The Storms of Exodus

[Lord_S_Gray]

Always love how you write Bane he's like the unstoppable force, utterly implacable and focused. The scene with Cir'lan too, the imagery of the moon and shadows about her...
Things are moving, we know where to...but who will be there when the tsunami hits among the new characters...and what will Rikard role if any be...

[Karmack]

Wow.  I am always impressed by these, and I love the narrative.   Thank you for sharing.   Bane is exactly what he should be, and seeing him dupe Kaan into doing his will for him...   Yeah.   Contempt is not misplaced in this case.  :-)

We know where its all going, but the journey is rich and inviting.  Well done, Dutch!   Looking forward to the rest!

[TheDutchman]

Chapter 12: The Unquiet Grave

Githany ran, the growing light of the cave entrance a beacon in front of her.  Behind: the Sith Lords of the Brotherhood fought Lord Hoth’s joint forces consisting largely of Coruscanti Jedi, Vhal’Dan and Mak’Tor specialists, including almost every single Cantor still alive.  Led by Lord Hoth himself, the 100 Jedi had engulfed the remainder of the Brotherhood in savage guerilla combat.

Within the caves the two forces met.  For such a relatively small encounter compared to the most recent campaigns, the combatants seemed to make up for the lack of numbers with their ferocity.  So as the two armies clashed within the caverns, every single Jedi within the Army of Light and the remaining Sith of the Brotherhood fought with wild abandon, both sides seeing an end.  

Well, most of the Brotherhood.

A sizable contingent of Skere Kaan’s most powerful Sith Lords were right now congregated in a linked circle, their respective Dark Side energies being drawn into and focused by Kaan himself.  As he spoke the ancient Sith words, his voice gaining volume as the recitation progressed, the fighting around him intensified.

Githany’s face dripped with sweat; she willed her legs to run faster.  Panic, terror the likes of which she’d never experienced crawled up from the pit of her stomach, a hard knot sticking in the back of her throat.  She must put as much distance between herself and the Dark One, who she knew to be completely delusional in his suicidal plans for Sith victory.

So eager was Githany to escape that she had abandoned her apprentice, Davorit deep within the caves.  Even this close to the surface, she could still hear the fighting between the Sith and Jedi armies, screaming as they killed, screaming as they died.

None of it mattered.

She could feel the power of the Dark Side coalescing into Kaan, his most faithful acolytes encircling him.  She shouldn’t have been able to feel them, to see them…but such was the intensity of the power gathered here that every Forceuser on the continent could feel that something was happening, if not exactly what.  But for those that were this close—like Githany—they could see within their minds the gathered Sith Lords as they concluded the Dark One’s ritual.  

Incredibly, a large silver ovoid had formed in the center of the Sith Lords, the metallic surface like liquid mercury, black flames beginning to lick the air almost hungrily…

Githany began to cry, utter dread constricting her throat so that instead of shouting intelligible words of warning, only primal screams tore forth from her mouth.  The cave entrance was only another fifteen meters away, but it might as well have been on the other side of the galaxy.

She closed her eyes tightly, allowing her to see with perfect clarity the Force vision that assaulted her.  The Jedi had broken through the Brotherhood’s ranks, swarming the Sith Lords as they made their last stand within the caves.  Githany saw the Jedi crash through the line, individual combatants seemingly frozen in time as even the most insignificant detail was laid bare before her: a blond Vhal’Dan Jedi with a teal blade cut down two Sith Lords before engaging another, a slender Mak’Tor Jedi with a ghostly orange lightsaber taking on an entire group of Sith by himself, a bearded Cantor, his shoulders sagging under some unseen burden, his eyes haunted yet full of…acceptance?  Submission?  Or perhaps something else; for Githany, she didn’t care…

She saw as Lord Hoth himself was at the fore the vanguard, intent on confronting the Dark One himself.  His broad face beheld a mixture of resolve and resignation.  But she knew that—like herself—Hoth was too slow.  As Hoth reached for Kaan, Githany opened her eyes.  The mouth of the cave lay ten meters away.

But then she felt…it.

Like a star going supernova, the silver ovoid construct of the Thought Bomb reached critical mass, violently exploding outwards.  Everyone—be they Sith or Jedi—within the blast radius were immolated by the Dark Force energies as the shockwave expanded, annihilating anything it touched.

From the people within the caves to the long, adjacent valley, the Thought Bomb shockwave destroyed almost everything.  Even those Force-sensitives that were kilometers away were adversely affected directly proportional to their proximity to the detonation.  And their strength in the Force.

But one and all they would never forget the horror that was the Seventh Battle of Ruusan.

               <<<<< >>>>>



Cir-Lan couldn’t believe the diminished numbers of the Brotherhood even as she was attacked by three of them.  With a tight orbit, she deflected their red lightsabers, two of the Sith Lords falling upon her riposte, the last barely able to parry her teal blade.  Not that it mattered; Cir-Lan’s next attack took the Sith’s head from her body.

Before her opponent hit the ground, Cir-Lan was already wading through the Sith line.  She spied Master Gray Dyrald Reu Lai, Sulen’s husband.  The stocky human was surrounded and in danger of being overrun by a group of Sith Sorcerers.  With speed given wings thanks to the Force, Cir-Lan scythed through their flank before they could react, killing three before they’d even noticed her presence.  By that time, a couple of Vhal’Dan Forcesages had come to Dyrald’s aid, more than evening the odds.  Wordlessly, the short Gray Master nodded his thanks before once again focusing his Force powers against the Brotherhood on the Sith line.

With a moment to spare, Cir-Lan gazed ahead at Lord Hoth, watching as he smashed through the line.  Following the large Jedi Lord, Cir-Lan’s eyes locked onto the group of Sith in the distance, something reflective behind them.  Was…was that…liquid silver?  She couldn’t tell; yet when her eyes fell upon it, a surge of panic began to rise within her.  …What in the Maker-damned hell is that…? She thought.  But before she could contemplate it further, she felt a disturbance within the Force, followed by a sharp flash of blinding light.

And before Cir-Lan could react—save the widening of her eyes—the silver ovoid exploded forth in an ever-expanding wave.  …Oh, frate— She began, her thoughts on her twin brother before the Thought Bomb vaporized her completely.

And the wave expanded outwards, the killing far from over.

               <<<<< >>>>>



Mak’Tor Jedi Master Jar'es'Kinsler focused on the next group of Sith as he slammed them into the ceiling with a violent and powerful Force Push before using their broken bodies as missiles against the remaining Brotherhood.

With only a split-second’s warning, Jar’es felt the disturbance within the Force, his ghostly orange blade suddenly flaring brightly.  He had enough time to see the annihilating wave of silver wash over everyone before the realization that it would reach him in the time between thoughts.

Yet as the liquid silver burning fire rushed towards him, Jar’es felt himself being pulled downwards, away from the destructive onslaught…down and within himself it seemed.

As the Mak’Tor Master disappeared before the expanding wave, no one was any the wiser of his fate—his true fate—even after the caves collapsed upon the void that the Thought Bomb detonation left in its wake.

And centuries would pass before anyone would.

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Even as exhausted as his Cantors were, To’Lon’Al’Brem knew that each and every one of them gave everything of themselves in the hopes of swiftly ending the Sith threat.  He felt a resurgence of pride…pride mitigated by sorrow.  He could only hope that Sa’Ra, his children, and the small contingent of Cantors that had accompanied them were safe.  

He silently prayed to the Maker, daring to hope that this would not be the end…that somehow, someway his Cantors would be spared this destruction, that they would prevail…

…But he knew what had to occur, what must happen…lest the prophecy of the One be all for naught.  Ja’Kob had told him, had foreseen it all.  The One would come, come and inaugurate the Golden Age of the Mak’Tor.  It almost made To’Lon smile…

…Until he remembered the cost.  By the Maker, the cost!

And right before the Thought Bomb’s destructive explosion engulfed him, To’Lon’s last thoughts lingered on his family, and the desperate hope that he’d somehow left the galaxy a better place, his and the other Cantors’ sacrifice made not in vain…

               <<<<< >>>>>



As the Dark Side energies converged upon Kaan, the enormous silver ovoid grew pregnant with destructive power, each syllable of the ritual bringing him that much closer to his ultimate victory.  His Brotherhood would rule the galaxy!  He only needed but a moment longer…

Behind him, the silver ovoid of the Thought Bomb continued to grow, burnished ripples accompanied by black flames that cast eerie shadows throughout the caverns, transforming the gathered Sith and Jedi into a writhing mass, angels and daemons terrible to behold.  

But none so dreadful as the ovoid itself.

In front of Kaan, his Sith Lords fought on against the 99 Jedi that Hoth had brought with him.  The Dark One smiled; did Hoth really think that he could win, especially with only 100?!  As if thinking of the Jedi Lord had conjured him forth, Kaan saw the Seneschal of Light himself before him, just past the Sith line.

And in that moment, their eyes locked.

Kaan noticed that Hoth neither looked angry nor eager; the Jedi Lord’s face was somber, almost sad.  Still, he fought as hard as he’d ever had, clearly intent upon Kaan.  And that was all the “evidence” that the Dark One needed; to him, he knew that his victory was now inevitable.  

Kaan smiled, having uttered the final word of the ritual.  The Brotherhood would triumph; first Ruusan but soon the entire galaxy!  The Dark Side filled him, encompassing him, permeating the entire cavern, even the air!  He was invincible!

But then…he felt it.  Those same Dark Side energies continued to expand, well beyond his control.  Turning his head, Kaan’s eyes locked onto the silver ovoid, widening in panic and disbelief when he saw the quicksilver surface explode in black flames that annihilated everything.

The Dark One’s final thought—one that burned as intensely as the Thought Bomb detonation that immolated him—would accompany his torment for centuries, helping to create the most powerful Force Nexus in the galaxy.  Hate, fear, resentment, and jealousy subsumed the area, the caves collapsing in on themselves forming what would be known as the Valley of the Jedi.

Ruusan was forever changed: flora, fauna, entire ecospheres, even cities succumbed to the Thought Bomb’s devastation.  Those not killed in the initial detonation would suffer from the ensuing planetary catastrophe, depopulating most of the planet as a result.  Those that did survive were…changed.  But that was not the worst of it…

The Force Nexus was so potent that in a few short years the established hyperspace lanes disappeared, leaving Ruusan inaccessible from the galaxy at large.

Of course, none of this mattered to Skere Kaan.  His singular thought took up the entirety of his awareness as he was consumed by the Thought Bomb, one that would torment him within the hell prison of the Force Nexus…

How was it that Bane had gotten the better of him?

