrail stuck between the armor plating of his knee-join…

As she approached, she gave Obliquus a small bow, bending her head slightly at the neck. “Lord, I’ve news: having sent my subordinates deeper within The Tomb, they inform me that they’ve encountered an obstacle.” Sagitta’s playful monotone reflected the mask affixed to the woman’s face, her back ramrod straight as her eyes scanned the surrounding passageways, trash and broken furniture scattered throughout.

Before Obliquus could speak, Surdus barked a laugh. “Don’t be so coy, Saggita. You’ve already got my attention.” The huge man’s lopsided smile was at odds with the dangerous look in his eyes. For her part, Saggita stared without expression although her eyes flashed as she quietly sighed.

Obliquus again arched an eyebrow, ignoring the interchange. “An ‘obstacle?’” Apparently what he was told must have held at least some truth. “Lead the way.” Although his voice was ambivalent, the other three Darths recognized the gravity of the situation, falling in beside the tall, thin Sith Lord. If that story was true, this could get interesting…

All four took off at a brisk pace, each commanding their underlings to hold their positions and secure points of egress, lest the remaining prison population of The Tomb overwhelm them, even in their diminished state.

…Which was the precise reason why Obliquus had commanded each Darth of the Ars Ingens to bring their respective army. After all, a Sith force 40,000 strong could deal with virtually anything.

Making their way through dilapidated industrial passageways both immense and confined, they penetrated deeper into the old Rakatan complex, mindful of traps both contemporary and ancient. As they passed, Obliquus noticed shadowed eyes peering out from the darkened unlocked cells, grubby and bent bodies hidden beneath ratty, torn rags. One and all they ignored the four Sith Lords, especially any that met their eyes, those that did shambling deeper into the darkness. Shortly, they were met by some of Saggita’s Sith soldiers.

Bowing deeply, they took up positions surrounding the Darths as they escorted them from the main thoroughfare and into a large, heavily barred tunnel. Even though every single cell was open, Obliquus could tell that the cells could be sealed with a blast door over two meters thick. This must be where it is… He pondered, unignited saberstaff wrapped in a tight grip. After several turns, they joined the rest of the platoon, each Sith soldier, acolyte, apprentice, or Lord heavily armored. Two of the black armored figures turned from the enormous, jagged black hole in the wall and swiftly walked towards the four Darths. Bowing low with their right hands over their hearts, the larger of them first spoke to Saggita.

“Lord Saggita, one of the recon acolytes came across this hole after Sensing the being Lord Obliquus instructed us to watch for. That was almost 15 minutes ago and we’ve gotten only a single transmission.” Dutifully, he keyed the holocomm in the palm of his hand, projecting the transparent blue ersatz figure of the recon acolyte.

Or rather the visage of a panicked face distorted in pain and terror, his cortosis-weave helmet somehow torn almost in half. “...elp! I…nder…ttack! …ome …onerst…ous…be…st! H…LP!” He spat before the holocall was cut off.

Obliquus could feel the undercurrent of dread through the Force coming from Saggita’s underlings.

But not not Darths of the Ars Ingens.

He almost felt pride. “Lord Saggita: pull your Sith back. Invidia, Sagitta, Surdus: with me.” To punctuate his order, he ignited his saberstaff, the dark orange light joining Invidia’s orange saberpike while both mixed with the darker red of Sagitta’s and Surdus’ lightsabers, doing little to dispel the shadows within the darkened cavern past the hole in the bulkhead.

Having each donned their cortosis helm, the four Darths ventured forth into the depths of the hollowed-out grotto adjacent to the super-max cells of The Tomb. They marched in diamond formation, each one covering two of their compatriots. Something very close to excitement tickled Obliquus’ throat. Perhaps it was fear? Regardless, these were raw, new emotions for him to savor.

He needed to tell his Darths what he knew…which in all honesty was next to nothing.

“There is a story that I heard about The Tomb, nothing corroborated.” He spoke quietly but swiftly while projecting his Force Senses outward. “Something escaped from the Maximum High-Security Cellblock, something that suppresses the Force.” Thankfully he’d gotten that last before his victim had died. “Do not hesitate. Do not rely only on the Force to stop this thing. Do not stay your hand.” His head swiveled from side-to-side, eyes scrutinizing everything from the rock strata along the walls to the prefabricated structures that looked so alien as to defy any kind of logical assumptions. “Kill this thing. Here. Now.”

He felt all three Darths nod in determination, each wrapped within the Force, each with an iron grip on their lightsabers as well as upon their emotions, mitigating even their expectations.

They needn’t have waited long.

As if teleporting in front of them, an enormous, obfuscated creature roared at them, attacking brutally, each Darth counter attacking with their weapons.

To little avail.

Obliquus saw as each plasma blade connected with the thing’s dark skin…only to stop short of penetrating. Even as each blade pulled back, the only evidence that it had been injured was a slight burning of the area.

But that was all.

“Saggita!” Obliquus yelled to be heard over the thing’s echoing roar. Acting immediately, the tall, pale woman raised a hand, brutal, violet lightning erupting forth, almost every arc connecting with the thing. However, just as with lightsaber strikes, the creature seemed resistant to Sith Lightning. The screams that resulted sounded more irritated than in pain, but now Saggita had its attention.

Good.

“Invidia!” The small woman sped towards the thing, her saberpike stabbing over and over again, one thrust hitting a red eye, temporarily blinding it. As she continued her offensive, Obliquus yelled again. “Surdus!” The enormous man ran up to the creature, each savage swing a powerful blow that threw the thing off-balance. But, again, it seemed virtually immune to lightsaber strikes.

As intended. He knew that they could not kill it–not with lightsabers nor with the Force–but perhaps they could trap it.

Obliquus quickly looked around, taking notice of the cavern’s sparse fabricated Rakatan structures. There, towards the center of the ceiling was a large gantry-looking construct. He just hoped that it would be enou–

Interlude-The Ars Ingens, part II(cont.)
(https://i.ibb.co/hYrngbf/Darth-Obliquus-1.png) (https://ibb.co/hYrngbf)(https://i.ibb.co/rFwnhgV/Darth-Surdus-1.jpg) (https://ibb.co/rFwnhgV)(https://i.ibb.co/sRRYVh4/Darth-Saggita-4.jpg) (https://ibb.co/sRRYVh4)(https://i.ibb.co/gtsxp21/Darth-Invidia-1.jpg) (https://ibb.co/gtsxp21)

Suddenly he found himself looking up from his back, his vision blurry and ringing in his ears. With an unsteady eye, he happened to locate two of his other Darths, Invidia and Saggita: they too had succumbed to what Obliquus thought was an explosion. As his mind attempted to make sense of it all, he heard another roar, this one coming from Surdus. For a split second, he turned his full attention to the gigantic man.

He’d lost his enormous lightsaber; instead, as he charged he barreled full-on into the creature. Raining down blow after armored blow, Surdus had momentarily stunned the thing, his pugilistic offensive seeming to have taken it unexpectedly. Obliquus took advantage of the reprieve.

Now he remembered: the creature had ducked behind a rock outcropping…only to suddenly lift the entire thing and send several tonnes of regolith speeding through the air as an impromptu missile. Thank the Emperor it hadn’t been something harder like andosite or granite…

Like him, both Invidia and Saggita were already recovering. Ignoring the pain and ringing, he yelled at them. “Help me!” He gestured above to the gantry. “PULL!”

Without acknowledging, they both joined his efforts, using the Force to Pull at the construct. From the corner of his eye, he saw that whatever advantage Surdus’ blitzkrieg had given him was no more: the creature and he were now grappling each other, their wrists pinned by the other’s hand. Faces centimeters from one another, they both roared in each other’s face…but Obliquus knew it was a futile gesture…

The creature was slowly overpowering Surdus, even with his power armor.

In a rare display of emotion, Obliquus shouted again. “By the Emperor, PULL!!” Gritting his teeth, he saw the same determination in the faces of Invidia and Saggita. Sweat and blood threatened to blind them, the exertion through the Force only exacerbating their injuries, some grievous.

Time seemed to slow: millimeter by millimeter, the stanchion connecting the gantry to the cavern ceiling began to weaken, bend, and finally fail, the entire structure falling as tonnes of durasteel were Pulled down.

Simultaneously, Obliquus thrust his hand forth as a focal point, sending a potent, focused Force Push directly at Surdus. The telekinetic force hit him square, breaking their lock and propelling him away from the creature and directly at the far cavern wall. Sweating profusely, Obliquus attempted to mitigate the large man’s inertia, balancing both Push and Pull so as not to inadvertently liquify his organs. He was mostly successful. Mostly.

Surdus' armored body hit the rock hard enough to send up a cloud of dirt and pebbles, that self-same armor protecting him from the worst of the impact, although he still bit his tongue.

In a booming display of destruction, the durasteel gantry crashed down to the cavern floor, squarely upon the creature. The resulting roar was deafening, so much so that Obliquus couldn’t be certain that it had come from the collapse, the creature, or a combination of the two.

Blinded from a mix of sweat, blood, and the dirt cloud kicked up by the gantry’s impact, Obliquus waved his hand to dispel the dust, coughing. Pain, sharp and sudden, erupted from his side. He wondered how many ribs he’d broken…and it was possible that one of his lungs had collapsed…

“My lord…” Darth Saggita’s voice sounded as if it were underwater. An armored hand emerged from his blurred vision, quickly followed by another, both slender. Good, Invidia and Saggita had survived as well. Together they helped him to his feet.

“Slowly, Obliquus. It looks as if you’ve had the worst of it.” Darth Invidia’s tone was less haughty than it usually was, her dark eyes almost looking concerned from underneath her helmet. “I’ll administer a kolto subdural.” She muttered, already prepping the injection. The results were immediate; he felt markedly better, if not exactly fine.

“Surdus…” He croaked, coughing again, spitting blood. At least the kolto would take care of any internal injuries. It would just take some time.

“Here, lord.” The enormous man staggered into view, his armor scored and dented but intact and working. Blood flowed freely from a large laceration to his head, running from crown to below his brow but he looked otherwise no worse for the wear. “What, by the Emperor’s ghost, was that?” He said as he injected his own kolto subdural.

Three sets of eyes turned towards Obliquus. “From what I was told, some Republic experiment gone wrong.” Tentatively, he breathed deeply, feeling only burning from his side. He idly wondered how long he would’ve been able to breathe absent one lung…

“Come on, Obliquus, don’t keep us in suspense.” Invidia’s mood had returned to normal, its scathing overtone conspicuous. Yet, she had not stopped with her Force Healing, her armored fingers lightly touching his cuirass. Ironic that the sadistic woman was so talented with Force Healing.

“A hybrid, of sorts.” He inhaled again, the pain but a twinge. “Feeorin, Dashade, and something else… Grew beyond their expectations and their control so they dropped it in the deepest part of The Tomb and forgot about it.” His voice trailed off as the memory of the scientist that Obliquus had interrogated solidified in his mind. He’d been most helpful…

…At least after he’d been completely broken.

“Well that explains somethings like its durability and Force resistance.” Surdus barked an ironic laugh. He’d found his lightsaber and held it ignited in his hand. Standing in front of the gantry wreckage, it dwarfed even him. Staring where the creature had vanished beneath the durasteel, his quiet voice seemed to reverberate through the chamber. “Can that thing be killed?”

Yes, that was the question, Obliquus asked himself just that. “I don’t know…” He spoke with uncharacteristic uncertainty. Perhaps with more study…

“My lord…” Saggita’s voice echoed from deeper in the cavern. He had not realized that she was no longer next to him. Curiosity and something akin to anticipation percolated from his stomach. Could this be what he seeked…?