               <<<<< >>>>>



From his mountaintop vantage several kilometers from the Thought Bomb detonation, Darth Bane witnessed the fruition of his plans as the last of the Brotherhood was eradicated from the galaxy.  He gave a rare full smile; the deaths of 100 Jedi—including that of Lord Hoth—were an unexpected benefit.  Kaan’s Sith were no more.  Everything was as he’d foreseen.

His cheek twitched.  No, not “everything.”  His plans for his intended apprentice had failed.  That weak Light-Sided fool Rikard Macias!  His hands balled into fists, corded muscles in his forearms bulged while his jaw clenched in teeth-grinding frustration.  It was not his place to question the Dark Side but how could he have been so mistaken?

Of course, everything that had happened had led him here, to this instant.  No, he would forever remain devoted to the Dark Side.  Perhaps…perhaps it was he that had done something wrong—

With a suddenness that caught his breath, Bane felt a disturbance in the Force, one that he not only recognized but indeed welcomed.  Running down from the summit, his long legs carried him across the rough, rock-strewn ground and into the thickening trees that made up the mountain wilderness.  Even though it had been several minutes since he’d felt the disturbance, Bane was easily able to locate the exact position; it was almost as if the Dark Side was a beacon directing him.

As the trees gave way to a rocky clearing, Bane knew he was close, the scent of sulfur permeating the air from the nearby fumaroles.  Incredulously, he stopped short, the tableau before him something he would have never expected: in front of him on her knees was a tear-streaked girl, two Jedi with their heads at odd angles and a green Bouncer laid about her, all three dead.  Bane said nothing at first, wordlessly surveying the site.  Then she looked up at him, eyes still wet and red.  …Interesting… He thought.  She had absolutely no fear, none at all.

“What are you doing here?” Bane’s quiet voice held no malice, yet there was a cruel bent to his tone.

“I…they, they killed him.  They killed Laa…” More tears spilled from her eyes, anger tinging her voice.

“The Jedi?” Bane already knew the answer, instead asking another question.  “Who are you, girl?”

The girl’s lip trembled when she answered.  “I…Rain.” She whispered.  Then, giving an almost imperceptible shake of her head, she said louder, “Zannah.  My name is Zannah.”  Even as she looked up at Bane with her tear-soaked eyes, he could sense no fear from her.  Perhaps…was this what the Dark Side meant for him to learn?  Fascinated, he crossed his arms across his muscular chest.

“I am Darth Bane.” He announced.  The girl’s face did not so much as move a muscle.  “Do you know who I am?”

“You’re a Sith.” She said absent any terror.

“You’re not afraid of me?” It wasn’t so much a question as a statement.

“No.” Zannah’s tone was matter of fact.  

Bane hid his surprise behind an impassive mask of cold disinterest.  “I have killed many people.  Men, women…even children.” He prodded, hoping to elicit a response.  He was quickly rewarded for his efforts.

“I’m a killer, too.” She pointedly looked at the two Jedi before her, no longer crying.  “They killed Laa…my friend.” Her face contorted in anger.  “I…I hate them.”  When next she gazed into Bane’s eyes, he could see the hatred burning within the girl.  “And if I could, I’d kill them again.”  Her fists were wrapped so tight that her fingernails had cut into her palms, drawing blood.  “I…I don’t know the ways of the Force, not really.  My…someone once told me that I could learn.  But…but I need a teacher.”  Her face was harder than durasteel.  “I know I’m young.  And…and I don’t know the…Dark Side…” She fumbled over the words, but only momentarily.  “…But I swear: I will learn from you.”  Her eyes burned brightly.  “I…I want your power.”

Bane smiled, wide and sincere.  He knew that his faith had once again been rewarded.  “And you’ll be given the chance, Zannah.  Not on these Jedi, of course…but anyone—everyone—like them… Yes, you shall revenge yourself upon the weak fools who would subjugate your passion, your strength.”  He held out his hand to her, offering her more than she ever could have dreamed of…or envisaged.  “You shall be my apprentice.  Together, we shall be worthy successors of the Dark Side.”  When next he spoke, his tone was almost gentle.  “Rise, Darth Zannah.”  

Gripping his enormous hand with both of hers, Zannah took to her feet.  Standing before him, Bane utterly dwarfed the girl.  Turning on his heel, he began to walk the way from which he’d just come.  Following him, the girl was forced to run in order to catch up but she noticed that the tall man’s silhouette seemed to eclipse the sun.  No, that wasn’t right; the light was getting dimmer.  Looking past her new master she saw the large, billowing cloud of ash, detritus, and airborne dirt now darkening the sky.  “What…what is that?” Her voice held equal parts amazement and apprehension.

Bane looked over his shoulder, never once slowing, simply stating two words: “Our destination.”

[Lord_S_Gray]

Surly its about time Disney gave you a book deal to re adapt the whole New Sith wars as a series! What an ending...for some characters at least...the unstoppable force of crazed mania on Kaan's part made manifest.  Poor Cir'Lan I quite liked her shame to see her and presumably Dyrald as well struck down, as if Rikard has not lost enough....though Jar'es'Kinsler was...interesting being pulled into himself with a picture of a crystal...and Bane again following the Dark Side trusting in it over and over to round out the classic scene from the comic so long ago, i can't recale it fully but I didn't think he spoke that much to Zannah at that stage, but still given this is translating the more visual medium to pure text the change makes sense. 
But lets not forget this is about largely the Vhal'dan presumably the Storm has hit now the Exodus from Ruusan begins...we know the Vhal'Dan endure, thrive even, but the path from here to Galtea....and who even survives to tread it...

[TheDutchman]

Sorry about the belated submission but Real Life keeps getting in the way.  For those of you who've stuck around: THANK YOU    Anyhow, without further ado...
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Chapter 13: The Sweetest Tongue Hides the Sharpest Tooth, Part I

Striding into his newly acquired office, Tarsus Valorum took a moment to survey the spanning tableau before him: the entire south wall was a transparasteel ovoid window overlooking the Coruscant Senate District perched atop the Republic Executive Building, the city stretching towards the horizon, as far as his eyes could see.  His posture was constrained, his face blank and unreadable.  He turned, facing the small retinue that had presumed to follow him into the opulent room.

"You may leave." His voice broached no argument, the hard set of his eyes staring down all but the most stalwart of individuals.

Dismissing his attendants and advisors, he rounded the formal Chancellor's table--colloquially referred to as the Resolute Desk--and sat rigidly in the oversized-if-simple chair.  Once finally alone, he allowed himself to relax.  Somewhat.

For the first time in over 400 years, the Senate had elected a non-Jedi to the office of Supreme Chancellor.  And now, according to the latest intelligence reports, the Army of Light was close to breaking the Brotherhood, the Sith Lords all but finished.  There were still enough Dark Siders that hostilities continued but Skere Kaan was no longer the galactic threat that he had been.  With the Dark One no longer a major consideration with the decisive victory for the Army of Light, the Republic could finally turn its attention to concerns other than war.  And he was in the perfect position in which to enact new policies, an agenda years in the making.  Yes, the 6th Battle of Ruusan had been exceedingly helpful in Valorum's election...that and the fact that any Jedi opposition was off-world.  Oh, there were Jedi on Coruscant, but none with the political acumen or clout of any of the Jedi Lords.

Most importantly: Lord Hoth, the Seneschal of Light was conspicuously absent.  Valorum's lips turned up at the corners; yes, war was horrible...but it presented some truly unique and serendipitous opportunities.  It was for that precise reason that the Chancellor had called upon the Senate to initiate emergency election proceedings: Lord Hoth not only would've won had he been on Coruscant but--and this was by far worse--he would have perpetuated the archaic system that had led the galaxy to the very war they found themselves in.

The Republic needed new blood, new direction.

Of course, there would be some growing pains; Valorum was first a realist.  But he was also a visionary.  Unfortunately, that also meant that in order for the Supreme Chancellor to implement change, the Old Guard must be torn down and swept away.  Pursing his lips in thought, Valorum considered having Hoth removed altogether; after all, a martyr always made an excellent figurehead in which to garner support.  And he still had his contacts in the Fpi Assassins, or he could always enlist the services of the Loag...

Shaking his head, Valorum dismissed the idea.  He wasn't worried that anything could be tied back to him, rather he worried that the Jedi would do exactly that, using Hoth for their own designs.  He smirked; it would be remarkably simple for them to propose a "Vote of No Confidence" in the Supreme Chancellor's leadership, his tenure incredibly brief.

Thankfully, Valorum always hedged his bets.

He'd been in contact with one of Hoth's most powerful allies, working slowly yet inexorably to win the man over to his side.  Surprisingly, it hadn't taken anywhere near the effort that the Supreme Chancellor had thought it would.  He chalked it up to the fact that not only would there be like-minded Jedi, those that saw necessary change as progress, but also--and this was important--were as tired of war as the rest of the galaxy.

From such beginnings, Valorum knew that he could implement sweeping changes, genuinely convinced that once having done so, the Republic would rise from the ashes of conflict better and stronger than ever.  

Valorum swiveled in his chair to again look out the window.  He sought neither glory nor recognition, but Tarsus believed in the absolute and inviolate dream of a Grand Republic, one where sentients throughout the galaxy could exist with the hope of justice and their right to live their lives as they saw fit.  He would finally put an end to the incessant fighting, conflicts flaring from the millions of loose confederations that currently made up the Republic.  Instead, he would streamline a convoluted, bloated, and ineffectual institution, reorganizing those systems into 1,024 sectors, each given equal representation by their elected Senators.
 As for the Jedi, Valorum would de-militarize the Order, instead placing them under the auspices of the Republic's Judicial Department.  While they would still act in their capacity of "peace-keepers," the Jedi would no longer be an independent entity and certainly not one that could threaten the Grand Republic.  

The Supreme Chancellor was utterly convinced that he could inaugurate such a government.

...And that not everyone would be happy about it.  

Sighing, Valorum stood, squaring his shoulders.  Well, he never once expected that everyone would be accepting of the Grand Republic.  He was suddenly reminded of the Wookie proverb: "The Tree of Liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants."  His eyes again hardened.  Both he and Hoth were patriots.

...And they were tyrants.

Tarsus knew that the transition would experience opposition, but he already had planned accordingly.  And as for those secret promises that Hoth had made in order to secure support for his Army of Light...Valorum had planned for that as well.

Pressing a button on the Resolute Desk, he spoke in a clipped, polished tone.  "Please connect me to the Fairwind."  As the Supreme Chancellor waited for the holonet connection--the distance between Coruscant and Ruusan too great for instantaneous communication--he mentally recalled the key points he would make.  And even though he was not Force-sensitive, he too felt the magnitude of future prospects.

He, Tarsus Valorum, would do everything to ensure that his ideals of a Grand Republic were realized...no matter what.

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From atop his mountain vantage, Jedi Lord Valenthyne Farfalla, general of the Army of Light, stared at the devastated landscape before him.  ...By the Way... His disbelief was completely at odds with his disposition.  Outwardly, his armor gleamed, the diadem that crowned his head was pristine with rubies adorning his brow, his flowing, perfumed blonde hair giving him an effeminate quality.  If anyone assumed that he was anything other than the outstanding Jedi warrior that he was, they would be...disabused of such predilections.  And if they thought him vain, they kept such critiques to themselves, whispered only in small groups, always as rumor and never with a definitive origin.  Not that Farfalla cared; he knew his own worth.

That said, he had the courage of his convictions to know that Lord Hoth was a man that he would follow, from one side of the galaxy to the other.  ...He knew...he knew and yet he still went... He marveled, thinking back to the final discussion that he'd had with the rugged Jedi Lord.  Hoth had told him that he'd seen their victory, that the Army of Light would finally vanquish the Brotherhood once and for all...but in doing so it would cost him his life.

It was the reason that he'd been adamant that only volunteers accompany him against Skere Kaan, the reason that Hoth had ordered Farfalla to pull back, the reason that he'd left Jedi Lord Chillum in charge back at their base.  He knew that for the galaxy to have a lasting peace, he would have to sacrifice himself and 99 others on the alter of freedom.

But those deaths would pay dividends, resulting in the total annihilation of the Sith.  Or so Hoth had told him; Farfalla wasn't so sure...

As he'd pulled his Jedi back from the caves, they'd encountered a contingent of the Brotherhood being led by the Sith Lord Kopecz.  They had not fought like an army routed; no they were still as deadly as any Kodashi viper, especially Kopecz.  Shaking his head, Farfalla was still amazed: the Twi'Leki Sith Lord had not been what he'd expected.  Kopecz had demonstrated a personal honor that the half-Bothan had come to expect from the Jedi Lords he'd fought together with, like Grand Master Berethon, as well as Kages Chillum and Macias.

For while Farfalla ordered his Jedi to track down and eliminate the remaining Sith, Kopecz had utterly refused to flee the field.  A lone figure amongst the mountainous hills flanking the valley caves, the Twi'Leki Sith stood tall in the face of the Army of Light.  Even had he not been honor-bound to do so, Farfalla dismounted his speeder to meet his opponent for single combat, curious to say the least.

He smirked.  In Bothan society, there was no such thing as an "honorable duel;" there was only the victor and the vanquished.  How your opponent lost was immaterial; that they had and you alone were left standing was all that mattered.  As a half-Bothan, it personally disgusted him that such perfidy should be exemplified on Bothawui as "The Way."  Farfalla almost barked a laugh.  He had more in common with those provincial Vhal'Dan than with his own species, the Gray Jedi's doctrine of P’Rae’Lior as a means for a redress of grievances one that Farfalla found honorable, laudable even.

It was that admiration that Farfalla felt when Kopecz--already mortally wounded--demanded that the Jedi Lord face him.  The Twi'Leki had known that he was dying, that he'd be no match for Farfalla.  Still...

Regardless of what Kopecz had done in life, at least he'd died well.

It was a sobering thought, one that invariably led Farfalla back to Lord Hoth's fate.  His fate...and his legacy, one that the half-Bothan would see to fruition.  Peace throughout the galaxy.  It was these thoughts that helped to galvanize Farfalla as he ordered the withdrawal of his Jedi from the valley of death.

With suddenly much to do and with no time to do it, General Valenthyne Farfalla commanded his adjutants attend him as he headed back to the Army of Light's base.  He and Hoth had been at odds for how to proceed when...no, if, the Army of Light had succeeded.  Hoth had been desperate against the inexorable Sith tide that had rent the galaxy asunder for almost a millennia.
 His only concern had been "Stop the Brotherhood" and nothing afterwards...or the detrimental results that such a vacuum would create.

Farfalla knew better.

The galaxy by and large was united for the moment, but without a common foe, old transgressions would soon surface, reigniting disputes and long standing grudges.  Or perhaps some other force would rise up, intent on taking advantage during the aftermath of the New Sith War.  But those weren't the most immediate concerns...

Many of the Jedi Lords that had joined Hoth had done so with the understanding that their participation would be rewarded.  Coupled with the fact that these same Lords were of an era that knew only war, they would invariably revert to their lowest common denominator: warriors.

Warriors...when what the galaxy needed now was stability.

Peace.

But Farfalla knew that such peace could be ephemeral.  He readied himself once again for battle, only this time of a different arena.  The Army of Light had won the galactic peace that they'd fought so hard to achieve.  Now, Farfalla would help to ensure that it remained so.

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Deep down in the darkness, surrounded by shadows darker than night, Rikard Macias drifted in a haze of pain, sorrow, self-pity, and apathy.  Every iota of his being, his resolve, had been called into question...and found wanting.  He'd been convinced of his prowess, of his convictions; it had helped him to secure the office of Kage for the newly formed Vhal'Dan Order.  He'd beaten all of his opposition, every opponent, every pretender...all of them trying to drag the Order back to the time of the Clans, all seven fighting one another as fiercely as they had fought the Sith.  For centuries--no, millennia--the Vhal'Dan had lived and died on Istic III.  Shunned by the Jedi Order, left alone (for the most part) by the Sith, the Clans had had no reason to congregate, to amalgamate.

But then the Brotherhood had come.

It was Rikard that had championed the idea of a united Vhal'Dan, looking to their Mak'Tor allies as the example to implement the office of Kage, a position that would surpass even the established role of Clan Arbiter.  The alternative: the annihilation of their disparate Clans at the hands of the Dark One's forces.

Rik had united the Clans, he and Sulen and Cir-Lan, they three together saving the Vhal'Dan.

...All for nothing.

Bane had shown Rik what true power was.  And pain.  And hopelessness.  Everything that Rikard had been, was, and ever would be was now focused upon the singularity of his failures.  And so, sinking ever further into oblivion, Rikard's thoughts turned within, around and around themselves like a Mobius strip.

...Rik...!

A nagging, intrusive thought flitted across Rik's consciousness.

...Rik...!!

This time, louder, demanding, more urgent.  Rik tried to ignore it.

...Rik...!!!

No longer able to disregard it, Rikard focused upon the irritant.  Suddenly, everything--his self-pity, his pain, his apathy--evaporated, forgotten.  ...Cir-Lan!...Soror!... He thought, reverting to the ancient Vhal'Dan term for "sister."  ...What's happened...where are you...?  He was still surrounded by darkness, yet he thought he could see a dark shade of gray.  ...Soror!?...

...You must not give up...do not succumb...they need you...now...always...Frater... Cir-Lan's voice sounded as if it were retreating, losing volume with every syllable.  ...you...are...the...Vhal'Dan...lead them...to...Gal...ea...love...you...  And quieter still: ...help...

Whatever he'd heard or thought he'd heard, it was what he needed.  Stark, crystal-clear lucidity accompanied by agonizing pain inundated him but it reminded him of his convictions--his Oaths--that he was responsible, that he was needed.

That he was alive.

As shocking as the experience was, in actuality Rikard slowly regained consciousness.  With each passing minute, he became more aware of his surroundings: he was floating in a bacta tank, the blurry shapes of two people standing in front of the tank breaking up the haziness of his perspective.  He thought that he might even recognize them...

...Sulen...Slo'Ma... Their names finally came to him after slipping through the fingers of his memory for long seconds.  There was another figure there...large, unfamiliar... But it helped him to focus.  That and the pain.

Incredibly and with agonizing slowness, Rikard's acuity began to return.  It would still be days before he could think comprehensively, longer still for his body to work, but he no longer felt the tendrils of oblivion threatening to drag him down.

If only such coherence would not have been accompanied with excruciating pain and inexorable loss.

            <<<<< >>>>>

[TheDutchman]

Chapter 13: The Sweetest Tongue Hides the Sharpest Tooth, Part II

"Sulen..." Slo'ma's quiet voice interrupted her contemplations.  Looking up at the taller human, she followed his gaze.

Completely alone and approaching the bacta tank from their left, Sarll slowly ambled over, his leg covered in a bacta-brace that only accentuated his limp.  Likewise, he had another bacta-brace covering the right side of his chest, shoulder, and arm, leaving the rest of his massive torso exposed.  Despite the thick fur covering his chest, Sulen counted many scars cross-hatching the large Cathar's upper body.  ...Not now... She inhaled slowly and released a breath, calming herself.  She fully expected a fight; after all, Sarll had always been antagonistic.

"Arbiter.  Master Singer." He gave two deferential bows of his head.  He even sounded...respectful?

"Speaker Båz Rhadde." Slo'ma's tone was neutral.  Of course Rikard had told his friend of his many disputes with the large Cathar.

"What is it you want, Sarll?" Sulen's normally unflappable tone was tinged with a hint of irritation.  Still, her immaculate visage looked as it always did: pristine and untroubled.  Besides, right now she was focused upon her brother, her's by bond if not blood.  And Sarll's presence here befouled both the solemnity of the situation as well as her mood.

Sarll nevertheless heard the unspoken rebuke.  Turning to face Sulen, he stood tall in front of her.  At 1.88 meters, Sulen was a tall woman yet Sarll dwarfed her.  Still, both of their faces could've been carved from quadranium.  But what happened next completely took the Vhal'Dan Arbiter by surprise.

"I wished to pay my respects...to the Kage." For the first time, Sarll did not so much as pause when addressing Rik by his cognomen.  He actually sounded polite...

Sulen couldn't believe it, although her face betrayed none of her feelings.  "Of course." She said, stepping aside.  Could this be some kind of ploy?  It certainly would not be the first time that he'd attempted something new.  That had always been Sarll's modus operandi: if one attack failed, he'd regroup, learning from his mistakes before initiating his next stratagem.  Clandestinely, Sulen kept watch over the Cathar Speaker from the corner of her eyes.

As each minute passed, the three Jedi stood in front of the bacta tank in silence, thoughts raging in each of their heads.  The tall human Arbiter considered every scenario in the hope of countering Sarll, each possibility examined and ultimately disregarded.  When Sarll finally did speak, Sulen couldn't believe her own ears.  "He saved my life.  From the Sith.  He didn't have to.  I would not have..."  Despite his quiet tone, Sarll's deep bass voice seemed to shake the ground; all the while, he continued to stare at Rikard as he floated in the tank.