He strode over to Saggita, both Invidia and Surus flanking him. As they approached the tall woman, Obliquus saw that she was bent over something. No, not “something” but rather “someone.” Even though it was difficult to discern details in the dark and with his blurry vision, Obliquus could see that they’d found their objective. Excellent.

"I've tried talking to her but so far no response." Saggita remarked, eyes pitiless. Obliquus wasn't surprised. He tried a different tactic instead.

“Ttsykk dqqa mii xu’wttoq’l al’qwvi’baljj¹” His guttural intonation of the Old Tongue was perfect, from inflection to morphology, although it sounded slightly off to his own ears. The kolto hadn’t had time to heal his hearing yet.

(https://i.ibb.co/dm79KBy/Servant-Six-3.jpg)

From beneath where Saggita was kneeling was a humanoid, its red skin and daemonic features typical of the species: a Sith Pureblood. Before, she'd been completely unresponsive and all but incurious to them. But as soon as she heard him speaking Sith... Slowly, her eyes opened, looking from Saggita to Surdus to Invidia and, finally, to Obliquus, lucid and aware. “So…the Emperor’s Leviathans have finally come for me…” She wheezed, face contorting in pain. Obliquus looked from the woman’s face, focusing on her body for the first time.

Or rather what remained.

She was missing her entire right arm to the shoulder, her entire right leg to the hip, and most of her left leg from above where her knee should’ve been. Looking back at her face, Obliquus saw that she was also missing pieces of her right ear, cheek, and cheek tendril, exposing jagged teeth and gums.

“Another week and I would no longer be able to greet you properly.” She laughed sardonically, gesturing with her unadulterated left arm. Coughing, her sunken, pale red chest was racked with spasms.

“What happened?” Invidia sounded more curious than anything else, directing Healing with one hand and administering a kolto subdural with the other.

Before the Sith Pureblood could answer, a booming voice provided it. “The creature was eating her.” Surdus deduced, the large man casually stroking his bearded chin.

Smiling a rictus grin, the Sith Pureblood gave a curt nod. “He’d already plundered the entire floor’s food storage…and I was one of the lucky victims he’d abducted only recently… It broke my back in several places, incapacitating me… He then began with my feet…and my fingers…always while I was conscious…I saw it finish off several others as it…consumed us at random…” Again, she gestured with her left arm, pointing to one of the near corners of the cavern.

Obliquus could see a collection of bones littering the area, picked entirely clean of flesh, skeletons large and small were thrown together in a loose heap. Human bones, Togruta, Twi’lek, Cathar, Trandoshan scales…it appeared that the creature had even consumed a Herglic adult and child…

Mentally shaking his head, Obliquus focused on the matter at hand. “We need your help. The Ars Ingens seeks the Emperor but have been unable to find him. I believe that you can assist us in that task…” Obliquus’ stare seemed to pin the Sith Pureblood fast. “...Servant Six.”

Laying her head down upon the ground, the Sith Pureblood seemed to relax. “It’s been so long…” The pain appeared to drain from her pale red face. “I…I haven’t been able to hear our Emperor for several years now…but I can still feel him.” She admitted.

Obliquus was not surprised. It was said that all the Servants could do just that; in fact, that was the precise reason that he and his Darths had repatriated this Servant Six. She would lead the Ars Ingens in the search for their Emperor.

“Yes you will perform your duty, Servant Six.” Obliquus pronounced, a feeling close to excitement beginning to take root. “And as the Emperor’s Leviathans, we of the Ars Ingens will inaugurate a new Sith Empire for our Emperor…” Absently, he rubbed his hands upon his armor, as if to wash away the dirt from this accursed place.

Now that they’d found Servant Six, he wanted to be away from The Tomb, indeed from Belsavis altogether. And the sooner, the better. His hearing was improving; he thought he could hear the grinding of Servant Six’s exposed teeth. It was almost interesting. Finally, they could begin in earnest.

“Our search starts now.”
__________________________________________________________________
1. "Ttsykk dqqa mii xu’wttoq’l al’qwvi’baljj": Sith for “Next time in the Emperor’s Glory.”

(https://i.ibb.co/8DPXZdt/Young-Jorya-2.png)
Chapter 5: A Brief Time In History, part I
Surrounded by the blue quantum tunnel, Fenris’ Dirge slid through its transit in hyperspace, the black quandranium armor reflecting the blueshift across its hull.

Much like its occupant reflecting upon her past.

Sitting cross legged on the deck in nothing but a bodysheath, D’Aylanna listened to the quiet thrum reverberating through the ship as she used her downtime to Meditate but, invariably, her thoughts returned time and again to Jorya.

Her daughter.

Inhaling, her fingers and bare toes flexed in the muted light within her cabin. ...I must do what is required… She repeated like a mantra.

…And yet, memories of her daughter, adored and beloved, crept into her thoughts, threatening to overwhelm her. ...Stop this… Mentally she castigated herself. Making herself breathe, D’Aylanna sought to embrace the serenity of the Force. Stretching her neck, rolling her shoulders, and flexing her toes, she slowly exhaled in the hopes of centering herself and restoring her calm.

But tranquility was ephemeral, like sand slipping through her fingers. Taught muscles refused to relax, her mind racing while every recent memory of Gaetana’s possession of Jorya¹ replayed over and over again. She frowned and with uncharacteristic frustration cursed.

By the Maker, it was so difficult to reconcile her emotions with her obligations… She could feel the anger from within, hot flames of injustice burning the restorative cooling she desperately sou–

Her breath caught in her throat, the rage that promised to supplement the interminable sadness doused with the realization of her epiphany.

Suddenly, it became so clear…

Relaxing, her shoulders slumped, her heart slowed, and her chaotic thoughts calmed. She’d been mistaken to think that avoidance was the answer. No, what she must needs do–what was absolutely required--was to accept.

She would burn each memory of her daughter into her mind, keep it, cherish it, and love every single second spent with her. She would honor her accomplishments, take pride in her actions, and be grateful for her sacrifice.

Closing her eyes, she thought back, back to one of the first experiences with Jorya in which she’d felt incredibly proud of the young Togruta.

Oyuna Chan’dn had been Kage then and had charged Zearic to mentor Jorya as his newly acquired teidowan. She was not even a teen at that time. And yet the strength of character she’d demonstrated…

Wistfully she smiled. Jorya had always had a strong personality, something her Shakal would often attribute to D’Aylanna accompanied with a wink and a smile. But it was testament to her daughter that the young Togruta possessed an innate sense of honor even at such a young age.

D’Aylanna remembered her comm pinging, surprised by who was on the other end.

“Forgive me, Maenowan D’Aylanna, I was looking for Silver Knight Zearic Vih’Torr but he’s not answering his comm.” Master Gray Sheval Marras’ voice held a preoccupied tone, unsurprising given that his Psychometry was almost always active.

“I’m afraid that my husband is currently off-planet. Perhaps I can help you?” She offered, only slightly concerned what the call could mean.

“Ah. In that case, if you don’t mind, maenowan I’m afraid that your presence is needed here at the Strykka Annix Dormitory. It involves your husband’s teidowan.”

Her curiosity piqued, D’Aylanna informed the Gray Master that she would be there post-haste. Taking one of Zona’Uhladv’s many hyperloop cars, she arrived at the Order’s extensive teidowan barracks, the sinuous organic architecture of the buildings easily distorting the difference between the natural and the artificial. It was a testament to the living nature of the planet and the Vhal’Dan Order’s conscious efforts to marry form, function, and harmony.

From the hyperloop car, D’Aylanna made her way into the largest building, taking turn after turn effortlessly (unsurprising given her eidetic memory) where she soon found herself in the Dean’s Office. “Ah, Maenowan D’Aylanna, thank you for your promptness.” Master Sheval Marras’ distracted tone was usually off-putting to many; for the diminutive Hapan maenowan she merely took it in stride.

“Of course. Now, what is this all about?” She arched a thin eyebrow, dark eyes already having taken in the scene: her husband’s teidowan was sitting on one side, back ramrod straight while the young Togruta stared defiantly at the three boys sitting opposite her. Next to Jorya was a small, skinny initiate that was close to the Togruta’s age, certainly no older than 12.

No, D’Aylanna told herself, that wasn’t precisely correct: those “boys” were at least 15 and she was certain that one of them was only a month or two from 18… Regardless, one and all of the three looked as if they’d been in a speeder crash, bruised, bloody noses, and black eyes all conspicuous.

Interesting.

“Maenowan, I’m afraid that Teidowan Fah was involved in an altercation between her fellow teidowans.” His tone had an undercurrent of sorrow although D’Aylanna was certain that it was little more than an affectation.

Master Marras was an adequate if not outstanding bureaucrat…but not what D’Aylanna would consider a competent counselor

“Was she now?” D’Aylanna said while her intense stare bored holes into the three teenagers. Stepping away from Master Marras, she stood directly in front of one of the three battered teidowans, the oldest. “What happened?” The directness of her question surprised the human teidowan, the youngest as it was.

“Erm…that is, Maenowan…we were just messing around with our friend–”

“That’s a lie. They were beating on h–” Jorya didn’t shout but her voice nevertheless cut through.

Without a word, D’Aylanna held up a hand to silence her, eyes never leaving the three teenagers. She’d seen them flinch at the accusation. She continued to stare at the teidowan; unsurprisingly he averted his gaze downwards, unable to meet her steely eyes. When next he spoke, his voice was just above a whisper.

“I…I’m sorry, Maenowan. I…I…it wasn’t my idea!” He said the last as a squeal, almost as if he couldn’t get the truth out fast enough.

The oldest teidowan tried to shout at the youngest while declaring his innocence…until D’Aylanna pointed her finger at him. Immediately he fell silent.

“You needn’t say anything; I already know what happened.” Without looking at the initiate she pointed at him. “You three teidowans were hazing this young initiate. Teidowan Fah then intervened. After her considerate appeal, you three thought better of your questionable actions and decided to work off your aggressions against the nearest wall. Then you all suddenly fell down around Teidowan Fah’s feet.” She stared at each bruised teidowan in kind, her voice never once raising in volume.

She then turned to Master Marras. “There was no altercation; this was all just a misunderstanding.” Without looking away, she spoke over her shoulder at the three teenages. “Is that not correct, teidowans?” From the corner of her eye, she saw Jorya’s face frown…before a thin smile slowly spread.

The three teidowans looked from each other and back before looking between D’Aylanna, Master Marras, and the floor, identical masks of chagrin emerging on their faces. “Yes, Maenowan Vih’Torr.” They glumly said in unison.

“You see, Master Marras. Nothing amiss here.” D’Aylanna’s unwavering gaze bored into the taller Kiffar Master.

Blinking a few times, he seemed almost at a loss for words. “I…” He actually seemed to be completely focused on the task at hand. Incredible. “I… Yes. Yes, I see. Sorry to have bothered you, Maenowan.” He gave Jorya a final blinking look, almost in askance before his perpetual distracted mien returned. “You teidowans are dismissed.”

D’Aylanna waited patiently as first Master Marras disappeared from the room quickly followed by the three battered teenagers. She noticed that Jorya had taken the time to speak to the young initiate, his face radiating gratitude. “Jorya, please come with me.” She said patiently after allowing the two of them a moment to speak. Dutifully, she followed D’Aylanna, quickly falling into step beside her, the two almost of a height despite Jorya’s youth.

They walked in silence for a time, D’Aylanna leading them towards the dormitory gardens, the vibrant blue-green palm fronds beautifully contrasting with the grayish-beige of the rock strata while the pleasant, subtle aroma of cherry-apples permeated the air.

“Master, you know that it was me that beat them up…but why did you let them go unpunished?” Jorya asked as they came to a small-yet-wide, wooden bridge.