Sulen had schooled her face, allowing none of her emotions to show.  But what she felt... Did Sarll mean what he'd just said?  And why would Rik save the Cathar; there was certainly no love lost between the two--

Suddenly, waves of pain, anger, panic, and horror inundated Sulen, the Arbiter found herself on her knees, her hands gripping her head.  It took a few moments for her to realize that it was not only her, but that everyone had been adversely affected: both Slo'ma and Sarll were also shaking their heads as if to clear their minds, their eyes full of pain.  She noticed that Sarll's face twitched in unfeigned agony as he grabbed at his chest while Slo'ma's nose had begun to bleed profusely.  For herself, Sulen felt as if someone had used her head to test a hammer, her body as if she'd ran 100 kilometers...only to have then lifted a speederbike for several hours.  She'd never felt anything so...debilitating, so invasive.

It had felt as if it had lasted hours, days...but when she consulted her chronometer, she was shocked to see that only two minutes had passed.  ...Surely not... She thought, disbelieving.  As it was she was barely standing!

Looking around, Sulen could see that every single Jedi had felt...whatever it was that had hit her.  And while most of them also looked worse for the wear--even those flat on their backs, prone upon the deck--the Arbiter could tell that the other Jedi were also slowly recovering.  It gave Sulen some comfort to see.  She caught movement in the corner of her eye.  ...By the Maker, Rik...! She thought surprised, scrutinizing the man within the bacta tank.

Even more surprisingly, Sulen could now see that his eyes were open...and lucid.  Smiling and amazed, Sulen placed her hands upon the transparisteel surface of the tank, mouthing "Frater" while her eyes began to tear up.  And while Rikard's face was covered by the breath mask, Sulen could see his eyes; within them she could feel the love, gratitude, and confusion that he also projected with the Force.  She felt a comforting large hand upon her shoulder.  Looking up, Sulen saw that Slo'ma had his own smile radiating from his face, one that not even his bloody nose could diminish.

Everything else momentarily forgotten, Sulen and Slo'ma shared a hug.  However, as she looked past Slo'ma's shoulder, Sulen noticed that Sarll looked pensive.  Whether or not the Cathar looked so due to the unknown event or from Rikard having regained consciousness, Sulen couldn't decide.

          <<<<< >>>>>



As the hyperspace tunnel collapsed back into starlines, the ship entered its orbital insertion window to make planetfall on Coruscant.  It had no markings, indeed it had a borrowed transponder so as to grant further anonymity.  Soon the ship had its landing permits, everyone none the wiser.

Joining one of the main aerial shipping lanes, the ship easily sped across the ecumenopolis' surface.  After a short time, it veered from the lane, exiting to the Senate District, specifically the Republic Executive Building.  Docking in one of the private landing bays, two lone figures exited the ship, their brisk pace indicative of their haste.  From their ship, they entered the building and, taking one of the innocuous service turbolifts, neither of the two saw anyone at all.  Exiting the lift, they strode unseen through labyrinthine corridors, making many turns before finally stopping in front of an otherwise completely unremarkable door.

After a moment, the door irised open, allowing the two figures entry before silently shutting behind them.  Squeezing through narrow passageways that seemed to lead to nowhere, the two were surprised when they found themselves stopped by a single blastdoor.  Looking askance at one another, they were about to speak when the heavy door slowly yet quietly opened.  In front of them stood a lone, slender human, a drink held within a casual grip.

"Jedi Lord Valenthyne Farfalla, so nice of you to come.  Please, make yourself at home." The human's voice was genial.  He did not address the other figure as he was still a padawan but knew exactly who the man was.  Gesturing, the human offered them entry into a luxurious room, one overlooking the Senate District.  And while Farfalla was unfazed by the cityscape spread out before him, the padawan gaped open-mouthed at the awesome--almost overwhelming--sight.

"Padawan Othone." Farfalla gently called, breaking the spell that the padawan had fallen under.  "Please sit here."  Uninvited, he took a seat himself opposite the human.  ...So begins the final battle... He thought.  In a controlled voice, the Jedi Lord addressed the human.  "So...you've called me here.  What is it you want, Chancellor?"

With a small smile playing upon his lips, Valorum stared deeply into the Jedi Lord's eyes.  "Nothing less than peace and security for the Republic."  His face was suddenly hard.  "My Republic."

As all three men squared against one another, the entire population of Coruscant--indeed the galaxy--went about its business, unaware of the monumental changes that would occur as a result of these three men and the decisions made during this meeting.

[Lord_S_Gray]

Enter the politicians now the warriors job is done...why do I get vibes of the Potsdam conference with the last scene, that the true new face of the Republic will be drawn up by a small coterie, and the warriors upon blood and bone this chance for reconstruction was built, namely the surviving Vhal'Dan and more militarized Jedi Lords, will be...discarded.

There is a kind of irony here, that in a sense Rikard getting curb stomped by Bane may have saved him, he was the type to have joined Lord Hoth in the final attack...not that that would feel like much consolation in his present living hell. Saril's change intone toward Rikard is also noticeable, a sense of humility for the first time in the Cathar.

[Karmack]

Enter the politicians now the warriors job is done...why do I get vibes of the Potsdam conference with the last scene, that the true new face of the Republic will be drawn up by a small coterie, and the warriors upon blood and bone this chance for reconstruction was built, namely the surviving Vhal'Dan and more militarized Jedi Lords, will be...discarded.

There is a kind of irony here, that in a sense Rikard getting curb stomped by Bane may have saved him, he was the type to have joined Lord Hoth in the final attack...not that that would feel like much consolation in his present living hell. Saril's change intone toward Rikard is also noticeable, a sense of humility for the first time in the Cathar.

Oh, nice.   I love that last meeting.  LSG, you're spot-on with the reference to the Potsdam conference.  Farfalla will become the new leader of the demilitarized (and de-politicized) Jedi while Valorum becomes the newly powerful Chancellor of a reorganized Grand Republic.

Ushering in a golden age of peace and prosperity that will last a thousand years...   ;-)

[TheDutchman]

Chapter 14: Lazarus' Lament

...No...not again... Rikard wordlessly pleaded, knowing the sequence of the nightmare that continued to plague him during the last three weeks of his consciousness, as well as the futility of his petitions.  He'd tried to change it, thinking that he of all people should be able to do so.  After all, was he not the architect of his own dreams?

Or at least that was what he told himself despite knowing it to be false...or, at best, a half-truth.

As with all lucid dreams, the details of the setting were blurry and unfocused.  Yet, the two figures that Rikard spied were as clear as the Tatooine sky during noon: a small, thin girl whose face no longer held any youthful innocence and a hulking human who towered above her, his yellow eyes passing judgement on all that they witnessed.

...Bane... Rikard remembered.

The Sith Lord who had entreated the Vhal'Dan Kage, petitioning him to become the enormous human's acolyte...one that Rikard had refused.

With violent results.

Even now almost a month later, Rikard still required further bacta treatment...and for those injuries that bacta could not cure... Well, he still wasn't used to the number of cybernetics that fixing his body had required. 

As if wrenching Rikard's attention back to the nightmare, the two figures spoke, their voices loud and unnaturally acute.

"What is this?" The girl asked gesturing around the collapsed cave, the ceiling open to the Ruusan sky.  All around them the rock strata was deeply scarred and burnt as if immolated by an enormous explosion.

Which it had been.

"Kaan's smartest decision: his suicide." While Bane's face remained impassive, Rikard could've swore that the corner of his lips turned upwards, if only for the briefest of moments.  To Rik, he seemed to be looking for something...

Once again, the dream seemed to shift deliberately, the young girl anxiously looking about as if expecting some monster to attack them.

"...Shouldn't we leave?  What...what if the other Sith come ba--" She jumped slightly as Bane's booming voice cut her off.

"There are no other Sith. There never will be, except for us. One Master and one apprentice; one to embody the power, the other to crave it." Bane's tone reverberated with a finality that even Rikard could sense, the words only serving to confuse the already confounded Vhal'Dan.  He knew of Kaan's death and those Sith Lords that had not fought on to their death were to be imprisoned (if not outright executed following a tribunal of the remaining Jedi Lords).  But no other Sith?  Even in the depths of the nightmare, Rikard believed Bane.

It was unfortunate that he was still no closer to understanding exactly what the dream--he--meant...

"Come, apprentice." Bane was already walking away, a shadow joining the darkness, when the words quietly echoed in the crumbling chamber.  Looking through another large hole blasted through the earth, Rikard could see the devastation of the lands surrounding the caves, the worst being a large fissure that had split the once-green valley in twain, the desolate rock canyon a harsh reminder of the hard-fought victory that the Jedi had finally claimed over the Brotherhood.

After a millennium of conflict, strife, and death, the New Sith Wars were finally over.  But at what cost?

Again, the familiar pain of loss erupted anew in Rikard's chest, tears threatening to overwhelm his eyes.  ...Cir-Lan...Soror... He lamented and not for the last time.  His twin had been his constant companion, from his childhood pranks to his ascension to Kage for the newly-unified Vhal'Dan Order.  Throughout the countless battles beginning on Istic III to the Sixth Battle of Ruusan, Cir-Lan had always been the one guarding his right flank, her comforting, reliable presence a bastion for him during the worst of times.

And there was no better a Blademaster amongst the Vhal'Dan...as well as the last of his blood-kin.  Sulen and Slo'Ma were his family...but Cir-Lan had been his last surviving relative.  ...Maker-dammit why?...Why her...? He wondered impotently, the ache of loss renewed by the nightmare.  He sank to his knees, feeling as empty of life as...well, as the valley of death wrought by the effects of the Thought Bomb.  ...It...it should've been me... He admonished himself again.  ...If only I had not lost to Bane...if only I had been stronger...  Feeling miserable, he heard and felt motion at his side yet remained motionless on the scorched, barren rock floor.

The girl hurriedly followed Bane, casting a final backwards glance as she rushed to catch up to the tall human.  But before she too disappeared into the blackness, Rikard could swear that she looked straight at him, grinning a mischievous smile as her blue eyes turned yellow, a wicked bent to her face suddenly contorting her features into a daemon's visage. 

"Your sister will suffer for centuries for your failures." A voice whispered, loud enough for Rikard to clearly hear.  "And as for your beloved Vhal'Dan...well, they shall forever be without a true Home...never to know the comforts of a homeworld that will not inevitably be lost to them soon afterwards."  Mocking laughter like bones crunching underneath boots rang out throughout the chamber.  And with each word, the fear seizing Rikard's body strengthened a hundredfold until sweat poured forth from ever pore of his skin.

"You are the first failure in a long line of failures, Kage.  And your Order--like you--shall perish in the Storms of Exodus..."