“So you think that they went unpunished, teidowan?” D’Aylanna did not quite smile. Instead she looked across the calm pool of the shallow lake, the cirrus clouds reflected in the azure waters. “You and I both know that those cuts, scuffs, and bruises did not come from a wall, regardless of what they agreed to.” She stopped in the middle of the bridge, looking deep into Jorya’s blue eyes. “I already know what happened but I would like to hear what you have to say.”

If Jorya was surprised, she hid it well…almost as well as any woman of House Royal. Her estimation of the Togruta went up.

“They were picking on him, Master, bullying him…because he was smaller, weaker, and alone. I…I couldn’t just do nothing.” Jorya’s teeth gritted, her slender hands balling into fists. “It…it made me angry. The three of them against one…and they’re older–bigger too!--and to act as mean as they did…” When she stared into D’Aylanna’s eyes, Jorya gave as good as she got. “It wasn’t right. I know Master Zearic would agree with me.” She exhaled, as if releasing all the pent-up rage that she felt. “It just wasn’t…it’s not right.”

D’Aylanna remembered being impressed although she’d kept her face completely impassive. “Yes, Jorya: you are correct. Their intimidation of the initiate was completely wrong.” Jorya smiled suddenly, a brief look of triumph spreading across her face. But only briefly. “However, you are also at fault. Not because you stood up against them; it is only just to do so in the face of such tyranny. No, you are culpable of re-acting, doing so out of anger.” She paused, scrutinizing Jorya’s face for understanding.

What she saw did not only surprise her, it impressed her further still.

Jorya’s mouth thinned, not out of anger but rather realization. “I…yes, Master. I understand. I…I should not have reacted; I should’ve found a…a more peaceable solution.” Her head lowered, her lips trembling for the first time since D’Aylanna had seen her that day. “I…I am sorry, Master. I…I dishonored Master Zearic.” She looked up, staring straight into D’Aylanna’s eyes. “I have dishonored you.” However, she did not cry.

D’Aylanna remembered that was the first time she’d felt such pride in Jorya, not only as a teidowan but also as her & her husband’s ward, not to mention exemplary of the incredible young woman that she would become.

D’Aylanna gave one of her special, rare smiles, the kind that she reserved only for her Shakal and her Father Kazic. Reaching out, she gently touched Jorya’s shoulder. “No, Dear One. Your courage honors our Family.” She held both of the Togruta’s orange hands in her dark ones. “As far as your mistake, that is how we learn, Dear One. I have made several myself.” D’Aylanna suddenly laughed, a sonorous, comforting sound. “By the Maker, your own master has experienced his own lifetime of mistakes! But your instincts, your character…they are unimpeachable.” She held Jorya at arms length, a serene look upon her face. “Remember Jorya: there are no perfect people, only perfect intentions.”

It was the first time that Jorya had hugged her, a tight, sincere embrace that immediately evinced D’Aylanna of Family.

Where once before it had been only her Shakal and Father Kazic–the only people that she considered Family–in her time within the Vhal’Dan…

…She now felt the natural conclusion of her husband’s apprentice. No, she was more than that, much more.

D’Aylanna had found herself including Jorya in that small, small circle of beings that she loved completely as a family. Her Family.

   <<<<< >>>>>

{{{With the most minor of edits, this is LSG's writing :) This chapter is dedicated to him!}}}
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(https://i.ibb.co/2sdqqkm/EB8-D4-DC7-257-F-4238-B332-DD0-A33-F01541.jpg)

They felt the blip of energy ahead, and after it a gust of pent up Dark Force Energies, like the rancid breath of a drunkard from Mamzer Station washing over their faces.

Zearic winced at the hideous sensation unfortunately amplified to his senses by the Triad union that sharpened everything.

...Emperor’s Black bones...! he nearly gagged.

If this was what the Imperials were looking for, they were more than welcome to keep it, if they could stomach it…Maker only knew he didn’t want it to come anywhere near him…but his Primus was already moving ahead, Olyna biting back the bile, feeling this was the reason the Cataphracts specifically had been sent.

They were the Sword and Shield, vanquishers of Shadow Warriors, Sith and Votarii, more than any of the Vhal’Dan they could withstand whatever infection this Imperial offshoot sought.

Covering each other, beskar breakers and gauntlet cannons ready they swept forward toward the light that exuded a foul oil of death and decay, blanketing their Force senses, and hopefully those of the being they were tracking.

[Stealth!] Sio quickly sent across, each of the Catpahracts rapidly reactivating their Stealth Field Generators and hugging the walls crouching. Mere seconds later two micro drone searchers sped past.

Their scan of the facility done they were returning to Kintik, gliding through the dim unlit ranks of rectangular block to their masters belt once more weighty with Data.

His saber ignited, Kintik touched it to the coals in a large brazier. A crimson light spread as crackling flames along lines of coals around the wall illuminating the room, revealing the callous cruel gaze of Valkorion looking down upon them all, resplendent in his Imperial Regalia, robes that hung in perfect folds suspended forever in stone of a distant world brought here to forever watch over his Phalanx until the day they were needed.

Rank upon rank upon rank, this was not a tomb but a barracks Kintik realized as he looked behind him over the hundreds of rectangular upright slabs, his quick eyes counting, from the central path to Valkorion’s statue, 50 by 70 on each side. 3,500 soldiers frozen in time.

Not all had survived, he realized now able to walk along the “front” row. The Carbonite had flaked and cracked on some, leaving hideously unintentionally mummified bodies half falling out of their slumber into death, explaining the more pungent Force energies, but as he walked along the full length he found on the row of 70 it was only 8. He estimated roughly 10-20 percent had perished in total from the ravages of time, still astonishing given this couldn’t be less than 3500 years old.

The rooms his searchers had mapped were all somewhat smaller than this, most likely 50 by 50 troops, a total of just over 10,000

“Phalanx of the Unbroken Gaze, 10,000 Eyes Watch ceaselessly…” He whispered to himself.   The description had been accurate on that…now the rest he recalled dealt with “Awakening.”

There were no control panels on the slabs, the technology in that era likely only froze and thawed beings on an industrial scale, unless there was some mechanism he was unaware of within the facility, it would require very careful searching and analysis, and even then he could not simply awaken a Sith Army of millennia past and expect them to obey him…

No, there must be a mechanism of control, something they were yet to find… Returning to the statue he noted some large urns, text etched beneath the statue in the same dialect; good even if he couldn’t translate it himself it would more than triple the textual fragments they had, Mercet’s pet would surely be able to derive a translation efficacy over 80 percent with that.

But the vastness of the undertaking…the Irkalla would not be enough, the Gehenna itself was needed to bring the materiel and manpower necessary to carefully excavate this site.

Ah but other thoughts ran through his mind: had Lord Sidious known the extent of this? Admittedly 10,000 men was a drop in the Imperial Ocean, but if this was only the first of numerous other caches the Wayfinder pointed to… How many more troops were there to be awakened, what skills did they have, was it possible they were all Force Sensitive warriors!

The blankness of his face contrasted immeasurably with his rapidly spinning mind, one imagining his Lord Sidious’ foresight and knowledge, one that contemplated the practicalities and possibilities…

…Till the slightest puff of red sand from the floor in the crimson light caught his attention.

   <<<<< >>>>>
_________________________________________________________________
1. As seen back in “Queen&Marquesa, Executioner&Cataphract CH.16 ‘Death, A Necessary End, Will Come When It Will Come, part III:” https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=48094.msg801130#msg801130 (https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=48094.msg801130#msg801130)

(https://i.ibb.co/HPJYvFx/Jorya-20.png)
Chapter 5: A Brief Time In History, part II
D’Aylanna was suddenly surprised when she felt a wet drop fall upon her soft, dark sole, her delicate toes twitching from the contact. She hadn’t realized that she was crying.

True, there was not a preponderance of tears nor was she sobbing, but she felt the awful pangs of regret, sadness, and misery deep in the pit of her stomach. By the Maker, D’Aylanna suddenly wondered how it was that her eyes had produced only a few drops of tears instead of the deluge that roiled within her. It seemed to her that with each single drop she felt an ocean’s worth of sorrow.

But…it must needs be done.

This–THIS--was how she would honor and remember her daughter AND still be able to do what was required.

...Another memory, another example… She thought to herself, something else to galvanize her resolve.

That was easy; she knew precisely when she’d felt that epiphany of pride and love for her daughter.

It was just before her Trial of the Dragon Cave when Jorya was on the cusp of graduating as a teidowan and ascending to the rank of Gray Knight.

They had just celebrated Jorya’s fifteenth Life Day and during those years she had progressed by leaps and bounds, always within the top of her class, indeed as one of the most remarkable teidowans that the Vhal’Dan had produced. There were whispers that she had within her the makings of another Stryka Annix or even Sulen Rue Lai and that Jorya would be the strongest Gray Jedi in generations!

…If not for D’Aylanna already having done so before her.

Nevertheless, the fact that the newly-raised Master Gray D’Aylanna Vih’Torr was one of Jorya’s mentors and instructors was often cited as one of the reasons for her tremendous growth.

But as far as D’Aylanna was concerned, she and her Shakal had something much, much more important to implement.

She remembered waiting in their shared apartments with her Zearic, the both of them casually relaxing in their solarium, drinking in the comfortable sunlight shining through the filtered ceiling-to-floor windows. Sitting on one of the aircouches in the solarium on her knees behind her Shakal, her dark bare feet tucked under her, D’Aylanna messaged her husband’s broad shoulders.

“...By the Maker that’s good…” Her Zearic whispered, his hot chocolate forgotten on the organic kaf-table. Smiling knowingly, D’Aylanna said nothing as she worked her small fingers at one of the many persistent knotted muscles in his back.

“So…” She began innocently, “...How did your training with Master Praney fair?” Praney Torsin was Nexu Master of the Water Warriors and had been assessing possible candidates for entry. The first trial? The candidate in question had to fight him without being eliminated in the first minute.

Her Shakal grunted. “I didn’t even last 45 seconds.” Turning his head, he peaked over his shoulder. “But you already knew that, didn’t you Ereneda?” He chuckled, producing a smile from her.

“You’re getting better.” She reassured, meaning it. “I’m sure in no ti–” She cut off suddenly as her superior hearing caught the sound of the front portal of their apartments quietly opening.

“I’m home!” Jorya’s voice carried into the solarium. “Mother, Father? Where are you guys?” D’Aylanna heard the Togruta’s boots hit the floor as she removed them, getting comfortable within her home, a tradition that they’d learned from Father Kazic.

“In the solarium, Jorya.” Her Shakal called back, sitting up on the aircouch to face Jorya when she entered the expansive-yet-comfortable room. Delicately, D’Aylanna readjusted to sit beside her husband, her fingers gently grasping the thin neck of the crystal flute filled with an indigenous Hapan vintage, one of the few comforts from her former home that she allowed herself.

In no time, Jorya entered the solarium, her own soft orange feet making no sound as she sat across from them in a comfortable chair that she’d made her own over the years. During that time, she’d gone from slightly shorter than D’Aylanna to almost her Shakal’s height, her lekku almost a full 20 centimeters longer.

Draping her outer tunic on the back, she gracefully sank into the chair, sitting cross legged. “By the Maker that’s good…” She whispered as her hands kneaded at her sore feet.

D’Aylanna and Zearic shared a secret look, one that Jorya noticed.

Head cocked, her eyes narrowed. “...OK, what’s going on?” Her fingers expertly continued as the pain in her feet slowly melted away.

Her Shakal answered. “Dear One, I’ve been speaking to your Mother.” Slowly he exhaled. “She and I needed to talk to you about something.” He stared at her with his strange and beautiful hazel eyes.