          <<<<< >>>>>



Waking suddenly, Rikard's eyes shot open, attempting to adjust to the low-light of the pre-dawn darkness.  Looking around he felt more than saw that his blanket was twisted and mangled, his pillow soaked with sweat.  For long moments, he did nothing but try to control his ragged breathing, his mind razor-focused upon the dark premonitions promised him (and the Vhal'Dan) from his nightmares.  Inescapably, his thoughts ran to his twin sister.

He shut his eyes tightly, willing himself not to cry. ...please...please not this time... He prayed to the Maker as if to bargain, knowing such to be utterly futile but still doing so nonetheless.  ...please...

After some time (Rikard knew not how long), he opened his eyes, restless and disconsolate.  Just like every night for the past few weeks.  ...dammit... He silently cursed.

Knowing that he would not be able to get any more fitful sleep this night, he stripped off his nightclothes and changed into a utilitarian jumpsuit, quickly exiting the cramped quarters that he'd been given to convalesce in only to suddenly stop idle in the middle of the hallway.  ...I've done enough resting... The thought came unbidden as he attempted to shake off the fear, discomfort, and agony of the nightmare.  He remembered something Su had told him long ago, some advice that helped to alleviate the melancholy if by the smallest of margins: "Occupy your mind with something other than the sorrow.  If nothing else, you'll have accomplished something as a result, which should give some sense of comfort."

Su always gave him the best advice...even if he himself wasn't ready to hear it at the time.  Somewhat encouraged, Rikard began to walk, slowly at first but more swiftly the further he got from his room.

Knowing now exactly where he was heading, the slender human hurried along the prefabricated corridors, most of them blessedly empty given the early hour of the morning.  What few sentients Rik did come across, he would just stare disconcertingly at them.  One and all they swiftly walked around him, giving him as wide a berth as the narrow hallway would allow.

Rik continued on, the encounters all but forgotten.

Finally arriving at the Rehabilitation Center, Rikard went to one of the strength machines.  Adjusting the pressor program, he fully immersed himself into the rigors of the now-familiar workout routines, the exercise both therapeutic as well as hypertrophic.  But more than that, it allowed him to gain the necessary equilibrium to properly master his new reality.

In the weeks following his regaining consciousness, Rikard had worked diligently on learning how to properly use his cybernetics, the faux limbs quickly gaining facility as he stubbornly worked through pain, awkwardness, and discomfort.  Determination overcame tedium and frustration as Rik tried again and again to regain his independence and autonomy.  Now, he was almost back to normal.

Almost.

One of the reasons that those that he encountered were so uncomfortable and squeamish around him was the same reason that Rikard preferred not to speak as often anymore.

After his fight with Bane, Rik's body had been brutalized and shattered, the worst being the mangled mess of broken teeth and the lacerated skin of a jaw that had hung off of the side of his skull.  While he had countless broken bones, contusions, and lacerations, the worst was what the Sith Lord had done to his face...

Unfortunately by the time that he'd been immersed in the bacta tank, it was too late to save the Kage's jaw.  Instead, in place of his mandible (and right eye & ear), conspicuous cybernetic replacements gave Rikard a decidedly Sith-like look, the vocoder reminiscent of the holopics Rikard had seen of Darth Malgus.

He barked a laugh, stopping immediately when he heard himself.  To his one remaining biological ear, the digitized sound of what was unmistakably his voice only reinforced the ersatz quality of the vocoder.  Inhaling swiftly, Rik upped the weight on the press machine, determined to think of something--anything!--else.  Broken ribs, excised hands, toes, shattered femurs, collapsed lungs, crushed vertebrae, fractured arm--

...Stop this, dammit..! He would have ground his teeth...if he still had them.  Instead he tried focusing on the proper movement of the weight, of keeping a strict form, of--

Cir-Lan's fading, panicked plea begging Rikard to save her, to keep her from a fate worse than deat--

Something broke inside Rikard.

Shouting (or at least the vocoder equivalent), suddenly standing he grabbed the press machine by the handle, ripping the entire arm assembly loose.  Blinded by rage, anguish, and dread, Rik wordlessly yelled as he hurled it towards the wall behind him.  He expected the loud crash as the plasteel collided with the bulkhead but not the other sound that preceded it.

The low roar that erupted behind him surprised Rikard, making him turn on his heel; there should have been no one here this early...

Having ducked at the last moment, the handle of the broken arm had scored a glancing blow off of the Cathar's head as Sarll pulled himself up to his full height.  At more than 2 meters, he dwarfed the slim yet tall human, the Cathar's bulk engulfing Rikard's silhouette twice over.  And that was before the Cathar had put on his armor.  As Sarll stood there, the gleaming copper-like veneer of the durasteel/nanite weave alloy gave him the appearance of a tank...and the power of an entire infantry platoon,  all the while wielding his own personal golden-bladed beskar breaker, Durandal...a fact proven time and again during his countless battles throughout the Wars (and the internecine Clan disputes before that).  The head of a roaring lion in low relief decorated his enormous cuirass, as fierce as the sentient who wore the armor.

There was a reason that Sarll was the Cataphract Triarch.

Irritated, Rikard was about to throw an offhanded remark rebuking the Cathar but the words died upon his lips when he saw the look on Sarll's face.

It was something that Rikard had never seen from the Speaker, had never expected to witness: Sarll looked uncomfortably bemused at the smaller human, his golden eyes searching.  Usually when he spoke, Sarll's normal bass vibrato felt as if it shook the ground beneath; now, his subdued tone merely sounded like a swarm of Thunian hornets.  A large swarm.  "I have come to de--" He began only for Rikard to impatiently interrupt him.

"Let me guess, Sarll: 'Declare P’Rae’Lior'?  Now I know why you're 'fully dressed.'  Fine, we'll fight outside since we don't have a proper Pancratium.  I'll--" But Rikard stopped speaking when Sarll, firmly but gently, placed a massive armored paw upon the human's chest.

"Stop.  That was not what I was going to say."  A low growl emanated from the back of Sarll's throat.  "Rikard..." He began slowly.

It was all the Kage could do to not gape in astonishment.  Sarll had never once called him by his first name.  Well, never absent the cognomen of "Black."  But more surprising was the Cathar's tone: it actually sounded...respectful.

"Rikard..." He began again.  "I have come to declare the fealty of myself and my Cataphracts to the Office of the Kage, from now unto perpetuity.  We shall be the armor that protects you, our Zweihanders will cut where you direct, the Force our shield to defend you."  And then, to Rikard, the Triarch did the unthinkable.

He knelt. 

Rikard was suddenly reminded of the huge monolithic statues found half-buried on the planet Jedha: immovable and implacable.

With only the briefest pause Rikard attempted to cover his own shock by reciting by rote the ancient words of the Oath of Allegiance: “I accept and bond you into my service and absolve you of all past trespasses.”  But after a few seconds worth of silence followed it with a single, sincere question.  "Why?"

Sarll raised his head, his eyes not quite level with Rikards as he continued to kneel but his face turned harder still.  "As you put the good of the Vhal'Dan ahead of your own desires, so too must I."  Rikard said nothing, still amazed.  Without rising, Sarll exhaled as if to divest himself of his impatience.  "You saved me from that Sith bastard."  He said quietly.

Rikard blinked, his next words spoken as if a foregone conclusion.  "Of course; you're Vhal'Dan." He said, only now realizing the weight of his actions and words.  ...Damned pain making me slow...

"Yes, Kage." Sarll replied, his point proven.  "You did not think of our rivalry, nor of any disagreement.  You acted.  Definitively."  Sarll still had not risen.  "To protect me."

Giving his head a small shake, Rikard gestured.  "Please rise."  He gave the Cathar a scrutinizing gaze, thinking that the imposing armored Cathar would barely able to fit through the hallways.  But that was not what concerned him.  "I know that you've never liked m--"

"And I still do not, Kage." Sarll stated deliberately, but continued in a more subdued tone.  "But that is immaterial.  As I stated in my Oath of Allegiance: my loyalty is to the Office of the Kage." Rikard heard the distinction.  "Not the person."

For a moment, Rikard stood with his arms folded across his chest.  "Fair enough."  He stared intently up at Sarll's face, undecided between which was harder: that or his armor.  "Have you been waiting for me to be alone to tell me this?" The ghost of a smile played across Rikard's lips.

Sarll once again seemed suddenly uncomfortable.  "It...it was only proper that I speak with you one-on-one.  Alone.  Kage." This time only the barest of pauses before addressing Rikard by his station.

"I see." Rikard said simply.  "Thank you, Triarch.  I trust that you and I will work towards the mutual benefit of the Order."  Sarll's discomfort seemed to disappear at the subtle dismissal as if he'd finally returned to familiar territory after an uncertain hyperspace jump.  He was about to exit through the silent irising door when Rik called after him.  "Sarll."  The Cathar turned, a half-scowl upon his face, his armored shoulders almost brushing both sides of the doorway.  "May the Force be with you." He said plainly, earnestly.

After a second, Sarll nodded, his face not exactly softening but rather becoming less...stern.  "And you, Kage.  Excuse me."

For long moments Rikard did not stir, his mind racing with the events of the morning until he suddenly realized: for the first time in almost three weeks, he felt something other than the pain of loss.  Contemplative, he returned to his room.  First using the sonic shower, he then dressed and, for the first time since emerging from the bacta tank, donned his Clan's--no, his Order's--armor, the device of the Kage's Office affixed in the center of his cuirass.  He'd been neglectful of his duties...

But at least he'd been there for Su.

Sadly, Cir-Lan hadn't been the only Vhal'Dan casualty of Kaan's Thought Bomb suicide: Sulen's husband (and leader of the Order's Forcesages) Dyrald was among the 100 lives lost that had gone with Lord Hoth. 

They'd commiserated with one another, their shared pain over the loss of family only serving to strengthen their already close friendship; indeed, they considered the other their sibling by bond if not blood.  Especially for Su: it was telling that she trusted Rik enough to allow herself to be able to deal with the anguish that she felt over losing Dyrald as Rik did likewise with Cir-Lan.  There, alone in Sulen's small apartment, were they able to mourn absent the emotional barriers that they otherwise constantly had in place guarding themselves. 

The only difference was that Su seemed to recover considerably faster than Rik.

While the grief did not go away--nor would it ever--it did change enough for both of them to feel a splinter of catharsis.  Now, combined with this newest "development" with Sarll, Rik felt that he could finally join Su in healing, emotionally as well as physically.

And if he knew anything about his friend, he was confident that she'd looked after the affairs of the Order during his convalescence.  Well...now it was time for the Kage to resume his place and assume the responsibilities that he'd been elected to shoulder.

As the Ruusan dawn fell over the camp proper, Rikard Macias, Kage of the Vhal'Dan Order strode through the corridors, looking for his Arbiter, his own renewed armor indicative of recovering spirit.  For Cir-Lan, for Dyrald--no, for ALL of the Vhal'Dan who had died during this damned War(!)--he must be strong.

He would do what he had to for the good of the Order and for every single Vhal'Dan within it.

[Lord_S_Gray]

As if his physically ruination was not enough, Rikard now suffers mental anguish of unwanted and tormenting dreams/visions (the extent to which he ascribes them as dreams or visions uncertain likely even to him, he has no way of affirming they are images of what is/has/will occurred on Ruusan)

I wonder who the mocking voice to Rikard was though.  It doesn’t seem to be Zannah, too young and arguably wouldn’t care, nor Bane who would speak with more force if he wanted to speak at all (again you write him very well as a pure entity of Darkness, less man than walking encapsulated embodiment of his philosophy).  So who? His own fears perhaps, but then it is a prescient voice given what we do know of the Civil War hundreds of years later.  Perhaps it is better it is never known, the voice of the wind.

Saril make a very noble gesture here, working for the good of the Order rather than himself, and while the Cathar tend to this kind to nobility (at least the Vhal’Dan set of the species) there is no denying the animosity with Rikard could’ve pushed him to challenge and more than likely win a duel. That his loyalty is to the office rather than the man shouldn’t be taken as a stab at Rikard but a considered way of keeping the Vhal’Dan united despite personal rivalries, and Rikard is smart enough to understand that.

The war has cost the Vhal’dan here much, but moments like that show a genuine effort to rebuild something better from what remains, though broken in many ways Rikard is still Kage and ironically seems more secure in that position than at any previous time.  I suspect he will need that unity now more than ever as without Sith the Republic politicians must be feeling uneasy about all these militarized blooded Knights hanging around. 

[TheDutchman]

Chapter 15: The Promises of Politicians, part I

“All of the promises of politicians, generals, madmen, and crusaders that war can create peace have yet to be borne out.”
-Old Shifalan Axiom

As the green blade of her practice saber expertly parried her opponent's attack, newly-raised Silver Knight Stryka Annix gave a small smile of approval.  "Good.  Very good.  But..."  She drew from the expertise of countless battles to help refine her unique variant Niman Form of lightsaber combat, easily riposting to--once again--overwhelm and penetrate her opponent's defenses.  Even as he retreated, her opponent did not panic; instead he gritted his teeth in a failed effort to try to keep Stryka's blade from striking home.  However, the outcome was never really in doubt...

Quickness belied by her larger frame, the Shifalan's lightsaber swiftly battered against her opponent's in succession, a flurry of strikes, first low then high and low again, only for Stryka to unexpectedly pivot her wrists, deftly twisting her blade around the sapphire blue lightsaber that now impotently defended nothing but empty space.  As her blade struck true against the teidowan's chest, he gave his head a small shake of disbelief.  And admiration.  "...But you're leaving yourself open on your non-dominate side."  She let out a patient sigh, nevertheless pleased with his progress.  "That's enough for now, teidowan.  We shall continue this tomorrow."

She closed down the practice weapon, a sudden glint of humor in her piercing brown eyes.  "Loser recalibrates the crystals." She said, handing her comparatively slender opponent the practice saber, her scrutinizing gaze weighing her new apprentice.  "Teidowan Ovarug...Kazic..." She decided that this was one of those times in which her lessons would be best learned under the purview of a more familiar bond.  "Do not be discouraged; you are learning fast."  Her wide face broke out in a sincere smile.  While it was true that he probably would never be the blademaster that she was, Stryka had a feeling that this Kazic would be persistent to the point of obstinance.  Which wasn't a particularly bad thing in this case.  "And don't forget..." She reminded, "I've had several decades of experience that you've yet to live.  I'm very proud of you." She said, meaning it.

The young Anzat smiled, his red eyes level with hers.  "Thank you, Master."  With the saber hilts in hand, he was unable to straighten the strands of black hair that had fallen from his topknot, giving him an almost feral appearance, although the look was somewhat spoiled by the youthful roundness of his smooth face.  After all, he'd barely turned 15 this last year... "And I want you to know that I'm both honored and humbled that you chose me as your apprentice.  I hope to someday to live up to your decision with my own successes."

Stryka gave one of her rare smiles.  ...Someday... She thought.  Of that she had no doubt whatsoever given that Anzat lifetimes were measured in the centuries.  "I'm sure you'll do yourself--and I--proud, teidowan."  Slightly abashed, the tall Anzat bowed at the waist, his quick thanks uttered as he headed towards the Weapons Wall where the practice sabers were stored.

Unbeknownst to Kazic, the Shifalan Silver Knight stared after her young teidowan, scrutinizing him as he adeptly opened the crystal furnace housing the kyber of the practice sabers.  With uncanny precision, he withdrew both crystals, locking them into the calibration unit to ensure nominal output.  Not for the first time, she was amazed at the assured nature of her new apprentice, his long limbs promising a tall frame.  Suppressing a smile, she wanted to laugh when she realized that the "shadow" on his cheeks and around his lips was a first attempt at growing a proper beard.

Well, time would tell just how successful he'd be with that.  "Teidowan." She softly called after him.  "After you're finished here, I expect that you shall join Master Korr Cyone aft for 4th Dimensional Calculus.  I shall see you for Meditation and Metaphysics practice this evening."  Again, he bowed at the waist as she exited the through the bulkhead.

"Of course, Master." He said before busying himself with the recalibration unit before the irising doors of the ship's training salle sealed the room away behind Stryka.  Pivoting on her foot, she allowed herself to feel the pride that she'd come to accept as happenstance from having a new apprentice.  She was proud of the fact that he was a quick and clever study, never mind that his current swordsmanship left something to be desired.  ...Well...he'll have the next millennium to work on it... She amusingly contemplated as she turned her broad shoulders sideways so as to more easily navigate the corridors of the Vhal'Dan tactical frigate, Istic's Aldrnari. 

Such was the lot of any Cataphract serving on a capital ship: since space was at a premium, the vessel was designed to be as efficient as possible...which meant that there were no oversized passageways, cabins, or extraneous construction.  Especially the Clan tactical frigate.

While the ship wasn't one of the larger vessels found in the galaxy, the Valor-class frigates were much like the Clans--the Order, Stryka corrected herself--it may not be the largest but it was nevertheless a fearsome and deadly weapon of war. 

Stryka smirked.  "The Vhal'Dan Order."  It sounded foreign yet...even she had to admit to a tinge of pride.  Still...

It would take some getting used to, even moreso after what the Triarch had informed his Cataphracts of concerning their adjusted role following the elimination of the Brotherhood; that the Battalion would protect the Kage, acting as armor and shield (much like the Cataphracts' own suits).  Such was the new way, or so Stryka had been told.  Well, if Sarll could change, then so would the Battalion.

Besides: live, fight, or die, she would do all that and more for the Triarch...and if he was now Oathsworn to the Kage, then so too was she.

A sudden wave of dizziness hit her like a physical wall causing Stryka to brace herself against the bulkhead while she felt the tactical frigate jump to hyperspace.  It was a problem that always affected her: whenever she experienced the pseudomotion of a jump it took a couple of seconds for her to regain her "space legs."  It was a weakness that she despised in herself, one unworthy of a Cataphract.  She knew that she would have to work on the problem--and herself--that much harder. 

What concerned her more was that she knew that there was no scheduled jump in the ship's itinerary.  They were supposed to remain in orbit around Ruusan for the foreseeable future; even the youngest teidowans knew that.  Stryka didn't like spontaneous changes; she preferred to consider all variables before making a decision...which was why it amazed everyone (herself included) that she was such an expert combatant: more often than not, one had to rely upon instinct in battle when dueling an opponent.  It was a conundrum that kept crossing her mind, one that her own master had tried--unsuccessfully--to unravel. 

But for now, she wondered just why they'd gone to hyperspace.

Figuring that the Triarch was probably with the Kage, she made her way towards the latter's room.  Walking towards the Kage's Cabin, Stryka was unsurprised to see a young, pale blond human standing guard beside the door.  While she wasn't short, she still had a youthful quality about her face.  Probably because she was young.  Stryka knew--again from Sarll--that the Kage had chosen an assistant to help him, both with his recovery as well as any of the numerous (and tedious) political duties he was now responsible for.  For a moment, Stryka was at a loss for her name, delving the depths of her mind's eidetic repository for an answer...

Gray Knight Corde Elnyr, recently raised from teidowan after completing her Trials of the Dragon Cave, she'd seen action in the last of the fighting (people were already calling it the "7th Battle of Ruusan" as if to mark its historical importance and from what Stryka had seen, those people were probably right).  From what the Triarch had told her, Corde was something of a Force savant, able to hold her own against any of the Brotherhood that she'd fought.  Probably why the Kage had chosen her...

"Knight Elnyr, I need to see the Kage." Stryka demanded.  Standing in front of the young human, the Shifalan Cataphract dwarfed the girl.  However, the Gray knight did not move.

"I'm sorry, Koawan but the Kage is indisposed at the moment." Corde's brown eyes were steady, respectful...and ever so slightly defiant as she stared up at the much taller Silver knight.

Immediately Stryka liked her.

"I see." Stryka's posture relaxed, her tone more genial.  "Then perhaps you can answer a question for me: why have we entered hyperspace?" She casually crossed her thick arms, surreptitiously scrutinizing young Knight Elnyr. 

She was impressed by what she saw.

The young woman was a walking armory: her lightsaber was within easy reach hanging from her belt where, secreted along the synth-leather, she also had no less than three narrow vibroblades, with another two barely visible in her boots.  She had two blasters holstered on each of her upper legs, two more hidden in her shoulder harness, and--unless Stryka missed her guess--two miniature "fastdraw" holdout blasters up her sleeves.

Furthermore, Stryka had seen Corde practicing Pankration, the Vhal'Dan's martial arts system.  She was surprisingly adept especially for her age, doing well against opponents with years of training and experience.  The Shifalan Cataphract gave a small smile; she had to hand it to him but the Kage had chosen his "assistant" well.

The young woman gave a quick glance past Stryka's shoulder down the passageway.  Then, deciding that she could talk privately just the two of them, she spoke just above a whisper.  "Koawan, I'm not certain but I think it has something to do with a communique that the Kage received from Coruscant."  She shrugged.  "I know that one moment he was preoccupied with reports, then after the holocall, his face was one of controlled fury.  He then called for the Arbiter and every Speaker; they're with him right now."  Suddenly her eyes looked to Stryka earnestly.  "Koawan...is it true that the Kage saved the Triarch's life?"  Her tone was one of sincere curiosity.