Jorya’s hands paused. “...Sounds serious.”

“It is.” D’Aylanna insisted, her dark eyes piercing as she absently stroked her fingers along her husband’s forearm. She knew that Jorya had never heard such a tone within her voice.

For once Jorya sounded uncertain, a pensive look spreading across her face. “...What is it?”

Her Shakal did his own part, a half-frown furrowing his brow. “As I said, we’ve been talking…” He sighed theatrically, Jorya hanging onto his every word as his voice lowered half an octave. “...Jorya, there’s no way around this.” A hint of worry began to radiate from the Togruta, as she sat properly in the chair with her feet flat on the floor. Her Shakal shook his head. “We’ve been speaking and…” Again he paused for effect, “...And we would like to formally adopt you, Jorya.” As he spoke her name, he finally smiled, adding a wink for good measure. It was at this time that D’Aylanna’s own serene mask dropped entirely, her full blue lips spreading in a beautiful smile of her own.

For her part–as Jorya was hanging on every word–she blinked twice before barking a laugh. “You…I…” Grabbing at her tunics behind her, Jorya flung them at her Shakal. “You really had me worried, you gorg-face!” But D’Aylanna noticed that the Togruta’s blue eyes were watery. No surprise there; D’Aylanna tried to blink back her own unshed tears.

Then Jorya jumped up from her chair and into her Shakal’s thick arms. Wrapping them around Jorya’s slender back, he turned his head to smile at D’Aylanna, tears unashamedly rolling down his cheeks and wetting his beard. It was all that D’Aylanna could do not to cry harder with joy.

Instead, she leaned forward, holding them both in her arms (or at least as far as they could go). She had spoken with her Shakal the day before, knowing what he would say even before speaking to him.

After all, Jorya was already their daughter.

“Mothe…Mom…Dad…I love you both so much!” She laughed as tears covered her own cheeks. Her Zearic just hugged her that much closer, joining in with their daughter’s laughter. “I would love to be part of your family!”

Her Shakal warmly smiled. “Dear One, you already are.” He said kindly, quietly.

And as his eyes looked over, his gaze found hers. They didn’t need to say anything; D’Aylanna already knew.

They’d been truly blessed in this life to find their Father Kazic and, eventually, each other. And now their family had grown again.

D’Aylanna smiled as tears slowly fell from her own eyes, love and contentment surrounding, inundating, and uniting them.

A daughter. Her daughter. A joy that she’d never hoped to experience; a joy that she’d always silently prayed for…

A prayer that had been finally answered.

<<<<< >>>>>

Special thanks to LSG; with but a small amount of edits, this is his writing :) This chapter is dedicated to him!
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(https://i.ibb.co/ccL4DQd/Zearic-Armor-Lightsaber-7.jpg)
Chapter 5: A Brief Time In History, part III
...Shavit… Zearic groaned knowing they were busted.

The Secundus had never seen or heard of a place like this, hundreds of beings in Carbonite like some sick Bounty Hunter’s twisted collection, but they were all uniformed in archaic armour, staring ahead with unflinching focus.

Kintik pretended not to notice the intrusion, continuing to inspect a lone Carbonite block at the head of the ranks, most likely the leader, carved along the top edge in the Sith’ari Variant was what he roughly translated as “First Blade” or “Prime Sword” of the 10,000.

A plan formed in the Triad Meld: Olyna and Sio would remain hidden and take as many recordings and artifacts as they could, Zearic would deal with the Imperial once he decided to stop pretending. Their one advantage was that while the Imperial knew someone was there, he didn’t yet know who, and most importantly how many.

Zearic swept quickly and quietly between the slabs using them as cover to close in, his daggers and Balmung tingling to unleash. IF a fight were to break out his best strategy would be to hit like a mag-train with the full force of his physical strength and daggers in as short a time as possible to make sure this Darksider didn’t have time to use any powers.

The Executor was unsure whether this intruder was some kind of defence mechanism he had awoken or a spy, certainly any member of the military would announce themselves to him. He could not discount either, and the deep dark decay of this place, whilst it yielded intense potential Force power to draw on, was also overwhelmingly strong, dulling his senses as it crowded out all other subtle sensation he might detect.

“I know you are there…” Kintik finally spoke his saber at his side still blazing red as the eldritch fire that cast crimson shadows between the slabs, the rest of the Triad working to record all they could as swiftly as possible, Sio eyeing the urns at the far end hoping Zearic could draw the Darksider away long enough from him to swoop and grab some of the contents.

“Reveal yourself!” The Executor finally shouted as if impatient.

With a rapid spin Kintik unleashed a gale force blast that sent the accumulated dust of centuries blasting off the still features and floor between the slabs, his quick eyes seeing where the dust recalculated in the air unnaturally just as Zearic had been rolling cover to cover.

...Shavit…! The stealth field was still active but now he was a very obvious invisible blob moving through a dust storm, one that Kintik immediately sought to grab with the Force.

Zearic pushed against the invisible hand with his own powers, cracking the durasteel grip effectively enough that Kintik cautiously approached, the first strike having only been testing the resolve and strength of his opponent.

Power draining, Zearic deactivated the stealth generator and resorted to more conventional means moving between the numerous slabs to avoid being seen, his fully armoured size barely able to hide behind a single slab, but never for long as Kintik stalked between the rows sniffing him out.

The Secundus had only to buy time, Olyna had already obtained detailed scans of twelve slabs and a small sample from some of the mummified remains, Sio was capturing text etched along the lower walls and moving to the vast Statue and urns beneath as Zearic drew the Darksider away.

Kintik moved swiftly with his guard high and ready, his quarry darting between rows trying to avoid him. He was beginning to get tired of this game of–

The Executor cut off his next step realizing why. ...He is drawing me away from the statue…

He spun round to see a bulky armoured form gingerly lifting the lid of one of the large urn.

Battle erupted across the mausoleum like barracks: Kintik hurled his saber at Sio’s back with the Dark Side speeding it beyond sound, Zearic rammed slabs on either side over creating a domino effect as he burst down onto Kintik.

Snapping round the saber scraped and sparked against Sio’s heavy armour, nano-polymer filling the gouge, Kintik’s saber setting adequate for most light armour types yet insufficient to penetrate Cataphract plate.

The Executor flipped back as his spine turned to ice, avoiding the heavy fist of Zearic, the Secundus wishing to avoid playing his full hand of weaponry for the moment, the servo and Force powered fist instead smashing yet another slab over adding to the cascade of falling frozen warriors, the dull thud of their impacts echoing through the chamber.

No sooner had Sio staggered back up from the kinetic shock than Kintik’s saber was back in his hand and swinging at Zearic. It was obvious to the Executor now these were interlopers, their heavy aesthetic matched nothing in the vault and a guardian would not be causing indiscriminate damage.

Zearic bounced back on his heels waiting for an opening that never came, running down the seconds to let Sio and Olyna secure the exit and grab what they could. Kintik was well aware it was a distraction, but he could not risk taking his focus off the immediate hulking brute before him.

Realizing he would slip up before the Darksider did Zaeric shouldered into a blow allowing his thick pauldron to take the hit as he swept up Balmung, the dark blue blade humming to life as she grunted off the blow and swung up.

Kintik immediately retreated back, wanting to be nowhere near the enormous beskar breaker, the blade width at least twice that of his own saber and half a length longer, fitting for his opponent but enormous to him.

Zearic drove at the Executor with strong but simple katas as Olyna and Sio fell back.

“You’ve nowhere to run, surrender and I may show mercy!” Kintik snapped as he felt the full impact of Zearic strength ripple through his skeleton as he blocked a heavy blow from the Secundus. Zearic offered no reply but that of his blade hammering forward, Olyna flashing a lamp on her helm to show they had the exit secured.

Unfortunately, Zearic was on the wrong side of Kintik to get there.

Both were tentative in their blows, Kintik well aware there was at least one more Heavy Infantry nearby, but also quickly realizing they were trying to retreat, Zearic likewise wanting to escape but cautious about what diplomatic ramifications drawing blood might have, a wariness and caution built over his many trials causing him to pull his punches.

There was simply too much they did not know, and too much at risk if an irreversible step was taken.

Kintik for his part wanted one of these warriors alive if possible, but knew, with the light equipment he had–perfect for exploring tight ruins–it was unlikely he could breach their thick plate. But other resources were available to him.

The Dark Side was old and thick here, easy to draw on for the Executor who began to take a strong lead as the surprise of the beskar breaker waned.

Crimson and blue clashed as they fought between ancient stone eyes, Balmung taking chunks of carbonite when it missed, Kintik only scratching the Cataphract armour's surface quickly repaired by nanites.

“Put him down Zearic!” Olyna demanded, it would be hard enough getting back through the Imperial camp if they hadn’t been alerted, let alone if they had!

No more time to lose Zearic let the chain upon the Curse of Balmung slip a few feet, the noxious blood that had long since stained it harmonizing with his own to intensify his blows and speed. With a rapid stab, a mid-body swing, then overhand slash he forced Kintik on the defensive, the Executor grunting and feeling his muscles ache from taking the blows, fully realizing the pain even just blocking a Cataphract’s blow could cause.

But the Dark Side buoyed him up and knit otherwise torn muscle, switching to a single hand grip he took another breaker blow as he gripped the inert slabs nearby.

Auto-stabilizer micro-shocks in the Cataphract armour just kept Zearic upright as three huge slabs of Carbonite slammed into his back, Kintik seeing an opening and driving his blade into the join just under the left arm, cold heat searing through the micro-weave polymers and into the skin.

“AAAARGH” Primal fury drew Zearic’s hand to the Tenebris as he bashed aside a fourth Carbonite block with Balmung, Kintik pulling his saber and darting back to avoid the beskar breaker and summon a fifth Slab, didn’t see the lightless blade before Zearic burst forward with a reverse grip slash.

The Oblivion weapon sliced clean and quick through the Executor’s helm, the ultradense material considering the cortosis alloy no more impediment than a nerf butter, the keen edge slicing deep into Kintik’s cheek as he turned, the cut extending from the top right of his lip, under his eye, over his ear, ending halfway up his scalp. Simultaneously, Zearic pressed a small button on the palm of his gauntlet, but nothing seemed to happen.

That was when the fifth slab slammed Zearic aside just in time to prevent him adding pressure to the Tenebris cut, Kintik felt the warm heat of his sliced flesh part and blood flooding out, wrapping the Darkside in himself he grasped two slabs and took a full defensive stance.

Before Olyna was forced to intervene, regaining some composure Zearic lined his target and threw Balmung straight at the untouched urn behind Kintik.

“NO!” the Executor feeling the danger to the precious artifacts dropped the slabs and grabbed at the beskar breaker with the Force, the Curse of Balmung and Zearic’s own strength keeping it hovering in mid-air as Kintik reached out one hand to “hold” it.

Zearic rushed the Executor with the Tenebris and his weight, feeling the slab's impact had done more damage than he had realized as his enhanced body felt stiff and slow compared to its enduring peak. Kintik reacted swiftly, as the Tenebris sought his reaching arm, Kintik quickly dropped to his knees and thrust this saber upward, however clumsy and reactive it had the intended effect of slicing up through Zearics right thigh in the gap between the armour plates, the Dark Side guiding the Executors blow.

He grunted as he pushed the Tenebris into the Darksider’s bicep, dragging it out and along as he ran leaving another thin but painful wound in the Executor.

Pushing himself Zearic reached Olyna, Sio already ahead when he turned Balmungs momentum in an instant with a draining but effective micro teleport – all at once the saber was facing the opposite direction, and the newtons imparted by both Kintik and Zearic via the force working in the same direction sending it flying at incredible speed back to the Secundus ironically assisted by Kintik.