Stryka found herself responding with equal authenticity.  "He did."  Everyone knew that there was no love lost between the two...just as everyone now knew--despite that fact--the Kage had acted, showing just how committed to the Vhal'Dan Order he was.  And after sharing this moment with Corde, Stryka was surprised to find that she too was likewise devoted to the Order.

Corde didn't immediately respond but she gave an almost imperceptible nod.  "Like I said Koawan, the Kage is busy...but if you'd like, you're welcome to wait here in the meantime."  She gestured with her chin to a spot opposite her in the passageway, a hint of a smile upon her lips.

Grinning, Stryka took up residence where Corde had indicated.  "Thank you, Knight Elnyr." She settled in parade rest stance to await the Kage, mirroring the young human.

"My pleasure, Koawan." She said respectfully.  After a brief moment, she cocked an eyebrow a half-centimeter.  "I heard about a Shifalan Cataphract whose zweihander saw over 100 of the Brotherhood to the Afterlife, not to mention saving the lives of her Triarch and remaining Cataphracts."  She looked from the corner of her eye.  "Or are those just 'Clan gossip?'"

With a bittersweet sigh, Stryka's chin dipped towards her chest as memories flooded her mind.  She didn't know particularly why--although she trusted her instincts--but Stryka found herself contemplative.  And willing to talk.  "The...'Clan gossip,' as you say, is wrong.  It wasn't 100."  She inhaled.  "It was closer to 200..."

So began a deep and abiding friendship that would last for many decades to come for both women.  And when Stryka became the fourth Kage of the Vhal'Dan Order, it was Corde who served as her Arbiter.

It was only hours later that the doors irised open disgorging almost all of the Speakers, although Stryka noticed that Arbiter Rue Lai and the Triarch were still standing with the Kage deep in conversation.  She knew better than to interrupt.

When the Triarch finally did step out of the Kage's Cabin, his face was a mixture of emotions: anger, anticipation, and even amusement.  "Silver Koawan Annix..." He addressed her, gesturing with a nod that she follow him.  Like her, he had to turn a bit in order to fit within the corridor, his own heavy, burnished armor almost touching both bulkheads.  "I--we--have new orders from the Kage himself."  If anything, his voice suddenly dropped deeper as if that were possible.  "...Orders we will not like."

As they both continued to walk she listened, and Stryka knew that her Triarch was right.

She liked the orders not one bit.

           <<<<< >>>>>

[TheDutchman]

Special thanks to For Tyeth for the visual assist!  This chapter is dedicated to him
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Chapter 15: The Promises of Politicians, part II

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Vhal’Dan Congress
Baransu no Kage: Black Rikard Macias, human male
      Kage's Adjutant: Corde Elnyr, human female
Council of Balance:
  Arbiter: Sulen Reu Lai, human female
  1st Speaker: Sarll Båz Rhadde, Cathar male
  2nd Speaker: Lorack Vasch, Kel-Dor female
  3rd Speaker: Khrom-Xon Prine, human male
  4th Speaker: Darjaní Korpil, human female
  5th Speaker: Jol’l Dulovic, Togruta male
  6th Speaker: Aah’valia Mortari, Trailian female
  7th Speaker: Piodas Bastra, Verpine
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As the warship Istic's Aldrnari exited hyperspace, the tactical frigate took an orbital insertion above the northern pole before settling into a geosynchronous orbit above the Senate District of Coruscant.  Within minutes, one of the armored shuttles departed from the vessel, the red-painted hull indicative of diplomatic passengers carbon scored and faded.  The ship--much like its crew--had seen countless battles of the New Sith Wars.

A thousand-year war that had finally concluded, the Sith now all-but-eradicated.

For the first time in a millennium the galaxy was at peace, the armies of the Sith outright destroyed.  Already there was talk of monuments to the Army of Light, especially in veneration of its leader, Jedi Lord Hoth...a conspicuous contrast in the state of the Republic even as recent as a year ago. 

And the galaxy was about to change even more.

Unsurprisingly, the Republic of today would be unrecognizable compared to the one that had seen the first hostilities of the Sith flood that had precipitated the War.  The residents of the galaxy had lived with war for so long that they no longer knew of anything else.  It would take a visionary to enact said change, to inaugurate a New (some hoped for "Golden") Age for the Republic, its' citizens lives elevated.  From the ashes of the New Sith Wars the Republic would rise anew, a phoenix reborn amidst the fires of galactic conflagration.

Unfortunately, such change always came at the expense of someone.

As the diplomatic transport de-orbited, it joined the main skylane headed directly towards the Republic Executive Building.  In minutes, the shuttle had landed in one of the central berths, the landing gears having settled onto the deck no longer than 5 seconds before the main ramp opened from below the fuselage.  Immediately ten people disembarked, all of them armed and armored, their faces virtually identical in their shared determined indignation.  As one they entered the building, those who saw them quickly moving out of their way; those that didn't were unceremoniously pushed aside.

Not one voiced any word of complaint, at least not after seeing the looks upon their faces.

As they strode through the wide halls--the main thoroughfare leading to the Congressional Dome--they eventually veered off, heading deep into the political wing where, after several twists and turns through the busy halls, they finally stood before the Supreme Chancellor's Office.

Clearly word had spread prior to their arrival as over three dozen, cerulean-robed Senate Guards barred entry into the large room, their Mk II "Paladin" blaster rifles held at the ready instead of slung on their shoulders.  The Blue Guard (as they were known) was a fearsome, elite security force whose members were chosen from every branch of the Republic's military.  Not only were they charged with the protection of the members of the Galactic Senate, but also as the personal bodyguards to the Supreme Chancellor himself.  But one amongst them stood above the rest.

A young man presented himself in front of the others, his hand hovering toward his belt where he kept his lightsaber hidden.  Johun Othone had been apprenticed to his master, Jedi Lord Farfalla but upon his Knighting, he was appointed as leader to the Supreme Chancellor's personal bodyguard.  It underscored just how capable the members of the Blue Guard were.

Nevertheless, the ten armored Jedi standing in front of them were much, much more dangerous, veterans not only of dozens of battles fought between the former Clans but, more recently, the warriors whom had fought--and survived--against The Brotherhood.  The spotless sapphire light-plasteel armor of the Blue Guard stood in stark contrast to the war-scarred durasteel/nanite alloy armor of the Vhal'Dan, most still spotted with dried blood, plasma burns, and small dents.

Unlike the Blue Guard, the ten Vhal'Dan had their blasters holstered and their lightsabers hanging from their belts, but that looked as if it could change in the blink of an eye.  One of the Jedi stepped forward, a regal woman with luxurious black hair and flawless coppery skin, one whom carried herself as if used to command...and that such commands would be obeyed.

"Stand aside." Sulen's voice carried clearly throughout the vast hall, her immaculate armor matching the pristine hair, skin, and visage of the tall woman.  "Jedi Lord Rikard Macias, Kage of the Vhal'Dan requires the attention of your Supreme Chancellor."  Her tone broached no argument, neither did the dangerous look in her dark brown eyes.  To anyone looking, it was quite the trick: the slender, armored woman stood staring down over 30 of the blue-clad guards.  Most people would've felt compelled to obey and hurriedly move.

Yet not one of the Blue Guard so much as budged.

Each and every member of the Senate Guard had been chosen for their bravery and their martial skill, proficient in both the weapons they wielded as well as hand-to-hand combat.  But even with their numerical superiority, against the ten Vhal'Dan they were vastly eclipsed in those very areas of expertise, even their commander.  Still, they had their orders...

"Captain Othone..." A digitized voice sounded from the wall beside the closed door to the Supreme Chancellor's Office.  "Let them pass." The clipped, polished tone of the voice gave no doubts as to whom it belonged to.

Immediately, the Blue Guard parted, although not one of them slung their rifles; instead they held them in the port position.  Simultaneously, the large door irised open admitting the ten Vhal'Dan Jedi to enter.

Taking a step to the side, Sulen fell into place besides Rikard as he entered the large office, flanked on the opposite side by Corde.  Behind them towered Sarll in his heavy burnished armor, the remainder of the Speakers arrayed to either side.  As they strode deeper into the office, the large ovoid transparasteel window behind the Supreme Chancellor bathed the entire room in light.  Thus it was that Rik saw that there were a dozen Jedi already there, Jedi Lord Valenthyne Farfalla standing just to the side of the large chair behind the Resolute Desk.  Rising from the chair, Tarsus Valorum struck an imposing figure, his bright blue eyes shrewd and determined.

One would've thought that he was also a Jedi, given his nonchalance at being surrounded by them.

"Greetings Master Rikard Macias, greetings masters..." He included Sulen and the Speakers with a simple gesture.  "Welcome to Corusca--"  But he was swiftly and unceremoniously interrupted.

"Jedi Lord Rikard Macias has returned to collect on the promises given him by the Seneschal of Light, Jedi Lord Hoth..." Sulen voice wasn't loud yet it seemed to boom within the offices.  "...Nine seats in the Galactic Senate and two permanent member positions with 'Right to Veto.'  Meanwhile, the Kage and Council of Balance also retains sovereignty over any and all things Vhal'Dan."

Several of the gathered Coruscanti Jedi behind Farfalla looked shocked, others introspective, while a few openly scoffed.  As for Farfalla himself, the Jedi Lord remained completely silent.

The Supreme Chancellor had adopted a patient look, his tone becoming pedantic.  "Master Gray Reu Lai..." He addressed Sulen but his eyes were locked upon Rikard's, cunning and attentive.  "...I'm afraid that that is no longer possible.  You see, with the death of Master Hoth and my own ascension as Supreme Chancellor, the Senate--no, the Republic--as you knew it no longer exists."  He paused for effect, his hands gripping the lapels of his robes of office.  "I have enacted a series of dictates for the benefit of every Galactic citizen: the Ruusan Reforms.  This includes the welfare of the Vhal'Dan Clans--"

"The Vhal'Dan Order." Sulen corrected, her slanted eyes narrowing further.

"The Vhal'Dan Order..." Valorum repeated, not missing a beat.  "...And allows them equal representation as one of the new 1,024 regional sectors throughout the galaxy."  Without consulting any map, he added, "Your homeworld, Istic III, is now located in the Teraab Sector in the Mid Rim.  This falls under the auspices of--" He gestured to a short Bothan woman standing next to Farfalla.  "Senator Utri Sei'Lya, seated within Hoth's Brand System."  The Bothan's fur shifted conspicuously, indicative of her pride...or perhaps her hubris.