Catching the blade Zearic spun behind the doors Olyna was already pushing closed, the bleeding Executor gnashing his teeth as he pushed himself up in time to see the doors clang shut.

Olyna pressed both her hands forward infusing the door as best she could with kinetite energies to resist the Force blast that hit mere seconds later with a rumble.

“That should hold it!” She said, already moving with her Secundus.

Kintik growled and threw another wave of energy at the door, once more it resisted, but he could feel the “brightness" of the Force that held it dimming by another third.

Summoning up the dark side once more he pushed out another wave.

The door buckled and a large crack formed along the gap as he strode forward, slowed by stilling his bleeding wounds with the Force.

Zearic was doing little better with cauterized wounds in his shoulder and leg, Sio was already at the repulsor platform.

The Tertius helping him on board, they activated their stealth field generators, noting they had barely 20 percent charge left.

“We’ll need to run…hard…” Olyna noted as the platform rose, already taking out a grenade to affix to the repulsor once they got to the top.

“Twelve seconds,” She muttered, never once breaking stride.

Kintik saw the light of the shaft ahead–the repulsor platform unsurprisingly gone–when he spun under the opening to see the top of it high above him.

Then jumped back as it exploded.

<<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/qrLSfHH/Jorya-54.jpg)
Chapter 5: A Brief Time In History, part IV
D’Aylanna’s bittersweet smile mirrored the chaos of her emotions. Oh, she’d cooly kept an impassive mask securely upon her face–an innate survival technique that had been firmly entrenched since early childhood within the Hapan Court–but her emotions were anything but.

Death is lighter than a feather; Duty heavier than a planet

Even though the context of the Hapan axiom was meant for something far, far different, the fact remained that it was a truism for D’Aylanna in the here-and-now.

Just as Jorya too had done her duty when Kage Oyuna Chan’dn had tasked the Togruta to infiltrate and gather intel on the Sons of Kessel with Kenneniah Mack of the Mak’Tor².

As a newly promoted, full-fledged koawan, Jorya was given full autonomy commensurate with her rank. Yes, she was young (again, not so young as D’Aylanna had been but young nevertheless), but she’d proven herself during the Dark Singer Conflict³ against Jennira and her brood-thrall Melinchae.

Once again proving herself with (and amongst) the Sons.

D’Aylanna smiled wistfully, remembering the marked change within her daughter: from when she and Kenneniah had left they’d been almost exuberant in their eagerness.

Ah, the naivete of youth…

However, when Jorya had returned–with more surprising news that Kenneniah was engaged–she was no longer, to use her Skakal’s euphemism, so green.

Closing her eyes, D’Aylanna well remembered that day on Zonama Sekot listening to Jorya’s After Action Report from her chair as 7th Speaker of the Hall of Balance. From how the Sons were organized to their (then) seeming inexhaustible supply of materiel to their enigmatic enforcer Black Armor to the man himself, Scrubber.

The Sons had turned out to be many things…but they were not the terrorists that the Gray Convocation had assumed. Indeed, thanks in no small part to Jorya’s intel, they now knew that the Sons of Kessel were an anti-slavery group, one that had arisen as an autonomous power within Hutt Space. And while they were trained, the Sons were much more. Jorya had more than seen it; she’d lived it.

She had not spoken of them as something separate but instead with a sense of belonging.

Apropos of such, she’d seen action surrounded by the people that Jorya had come to respect and care for…and how she’d lost comrades. Yes, she’d seen death before, but this time it had been “closer” and “more real” (her words).

But that hadn’t been the worst…

It had only been later on that night within their apartments that Jorya had sought her out. Her Skakal had been busy helping Master Karmack so it was just the two of them.

“...Mom?” Jorya’s tentative voice was at complete odds with the confidence that she’d displayed in front of the Council of Balance earlier that day. D’Aylanna herself had been meditating on the floor of the Atrium, legs crossed as a honey-lavender incense stick burned slowly. Even in the setting sun, D’Aylanna’s brown bare shoulder seemed to glow with an innate warmth. “Mom?”

Without opening her eyes, she gestured for her daughter to enter. “Please, Dear One.” Lightly tapping her hand on the floor, she smiled. “Here: sit next to me.” Admittedly it had been awhile since she had Meditated with her.

Slipping her boots off, Jorya quietly sat opposite D’Aylanna, virtually mirroring her. Wrapped in the Force and in such close proximity, D’Aylanna could sense the unrest within her daughter.

“Breathe. Balance. Release that which ails you, my daughter.” D’Aylanna’s low voice was hypnotic, trying to assuage the unspoken trepidation affecting the Togruta’s aura. Through slitted eyes she saw the much taller young woman’s face try to relax. It worked. Somewhat.

Minute things–fingers tightly clasping then releasing, micro-figeting, her slightly ragged breathing–became apparent. Not that Jorya didn’t try…but whatever was bothering her would not be solved by Meditation.

Feeling that there was a better way, D’Aylanna opened her eyes fully, giving her daughter a small smile of comfort. “Dear One…” She offered, gently touching Jorya’s folded leg, “Please.” She said simply.

Jorya smiled wistfully before her lips began quivering, unshed tears in her eyes. “...Mom…it…I couldn’t…it was…it was…terrifying.” She said the last in a whisper, her head sinking so low that she was almost folded in half. Steadying herself with both of her hands on the ground on either side of her, she did not sob…but D’Aylanna could hear the soft, wet sounds of tears falling upon the floor.

“Please, Dear One…” She reached out, gently touching her daughter’s montrals. At D’Aylanna’s touch, Jorya seemed to calm down, taking comfort in her mother’s tenderness.

Slowly she inhaled, the breath seeming cathartic as she found her voice once again. “It…it was Black Armor. I…we...were in trouble, real danger…I didn’t know what…what to do…then…then…he appeared.” Jorya raised her head, her blue eyes staring deeply into D’Aylanna’s. “There…there was so…so much blood…” She shivered as she mentally relived the moment⁴, horror that she’d buried abruptly erupting forth. “I…I…” Her voice trailed off, quiet and suddenly small.

Drawing herself up upon her knees, D’Aylanna wrapped her daughter within her arms, the taller Togruta timidly seeking comfort in the warm embrace as if she were a small child. Softly, D’Aylanna began to sing a lullaby–a Hapan lullaby that she’d learned long ago when she herself was young–as she tenderly stroked her cheek.

“I have you, Dear One.” She assured her. “I am here. Father is always here for you. We’ll never abandon you…never stop loving you.” She glanced down at Jorya’s face, the healing weight of her words giving solace. Gently, D’Aylanna rocked back and forth, the hypnotic motion helping to bring serenity to her daughter. “I love you.” She whispered, her dark, slender hand delicately stroking Jorya’s face.

Jorya was one of the bravest people that D’Aylanna knew. And even now all these years later, she knew that the young woman was frightened by that incident…but she’d learned to accept the fear, to continue on despite the fear.

It made D’Aylanna love Jorya all the more.

Which helped her in the here-and-now: D’Aylanna knew that what she did she did because she loved Jorya. And she always would.

Finally D’Aylanna felt her apprehension evaporate away. As she knew she must, she would do that which was required. She would defeat Gaetana. And free her daughter.

She deserved nothing less. She loved her…

And always would.

<<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/N22DRfQ/06e46d3e-654e-5d1f-be3b-f632acec1f4f.webp)
Surrounded by darkness and the almost womb-like sounds deep within the ship of the hyperspace transit, Or’an was dealing with his own memories.

But unlike D’Aylanna’s peace, his elicited absolute terror.

He was back, back on Zonama Sekot, back with the Ferroans, back in the village. He had never experienced such beauty, such tranquility, such happiness, such life.

The Ferroans had accepted him, taken him in as one of their sacred own. It was the first time since crashlanding there that he’d felt a sense of belonging…

…A home.

But then came that night, the Gloaming of the Beast.

Even as horrible the memory he felt, his visage did not change, the carefully controlled mask that he perpetually wore firmly affixed.

And would remain so.

For even after the Gloaming, he’d been twice lucky: he’d some upon the Cataphract Triarch, Alcyorr. That and he’d been given a new purpose in life, one that only the Triarch could offer, that of the Hamask.

It was then that Or’an felt the dread and fury abate. Purpose. Duty. Existence.

He was Hamask. And, as always, his judgment was absolute.
_________________________________________________________________
2. As seen way back in “The Gray&the Unchained: The Cost of Freedom, CH.1 Missions:” https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=37226.msg606264#msg606264 (https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=37226.msg606264#msg606264)
3. As seen way back in “Shadow Etude, CH.14 Contrapasso, partI&II:” https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=36277.msg600542#msg600542 (https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=36277.msg600542#msg600542)
4. As seen way back in “The Gray&the Unchained: The Cost of Freedom, CH.6 Finagle's Law, part III:” https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=36277.msg600542#msg600542 (https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=36277.msg600542#msg600542)

(https://i.ibb.co/18L4QM2/Jorya-18.png)
Chapter 6: Captive Pursuits, part I
Sitting within the subdued confines of the large quarry, Gaetana took notice of the various rock strata, appreciative of the varied layers that made the stone of the room look as if it were painted. Unconsciously, she twirled a computer stylus in her hand, the long, slender cylinder dancing between her fingers as her attention switched from the geology of the room back to the holomonitor. As she did this, she idly stroked her cybernetic lekku with her other hand while focusing on the three sentients that looked both confused and frantic.

Unknown to (or even usually interested in) Gaetana, these were all idiosyncrasies that Jorya would adopt when deep in thought. It would have concerned her acutely…again, had she been conscious of such.

But she was not.

That wasn’t to say that it went unnoticed–it had been–just not by either Shard within Jorya’s captive body.

Instead, Gaetana kicked her boots up on the computer station while she curiously watched the three sentients on the holomonitor as they tried to get their bearings: all three had awoken in a small, metal room that had but one exit. Of course, she couldn’t make it look too easy so she’d activated a simple forcefield as if to keep them confined.

She watched as they searched first their room–which had a single bench bolt-welded to the deck–and then their unremarkable utility coveralls which they all wore. ...Yes… She thought mockingly. ...Your captor is foolish enough to leave tools to aid in your escape, you frellik… Gaetana laughed as she cursed…

…Something that the real Gaetana would never have done. But Jorya did, something that she’d picked up from her Father. The iron in the sandstone really gave it a particular ruddy beauty…

In the holo-image, one of the humans triumphantly held up a small hydrospanner they found in their pocket, soon beginning the work of dismantling the wall panel next to the door. Yet even with that, a bored Gaetana noticed that it took an additional 12 minutes for them to disengage the forcefield. It was a good thing that she’d chosen them as participants for her Alchemy; clearly they were not particularly qualified technicians.

...Father always said that anything can be solved with time and pressure…just like with geology… She thought idly, the stylus never slowing as she manipulated it with delicate orange fingers.

From the two dozen miners, techs, and soldiers that she’d hired to restore these caves, Gaetana still had about 17 left. More than enough for her intentions.

She watched half-interested as they cautiously made their way from the non-descript, metal-lined room, through the tunnel, and into another small rock cavern. She smiled as they paused, their trepidation evident even over the holo-image: confronting them were three tight rock tunnels cut from the substrata of the deep mines, each one only visible a few meters in before being completely enveloped in darkness.

The stylus continued to dance through and across her fingers effortlessly while she intently watched as the three miners decided what to do. At first they seemed at a loss as to how to continue, each one pointing towards a vague direction before growing ever more irritated before the large Togruta gained control. Whatever he said, the two humans seemed to agree, each moving around the other. She chuckled when she saw that each one had chosen a separate tunnel. ...Wrong choice, you pfassks…

Reclining in the chair, she tilted her head back and laughed, a melodious and serene sound completely at odds with her devious smile and the dangerous look in her eyes. Gleefully she watched as the holo-image split in three to follow each sentient as they penetrated further into each tunnel. They should’ve paid more attention to those stress fractures in the floor, especially since the andesite was native to this layer…

Pressing a button, Gaetana watched as the holofeed switched from pitch-black to thermal imaging, the heat signatures of each miner now clearly delineated from their surroundings. Tentatively, each one made their way further down the darkened tunnels, the walls becoming ever tighter. Perfect.

...Now…! She told herself as she slapped a red button. In the holo-image, she saw the three miners falling into the floor, each suddenly trapped in a durasteel tube they’d dropped into. Terrified, they tried–in vain–to gain purchase with their fingers or batter at the walls with closed fists; anything to escape…

...Too late… She smiled grimly, yellow Sith eyes staring unblinking. The three miners all went motionless in reaction to something that Gaetana could not hear or see. But she knew precisely what it entailed and meant. Evilly, her grin widened. Almost as one, they began to flounder within the tubes as far as the cylinders would allow. She saw the three miners struggling, as if they were being tortured.

Which in a very real way they were. All three of them began to spasm, each successive convulsion worse than the last, fingers splayed in all directions in unnatural gesticulations and ways that they were never meant to. One of the humans looked as if their spine was about to bend into itself.

As violent as their initial struggles were, all three quickly succumbed, all movement ceasing in mere seconds. Pushing another button, Gaetana saw that the hermetically sealed tubes were unlocked from their place, an automatic conveyor belt taking each into a central chamber deep underground where they were placed horizontally on a shelf that already had several tubes atop, one that disappeared into the hazed distance of the imperfect holo-image.

Each tube had several connections that linked them to the archaic computer bank lining the shelf, the manufacture and design of which had not been seen in over three millennia. Idly, she wondered what would happen if the “contents” of the older tubes regained consciousness…would they still be sane? Aware? Would they even be sentient at all?

It mattered for nothing, at least not to her.

Smiling, Gaetana nodded to herself, confident that she now had enough to power her Sith Alchemies. Of course, she hadn’t attained the rank of High Inquisitor with “enough…” Besides, the problem was always the inevitable loss of biofuel across the Force-body barrier.

Sighing, she punched another button, changing to yet another holoimage. Like the previous, it showed three bedraggled, dirty, and confused sentients in nothing but prison utilities. Better to be sure…

As she watched as the sentients bungled through the hopeless maze, the stylus dancing across her fingers never once wavered, the intricate and deft dexterity of her orange fingers soon making the stylus all but a blur in her hand.

But as unconcerned thoughts of the surrounding geology continued to sneak into her musings, Gaetana smiled, seeing her plans this close to fruition. She felt a confidence that had long been denied her.

And–unbeknownst to her–she was not the only one.

<<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/sHL4Qxj/Jorya-15.jpg)

Jorya schooled her emotions, “showing” no outward signs of how she felt. But there was absolutely no denying it now.

She’d witnessed just how many of her mannerisms Gaetana seemed to copy, all the while ignorant of that fact.

Within Jorya’s absconded body, Gaetana’s and Kadmaur’s Mind Shards had firm control, Gaetana having emerged the clear “winner” between the two as to which held primacy. But, as she’d noted, Jorya now knew beyond any doubt that there was a…a “bleeding” of sorts between her own personality and that of the Shards.

And that was not all…

“And you’re certain that this will work for the both of us?” Kadmaur’s Shard inquired, so unlike the man himself. Unsurprising that; after all, this was merely a shadow of the real Kadmaur. But given Gaetana’s more direct possession, her Shard was the one now in control.

“Of course.” She answered devoid of doubt. “You yourself saw the two Clawdites.” Kadmaur quieted but Jorya could tell that he was by no means completely satisfied. Or for that matter, trusting of Gaetana. Such dissension required effort from both Shards.

…Effort that weakened them.

So it was that a few days prior, when both Shards had been “arguing” about something about Sith Alchemies, Jorya had slowly, tentatively, and gently “reached” for control.

And for two seconds, her body had been hers again. Jorya had remained “motionless” lest she call attention to her efforts but–and this was most important–the Shards had not noticed.

At all.

Jorya now knew that she would be able to wrest control from the Shards. The problem was that she could not–at least not at present–maintain said control for long. But it was becoming more and more apparent to her that the longer the three of them remained together, the more things would “bleed over” into the others.

So while Gaetana and Kadmaur played puppetmaster, Jorya slowly but inexorably drew upon the reservoir of power that she’d first learned to focus upon from Father, then Mother and Grandfather Kazic, and finally Master Gray Chillum.

And when the time was right, she would do what was necessary…

<<<<< >>>>>

Special thanks to LSG: much of this is his writing! This chapter is dedicated to him :)
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(https://i.ibb.co/Rv34wGT/Zearic-Armor-6.jpg)
Chapter 6: Captive Pursuits, part II
As the Cataphracts raced under their stealth fields over the sands the grenades timer ran out, blasting fragments of the lift down to where Kintik had been standing, Stormtroopers and techs immediately rushing to the scene and scanning the area.

“THERE!” Footsteps appeared in the red sands without anyone to make them, a personal cloak no doubt.

“Set to Stun!” The captain called as the nearest squads opened up on the path of the invisible assailants.

Death Troopers at the main landing area rushing to join the battle.

Triad Isk duck and wove through the blue bolts, the odd glancing hit taken, the Cataphract armour able to take it, but not without a numb static radiating over their skin as they tried to get up the rise to the escarpment.

The Troopers' positions were too spread out to overlap fire quickly; they had been placed to keep people out of the excavation zone not in. Air support was already being called in as the Death Troopers rounded the monolithic crashed vessel that served as the marker for the Vault, their E11-D’s aimed high and fired with precision.

Four shots struck Sio in the back, finally overriding his armor, Zearic skidding over to help him up despite his own wounds. Resignedly clenching his teeth Zearic let the full potential of his tainted blood help him bear his comrade and himself, a lightheaded feeling as a strength not of his own choosing or achievement helped him survive once more. Yet it allowed him to avoid the incoming fire, a fact he was most grateful for, at least in the moment.

Cresting the top of the hill they had a brief reprieve, but could not stop.

“Beckon call active, the TIE Guardian is moving in!” Olyna called, the distance was immaterial for their ship, but it would take a few minutes for the navicomp to chart a course, precious minutes in which they would be overwhelmed by incoming TIE Interceptors.

...Speaking of... Zearic thought as the all-too-familiar screech roared from behind them.

Interceptors flew over slamming bolts into the ground near them, their stealth fields finally dying from overuse and too many stun shots.

Overburdened, wounded, and his armor now running on reserve power, Zearic looked up...just in time to see the Interceptors come round for another pass, Triad Isk's only course of action to keep running.

Diving to the ground Zearic barely held onto Sio, the weight of his comrade driving him down to one knee as red sand turned to glass while the Interceptors boxed them in with another run--they were not trying to kill them, just slow them enough for the Death Troopers to catch up (and they were moving in fast)--fresh and ready they crested the hill and started firing immediately while a huge plume of sand appeared in the distance.

...Get up...! Zearic commanded his body as several more blaster shots connected with his armor. Alarmed, he knew that he was in trouble: with each successive hit, Zearic could feel the sting of the blaster shots more and more, a fact indicative that his armor was close to failure. And, unless he could get it recharged, he would soon be all too exposed.

Regardless, he quickly hoisted Sio on his shoulders repositioning him, the very thought of leaving one of his Triad never once entering his mind and started running straight at the Death Troopers.

Roaring defiantly, his baritone shout echoed throughout the valley.

Zearic had to hand it to the black-armored Imperials: they did not so much as flinch as he barreled straight at them. Weighing over 300kg in his Cataphract Armor--not to mention carrying Sio on his shoulders for an additional 200kg--the wide man looked the unstoppable force that he projected. But, as he said, the Death Troopers were made of sterner stuff.

Almost as one, they spent an extra two seconds to acquire target lock on the huge armored bearded man as he ran directly as them, their E-11D’s primed to snipe him dea--

"Zearic! GET DOWN!" Olyna's shout cut straight through Zearic's consternation and pain, his Primus' yell supplemented in the Force as well. Immediately he hit the deck, red sand obscuring his helmeted vision as a sand storm roared to life above him...

...Not a sand storm, he realized, but rather the Cataphracts TIE Guardian coming in dangerously low.

Snapping round Zearic and Sio fired from their arm mounted cannons at the Death Troopers to force them to hit the ground as Olyna guided the transport on her HUD¹.

The Interceptors were facing the wrong direction, needing to turn before coming in for another pass.

Dust concealing them, the TIE Guardian had finally arrived, Sio half-shambling, half-falling in first, Zearic second, the inheritance of gods giving him strength to lift Olyna up without the Force.

Without pausing, she rushed to the cockpit as the Interceptors turned, their cannons now set to quad link, but the dust making it hard to get a clear shot before their sensors could compensate. Even before she was fully seated, she activated the Guardian's defenses.

Heaving blasts slammed into the TIE Guardian from above, but the shields held as Olyna grabbed the controls, hammering the accelerator and activating auto-tracking for missiles.

“We’ll round the planet in atmosphere, split the ring system and do a near-Langrangian jump from the other side of the planet,” There was no way they would risk breaching atmosphere this close to the excavation site with Imperial ships up there...even so an upper atmosphere jump would be virtually suicidal in light of the planet's mass shadow.

They would have to get at least as far as the small planet's Lagrange Point before initiating a hyperspace jump.

Vaulting into the chair Zearic took the gunner seat, terminals switching on as he took control of the quad cannons, seeking the Interceptors as they flew over the Death Troopers who cursed ineffectually.

Locked into his armor’s recharge port, Sio administered his armor’s autodoc protocols. “Cataphracts! We are leavi–!” He shouted while almost breathing a sigh of relief.

That’s when the ship buckled as if it had crashed.

<<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/GVZqvPm/Kintik-1.jpg)

Kintik raged in frustration as he stood staring up waiting for a new repulsor lift or cable to be sent down to get him to the surface, the sting of his cuts starting to bite. He would not allow these interlopers to escape! He was not some impotent member of the Inquisitorious; he was Dark Side Elite! Gathering the Force around him, Kintik used the fury within.

There, peering from the depths of the Vault and into the sky he reached out with both hands to grab the ship, slowing it to moving barely a meter a second, the Dark Side of the Vault flowing through him like a tide of dark oil sharpened by the pain of his wounds that he let feed his anger, focused into the single Will of stopping the escape.

The Dark Side pulsed as if obliging him, filling Kintik with immense power. Opening his eyes, they almost glowed gold as he concentrated on his enemy.

He would get his answers...either by questioning them or examining their corpses.

<<<<< >>>>>

Even though the inertial dampeners struggled to compensate for the sudden change they were completely successful. Sio, already dizzy from the blaster shots, smashed his forehead on the bulkhead knocking him unconscious. Both Zearic and Olyna winced as they felt it through the BattleMeld. Things had just gone from bad to worse, their TIE Guardian held fast in the Darksider’s grip.

Zearic fired at the approaching TIEs best he could, but it seemed pointless…something that Olyna could also sense through their BattleMeld. And as Primus, it was her responsibility–hers and hers alone!--to keep her Triad safe.

No matter the cost.

“Zearic, get ready to take over….” Olyna said drawing the Light through her body, a soft glow emanating from within her armour. Soon, she felt as if she were shining as fierce as the noontime sun!

Her teeth chattered and fur stood on end, her muscles tensing until….

A flare of Lightside energy burst through and around the TIE Guardian, breaking Kintik's hold, the Dark Side energies rebounding as if a rubber band had suddenly been severed.