"'Hoth's Brand System?'" Sarll's deep bass vibrato seemed to shake the entire office.  "What is that?" He asked pointedly.

"The former Ruusan System.  Victory should be celebrated, don't you think?" Valorum's smooth tone was silky, his eyes knowing.

"...And act as a reminder of dead martyrs..." Sarll's whisper could be heard in the hall through the closed door.  "Very useful political capital."

"Quite right, Master Gray Båz Rhadde." Valorum's tone was light and not quite self-congratulatory.  "After all, Lord Hoth's sacrifice should be lauded.  And quickly forgotten."  His eyes never left Rikard.  "Just like his promises."

Even though Rik's face didn't change, an air of menace seemed to radiate from him.  Everyone in the room could feel it.  But Valorum wasn't finished.

"Also: the Jedi are no longer a separate entity in the Republic.  From now on, the Jedi High Council shall be under the supervision of the Republic's Judicial Department."  His face finally dropped his serenely blank mask turning hard.  "I have abolished the rank of 'Jedi Lord.'  There will no longer be a Jedi military."  Valorum's voice grew gentle.  "From now on, the Order shall be the Republic's peace-keepers."  There seemed to be a note of finality with that last statement.

Rikard finally spoke.  But not to Valorum.

He looked to Farfalla.  "And you agree to this." It was not a question.  "What were you given?" His tone was quiet but intense.  Rikard had fought with Farfalla against the Brotherhood, standing next to him in the line as they stood against the seemingly endless Sith hordes.  While he never considered the half-Bothan a friend, Rik had not thought him an enemy either.  Until now.

Farfalla's eyes never wavered.  "Grand Master of the Order."  He looked neither excited nor contrite; he was merely a man of his own convictions.

Rikard said nothing, the silence stretching uncomfortably until the Supreme Chancellor broke it, his eyes taking them all in.  "In lieu of Hoth's promises, I offer you my own: your Vhal'Dan shall be accepted into the Jedi Order proper as equal members, just as your Masters here shall be eligible for a seat on the High Council."  Rik's ear caught the deliberate singular "a seat" but said nothing. 

Valorum finally locked his gaze upon Rikard.  "Master Gray Rikard Macias, you have already been guaranteed a spot upon the Council in no small part to both your successes against the Sith as well as from the endorsement of Master Ga'Len Chillum."  Valorum's voice lowered as if he were speaking to Rik and only him.  "I've offered the Mak'Tor the same and they've accepted.  You would do well to follow their example."

For several long seconds the two men stared at one another, everyone within the room tense.  The friction in the room was palpable as everyone stared from one to the other, neither man's face betraying any emotion.

"No." Rikard's reply seemed to echo throughout the office.  The tension ratcheted up, Jedi on both sides ready to grab at their lightsabers, every set of eyes looking around the room.  Except two people: the Kage and the Supreme Chancellor.  If either man had expected anything different, they kept it to themselves.

"So be it." Valorum squared his shoulders, his mouth a thin line.  "The Vhal'Dan C--Order will be integrated within the Jedi proper." He swept a hand towards the ten armored Vhal'Dan.  "Your provincial ranks and positions have no bearing here.  Furthermore, there are no 'Speakers,' no 'Arbiter'..." He looked deliberately at Rikard.  "No 'Kage.'  You will abide by the laws of the Republic or forfeit your stature as citizens."  As soon as the last word had left his lips, the dozen Coruscanti Jedi ignited their lightsabers at the same time the Blue Guard leveled their rifles.

Not even a half-second later, the Vhal'Dan had their own lightsabers ignited and held at the ready, the ten standing roughly in a tight circle to defend on all sides.  Rikard was flanked by Su and Corde while Sarll was surrounded by the other Speakers, the Triarch's armor suddenly bristling with mini-missiles that had target locks on every single opponent facing him.

All three groups were poised on a razor's edge.  All it would take would be one small spark, a single gram upon a trigger...

"Wait." Rikard's digitized voice broke through the rising tension, the Kage lowering his saber (but did not close it down).  "Chancellor, the Vhal'Dan are not subject to your laws as we are no longer citizens of Istic III and, therefore, the Republic."  Sulen and Sarll both had the ghost of a knowing smile upon their lips.  "As such and commensurate with those same--with your own--laws, we are accorded the respect and standing of a visiting autonomous government."

From the members of the Blue Guard to each of the Coruscanti Jedi, their faces displayed a range of emotions: from confused to poleaxed, from shocked to grudgingly impressed.  But there were two people whose faces remained completely impassive: Grand Master Farfalla and, naturally, Tarsus Valorum.

"And what government do I now address, Master Macias?" Valorum's voice held no animus but the tightness around his eyes betrayed his own anger at having been outmaneuvered.

"Kage." Sulen pointedly emphasized.

Valorum slowly inhaled.  "Kage." He allowed.  "What government?"

Every member of the Vhal'Dan smiled inwardly.  They'd been expecting something like this after being told by their Kage that Valorum would most likely renege upon Hoth's promises.  However, only three people--Su, Sarll, and Rik--knew the exact details behind the Vhal'Dan's exodus from Istic III, their new homeworld now located at...

"Galtea." Rikard announced.  "The Galtean Union." He proffered by way of explanation, finally closing down his green lightsaber (although no one else had).  This time, it was Rikard that wore a small, not-quite-congratulatory smile.

This time, even Valorum was taken aback.  "Galtea...in the Marcol Void?" His eidetic memory gave him the location if not the reasons why the Vhal'Dan had chosen the virtually unknown planet...with the lone exception that it lay beyond the boundaries of the Republic.

"Galtea." Rikard repeated.  "We shall now take our leave.  Chancellor." He bowed at the neck to Valorum, then turned to Farfalla doing the same.  "Grandmaster."  He turned on his heel and headed for the door, unconcerned by the Blue Guard standing in his way.  From behind Rik, Sulen spoke a final time, almost as an afterthought.

"Do not attempt to visit Galtea without the Kage's explicit permission as our sovereignty extends to the entire system.  As per Republic law." This time there was no ambiguity with the Arbiter's deliberate choice of words.  Again, she fell into step besides Rikard, designedly followed by Corde and the Speakers, Sarll bringing up the rear.  As they did so, each Vhal'Dan extinguished their lightsaber but kept it readily in their hands.

Making his decision quickly, Captain of the Blue (and newly-raised Jedi Knight) Johun Othone barked a command.  "Stand down!"  He knew what his order were...but he was also an intuitive man, one of the reasons to be sure that Farfalla had promoted him.
 Leading by example, he stepped away just as Rikard was about to run into him bodily.  What followed was a precession of the Vhal'Dan Speakers, each with a satisfied look upon their face.

As he passed, the enormous Cathar stared dangerously at each member of the Blue Guard, finally looking over his heavy shoulder at the Coruscanti Jedi and the Supreme Chancellor.  Farfalla quietly instructed his Jedi to put away their weapons, each knight extinguishing their lightsabers one by one.  The Cathar grinned at the spectacle but paused briefly before exiting the Chancellor's Offices.

He had wanted to bring some of his Cataphracts.  Actually, that wasn't true; he wanted to bring them all.  However, the Kage had given them an order, one that Sarll had to admit was wise: "Bring only the Council of Balance to the meeting, that way they could not be accused of having anything other than a diplomatic envoy."  And not, say, a "military" group.  He was thinking about that as he stared at each face, knowing that his Kage had outplayed them all.  He gave a final look before following the rest of the Vhal'Dan.  What he noticed raised his estimation of both Rikard and Valorum.

The last thing that Sarll saw was that Valorum had recovered from his shock, a small smile of admiration showing through on his face. 

Leaving how they came, the Vhal'Dan strode through the Senate Building, rumors already spreading on hyperspace lanes about what might or might not have transpired in the Chancellor's Offices.  Such would spread throughout the planet, the system, and the galaxy in no short time.  But, ultimately, there was but one person that truly appreciated what had happened and how Rikard Macias had given him an acceptable alternative.

Tarsus Valorum, realist&visionary, patriot&tyrant watched as the Vhal'Dan withdrew from his offices and finally disappeared in the twisting hallways leading back to the docks.  Soon thereafter, he dismissed everyone, even Grand Master Farfalla.  Once again introspective, he had to admit that he'd been given a gift of sorts from the Kage.

He knew that freedom required diligence and sacrifice.  But he was also intelligent enough to know when to be magnanimous: he'd been beaten; let the Vhal'Dan have their win.

Besides, they were part of the reason that his new Republic lived.

The Supreme Chancellor allowed himself a singular moment of wistful contentment.  Sometimes doing the right thing happened to be the best thing to do.

Mentally, he put the Vhal'Dan out of his mind, compartmentalizing everything associated with them, realizing that they were no longer his problem (A problem, yes, but not for him nor for now).  Besides, he still had a job to do.

Working well into the night, Valorum sat behind the Resolute Desk planning, intent upon changing the Galaxy and making his dream of a Golden Republic an undeniable reality, one that he fully intended on lasting a thousand generations.

[Lord_S_Gray]

What use are a Clan - sorry Order - of warriors when there is no war left to fight? And what happens to the promises made by dead men to their allies in the heat of conflict?

That seems answered here, the Jedi, as they were are no longer needed or desired, and the promises to variegated Gray Orders died with Hoth. It's hard to put much blame on Valorum, he is now trying to rebuild something better for the Republic after a very long conflict, and doesn't want to be bound by someone else's commitments made under duress and desperation.

Changes are needed and his plans are not without logic, his underestimation was probably the firm independent streak of the Vhal'dan compared to the Mak'tor and other Jedi Lords who, by conviction or necessity accepted the changes and creation of a reformed Jedi order - of course even then tensions remained but that is for a few centuries later.

Rikard at least anticipated such and had plans in place to surprise the Chancellor.  Still I think, on balance, Valorum (and Farfalla) got the better part of the deal, the Vhal'dan among the Jedi, and Rikard on the council, could've been difficult for 'Grand Master' Farfalla to control and certainly the Cataphracts would not give up their more martial nature - so what might've been a troublesome faction within the Order is now outside of it and the Republic
 and thus no longer Valorum's problem to manage - he has more than enough others.

Yet we see the 'Exodus' of the title here, the Vhal'Dan dealing themselves out of the Republic they fought for - one wonders how later generations of Vhal'dan remember/Interpret these events - betrayal by the Republic, a mutual parting of ways, or Vhal'dan asserting their sovereignty against integration and dilution.  All are arguably correct, such is the complex nature of the political and personal situation Dutch has delved into so well here.  

In the end neither side really got what they wanted, but both ended with something they could live with. Now the true Exodus begins!.

Also good to see more of Stryka and her ill fated teidowan.