The ship half-controlled flung itself forward as Olyna slumped unconscious in the huge chair, the Interceptors missing their mark then overshooting as the ships stuttered then burst ahead. And upon her face was a tired, small smile.

However, she was completely insensate.

...Oh shavit... Zearic thought as he flew from his gunner's chair to swiftly-yet-gently remove the now unconscious Olyna from the pilot's seat. With a quick inhale, he took her place knowing that he was not the pilot that his other Triad members were.

He was confident that Olyna's flight plan was still the best course of action. Taking the Guardian off auto-pilot, he keyed in the destination and, with a silent prayer to the Maker, counted down the seconds that it would take to reach the necessary distance to escape the planet's mass shadow.

And the Interceptors had regrouped, six of them now in close pursuit.

<<<<< >>>>>

Kintik growled as he watched the vessel escape yet not all was lost. One of the troopers had thrown down an abseiling line to him. Empowered by an ocean of Dark Side energies, he made short work of the climb.

Once at the top, he took off his helm and glanced at the cut on his face in the dim reflection upon the black polished kortosis alloy, noting how easily it had been sliced through...quite the dagger his attacker seemed to own. Hopefully micro fragments could be found to determine what type of weapon it was.

But that was for later.

Running, his black boots kicked up the red sand until he was in proximity to his own personal vessel. Again, using the Dark Side flowing through him, he made a tremendous jump, using the Force to land squarely within the pod of the ship, having just cleared the now-closing hatch. With practiced calm, he powered up the ship from its "Loiter" status (a short cut that he was now vindicated by today's circumstances) and enabled the thrusters.

Like the predator it was, the TIE Bat shot forth, the sleek vessel fast, powerful, and agile, the Autonomous Fleet's most deadly and top-of-the-line ship-to-ship fighter.

A fact that the interlopers were about to learn first-hand.

He had to admit that he was concerned: while there was much Kintik did not know, what seemed clear was that these attackers were as ignorant of the nature of the vaults as he was...were they searching for them too? Perhaps, perhaps not.

All Kintik knew for certain now was that Lord Sidious' guidance was vindicated, and time was short.

At least, insofar as his prey was concerned.
______________________________________________________________________
1. HUD: Heads Up Display

Meh I've been having trouble posting lately. Hopefully this will be corrected soon :P
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(https://i.ibb.co/KWQXNz8/Mnemosyne-Harrower-class-Star-Destroyer-1.jpg)
Interlude-The Ars Ingens, part III
(https://i.ibb.co/hYrngbf/Darth-Obliquus-1.png) (https://ibb.co/hYrngbf)(https://i.ibb.co/rFwnhgV/Darth-Surdus-1.jpg) (https://ibb.co/rFwnhgV)(https://i.ibb.co/sRRYVh4/Darth-Saggita-4.jpg) (https://ibb.co/sRRYVh4)(https://i.ibb.co/gtsxp21/Darth-Invidia-1.jpg) (https://ibb.co/gtsxp21)

Battle-bridge of the ”Mnemosyne,” Harrower-class Battle Cruiser, 3626BBY, Aftermath of “The Battle of Arda”
Surveying the wreckage of the Imperial flotilla that had attacked the Ars Ingens’ fleet, Darth Obliquus perused the destruction that his forces had wrought. The Sith fleet had been utterly destroyed to a ship.

But there was no satisfaction to be gained; not here and not now.

This was but the latest setback in a decade of disappointments with the Leviathans no closer to finding their Emperor. He thought of neither pretender Darth Acina nor Darth Vowrawn, the false claimants that had each assumed the mantle of Emperor in the wake of the Second Galactic War. No, for Obliquus there was–and would forever be–only one true Emperor.

The majestic Sith Emperor Vitiate.

Obliquus’ blue cheek almost twitched. Yes, yes, his Emperor had worn many faces and names, the most famous (besides Vitiate) being Valkorion and Tenebrae. Regardless, whatever skin he wore, the Ars Ingens were forever his most loyal of liegemen and -women, always fighting against those who would stand against their Emperor.

Even other Sith.

Unfortunately, that meant that the Ars Ingens had been fighting a war on multiple fronts, from the False Emperors and their Sith to the ever-present thorn of the Republic. Obliquus was not complaining but he was pragmatic: his forces were being worn down in the inevitable war of attrition that the long search of his Emperor had all but guaranteed. And while he and his Darths possessed a mighty army still, it was markedly diminished.

After Servant Six had been rescued, the numbers of the Ars Ingens had swelled to well over 130,000 strong, including 6,000 Sith Acolytes, Swords, Lords, and Darths. The days of yesteryear had seen the Leviathans ever victorious regardless of whichever enemy they faced. In some cases, the Ars Ingens gained even more converts, Sith (and the rare occasional Jedi) that recognized the immutable Truth that was the Emperor.

Power.

Movement from the corner of his eye brought his attention to the present. Obliquus noticed that one of the Terminus-class destroyers was trying to flee the battlefield, almost a fifth of the ship’s hull having already been vaporized. Whomever was on that vessel must be incredibly brave to attempt such maneuvers in such shape. He was almost impressed.

“Tactical…” Obliquus’ voice was as emotionless as his face. “Target that ship. Notify when you have a shooting solution.” It seemed that the commander of the destroyer was intent on relying on the copious debris strewn about the AO¹ to give them cover, despite negotiating through deadly debris fields or in danger of their vessel exploding. Clever.

“My lord, we have multiple shooting solutions.” The lieutenant crisply announced, her technicians dutifully awaiting Obliquus’ command. This time Obliquus did feel a flicker of pride: still after these ten years his people were consummate professionals.

“Fire at will.”

Even before the last syllable had left his lips, multiple green turbolaser fire lanced out through space, the first shot quickly overwhelming the overworked shields while each subsequent shot hit true, producing an expanding spherical fireball. As the Terminus-class destroyer’s doonium hull vaporized it vented atmosphere and occupant alike until–after multiple turbolaser barrages–the ship disappeared amidst an expanding white explosion as its reactor went critical.

Obliquus’ face remained impassive: he was certain that the derelict would take an additional salvo before being destroyed. He suddenly felt introspective; a rarity for him. The Terminus must have been in worse shape than he’d initially surmised. It made the commander’s decision to attempt escape that much more brave. Or foolish. He couldn’t decide. No matter; only results were important.

Which brought the reality of his situation crashing back around him.

“Captain Obeth…” He addressed the CO² of the Mnemosyne without looking at him. “You have the Con.” Not hearing the captain’s polished response, Obliquus turned on his heel to step off the battle-bridge and into the turbolift. Surrounded by silence as well as the turmoil of his own thoughts, Obliquus was mildly annoyed to find himself such. A good leader should not be victim to such distractions.

But that seemed to be more and more the problem lately: instead of results, the Leviathans were bogged down by distractions.

Even his top three Darths…

Now, yes, it was true that they had executed their offices and duty to Obliquus’ satisfaction–not to mention their efforts today–but…

As the turbolift’s doors opened, he stepped into a large room, one specifically belonging exclusively to the Ars Ingens. Within, dozens of Sith Acolytes and Swords, Lords and Darths were in various states of arousal, celebrating their victory over the Pretender’s forces.

And it was his top three Darths that seemed to lead in the celebration.

Invidia, Sagitta, and Surdus: all three were entangled together, their open tryst not the point…

…No, Obliquus found nothing wrong in the fact that–over the last decade–they’d formed a close-knit relationship. The Sith were empowered by strong emotions and if their passions for each other helped the Ars Ingens all the better. Rather what galled him, right here and now, was that they should have been with him to the very last second until victory was beyond a foregone conclusion.

Instead, he found them down here, more naked than clothed, leading in this bacchanalia…

Striding up to the three of them, he knew that they had seen him, taking notice of his presence (if not his anger; Obliquus’ face was almost a constant blank canvas that had fooled many an enemy). Yet, to a person, they all had almost identical smiles of exhilaration. “My Lord…” Invidia’s surprisingly deep voice was incongruous with her youthful, cherubic olive face. “You know that you are always welcome amongst us.” She made a gesture with her finger, inviting him closer while her other hand stroked first Saggita’s lips and then Surdus’ muscled jowls, the humongous human male balancing both women on his lap.

Nothing stirred within Obliquus, even less so any biological response. At least in consideration of their enticement.

However, the irritation that he’d felt earlier suddenly erupted into full-blown anger.

“Stop this immediately.” He hadn’t raised his voice but his tone cut through the room, everyone within turning their attention to Darth Obliquus.

Each and every one of them felt fear, to a greater or lesser extent.

Some part of his mind noticed that his three Darths were amongst those that controlled theirs best. Again, pride in his people. But the current situation swept the muted emotion aside.

“I will forget the faces of everyone that leaves. Now.” He raised his voice to include the room but his gaze never once left the Darths in front of him. “Not you three.” He commanded.

Invidia’s face looked intense as Saggita’s assumed a bored expression. However, Surdus stood, his face an unexpected mix of annoyance and defiance…and something else. Was it…expectation? Whatever it was, it only served to enrage Obliquus further.

Towering over Obliquus, wearing nothing but some loose pants that did nothing to cover the lower half of the huge man’s body, he stepped to the slender man, the faded scar on the side of his face only enhancing his dark mood…and the ghost of a knowing smile. Saying nothing, the enormous man glared down at Obliquus from yellow Sith eyes below a dark, furrowed brow.

Unperturbed, Obliquus glanced up at his Darth, conscious of the murderous precedent ubiquitous throughout the Sith Empire. After all, it was the modus operandi of all Sith to challenge one another for supremacy, forever vying for dominance.

It was yet another distraction that the Ars Ingens should be above of and far removed, a hindrance that prevented them from serving their Emperor to the best of their abilities. His fingers slowly closed to make a tight fist.

However, Obliquus could not allow so direct a threat to his authority remain unpunished.

Glancing up from an impassive face, Obliquus’ allowed his cheek to twitch, the blue skin telegraphing his displeasure. It was the only warning Surdus would get.

The enormous man stepped closer, an intimidating and deadly bent upon his furious face; he must have either not seen Obliquus’ physical admonition or otherwise ignored it. Hands the size of a Hutts balled in anger, dark yellow Sith eyes flashing. And that almost-smile…

Pity; Obliquus like Surdus the best of his Darths.

Without hesitation, the slender Sith Lord moved, the back of his seemingly unthreatening hand moving faster than a Kodachi viper, striking Surdus in his exposed groin, doubling the man over, the glistening muscles of his back emphasized by the sweat. Simultaneously, Obliquus used the Force to Shield the stunned Darth, effectively cutting him off, if for only a few seconds.

But during those seconds, Obliquus finally felt the quandranium grip that he usually held upon his own rage give way, drawing deeply from his emotions to power his attack. With Surdus’ head parallel to the deck, Obliquus grabbed the huge man’s long hair, shoving his face down while bringing his armored knee up, the resulting impact destroying Surdus’ nose and shattering both orbital bones as well as the man’s face.

To his credit, the gigantic human remained on his feet, pain–and something else–radiating from his bloodshot eyes. Growling something unintelligible, he rushed the much smaller man.

Another mistake.

With folded armored knuckles, Obliquus’ arm shot out, his strike hitting Surdus in the throat. Had the slender man not pulled his punch at the last moment, Surdus’ windpipe would’ve been irreparably crushed. However, Obliquus was not finished.

While the huge man tried in vain to pull oxygen through his battered throat, Obliquus brought down his armored elbow, connecting with Surdus’ head. Unceremoniously, he crumpled down upon the deck, an ever-growing pool of blood widening around him. Through the haze of his anger, Obliquus noticed the incredible musculature of the Darth, a specimen of unparalleled perfection.

Yet Obliquus was not finished, his conscious mind lost deep within the fury and hate consuming him. His first kick shattered Surdus’ ribs, the next ruptured a lung, the third breaking his femur, the striated definition of the man’s quadriceps marred by the jutting, broken bone. And still Obliquus continued to rain blow after blow down upon the huge man, his unremitting rage doubling every second, the red in his vision matching Surdus’ blood.

He would not kill the man; he would utterly destroy him, destroy those around him, destroy them AL–

Suddenly, Obliquus felt a gentle touch upon his cheek and then his other, the cool, soft skin of calming tactile comfort deliberately slicing through the rage-induced tunnel vision turning his entire world blood-red. For several seconds, Obliquus–or rather the mindless thing that he’d become as a result of giving into his fury–breathed heavily, his entire body frozen as if in carbonite until his conscious mind caught up.

Both Darths Invidia and Saggita were on either side of him, their outstretched hands gently touching his face, their prior salaciousness all but forgotten. They had identical looks of concern and patience mixed with strained effort marring their faces. And, oddly enough, something else that Obliquus could not for the life of him identify. “Please, my Lord…” One of them said–he wasn’t certain which–while the other pleaded, “My Lord, it’s not worth it…”

It didn’t really matter what the words spoken were but rather the collective tones of the two womens’ voices that served to dispel the hate-filled rage storm that possessed Obliquus. Standing to either side, both women seemed as if in a trance, dual voices winding up, down, and around the four of them. As it always was.

As the tranquility of emotional detachment settled once again around Obliquus, his control finally reasserted itself. “Please my Lord…” and “He’s learned his lesson…” Echoed hollowly around him, forgotten trigger phrases a soothing balm against the ocean of fury that Obliquus normally kept at bay, a storm that contained his rampant desire.

While the soothing voices of the women continued to calm the Sith Lord, Invidia knelt at his feet, her hands cupping Surdus’ head. Without pausing her litany, she drew upon the Force to direct Healing flows into the enormous man’s broken body. As it always was.

A sliver of Obliquus’ conscious mind amusedly considered the irony that a rabid sadist like Invidia should have such a Talent with Healing.

In moments, the most grievous of injuries were on the mend, flesh, bone, and sinew reknitting, bruises fading. But not all.

Nor was it “Healing” in the classic sense of the word; no, after all this was the Dark Side that was being practiced. Instead, Invidia drew upon the three other Darths–Obliquus, Sagitta, and Invidia herself–to “feed” it to Surdus. Again…as it always was.

Theirs was a unique relationship: Invidia, Saggita, Surdus…and Obliquus. Yes, the other three were officially a throuple, but it nevertheless included Obliquus as well…if in a much more macabre sense.

Apropos sentiments given the Sith Lord’s emotional proclivities.

Now tranquil, Obliquus’ anger once again (and finally) gave way to passion, a lust that Saggita now sought to slake. Removing his armor’s codpiece, he ripped the tall woman’s diaphanous robes from her body. But it was Saggita that then took charge: pushing the tall, slender Darth to the deck, she towered above him, judgemental gaze pinning him to the floor. Hungrilly, she grabbed him while crouching down on her knees, both shuddering as deferred cravings were attended to. In moments, they were embracing one another, moving in unison as they felt the fatigue of Invidia’s Force Drain beginning to affect them.

Fighting against the weariness, they forced themselves to redouble their efforts. Saggita grabbed a handful of Obliquus' hair in a vice-like grip as she beared down, the slender man’s sunken eyes staring ravenously at her. Again, a sliver of his conscious mind noticed that Invidia had finally stopped with her Force ministrations and she too was currently “occupied” with Surdus, the two of them wrapped around each other.

Or rather, as much as the diminutive, childlike woman could with the enormous man. Perhaps a more accurate description would be that he had enveloped the woman in his arms as she seemed to hang in midair from him. But then, Obliquus could no longer think; in fact, for several minutes, nothing anywhere mattered…

Except he and Saggita.

In a moment of immodesty, the four Darths succumbed to their ardor and collapsed upon the other, each spent from the dual activities of the Force Drain as well as their coupling.

As it always was.

For several minutes no one moved, their languid apathy indicative of their satiated desires.

Not to mention the Healing.

“...Not so bad as last time, my Lord…” Surdus’ lazy voice joked, causing the other Darths to chuckle.

Obliquus allowed himself to feel the gratitude of the situation. “Thank you.” He said to the others, meaning it. And they knew it.

No one understood them; no one could. They were Ars Ingens.

That was all that anyone else needed to know.

<<<<< >>>>>
______________________________________________________________________
1. AO: Area of Operations
2. CO: Commanding Officer

(https://i.ibb.co/KWQXNz8/Mnemosyne-Harrower-class-Star-Destroyer-1.jpg)
Interlude-The Ars Ingens, part III (cont.)

Imperial Officer’s Conference Room of the ”Mnemosyne,” Harrower-class Battle Cruiser, 3626BBY, Aftermath of “The Battle of Arda”
“Our losses were minimal this time, my Lord.” Captain Obeth announced, not bothering to consult with the Padd that his adjutant tried to hand him. The Captain was well informed about his ship and their personnel. “Only 137 casualties, including 52 dead.”

Obliquus’ lips thinned.

True, those were minimal losses, but as he’d thought before his army could not afford them. At least should they fulfill their duty to his Emperor by giving him the strongest force in the galaxy as possible. Something must be done.

But what…?

“Thank you, Captain.” He walked to the far wall of the conference room, the transparisteel window overlooking the Mnemosyne’s dagger-like superstructure. Staring at the clustered starfields amidst the ocean of blackness, Obliquus kept his concerns to himself. “That will be all.”

Bowing first to the tall man and then the other three Darths, Captain Obeth departed, the turbolift doors loud in the silence after the large, bearded man left.

“What’s on your mind, my Lord?” Surdus’ quiet voice boomed within the room. He’d recovered nicely, the savage cut that Obliquus had inflicted on his face almost completely faded.

Just like all of the others.

Saggita suddenly chuckled. “Surdus my dear, isn’t it obvious? Our Lord is worried about our army’s numbers.” Even though she was seated, she seemed to luxuriate in place. Fitting: even though she was fully clothed from neck to toe in black leather, the skintight outfit emphasized her buxom nature, the stiletto heels on her boots literal daggers.

Obliquus sensed movement rather than hearing or seeing any. “My Lord…” Invidia’s deep voice was breathy in his ear, quite the trick given she was over 35 centimeters shorter than him. “Allow me to help you and your trepidations…” Before the last word had left her lips, he felt a burning sting behind his head.

Obliquus felt the cut upon his neck as Invidia flayed a small, roughly square centimeter of skin from beneath his ear with her vibrostiletto. But it did the trick; it helped to give him proper focus…but it also gave Invidia the excitement that she constantly sought. Without pausing, she slipped the vibrostiletto into her mouth, swallowing the flayed skin as well as the attendant blood. Smiling deeply, she placed a small hand on the tall Darth’s vambrace before sauntering towards the other two seated Sith Lords.

“Saggita is correct.” He suppressed a sigh. “These pointless conflicts between the Ars Ingens and both the Republic and the Pretender’s Empire serves no point and only further weakens us.” He turned from the transparisteel window. “And we are no closer to finding our Emperor.” Now that he had given it voice, the reality of the matter galled him utterly.

After all, his Emperor may be immortal but he and his Leviathans were not.

During the last ten years, Obliquus had given all of his energies to finding him. Oh, he’d been close on several occasions–especially after he’d revealed himself in his guise of Valkorion–but before he and the Ars Ingens could offer their collective fealty, Obliquus had learned that he’d been killed by none other than the Hero of Tython.

Years wasted.

And now more come and gone.

Obliquus knew that he would have to divide his attention now between the search and how best to preserve the Ars Ingens’ numbers.

But…how?

Standing in front of his three most trusted Darths, he was about to make a pronouncement when the turbolift door slid open, vomiting forth a room-filling banshee’s keening.

“ARRGGGHHHH!” Another scream exploded forth as the turbolift’s occupant half-rushed, half-fell into the conference room.

Before anyone else had moved, Surdus was there, the enormous man catching the slender, red-skinned woman who had produced the shrieking wail. She looked the size of a child in his bulky arms, even garbed in her voluminous robes (and she was not a small woman). As Surdus’ meaty, heavy hands gently smoothed the woman’s hair from her barbed brow, Servant Six’s breathing seemed to calm, although her sharp teeth ground together as she tightly clenched her jaw.

“What is the meaning of this?” Obliquus inquired coldly. He wasn’t antagonistic towards the Pureblood Sith woman…but neither was he friendly. “Servant Six?”

At the mention of her name, she peaked through a lidded eye, her orange irises burning with an intensity that Obliquus himself was utterly convinced of: the supremacy of their Emperor.

“The…the…he…he’s…” She coughed, half-sobbing as her throat tightened. “...He’s…DEAD!” She finally shouted as she regained her voice.

Something in her voice sent stalactites of ice shearing down his spine. “Who?” Obliquus asked, already guessing the answer.

Now Servant Six did open her eyes fully, staring deep into Obliquus’ own. “Our…our Emperor!” For a moment none of the four Darths present could speak.

“Vitiate is dead?” Obliquus heard himself ask, convinced of the truth. But how? What Obliquus knew–what only a scant few in the galaxy knew–was that the only way that death could claim his Emperor was if his body, his original body, was destroyed. And he’d taken great pains to hide its location.

Yet he also knew that the Servants had an unbreakable metaphysical connection to their Emperor that even the most ardent of Sith Sorcerers failed to fully grasp. Again: he held no doubts whatsoever that Servant Six’s attestation was nothing but the unvarnished truth.

Which left Obliquus and the Leviathans just exactly where he no longer knew…

He felt as if the entirety of the galaxy was collapsing upon him, creating a singularity from which nothing could escape. Numbly he felt three sets of hands upon him, two sets smaller followed by an enormous pair. Sounds absent their attendant words surrounded him, their meaning absolutely worthless. How is it that after all this time the Ars Ingens had failed?

That he had failed?!

...NO…! His self-admonishment from the depths of his being surprised even him. ...Do NOT capitulate…!

Mentally shaking his head, his vision regained clarity, his Darths responding immediately upon seeing his face change, his eyes focusing. “Wait…” He spoke to all but directed his voice towards the Sith Pureblood. “Our Emperor was nothing if not resourceful: he would’ve had a…a contingency.” He saw Servant Six’s own gaze rise, the panic withdraw. “Surely you must’ve heard something that would help our Emperor should such a possibility arise.” To everyone else’s ears, Obliquus’ voice was calm yet determined; to himself he sounded as if he was pleading for an agreement.

For long seconds, the Sith Pureblood seemed not to have heard, her face a mask of terror. But then…

“...Yes…” She said slowly, her eyes narrowing in thought. “Yes. A ‘contingency’ as you say.” She smiled, the kolta-infused regrown tissue of her cheek slightly discolored compared to the rest of her face. But her smile faded as swiftly as it had appeared. “But I must warn you: it will not be easy.”

Obliquus' mouth drew down in a slight smirk as his other three Darths scoffed. Surdus barked a deep laugh. And when Obliquus spoke, his voice sounded as tired as he felt. “Ttsykk dqqa mii xu’wttoq’l al’qwvi’baljj.³” He sighed before speaking at his usual volume. “It never is.”
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3. Ttsykk dqqa mii xu’wttoq’l al’qwvi’baljj: Sith for “Next time in the Emperor’s glory.”

Saber Forum

General Chat => Fan Fiction and Art => Topic started by: TheDutchman on June 14, 2024, 01:07:49 AM